Dinu Support Group


godfrey_icon.gif isis_icon.gif nikola_icon.gif spencer_icon.gif zachery_icon.gif

Scene Title Dinu Support Group
Synopsis Four handsome Europeans and a weirdy.
Date April 22, 2019

Cat’s Cradle

The room is large, a mid sized stage with tattered curtains hanging around it and two spotlights that face it. There were a number of mismatched theatre seats arranged in a half circle facing the stage, a long dark purple rug running through the middle of them. A chandelier that is sometimes on and only lights up halfway hangs in the center of the room. Even when music is not being performed people congregate around the stage, drinking or smoking. A 420 Friendly sign hangs near a mirror hung up behind the bar.

The bar area has a few mismatched chairs and boxes for chairs. A lone armchair is placed near the bar, the owner usually occupies it when she is in. The bar is a bunch of wood and steel welded together and repurposed as a bar, there is a black glass that is fitted around the middle of often smear from people’s knees and boot heels. A really old television set with a VHS player sits behind the bar propped up on a stand. The bar is as well stocked as you can get nowadays, there’s even an exotic alcohol or two rumored to be under the bar. A modest grill stands in the corner right next to the bar, nothing fancy just greasy food.

In the corner of the room near the stage and it’s green room door is another door that is usually locked.

Rain has kissed the northeast a few days straight. Today it’s the nippy, cold kind. Cat’s Cradle, though, is one of the few places in the Safe Zone that is made more beautiful by the overcast gray that hangs overhead. From inside the establishment of mismatched themes and decorations, the otherwise dreary skies speak of potential - be they storms or clear skies, is hard to tell.

Inside with the warm atmosphere tucked between the hodgepodge furniture, Isis wipes her brow with the back of her wrist, a bartowel momentarily obscuring her face. All the surfaces around her sparkle with a fresh layer of elbow grease. When she tosses the towel onto the scrubbed bartop, her eyes sparkle with a vivacious gold, nerves consuming the natural hazel of her gaze and emphasizing the golden flecks instead.

The number of proper customers at this hour is slim. It’s proprietor is out… doing whatever it is she does. The head bartender, Sassy, is nowhere currently in sight. “Have a good one, Jo,” one of the regular day-time drinkers calls out as she slips out the door. Isis’s nerves fall away under the instinct of a smile and a wave. “And you-,” she doesn’t dare attempt a name, she hasn’t been on the payroll long enough. Was it Janet? Julie? Jubilee Roll? You never can tell at the Cat’s Cradle.

The regular clientele might be sparse, but that just means new visitors have more space to stretch their legs. Intending on doing just such a thing, Zachery pushes his way past the door but a moment after its latest frequenter absconds through it. Hair slicked down from the rain, though a black peacoat has, presumably kept the rest of him dry, at least.

He strolls into the establishment with his head held high and eye searching around the room for something… interesting? He doesn't look particularly like he wants to hide the fact that he's giving the place a once-over, having to work just slightly harder to catch everything in his scan than most others— and when it washes over Isis, he only just very barely seems to pause to consider her presence.

No, he's on his way somewhere. He's heading, casually, to weave in between mismatched pieces of furniture until he finds a small set of stairs, and uses them to rise himself up. Only then does he face Isis, while sauntering somewhat dramatically to take his place center stage, arms crossed. "Hello, Jo."

“Oh dear,” is probably the first thing out of over dressed even in his button up and jeans. The black leather jacket he wears against the the brits mouth upon stepping into the establishment. Godfrey Wells pulls off a rather nice pair of designer shades, folding in the arms as he takes in the unique decor. When it had been suggested they all meet at the Cat’s Cradle… well… “I’m glad I took the time to get out of my work clothes.” The look of some of the patrons were somewhat sketchy and he can only hope he still has a car when he leaves. Still he looked a bit glimmers slightly with the beads of rain sitting on his shoulders.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize faces in the sparse crowd and he angles his way that direction, giving the unfamiliar and sketchy a wide berth. All eyed with distaste, until he reaches Zachery and Isis. “Hel-lo, lovelies.” There is a flash of white teeth in that smile. “Please tell me they don’t water down the whiskey here… or god forbid serve grog.” Sunglasses disappear into an inner pocket and is replaced by an actual cell phone. Somewhere on it is probably printed the words: Property of Yamagato.

