2017-09-24: Purely Academic
- Log: Purely Academic
- Cast: Noah Hawthorne, Josephine Lovelace
- Where: Dazil City
- Date: September 24th 2017
- Summary: Josie gets ahold of Noah to chat. The dark nature of the scholarly world is revealed, and plans are made.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
When Noah Hawthorne finally deigns to answer the messages that either Josephine or Lily have been sending him, it's with brevity. He's in Dazil, and there's a boarding house called Charlatans located not far from one of the more popular launch sites for mercenary-staffed digging expeditions, overseen -- of course -- by the Church of Ethos. The boarding house itself has no connection with the church, however, as evidenced by its reputation for a lively, rough-and-tumble clientele.
For all that, its common-and-dining-room downstairs is spacious and well-kept, if a little worn. Local tapestries hang from the adobe walls, the tables and chairs made of heavy wood, built to last. The aromas in the air are a comingling of dust, sweat, sour spilt beer and the gloriously spicy, richly flavorful food preferred by the local denizens, served every evening out of enormous pots atop a long table against the wall, typically slopped over fragrant rice.
This is the place Noah directs Josephine to find him, though he doesn't specify whether or not he's actually a guest. When the appointed time arrives, he's seated at one of the longer tables with bench-style seating, near the back of the room, back to the wall the way any canny drifter would be. There's a foaming, heavy mug of something in front of him, but his attention is on whatever he's writing in that little leather journal of his. He is otherwise alone.
For a man she last saw freely bleeding from a bullet wound to the back, he seems none the worse for the wear.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
It's been some time between messages, alright. But Josie is ever the distractable one -- she may have one strong overriding goal ahead of her, but it doesn't mean she can't find ways to occupy herself, particularly now that she's back in more familiar territory. There was an incident with a horse, in fact, which had sort of resulted in her having to skirt November City for a while...
But we digress. A little bit of mucking around with local ruins (and affairs) has at least put a little bit of cash in her pocket, though she'll need a bit more than that to really get rolling. Pinning things down takes money.
For her part, she looks more or less the way she looked the day they parted ways, just ahead of the mad dash across the battlefront. Maybe her coat's gotten a little more battered, but she's none worse the wear.
Neither is Penelope, for that matter, the bird roosting -- eyes alert -- on her shoulder as Josie comes strolling up.
Well, doesn't he look like he's in good health.
If he were downed by 'merely a bullet to the back' (in a contested zone, delivered by a soldier) then it's entirely possible he'd be no real use to her, anyway.
For the mere basis of a little fact that she's somehow (somehow) failed to tell him. Yet.
"So there you are! Did your latest girl cut you loose at last~?" Judging from that grin and the way she says that so loudly, well.
Maybe this is her revenge, of sorts.
Without so much as asking, she slides in alongside him.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
There's only one way Noah could ever answer that question, whether a) he was being waylaid by a woman or something or someone else entirely, or b) why it is that he's suddenly resurfaced, woman or no.
"Cut her loose, I think you mean." He says that without ever glancing upward, and the nib of the pen in his hand never stops moving, hazel eyes tracking its progress across the page. "As pleasant as that kind of recuperation tends to be, there comes a point when it's difficult to summon up one's appetite for the same dish, and in a place like Dazil, with such outstanding cuisine in the offing, there's just no reason to neglect an adventurous palate." He punctuates the sentence he's writing with a little stab of the pen, then flips the journal closed and lifts his eyes, finally. The corner of his mouth comes up along with them, though the eyes themselves flick over her in swift, efficient assessment.
"Mostly in one piece?" Penelope gets a side-eye. The bird couldn't have died in the fracas, could it? That would've been far too convenient, he supposes. Goddamn thing gives him the creeping willies.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
That comment earns him a raised eyebrow. "Just until you get bored again, huh?" she says, pairing the comment with a sigh and a pseudo-judgemental shake of the head. "No wonder you're still single, Mr. Hawthorne~"
Though this may just be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.
She settles in comfortably enough alongside him, leaning back against the bench. Though someone might call the archaeologist's general demeanor at the moment 'recumbent', her dark eyes still carefully sweep the room, as if in search for people who could be a problem.
