[Hmmm, she'd been setting up a nasty booby trap since she finally got access to dust at the universal market, so her place was a bad idea. That, and she didn't want anyone to know where she lived.]
How about yours, or you pick a place? Never hurts to have things on neutral ground when getting to know each other.
[Oh, she deserved that. If he knew just how paranoid she was about getting in and out of work and her home, it would be a little surprising. She didn't bother being paranoid about the things she knew would get out eventually, but boy she was really cautious at times.
Either way she'd make her way over once they had time and place settled, umbrella on her shoulder as she sauntered her way into the cafe.]
[He'll arrive at around the same time, a checkerboard tucked under his arm. She'll need to be the one to approach, because he, of course, doesn't have a clue what she looks like; as soon as he gets there, he picks an empty table by the window and starts setting up the board.]
[She picked him out of the people here by the checker board. Anything she'd seen hadn't gotten her thoroughly familiar yet. So, that was a good indicator. Walking over, she made her way slowly across the room.
The first things obvious about her was that she was short. 4'10" in heels. Despite walking confidently and smoothly, unconcerned about that height difference with almost everyone, she was decidedly shorter than the average. The other thing to notice was probably the colors. If he knew Neopolitan candies and ice cream, this girl was going full tilt for the motif. Dual colored hair, eyes and bits throughout her outfit.
The bowler hat, an old gray scarf and a lace umbrella completed the odd little ensemble as she walked in front of his table, seating herself lightly with a crossing of the legs. She was, maybe, twenty or nineteen by the look of her. A little waggle of her fingers and she grinned at him mildly.]
He studies her for a few long moments, making no secret of the fact that he's forming some sort of opinion, and not caring a whit if that's intimidating or uncomfortable. Finally, he says:]
[She gave him a wide grin when he said that, flashing those pearly whites in the process. No, seriously, even if it was meant as an insult, she took it as a complement. She liked being outside of people's expectations, being hard to predict. Leaning forward, she took her gloved fingers and pressed to the center of the board, spinning it so the red ones were on her side.
As she picked up one and moved it diagonally forward, it was pretty obvious she knew the rules enough to know red went first. Holding out a hand, palm up, she raised an eyebrow and gave a silent chuckle. What 'had' he expected, she wondered?]
[He gets the gist of the question, it seems, and and his answer is matter-of-fact:]
I thought you were a man.
[But he doesn't seem bothered by the fact that she isn't, at least; he's just sexist enough that he automatically assumes that people who talk like her are men, but isn't so sexist that he's annoyed or offended when they aren't. He also doesn't seem to mind the spinning of the board, and moves his own game piece without missing a beat.]
[Well, that was something of a first. She didn't get confused for a guy pretty much ever, though she supposed that these text communications complicated things. After all, she was so used to a world where she never spoke to anyone at all, where people just wouldn't understand her completely and she loathed them for it. And here? it was so much easier than the scroll network, and they all wanted to know her. It was... strange.
She managed a little shrug and shook her head, looking a little amused before tipping her hat to him and shifting out another piece. A couple to set up jumps for the future. Not good to jump out too far. She gave him a once over before taking a piece of paper in a notepad from her pocket and scrawling on it quickly.]
[Admittedly? she'd assumed that he wouldn't have a brown hair on his head. She'd kind of gotten a 'grandpa' vibe from him the times that they'd talked, so she had thought he was a bit older by far. She settled back, nodding. No, she didn't have any illusions about her age. She wasn't old by any stretch even if she wasn't a child.]
[She shrugged, tapping her own piece gently on the board. When she moved it, it was clear she was separating her pieces to avoid double-jumps while setting up her attack slowly, methodically. She wasn't the most aggressive of players.
Another shrug as she typed, and there was an uncommitted look in her eyes.]
It's a decent answer. No, we don't. But I meant it when we spoke before. One of my remaining reasons for living is here. So, I'm not in a hurry.
[She leaned back, considering him. his second message...]
This has to do with asking about doctors, yes?
[She wasn't necessarily prying, but she was willing to be a little blunt about the matter. She could also appreciate a person who really had no reason to continue on, or who felt that they would not one way or another. She should have been dead two years ago, but she wasn't.]
[A move away from either of them getting tagged. She moved a piece up a hop away from behind, checking to see if he was going to ove in for a one for one trade.]
That will do it, yes. I'm guessing you live a dangerous life? You don't seem the random victim.
[He says blithely. Instead of doing the expected thing, he moves one of his backburner pieces forward instead, just to see what she'll do in response.]
[That gave her pause. Ok, so they were playing a longer game. She could do that. It made things more interesting. Instead of going for the back row, she started on the other side of the front one, getting ready for a second direction in a few moves.]
Everyone's a criminal somewhere. But you just seem the right kind of matter of fact. Like it doesn't fuss you one way or another. At least you're not the whiny "I did nothing wrong, honest" type. Never could abide the ones who weren't honest about what they are.
