But there's a light on in Chicago and I know I should be home.

[nothingsodivine]

As is custom, there are many different people around, engaging in many different activities (and some of the same activities in different places). Come with me, gentle viewers, and we will see what they're up to.

Desmond Descant is in a bar as is per the custom of manly men who suffer manly heartache (the narration hears you snickering). He's

Comments

[nowinprint]

Bars are popular haunts. They're especially popular among the imported-Angel-of-Knowledge crowd, which basically means Dmitri. She's still making the rounds, seeing which of her favorite bars are the same and which have changed from her home Chicago, and... oh, look. A person.

She steals up behind him and pokes her nose over his shoulder with absolutely no regard for personal space. "It looks like a Jack," she mentions. "It drinks like a Jack. It doesn't dress or smell like a Jack. You must be Desmond D Descant!"

She slides into an empty chair, giving him a smile which has never, in the history of her smiling it, put anyone at ease.

"Dmitri Lang. The Doctor probably hasn't mentioned me, but that's the Doctor for you. How d'you do?"

[nothingsodivine]

It's been a long time since someone made the 'oh you look like Jack' comment and unfortunately that entire sentence for some reason (maybe it's just the unexpectedness of it) makes him choke rather unceremoniously on his beer, so as Dmitri slides into an empty chair, he's too occupied with trying not to die of beer inhalation to tell her to hit the streets

[nowinprint]

"Dessy, you haven't seen an entrance," she says. "That was saying hello. Pleased to meet you."

She makes a note in her journal - the one no one saw her take out - which may or may not be Met Desmond Descant. Caused to choke on beer. ++.

"Stopped by earlier looking for the ol' Doc, but I think he was Out Of Office. Really, there comes a point where I think the greater good might be best served by getting him a collar with a bell, but seeing as that leads back into an entirely different subculture I don't think he wants to get tied up in, probably not the best sustainable solution. But this isn't about him, Disco, this one's about you. Don't think we've ever crossed paths before now."

She sticks out her hand. He's expected to shake it.

[nothingsodivine]

Des gives her a look and tentatively sips his beer as if he's expecting her to make him choke again. "I really don't want to see your entrances." It's not every day Des sees someone who reminds him of someone from the 'Old Country,' but if this dame were just a bit more clingy, she'd be a little too close to Pestilence for comfort

[nowinprint]

She gives him a very slightly incredulous look. "They really have kept you out of the loop, haven't they?" she asks. "I'm in from the next Chicago over. We've also got a Doctor knocking around there. Lot of people in common, really. Not you. You get special mention for reputation. And a gold star, Deisly."

She waves to the bartender, and a few moments later someone wanders over. "Tonic and tequila," she orders. None of this sissy draft beer for her.

"But, you know, networking, essential for the Angel of Knowledge and the man trying to keep up with the Doctor both. Already met Donna, think I should track down this Guardian of his sooner or later, and now it's your turn. Drink, drink and be merry. I may ask you for an interview. I'd try it with the Doctor, but getting the man to put thoughts together in a coherent pattern is like trying to tie a cobra around the stem of a watermelon and calling it an Arabian horse."

[nothingsodivine]

"I try to stay out of the loop. The loop mocks me and I retaliate my pretending it doesn't exist." And that's all Des has to say about that, apparently, because he takes a defiant sip of his beer, and pointedly does not choke on it. He's learning. "Gee whiz, teach, a gold star? Guess I shouldn't tell you I forgot to feed the goldfish and now they're knocking on Death's door like half-crazed Jehoveh's Witnesses on Judgement Day

[nowinprint]

"Have you ever met a half-crazed Jehoveh's Witness, 3-D?" Dmi asks. "My experience, they tend to go one-or-null on the old crazy, but maybe things are different outside the Windy City. And I think the loop may have snuck something into that beer of yours and dragged you home with it, because it's a bit impossible to be anywhere in the Doctor's sphere of influence and not have something big crash into itself over your head

[nothingsodivine]

"Yeah, well..." Des just rolls his eyes and goes back to his beer, for once having absolutely no clever retort for that. Round One: Dmitri. Papa will be back in the second round with a zinger... Maybe.

He leans back a little and taps the table a few times, giving her another incredulous look. "You're trying to communicate with me, but the words are not making any damn sense, sugarplum. We speak the plain anglais here, not The Language of the Rambly Reporter." Yes, he's teasing her just a bit. He takes a sip of his beer. "And, for the record, my middle name is not as interesting as you'd think it would be. It's Damian."

Whoo. Shocker.

[nowinprint]

"Pretty sure whatever dialect of Desglish you're speaking doesn't qualify as plain English of any description, French or otherwise," she says. "And here I was holding out hope for Desiderio or Desislav, or something." She sighs into her tequila, making a note in her journal. "But we'll press on. Doesn't have to be now, you understand; normally I'd invite you for a drink, but that seems a bit unimaginitive, doesn't it? I suppose I could always invite you out for an imaginative drink." She considers. "There's a place down on South Wentworth that'll sell you a seventeen-layer drink in a yard glass for ten bucks, carefully arranged by density of alcohol. It's quite possibly the most ridiculous booze I've ever seen."

[nothingsodivine]

"Desmond Desislav Descant might be overdoing it a bit," Des chuckles, pointedly ignoring her first comment. "It doesn't roll off the tongue. Desmond Damian Descant has a nice little lilt to it."

He spent way too much time thinking about that name before he decided to adopt it as his own.

Des perks up, looks at his draft beer, and then looks at Dmitri like she may have somehow evolved into his new favorite person. "Ridiculous?" He says with extremely wide eyes. "Or amazing?"

[nowinprint]

"Yeah, but having a first name with a diminuitive like Des and a last name like yours sets you up for all sorts of 'Descan't help himself' jokes," Dmitri says. "But, hell, if I wasn't Dmitri my hippy folks would have named me Rainbow or Sunshine so, Deek, I can't really hold you to task for it even if you should have known better." She grins. "Seventeen-layer drink, two pound burger with cheese fries, my treat. Do I have myself an interview?"

[nothingsodivine]

"Cuuuute," Des drawls, rolling his eyes a little. "Sunshine suits you, because you're certainly a ball of it." He says that in such a way that suggests it's not as much of a dorky compliment as it is something mildly sarcastic with just a hint of endearment. It's hard to say, really, but it's clear from his grin it's not meant to be an insult.

He gives her a rather pleased look and sticks out a hand. "You are an angel, both literally in the sense that gives me free food. You got a deal, sweetness."

[nowinprint]

Dmitri sticks her hand into his, shaking firmly. "A pleasure doing business with you, Desmond Damien Descant. My schedule is flexible and I'm only a journal entry away, whatever you need me for."

She considers for a moment after releasing his hand.

"And feel free to tell the Doctor that, while Rome is all well and good and I did see that photo of him in La Repubblica, we also have exciting mysteries here. And if he's feeling strapped for cash I can put him in contact with the Angel of Knowledge Board of the Sciences and I'm sure they'd give him a grant to poke at the Rift all day."