Caleb
Someone was having an adoption event at the 16th street mall. It was three shops down from a starbucks in front of a place that looked like it used to be an army recruiting station that was turned into a high end sandwich shop. It was flanked by a book store and a place that sold bikinis all year 'round.
Or, at least, Caleb was pretty sure those were bikinis. He wasn't completely familiar with the ins and outs of women's underwear but, frankly, very few people understood the nuance of fancy undergarments. His creator had never bothered to actually explain what the purpose of a bra was in that he would never actually have to wear one and the likelihood of encountering one within his lifetime was remarkably slim. So! No time to really think about underthings and, instead, it was time for people to either loiter or avoid the hoard of cocker spaniels and chihuahuas and pit mixes that were there.
The place smelled like dog food and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee as wave after wave of people toting pumpkin spiced everything came through. The pedestrian traffic was slowing down and then speeding up and going with their own little flow of the universe.
He'd picked up his things at the PO box, held a stack of applications in hand and stood, awkward, at the edge of the mass of barking, wiggly, dog-smelling dog things there.
Olive
[awareness, ho!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )
Olive
Across the street from the pet salon is a clock, towering atop its verdigris pole, and beneath the clock is a flimsy metal table with flimsy metal chairs. At this table sits a girl. More about the girl and less about the clock.
She, like so many of the youths trawling the place as they kill time between brunch and going out, is dressed in a manner that either oozes effortless cool or homelessness depending upon the age and temperament of the observer. Knee-high shit-kicker boots and striped board shorts that look like men's boxers from a distance, a plaid shirt underneath an old leather jacket and braids for days. Eyes behind sunglasses in spite of the cloudiness of the afternoon. She's reading a battered paperback when along comes the boy from the bookstore.
At least, it feels like him. Hard to pinpoint which one is him when there are so many dogs and coffee drinks around but Olive kicks her boots off the opposite chair and pockets her paperback and moseys across the street to investigate anyway.
Caleb
[Awareness?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Caleb
He's got an application from that bookstore. It's printed out on marbled paper because the staff had just run out of copy paper when they had a massive staff turnover and really never ran out of copies. Two years later, they were down to the green marbling instead of the creme paper.
He's got a beat up, olive-drab jacket. Tennis shoes that have walked quite a ways but at least the jeans and the polo are clean. He's wearing a belt. He's wearing glasses. He looks like a chemical engineering major- pleasant but awkward and probably a bit like a nerd but not in the way that was chic. No, he looked more like an employee at Best Buy than someone who was chic.
But something does catch his attention and he's trying to shrug the backpack off his shoulders and put the papers away. Caleb begins meandering in the direction that he feels something. Heart not pounding in naticipation but, instead, approaching with the steady calmness that comes from the area around them. He finally manages to get the backpack off and put the papers away.
Olive
With the boots' help, the young woman is boosted up to average height. Without them she would stand as tall as the average American eighth grader. It's no wonder she has chosen thick-soled shoes for today's outing. As calm as the aura surrounding her, she still carries herself like she would not hesitate to throw a fist if the throwing were necessary.
It is not necessary now, and she seems like the sort of person who doesn't give a shit about much outside of now.
She moseys up alongside Caleb and cranes her neck, stands on tiptoe, to get a load of what's got so many people crowding the dog salon.
"That is the smallest dog I've ever seen in my life," she says as she returns her heels to the pavement.
Nick
There's a sucker born every minute, or so they say.
One sucker has found the only three-legged pit bull mix at the entire adoption event of among the horde of unwanted dogs and the scattering of senior cats and kittens. The dog, tan and black brindle, a floppy-eared obvious coward, keeps trying to lick his chin.
He's dressed in a light blue T-shirt and chinos the color of a stormcloud and nearby there is a cream and brown heavy perl knit sweater that he set aside so as not to get dog hair all over it. He is crouched next to the dog with his arm around it, and is in the process of taking a picture with his phone. He does not think the picture will melt his wife's heart as she has made her dislike of pets clear, but one can hope.
