Maladicta von Borogravia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deshabille) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-06-05 11:21 pm
deshabille) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-06-05 11:21 pm
smile like you mean it;
WHO: Mal & OPEN.
WHAT: Mal gets Under Pressure up and running, more or less.
WHERE: Under Pressure Cafe, middle ring.
WHEN: Afternoons & evenings of June 5-9 (Tuesday-Saturday).
-
There was very little in life, Mal reflected, her eyes narrowing over the lip of her mug, that was more frustrating and discomfiting than not knowing.
Knowledge was a powerful thing, of course, she'd always known that. Lack of knowledge was a weakness. Knowledge let one know when friends would stay and when they'd go, gave one leverage over one's enemies, and made odd surroundings and odder circumstances understandable. She might have been content to simply live this life, whatever it was meant to be, if she'd had any information to go on. However . . .
Well, she'd looked for days and days. She'd been disciplined. She'd found a map, made the outer ring into a grid as best she could - Polly would have been proud, although Jackrum might have been a touch disappointed in the conventionality of it. She'd inspected every shop - if by 'inspected' one meant 'broken into', which she did - and found them stocked with food with vague labels and no address.
So now she was bored again, and the one obvious outlet for her boredom was the damn cafe she was supposed to be running. Or, oh, excuse her, staffing. It was quite a funny joke. She was meant to live the life she'd been told in a city devoid of life or context. Anselmo's nonsense notwithstanding, she would be forced to rewrite their story no matter what she did, even had she very desperately wanted to conform to it.
The concept of the store was intriguing, if entirely unfamiliar, and it was easy enough to tidy everything up and get it open. Finding supplies wasn't a problem, although she would have to go back to the Cave every once in a while to restock, a prospect she was not much relishing. And there were handy little instructions on how to make a latte, although why anyone would want one she had no idea. Dairy had never been her liquid of choice, really.
She propped the doors open and sat behind the counter with an e-reader and a cup of (black, thank you) coffee, tapping her fingers against the side of the espresso machine. Hopefully someone would come in and entertain her, or she might have to go mad just to make things interesting around here.
WHAT: Mal gets Under Pressure up and running, more or less.
WHERE: Under Pressure Cafe, middle ring.
WHEN: Afternoons & evenings of June 5-9 (Tuesday-Saturday).
-
There was very little in life, Mal reflected, her eyes narrowing over the lip of her mug, that was more frustrating and discomfiting than not knowing.
Knowledge was a powerful thing, of course, she'd always known that. Lack of knowledge was a weakness. Knowledge let one know when friends would stay and when they'd go, gave one leverage over one's enemies, and made odd surroundings and odder circumstances understandable. She might have been content to simply live this life, whatever it was meant to be, if she'd had any information to go on. However . . .
Well, she'd looked for days and days. She'd been disciplined. She'd found a map, made the outer ring into a grid as best she could - Polly would have been proud, although Jackrum might have been a touch disappointed in the conventionality of it. She'd inspected every shop - if by 'inspected' one meant 'broken into', which she did - and found them stocked with food with vague labels and no address.
So now she was bored again, and the one obvious outlet for her boredom was the damn cafe she was supposed to be running. Or, oh, excuse her, staffing. It was quite a funny joke. She was meant to live the life she'd been told in a city devoid of life or context. Anselmo's nonsense notwithstanding, she would be forced to rewrite their story no matter what she did, even had she very desperately wanted to conform to it.
The concept of the store was intriguing, if entirely unfamiliar, and it was easy enough to tidy everything up and get it open. Finding supplies wasn't a problem, although she would have to go back to the Cave every once in a while to restock, a prospect she was not much relishing. And there were handy little instructions on how to make a latte, although why anyone would want one she had no idea. Dairy had never been her liquid of choice, really.
She propped the doors open and sat behind the counter with an e-reader and a cup of (black, thank you) coffee, tapping her fingers against the side of the espresso machine. Hopefully someone would come in and entertain her, or she might have to go mad just to make things interesting around here.
can be any day i guess?
Balthazar knew knowledge was the best way keep one's self alive. So, upon coming to live in this place, the first thing he had wanted to do was learn all he could. Which he did, he supposed, between the drinking and the episodes of depression. Knowing that there was little to find out about this place besides the obvious only made his depression, resentment, anger even worse. After that night with Gabriel, pretty much the closest he would ever come to an intervention, he had had Words with himself. Words that eventually had lead him to doing what he could to stay sane: record and learn.
His "epic quest" had lead him into the middle ring that day, wanting to gain more insight about it when he mostly stuck close to his apartment in the outer ring. It was completely coincidental that he had stumbled upon Mal's shop, and what the hell, he figured, it wasn't like he was doing anything else.
"Someone actually works in this City? I thought it was for sure a ghost-town."
.... thursday?? idk
What had his name been? She'd filed him away under 'clever' and then 'sharp' and then added an additional 'wings? drunk!' after the second . . . whatever that had been. She'd avoided it. There really hadn't been anything to say.
He did seem to know people, though, which was interesting. He knew that one who'd figured her out so quickly - Sylvester. And he was -
She snapped her fingers. "Alexander," she said quietly, and then grinned a grin that was all teeth, putting down the e-reader and leaning on the counter. "I'm doing my civic duty. We're going to have to have an economy eventually, and when we do I'll be there. Waiting. Entrepreneurial."
