505-10-31 Callista Makes Friends. ...sort of.

From Crossroads Wiki

Soul Suckin' Time
RL Date	August 11, 2008
Players	Callista Maricel, Teraphim Aribane, Gwyneth Dukane
Location	Docks -- Gateway Isle
Crossroads Time and Weather
IC Date	October 31, 505
Season	Winter

Dawn is an hour or so past, and the first signs of life are starting to emerge along the docks, where long nights have been spent unloading and loading ships for departure along the currents, and where now merchants in their open stalls begin to put out their wares. One of the first customers of the day is one whom seems, at best, curious about the place - and at worst, new to it and a sure mark. With his hands in the pockets of his voluminous coat, Teraphim Aribane strides along the dock at a leisurely pace, drawing a deep breath of the crisp autumn's air.

There's a slight commotion up ahead.

Merchant: "You can't have just -one- bead off of the necklace. I don't sell them that way."

Female voice: "But this one is the perfect size! And shape! And -color-! Oh -fine-. Fine! I'll buy the whole thing."

There's a pause, and then a startled sound from the merchant, the sound of pitter-pattering - and a yelp followed by a heavy thump as someone slips on something and hits the ground. Tiny spheres of glass roll through the feet of the few shoppers present, one of them - a blue one - coming to stop nearly at the toe of Teraphim's boot.

Merchant: "What in Providence's name are you doing, girl? You could've just taken the whole necklace home, you know! Found something else to do with the rest of them!"

Female voice: "But I only -wanted- this one. I told you that! Now I've got it. Thank you! Thank you very much! Very sorry about the mess, and the...um...gravity. You should watch where you're walking, you know. All sorts of...of...obstacles and things in this life, and you never know when you're going to run up on one. Excuse me!" And so she emerges in his direction, holding up a perfect sphere the size of an egg a brilliant red-orange color that glows in the early sunlight.

"You know, gravity is enough of a pain without your help." That voice is rich with restrained humor, thumb and forefinger prizing between them that select example of a blue bead of glass, turning it over in his hand for a moment of swift inspection. "Agent of Gravity, I name you," Teraphim pronounces with droll seriousness, though his brows do rise at the size of the thing.

"Nice egg you've got there, um, miss."

"Oh, I don't know, it's sort of...you know, if you're not able to handle gravity and walking around on your own two feet where is there for you to -go-, really?" Callista quips her response without so much as glancing up at the source of the commentary, a jeweler's loupe pulled out of the workbelt at her waist and held to her eye as she examines the strangely-purchased stone, held up to the light between index finger and thumb. As she's not watching where she's going, it's presumably a good thing that she's accompanied by two stoic looking gentleman in noble livery, a single golden gear marking the breast of each black uniform. "I'm training the masses against the ever-present threat of physical forces! Inertia, matter, the dangers of a sudden stop. And isn't it? Lovely? It'll be perfect when I--" And then she snaps verdant eyes up to settle on him suddenly, treasure and magnifier lowered together. She blinks at him once, a strange beat of inanimate time before the smile appears, altogether cheerful. "Well. Hello."

That's not awkward, or anything, right?

His laughter is not so restrained, then, full-bodied despite the early hour. The glass bead in his hand gets tossed up in the air, and then snatched into his waiting palm, closing over the trinket. "Ah, so you're like a Knight of Science, solemnly devoted to abjuring the masses from the impending doom that is the forces of logic and reaso-"

"Hello," Teraphim replies, a quiet smile working its way across his mouth, twisted with humor.

"I might be. I might be a knight of science. Can a woman be a knight? I suppose they can now, can't they? I heard there was one." There's the sense that Callista might be missing whatever critical filter assembly is usually built in between the brain and the mouth to keep people from chaining their thoughts together out loud, rather than just thinking about something and then delivering the final result...or that hers is faulty and only works on occasion, when she's expending the effort to see to it that it's operational. "So what does that make you, then? You're the...um." Perfect teeth press her lower lip for a moment as she gives him an uncomfortably thorough looking-over, followed by a theatrical sigh. "Oh, I don't know. What -are- you?"