Caleb
"Do you think they're naturally that small? Or did someone grow them specifically to be that small?" he looks from Olive, who is small in her own right but not terribly so, to the dog in question. There's a long haired chihuahua who looks to be about the size of a volleyball that seems pretty damned tiny.
Caleb dumps his backpack down beside him, standing a rather unimpressive five feet eight inches tall- he's shorter than the average american male, but not by much. He reaches down to pick it up and inspect more carefully, only to realize-
"... how do I pick this up?"
Olive
"I think you're supposed to let it smell your hand first, so it knows you're not here to start a fight."
Spoken like an individual with little to no experience with domesticated animals. Her voice is mellow, the sort of deadpan typically heard in potheads and retail workers, and she does not seem like a retail worker. Pothead, then. Or millennial. That word has become so loaded.
As she stands off to the side, she finds her attention tugged towards the fellow in the blue shirt. One corner of her mouth tugs in amusement.
Caleb
He nods like what she's saying makes perfect sense. Yes, you do not want to start a fight with the small animals. They're cute, and he has a definite desire to not anger the tiny adorable thing that he is looking at. His attention moves down the way to the man in the blue shirt and-
"Oh, hey Nick! Have you seen this?"
He looks at the pit bull, notices the three legs, "huh, that one's different."
Nick
The sound of his name, and spoken by an unfamiliar voice, jerks his gaze up and away from his phone. Whatever he'd been reading there had brought a crinkle to the skin around the corners of his eyes, some mixture of amusement and rue.
His eyes meet Caleb's, and his smile is slow to fade because that's the sort of man he is, and seconds later it re-emerges. "Oh, hey, Caleb," he says, with only a second's hesitation before he speaks the man's name. The diversion is all the pit bull needs in order to seize upon the chance to lick his chin, and the eye on that side squinches shut and he is quick to close his mouth.
He pats the dog's head, gently pulling it away from his face. "I know," he says, with obvious enthusiasm for the dog's differences. "He seems like a good dog." A glance to Olive. "Who's your friend?"
Olive
That one corner sneaks its buddy in and the two of them create a full-fledged grin at the phrasing of the question. Though they just met five seconds ago she does not correct him. She lifts her eyebrows and looks over to the young man whose name she does not yet know.
As much fun as playing with puppies is, she seems to be having just as much fun watching other people play with the puppies.
"Olive," she says with the ease of passing a joint, then lifts a hand to wave. "Nice to meet you... Nick?"
Caleb
"Are you adopting a dog?" he asks Nick
He seems to log this away for future reference- that this woman is named Olive and some dogs have three legs. He wonders what else has three legs, or if three legged dogs were just uncommon, kind of like people with green eyes.
"Oh! I'm Caleb, by the way," he offers a hand, confident like he had finally figured out this handshake thing.
Nick
"Nick," he confirms, when Olive asks his name. He reaches up and strokes the dog's broad head, which seems to go a ways toward keeping it from targeting his chin. "Nice to meet you, Olive."
He watches the two of them shake hands, and there is a little furrow that appears, momentarily, at his brows: apparently they too have just met. Caleb seems to be meeting a lot of new people. Caleb seems like he's new in town, in fact.
"I'd like to adopt a dog, but I don't think my wife would go for it," he says, with a pat on the animal's muscular shoulder. "Eventually I'll wear her down."
Margot
[May as well join the club, aware + percep]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Olive
And shake they do, Olive's grin suppressing itself, sublimating into a close-lipped smile that even the sunglasses do nothing to dampen. Her grip is firm, her skin dry and warm, the rings on her fingers cool. Her fingernails are all painted black, but the polish is chipping.
"Hey hey," she says in receipt of Caleb's name, and when the handshake is over she pockets both hands.
To the matter of Nick's wife and her resistance:
"What's she got against dogs?"
Margot
Margot wasn't here for an adoption event, Margot was here for a pair of new shoes and a sweater that wasn't a hoodie from a university she was sitting it out from this semester (probably indefinitely, if she were to be honest with herself). When she'd first noticed the adoption event she already had her bounty jammed into a nylon tote bag carried over one shoulder; on the way out.
