One of the less-advertised aspects of working for Torchwood: paperwork.
James is thrilled to open a door to an excuse to avoid his for a couple more hours. He picks up his customary pint at the Bar, then turns to scan the room. Well, as much of it as a person can scan without going cross-eyed, at any rate.
It doesn't take long for him to spot a familiar figure by the fireplace. He smiles and approaches.
"Hello, Echo," he says, taking a seat across from her.
The fireplace is nice; the weather has been a bit on the raw side. Not that that's terribly unusual in Cardiff at this time of year. James relaxes contentedly into his chair.
It's weird, or cool, or some combination of both, but Matt's awareness of auras has really been improving over the past year. He can't remember exactly when the change came-- it was probably too gradual-- but now, sometimes, he gets ... a sense, from people.
Therefore, he and his laptop and his sturdy economics textbooks (and his butterscotch chai) are eyeing Ariel with curiosity.
A tall, handsome man with vibrant grass-green eyes finds his way to Ariel's side, having studied her thoroughly from a corner of the bar.
But now that he's here, he bows rather respectfully to her. He's wearing a blue and red trimmed Roman tunic, and a dagger with an eagle in flight is tucked into his belt.
"May I offer you a drink, my lady?" He's going with lady--another spirit he knows doesn't object to it. She will get a sense of immense power, but one more tied to the elements of the earth itself than some forms of magic.
He likes her style of speech, and almost effortlessly begins to fall into it, without a second thought.
"Naught but some conversation. You are not of my land and skies--even had I any urge to request the aid of one of your kind, it would do very little." And then he smiles almost boyishly. "And the one who grants me aid when she is moved to might take offense if I did."
That might tell her a lot--that his dealings with someone vaguely like her are by the spirits choice, and he has no power over her, and doesn't wish to.
A blond young man--maybe 17, 5'4-- pauses for a moment by a nearby armchair, glass of (peach) juice in his hand. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
His voice is softly polite, as if he's apologizing for interrupting her thoughts. (He's dressed in tan slacks and a light blue collared shirt with plain cufflinks.)
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She knows that in scheme of things, she's just one pooka after all.
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Since she's perched, Tiwa gives a nod that would be a bow if she was on the ground.
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James is thrilled to open a door to an excuse to avoid his for a couple more hours. He picks up his customary pint at the Bar, then turns to scan the room. Well, as much of it as a person can scan without going cross-eyed, at any rate.
It doesn't take long for him to spot a familiar figure by the fireplace. He smiles and approaches.
"Hello, Echo," he says, taking a seat across from her.
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"Good evening, James."
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"How've you been?"
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Therefore, he and his laptop and his sturdy economics textbooks (and his butterscotch chai) are eyeing Ariel with curiosity.
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"Evening," he says, raising his mug.
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And how much power is Matt giving off?
"Good even," Ariel replies, warily.
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But now that he's here, he bows rather respectfully to her. He's wearing a blue and red trimmed Roman tunic, and a dagger with an eagle in flight is tucked into his belt.
"May I offer you a drink, my lady?" He's going with lady--another spirit he knows doesn't object to it. She will get a sense of immense power, but one more tied to the elements of the earth itself than some forms of magic.
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"Will you ask aught in recompense for that?"
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"Naught but some conversation. You are not of my land and skies--even had I any urge to request the aid of one of your kind, it would do very little." And then he smiles almost boyishly. "And the one who grants me aid when she is moved to might take offense if I did."
That might tell her a lot--that his dealings with someone vaguely like her are by the spirits choice, and he has no power over her, and doesn't wish to.
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She tilts her head the other way. "Which one gives you her aid without you asking it?"
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His voice is softly polite, as if he's apologizing for interrupting her thoughts. (He's dressed in tan slacks and a light blue collared shirt with plain cufflinks.)
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"It's empty."
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A smile. "I'm Echo."
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