Well, at least her companion, though newly won, does not have that problem. Else they might be some strange conflagration of ideas and words and thoughts, and Providence forbid they share a different wavelength! Like two ships colliding in the sea, and all the havoc that would be.

Teraphim does quirk a brow as she gives him the old once over, and then makes out to inspect him like some invention she might be playing with or another. "I... um..." Golden brows knit together, his forehead crumpling. "What are /you/?"

Tap thunk. Tap thunk. The distinctive gait and sounds of crutches comes even before Gwyneth emerges into view from the Gateway plaza. She's as distinctive as ever, with tattoos, scars, splint and the axe across her back. Today she's added a dagger at her hip, tucked back a bit as to keep otu of the way of the crutches. She's headed, it would seem, vaguely towards the jailhouse, although the people on the docks is enough to make her already slow steps, slow a little further as her dark eyes look over the people there.

Scattered over the ground in an unfortunate gauntlet of dangerous, prettily colored obstacles are a variety of small glass spheres. Standing amonst them at the market that lines the pier are Callista and Teraphim, the latter holding a magnifier of sorts in one hand and a glass sphere the size of an egg, red-orange and brilliant, in the other. They seem to be conversing - if you can call it that, when Callista is involved.

"I make things. I make them up, and then I make them. That's about it. Oh, I...I guess there's the bit with my family, right?" Callista hesitates as she delivers that perfunctory summary of her origins, lifting one hand as though she intends to place the tip of her index finger between her teeth in thought. She finds herself stymied by the fact that she's got something in each hand, glancing down at the jeweler's loupe and shooting it a mild frown, presumably for having gotten in her way. She tucks it hastily back into her workbelt, lifts her hand a second time, and then realizes the moment of thoughtfulness has passed and turns the gesture into an impatient flick of the wrist, returning her eyes to the man along with a quirked smile. "Oh...you know. My parents sit Tinker's Bench in Draught. That's not me though. Anyway, you didn't answer my question. What are you? I mean what do you do? Or who are you? Pick one, really, we'll start simply. People move so slowly around here."

Kenley, having checked out the tavern and deciding it was just a little too, err... /grimy/, returns to the docks to chat a little with the people here. Turning to them, he smiles at Callista and Teraphim, and, after a pause, at Gwyneth, though more tentatively.

Blink. "Are you for real?" Teraphim apparently isn't certain, though his mouth does part in a bit of a smile as he listens to her go on about her parents, and how slow people are, and puts her query to him once again. "I'm Teraphim. People call me Ter. Well, friends do, if you want to call yourself a friend." His brow quirks a bit.

"Well. Tinker's Bench, that explains... Well, no it really doesn't," Teraphim decides, "But it's nice to meet you anyways." He flips the blue glass bead he has into the air, and catches it again. "You've a name, right?" His lips quirk, still amused.

A grunt towards Kenley apparently suffices as greeting. It sounds friendly enough, even if perhaps not the most lociquious of greetings. She squints, her attention settling upon Callista as the words tumble forth from the woman. The proliferation of little spheres make the traversal through the area on crutches into a potential land mine scenario and she looks between the two, Teraphim and Callista and then back to the small spheres. "What?"

It's probably inevitable that Callista finds her gaze torn away from the man she's ostensibly speaking to in order to follow the blue bead's glimmering ascent into the rapidly brightening air. She doesn't say 'shiny', but you can practically see the word written in her expression. "I -am- for real. Or is this one of those weird conversations they're always having at the College of Sciences? You know, 'what is reality', and people saying that everyone else is just a figment of their imagination, and...what's that bit about putting cats in boxes, or whatever it is? You know, and the cat is dead, or not dead, but not really either one until you open the box and perceive its reality? Seems a bit off to me, putting undead cats in boxes, but you can't really account for taste and sanity with some people." She rolls her eyes and then looks at him sideways, something coy in her expression just enough to suggest that she might - possibly, maybe - be kidding. It's hard to tell. "And it's nice to meet you, Teraphim! Or Ter. You don't look entirely certain you want to be friends with me. I suppose I should leave that kind of thing up to you?" She taps her toe twice, lapsing into a brief silence in which she seems to reorganize her thoughts, shuffling them like flash cards.

