Participants:
| Scene Title | A Renewed Acquaintance |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Edgar answers a want ad, he doesn't just get a job. |
| Date | September 8, 2010 |
It's a lovely Wednesday evening at Tartarus. Though inside the club it's difficult to tell what time it is without aid of a watch or phone, since all the windows are blacked out, and the only lighting inside is red. But that's all just part of the club's plan to keep people longer. And it seems to be working quite well tonight. It may not be as packed as it is on Friday or Saturday, but there are a good number of people trying to forget about the impending curfew.
Melissa is there as well, already busy on her next project for the club. It helps to keep her mind off of….other things. Like a certain teenager's death. Even if he is partially responsible for this project. But part of that keeping busy was posting an ad in the paper, stating that Tartarus was looking for stage magicians and other performers of that type. And it was specifically stated that an evolved performer was just fine. After all, if it makes the show more impressive, all the better!
As for the manager right now, she's sitting at the end of the bar, sipping on a drink while she makes notes on a clipboard in front of her. She has to pause here and there to answer employee questions, but she seems pretty focused on those notes.
Looking through the want ads for employment is generally something reserved for those who can afford to have their face shown in public. For Edgar, it's become something of a necessity. Though he could steal practically anything he wants, his need for a legitimate job (no matter how temporary) has become a personal quest.
He saunters into the bar, his clothing the same as he's been wearing since he arrived in New York, it doesn't smell gamey yet, but the threat is there. They've been washed at least once. the old black t-shirt, brown corduroys, workboots, and leather jacket make a combination that doesn't quite spell professional, at least not in the magician's circuit.
Piling up onto a stool, he nods over to the manager at the end and gives a two fingered wave. She looks a little too young to be the person he's looking for and so… "'Scuse me miss, I'm 'ere teh answer the advert."
A single finger is held up in a universal "Hold on a minute" gesture, while Melissa finishes writing down her latest thought. That done, the pen is set down, a sip taken of her drink, and she glances over to Edgar, giving him a quick once over. Since he doesn't smell, there's no obvious negative reaction to what she sees.
"You're a stage magician, huh? Or you got some other sort of performing skill? And please, please tell me you don't do something stupid, like ventriloquism with a dummy or singing while riding a unicycle. I already kicked people out with those particular talents earlier. And if you just burp the alphabet or make armpit music, I'll kick you out personally and relish every single kick."
Pointing to the glasses behind the bar, Edgar gives her a nod. "You mind if I…?" He doesn't seem to have his own supplies, so he wanders just far enough to grab five or six of them and stacks them in a pillar in one hand. Walking out into the bar area, he pushes a few chairs and tables out of the way to clear himself a little area. Then he gets to work.
The shorter cups are tossed up first, creating a loop of reflective glass that shimmers little strobes of light around the room. As he adds more glasses, he switches from one hand to two. Until all five are going around in the circle. He moves with them, and sometimes bumps one off his elbow, knee, or side of his foot.
The question has Melissa waving a hand towards the glasses. While he gets the area ready she lights up a cigarette and leans up against the bar to watch. When she first realizes what he's doing, she winces and mentally calculates the cost to replace the glasses once they break. But then her brows are lifting and she's looking more and more impressed. "I don't suppose you can do that with more…ah…impressive objects? Like lit torches or something?" she asks curiously.
This is met with the lift of one side of his mouth, and click click click click click the glasses are tossed gently in the air and caught in the same pile as he first carried them out in. "Yeh go' any chainsaws?" His heavy British accent becomes only more pronounced as mirth combines with the words. Then he places the glasses back gently where he found them and wipes his hands off on the sides of his pants, leaving little wet streaks. "If you can throw i', I can juggle i'.. bu' that ain't all I can do." He moves a little closer to the woman and faster than her eyes can see, her earring are in the palm of his hand. It didn't even look like he moved at all.