SURE why the hell not
"I'm afraid you might be waiting for your big break in the world of small business for some time, if the state of things now is anything to go by. As far as I know, the only inhabited businesses are a bar, a bakery stand, and, well, here." He observed his surroundings with something akin to interest, although he was much more interested in getting to know her. People were easier to get information out of than four walls. "Anyway, you've caught me off guard. I don't think I know your name."
no subject
Following his gaze, she wrinkled her nose at the fairly unsavory art on the walls and sipped her coffee, which was getting unpleasantly cold. She did like catching people off guard. It was a bit of a character flaw, although she'd never call it that. "Mal. Or Milena. But please don't call me Milena, honestly, it's so unpleasantly . . . " She bit back 'feminine' and settled on, "Foreign. Can I get you anything, by the way? Caveat emptor, these are the first sandwiches I've made and I couldn't begin to explain what 'peanut butter' is or why it's meant to go on bread."
no subject
"Mal." It was name and just that. Names had meaning where he came from; they were the key to power with angels and demons. Mal, though, simply rolled off his tongue, albeit pleasantly, but it didn't mean anything. Not to him, at least. Not yet. "All of that wit and you haven't the slightest what peanut butter is?" He wasn't smirking. Not on the outside, anyway.
no subject
Nothing was ever that simple, of course. She wasn't stupid. Besides, cutting the head off of things in general was a touchy subject, given how many times people had tried to do it to her (whatever happened to a good old-fashioned stake in the heart?). Still, sometimes she wondered what might have happened if they'd known who Prince Heinrich had been and killed him instead of kicking him in the -
And that was why Polly was the ideas woman. Because that would have ended in so much b-word.
Still, it was an idea that deserved to be fleshed out. She might suggest it to Re-l in the future. Finding the Caretaker would be an interesting step for someone other than her to take.
Dumping out the old cup of coffee, she poured another, wrapped cold fingers around the hot curve of the mug. "I wouldn't commend me much, myself. I was bored out of my mind. This isn't helping as much as I'd expected; it was already very nearly set up when I got here. I only killed four hours tops."
She did cock her head slightly at the frankly unprecedented recognition of her cleverness. "Thank you for noticing," she said, not bothering to conceal a quick smile. "And yes, well, I found a jar of it with a picture of a sandwich on the front, so why not. What is a peanut?"
no subject
Balthazar walked towards and leaned himself on the counter, taking a moment to relax after all the walking he had done. The coffee smelled good, thankfully, and he suddenly have a craving for some. "It's a nut. Well, it's two nuts that come in an easily breakable shell. Hu--ah--people grind them up and make them into what you see in the jar. I've only had it once, myself." He had tried a lot of food since he had come to Earth, although he tended to lean more towards sweets than anything else. Anything decadent to go with his high-class liquors. "By the by, would you be a dear and pour me a cup of coffee? It smells grand."
no subject
"That more or less makes sense. Although it doesn't resemble peas in any way as far as I can tell." It was too sticky, too, worse than - well, worse than lots of things, she'd leave it at that.
Turning to the pot behind her, she let her fingers drift over the shelf above her head and grabbed a cup without looking. With a quick press of the lever above the spigot, she filled it up nearly all the way while glancing over her shoulder at Balthazar. "You've saved me," she told him seriously, sliding it across the counter at him. "I was going to drink it all."
no subject
He took the cup with some courteous words and sipped from it. Usually he'd take his with milk, creme, something to take the edge off the bitter flavor, but he supposed this was a lot better than most things he had had lately. "So," he began, fingers clasped around the cup to revel in its warmth. "Is there any other everyday items scattered around here that you are unsure of? Or maybe other things you're curious about?" It was about as close to a, 'hey, you look like all your neurons are firing, let's share information,' suggestion as he was going to get.
no subject
Even the regiment had been lighthearted enough. Then again, they hadn't seen a great deal of combat, at least not in the beginning, and she had the benefit of largely being able to subdue people without poking big messy holes in them. Business had, therefore, consisted of bothering Polly and teasing recruits until they fell into line. All of the unpleasant political stuff was Polly's domain.
Mimicking his actions unconsciously - wrapping her hands around the sides of the ceramic cup - Mal hooked her ankle around the chair she'd brought behind the counter and pulled it closer, hopping up on it without spilling a drop. "Besides peanut butter, you mean?" she asked, giving herself time to think. That was an interesting question. She supposed he might be a spy of some sort, but she doubted it. None of the Workers she'd met had seemed to have half a brain. It was likely worth the risk, she decided.
"The lights are interesting." She put the mug down and leaned over to flick the nearby switch off and on, chair teetering on two legs before settling back to four. Then she picked up the mug again and gave a sharp smile. "And the toilets. I'm in a wonderland, really, it's been delightful."
The cryogenics chamber had been new, but not as new. It reminded her a bit of Igorina. This was not necessarily a good thing.
no subject
"I find the people much more interesting, though. Machines never held my attention for very long. After all, it was the Caretaker who took so good care of us, right?" Not that he believed that for one second. It might not have shown in his voice, but his facial expression was almost one of pure distaste.
no subject
She smirked at his comment about the Caretaker. "I really felt as though my own mother was watching over me when we were in the Cave," she said dryly, which was true, but her mother was bloodthirsty, ba-dum-tsch. "She never let us leave the house, either. As far as people in general, though, I haven't met that many, although I have gotten violently attacked once, which certainly was interesting."