2017-09-25: Caustics

• Log: Caustics
• Cast: Loren Voss, Neriah Parringer
• Where: November City - Adventurer's Guildhall
• Date: September 25th 2017
• Summary: Neriah, curious about 'Thomas', strikes up a conversation with him as he eavesdrops. It goes perhaps as expected.

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<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

Downtime is allowed when you're out in the field.

Seated -- alone -- within the confines of the Adventurer's Guildhall, the young alleged medical student stares at the spread of cards laid out before him, apparently considering his next move in a game of Patience.
Fairly close at hand, Drifters chat about this or that job. About the news.
About an apparent explosion out in the desert.

Downtime is allowed, even if it's never really downtime.
Not when there's plenty of news to keep on top of.
It's at times like this that his tendencies -- a scholarly-leaning wallflower of a medic -- can help rather than hurt.

Loren, AKA Thomas Blackwell, flips over another card as he continues to surreptitiously eavesdrop on the Drifters at the bar. Hmm. If they're blaming it on Metal Demons, perhaps it won't be as bad.

But that still hasn't answered where the Wels came from... or how far the infestation has spread.

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be studying medicine, you don't spend a lot of time at school," a light voice notes from just behind 'Thomas the medical student.'

With a soft tap of heeled boots, a dark-haired girl in long gloves and a newsboy hat circles around Thomas Blackwell's seat. When Neriah got here, it's hard to say; she wasn't here a minute ago. The cloak she's got folded over her shoulder also seems to be new; it's the same red colour as the tunic she's wearing today. With a tilt of her head, she reaches for one of the chairs.

She pulls it out and sinks into it, crossing one leg over the other and looking across the table at the supposed med student. "You seem like you're none the worse for the wear," she offers.

"I'm glad, anyway. For a minute there I thought we were going to have to escape through Fei's tunnel," Neriah says with a cant of her head to one side, reaching up to remove her hat. She sets it down on the table in front of her, though her eyes don't escape Thomas.

"What kind of medicine do you study?" she asks, then. "It must be a pretty esoteric kind of medicine if you're out there Drifting against Reapers."

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

Oh, good.

It's not everyday that a person of interest makes a drop-in visit into his life. Though, as regrettable as the fact that he's been interrupted mid-game (and mid-observational period too) is, it's also regrettable that she's noticed a thing or two about him.

"Do you make a habit of criticizing everyone's study habits?" he says, only flicking his gaze up once as she circles his seat. He moves a card over to what's apparently the discard. "Or am I just the lucky one?"

She's watching him. As if in vague irritation, his shoulders hunch.

"More or less," he says, setting down another card. "I haven't died. That's good enough for me."

Basic survival is a pretty low rung, perhaps, but you get what you can in life, sometimes.

"The non-existent, painted tunnel." 'Thomas' sighs, then finally looks up at her, meeting her gaze. "What do you want?"

Fairly observant, for a Lamb. He'll give her that one, he supposes. Of course, it also means he's mentally readjusted her threat level a degree.

"It was trauma, fittingly enough." He shrugs, looking her right in the eyes. His own are a pale blue, the color of the sky. "And what about you? I don't know anything about you, Parringer."

Except for one thing: she has trick he knows -- or at least thinks he does -- shouldn't be possible.

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

"No. Just the ones who seem like they do a lot more Drifting than medical studenting," Neriah remarks as if she hadn't been criticized at all, her tone light and rather glib.

She leans back in her seat and crosses a leg over the opposite, smoothing her gloved hands over the tops of her thighs to straighten the dark slacks she wore to the conversation. "Yeah. Not dying is usually good. You have to worry about burying yourself if that happens and it isn't fun." She shrugs slowly, though the way her eyes search Thomas is completely incongruent with the way she delivers those straight-faced little jibes and jokes. It's as though she's trying to read him.

"Honestly, I was just curious about you. I mean, you don't have to be ashamed if you aren't really a medical student. I'm not going to rat you out or anything," she continues, shaking her head as if to provide some assurance. "But you seem like you've got more going on than that."

The last question evokes a slow shrug from the girl, and she lifts a delicate hand, plucking at her glove with the opposite. "There's nothing that special about me," she confesses. "I'm an Excavator from a small Badlands town and I travel around digging up treasure for cash."

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

One blond eyebrow lifts. "Been watching me a lot, have you?" He rolls his eyes, as if annoyed. "Wonderful, I have a stalker."

'Thomas' turns over another card, shuffling another card off into the discard. "Hmmph," he snorts, as if in response to Neriah's glib remark about burying herself. "So is that what the shovel's for. I had been wondering." As if the intended purpose of the shovel hadn't been made manifestly clear before.

He gazes down at the cards before him, as if studying his current arrangement intently. He has all the luck, he's attracting the nosy ones.

He looks back up.

"Aren't we tactful," he says to Neriah, tone no less than flat. Normally, he might ease back on the bite. Or opt for something more carefully phrased. But this one's just a Lamb on the 'to watch' list, and he doesn't think she'll flee because he was rude, either.

