(Untitled)

[gotbottle]

Rachel Conway is back in Grant Park, squinting curiously at the statue of Abraham Lincoln. At the lap that had been her landing point, when she'd found herself here, in this Chicago-that-isn't-hers. Nothing else has really worked for her, in terms of finding out what happened, why this happens, and how to escape it--she's not quite ready for Des

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[astrongerbeacon]

Martin is... well... impressed. He's met a few angels of knowledge who could ramble that impressively, but not many, and then it was usually rattling off technobabble or interesting (to them) historical facts, and he usually tuned out before they really came to any sort of point. This is just a bit fascinating.

He waits until she's finished, lips pressed together, eyebrows raised as if he's genuinely interested. For a moment, he doesn't even realize she's done speaking, until it hits him that she asked a question. "Oh, you're... finished? I'm fine, thanks. A little chilly out, but it could be worse."

For a second, he eyes her carefully, wondering if anything more he could say is going to spark another ramble like that. "You don't... have to freak out or anything. Yeah, I know you're a wanderer, but it's an angel... sense... sort of thing. I'm an archangel. I'm one of the good guys. I'll even show you my wings if you want, though it might not be the best idea out here in the open." People get attacked for that shit, but hey, he can take care of himself, and if it'll put her at ease... Of course, he could just also touch her hand to demonstrate the difference between their body temperatures, but if she's that new, she may not know that little fact of angel biology.

[gotbottle]

"It's... yeah, it's... cold. Kinda. And yeah. I'm like, done. Promise. It gets better, too, you know, I won't always do that, not, like all the time, just, you know, when I'm kinda nervous. Like now. Oh, but I won't do that again. I mean, like, not right now. I'm okay. Mostly. Just fine. And also shutting up now. Seriously. Done."

She pauses for a moment, watching Martin. He'd seemed to take that rather well in stride, really; even the query as to whether or not she'd finished was polite. It figures it'd take a supernatural being to deal with one of her nervous nonstop rambles without gaping.

"Anyway. No. It's fine. Like, don't bust out your wings out here or anything, not if it'll get you in trouble. Later. I'll just take your word for it now. And I won't freak out. Much. More. I'm okay, honestly. I just..."

Rachel sighs.

"...Don't suppose you can send me back, though, huh?"

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin grins at her a little as she starts to edge into ramble territory, and then backs off pretty admirably. Good for her. He didn't mean to make her nervous and rambly in the first place, but... well, it happens sometimes. Probably especially when you're in a brand new universe.

The smile turns sympathetic at her question. "Afraid not. There are a few people - very few - who can control the Rift, but even they can't send people back. Wish I could, honestly." Some angels resent wanderers. Martin just wishes he could do more for them than hang around and try to keep them from being torn to pieces by demons or crazy mundanes or what have you.

[gotbottle]

"Yeah. I didn't think so. I guess, you know. No harm in asking."

Rachel sighs and looks back up at the statue again. "I guess... I guess I was just still holding out hope that I wasn't stuck here. Avoiding having to face up to that fact. I just..."

She falls silent, chewing the inside of her cheek, momentarily afraid she's going to do something unseemly, like, bursting into tears or something. She takes a few long moments to compose herself, and then she turns back to Martin, a faint smile turning her lips.

"Thanks all the same, though. I appreciate that you wish you could, even if you can't, actually."

She holds out a hand for a handshake. "What's your name?"

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin reaches out to shake her hand - her skin's warm to his touch, especially in the cool outside air. "Martin Raske. Archangel, like I said. I'm one of Vincent's, at the Conrad..." He hunches his shoulders a little against the cold - not as cold for angels as humans, but he swears, whenever he leaves Chicago, he's going south. "And you?"

[gotbottle]

Rachel offers Martin a warm smile to go with the handshake. His fingers feel cool against hers, but she chalks that up to the chill in the air. "Hi, Martin. It's nice to meet you. I'm Rachel Conway. When I lived in New York, I was an editor, trying to be a writer."

She draws her hand back, and then stuffs both her hands into her pockets, shifting her weight to her other foot. "I'm staying at the Conrad, too. Down in the basement. I'm still trying to figure out what to do. One of the men I met gave me the name of a person to go see to get papers and stuff, things I'll need to establish a life here. I guess I was just... putting it off."

[astrongerbeacon]

"Nice to meet you too, Rachel."

