Ned's apartment is simple. It hugs the eastern most edge of the Mexican edge of downtown, the suggestion of upscale several blocks distant in favour of something low-key, uninspired and still moderately overpriced. Still he makes a decent wage as an Orderly and puts in enough hours to ensure he's comfortable. His lifestyle choices and efforts are mostly for lack of caring (especially in recent weeks) rather than for any true appreciation of an 'Aesthetics are for Hipsters' mark.
It is a bachelor. One large room on the third floor of a seven story tenement. Creaky hardwood flooring with ancient bannisters and doors that belong in some modern take on the old horror tropes. Rundown Kubrickian perhaps.
The interior is a modicum of former college life. Dishes in the sink, some in the dish rack, the smallest stove and oven known to man, a medium fridge. The room beyond is an assortment of piled clothes atop a dresser, and a bunch of hooks embedded in the wall for his 'nice attire' (a couple of shirts, pants and some belts at best).
The bed/futon is put up into a couch, facing a computer on a desk hugging the wall. The Computer is connected to a large screen TV also embedded in the wall, a connection cable transfering the screen of the comp to the screen of the TV for ease of view.
Ned is dressed in simple gray track pants and a black T when Sepulveda arrives, pulling the door open to eyeball the doc with his what by now must be patented frown.
"Alright so...what exactly are we supposed to be doing because I've got work in the morning and I'm not really looking to be hungover for it."
Sepúlveda
The Etherite had sent him a text message saying he was outside when he arrived to pick him up but for whatever reason Ned isn't ready to go when he gets there. Rather than coming out to the car Ned opens the door to him.
Opens the door and then immediately produces excuses. Work. As if work was ever as an excuse not to do anything. Sepúlveda has to be to work at the crack of ass himself too but if Ned has heard any of the stories going around he has heard that not only does the man not sleep but he can heal himself with a few swishes of liquid in a test tube.
"Then don't get hungover," Sepúlveda says in a cloying voice. Like Ned is being ridiculous. He makes a c'mon gesture with the hand not holding onto his keys but doesn't offer up any other explanation.
Ned
There's a blinking stare, followed by a 'Alright' that sends the apprentice into the apartment. A half a minute later and he's exiting again in jeans, a hoodie and his wool jacket, keys jangling with the door locked up, the apartment dark and shutdown.
He tucks his keys into his jacket pocket, checks his pants for his wallet and other necessities and the door knob to see that the door is actually locked before finally lifting his gaze toward the Doc and nodding, hands in pockets.
"So what is this about exactly?"
Sepúlveda
At this point Ned has already seen the house in which the medical examiner lives. It is not a palace by any means but it is well within his means and his means afford him quite a bit of breathing room. He has a laboratory and a library in the basement. So the fact that he drives a winter beater may or may not strike Ned as novel.
It's a Jeep Wrangler he leads him to. Not a luxury vehicle. A lot of room in the back not just for equipment and furniture but bodies. One could sleep in the back of this thing if one needed to. He has the back windows in place so when they drive the winter doesn't climb in with them.
So what is this about.
As they walk and approach the vehicle he says:
"I wish I had a, ah, what do you call it. An agenda. But I don't. I caught myself thinking about you and your friend Margot the other day when I ought to have been doing other things--" He unlocks the door and walks around the front of the vehicle before climbing in and turning the engine. "--and then I thought, 'Hey! Happy hour! I'll take him to the happy hour!'" A beat as they proceed into traffic. "I'm trying different, Ned, if you'd prefer a different environment for casual conversation I'm more than happy to take suggestions."
Ned
"It's more that the exposure is a bit off-putting for what we normally talk about."
He's conversational, or as conversational as Ned opts to be most of the time. Seemingly far more comfortable discussing the actual, then potential small-talk or chit-chat or whatever those crazy kids do these days. He sits in the wrangler, glancing around the interior with careful eyes (and no small amount of nervousness that had him considering waging a Matter glance at the engine and guts, to ensure it was within working condition and order. Air bags...did this thing have Air bags?!)
