I get by with a little help...

[gotbottle]

It's Friday evening in Chicago, and people all over the city are looking for a bit of a challenge, or at least something to occupy their time for a while.

Ananya Chinnamalai strides down the front steps of the Field Museum, her high heels clicking on the marble steps. She mutters as she tugs at a dangling diamond earring, readjusting it and

Comments

[crimeatthetime]

There's someone else at the Luna. Someone with whom Rachel might possibly be familiar. He's already had a couple of drinks--enough to feel relaxed, and warmer than even is typical. He sees Rachel come in, sees her settle on the couch, and drifts over toward her a little self-consciously.

"Mija," he says. "Were you waiting for someone, or...?" Adrian gestures at the couch.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's just licked the back of her hand so she can salt it when she hears Adrian's voice. She drops her hand and looks up at him. And then her face lights up.

"I wasn't, no," she replies, patting the couch beside herself, entirely happy to see him. "Ven y únete a mí? ¿Por favor?"

[crimeatthetime]

He settles next to her, studying her face, wondering (one would think he'd be past it by now, wondering about heaven and hell and all those things entail) how much of her face, how many of her expressions he would remember if he died, if any.

To forget everything--thinking about death in that way makes him shiver. Makes him wonder what part of himself broke hard enough to make that choice, even as he knows it's in him to try again. "How are you?"

[gotbottle]

Adrian sits down, and Rachel immediately divests herself of all the tequila-consuming paraphernalia, setting everything on the table, freeing her hands. Which she promptly puts to good use. One arm goes around his body; the other hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and she kisses him, slowly, gently.

"Better for seeing you," she says softly after she pulls away, her arms still loosely around his body. "But that always happens. How are you?"

[prince_stupid]

Ragnar is hiding. Hiiiiiiiiiding. It is undignified. Not kingly in the least. This irks him. He is getting tired of being forced into unkingly behaviors. But there he sits, under a car, resisting the urge to respond.

Resiiiiist. Resiiiiiiiiii--

"I must ask this: is it necessary for you to follow me so closely?"

...Curses.

[weepnot_thepast]

And there's Dylan, ducking to look under the nearest car. Which is not the one under which his ward is secreted.

"It is, yeah. I gotta know you're okay, right?" He straightens up, frowning. "C'mon now, your highness. Little bit of cooperation, here?"

[prince_stupid]

Ragnar sighs. "I am unused to this. I dislike it."

Blunt cat is blunt. Blunt cat has also been living with Sark, who lets him come and go at will, and before that was the uncrowned king of Tintagel and could go wherever, whenever. This guardian business is questionable. Quite questionable indeed.

[thehighestwing]

There is a tiny guardian angel running past Navy Pier toward Lake Michigan, as fast as her feet will allow her. The adrenaline is caused entirely by fear. Her only thought is Peter and saving him.

"Peter!"

Phoebe doesn't hesitate once she spots his floating body, despite the fact her heart is beating wildly in her chest. She dives right in, swimming toward him with surprising agility and speed.

Once she reaches him she'll try her damn best to pull him out of the water. She's strong enough to accomplish this.

[weaponof_choice]

Peter comes to as he's being hauled to shore, sputtering and coughing. His lungs have had quite enough of this drowning stuff, thanks, and they are no longer cool with being full of water. There's an arm around him and he's being buoyed along on the water.

"Phoebe?"

[thehighestwing]

Phoebe flails at the sound of his voice and stops swimming momentarily. "ZOMG. Peter. YOU KEEP SCARING THE CRAP OUT OF ME."

Phoebe takes a deep breath because he looks all right, for the most part. "What are you doing out here!? And why didn't you call me? I GAVE YOU A WATCH THAT TALKS."

[weaponof_choice]

There's a very long pause as Peter considers this. He even manages to get the appropriate wrist out of the water to look at the watch in question.

And then he declares, "...Couldn't call you. I was busy drowning."

[teenytinyteme]

Chance has this ability to get places she shouldn't be, especially when she's running from people. Yes, she ran all the way to the Field Museum, and has collapsed on the front steps, gasping for breath.

She may or may have been running from the Subway guy she stole a sandwich from. Hopefully he's long gone by now.

She hasn't noticed that anyone else is out on the steps yet, but she will. Eventually.

First she's going to inhale the sandwich.

[carefullychosen]

The girl seemingly comes out of nowhere. Ananya stops short on her way down the steps, assuming the girl will continue her headlong sprint across them and out of sight. When she instead stops, sits, and begins devouring a sandwich, Ananya resumes her descent, one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow arched.

"Mind you don't choke, eating so fast," she calls out. "Who's on your tail, then?"

[teenytinyteme]

Chance almost does choke when she realizes that this woman is talking to her. She coughs a few times to get a piece of shredded lettuce out of her throat.

"Uh. Sandwich guy," she says finally. "Really wants to give me my change. I kept telling him to keep it, but, uh." It's a really awful lie, and she knows it, but she doesn't really care. "You know the great service people of Chicago." She shrugs.

[carefullychosen]

"Sandwich guy," Ananya repeats in her so-very-posh British accent, one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow lifting for emphasis. "I do see."

A million years ago--or so it seems, in reality it was probably more like seventy-five, maybe eighty--Ananya herself was young, and living by her very wits on the streets. She's done her damnedest to distance herself from that life, but she hasn't forgotten what it was like.

She peers off in the direction from which the girl first appeared. "And do you perhaps need this 'sandwich guy' sent away, should he still be in pursuit? I could... assist with that."

That's twice lately she's sought to be helpful. Careful, Ananya. Someone's likely to mistake you for someone who gives a damn.

[firesofwisdom]

Brighid has stumbled across Peter while taking a walk. And now? She's poking him with a stick. An actual, literal stick. She's trying to figure out if she ought to go call the police.

...she is clearly the most intelligent Angel of Knowledge EVER.

[weaponof_choice]

Being poked with a stick hurts.

Peter realizes this slowly, as his body starts the healing process, offended lung tissue expelling the water he's taken in. He floats for a few more long moments, and then suddenly he rights himself with a huge gasp in, a huge belching-out of water, and no small amount of freaked-out flailing until he realizes where he is and what's going on.

He calms himself just enough to sit up properly, and he blinks up at Brighid. "Why're you poking me?"

[firesofwisdom]

Sorry, Peter. At least it wasn't an especially pointy stick?

She smiles brightly and tosses the stick in the water, well away from Peter. "I wanted to see if you were alive. Didn't want to have to call the police." After Bambi's crucifixion, this angel is flying under the radar, so to speak. "Do you drown often? Because I would suggest finding a better hobby."

[weaponof_choice]

"It's not a habit, I swear."

It's also not the first time it's happened, but let's not get into that right now, shall we?

"Anyway... thanks." Peter takes a deep breath, and gets to his feet, standing very still for a moment while he tests his legs. Once he's sure he won't faceplant into the shallow water, he trudges out of it and offers her his hand.

"I'm Peter."