The Aveh army's presence in Dazil means that things aren't as bad as, well, further west, but you never know.
"In about as many pieces as I've ever been. And you? You sound like you've been doing well for yourself." There is a slight quirk of her lips which might suffice for a wink or a nudge.
Penelope, apparently entrenched on Josie's shoulder, seems determined to just stare at Noah. Unmoving.
"...Anyway, I caught up with Lily. No word from Morgan yet. I suppose we should start thinking about who we'd invite on our merry little chase, right?"
Not to mention the larger issue: where they're going.
"And," she adds, tilting her head to one side a little lazily, as if this were an afterthought, "There were a few other details I forgot to mention."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
No wonder you're still single, Mr. Hawthorne. His smile is alley-cat wry, shines like a star. "Working as intended."
He makes the pen disappear, and the journal goes into the leather pack on the ground beside his leg -- one of the straps of which is looped around said leg, in case anyone gets any funny ideas about who it belongs to. Not that any of the current patrons look especially interested in them. It's mid-day, and things are slow. "I like Dazil," he says, presumably an explanation for why he seems at ease. "I know my way around it pretty well. Insofar as I ever stay in any one place for any length of time. I might have been in Dazil the longest."
He is steadfastly not looking at the bird.
"It's your show, doll, so you pick the partygoers. It's the desert, so let me recommend going with people who aren't going to spend the entire trip complaining about how it's hot and sandy? 'side from that, knock yourself out."
He reaches for his heavy stein, brings it up for a sip, and answers that last little sentence of hers with an arching brow. Given how little of his face is visible at the time, it's really rather remarkable just how dry he's able to make the look.
Noah is nobody's fool.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
Josie appears to consider this. Then shrugs. "Well, as long as it's on purpose..."
It's not like she's had anything remotely close to 'steady' in some time. No interest, no inclination.
"I've been here a few times myself. Generally speaking, people are either too busy or too hot to make much trouble." She pauses, tilting her head slightly to the right. "Well, maybe sometimes at night. Soldiers, you know?" Once some people take leave -- assuming they're not on the night crew, which is a whole other box of sandlizards from what she's heard -- they live it up as much as possible.
Not that she can blame them for that, though.
"Got it, got it." Her left hand absently taps out an almost tuneless rhythm, her gaze fixed off elsewhere. "Well, I've got a few people in mind. I'll just have to see what they think about prolongued excavations..."
Which in the end brings her around to the few 'little things' she's been leaving out.
"Well," she says to start, smiling in a way that can only be called 'shameless' as she gazes over at him, "Maybe Ambrose mentioned a thing or two. Of course, I didn't want to worry him too much, you know... He's such a dear. But if he didn't, I guess you should know that it's possible someone's trying to kill me over what I found."
Well. That's a bombshell.
Josie also hasn't stopped smiling in the slightest. "Considering they burned down my house, anyway."
That smile hasn't faded.
"So!" she says, quite brightly considering what she's just mentioned, "What's a girl got to do to get some service around here?"
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Noah gradually lowers the stein again, and if she was hoping for an aghast clutching of pearls, she's going to be very disappointed. There's a little glitter in his gaze, and the sense that he's amused about something he's not wholly disclosing. "Yeah, well. Join the club, Lovelace. These days, if you haven't got some posse or other trying to chase you down and put a bullet in you, you're obviously not doing anything with your life. You, me, Tiger Eyes, Newkirk, Cain. It's just the way of it."
Ambrose did not mention, however, and that's a little thing that Noah files away for later. This is all a favor to the old man, at least in theory, and any little bit of leverage to put Ambrose back into his pocket rather than the other way around is too good to pass up.
"And you're mentioning this now...why?" Leaning forward to brace his forearms on the table and regard her sidelong past the cliff of his shoulder, he loosely interlaces his hands around his stein, keeps green-gold-brown eyes trained on her with curiosity.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
No shock? Josie lifts an eyebrow, as if to suggest a response of 'well that's no fun', even if she should have expected it.