[His next move is another random one, all the way across the board.]
Nor can I. The ones who are wracked with guilt but don't have the good sense to stop, the ones who make excuses for themselves and look down on the rest of us--
[her pace slowed considerably. It was blatantly obvious that she was checking for pattern and developing move sets, thinking three moves down the road, though it was reactive. This wasn't her strongest game and she sort of expected to lose, but she played conservatively, angling to not leave too many openings as she got her front rank in position twice around.]
Putting on airs for skill is one thing. We are what we are. It's survival. I don't need to do it here, so I do what I'm good at.
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deerington
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And if not, I saw a board. Doesn't look complicated.
Let's do checkers.
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How about yours, or you pick a place?
Never hurts to have things on neutral ground when getting to know each other.
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But considering our last conversations, you can't know that for sure.
And I couldn't know that of you.
Isn't that true? Only sensible.
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[He's absolutely being condescending here, but.]
Action
[Oh, she deserved that. If he knew just how paranoid she was about getting in and out of work and her home, it would be a little surprising. She didn't bother being paranoid about the things she knew would get out eventually, but boy she was really cautious at times.
Either way she'd make her way over once they had time and place settled, umbrella on her shoulder as she sauntered her way into the cafe.]
Action
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The first things obvious about her was that she was short. 4'10" in heels. Despite walking confidently and smoothly, unconcerned about that height difference with almost everyone, she was decidedly shorter than the average. The other thing to notice was probably the colors. If he knew Neopolitan candies and ice cream, this girl was going full tilt for the motif. Dual colored hair, eyes and bits throughout her outfit.
The bowler hat, an old gray scarf and a lace umbrella completed the odd little ensemble as she walked in front of his table, seating herself lightly with a crossing of the legs. She was, maybe, twenty or nineteen by the look of her. A little waggle of her fingers and she grinned at him mildly.]
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He studies her for a few long moments, making no secret of the fact that he's forming some sort of opinion, and not caring a whit if that's intimidating or uncomfortable. Finally, he says:]
You're not what I expected.
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As she picked up one and moved it diagonally forward, it was pretty obvious she knew the rules enough to know red went first. Holding out a hand, palm up, she raised an eyebrow and gave a silent chuckle. What 'had' he expected, she wondered?]
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I thought you were a man.
[But he doesn't seem bothered by the fact that she isn't, at least; he's just sexist enough that he automatically assumes that people who talk like her are men, but isn't so sexist that he's annoyed or offended when they aren't. He also doesn't seem to mind the spinning of the board, and moves his own game piece without missing a beat.]
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She managed a little shrug and shook her head, looking a little amused before tipping her hat to him and shifting out another piece. A couple to set up jumps for the future. Not good to jump out too far. She gave him a once over before taking a piece of paper in a notepad from her pocket and scrawling on it quickly.]
Younger than expected.
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[He says, with a throaty chuckle.]
Now, especially.
[He's not young, after all, and he's pretty sure that blind eye and the cane make him look older than he actually is.]
But you - you're about the age I thought you were.
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Thought I would end the illusions. Was curious.
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[He asks, tapping his piece lightly against the board in lieu of making a move with it.]
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You're different, but so far?
I think I am more curious than I am expecting?
What do you want here?
Other than an exit.
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[He moves a piece, approaching one of hers from the side.]
No matter who we are, alive or dead, I think it's clear enough that none of us are really meant to be here.
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Another shrug as she typed, and there was an uncommitted look in her eyes.]
It's a decent answer.
No, we don't.
But I meant it when we spoke before.
One of my remaining reasons for living is here.
So, I'm not in a hurry.
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[Potentially being dead will do that!]
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This has to do with asking about doctors, yes?
[She wasn't necessarily prying, but she was willing to be a little blunt about the matter. She could also appreciate a person who really had no reason to continue on, or who felt that they would not one way or another. She should have been dead two years ago, but she wasn't.]
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[He says bluntly, moving closer still to her nearest gamepiece.]
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That will do it, yes.
I'm guessing you live a dangerous life?
You don't seem the random victim.
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[He says blithely. Instead of doing the expected thing, he moves one of his backburner pieces forward instead, just to see what she'll do in response.]
Nah, you've got it right; I'm a criminal and all.
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Everyone's a criminal somewhere.
But you just seem the right kind of matter of fact.
Like it doesn't fuss you one way or another.
At least you're not the whiny "I did nothing wrong, honest" type.
Never could abide the ones who weren't honest about what they are.
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Nor can I. The ones who are wracked with guilt but don't have the good sense to stop, the ones who make excuses for themselves and look down on the rest of us--
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Putting on airs for skill is one thing.
We are what we are. It's survival.
I don't need to do it here, so I do what I'm good at.