"It's Callista Aria Concordia Verity Maricel, which is -stupid-. You can call me Callista. Or Conk, which is what -my- friends call me. Have you decided yet? The whole bit about names is going to have to be pending until you decide, and that could make conversing sort of troublesome." As though it isn't already.

She does spot both Kenley and Gwyneth, and they both receive a dazzling smile and curious look from her. As green eyes settle on Gwyneth, she hesitates for a moment and then says helpfully, 'What?"

"That's a mouthful." Whether he is referring to the University lecture she just gave, or her name, is hard to tell. Because honestly, both are a bit, well, ponderous. Teraphim runs his free hand through his short, golden hair. "And if I am friends with you, you're not going to get all College on me, and decide to try putting /me/ in a box, and seeing if I am still real? And for the record, I am totally against undead cats."

A glance over his shoulder is directed at Gwyneth and Kenley. He smirks amusedly, and shrugs his shoulders at Callista's 'what' comment. Or, perhaps, he's shrugging because he doesn't really understand what's going on himself.

A hand leaves a crutch to gesture at the sparkling coloured things on the ground and Gwyneth tries her single word query again. "What?" The hand gesture apparently is supposed to make everything clear. In theory. She looks at Teraphim and then back to Callista, expecting her, apparently, to be the one who'll come up with a torrent of words to explain things. She leans on her crutches and then takes a moment to add Kenley into her consideration. Those dark eyes don't just glance, they assess. Top of head to tip of toes, each person in turn.

"What? No. I don't put people in boxes. Er...well..." Frighteningly, Callista has to hesitate and actually think about whether or not that statement is true, rolling the brilliant glass sphere between her hands as she looks up at the cloud-studded sky and considers. Perhaps reassuringly, she curves a swift smile and she drops her eyes back down to the gentleman in front of her. "No. No, I can definitely say that I don't put people in boxes. And I don't know that discriminating against undead cats is very open-minded of you, but I'm against putting them in boxes, so I guess we have something in common. Kind of. No, not really, but it's close enough. People have become friends for stranger reasons." That's probably stretching the truth, but she doesn't linger on the matter any longer than it takes her to say the words.

Gwyneth has her attention afterward, and she stares blankly - truly blankly, nothing at all in her expression, all of the activity in her located behind those eyes of hers - for a moment, and then her brows draw comically together into a confused knit. "Um...they're glass beads." And then she smiles, hopefully. That's was the question, right?

Kenley watches Callista answer Gwyneth and a look of recognition dawns across his face. Looking down at the assortment of spheres, he says, "I was wondering that too. Why are they all over the ground?" Looking up at the others, he introduces himself. "I'm Kenley, or Ken if you prefer." He grins at the three, and holds out his hand for whoever would like to shake it.

"You'll have to excuse ol' Conk over here," Teraphim says, jerking a thumb to indicate whom apparently is his newest friend. "She found a bead she just /had/ to have... and well, you know how Conk can be..." He chuckles a bit, and then stops. "Well, I guess you don't. Really, I don't either, but I'm just trying not to assume the worst." He frowns with concentration, and wriggles the fingers of his right hand in the direction of the ground not far from Gwyneth.

A soft breeze begins to pick up in the space around the woman in crutches, tugging lightly at her garments and hair, before the orbs begin to move, rolling out of the way of her path. "There," Teraphim says, looking up, his richly colored eyes having a certain distant quality to them a moment, before he turns to take Kenley's hand in a firm, swift shake. "Good to meet you, Kenley. You seem normal enough." Which is more than he can say for some people.

Gwyneth lifts a scarred hand to tug at one of her braids, the tiny little bead at the end of it and holds that up. Bone by the colour of it, rather than the brightly coloured orbs on the ground. "Bead." She drops it, and then looks at the larger ones on the ground. "Big. Why?" There's a nod as Kenley asks her question with a little more details. And then Teraphin has to demonstrate a little finger wiggling and breeze picking up. Her face turns dark with a frown, her browns knitting together as she fairly glowers at the mage. "Magic." It's not a happy sounding word.