But what she does say instead is: "Oh, you too? I figure it's a rival, myself. Academia's such a brutal place. So, who's out for your head, a former lover?"
This is followed soon on its heels by, "Who's Cain?"
Once she's got a first name to put with it, though -- fair bet she'll know at least the circulating rumors.
Some names are a little notorious.
Why didn't she? Fair question. Probably.
"Well, I didn't precisely have the chance to explain before, you know? Things were a little bit busy," she replies with a shrug. "And there's no point wondering if you'd bail on hearing it now. But I figured, if someone shows up with a gun when we go a'digging screaming about publish or perish, you should know that one's my fault."
She lifts her right hand. "Besides, I have a score to settle, too. Let's just say that I didn't escape that one unscathed..."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
The subtle amusement actually rolls openly to the fore as Noah knits his brows, studying the woman beside him. "What is it with you and assuming everything I do has a woman on the other end of it?" Not offended, given the lurking suggestion of a smile he's not letting realize itself, but tickled all the same. "Like I've got some kind of reputation."
He unlaces his hands and lifts the stein, glances down into it to check how much remains. "Cassie. Cassidy Cain. If you'd met her, you'd remember." Lips at the lip of his glass, the last words ring hollow in the interior. "And not be surprised."
It's a long pull he takes, and the thing thunks when he sets it down in a way that says it's empty now, save for whatever dregs of foam remain. "'Publish or perish,'" he mouths, and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, as though beseeching some sort of god to explain what the hell, exactly, is wrong with most academics. "And they think I'm the weird one."
Sitting back into the back of the bench, he folds his arms loosely and rolls broad shoulders, sucking at his teeth behind closed lips with his tongue, eyes narrowing. "I tell you what, Josie. I get shot up by one of your rabid professors and I might have to charge you some gella, because what I signed up for were hazards related to the blockade, and the ruin. Outside grudges cost extra. But that kicks off, you can count on us -- " The tilt of his chin suggests he's talking about himself and the ARMs perpetually strapped to his hips, " -- to stick around."
After a beat, he quirks a brow. "So you don't actually know who it is, huh."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"Call it an observation of a general trend?" Josie suggests with a shrug. The movement this time prompts Penelope to shift a degree or two, hunker down, and close her eyes at last. "So, what? Do you have a gambling habit on the side too, then? Someone out to break your legs?" Given by the rather impish smile she's sporting, she's enjoying this a little too much. "No? Am I getting warmer at least?"
Cassidy Cain. Now there, judging from the way her eyes slightly widen in recognition, is a name she knows, at least. "Not 'Long Con'? I seeeee, so that's how it is." ...How what is? She shakes her head, almost helplessly. "Guess you really aren't a stranger to people wanting you dead, now are you?"
Look, you hear stories about some people.
Her fingers again drum on the tabletop a moment as he sets the mug down, her gaze fleetingly longing.
About the mostly-empty mug, anyway.
"Mmmhm," she responds to his silent plea towards the heavens. "Academia's as cut-throat as any back-alley gang, especially where potential Zeboim breakthroughs are concerned. I suppose that's why the transition wasn't all that hard~"
That said, she watches him as he in all appearance considers what she's said, the circumstances, the whole nine yards of it. Her dark eyes glitter faintly, as if in her own private amusement about this whole situation. "Fair enough," she replies once he offers up his assessment, complete with a lopsided -- Penelope is digging in already into her left shoulder, as if in warning -- shrug. "If the situation were reversed, I'd count on the same. Well, that just means I'll have to assemble a little extra resources. Just in case. You never know when a murder-happy academic will show up to rain on your parade."
She pauses, as if reconsidering that last statement. "Burn your parade," she corrects, punctuating the statement with a short, sharp nod.
But does she even have any ideas about who?
"Nope, I don't. I was a little pre-occupied when they were burning the place down, after all..." Here, at last, her expression tilts somewhat more sober, her lips briefly pressing thinly. "It could be someone I know. Or maybe it wasn't. Hired help, maybe? ...I guess I'll find out, won't I?" Her smile, like the sun reappearing over the horizon, filters in slowly. Lopsidedly.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
"Oh, I'm sure leg-breaking could very well be on the menu," Noah says, ruminating. "And a whole lot else besides, if they get their hands on me. Which..." The corners of his mouth turn upward again, and he unfolds his arms long enough to gesture at his person with one sweeping hand. "As you can see, might be more of a challenge than they were expecting."