One look at the phone and groomed brows furrow a bit. “‘Cause I for one need a drink,” he comments with a sigh and started to tappity tap fingers across the slick surface. “Preferably with a high alcohol content,” is added as a bland afterthought.

Spencer Greaves is looking considerably more composed overall than he had at that fateful congregation at the Times Square Building, though no less dapper. And instead of being present with Garza before the arrival of everyone else, as had been required of him in his role as head of security, it is now apparently (and appropriately) his turn to be fashionably late.

The Brummie leans his way through the door of the establishment briskly but offhandedly, shedding a double-breasted peacoat that is slick with raindrops once he is suitably standing in place inside. In place of the smartly tailored suit from that evening, he is wearing a black turtleneck sweater that follows his trim musculature, cutting a tall and dark silhouette who gives an easy, lopsided grin to his colleagues as he draws towards where they are informally gathered.

"Getting on all right, you lot?" Even as he says this, letting the thickly accented words linger in the air above what background noise there happens to be in the large room, he casts a knowing sort of approval towards Godfrey in particular. Not a bad topic to start off with, that, and he raises an eyebrow slightly in the direction of Isis for an answer, judging the state of what hodgepodge surroundings he can see as he does so.

While the three British men newly arrived stand out in stark, dashing contrast to the eclectic interior of the Cat's Cradle, Isis fits the motif perfectly. The redhead wears a sleeveless black hoodie, revealing an intricate tattoo embracing her right shoulder. Her skinny jeans are split and frayed, revealing alabaster flesh every few inches, before they end up tucked into knee-high, polished, combat boots. Her hair is blown out fashionably, but shimmering gold shadow is paired with thick, sweep cat’s eye liner over dark lashes.

First to arrive and demand her attention, she considers Zachery from her place on the other side of the bar. "Doctor," she replies in a tone that mimics the man's, but ends on a tauntingly unphased smile. For whatever reason, she does not fear this one. Godfrey and the judgmental cast to his gaze, however, wipe that foolhardy expression away in quick order. "It's charm is more than skin deep," the bartender replies more protective than one might expect of the newly hired woman. Isis fishes up two old fashioned glasses and reveals a rare bit of grace in the way she moves around behind the counter to serve up three fingers of stiff whiskey in each. She slides the glasses out. "The charm is in the lifeblood," she manages a ghost of a smile and nods to the glass as she elaborates, "The drinks and the people."

As Spencer arrives, the short redhead provides another filled glass. "No one's fainted or vomited yet," she notes in an agreeable way, but seems to grow more rigid under the newest arrivals attention. She clears her throat after a brief moment and turns her hands over, palms up, in the general direction of the men. "Glad you guys could make it." She leans forward, resting her forearms on the counter.

The fact that Isis does not fear Zachery has doubtlessly been noticed. And he doesn't particularly seem to be trying to scare anyone, using his dramatic act of literally taking to the stage to get a good look at each arrival as they enter, offering each of them an almost polite smile, too bright and practiced and of dubious sincerity.

After he's done with that, he saunters slowly forward again, and leans down to sit himself down on the edge of the stage, legs dangling off, spine straight. Look a that good posture, when he wants to have it. "It's got a certain charm, this place. Like a…" He lets his one eye scan around the room, chin lifting. "Like a poorly upholstered stray dog."

Unlike last time these four were in the same room, there is no taped down patch on his left eye. Whatever injury was underneath it seems to have healed - though, notably, a pupil and iris seem to be missing on the milky white acrylic now taking up that eye socket.

Though his arrival is belated, there is one last straggler on the way in — a tall, slim, dark-haired man who scans the crowd and immediately zeroes in on Spencer, then starts making a beeline for the Brummie. Not unused to navigating crowds, Nikola ends up at his partner's side in no time, sparing a short glance at the other gathered folks before leaning in to kiss the man on the cheek. "The bloody car was expensive," he mutters. Though the slang is British the accent is decidedly not, but anyone who has spent time with this newcomer wouldn't be surprised by that.

