caveofsapphires | (no subject)

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WHO: Re-l Mayer (Masako Hart), open
WHAT: Sorting herself out
WHERE: Supply Depot
WHEN: April 21st
WARNINGS: None for now

Re-l - no, Masa, she must learn to think of herself by her new name - stretches her arms out stiffly. She's tired from carrying boxes, and certain now that her reflexes aren't quite as good at they used to be. It irritates her, but she pushes the concern aside. She has more on her mind than just her body.

She looks at the crates piled around her, reading the labels slowly. Oranges, apples, broccoli, some soy derivative that stands in for meat: the contents match their descriptions exactly, a fact Re-l finds oddly frustrating. She wants something not to fit more than she is willing to admit. She frowns, and unpleasant lines settle between her eyes.

This fretting is useless. Silence and patience were skills she honed in Romdeau, and she is determined to use them to their full advantage here. She will buy their lies, she will be Masa Hart, she will swear it was all a dream, and she will find the truth.

The shopfront for the Supply Depot is small and cramped, with low windows that let in a dull and grainy light. It offers no views to the outside world, but Re-l can feel the presence of the warehouses behind her like a cold shadow. They are forbidden, and that excites her curiosity. She considers trying to sneak off now, but she is supposed to be working, and who knows what kind of surveillance there is in this place.

Besides, she may glean something from the customers, if any ever arrive. Re-l tucks herself in behind the desk and folds her arms on the cold wood, letting her thoughts drift away from her. She wishes she had a diary, or a voice recorder of some kind, but her hands are empty. She is reduced to watching the dust motes dance, and to hoping for a distration, no matter how irritating.

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Baking required certain necessities. Necessities like actual goods and ingredients. And Gabriel was still in the process of pushing his luck. Sure, now he knew why it was a bad idea to go around talking too much about the Dreams, so he'd quit that habit ... mostly.

However, he was still in the process of seeing how far he could take the suppliers before they actually called him on not needing or not using what he ordered for the bakery. Well, 'not using' was a loose term--it was just that a good deal of what he ordered didn't always end up in or on baked goods. Either way, he was sort of getting to be a known face around the depot.

Which was why he threw open the doors and entered with a flourish. "Guess who's here!"

The opening door let in a shaft of bright light, and Re-l winced, covering her eyes with one hand. When the glare finally disappated she was left with a customer: a dark-haired man with a cunning smile. She folded her arms on the table and looked at him.

"Can I help you?" She glanced at the piled crates and wondered what on earth he was here for.

"Oh, a new face!" Gabriel clapped his hands and sauntered up to the desk to lean on it, grinning. "I can count the ways, if you want, but we might be here forever." Despite the flirtatious words his tone was cheerful and relaxed, not in the least bit serious on backing his statement up. For now, anyway. It had been a while, okay?

He fished his Sleeper ID out of a pocket and flourished it, the face turned toward the receptionist. "Sylvester Wilton, here to pick up a package for the bakery."

Re-l looked at him very coldly, and her mouth pulled down around the corners. Flirting made her uncomfortable, and discomfort mader her angry. She covered up her dislike by walking over to the racks of parcels and glancing among them, her heels clicking on the concrete floor with every step.

"Is this it? Steiber said someone might be in to collect it today." She held up a brown package, tied with string and tape. She didn't wait for a reply, but brought it back to the table.

"Is that everything?"

"That's it?" Gabriel asked, half bemused and half amused, sliding the package closer but not looking at the tag. It was about the right size for the extra sugar he'd ordered. "You're all business, aren't you? What, all this space and no one looking, and it didn't occur to throw a par-tay?"

He spread his arms to indicate the large room around them, giving a little wiggle.

Re-l's shoulder twitched, just slightly. She was very good at controlling herself, and that was the only indication of her instinctual response to boisterousness, ie kicking the person concerned. Her eyes remained calm and steady, her mouth compressed.

"I've been doing things my own way," she said. And then, because she had a streak of antagonism in her, she added, "why? Do you have a better plan?"

"There's a better plan than party?" Gabriel asked with mock horror, and went back to leaning on the desk, giving her a brisk beckoning motion. "Come on, then, lay it on me. How d'you get your fun around this morgue, if you're doing it your own way? Color me intrigued."

He was aware of her irritation, of course. Even though he'd once relied on souls to tell that for him, he still wasn't a slouch at reading the body language. The twitch and the thin line of her mouth kinda said it all.

Re-l grimaced and stood up as straight as she could, using his forward motion to emphasise her own height.