"The strip club was a good measure of exposure that allowed you to put on that silence bubble. Proved some points and made it clear what we're going to be up against but I hardly think publicity and Working are within the spectrum of normal. That said...casual conversation's not really my forte, though I would prefer to get some clarity on a few things if you're open to some questions."
A pause. A beat.
"Analogy free if I can help it." A joke. A small joke. He can joke....sometimes.
Sepúlveda
It's a small joke and Sepúlveda doesn't seem like he's rooted enough in the same reality as the rest of them to have a sense of humor but he's trying. These goddamned kids are going to have him undergoing Grinch-like alteration of personality at the rate they're going.
"Your analogies are terrible," he says. Teasing. "Why do you rely on analogies? It's like listening to someone try to translate Cervantes into Modern English word-for-word when they don't speak Medieval Spanish."
Ned
"Because we're not part of this reality anymore...and yet still walking around in it. It's a contradiction. We can do fantastic things but get punished for it by our current circumstances and setting. As hilarious as it is to consider this a destiny or some sort of fate, I'm half expecting someone to slap me across the face with a rubber chicken and laugh most days I wake up..."
Ned's glancing out the window as they progress through the city in the Doc's old Wrangler. He catches sight of something that draws his attention every so often before they are speeding past it.
"Brand new rules, brand new system, brand new ugly to look over my shoulder for and no real handbook beyond the dozen or so Traditions that conflict and don't bother working together so well, if you're to be believed. How are you or we or anyone expected to get anything done that way?"
Sepúlveda
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
He doesn't sound defensive. They're driving. It's city driving so there isn't much to look at but it doesn't look as if they're going to a local dive bar where they can knock back tequila and stare at mirrors and neon signs until the world starts to go fuzzy. In a few minutes they will be on the highway headed further west. He didn't have a destination in mind.
A sigh. Ned has to be figuring out by now that if he didn't want to help Ned he wouldn't text the kids every single week to check in on them.
"Most of us don't interact with the other traditions, to tell you the truth. I don't believe I met my first Virtual Adept until I was..." Think. Age and time. He waves a hand. "... I don't remember. It was a long time ago. Where was I? Do I have a point? What is it?"
Ned has time to redirect him. Or remind him. Whichever.
"Oh right. You--I said this to Margot, and you'll have to forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but I had the thought of the both of you, but for different reasons, which is why I'm separating you two like this, you see--" The car starts to beep as his hand-talking results in a less-than-ideal trajectory. That isn't magick. That's Fiat Chrysler wanting to cut down on side-impact collisions caused by distracted driving. He stops talking with his hands. "The entire world is open to you now. With time, you'll learn to do whatever the hell you want to do, pardon my French. You have never been more free or alive than you are, right now, and yet the two of you, this wracks you. You, especially. You're anxious. Are you not?"
Ned
"Exit after the next. There's a a dive bar called Questor. Good cheese fries."
He points to a sign on the highway, indicating the Doc's directions. He can get a bite and the Doc can get his drink on.
"Anxious is a word for it." He pauses, sucking in a slowing breath that doesn't do much to alleviate that sensation that's been rubbing him raw for...well weeks. Since this all began. A hand comes up to rub across one side of his face, then over his mouth and jawline.
"I'm not used to being in an unknown. Having..." He gestures infront of him, trying to keep in mind his previous promise about analogies. "...a focal point to concentrate on has always been a part of who I am and what I do. 'Give it time' isn't much of a reassurance though, given that I could walk around a corner tomorrow and run into one of these...Technocrats? Marauders? Nefastus people?" Another pause. Another breath.
"Which is to say that yeah. It's going to take time and yeah we're new to all this but, given the Traditions don't really interact, despite the fact we're all sharing the same type of Reality and Freedom? Given there's a small host of 'bad guys' out there and no few of them are just other people like us with a different world view?" He chuckles. A genuine thing, as if he suddenly find a moment's humour in what he was describing.
"You cant really be surprised that we're anxious, can you?" That....was not rhetorical.
