(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

[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."