Unzipping his grey raincoat, the Serb turns his gaze back onto the rest of the group and offers a small smile. "Are we drinking?" Clearly, the answer is yes. "Get me a double of whatever they're having, please." It is, after all, a dreary sort of day. Getting liquored up wouldn't be the worst idea in the world.

Looking up from what he’s doing, Godfrey offers Spencer a grin, “Spencer,” he calls out in greeting, his own appraisal given of the man’s clothing. “And I see I am no longer the most overdressed, bravo,” he teases, before turning to the phone again and completing what he is doing on his phone.

The phone is finally lowered and the glass of whiskey studied with some scepticism. Godfrey brushes a thumb across a smudge on the slick surface before picking it up for a… hesitant test sip. After taking a moment to savor the taste, he gives a small nod. Approval. Then the glass is lifted to Isis, with an incline of his head in thanks. “Looks like there is a redeeming quality.” For the establishment at least. “Now as long as I don’t need a tetanus shot at the end of the night, we’ll call it a win.” It still wasn’t comparable to City Slickers in his mind.

A small surprised arch of an eyebrow is given to Godfrey as Spencer looks down at the rather nondescript sweater he is wearing, then back up at Godfrey. "This? You havin' a laugh, mate?" he questions in an easy tone, giving the monocolored fabric a small pinch. He is about to make a quip when he is interrupted by Nikola's arrival and the little ~kiss~ planted on his cheek, which he turns momentarily to reciprocate, stepping aside so that his partner will have more room to stand next to him.

As the others are putting in their own orders for drinks, he taps his pointer fingers together in front of himself as he makes a consideration based on their words. "Surprise me," he says to Isis, transferring his lightly yet somehow intensely quizzical expression over to her. "With something nice. I heard a rumor you've got some of the good stuff hiding back there, let's have it proper then."

They’ve bothered to drive all the way out to the Safe Zone, so they may as well make the best of the occasion while here.

The redhead behind the bar stills like a wary, curious feline as the newest arrival cuts a line across the establishment and straight towards their little, drinking clique. This needs to be a new television show: Four Dubious Brits and a Weirdy. Isis's smile coils up to the right and she finds herself chuckling before realizing no one else is in on the silent thought-joke. She clears her throat and nods to Godfrey. "Not bad, right? Well, avoid the bathroom and I think we can avoid the tetanus chaser," she quips back, alto tones friendly and easier now - she's behind the bar, in her element.

A quick glance is given to Spender and Nikola before her amusement is allowed to deepen. With the request of a "surprise" in order she drops out of sight. A hand comes up, setting down a martini glass full of ice to start chilling, another to set down vermouth and a fine gin. The redhead returns and sets to measuring and shaking. There's an art to this, one she doesn't get to indulge much. With the metallic vessel frosting in her grip, she casts a sideways glance towards Zachary. "Takes one to know one," she quips back oh-so-maturely on the matter of 'strays'.

Finally, Nikola's glass is emptied of the ice and the concoction is poured in, expertly measured to the brim with not a drop left wasted. She sets in two olives and slides it over with a popped brow. Even as she watches for the man's reaction, though, she addresses the drinking troupe as a whole. "How's everyone holding up?" It sounds a simple question, but the weight of her honey-alto tones is clear: Got our assignments - anyone freaking the fuck out?

As if on cue, Zachery's arms raise up at his sides as he exclaims cheerily from his spot on the edge of the stage, "I've been awake for three days!"

… Honestly, it's a little more escaped laughter than it is speech. And he certainly looks like he's speaking the truth, arms dropping back down to his sides with a heavy slump of his shoulders. He may not be having the absolute best week, but at least he showed up, right? He's still watching, too, which apparently includes very openly staring at Nikola and Spencer as they've reunited. Gathering information will likely be the only thing this newcomer manages to get done today, if it even sticks.

But Isis wins his attention back all too easily, and one of his arms goes right back up, a little too enthusiastically, so he can crook a finger in her direction while he cracks an unstable grin to go with it. "Do us a favour, bring me a drink."

While it would be inaccurate to accuse Nikola of being anything but picky about his alcohol consumption, this thing that Isis has made seems to pass whatever set of criteria he holds dear. "Thank you." He shoots her a quick, appreciative smile before reaching forward for the glass as he steps in properly beside Spencer, claiming his patch of bar for the time being. He's markedly relaxed, at least apart from his annoyance about the cost of transportation, and he props up his free elbow against the bar top to support his weight in an easy lean.