What he doesn't mention are the close calls, of which there have been few -- including one that immediately followed the breaking of the blockade, when he was still shot in the shoulder and looking for safe harbor.
The reputation needs polish, and the legend has to be fed properly, after all.
Refolding his arms, he skews his brows at her when she shakes her head in that knowing way. "What?" Pause. "Cassie doesn't want me dead." Pause. His eyes slide off to one side and upward, thoughtful. "I don't think," he adds.
And then: "Anyway, I expect you'll eventually find out, yeah. Sooner rather than later, hopefully. How long is it going to take you to pick your team? Soon as you know who's going and have supplies enough, I'm ready to go. I know where we're going. No idea what we're going to find, but...since Ambrose caught that rubbing off of other academics in Linga, I'd say it'd be good to get on with things."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
As if in appraisal, Josie looks Noah over from head to toe -- or, well, about as close as she can get, given they're both seated at the moment. Tilting her head to the left, she purses her lips, as if really considering this.
"I'd say it's good enough," she apparently decides in the end. "Any man who can get shot and keep riding a horse has my bet. Hmm, I wonder what odds they'd give, though..."
She ultimately shrugs regarding that line of thought, as if to shed it entirely.
Though she does add, when the subject tilts towards a certain notorious woman: "No, probably only the contents of your wallet, if the stories are right."
Probably.
Once again, the archaeologist considers the subject laid out on the table before her, metaphorically speaking. "Not too long, I think. Kiddo's on board, maybe her boy would want to come along with her." She gestures -- vaguely, with her left hand -- towards the ceiling. "It's like that. And assuming Morgan's not dead, I suppose he'd be in, too. After that..." She has some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. It depends on a few factors: usefullness, at least temporary loyalty to the cause, reduced likelihood of balking at the desert.
The important things.
"And I'll need to earn a little extra cash for supplies and things, but that won't be hard." Assuming all goes as planned, certainly, but, details.
And probably finish her side project, just in case she ends up needing that ARM.
"But I'd say you're right. They might need the real deal, but there's no telling what they'll be able to put together from the rubbings alone..."
She places her left hand palm side down on the tabletop, as if in a pledge or promise of sorts. "A few weeks. As much as I'd love to rush out there and settle things, the desert is really good at eating you alive... and there's more than enough people out there willing to help it along."
She grins, as if at her own joke.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Any man who can get shot and keep riding a horse has my bet.
"Yeah, well..." Noah angles his eyes out over the room until he's able to make eye contact with the girl at the front counter, lifting his empty stein when he does so. She slips off of her stool and disappears through the door to the kitchen. "Practice makes perfect."
He says nothing about Cassidy Cain and his wallet, but exhales through the nose and looks amused, anwyay.
No, it's talk of what they -- or rather, what she -- came west to do that he reserves his breath for now, and it's not until talk turns that way that he pipes up again. "Fine by me." There's a brief appearance of shadow between his brows, slightly knitted, and then the look clears. "I wouldn't worry too much about Newkirk. He's like a bad gella. He always turns up eventually. I'll see if I can't put feelers out, though, with the usual suspects."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"Let's just hope you can stay in practice, then," Josie comments, a wry smile on her lips.
There's no such thing as 'practice' out in the wastes. Just final exams with the very terminal sort of results upon failure.
Jude, perhaps, if he hasn't gotten himself killed after all. Or maybe those girls. She's a little reluctant there, admittedly, even if they handled themselves well in the Singing Ruins, if only because they -- for all their accomplishments -- are still just young girls.
It's not an age thing, here.
But such deliberations (in depth at least) and final decisions are still yet to occur. She has time to think on it.
