when by now and tree by leaf
04:00 - In the Kashtta Tower, soft music is floating from the piano room tucked back by the cursed hallway.
It's not terribly good music.
J picked his way through a primer someone had left on their piano, and is now demonstrating minimal proficiency at having memorized any of the songs. He can pretty reliably hit the first few bars of Ode to Joy ( Read more... )
It's not terribly good music.
J picked his way through a primer someone had left on their piano, and is now demonstrating minimal proficiency at having memorized any of the songs. He can pretty reliably hit the first few bars of Ode to Joy ( Read more... )
She's cross-examined Weevils and confronted monsters during biblical plagues. Rachel doesn't bat an eyelash at the thought of a velociraptor taking apart a coffee shop. "You never can be too careful and one should always try being one step ahead," she answers in complete agreement. "In Chicago, expect the unexpected and then some."
It isn't negativity. She is very much an idealist and believes changes can be made in Chicago. She just thinks it's practical. It doesn't take long for Rachel to answer, though she's given it thorough examination, like most things. "I think that's a great idea. While many choose to turn a blind eye to the threats found in the city at large, it doesn't mean the threats are any less real or present."
Taking a sip of her coffee, she nods her approval and adds, "Besides, any defense modifications could potentially bring down insurance rates. A sound solution for all, I'd say. Now why aren't you running this city, is the real question."
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"Plus," the receptionist chimes in, "I think if she were running the city, she'd be running the world in, like, three days, and then we'd all be eating tequila."
Dmitri elbows him. "Really, its the same principle as building in earthquake or flood resistance to areas prone to quakes and floodings. Only sensible - floods." Dmitri looks back to the receptionist again. "Chicago hasn't flooded yet, and it's not as if we don't have Lake Michigan right here. I think that pretty much rockets us right over the minimum logic threshold required to acknowledge something is possible." Back to Rachel. "...the minimum logic threshold is pretty low and doesn't even require strict adherence to the laws of physics, if you'd like to know."
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She wonders about Dmitri's personal philosophy, wonders about the lives of angels in general.
Rachel bites back a smile at the receptionist's reply, gaze falling back to the collages, studying them with interest.
She is fully aware the keyword here is yet. A frown is set into place as the wheels in her head turn. Rachel's a curious soul. She can't help but ask questions. "Of course I'd like to know. Consider me your audience. How does that work, exactly?"
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"I still think she should have business cards made that say that," the receptionist adds. "You want to, or should...?"
"Tag-team!" Dmitri decides, digging out a sheet of legal paper with quite a lot of jotting on it. "Okay. So to start out with the major premises, we begin by assuming that everything and anything is possible..."
And there the two of them go, launching into a three-minute breakdown of how probable they deem something to be, incorporating such disparate concerns as whether or not it's happened before (actually, in some cases, a negative modifier), whether it's happened in works of literature or media which seem to describe Wanderers present in the city (a large positive trend), the number and relative annoyance or boredom of Doctors in the city (no risk analysis is complete without it), and, of course several indicators actually rooted in, wossitcalled, physics. All in all, it sounds pretty comprehensive.
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"Sounds fascinating," Rachel adds, and she's genuine. "Seems you do a lot of legwork of your own. I'd love to see your work or help in some way, if it's at all possible."
After agreeing solemnly with the receptionist--because yes, that would make one unforgettable business card--Rachel remains seated, all ears and mellow disposition, with only an inkling of amusement. Rachel loves knowledge. She loves questions, and she loves learning. To her credit, she manages to retain much of said three-minute breakdown, though she might look slightly dazed.
"You both deserve medals." She grins, handing Dmitri another highliter. "At the very least, lunch."
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"Just one of the things you get used to in the House of Lang," the receptionist adds.
"And if you'd ever like an introduction to the rough-and-tumble world of beat journalism, I'd be glad to show you around," she says.
"And get you drunk," the receptionist adds. Dmitri elbows him.
At the mention of medals-or-lunch, she grins. Recognition and victuals. Both things she can get behind. "The high honor, the conferrence of the Order of the Conrad Hotel Room Service'd."
There's a pause, when something visibly occurs to her, and she looks at the receptionist, waiting for a moment or two until something visibly occurs to him. Then she looks back at Rachel, jabbing the highlighter at her.
"There's something," she says. "I mean, granted, the supernatural community has that thing where it has to keep from cannibalizing itself every time archangels and rakshasa get involved, but where's the love? We've killed the Devil, organized massive civil information movements, cured a plague here and there, seems like someone should be able to confer honors. Might not be the Order of Canada, but there's got to be room for something."
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She just so happens to live with a vengeance angel whose trigger is alcohol and that might not end very well.
"I really would like an introduction to offbeat world of journalism. Let me know when works best for you, and it's a date."
Rachel cants her head to the side. "Aside from my work within the supernatural community, should you ever want an introduction to the...persistent trials of a wanderer slash lawyer bulldozing her way into a Chicagoan courthouse, then I'd be glad to show you, as well."
The Order of the Conrad.
"It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Rachel says with a laugh. "Not to mention, there should be a shiny plaque to boot."
Voicing her agreement, she adds, "I know there's a tentative treaty between angels and demons, but I'm not sure how strongly that holds. There really should be some sort of recognition, considering there is history in the making here."
Despite all the madness within the city, there is something invigorating about that alone. They're making history.
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"There's a page on the treaty in here somewhere..." the receptionist mutters, beginning to dig through the piles of paper laid out around him.
"I think traditionally, most supernatural honors were conferred by First Angels," Dmitri says. "'course, when has Chicago ever hewed to traditions?"
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