"We're also college kids or...at least I was-" Something there. A flutter under the tone that get crushed under a reflex "-and college is where you start to sort out what it is you're supposed to be doing, even if that's wracking up debt and working a shitty job for years just to pay it all off. That's a plan. That's a focus. A really shitty focus but...well, do you want to know what your average 20-something year old does with 'The entire world open to them', Doc?"
Sepúlveda
"I was sixteen when I went through my period of enlightenment. I do kind of want to know."
There's the exit. He's turning onto it and steering the Wrangler towards the place with the cheese fries. Nothing will get this particular forensic pathologist into a place faster than food and clientele that is capable of killing him.
That said:
"Ned, I am not anxious. I am... calling you out on the fact that you are anxious, this is how the kids are saying it these days, yes? Your life prior to this was an unknown. You were in just as much danger, perhaps more, than you are now. If you are never going outside, never exploring, never... well, I don't know what you're doing now. I'm supposing. In terms of the statistics, as far as you knew before, you and I could have died on the freeway. That is more likely than you meeting a Nephandus, or a Marauder. The Technocrats, last I checked, did not give a shit what we were doing, but, ah..."
They're almost there. One more red light. He kills half the wait at the red light drumming his thumb against the steering wheel.
"No. I'm not surprised. But, this whole time, I haven't heard from you what it is you're passionate about. Eh? What is your passion. Why don't we focus for tonight on this?"
Sepúlveda
["Ned, I am not surprised you're anxious," that line should say.]
Ned
"Bliss. Ignorance. Something."
He says it almost dismissively of the Doc's assurances he was in a lot of danger prior to Awakening. He might have waved his hand off-cuff were it not for the fact the one driving them was capable of Electrocution and Zombifying techniques. Ned's gaze remains out the window, glancing up at the red light as it chooses to take it's time so close to their destination.
"I'm passionate about solving the Puzzle." He says it odd-hand. Like it's a standard that doesn't really need explaining. He explains anyway, sitting back in his seat. "It's got no rhyme or obvious reason identifiable to this reality. No real value or strength that I can compare to anything else and yet it's got this familiarity to it that...." He pauses. More analogy sifting. "It feels comfortable and it's rewarding whenever I put the right right with the red sound and shape."
That might not be what the Doc was looking to here mind you, but Ned is switching gears rather suddenly, frown returning to his face.
"It's not really about exploring or going outside though. Never's a strong word and it doesn't fit it's more...if I'm going to be out here, I want to be ready. Prepared. You don't go into a gun fight, with a knife and you don't go into a knife fight holding your dick." A pause. "Pardon the language. Right now it feels like I'm naked, with a few second head start on whatever's out there and the best thing to do is keep running and hiding when I can, until I sort out how to throw a punch."
A pause.
"Which I suppose I'm rather passionate about as well."
He looks out the passenger window at the bar they've stopped infront of. Plenty of space on the street to park with nary a working parking meter in sight. Half of them were probably broken by the clientele just to ensure they could drink in peace without standing up every hour or so to go out in the cold and re-fill the damn things.
Ned
(The right red with the right sound and shape^)
Sepúlveda
"Can I tell you something, before we go in?"
As if it matters whether or not Ned wants to hear the something. He knows his mentor is more than capable of throwing up a force field and keeping their conversation contained. This has less to do with a desire for privacy and more a recognition of the presence of a demarcation. They will be changing scenery in a moment. If Ned had suggested any place else they would be there right now.
"We all come into the world naked. I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm telling you anyway: naked we come, and naked we go. Some of us, naked more than others, during." Gross. "Have you ever been in a knife fight?" Rhetorical. "I have been in a knife fight. I did not have a knife. Was not holding my dick, either, maybe next time I'll try that, but with knowledge, Edward, if you do find yourself holding your dick in a knife fight, you can escape the fight unscathed." Scowl. "Terrible. Terrible analogies."
He takes the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the car.
Grace is already there. Welcome home, Grace.
Grace
When Dr. Sepulveda and his "apprentice" get to the bar, they might just find they have company of the Magickal persuasion. Perched at the bar, and halfway through her bowl of cheese fries is a woman who bends reality just so. If you catch her out of the corner of your eye on the right night, you might swear she had a knife to bring to that metaphorical fight. Something sharp, at least. Maybe she is the knife? But no... Just a woman.