He folds his arms over his chest as she pulls back, still smiling at her. "It figures. I'd say I should probably recognize you then, but it's an improbably big basement." He doesn't even want to work out how it's bigger on the inside. One of those mysteries of life. Like the Rift itself, but less horrible.

"Yeah, that's, uh... over in Wicker Park, I think. If you want someone to take you there... I mean, in case you're worried about being out alone. I've been sort of volunteering to take wanderers around..." Because of the CLF. But we don't talk about that out loud.

[gotbottle]

"It's a totally ridiculous basement. I've gotten lost there, like, at least once a day."

Rachel's smile softens, and she glances down at the ground for a moment, before looking back up at Martin. "That's not a bad idea," she agrees, shrugging. "I still don't know my way around, and I've been a little nervous about being out alone too much, because... you know." Exactly. Let's not talk about that.

"I mean, only if it's not too much trouble, though."

[astrongerbeacon]

"Trouble? God, no." He glances around briefly, scanning the park instinctively for demons and any of the other beasties that like to lurk in the park. Nothing that he can see, so that's something, but...

"There's been a sort of treaty around here between angels and demons. Treaties make archangels pretty bored pretty fast. There are worse things I could be doing than escorting a lovely wanderer such as yourself to our local forger and okay, that sentence just got a lot stranger than I'd like a lot more quickly than I expected it to."

Really, Martin knows how to talk without sounding creepy. Honestly.

[gotbottle]

"Did it."

Rachel laughs softly, before deadpanning, "...Like I ever thought 'normal' would include, you know, standing around a park in Chicago talking to an archangel wearing a leather jacket."

She laughs again, tucking a bit of her hair behind one ear. "Don't worry, Martin. I understand. Totally. I'm glad it won't be any trouble, and I'm glad for the company."

Martin may be worried about sounding creepy, but Rachel isn't finding him so. In fact, his presence and his offer to help have done more to put her at ease since anything else that's happened while she's been here.

"Shall we?"

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin tilts his head to the side, a little bemused. "Does the leather jacket actually make a difference?" Yeah, these are the questions he thinks to ask. He shakes it off after a moment, grins at her and turns in the direction of the Conrad.

"We can borrow a car from the hotel, unless you have any objections. Archangel privileges, and... frankly, I don't fancy walking in this weather."

[gotbottle]

Rachel laughs; sure, maybe it sounds like a silly question, but--

"Okay, see, where I'm from, archangels--or, at least, you know, the ones in books and stuff, 'cause it's not like they, like, walked the streets like you are--they wore robes and chain mail and things and carried swords and had halos or auras or whatever. So. Yeah. Leather jacket. I like it. Not what I was expecting, but it suits you."

She takes a step closer, standing at Martin's side. "And I've got no objections. A car sounds fine. What other privileges do archangels enjoy here in Chicago?"

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin snorts a little, smirking to himself. "Yeah, we've got those stories here too. Leather jacket's a lot more common in reality." Because archangels have an intuitive sense of badass for the most part... or at least, most of them try for it. Whether or not they manage...

"Well, generally the lesser nasties of Chicago leave us alone. Rift monsters and that sort of thing. The police too... Not that we go around robbing and murdering or anything, but you try killing a demon and staying in town with unsympathetic police around." He pauses, thinking that over, and then adds, "...don't actually do that. I'd feel bad if you got yourself killed or arrested."

[gotbottle]

"Well, I can totally see how a leather jacket is way more utilitarian than, like, robes and armor and stuff like that," Rachel replies good-naturedly. And in a normal amount of words, now that her nerves have settled.

Her smile flickers a bit wider and brighter for a moment, and she holds up a hand as if taking a pledge. "I won't try that. Promise. I know my limitations. And trouble's the last thing I want. Right now. I mean, okay, not like I want it at any other time, but especially not right now."

Rachel lowers her hand. "So. Shall we walk over to the Conrad?"

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin grins, gesturing in the direction of the Conrad. "Lead the way, Miss Conway." Which is not at all because he'd like to walk just the slightest bit behind her to watch her back. Paranoid archangel is not paranoid. ...He'd just really like to avoid explaining to Vince how he got a wanderer killed walking her home.

[gotbottle]

Rachel arches an eyebrow at that, but doesn't remark upon it, offering, instead: "...Okay. This way."

She takes two steps along the sidewalk and then turns to add over her shoulder, "And it's just Rachel. I feel old when people call me 'Miss Conway'. You wouldn't want me to, like, feel old on top of everything else I've been through, lately, would you?"

She grins, jams her hands in her pockets, and starts off in the direction of the Conrad.