Chainsaws? That has Melissa laughing. Right before she stares at his hand for a moment, then lifts one of her own to her ears, just to make sure they're really her earrings. Gaze lifting to his face, her head tilts. "Teleportation of some sort, or speedster? 'Cause if it's the latter, then this city is lousy with speedsters."
The stool next to her is motioned to before her hand is held out for her earrings. "Anyway. Chainsaws won't really work for what we're planning, unfortunately, though I have no doubt it'd be impressive as hell. What we're doing is our version of the Labyrinth Ball. It's based on the ball in the movie Labyrinth, if you've seen it. Sorta old school Italian thing, but with a twist. Hence the question about torches."
A sudden countenance of worry grips the speedster for a flash of a moment and he raises a hand to the back of his neck. The earrings in his other palm are held out and tipped into her waiting hand without another word. "You havin' this thing inside? I dunno if me jugglin' fire would pass any safety codes 'er nothin'." The hand comes down almost as instantly as the expression disappears from his face and he gives a slight smile, "'Ow about swords? Or…"
"Naw, ne'ermind," A second thought has him backpeddling on an idea and he just gives the young woman another titch of a smile. "Jes' tell me what I need teh do an' I'll do it. An' if yeh don' mind, when'd be the party and when would I ge' paid?"
That worry is noted, and it brings a small frown to Melissa's face. As she puts her earrings in again she smoothes her face and smiles. "Juggling swords? Now that is impressive. The party is next month though. You can get paid the same night, at the end of the shindig." She pauses, reaching for her glass to sip again.
"You didn't seem to like me asking about your ability," she says softly, for his ears alone. "Trust me, I so don't think badly of other evolveds, and if you're trying to pretend you're nonevolved, I won't out you. Believe me, that's the last thing I'd ever do."
There's a quick tilt to his head at Melissa's choice of words. "Other evolveds, so you're one then?" Still no acknowledgement of his own status, though when Edgar jams his hands into his pockets, one of them pats quickly and lightly against his thigh in a twitchy rhythm.
Twisting his head to the side, he lets off a sort of harrumph as he clears his throat. Turning back to face her he nods and purses his lips into a thin line. "I ain't tellin' 'cause it migh' no' be smart fer you teh know. I'm no' 'zactly a legal citizen, eh?"
"Yeah, I am," Melissa confirms with a nod. Then she grins. "And trust me, nothing you could tell me would put me in anymore danger than I already live in," she adds, moving her hair off her forehead, to reveal the partially hidden line of a scar. Definitely not a 'normal' looking scar, it looks like someone tried to cut her head open. Mmm. Brains.
Her hand drops. "But I won't press. It's your right to keep it to yourself. Besides, if I did press you might not show up for the party, then I'll be out a sword juggler." She pauses, then laughs. "Speaking of, what's your name anyway? And got a phone number I can contact you at? I'm Melissa."
"Liam, Liam Banks, at'cher service," He's been practicing with that one, the stolen ID almost matching his description to a Tee. There's a bit of difference in the power on the registration card, but nothing the man can't fake his way through. Edgar eyes the scar on her scar, even lifting one hand from his pocket in an attempto to touch it.
His eyes narrow as he studies it, his eyes flitting quickly from the silver line to her eyes before he purses his lips again and leans back. "That aren't no line from a knife unless sum'un was usin' a saw." Nodding once, he tilts his head back to show her a scar of his own. A circular one just under his jaw. It's partially obscured by his patchy beard, but hair won't grow there, so a small pocky circle still remains. "Tha' should be indication enough why I can' tell yeah nothin'."
No effort is made to stop him from touching the scar. Instead Melissa looks at his scar, which has her going perfectly still for a moment, staring at it. She knows that scar, all too well. Too many of her friends carry one just like it. In fact…A moment later her chin tips back, to show a matching scar under her jaw. "I know you," she murmurs. "But not Liam…No…Ethan? Evan? Edgar? Something starting with E," she says softly.