A woman neither of them has ever met before. Blame Australia or her unnatural urges to take pictures of penguins there. She hasn't been around. There have been too many new people to meet, and too few old faces. Perhaps, soon, she will learn why Alex isn't showing his face much anymore, but that is a council for another time.
Tonight, she counsels a plate of cheese fries on why they need to be in her mouth. Leave the heavy shit for later.
About all they can see of her, if she's even noticed, is the back of her red coat drooping over the barstool like a set of wings.
Ned
"I went an entire car ride talking about what we talk about, without making one. You owe me a medal of valor." He throws it back into the car as he exits but before the Doc has climbed out himself.
Ned stuffs his hands into his pockets, eyeballing the sign of the Questor...missing it's 'o'. The interior was little more than shaky stools, a peeling bar vaneer, a tender that didn't speak much except to espouse how much he hated the local sports teams and how 'Player X' was 'A turd-shit shame in the making' to those who blunder into that sort of conversation.
What few occupants were here, were here to ensure a healthy buzz and maintenance of their apathy to the rest of the world, the Questor representing their greatest comfort zone. Ned's here for the cheese fries, about the only real item on the small 7 item menu list that helped to identify this place as a 'Restaurant' in the local ads and papers, worth anything.
The pitchers are just shy of ten bucks as well which, on a college budget, you could make it rain.
"It isn't so much I don't want to hear it Doc, as I've heard it. Several times. It doesn't change my outlook. I could get into a Car accident, but statistically speaking it's unlikely. Except I did and it went pear-shaped real fast and the only thing that got me clear was the trade-off. Stop being you now...it's time for you to be This." This, was awakened. He glances around the interior, noticing a small table off to one side of the wall, his jacket already slipping off his shoulders.
"Statistically speaking, I'm curious how many of Us, exist vs. Them...sleepers?" He glances at the Doc for assurance that's the right word. "...We're just as unlikely an incident as far as I can tell and yet here we are. Proof positive that the odds don't work that way anymore."
Ned
A glance is paid to the only splash of colour in the drab and dreary place. Grace's coat catches his eye, for a long moment, his frown creased with something like curiosity before 'Staring is impolite' takes over and he's driving his eyes toward the bartender, ordering a plate of Cheese fries and a Glass of water.
Sepúlveda
[perc + aware: ARCANE ONLY APPLIES TO ALERTNESS ROLLS SUCK IT GRACE]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
Grace
[You suck it, other Mages... Perc + Aware]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 4, 5) ( botch x 1 )
Sepúlveda
[*falls off the bed*]
Ned
(Those some gooodddd cheese fries, apparently)
Sepúlveda
Soon as they walk through the doors the Etherite loses his concentration for a moment.
It isn't as if he is making a conscious effort to scan the room but he has been around long enough that it becomes more of a background application than an active one and he seems scatterbrained because he is. Not from tunnel vision but from having a powerful brain inside that skull of his.
This is the first time Grace is seeing either of them. The younger of them is a fair doe-eyed young man who cannot be very far into his twenties. He stands several inches taller than his companion who has at least a decade on him and comes from a more equatorial part of the hemisphere. Wearing a suit and black-rimmed glasses his black hair is close-cropped and dusted with gray while his beard is trimmed but planning on staying for a while.
He feels like a cold chill up the spine. Noticeable resonance even without having one's eyes open to the rest of the world.
Ned throws the doctor's ministrations back at him. Sepúlveda takes his thin-boned hands out of his jacket pockets and holds them up in a supplicating gesture.
"Argh, you're too smart for me!" Lighthearted sarcasm before he claps him on the shoulder. "Sit down, I'm going to the bar. Keep an eye on that lady with the red coat, would you? She resonates."
Ned
"....Oh c'mon, you can sarcasm better than that."
The Doc interrupts his attempt to order, instead turning him out toward a nearby table which he glances to and shrugs himself convinced. A glance is cast toward the indicated Red-Coat (Heh) and Ned's reaction seems to sharpen and shift from the vaguely jovial exchange the Doc and he had struck a moment before to something...more-Ned.