Loren lifts a hand, readjusting his glasses a touch as he stares back at her, as if she were a bug under a microscope. "Fine. Since you've been asking so politely," clear sarcasm, there, "I'm not a medical student anymore, and I haven't been for some time. I thought Drifters didn't ask personal history business, as a rule."

If there was ever a look in someone's gaze that they found a statement dubious at best, this is it. "'Nothing special about you'. I see. Then I suppose that's power's normal where you come from?"

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

Sighing softly, Neriah rolls her eyes. "I wouldn't say stalking. And I guess I might just be a rotten Drifter. But I'm also a rotten Drifter who notices when someone keeps glancing at me out of the corners of their eyes. I figured since you were curious, I would be too."

The girl smiles a Cupid's-bow of a smile. Her eyes twinkle with mild mirth. If she's at all cowed, she doesn't show it. "Well, you can volunteer it if you like. But I wouldn't ask if I didn't like you. I mean, you did help me out that time back at the Rujm el-Hiri. Most people don't bother to help me out with anything." Her tone softens a little, a more conciliatory smile crossing her face.

"I guess I just wanted to know the real you."

That dubious look leaves Neriah reclining in her chair, tapping a finger against the point of her chin. She doesn't answer right away. The question hangs in the air for a couple of seconds.

"I don't know if I'd say normal," she murmurs, finally.

"It's not all that amazing, though. I'm a symbologist," she lies as smoothly as if she'd been telling the lie for years. "When I was younger I learned about a rare kind of symbology with a really high destructive power. So I decided to adopt it. Why do you think I cover up my Symbols? I'd hate for some amateur to try to copy it and hurt themselves."

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

When someone keeps glancing at her out of the corner of their eyes? Somehow, when she puts it that way, it just sounds... like...
He bites down on the urge to shudder, shoulders stiffening slightly, at the thought of a him and a Lamb. No, thank you. He instead fidgets with his glasses for a moment, as if to readjust their sit on his face. "...I was a medical student once," he says, as if that explains his actions. "That's all." There's certainly nothing deeper about it here.

Maybe he should leave this one out of the report. Emperor preserve him, he doesn't have it in him to attempt what Elly's doing.

"Well, this is as real as it gets, I suppose," he says with a faint shrug.

He looks at her, over the top of his glasses. "Symbology. I see." Somehow, he doesn't sound all that convinced. "I suppose you can't just have it blotted off your body? Oh well." His hand lingers on one of the still face-down cards, running along the edges. "A highly-destructive Symbol still isn't what I'd call normal, though."

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

Neriah's eyes don't leave Loren. She's making note of his body language - that slight stiffening of his shoulders and that little fidget. But she can't decipher it - she has no concept of there even being superior sky people who think surface-dwellers are inferior [Lambs], and thus no baseline to judge 'Thomas the Medical Student' as anything more than an awkward guy who's less friendly than she hoped he would be. Her expression has fallen just slightly.

"I see," she says, plucking at the fingers of her glove again, then turning her right hand to scratch her palm with the left.

She doesn't say anything for a few awkward seconds. She's not sure what she should say. This isn't going as well as she planned.

Turns out that Neriah isn't all that good at making friends. Who'd have guessed.

When she looks up again, she raises her eyebrows. "I mean, I could if I wanted to. And maybe it's a bit of a different kind of Symbol than most of the ones out there. But it's not like there aren't other ancient Symbols that people use. Mine's just a different variety."

Neriah smiles and looks down towards her lap, clearing her throat. "You think it's weird, don't you. It's okay. Most people do."

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

To be fair, 'awkward guy who is less friendly than someone hoped he would be' is an entirely accurate description of Loren. Just ask Elly sometime.

In the wake of that commentary from him, uneasy awkward silence settles over the table.
Well, this is familiar, Loren thinks in passing, turning over the next card. This one, unlike the others, is set into place.

Someone else isn't very good at making friends and it's not just Neriah.

He knows a little about Symbology. Particularly after the time he spent casing a notorious Symbology-user. As far as 'threats' went, anyway. His gaze flickers down at the cards before him. "I guess," he says, as close as someone can get to shrugging by voice alone. "I don't know much about Symbology." Just seen the effects of a spell that shouldn't be possible through it melt a Golem.

Is it possible that's what she uses, too? It didn't feel right for that, he thinks, looking at her again.

He shrugs when she wonders if it's weird. "Like I said, I don't know much about Symbology. You tattoo Symbols onto your skin and use them in spells, but that's as much as I know. So, what, is this one just more powerful, or..."

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

Most Symbology doesn't feel like what Neriah uses. Certainly whatever Ethius Hesiod was packing that fateful day in Adlehyde didn't have the curdling, tainted feel of whatever magic Neriah wielded. And Loren's seen her without her gloves, when he checked on her injuries in the Rujm el-Hiri.

If she has Symbols, they must be somewhere else, because that day, at least, there were none on her forearms.

"This one's much more powerful," Neriah confirms as she folds her hands on the tabletop. "So much so that it tends to scare people when I use it... and that it takes a lot out of me to even use it. But it helps me out a lot in situations where I might not be strong enough to defeat an enemy with my own strength. If I can draw on the magic to help...."