Having no immediate response of his own to the question that was posed, the Serb instead focuses on Zachery and lets his brows creep up in what just might be mild disapproval. "You look like shit," is the forthcoming astute observation. "Perhaps you should get some rest." Of course, Nikola does not look like shit — and nor does his partner. Their lives are a little more on the pampered side than what most people in the Safe Zone experience.

Spencer’s comment gets a small bark of laughter, “No, just having a drink… mate.” Despite the accent, the word ‘mate’ seems awkward on his tongue. “But you do have to admit, we stand out a bit in this crowd.” He turns and motions to the sparse crowd with his drink in hand. Not that Godfrey really minds standing out.

Of course, that brings Zachery into his focus and his declaration. “Three days? Quite impressive that” He seems a touch disbelieving. “What are you on?”
While he seem disapproving, he suddenly breaks into a wicked grin. “And where do I get some of that? It’d be useful.” He glances to the others and adds for context. “I have a week — actually a month — from hell comin’ up at work and,” he picks up his phone and waves it, “I have to do my homework as well, don’t I?”

He gives his phone a brief furrow of his brows in irritation, before looking at Zachery again. “So I’ve got to ask.” Godfrey points to his own eye, clearly meaning the other man’s eye. “What the hell happened there? It’s a bit creepy.” Just a bit.

The small redhead stops what she is doing to turn her vivacious, hazel gaze on Zachery and his cringer-curled gesture, half her face obscured by the satin falls of blood-hued locks across her freckled complexion. It takes a long moment, but she finally blinks, and just as such turns back to the wooden counter. Isis takes her time to make sure all her… what word best befits acquaintances with which one shares a illegal, supremacist affiliation, anyway? … 'compatriots' still lingering at the bar area have suitable drinks. "I'm not sure how you can focus so much on your work at a time like this," Isis comments quietly and ambiguously enough to Godfrey as she starts setting up a lovely, stiff drink in another old fashioned glass.

The slender figure shares a brief, casual smile in the trio's direction before plucking up this last glass and cutting out from behind the bar, her boots beating out a steady rhythm that carries her towards Zachery. Isis holds the glass close she leans in, pressing the glass into Zachery's hand and chest a bit too hard as she drops her pale lips towards his ear.

"If you ever talk to me like that in front of others again," she whispers, her honey-alto tones taking on a gravely effect. "I'll be keeping your dick in my night stand."

The redhead straightens sharply enough that her long, garnet locks flip back. She reaches out and gently pats Zachery's scarred cheek. "Okay, sweetheart?" Her generally deep voice takes on a dangerously sweet, saccharine-high lilt. "Enjoy." She turns and aims to slip back towards the bar.

"All right, do you have a piece of paper and a pen? Note this down," Zachery says brightly in reply to his feat of - well - not sleeping, sitting up straight like a spotlight's just been cast on his little spot on the stage. This, despite Nikola's comment. Maybe in spite of. "Let's see, what am I on. Caffeine, caffeine, truly incredible amounts of existential horror at the ever looming future, and, lastly, more caffeine."

Once he sees Isis starting to move over to him, his attention is pulled to her, instead, even if he still has one of Godfrey's questions to answer: "As for the eye…" His grin widens and head tilts, "If you're ever driving a convertible, watch out for branches, yeah?"

Then, Zachery finally gets his drink. Apparently not expecting the force of the exchange, the liquid sloshes just enough to send a drop over the rim as he grabs hold. The whisper seems to hit him like an icepick, stripping some amount of mirth from his face as his expression freezes, eye glazing over for a few seconds.

But then… the grin returns, and with a vengeance, until it almost can't possibly stretch any further across his face. He looks all too content to watch Isis return to her post, slowly lifting his glass to lick an escaped drop of whisky off of his thumb.

Her question, rhetorical or not, goes unanswered in favour of another comment, though perhaps blissfully, a little quieter. "Bedside, huh? Interesting."