He takes to moving a bit slower around the tables and folds the jacket over a nearby chair, pulling one back (without scraping the heels on the ground to draw attention) and setting it down for him to climb into.
Then he waits. Quietly. Without obviousness.
Grace
That lady with the red coat was treating fries like airplanes before. Not anymore. Something awful this way comes. The exact kind of awful is hard to say for certain, but it's as though the dead have arrived. She's been witness to some creepy resonance before, even some that made her want to vomit, but this? It hardly feels like the two are even Mages...
Like they're vampires. Or maybe they'll start using Qlippothic shit to make everybody in the bar try to kill each other (no, not likely, but still).
Two of them. And one of her. As if she didn't already have fifty other things to worry about right now.
She throws some money on the bar, enough for a good tip, then slides off of her chair. She can get cheese fries somewhere else.
Sepúlveda
The problem with Grace's escape plan presents itself thusly:
In order to get to the door and go somewhere else she has to walk past Sepúlveda. Not that he is the most intimidating figure anyone has ever cut in the history of intimidating figures. The first thing people tend to notice about him are his eyes which are green which means even in wonky bar lighting and behind eyeglass lenses they stand out as bright. He is handsome but he is short.
She would have to know him better to know whether he is as skinny as that suit makes him look. Ned doesn't know how strong he is yet. He hasn't been the recipient of an awkward there there hug yet.
Anyway: she starts to bail out. One of the strange fellows is right in her way when she slides off the chair.
"You're not leaving already, are you?" As if they've met before. They haven't. She would remember meeting him if they had. "No, listen, stay a few minutes, my friend over there--" He puts a hand on her shoulder and if her coat is not on yet she can feel how cold his fingers are through her blouse. Poor circulation. Argh. His other hand gestures towards Ned. A wedding band is parked on his ring finger. He has a faint Mexican accent. Child of immigrants. You know how it is. "--is new to the area, and he hasn't met very many people, and I am beginning to think he's depressed, clinically, which is not my area, I'm a forensic pathologist, not a psychiatrist..."
Sorry Grace. The dude is a little hyper. He's been attempting to make eye contact this time and his writer is banking on her social awkwardness for there to not be a ton of resistance I'm so sorry.
He takes his right hand off her shoulder and pirouettes a bit to angle himself so he can offer it to shake.
"Sepúlveda. Andrés Sepúlveda. Society of Ether. Hi."
[mind 1: read surface thoughts. gonna call it diff 7 bc he normally needs his dumb instruments for this and 'eye contact' isn't one of them, -1 bc quintessence.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 7) ( success x 1 )
Ned
Ned's tucked into the corner at his table, eyeballing the exchange between the Doc and the Red-coat and is suddenly struck by the odd behaviour of the man out of context with his apprentices. Teachers/Mentors were expected to be somewhat eccentric especially outside of a classroom environment. To see the Son of Ether in a more natural state express the same level of...oddity. It was a bit of a small treat.
Ned is covering his mouth carefully.
Grace
The problem with Sepúlveda's plan is that he doesn't know what she thinks of him as he plops his hand on her shoulder (!) and then introduces her to the other (dead) man. His hands are freezing, and in Grace's eyes are a mix of fear and anger when he touches her. How dare he fucking touch her?
"Yeah, well, I'm not new to the area," she says, trying to squirrel herself out of his grasp by the shoulder. "And I really have to get..."
Society of Ether?
Surface thoughts? Right now, it's all about how to put some distance between herself and these guys. And then? That thought changes as soon as he says those magic three words.
Her eyes narrow. "Bullshit."
She slides her phone out of her pocket, because that wrong Resonance just slid over her like a giant, cold slug. Should have done this sooner...
[Mind 1: Stay out of my head, Sepúlveda!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Sepúlveda
"Bullshit?"
He'd taken his hand off her shoulder not so soon as she starting squirming but so soon as he reached the point where he was taking it off anyway because he was trying to introduce himself. Some wires crossed somewhere and she doesn't believe him and he's flipping through his Rolodex of possible explanations because how the hell would he know what her problem is. They just met.
