His initial reaction to Xanadu being "oh Lord, I've finally lost my fucking mind," Wolfgang spent the first few days acclimating himself with the city by having a nervous breakdown. It was only after he'd convinced himself that he was not having another of his hideously fucked up dreams that he'd been inclined to venture more into the city that apparently existed inside his pantry. Madness still being a distinct possibility, he was still having a hard time getting his nerves to settle
( ... )
Thus far, Ilde hasn't really spoken to anyone here - probably because in theory most people have better things to do than inquire as to why exactly that strange young woman is intently examining the sidewalk - and there's a slight pause before she properly registers that the second half of that was in fact directed at her.
"-hello," she says, belatedly, and then smiles a moment later like turning on a light, shaking her head at herself; she's not usually awkward, she's just still not sure exactly what's going on or what, in fact, the norm to which she should conform around here happens to be. (She isn't sure if there is one, which can't be right, because there's always something. She'll figure it out.) "Hi. Sorry." ...for existing? For looking a little bit like a deer in the headlights?
He looks a little startled at the apology, wondering if he's maybe made some faux pas that would imply she needs to; he has no idea what the culture is like, here, although it won't take him long to adjust, given how often he's had to in the past. "For? -- er, sorry, no, it's fine?" IS THAT THE RIGHT THING TO SAY? Who knows.
He enters properly, pulling his messenger bag from around his shoulders and habitually tucking his ridiculous curtain of hair behind his ears. (It almost immediately begins to escape again.) "This is a bar, yes? I was not sure, with the, um -- sign." And desolation. Seriously, the place is a ghost town.
Consciously averting a potential infinite feedback loop of apologies - she's seen that happen, and you know, it's not pretty - Ilde glances reflexively back behind the bar (which she and her ridiculous pants are sitting at, purse half-open beside her glass and notepad, since the empty place didn't present much of a theft risk). "The note back there says 'help yourself'," she says, by way of confirmation and explanation. "I've been wondering if the owner is Catholic."
The sign...the potential for inspiring confusion and guilt in customers unsure if they're really meant to just take as they will...though one presumably doesn't have to be Catholic to be perverse.
(She put the equivalent price from the last bar she was at in the till.)
Childermass is back. It's hard to say if he ever left with any certainty - the man has a way of going near invisible when he doesn't want to be noticed. But today he can be noticed in Stigmata, for those who choose to look.
He's got his Cartes de Marseilles out, and he's shuffling, a small tumbler of gin currently untouched in front of him.
Ilde doesn't remember his coming in, and she isn't sure if he was there or not when she arrived - but that, she acknowledges to herself, could have as much to do with the cocktail on the bar in front of her as with anything else. (The phrase 'cheap date' springs to mind.)
People-watching is one thing, but it's a bit less subtle when there's no one else in the room, and when she catches herself too closely following the way he shuffles the cards - she looks away, shaking her head, and finishes her drink.
"I can read you, if you want," he said, unprompted and quiet. He's amused, but then Childermass always sounds amused. He's tall and dark and not-quite-respectable (not terribly handsome, for the twist of a face he has), and dressed for the beginning of the 19th century.
Then again, he wouldn't offer if he weren't in the mood to be taken up on it.
"Read me...?" She doesn't quite understand at first - the motion was what caught her eye, she wasn't paying very much attention to what the cards were, and isn't terribly familiar with the concept in the first place - but her incomprehension clears after a moment into slight dubiousness. (Little fairy doesn't believe in magic, does she.) "Oh. Well- how does that work?"
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Thus far, Ilde hasn't really spoken to anyone here - probably because in theory most people have better things to do than inquire as to why exactly that strange young woman is intently examining the sidewalk - and there's a slight pause before she properly registers that the second half of that was in fact directed at her.
"-hello," she says, belatedly, and then smiles a moment later like turning on a light, shaking her head at herself; she's not usually awkward, she's just still not sure exactly what's going on or what, in fact, the norm to which she should conform around here happens to be. (She isn't sure if there is one, which can't be right, because there's always something. She'll figure it out.) "Hi. Sorry." ...for existing? For looking a little bit like a deer in the headlights?
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He enters properly, pulling his messenger bag from around his shoulders and habitually tucking his ridiculous curtain of hair behind his ears. (It almost immediately begins to escape again.) "This is a bar, yes? I was not sure, with the, um -- sign." And desolation. Seriously, the place is a ghost town.
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Consciously averting a potential infinite feedback loop of apologies - she's seen that happen, and you know, it's not pretty - Ilde glances reflexively back behind the bar (which she and her ridiculous pants are sitting at, purse half-open beside her glass and notepad, since the empty place didn't present much of a theft risk). "The note back there says 'help yourself'," she says, by way of confirmation and explanation. "I've been wondering if the owner is Catholic."
The sign...the potential for inspiring confusion and guilt in customers unsure if they're really meant to just take as they will...though one presumably doesn't have to be Catholic to be perverse.
(She put the equivalent price from the last bar she was at in the till.)
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He's got his Cartes de Marseilles out, and he's shuffling, a small tumbler of gin currently untouched in front of him.
He may not be watching Ilde, but he noticed her.
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Ilde doesn't remember his coming in, and she isn't sure if he was there or not when she arrived - but that, she acknowledges to herself, could have as much to do with the cocktail on the bar in front of her as with anything else. (The phrase 'cheap date' springs to mind.)
People-watching is one thing, but it's a bit less subtle when there's no one else in the room, and when she catches herself too closely following the way he shuffles the cards - she looks away, shaking her head, and finishes her drink.
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Then again, he wouldn't offer if he weren't in the mood to be taken up on it.
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"Read me...?" She doesn't quite understand at first - the motion was what caught her eye, she wasn't paying very much attention to what the cards were, and isn't terribly familiar with the concept in the first place - but her incomprehension clears after a moment into slight dubiousness. (Little fairy doesn't believe in magic, does she.) "Oh. Well- how does that work?"
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