"Probably, probably," she agrees, once again shrugging lopsidedly before leaning back. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, I'll see what jobs I can find. Say," she adds, gaze skimming sidelong at him through hooded eyes, "you never did tell me who's out to kill you. Or is it just collateral damage from Cain?"%R
Once the girl comes around the table, she'll find herself with a little bit of an additional order on her hands. Josie has sort of enviously been eyeing what he's been drinking, after all.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Noah's brow slowly rises, just a little bit over its opposite. He considers her in that same sidelong way, at least until the girl gets to the table with his replacement drink. He hands her the empty, then settles into that forward lean again, braced on one arm on the table's edge, the other hand on his stein. "I sure didn't. Don't you think you have a big enough pile of troubles as it is, with people burning your house down? Why would you want to invite more by finding out about mine? Knowing things is dangerous, prof. Obviously." He lifts the ale and tilts it back for a long, generous pull before he continues, gesturing loosely with the glass. "Just a couple of sore losers who like a lot of the same things I do, but aren't sharp enough to sift through the sands on their own. Doesn't matter what they call themselves, really. The world's full of people who want what doesn't belong to them."
Another sip, and then a wink tipped her way, one hazel eye watching her out of the corner. "Like us. We're just better at getting it than they are, that's all."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
To that, Josie just looks over at him, the portrait of innocence (?!).
"There's no such thing as 'enough troubles' in life. Don't you know that by now?" Closing her eyes, Josie shakes her head, only to roll her left hand palm upwards his way. "I don't need the gory details. I just want to know what I'm in for if we're doing business together."
She gives him her most winningest smile. "Same as you <3"
And explain -- in light detail -- he does.
"Oh, that type." She tsks to herself, only to offer him a lopsided grin. "Well, just as long as we keep on being better at it, it shouldn't be a problem."
At which point he makes a comment that just makes her laugh.
"You know, I think you just summarized the entire archaeological field..."
At some point, she'll even get her ale, too.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Fact: the only innocent people in the world are people who do their best not to look like they are.
Noah just rolls his eyes, treating that look with all of the forbearance and skepticism it deserves. Winning smiles don't do much to temper that reaction, either.
"I don't know, Josie." There's an unhurried silence to follow that preface, during which he watches the thin crowd doing nothing especially interesting. Sounds from the street outside bleed now and then through the cracked windows, and there's the occasionally heavy thump from upstairs where the rooms are -- just quiet signs of periodic life to fill the gap between what he said, and what he says next.
"I think there might be such a thing. 'Enough troubles.' Ask me seven years ago and I'd have agreed with you, but now I'm seven years older and a whole lotta bullet holes wiser. A few stab wounds, a couple of stints behind bars..." In spite of the grim content of what he says, there's a flicker of a smile. It's tempered with something else, though, like a suggestion that he's not entirely in jest. "I like trouble, but I only like certain kinds of trouble. The day I figure out how to make sure I get one type and not the other, though, I'll let you know."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"Oh, sure. I suppose it's possible to want that to be true," Josie says airily, in spite of the look he's giving her. "But I've found that life usually has other plans. So just grin and bear it, and keep on moving, no matter what. That's the only thing I've found that works."
That and, apparently -- judging from her habits -- a whole lot of alcohol.
But she seems to relent -- just a little -- and once her drink is finally planted on the table before her, offers him up a single almost-understanding nod.
"Fair enough, fair enough." She breathes out a slow sigh. "I do know what you mean."
At which point she lifts her mug, as if in a toast. "To the ability to attract the right kind of trouble, then."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
"I'll drink to that." And he does, once he lifts his stein to knock it against her mug, enough to cause a little slosh of foam to spill over the side, because a toast doesn't mean anything if it doesn't happen with enthusiasm.
He hoists it, drains a fair portion, and on setting it down immediately launches into Story Time without a moment's notice:
"I ever tell you about the time my buddy Keith did a summer running convoys down from Bledavik?" As though they'd known one another forever, and there had been plenty of opportunities for him to do just that. "Keith's a special guy in the sense that I'm pretty sure when he was born his mama left him out in the Ignas sun to cook up a bit, since his head was soft like an underdone egg, if you follow me. And Keith thought it would be a great idea to get in close to this brassiere magnate..."
It sounds like it's going to be a long night.