Anyway: he took his hand off her already. He's trying to shake. She's not having it. He holds up both his hands like to show her he's not armed but they both know that's--
"Oh!" Lightbulb moment. He takes a step back. They're starting to draw attention to themselves. "Look, lady, I don't want any trouble. We can laugh about this at the next..." He lowers his hands. Another lightbulb comes on. "Ohhhh, riiiiight,this is why we lost the Ascension War, I'm remembering now." He gives her a left-handed salute and steps up to the bar. Gets out of her way. "Ciao."
Ned
Ned's sobered by the time the pair have their moment. Fiddling with some errant peanut shell he's found on the bar table. A second later and he flicks it onto the floor, wiping the playful finger on his hoodie at the memory of realizing where they are exactly.
His stomach rumbled slightly. His thoughts turn to cheesie fries. Mmmm, cheesie fries.
Grace
Her eyes flit between the two of them, up from her cell phone game of 'MindShield', utterly confused. The words and behavior aren't matching the feel. Would a Nephandus seem this awful? If so, they'd be quite easily spotted and put the fuck down.
And this guy knows a hell of a lot about Mages if he's a vampire. It just doesn't add up. Maybe they're something new, like a couple of Mages newly returned from the Umbral Realm of Everything's Dead Here.
Another thought. She returns to her calculations on her phone, a shift to a new Program.
"Say that again? Who you are?"
[Forces 1, Entropy 1: Lie Detector!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Sepúlveda
The bartender isn't picking up on the tension in their interaction or if he is he isn't listening. He's just trying to make it through the shift tonight. With a Hang on a minute finger the Whatever He Is turns from Grace and orders a Corona and a Coke and two shots of tequila no lime or salt and an order of cheese fries. Pays for it with a twenty and doesn't wait for change.
While the bartender fills glasses he sighs and turns back to Grace.
"Doctor Andrés Sepúlveda. I am a medical examiner with Denver County, and before that I was with Miami-Dade County, in Florida. And so on and so forth. I am with the Society of Ether. My wife was Hinata Ueno, of the Verbenae. We had been discussing moving back to Denver, where I'm from, because of events that have occurred involving the Technocracy and her tradition, but she died in April of last year, so I am here for her."
Oh look there's his drinks. He loads up his right hand with the pint glasses and waggles his fingers at her phone screen.
"Now if you'll excuse me, if I leave my student alone any longer he's going to think I've abandoned him. You and Siri have a good night."
His left hand takes up the tequila glasses and away he goes. Everything he told her was true. Even the things he didn't need to tell her. Like he was well aware of what she was doing and why.
When he returns to the table he begins distributing glassware between himself and Ned with a, "You see? Car crashes are a very real threat."
Ned
"...All the more reason to protect and secure myself before I end up overly exposed and vulnerable." He leans in after a moment and whispers rather intensely. "I didn't even recognize she was something, but you did...and she obvious thought you were something off. If I was in here alone, which I've done before, she might have-" He pauses.
He's eyeballing the Doctor, firmly, carefully and then abruptly-
"Excuse me, Miss?" Ned is standing, calling out loud enough to get the Bartender to pay him a frown for the noise. Several other patrons murmur and lift their heads out of their own stupors at the noise but Ned doesn't seem to pay it any mind. He's waving at Grace before she has a chance to retreat or gain some distance or react much beyond the Doc's dismissal.
"You mind coming over here? I have some questions." Then down at the Doc. "If you're comfortable enough to go telling her your life-story, you should be good enough to keep us safe when she turns out to be some Faustian Soul-drinker." Ned just...just stop.
Sepúlveda
No time to sit down. Time enough to offload his drinks and then stand by as Ned calls out.
A flick of his eyebrows before he clarifies as an aside:
"Was more of a death-story, eh?" He claps the kid on the shoulder in an unspoken affirmation of back-having and then knocks back his tequila shot.
Grace
"Wha... Faustian... Me?" More confusion. If anything, they are the Faustian Soul-drinkers here.
