...And blinking, step into the sun.

[knownallbyheart]

Hermione Granger is in a cafeteria within the Kashtta. She is surrounded by books, papers, and quills. Despite the fact that the sheer volume of books and paperwork combined more than outweighs/outsize her by three times, everything appears to be fairly organized. She is taking notes quickly and efficiently, and she's occasionally pushing her

Comments

[nowinprint]

Just what the Doctor ordered: one slightly hyperloquatious pseudo-Angel of Knowledge who's just been alerted that something interesting might be happening on the other side of town, and is therefore careening out of the Kashtta with a messenger bag and a headset. Lucky for him, there happens to be a pigeon on the sidewalk right where she's planning to step - one which does not have any interest in flying or waddling away as a sensible pigeon would do - so she checks her momentum, skids, catches his arm to steady herself, and shoots off a "Duibuqi-dekuju, my good znakom--"

Aaand trails off, just there.

This guy's got a kinda familiar face. Not to mention the dress sense.

Cue forty-five seconds of surprised wordblurt about nothing in particular, implicating two constellations, an esoteric discipline of cryptography, and three species of fig by the time she resolves it into "--and when did you decide to exist again? Couldn't send a girl a note!"

Meet Dmitri Lang, Doctor.

[thefarenough]

The Doctor lifts his brows as he looks at the girl on his arm.

Then, he lifts his other arm to scratch at his ear as she speaks. "When? That's a remarkable question, and I'm not all that fond of notes, really. I'm sure I would have sent one, had I known where to send it. The who...yes, the who would have helped, as well."

A pause. Then, "I wouldn't have sent a note."

He narrows his eyes, though not in an unfriendly manner. It's curiosity that's moving him now. "Fresh introduction are in order, I think," he admits, looking away only once to stare in confusion at a woman carrying a bag of groceries. "I've only just arrived here. Chicago, of course, not existence."

[nowinprint]

Well, that explains a lot.

Dmitri stares at him when he speaks - even his patterns of speech are different, the banter just slightly foreign to what she's learned, a different beat requiring a slightly different balance on her end. Granted, from the receiving end, most of her banter seems very much the same in terms of rhythm and flow, but rest assured that there are many subtle variations in intensity, vocabulary, and theme

[thefarenough]

He's familiar with stares, or perhaps he thinks there's more staring than there generally is, but it's not uncomfortable. There's a bit of staring back.

The shake is received and returned. The grin is, as well.

"Dmitri Lang," he repeats, "it's a pleasure." She already knows who he is, obviously, so he simply listens to her.

'Better luck this time, eh? Welcome to Chicago.'

He takes a lot more from those last two sentences than he does from the rest. "Thank you," he says, and he's strangely quiet for a moment. He's thinking of Martha, now, and her reactions to him. He's thinking of how she walked away from his room, and he's wondering at the whys. Better luck this time.

"Derby Blue?"

[nowinprint]

"Rhymed with 'knew', 'you', 'through' and 'too'," Dmitri explains. She'd probably explain most of the rest, too, except that people never get around to asking. "You'd prefer Doc Laureate?"

She sticks her hands in her pockets, rocking a little on her feet.

"How's the Windy City treating you?" she asks. "Found the best bars, learned about Chicago-style hot dogs, rode the L trains?" She quirks her head. "Or are you more the launch-bosons-through-the-Rift type? We've got Fermilab not too far away, right outside the radius of the worst Chicago destruction."

[thefarenough]

He'll smile agreeably enough with the words that rhyme, each receiving a thoughtful nod. "Doc Laureate?" He scoffs. "No. That's quite all right, thank you."

Just 'Doctor' would suit nicely, but he's just got a feeling...

"Laureate. Really?"

Then, he'll stuff his hands in his pockets and shrug. "The Windy City isn't as windy as I'd hoped. As for hot dogs --" He frowns, running a hand through already mussed hair. "That's not what I'm wanting, I think."

He'll halt when his attention moves away from himself to the mentions of the bosons and launching. "Where?"

[nowinprint]

"Hey, it's a lot better than Porkopolis," Dmitri says. "And you shouldn't discount the hot dogs - one whole meal on a stick of meat, though I'm sure there's at least one guy set up around here who does vegan, if you're not of the flesh-eating persuasion. Fermilab's out in Batavia, Illinois, and if you're asking where the bosons are, I should hope you'd know better than that." She winks. "Point is, Docaroc, consider me your one-stop shop for all info Chicago, from Cubs scores to the history of populations and whose evil twins you don't want to tangle with." Her tone shifts for a moment, becomgin just a small note sadder. "Langolier, at your disposal

[thefarenough]

His eyebrows are moving a considerable bit while she speaks, and when she says she hopes he knows better than to ask, he actually grins.

He's sounding out Docaroc, actually, his jaw clicking with each syllable. When her tone shifts, he wonders at it. "I'll be asking about that at some point," he says because he's really unable not to, "and I'm rarely still for too long."

She's quick, though, isn't she? He moves right with her, and his grin comes just as easily as before.

"A scrum match." His face goes longer as his mouth pulls down in contemplation. "It's been a while, but it's not something I could forget. I'm up for the spectatorship in your company, Dmitri-that doesn't-rhyme-with-anything-fun-to-say-in-Earth-speak."