(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

Comments

[astrongerbeacon]

"It's not going to talk." The comment comes from an angel who's been prowling the park, possibly on orders from Vince. You find one demon breaking the rules of the treaty, it's not a bad idea to keep an eye out for others, see if she happened to have any friends.

Martin saunters toward her, glancing up at the statue, and then back at the girl - wanderer, he can sense that much, though not one he recognizes. Well, it's not like he's been paying attention lately. "At least, it's not going to talk as far as I know. It's not like I spend a lot of time around it, and I'm not a Chicago native, so who knows?"

[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.

[astrongerbeacon]

Martin snorts a little. "Absolutely not. I wouldn't dream of it. Though I guarantee I'm older, so I wouldn't worry too much about it."

He flanks her, just a half step behind, keeping at least one eye out for anything terribly suspicious, and he wouldn't worry so much, except that A) it's the park, B) it's Chicago, and C) this is Martin we're talking about. He's like a magnet for demons and bad luck sometimes.

"You're going to want to turn at the corner just before the Conrad," he remarks after a moment. "Parking garage is tucked around back."

[gotbottle]

Rachel, of course, has no idea about any of the aforementioned lettered points, so she walks along merrily, glancing over at Martin once more. "Thanks. I had no idea."

They walk together in a companionable silence, before Rachel looks up again. "Is it far?" she asks. "The, uh, person's place. That we're going to see. Like, about the... uh. Stuff."

Way to go, Rachel. She may be a lot of things, but anything even remotely resembling a criminal mastermind is not one of them. There's probably a fine line between discussing sensitive material in public without being obvious, and, well, being obvious about it. Rachel probably wouldn't know that line if it came up and introduced itself.

"Since you're borrowing a car. I don't know the first thing about Chicago, if this one's even at all like the one where I came from. Which, okay, probably not, 'cause, you know, you, and all..."

[astrongerbeacon]

"Only about a ten minute drive. Three or four miles. I just really didn't want to walk in this weather." He grins at her. If she were another archangel, this is the point where she would call him a sissy, and he's half waiting for her to do it anyway. It's possible he hangs out with other archangels a bit too much, but that's nothing unusual for their calling.

They hit the parking garage, and Martin swings in toward it, curbing Rachel's path like a border collie with a sheep. It's not conscious, Martin's just used to being the sergeant, leading on. "Any particular plans once you have the, uh, stuff, or did you just want to exist in this universe? Which, granted, is a noble goal."

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, I totally don't blame you there," Rachel replies, nodding. "It's freaking cold here. I mean, not that it wasn't cold in New York, too. It was. Totally. You'd think a California girl wouldn't move someplace, you know, fricking cold. But there you go."

She glances up at him, and gives a small shrug. "I'm not sure," she admits. "I think just existing is a fine start, at least. Getting back to where I was. Not that it was spectacular or anything, the life I was leading in New York, but it was mine."

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek, sighing, staring down at the sidewalk. "I guess that's what pisses me off most about all this. I didn't get a choice."