"Look," she says, sighs. Walks over toward the Good Doctor and his associate. "I think we may have gotten on the wrong... feet." It's a butchery of a saying, but she means it. Their interaction was like stepping on toes intentionally.
She leans in to whisper, "You realize you both have the 'feel' of the walking dead? I thought..."
Don't bother with what she thought.
"But yeah. Everything you said?" she shoots a look at Dr. Sepúlveda. "Checks out. I'm uh... Grace. Mercurial Elites."
Ned
"Makes me wish Margot were here. She'll be bummed she missed out on a chance for more info."
Ned slips back down into his chair, watching Grace's approach with careful eyes and a sort of...solemn nature that speaks of nativity? A directness, less charming and more eased. When she gets within conversational ear-shot, Ned gives her a quick once-over just to attest that she is something or other. Or maybe scan to see if he can sense or recognize whatever it is the Doc sensed or recognized. Which...he isn't quite sure how to do.
So when he comes up with 'It's a Woman' in his head, there's a pressing of lips that stifles a laugh followed by.
"So not a Faustian Soul-drinker intent on our destruction? Just another- What do you call us again, Doc? Workers?- Just another Worker making it in this crazy world of ours? Also, what's your passion in life? The Doc says passion is important and I want to make sure you're on the up and up."
If he's joking it doesn't come across as such, though he does fold his hands on the table with an air of put on sophistication and expectancy. Then a blink and a more common frown.
"What the hell is a Mercurial Elite?" He eyeballs the Doc quickly. "Sounds like a Band from the 90s."
Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda did bother with what she thought. Being as he's already referred to the kid as his friend and his student and even if this is irrelevant he tends to do as most organisms will in situations that are otherwise controlled: as he damned well pleases.
So Grace approaches. Ned and Sepúlveda both sit. The older man licks his lips quick to get the lingering alcohol off of them and leans in towards Ned while maintaining eye contact with Grace. Indicates her with his left hand while tucking the right away in the pocket of his jacket. Speaks in a stage whisper.
"Close. The Mercurial Elite are what the Virtual Adepts call themselves now. They're part of the Council of Nine, tend to Work with the Correspondence Sphere, and prefer to use computers as instruments. Don't make any sudden movements, it's rare to see one out in the wild like this."
End aside.
Grace
"Faustian Soul-drinker sounds like a band from the 90's," Grace says, still quite... unsure about these people. Like a wary cat. "My passion huh?" Geez, is he trying to hit on her? Gross. No thanks, dead-guy.
"I suppose... information. I get it, I let it go where it needs to go. What's yours? If I want to make sure you're on the up and up?"
Sepúlveda just gets an eyeroll for his efforts at making a joke.
Ned
"Solving puzzles and securing my future. Or a least, making sure I'm pushing back when the Bad Guys...come...and...uhhh...get me." Ned was listening to himself as he spoke and realized with steady and dawning consideration that he sounded like a child with his blanket cape and teddy sidekick just then. There is a thoughtful frown and a re-evaluation, eyes flicking toward the Doc for a moment before re-orienting on Grace.
"I want to make sure I'm strong enough to push back if pushed." Succinct and straight-forward. He considers the phrase and finds it comfortable. A brief smile touches his lips.
"Information. Huh. Computers-" A glance at the Doc. "-and Correspondence. One of the spheres. Distance and space, yeah?" He looks up at Grace again, a momentary pause for the Cheesie fries that appear on the bar counter. Arrival imminent.
"Does that mean you can teleport? Or travel through phone lines? Can you Neo? I bet you can Neo."
Sepúlveda
The man works with dead bodies all day every day. He and Grace are roughly the same height. They are both geniuses in their own right. Surely she can appreciate that he wasn't trying to be funny.
Can you Neo? I bet you can Neo.
This is better than any hypothetical situation he could have come up with sitting in a parking lot drinking out of a brown paper bag. Sepúlveda bites his lips to keep from interjecting and reaches for his beer.