Callista nods solemnly as Teraphim describes the sequence of events, something a bit like overblown lamentation briefly turning her large-eyed face into something wholly too soulful. She could probably be heartbreaking if she had the mind to be. Which...that's really up for debate, isn't it? "Yes. It's true. I can be -just- like that." Nevermind that he didn't actually describe -how- she can be. She seems to be agreeing as a matter of due course. Gwyneth's statement of the word 'bead' earns another sunny smile. "Yes! Just like that one, yes. That's what they sure are." She looks exceedingly pleased, as though Gwyneth had just done a trick, or something.

And then she squeaks as the glass beads begin to roll and bounce over the pavement, eyes dropped down to the migration, hands clasped in front of her collarbone around the large, bright orange bead in her hands. "Magic!" In contrast to the crutched woman, she sounds delighted. "How very useful." She claps - or pseudo-claps - several times, and then glances at the introductions happening off to the side. "Ken and Kenley, Ter and Teraphim, Callista and Conk. What good are names if nobody sticks with the one they have? You have to wonder." Or she does, at least.

"Well, the fancy ones are good for doing fancy things, but I don't think conversations about beads, not to mention whatever the heck you were doing /before/ you almost ran into me, Cork... is very fancy," Teraphim notes as he looks back over at the Draughtian woman, whom looks so much the part as heir to Tinker's Bench. "And thank you, quite useful if I do say so my-"

But he /does/ have to turn a look on Gwyneth at her single unhappily uttered word, and her glowering doesn't earn her much amusement from the young man. "Crutches," he replies, his eyes widening in some faux outrage.

"Names. Not important. Something. Yell. Know who. Not important what." Gwyneth's opinion on names is perhaps more complex than the one being delighted at her ability to identify simple objects might expect. She doesn't even break into a soft shoe routine or anything. There's a soft snort at Teraphim's faux outrage at her crutches. "Magic. Not trust. Crutches? Not trust? See. Touch. What not understand?"

"What?" Callista levels a perplexed look at Teraphim, as he's apparently made some jump or leap of logic she hasn't followed. Probably not surprising. "Oh...oh! Names? Right? Or maybe you're just not making any sense, I guess that's possible. Sometimes people are like that." She hums several unconnected tones to herself during that brief intermission in which her thoughts are reordered, and then she blossoms another smile, long lashes tipped cheerfully up at the outer corners of her eyes. "I was looking at my bead, wasn't I? Pretty little thing. Going to be -fantastic- when I wire everything together. Just like a heart." In addition to occasionally talking her way through an audible chain of connected thoughts, it seems she's also in the habit of assuming that people are possessed of all of the same knowledge that she is and doesn't bother to take the extra steps to fill them in, blowing right past that phase and then onto something else entirely, attention turned Gwyneth's way.

This cannot end well. Her brows knit again, and she studies the woman for a long and plaintive moment before...just nodding her head. Apparently her survival instincts are better than her Barbarianspeak Comprehension level.

Rolling the blue bead he has in his hand between his fingers, Teraphim sets his free fingers upon his chin in a considering manner. "So, you glower at things you don't understand, is that it? I suppose I can get that, on some intrinsic level..." the young man espouses, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Though it must be an awful way to go through life. I mean, despite all my attempts, I just can't get my chicken to /crisp/ like this one chef back in Polaris Port..." He looks over at Callista, as if expecting her to know exactly what he means, and then, he glances back at Gwyneth. "But it's still delicious, and I miss it terribly. Glaring at it wouldn't get me anywhere."

Gwyneth gives a generally pretty mellow shrug at that. "Fried chicken. Not dangerous. Magic. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Different." She has a sense of being far more aware, a tension in her movements that wasnt there before the little demonstration of magic abilities. "Chicken. Not kidnap." It probably makes sense to the barbarian woman. It may or may not make sense to very many others. She taps the tip of a crutch against the ground, shifting her weight upon them as she leans.