"Oh, naturally. Bringing a touch of class and all that," Spencer says with an cheeky lift of his brow to Godfrey as he allows his gaze to wander theatrically around him for a moment. To say that this place is shabby would probably be paying it a compliment, but it is not all bad; he has definitely seen dodgier. Hard to say. Final judgment will be rendered once he finally gets his drink.

It is more difficult to tell if the same can be described of the clientele. He does not bother to hide his interest in the gaping hole next to Zachery's working eye, although he is not quite so quick to give it the same vitriol that Nikola does. "Not my place to say, but you may want to try and catch a kip, when you can," he advises cordially after the exchange between Zach and Isis seems to be over. "I don't know what the big man has you doing, but running on three days without sleep while doing it—" He pulls an 'enhhh' sort of face, letting the grimace finishing his meaning for him.

A dark brow arches at Zachery spills his secrets, amusement twists his smile more to one side. Turning in his seat, he leans back against the bar, glass held loosely in one hand. “Existential horror? Really?” A sip is taken from his glass. “Sounds like a fun night. What’s her name?” It’s a joke, of course.

The phone near him chimes, pulling his focus. “And my darling woman… If I take time from schmoozing for Yamagato they might notice, wouldn’t they? I was put there for a reason by the man at the top. ” He gives a significant look to Isis. “Besides, my little assignment just happens to work in my favor.” The phone chimes again, quickly picked up by Godfrey, “Speaking of my assignment.” Brows lift a bit, “Hello… I think I’m in.”

Godfrey ignores them for a moment as he taps out a return message… However, as he types, a bit of a frown forms. “Marlowe makes this emoji thing look so easy.” He looks up at the others and asks. “What’s the emoji for telling someone they have a rather nice ass?”

Isis turns an incredulous look on Godfrey. “Do they have one that looks like a peach?” No. Seriously. Is that something that exists?

The redhead casts a last look over her shoulder at Zachery at the foolish question called after her. Porcelain features work up something that is part disapproving scowl and part toying grin in the way of a purse-lipped smirk. Isis doesn’t wink because, well… she can’t, but the effect is much the same. With a chortle she stands at the bar behind Godfrey’s left shoulder, an alcohol toting little angel of fiery locks in his backdrop.

Isis wags a finger at Zach’s story and gives Spencer’s assessment and agreeable nod, but then a double take has her hazel sights back on Godfrey. “Wait. Ass emoji? Whaaaa-?” She pushes to her tiptoes, but it doesn’t help her to spy over or around the taller man to see what he’s typing or receiving. “What kinda homework did you get?! This seems highly unfair.” She scowls playfully.

Emojis, to no one's surprise, are not Zachery's specialty. And yet, when at the mention of a kip he lets himself fall back with an audible flump of shoulders hitting stage - legs still dangling off the edge where he sat - he raises a hand right up in the air to say, "Yep. Peach'll do it. Trust me I have a " He pulls himself up on an elbow to have a sip from his whisky, " very annoying friend who can't help but indirectly teach me these things. Also something… about pickles and eggplants and drops of water? It's all a little bizarre."

Honestly, at this point he's sort of trailing off and he might as well just be talking to himself. After draining the glass of the last of its contents in one more go, he thuds back down into mostly horizontal mode again, empty glass settled on his chest. He'll just lay here and listen for a bit, thanks very much.

Overall, this entire conversation seems to cause Nikola no small sense of bemusement. Rather than interject further, at least for now, he preoccupies himself with the delightful task of imbibing alcohol. Down the hatch it goes, though he certainly doesn't take his eyes off of the rest of this group. They're too interesting, and he is perhaps a little too naturally suspicious of others, even co-conspirators. Perhaps this is especially true when said co-conspirators act like this bunch.

It's not very long before the martini glass returns to the bartop, empty.

Isis turns away from Godfrey and his clearly more interesting assignment. Clearly it’s the more ‘fun’ assignment seeing that includes some erotic interpretation of emojis. She shakes her head, but paired with her mischievous smile it is not the least bit convincing. With the habit that is seamless and natural, the redhead reaches for Nikola’s glass is taken up and wiggled with a raised brow - universal barspeak for ’How ‘bout another?

Her free hand draws a bar rag across the counter top, trying to look casually preoccupied as she blurts out - “So, um… anyone free for a roadtrip?” Smoooooth.