She bore no interest in stopping for dogs, but could not deny the intangible wall of disturbance into which she'd suddenly walked, nor the impression and pulls-prickles-tingles-alarms in some joined place between gut-heart-brain that it caused. Her step didn't faltered but she slowed to a stop like a car whose engine suddenly cut while going uphill. Her head turned toward the pop-up crates and table for impulse dog adoptions, and it didn't take long at all to find the people responsible for the strange... otherworldliness, almost, that hung here. Eyebrows hopped up when she recognized two faces in particular, hunkered down some in cautious curiosity when realizing the third person was a total stranger.
One hand on her tote bag, the other raised to gesture a small greeting as she approached.
"Hey." Graceful as a bullfrog in her social execution, Margot looked between the three before settling upon Caleb. "You're making friends fast," she observed, and it was hard to tell exactly how she felt about that.
Caleb
He's not too bad at this hand shaking thing. his hands are warm, once up, then down, then up and down one more time before letting go and drawing his attention back to the chihuahua. He observes it for a moment before putting his hand in. He concludes that it is safe to pick the dog up and does so.
The chihuahua vibrates, as chihuahuas are want to do, and he holds the dog much like he's holding a very large, very delicate eggplant. Both hands and a little confused.
Margot comes by and he smiles, bright and decidedly less confused. He gestures with the dog at the people, "That's Olive aaaand that's Nick and... this is a tiny dog."
Nods. Definite. He's covered all of his bases.
Nick
There is obvious pleasure, a warmth that suffuses Nick's face when he sees Margot pass into the area. If it is also tinged with surprise, well, one never does quite get used to their kind's tendency to attract like to like when in public, which is the same no matter which city one lives in.
He straightens, though he keeps a hand on the dog's head. It presses in against one of his legs, leans hard. "Hi, Margot," he says.
Then, to Olive, "I don't think she has anything against them, exactly. She just doesn't get the warm fuzzy feeling most people get around pets." And a shrug, here: some people are just that way. "I've never had a pet and I've always kind of wanted one, though."
Olive
"It looks like the feeling's mutual," she says, of the three-legged mutt seeking to siphon what affection it can from him.
As strange as the confluence of bodies in a public space can be, Olive seems unfazed by it. But then, Olive does not seem fazed by anything. She's swaying back and forth, like her bones prefer dancing to stillness, but her feet are planted and her attention is firm.
"Margot... is that with or without a T?"
Margot
Caleb and Nick both appeared pretty pleased to see her, and where Margot's anxious general demeanor relaxed back some in response. She was young and nervous, couldn't be older than twenty, and was perhaps five feet tall if you gave or took an inch. She was dressed in brown boots that laced up the ankles but didn't have terribly thick soles to offer up lift. She wore a red-and-white checkered tunic of a dress with a chunky brown wool cardigan overtop. Dark brown hair was worn down to her shoulders, and when she tucked it back behind her right ear it showed a glimmer of ruby streaked from the temples.
"That is a tiny dog," Margot agreed, and lifted a hand to hold a couple fingers out in front of the small canine's nose to smell. She glanced over to Olive next and blinked big hazel eyes once before answering. "With. Hi Olive, nice to meet you."
And, finally, she glanced to Nick's face and down his arm to the dog whose head he'd been touching since she had spied him. "She was nice enough to not cook Yorick."
Nick
"Maybe someone else will see him being friendly and they'll want him," Nick says, with a glance down at the dog. There is a little furrow to his brows here: he does genuinely hope the animal finds a home, it would seem.
"She threatened to use him in some kind of ritual once," Nick says, and his voice is touched with humor as he glances over to Margot. Then, to Olive, "I haven't seen you around before. Did you get in recently?"
Olive
"Yeah," she says. "From Vegas. I haven't seen you around before either."
A light joke. She stops her swaying in favor of taking a few steps forward, crouching down to let the three-legged dog sniff the back of her hand.
"If I said I was looking for a place to crash, what would you guys say?"
