You know they put a man on the moon simply to prove that we all need a place to go

[stillaboyscout]

It's been a fairly quiet Black Friday in Chicago, at least for a select few.

Chance Adams hasn't been out in quite some time, and she's enjoying the brisk Chicago air. She's at Grant Park at the moment, smiling to herself as she watches the kids play. She misses her family a little, sure, and she sure as hell didn't eat any turkey yesterday, but

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[shootsnarkstare]

Peyton seems to be texting in the Luna. She's not actually texting. She's currently using someone else's service in order to jump wi-fi signals and steal some information from some company. She has a drink in front of her, but she's not really drinking it. She looks like she is, though. That's the secret.

But then Sydney's annoying fiance is there, alone, on his birthday. That is just too priceless to give up. Which is why she decides she needs to go bother him. So have a Peyton sitting next to you, Vaughn, bringing her drink over and getting comfortable.

"If it isn't the birthday boy himself!" she says sweetly. "Did you get my card?"

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn practically jumps when Peyton talks to him--he's not very good at being startled out of thought.

"Um, yes I did, thank you very much," he quickly says. "It was very nice of you."

And a little creepy, but Vaughn blames that on the whole stupid timelines thing--it was probably just as creepy to Syd when he wished her a happy birthday. Still. It was just the tiniest bit creepy.

"So," he says, trying to recover from being scared out of his skin. "How was your Thanksgiving?" Not that many people's holidays were good--it's hard to have a good holiday when you're a Wanderer, but eh. It's a nice conversation starter.

[shootsnarkstare]

"It involved turkey and food," Peyton says, pursing her lips as she thinks about it. Granted, it also involved work, but separating work from fun can be rather difficult when all you do is work. She pauses, looking down at her PDA and tapping at it with the stylus absently. See? Right now, mixing work and fun. It's the way to do things.

"No family of course," she adds with a soft laugh. This may be feigned unhappiness here, Vaughn. It's not like she really has any family to miss. But she's a very good little actress. "But one of my coworkers let me come over to his Thanksgiving, so I mean, that was nice of him. And yours?"

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn nods. "That's good," he says. "Having food. I mean. It must make it kind of normal... even if you don't have family here." Which he's sorry about, by the way, but he can't find a way to verbalize that. Possibly he's a little buzzed right now, more buzzed than he'd like to admit.

"My Thanksgiving was... quiet." Very quiet. He spent it sitting quietly in his room, and then he went out to dinner by himself and, um... mostly it was lonely, but he doesn't feel like he ought to burden Peyton by telling her that. "Which is nice, in this city," he's quick to make a joke.

[anjelsword]

Aniki was on her way out of the bar.

..Actually she was on her way to being forcibly ejected, considering the fact that the last time she was here she ripped the place to pieces. She was, however, walking out on her own two feet, thank you very much.

But there is a Vaughn. Vaughns are more interesting than bouncers. "Well hello, laddiebuck. You look like you've swallowed something that can't decide if it wants to come back up or make a hasty exit out the back."

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn glances at Aniki and half-smiles at her. "No, the beer's actually pretty good," he says, gesturing his drink. Yes, he excels at avoiding questions. Just not in a subtle manner.

"Are you drinking anything?" he asks, peering to see if she has a drink. "I could get you something." Because that would just be the gentlemanly thing to do. Not that he wants to get her drunk, but...

Vaughn is increasingly thankful for the recent decision to hold these conversations in his head. They tend to make him look less stupid. Not that Aniki doesn't know already of his tendency to be ridiculous, but... it makes him feel better.

[anjelsword]

"I'm being kicked out," she says cheerfully. "Had a bit of a scuffle here a while back. Seems they haven't forgotten, poor things."

She grins at the bouncer, all teeth and unfriendliness. He scowls back.

[notenlightened]

Reese is in the bar - and for once, decidedly not drinking.

That's water and not vodka in her glass, and after last week, she considers it progress. She slides onto the empty barstool beside Vaughn.

"Special occasion?"

He has that kind of a look on his face.

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn half-chuckles, half-coughs.

"Birthday," he says with a nod, and the second half of his statement is quieter. "Mine."

38 long years. That's two more until he hits forty and then he really IS old. Much older than Syd.

He runs a thumb over the edge of his glass, then takes another sip of beer. Yeah. He's probably got that look.

[notenlightened]

Reese knows that look. She knows that look very well. It's the kind of look where birthdays are really just another year gone, and you really don't want to think too much about the number because then it starts getting you to think about other things, too.

She wraps her hand around the glass resting on the bar in front of her. It's cold, and sweating slightly, and her fingertips stutter against it with a small squeaking sound.

