Time is all around, except inside my clock

[changingtheodds]

Ruvin has had several very startling realizations. The first, she's almost seventeen. In just under a week, she will be. She'd all but forgotten about birthdays.

The second--she's been in Chicago for a year, as of today. She's paused where she is, in the middle of crossing a street to look up at the sky in surprise.

Winny is standing in front of

Comments

[monitorthebirds]

There was not a Hawkes in the street when Ruvin stopped.

There is one now.

There's also a very annoyed driver of a nice Porsche stopped mere inches from Hawkes, honking furiously. Hawkes glowers. He stops honking.

And then Hawkes grabs Ruvin by the arm and escorts her across the street. "Are you stupid or somethin'?"

...Hi, Ruvin.

[changingtheodds]

She squeaks, looks back at the Porsche and then back up at Hawkes. "No! I just-- I got distracted."

That's one way to put it. Got distracted while in the middle of the street. She winces.

[monitorthebirds]

"My misunderstandin'!" Hawkes says haughtily. "'Cept you were about to be distracted and underneath a car."

She is a tiny girl and while Hawkes (unlike other people) has no real intense desire to protect every tiny girl, the least he can do is make sure they don't get themselves crushed by being dumb.

[changingtheodds]

"Well excuse me for realizing I've been in this city a year! That I'm about to turn seventeen and nobody knows, that Tula has probably decided I'm dead, that my place in the order has probably been filled, that--"

She breaks off, determined not to cry in front of him. Her voice breaks a little when she starts talking. "If it was so inconvenient to drag me out of the street you should have just let me get hit!"

[neverinportland]

And where there are tears, there are Juliets. It would take a heartless person to ignore such a sweet-looking young woman crying like that.

She takes a tentatively step towards the woman, holding out a hand to rest it on her shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. Can you tell me what's wrong?" She asks, her voice soothing. It's her doctorvoice. The kind of voice she used to soothe women with when they learned they were pregnant on the island... Pregnant on the island was never a good thing.

[crossindexing]

As soon as Juliet approaches her, she tries to calm herself down.

The result is hiccups. Lots of hiccups. "I'm f--" Hiccup. "I'm--" Hiccup. "--okay--" Hiccup. "--um. Allergies?"

Hiccup.

[neverinportland]

Juliet's expression isn't quite amused, but it's getting there. She squeezes her shoulder. "C'mon. There's a coffee shop across the street. There is nothing that can't be cured by chocolate therapy."

These are doctor's orders, Winny.

[crossindexing]

Winny gives Juliet an uncertain look, but submits. Coffee shops are warm. And chocolate is good. She scrubs her face with the arm of her coat as they go inside.

"I'm really okay," she mumbles. And hiccups. Those aren't going away any time soon.

[ornobodywill]

Where there is booze, there is Mac. Actually, Mac is not near the booze. She's close to it though! She's still being attacked viciously by mistletoe and there's a guy trying to get fresh with her over it.

So when Portia exits the liquor store, she may just see a 5'5 angel pounding a guy twice her size into the ground. He has a black eye. His nose is probably broken. His groin area may not be useful for anything for a very long time.

...Mac hates it when men flirt with her. Mac will choose who she flirts with.

At least the mistletoe has decided it picked the wrong woman and has turned leaf and fled.

[takethechase]

Portia is unfazed.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a large bottle of vodka, gripping the neck like the neck of a club. "The fuck do you think you're doing?"

Maybe this chick has a perfectly good reason to be pulverizing a pedestrian.

If not, she might just be getting a bottle of vodka broken over her head.

[ornobodywill]

Mac stares. The man groans. Mac shushes him by giving him a swift kick and then pretends like she totally didn't just do that. What? Kicking? What?

"....Asshole tried to grope me," she says. "No doesn't mean no where he comes from, so I gave him a vocabulary lesson."

Shitfuck. Is she going to get in trouble with the cops? She has a ward to feed! ....Or, at least, protect from his own emotional instability. Mac is pretty sure no jury would convict her. That guy's frisky behavior was verging on very, very inappropriate.

[takethechase]

"Oh." And suddenly, Portia is dismissive.

Well, not dismissive, exactly. She slides the alcohol back into her back, pulls out her cell, and calls 911.

"Yeah, I need an ambulance." She gives the address. A pause. "Some moron got the shit kicked out of him. You'll have to ask him who did it."

She hangs up.

[thrillofthekill]

And where there are people departing the Conrad, so Vincent appears. He's still a bit twitchy that they never found Cliff after the plagues, but... A lot of people went missing and they never turned up again. It happens. Don't make him any less sore about it.

Still. That's no excuse not to give the ladies a proper goodbye.

"You know, Ms. Chandler, you're always welcome back here, whenever you'd like," Vincent says as he approaches, extending a hand to Gail.

[neverknewhatred]

"Oh, she is," Fritz mutters. Gail smacks her lightly on the shoulder before she takes Vincent's hand.

"Thank you. All your help and hospitality has been greatly appreciated."

[thrillofthekill]

"You're welcome back too," Vincenr rolls his eyes. "Just wasn't sure if you actually wanted to come back."

He nods at Gail politely and kisses her hand before he pulls away. Vincent's still got some old-fashioned sensibilities and he knows how to treat a senior angel who isn't one of his generals. "It's my pleasure."

He points at Fritz. "Don't give the lady too much trouble." Done pointing at her, he offers her his hand for her to shake, as well.

[mustardwithat]

She spits in her palm and claps her hand against Vincent's before he has a chance to back off. "For luck," she says.

Also because she likes grossing people out, and this is her last chance to mess with Vincent for who-knows-how-long.

Gail sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I miss Winny already. You will take care of her?"

[stopdropanddie]

Bristow still has a bit of a limp from the plagues. You know what doesn't help that limp? Snow. And cold. He's only out because he was getting something from a contact (and it's a lot easier to deal with said contact when he's a dog), which is now carrying in his mouth in brown bag. He has a collar and license on, which declares him some kind of aide dog for to detract dog catchers from trying to pick him up.

It's something Abby probably would have thought of.

The smell of cats hits his nose and he snorts. He is not going to chase cats. He is just going to limp on.

Limp on, Bristow. Limp on.

[cyfor]

Limp on... until the little gray cat frees itself from Ragnar's grip and and races over to stand in front of him, completely unintimidated by his dogginess. "You're the Broken Gray Soldier, all sharp edges and cutting insides."

She dances in, smacks at his foot and chases her tail back out of reach. "I got your measure, Locksmith, Keyholder."

Ragnar slowly imposes himself between Bristow and Cy, fluffing himself up a bit. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," he says.

This dog smells somehow familiar, but he knows they haven't met. A dog like this, he'd remember.

[stopdropanddie]

Jack stares down at the little cat. He feels vaguely compelled to bark. He will not. For one, he's holding a bag. For another... He can talk just fine.

You're Sark's cat, Bristow says, matter-of-factly, when Ragnar appears, because he has no idea what to say about or to Cy, at this point. All of that was nonsense. He tends to ignore nonsense.

[prince_stupid]

Ragnar sneezes.

Ah. He has the same sort of scent as Luke, and when you pull that out--

"You are the man from the Kashtta Tower," Ragnar says. He is less than pleased. "Cy, I think it best if we do not bother him."

Cy has different ideas. She darts in, whacks at Bristow's paws and flees again, before repeating the attack--this time on the paper bag.