"Well, -that's- true," Callista says after a long moment during which she looked distracted, almost dreamy. Whatever mechanism in her head process conversation, it seems to've caught up with the present. "About chicken not kidnapping people. As far as I know, anyway. But here...-you- look very dangerous and unpredictable, and I like you just fine. And I don't understand more than one in every six ideas that comes out of your mouth, of course, but not for lack of trying." The girl shifts her weight where she stands, eyes turned away from her erstwhile companions to drift over the growing crowd of shoppers in the market, something restless about her.

"Conk's got a point. You're not so friendly and predictable looking yourself. Why, I'd never predict that you'd get all glowery on a stranger who was clearing some beads out of your way, so you didn't slip," Teraphim points out, "But I'm alright with you."

Glancing over at the tinker, Teraphim's lips start to curve. "So, I'm going to guess that you're not used to standing still for very long?" he assumes, given the air of restlessness that circulates about her. "Some wild idea brewing in your head?" Saunder walks down the street toward the Merchants Guild. He is flanked by three armed men.

"Yes." Gwyneth isnt about to argue about looking dangerous. "Glower. Not axe. Not hit. Glower. All. Alright enough." She frowns anew, her standards of social are, clearly, a little off step with everyone elses. Then a shrug and she shifts again on the crutches. She's not so good at the standing still herself, although be it restless or discomfort is a harder bet to make. "Not understand. Ask. Explain." Her eyes drift away, following Saunder and his entourage of warrior types.

Callista is standing in the market crowd by the docks speaking to Teraphim and Gwyneth while Kenley looks on. "Oh, sometimes I stand -very- still," corrects the girl whose friends call her Conk, "so that I don't accidentally blow myself up. I had this aunt when I was younger? She was so impatient. Always shifting around. Shifting shifting, and one time she shifted and blew herself -right up-. So yes. I do stay very still sometimes, because you would be -amazed- how often I'm standing somewhere that might blow up." She smiles beatifically at the two of them, obviously finding it entirely enchanting that her life so readily puts her in a position to be turned into a chunky salsa version of herself. To Gwyneth she says, "I bet he'd explain magic to you if you liked. I don't know that you would understand it. I don't understand it myself, but then I actually don't care how it works as long as it works, so I've never really bothered to try."

Teraphim takes a step aside to be out of the path of the man and his armed escort, a little dramatic flourish to his coat when he does seems to give the young man a pleased sort of smile. It lasts but a moment, and he's looking back at Callista. "You really aught to not blow yourself up, seeing as how we've decided to be friends and all that... It'd be a real shame," he decides. "Sorry about your aunt, though." His expression gets that sort of 'awkward' cast to it, when you don't know quite what to say about someone's personal tragedy.

Whether the tragedy was losing her aunt, or whatever her aunt was working on, Teraphim isn't ready to take bets.

Saunder enters the Merchants' Guild. Saunder has left.

Kenley looks around indecisively, not wanting to be noticed in a bad way by anyone accompanied by 3 armed men, and at the same time, not wanting to seem to be hiding. After a moment he simply just decides to get out of his way and grin broadly, standing near Gwyneth, who he decides is formidable-enough-looking to keep even Saunder and his men from wanting to mess with. At Callista's mention of blowing up, Kenley looks aghast. Imagining anyone, especially a woman, blowing up is just to much for him. After she finishes speaking, he turns to Teraphim, and says, "I always figured magic was the sort of thing you couldn't explain to someone who couldn't do it."

Gwyneth considers the notion of blowing oneself up unless standing Very Still and then nods. "Battlefield. Not so different. Very still. Not get arrows. Sword. Similar." She makes a face at the notion of having magic explained to her. "Not see. Not touch. Harder. Try. Suppose. Listen. Not expect. Chair. Still. Not keen." She glances sidelong to Kenley as he comes a step closer, not yet moving from where she's shifting. A cautious movement, putting more weight on the still splinted leg as the unlikely quartet stand around talking.