"Hmph. I have no time for inane conversation when there are a thousand mysteries waiting to be solved in this place." She folded her arms across her chest. "You can amuse yourself however you want, but I have more pertinent questions."

It had been a long time since Gabriel had reconciled himself with the fact that his meatsuit wasn't exactly tall. Not really short, but definitely not tall. So he only looked up at her from his position, eyebrows lifting, completely unconcerned with the difference. Hey, when you were an archangel you could look down on anybody, no matter how much taller than you they were.

"Ohh. That kind of party." He steepled his hands and gave her a slow, knowing smile. "You must be new. Ask me some of those questions, why don'tcha? I'll bet some of them match mine."

Re-l eyes sharpened. She hadn't been expecting anything from this irritating man, but information was always useful.

She fished out her diary and nosed to the back, turning through the pages until she found her list.

"This is in more or less order of importance, but some of the most crucial occured to me later," she said, by way of explanation. Holding the diary close to her face, she began to read. "One: what was the disaster? Two: if it was so cataclysmic, how did the world recover in such short order? Three: assuming for a moment that the story they fed us is true, where did the dreams come from and what was their purpose? Four: why have I not met anyone from my dreams? Statistical evidence suggests that I should have constructed personalities based on people I knew. Five: Why is so much of the cave off limits? What needs to be hidden from us? Six: Why are we not allowed to talk about the dreams? Seven: Why do we have no memories of our former lives?"

She snapped her diary closed and tucked it away quickly.

"Those are the questions I consider of paramount importance. I'm sure you can see why. Do you have anything to add?"

She'd actually written them down? She'd better hope no one got hold of that, especially for such elementary questions to be asking. Then again, she didn't seem the type to let people close enough to steal anything, which was something in her favor.

"One or two," he said with a shrug, tapping the countertop and scanning the walls near the ceiling. There was no chance this place wasn't under surveillance, really. He snapped his fingers at her. "Hand me something and I'll add them to the list for you."

They might guess what he was going to write, but they weren't going to know, and if this chick was as closed as she seemed to be he could probably trust she wouldn't let his notes out of her sight.

Re-l bit her lip, and her hands curled tightly around her diary, but after a moment's hesitation she pushed it across the desk.

"If you turn the page I will hurt you," she said, her voice low and steady.

Her hands tapped out an impatient rythym on her arm, and she tried to disguise by looking away, her eyeshadow bright in the half darkness.

"Is that a promise?" Gabriel asked, grinning as he flipped the diary open to exactly the page to which she'd had it open and reached for the pen on the desk. His handwriting was surprisingly archaic and ... well, beautiful. You could only assume he'd taken calligraphy lessons and done exceedingly well at them.

Assuming the story they fed us is false: who's behind it all, the Caretaker or someone higher up the food-chain? What's their ultimate motive? How did they manage to achieve what they did with so many various types of ~~beings~~ people from so many different universes? Why would they bother with such an elaborate plot, seeing as they had forewarning? What happened to their own people if they needed us?

While we're at it, where the Hell is this world?

He clicked the pen off and slid it over to her again, innocence in his expression.

Re-l grabbed her diary with slightly more energy than was strictly necessary. She read the new questions quickly and nodded, flipping the diary shut and tucking it away in her waistband, out of sight. Unless you knew it was there, it was almost impossible to see.

"Makes sense. Have you got everything you need?" she said, hoping that he would infer we probably shouldn't be seen talking too long from her words. She couldn't say why, but his caution made her paranoid.

"Well, now, that's a loaded question," Gabriel said with a smirk, fingers ratta-tatting on the counter. "And depends entirely on what else you were offering."

So it wasn't wise to get caught chatting about their dreams and the Cave as a conspiracy. No one could possibly blame him for flirting with a pretty woman.

Just for a moment he reminded her of someone, and she wasn't sure who. Vincent? Ergo? She blinked at him a little, her confusion tucked away in her own head. Flirting she knew by concept and because others had tried it on her. She had no experience with the feeling of it.

"We sell many kinds of goods, but I don't think it's my job to offer any of them. You should talk to my manager." Her tone was cold and business-like, and very efficiently avoided having to deal with the messiness of emotion.

"I'm sure I'll see you around."

She was definitely an ice queen. It was amusing. A challenge! Brilliant! "Oh, you will," he assured her, finally straightening up and picking up his package. He waved it a little, grinning. "The bakery gets regular deliveries, you know. Toodles."

Without giving her much of a chance to respond, or perhaps far too much time to linger on the idea of him being a regular sight, he spun on his heel and strolled toward the door.

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