"Edgar, Edgar Smythe…" The man says softly, his left eye twitching a little as he spies her scar. "Sorry, I don' recognize you so much— Spent most'uh me time tryin' teh think of other places an' people." He gives her an easy smile and nods once, understanding. "S'nice teh see tha' you're doin' well. I dunno 'ow yeh manage it though. I tried, I was on a baseball team down in Florida… Bu' DHS, they caugh' up wi' me."
"I…I got lucky. Very lucky. Good contacts, good friends," Melissa admits with a faint smile. Though it's a bit forced. Has to be with the current topic. "But hey, glad you responded to the ad. I'd rather support someone like us than some nonevolved who's had an easy life, yanno? We need all the help we can get. Why don't you sit down, lemme get you a drink? On the house."
"I'm 'appy for yeh, I really am. I'm jus' sorta driftin' now, still tryin' teh find me fam'ly." He does slip into a stool as he talks to her, the smile only expanding a little into a wider one. The speedster taps on the bar in a quick staccato, the little rhythm getting faster. "Whiskey, if yeh can spare it. Otherwise a Guiness'll do." Either one is a bit expensive but at least she can water down the whiskey. "Et's nice teh see a friendly face, I'm glad I answered the advert."
The bartender is waved over, and an unwatered whiskey ordered for Edgar. Melissa nods at him once the drink has been set down and the bartender has moved off. "Yeah, I can get that. I'd be happy to try'n help you find your family. Gettin' to know most everyone who's worth knowing in this city. Mostly good guys even, thank god."
The first sip is taken with a wince as it's downed and the hissing breath inward from his lips sounds out in a small radius around them. "I'd thought'a tha', tryin' teh ge' 'elp… I jus' dunno if they want teh be found." Edgar's smooth voice is only enhanced by the warmth of the liquor coursing down his throat. Another drink, this time a longer one, has him shuddering at the swallow. "Where's yer fam'ly? Yeh don' sound like a yank, you soun' more like you're from the south."
While he seemed wary at mention of his ability, for Melissa, her family seems to be her trigger. "Most of them are in Georgia. Just wish they'd all stay there," she grumbles. "Not all family is the sort ya wanna hunt for. Some you try to forget exist. Mine, with one exception, is the latter sort."
An expression of understanding washes over Edgar's face as he regards the little blonde for a moment. "Y'know… Fam'ly ain't always wha' yer born into. Mine… they's from all over." Pulling open his jacket, he reveals a set of throwing knives stiched into the lining. He pulls them out one by one and lays them up on the counter. "I's a knife thrower in a carnival, Sullivan Brothers. Yeh might'a heard from one o' the others while we's in Moab. I din't know… bu' yeah, if yer lookin' teh thrill yer party people. I can provide."
"Oh I know. That's the one exception I mentioned. We don't…didn't…share blood, but it didn't matter," Melissa says, nodding a little. The knives are looked at and she looks mildly pained. "Edgar, dear, not in the middle of the club randomly. I don't wanna start a panic or anything. But I'm sure you can provide. I look forward to seeing the show. Just hope you don't mind wearing a costume while you do it. Something fitting for the night."
After downing the rest of her drink, she considers him for a long moment. "I'm having this barbeque at my place next week. Sorta last party of the summer, time for people to unwind and everything. If you want, you're welcome to come. It's all evolved or people who are sympathetic to us."
The knives are gone before the words are out of her mouth, with only the waver of his jacket left to signify where they went. "I kin wear a costume, done it for over a decade, don' mind doin' it again. Bu' I don' wear spandex… Tha's for assistants on the wheel."
The whiskey is finished quickly and he gives a quick nod of his head. "I'll be there, I promise… it'll be nice teh be 'round some semblance of if kin." In the wink of an eye, the blur of the air, and a high pitched whistle, he's gone. Beside his glass is a five dollar bill with a telephone number written on it.