"Happy birthday," she says, offering a small smile - which is a rarity in itself, Vaughn, so feel special.

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn smiles back at her--it's another small one, but it's sincere.

"Thank you," he says. "You know you're old when it finally hits you how old you are, and your idea of a birthday party is sitting in a bar by yourself."

Then again, it wasn't so long ago that he did that on days that WEREN'T his birthday, but he has Sydney--but Sydney's alive. And he has other people. And Reese is a nice woman. "What are you drinking?" he asks before taking a sip of his beer. "I'll get you another."

[unvaryingshades]

The problem with darting in between people is that you run the chance of running into one of them. And when that person has a hand that has knives and metal fused to the bone hidden under our shirt, well, it turns out to be a little bit of a mess.

But 040798-332 isn't really paying attention to where we is going. And we has an awful habit of straying from our path as we walk.

So now we is just staring at Scouts face, trying to make sense of this.

(?)

[crashiscoming]

Scout giggles at the look she's being given. "What?" she demands, stepping towards him (or what she thinks is him--it's all blurry in her head anyway, Lord only knows what she really thinks or what she cares to think). "What? What? Lookin' at, yeah? Whatcha wantcha want this?" She giggles even more as she gets closer, like actually coming in contact with him is what's making her crazy. It very well could be.

"Aintcha ever kill?" she whispers to him. "Aintcha wontcha wantcha?"

[unvaryingshades]

Usually, we is good at processing words and turning them into ideas so we can understand them. But Scouts words are more than confusing and 040798-332 pauses, still staring at her as he tries to piece them together.

(?) {seeing, looking, watching[view]} the Other "you"
we impresses. We had honestly thought that was obvious. Can't Scout tell that from that fact that we is staring at her face? What else would be be looking at? We doesn't know what she is offering us. That is what people are trying to do when they ask what someone wants, yes? But somehow, we doubts that is what is really going on here. And then she is talking about killing, and death is something that we never had gotten a firm grasp on. Death is when a unit stops performing, yes?
"death" when Other ends {processing, functioning, performing} + "kill" is when {doing, action[motive]} ends such (?)

The confusion is very evident in the impression. 040798-332 has no idea what's going on right now.

[crashiscoming]

Scout just giggles--she knows he's confused, and it doesn't help that she barely knows what's going on anyway.

"Kill kill still kill t's an act, all an act around and around and around till NOT!" she giggles, pulling out one of her knives and holding it up for him to see. "Red red red blood red white red red white and black, yeah? Yeah?"

She lowers the knife. "Dead 'n gone, dead 'n gone battle war warpaint blue black and blue and golden golden red sunset." She reaches out a finger and brushes his nose. "Do ya, dontcha wantcha wontcha?"

[lastchancefor]

The smell of cookies only reinforced Jo's commitment go and get some food. Cookies are fantastic.

Don't mind the tiny angel-thing peeking into your boxes, Gladys. She's just hungry. It's not her fault that your cookies smell like DELICIOUS.

[cookiesandhugs]

Gladys sees Jo and just smiles. "Would you like one?" she asks without any acknowledgment of the fact that she had even entered the room--Gladys is kind of abrupt in that way. She doesn't bullshit, yo. She just gets her ass right to the point, and she'd tell you that. In that exact way. "Lord only knows I've got more than I really know what to do with."

She reaches for a box and offers it to her. "There's a selection of stuff in there--I have no idea what, in particular." She glances in the box. "It looks like chocolate chip and sugar and M&M and maybe that's a snickerdoodle at the bottom there, I'm not sure. No nuts, though, if you're allergic or anything."

[lastchancefor]

"Thank you," Jo says awkwardly, taking the box from Gladys. She's having a relatively good day today. It doesn't feel like the walls are pressing in on her today, and she's been able to keep the thoughts pressed to the back of her mind. And for once, the cookies do help. If Gladys knew how much it helped that she was thinking about cookies right now, she'd probably be more than pleased. Of course, Gladys always thinks her cookies have healing powers, so...

"Not allergic. Just hungry." She pulls out one of the M&M cookies, pulling some of the M&Ms out of it and eating them by themselves. And then the cookie will taste like faded chocolate.

[cookiesandhugs]

Gladys smiles. "Well, hungry is always a good excuse for cookies," she says. "I've always been of the opinion that those dessert haters don't know what's going on, yo. Cookies don't RUIN your appetite--they only make it better." She smiles broadly and goes back to addressing a box.

"Stanley Drive," she finishes with a flourish, then looks up with a grin at Jo. "Would you like to pick my next victim?" she asks with a vaguely devilish grin, gesturing to the phone book at her side.