Margot
The chihuahua trembled and sniffed at her fingertips then gave them a small nervous couple of licks. Margot smiled and tipped her head a little as she moved her fingers to rub behind the little guy's ears instead. Pen supposedly made empty threats about using the pet rabbit in a ritual, but Margot knew better than to believe that any such comments to be too entirely sincere. Sure, Pen probably would use a rabbit in a ritual, but not a friend's pet.
When Olive commented on needing a place to crash it drew the little bloodwitch's attention. She looked at the woman a little more carefully now, her boots and jacket and hair and face. There was an impression of a preacher, almost. She gave the impression of someone who would guide an exodus across a broad body of water on faith and calm words.
What would she say? Margot opened her mouth but closed it straight away. She wasn't certain about sharing any acknowledgement of the chantry with someone she met five minutes ago based on a resonance.
Finally: "I'd ask who you knew."
Caleb
"Why wouldn't somebody want him?" brows knit together, and he looks at Nick like... like something. It's a complicated emotion, the likes of which Caleb can't seem to adequately articulate for himself. Someone may not want the dog in question- the one with the three legs. THe one who was affectionate but couldn't go home with Nick because, well, reasons.
He's still holding the chihuahua, who seemed to be pretty chill once he's concluded nobody is going to drop him but is still set on vibrate because it's a chihuauha and that is just their natural state- they're either trembling or they're sleeping.
"Don't sleep at the botanical gardens," he tells Olive, "I've been informed that you are not allowed to do that."
Exasperated by that, it would seem. How dare people not let him sleep in public parks!
Nick
Caleb's question, an innocent thing, brings a little smile to Nick's face. He can read whatever complicated emotion is there on Caleb's face, writ for him to see: Caleb might not be able to articulate it for himself, but Nick might well have been able to do so for him, were he so inclined. "Some people are more likely to go for puppies or for the flashier dogs," he says.
"There's a place that's willing to let you crash for as long as you need," Nick says. "It's kind of a drive, though. A little ways out of the city. Do you have a car?"
Another look, now, to Caleb. "Are you...did you try sleeping in the botanical gardens?"
Margot's statement is a wise one, or was, and Nick catches her eyes now and there is a little point that has appeared between his brows.
Olive
Do you have a car?
"Nah," she says, like it's no big deal. "I have a bike."
She scritches the mutt under the chin and behind an ear, then braces herself on her knees in order to stand.
"I don't know anyone yet. It's cool." A shrug. "Soon, I will."
Margot
The answer from Olive was innocuous and caused a small stitch between Margot's heavy eyebrows. She glanced aside to Nick, who had mentioned the 'place' outside the city, held his eye for a moment when they met, then shrugged and looked over to Caleb next. She made a face at his comment about the botannical gardens, but didn't appear too surprised.
"They caught you, huh?" She asked him with a small shake of her head and took her hand from the small dog he was holding, switched her posture so it was more open to the group as opposed to standing facing Caleb's front for the sake of dog-pets.
"It's a bit of a haul on a.. bike." She almost said 'fixie', don't be so judgy Margot not everyone dressed oddly was a hipster. She scowled, caught between a social wall and the hard place that was Paranoia, and there was muted reluctance in her voice (read: duty) when she said: "If you need a ride I could probably help out... I know where it is."
Boy, did she know. It was beamed directly into her brain not so long ago.
Caleb
"Yeah, it's unfortunate because it's really beautiful and peaceful, and if you couldn't sleep by a pond with a water fall and smelling some amazing flowers, wouldn't you?" he answers both Nick and Margot's question easily enough. Listens to the rest and manages to offer some reply to them all.
Olive says she doesn't know anyone yet, so it's cool.
"Annie dropped me off out here- it's her house? But she has a hot spring and a gigantic library and-" he stops because he seems to remember that he needs to leave something out "-and she has a weird love of buying groceries."
Margot can attest. Or probably can attest. The chantry seems to have an obscenely well stocked pantry now.
Nick
"I would definitely sleep in a botanical garden if no one were going to chase me off," Nick agrees easily. He absently gives the dog's jaws a rub at the hinge, where the heavy muscles bunch.