She shrugs slowly and looks down at the tabletop, at the hat sitting in front of her. "...I'm not a very strong fighter on my own. Not like most Drifters," Neriah admits. "That's why I use the magic, even though it hurts me."

Please swallow the lie, Neriah's mind pleads silently. She can't help but feel like she's close to being found out for a fake Symbologist.

"How about you," she asks with a slow shrug, tone a little more subdued. "What made you decide you wanted to be a Drifter?"

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

Not on the forearms, no. He's very certain of that. But from what he knows about Symbology, it doesn't seem that location is as important, though many practitioners after a certain point do eventually begin to show 'signs' of their mastery. A single, allegedly powerful Symbol though could be anywhere.

And even more than that, something felt wrong about her power. He might have his third eye shut tight, as his encounters with Malevolence and Seraphs have generally trended, but he could feel that much.

He watches her the entire time she explains about her Symbol, how she uses it, how it takes so much out of her. How it's so powerful it spurs others into abject terror. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I see."

He lapses back into silence after.

"And if it hurts you so much you can't help anyone? Then what?" 'Thomas' asks her quietly. If he had sounded irritated at points before, or dismissive, here he sounds more Annoyed.

Emperor help the fools who mangle themselves in the name of... whatever alleged grand goal they have their eyes on.

Whatever she's doing might just chew her up first, if he's got the bead on it right. 'Symbology' or not.

"...Me?" His brow furrows. "Self-preservation. Like I said, I'm not a medical student anymore. And you're not the only one running away from something, Miss Parringer." ...It's not a particularly polite 'Miss'.

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

Perhaps Neriah conceals her symbols in the form of the mythical Tramp Stamp of Power. She doesn't seem to be eager to explain where she hid it, anyway.

"I've never had that problem," she admits with a small dip of her head, drawing out a slow pattern across her right palm with her left fingertip. "But the more I use it, the easier it gets. It used to be that just using it felt like I was going to die. Now it doesn't hurt quite so bad." Her tone's tightening up a little as she reads that irritation in the voice of the so-called medical student. "Why are you so upset about it? I-- I chose to use it."

That seemed to be harder for her to say than the rest of her explanation. Her eyes divert away for a split-second before she glances back.

Now she's the one on the spot and she doesn't like it very much. Her lips come together as she folds her hands into a tight clasp, lowering her eyes to them.

A long, awkward silence hangs in the air as she steadfastly refuses to say anything that might incriminate her.

"Would you rather I just left you alone?" she asks when she finally looks up. Her tone's quiet, but there's a hint of something slightly wounded behind her eyes.

<Pose Tracker> Loren Voss has posed.

To be fair, Loren is not particularly interested in checking, so it works out in Neriah's favor.

For the most part -- imminent death etc aside -- 'Thomas', as Neriah may have noticed, is not the type to emote too much (eyerolls and the like aside). Except, that is, when it comes to speaking volumes by gaze alone.

This look, this one here, when she says that she 'used to feel like she was going to die' when using it, is one such look. 'Why' is one possible translation of that icy look. 'What is wrong with you' could be another.

"Then why," he says slowly, "did you keep using it?"

Neriah's not the first person to be on the receiving end of a bit of blunt looks -- and phrasing -- considering their recklessness with their wellbeing.
He's a medic. He's a combat medic. His only job in combat is to keep people alive, to whatever extreme that requires.
Of course people who take needless risks, cause problems for their support teams, who aggravate their wounds, and a whole laundry list of sins that only a medic could dream up would rank highly on the list of things that actually make him sort of angry.

Playing with a mysterious power apparently counts.

"Idiot," he says at length, his apparent judgement of the matter.

He exhales a long breath afterwards. His shoulders rise and fall, and briefly, Loren closes his eyes.

"Do whatever you want. If you don't have any other reasons to bother me..."

As if to underscore this statement, he draws another card.

And is forced to discard this as well, it seems.

<Pose Tracker> Neriah Parringer has posed.

Neriah is fast coming to the conclusion that Thomas the Medical Student is not going to be her friend. The look he gives her leaves her blinking a couple of times.

Then he calls her an idiot and completely shuts her down. Her lips come together in a tight line. Her surprise gives way to a low-level indignation, simmering behind her gaze for a few seconds.

It fades steadily, replaced by something else. A mix of resignation and bitterness.

On the one hand, it's far from the first time she's been rejected. On the other hand, usually it's fear that causes it.

Disdain is something different.

Easing her chair back, the girl quietly comes to her feet, shifting her cloak over her shoulder. She clears her throat slightly and tilts her head.

Reaching across the table, she picks up one of the discarded cards. She tucks it into her pocket. Her eyes darken visibly, a scowl etching itself across her face.

"Fuck yourself," she says flatly. "Have a nice life, Tom."

Without waiting for a response, Neriah turns and storms off, unfolding her cloak behind her and wrapping around herself. She doesn't want the so-called medical student to see the fact that she's blushing. Rejection is one thing, but she'd genuinely thought that Thomas the Medical Student might've been a nice guy. Instead, her mind draws to the usual conclusion:

Nobody will ever accept me. No one.

But that's fine.

He can die like the rest.