“What?!! Jealous that I have to whore myself out to get to a corpse?” Godfrey turns a bit to look at Isis, a groomed brow tips up. A little news there, he imagines. “Not just any, but one in a high tech, heavily guarded facility,” there is a pause and then, “where I work.”

After a moment of flipping through emojis, he brightens considerably. “Well, would you look at that. There is a peach emoji.” Godfrey gives Isis an impressed look, “Bravo.” Flipping through a few more his brows lift a little higher on his head. “Oh Look! Little flames. Could add that and make it hot ass.” He points to his screen, turning it a little towards her, looking at Isis again. “Or this smiley face with the tongue hanging out…” Eyes narrow at the message. “Wait. No. He might take that as I want to lick his ass.” He sends whatever message he’s typed out and tucks the phone away.

“Little early on for that, yet.” What? There is a good chance he’s joking. Maybe. Possibly.

The mention of a road trip, piques Godfrey’s interest, shifting his focus from the phone to the only woman in the room. “I’d have to look at my schedule, but I might be able to oblige if no one else can.”

"Sure, you could hitch a ride in Peach's car, or you could go in style," Zachery rasps from his position on the stage, setting his glass down on it before pushing himself sideways then off and onto the floor again in a sluggish movement that doesn't quite translate to the way he immediately straightens up again after.

The sleep deprivation might be heavy in his smug expression, still, but he knows how to strike a confident pose, palms up in an 'offer's on the table' shrug. "You ever been in a hearse? She's got real leather seats."

As Spencer sliiiiides his newly perfected drink over to himself so he can get started on it, he takes a small, appreciative sip from the full balloon glass while peeking roguishly over its top, a thick eyebrow just barely raised at Zachery. "A hearse? Isn't that for dead people to be in?" he comments in the mild but irony-laden tone of also asking is that meant to be a threat?

The one-eyebrow-raised expression seems equally suitable for responding to Godfrey, so that very same face is turned his way. "So, piece of cake job, then?," he says mostly-deadpan of the colorful description of whoring himself out for a corpse and the details of where this heist is supposed to take place.

"…Sounds like you've got this all down, Peaches." That’s clearly a jibe, but there's also a compliment meant in there. Somewhere.

A purse lipped smile in Godfrey’s direction clearly indicates a new favorite in the room. The redheaded bartender barely manages to contain her laughter. “Maybe a little jealous,” she teases, with no real conviction. The little woman appears to ponder something a moment, but ultimately just gives a shake of her head.

Previously without a ride - now two are offered. Her gaze flickers with a hint of anxiety between Godfrey and Zach now. “Oooo. Um…” Some may wonder if there’s really any contest here, but… “Actually, my first car was an old Jeep styled like a hearse.” Isis admits with a nostalgically fond smile. “So, if you’re still allowed to drive with a considerable lack of depth perception and all that - I’ll take that ride,” she teases with a laugh.

Turning back to the others, though, she re-adjusts her smile and her hair. “I just wanna say, if any of you guys need anything…” She waves a hand flippantly, clearly uncomfortable with all the nicey-nice. “You can call or text or… come by and get shit faced.” Isis makes a gesture towards the barstools. She finds her own glass then, and raises is slightly. “Here’s hoping luck isn’t going to be such a bitch.” The shot is emptied and slammed down atop the bar.

‘“A hearse? Really? How absolutely morid,” Godfrey look at them both like they are crazy. “At least, you’ll be prepared if someone kicks it.” He waves of her decision with flick of his fingers, “You loss, love. Enjoy One-eyed Willy and his death mobile.” Though he is no sore loser… of course, there was no real contest… he lifts his glass to Zachary in salute.

While sipping his whiskey, the cellphone in Godfrey’s pocket chimes. “Well, lets see what he has to say, shall we?” A smug smile touches his lips when he looks at the screen. “Well, seems the hot ass emjoi worked. He sent a blushing emoji.” The phone goes off again, almost immediately, and this time brows fly up on his head. “Oh my… seems I picked the right tech.”

Godfrey looks up at the others with a wicked smile. “Doesn’t take a genius to know what he means by an eggplant and a winky face.”

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