"Oh, so you know Annie already."
There's a glance to Olive, now, who only has her bike. "I can drive you out there if you'd like. It sounds like Caleb has already been."
Olive
No hesitation in her answer, no paranoia. She is quite a few years older than Margot but she can remember being nineteen. Does not know Margot is nineteen, but her youth persists in spite of the red shot through her hair, the furrow dug between her brows.
"It does," she says in agreement. "I would like that, if you're sure it's no trouble."
Margot
Botanical gardens did sound like a nice place to live, but Margot figured herself content enough where she was. Sure, the basement and library still held some mysteries and probable hazards, and there were probably subterranean chambers that she'd yet to even discover. But she liked the clawfoot tub in the little tile bathroom, and the muted calm colors of the old faded wallpaper in the room she'd claimed as her own. A waterfall sounded nice, but a bed and roof and kitchen with a coffee maker were even more luxurious.
She pulled her phone from a pocket previously lost to the bulk of her cardigan and glanced down at it, checking the time and date both and figuring in future plans.
"It's not that far out by car," she assured Olive, and locked the screen on her phone before dropping it back into the pocket from whence it came. "By bike would be another story. Plus not so safe."
There was a pause where she looked blankly at the woman in the board-shorts-that-she-could-have-sworn-were-mens-underwear, and then realized after a beat that the conversational ball was in the middle of the fooseball table. Her version of bumping the table was to jerk a thumb over her shoulder and blink. "Did you, uh, mean from here? Or another time?"
Caleb
"Oh, yeah, she's really nice she-" he looks back at the dog with the three legs, who seems to be incredibly friendly and seems to also be getting a little more love than he had been before.
"We should go. We can all talk and it won't be weird and we can show you the hot spring," he gestures from one side to the other, which makes the chihuahua look a little confused before he puts it back into a comfortable position near his chest.
"What's it like having a bike?" he asks Olive as he nonchalantly puts the chihuahua in an inside pocket.
Nick
Margot appears to be rising to the occasion, helping the newcomers find their way to the chantry. Nick is looking down at the dog, and if he is smiling to himself, well, who doesn't like to see apprentices come into their own as experienced members of mage society?
"Are you living out there with Annie?" he asks Caleb, with a glance up to the other man.
Olive
What did she mean:
"Either. Both."
Olive makes an attempt at smothering a laugh when Caleb tucks the little dog into his jacket pocket. A fist pushed against her teeth and her teeth latched onto her lower lip, nothing so obvious as to glance to make sure no one is looking at them. Maybe people are looking at them. It doesn't matter. They are a group but there are other groups just as large as theirs, louder. It's a Sunday. Sundays bring out groups.
What's it like having a bike:
"Like being able to fly. It's amazing."
Margot
"Caleb, did you need a ride back?" Margot glanced back over to him. If Nick was humored or proud of how the bug-eyed little apprentice was now corralling newcomers and seeing them someplace safe, the witch-girl missed it. The last (and first) time she'd met Caleb he was still mastering an understanding of the handshake and was happy to share that he came out of a bunker in Moab and didn't know much about the real world. The exasperation mingled with concern was akin to watching someone puppysit for the first time. Responsibility and how it could straddle the line so closely with guilt was not an unfamiliar concept overall, but new when directly applied to the world of Magick.
They could all go, and Margot shrugged one shoulder. "I don't mind, I suppose, but I wasn't--," whatever she wasn't was put on hold for a moment, as she was interrupted by a chirping ringtone on her phone. She tugged it free from its pocket again to glance at the screen before finishing her sentence. "--planning on sticking around. I gotta take this, but--" She glanced to Caleb and Olive both, to Nick questioningly as well, and raised the phone to gesture out toward the double doors up the way that spilled into a parking lot.
"I'll meet you guys over there, huh?"
She smiled and waved if there were any declines-- most likely Nick, less likely Caleb, then put her phone to her ear as she turned and walked away. They'd hear the "Hello?" of greeting, but everything else was washed away by distance, mall chatter, and a yapping dog.
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