Unlikely doesn't even begin to cover it, but it looks as though the group may be less a member fairly soon, because although Callista swears up and down that she's capable of standing still it's hard to believe it with the way she's started fidgeting. "Chairs, right," she agrees absently. "Oh, forget about my aunt. I can hardly be expected to keep track of how many people I'm related to to've blown themselves up, can I? I mean I there are only so many hours in the day! And they're dead anyway, it's not like I have to worry about them knocking on my door at three in the morning needing something." She nibbles gently on the end of one surprisingly well-manicured fingernail and then announces suddenly, "I'm -very- unhappy."

There's a pause.

"Or maybe I'm hungry? Yes, I think that's it. I'm -very- hungry." Pause. "Sometimes I get the two of them mixed up. Unhappy and hungry. Sometimes I forget to eat." Her laugh is also surprising, not nearly the manic giggle you'd expect. It's throaty and brandied and rich. "So! Who wants to go eat? Anyone?"

Teraphim blinks at Callista again, bringing a hand up scratch at his forehead. "You're hungry, for sure?" he asks her, giving the young woman a sidelong glance before he shrugs a bit and volunteers, "I could certainly do with something to eat, if, you know, you're hungry." Not so much on the ball with what to do if she meant she was unhappy, but...

He looks over at Gwyneth and Kenley. "Hungry?"

"Unhappy. Hungry. Hungry. Make. Unhappy." There's a shrug from Gwyneth and a brief glance towards the jailhouse. Her gaze lingers there a while, considering and thoughtful until she turns back. "Yes. Hungry." Her gaze slides over to the dockside tavern and then back. "Rough."

Kenley grins at the thought of a warm meal. "I could really go for something meaty right now." Turning to Gwyneth, he aggrees, "Yes, rough. I would rather not eat there if I have to. I may not be a lord or nothing, but I have standards too." Licking his lips, he asks the others, "Where do you suggest we eat then? I don't know the island well. Where is the eating good?"

When Gwyneth looks at the Dockside, Callista follows her eyes that way and does not even bother to disguise the crinkling of the bridge of her nose. "Oh! No. No no no. I mean. I like unlikely things as much as anyone else, but I don't like finding surprises in my -food-." She huffs a sigh as she turns back to the three of them, all of the indecisiveness proving to be the spark that lights the fuse connected to her impatience and impulsiveness. "Oh for goodness' sake, I'm not even -from- here and I bet I can find us something to eat! Come on, lets go. If we walk far enough in...in...-this- direction," she says, starting off in the general direction of the town proper, "then we're bound to run into something edible sooner or later, right?"

She doesn't move quickly, presumably out of deference to the woman on crutches, but neither does she wait for them to make up their minds to follow along, and so unless they get moving they'll quickly find themselves parted from her by the crowd.

"The dock seems nice enough... for walking. I think I'll pass on the culinary experience," Teraphim admits, with a shake of his head. "You lead the way, Conk, and I'll follow."

Gwyneth gives a soft snort at Conk's impatience and starting off. "Not ask. Suggest. Coffee shop. Isle Ale." She puts forth suggestions this time, and turns away from her original desitnation to follow along with this motley crew of half baked conversations. "Dockside. Okay coffee. Fights." The quality of one's brawls is, apparently, just as important as the quality of the food.

Kenley says, "I've been to the coffee shop. The coffee's fine, but I didn't even know they served food. Nice place." Starting to walk away, he suddenly pauses, turning back to the group. "How is the Isle of Ale," he asks. "Pretty high-end as taverns go, right?"

"Either way! I don't care where we go as long as we get food," Callista says, though she's still not stopping. Someone else is going to have to take firm control of the situation if they want her to stop, turn around, or begin walking in the proper direction because she's reached her limit for standing still, driven by a frenetic natural energy and impatience born of suddenly realizing she's nearly starving to death. "Here, there, wherever. I like coffee." Goddess knows what she'd be like if she got caffeine into her system. Maybe it wouldn't even matter. "I like taverns. I don't care. Someone figure out where we're going." As she moves, the two men in plain black uniforms with golden gears stitched into the breast extract themselves from the general crowd and follow along behind her at a reasonable distance, keeping an eye on their young charge.

And off they go.