As opposed to the time he brought the kids to the strip club and didn't plan ahead all that great this time he has a device for situations like this. A sound dampener. Looks like a small white noise machine. Not all that inconspicuous but no one is paying attention to what they're doing anyway. He just figures he might as well cut down on the amount of weird shit other people are overhearing.
Besides: can't get a hangover if the bartender can't serve you.
[forces 2: swear to cthulhu this is going to be a botch some day. -1 practiced.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 4, 10) ( success x 2 )
Sepúlveda
[It's late. I forgot a sentence in there somewhere. One of his hands is beering and the other one is taking the device thingy out of his jacket pocket.]
Grace
"Shit, dude. You are new as... like, what? Wednesday?" He talks like someone new, at least. Full of 'passion' and 'I bet you can Neo'. "I don't Kung Fu."
If that's what he means. Maybe he means the jumping?
She sees the white noise machine, understands what's going on. "But yeah. I teleport. I don't stop bullets in the air, because that's a great way to look like you're full of lead anyway..." Not because she can't, mind you.
Ned
"But you can teleport..."
He seems entirely wrapped up now. Thoroughly on the ball of examining just what Correspondence could potentially do. Stopping bullets is one thing, he had been giving that some thought and might have come up with some sort of way to define kinetic energy or negate it, given enough-
"Yes I'm new. About a month now, give or take. The Doc-" He nods at Sepulveda across the table "-is my Mentor. He's been teaching me about you-...us, for a couple of weeks. Says the Traditions really aren't that organized or interactive. That true?" Ned's gaze holds Grace pretty steadily, the questions coming bolder and more confident. One could potentially see Ned in his element during a Lecture or Class Discussion.
Sepúlveda
Other than a shrug of both his brows and his shoulders he doesn't given any indication that he's even listening to Ned right now.
Yeah. I said it. So what.
He isn't fiddling with his cellphone or any other devices during this exchange. Just drinking his beer and watching the two of them interact. Letting Grace field that one. That's what she gets for being an asshole.
Grace
"Being organized and interactive is how you're going to get strong enough to push back when pushed. You call somebody to help you," she says, mother hen tendencies taking over. So what if he feels dead to the world? He's a month old. So he says. She checks her phone to be sure of that, and yup...
"And yeah, we could do a lot better at that. Especially now. The 'Bad Guys' really are coming for us all," she says, turns to Sepúlveda. "You said you were here because of some Technocrat shit? You might be in the right place. There's talks about the War starting up again, and some people's attempts at it."
Ned
War....
Ned's agitation suddenly spikes and his head whips around toward the Doc. War? Didn't the Doc say something about a few wars and one being over and Techno-...
Sepúlveda
"'The right place'? This is Denver, is it not?"
He's not trying to be sarcastic. There is nothing charming or manipulative about him. Earnest sure and earnestness can come across as arrogant at times. He claps a hand on Ned's shoulders and says in another audible aside:
"Don't panic. I survived the end of the Ascension War, alright, if they wanted to wipe us all out we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation right now." He widens his eyes across the table like thanks a lot Grace and breaks from the huddle.
"I hear the old Chantry is no longer, and a place of significance to my wife's people is no longer. 'Technocrat shit,' she says..."
Grace
This is Denver, is it not?
"You sound like you know the place pretty well," she says, half-smirk on her face at the shared sentiment of the city.
"You got a number I should call if... You know, proverbial manure hits proverbial wind mixer?"
Ned
"...Wait, what war? Is there a War? Doesn't that mean fighting?" He whispers harshly under his breath, as if the Doc's White Noise maker weren't a thing. "I don't even know what the hell a Technocrat is."
And then Cheesie fries arrive. The bartender breaks the sound barrier and Ned is immediately straight backed and wide eyed, looking at the rotund fellow without blinking as he sets the plate down, gums clapping around some non-verbal noise.
"Thank you."
The man goes wandering off again, barely aware of his surroundings. God love the Questor.
Sepúlveda
"War means many things, Edward, and there are roles within war that don't require fighting, and I explained to you the origins of the Technocracy already. The Mercurial Elite and the Society of Ether were once part of it. The Order of Reason, they were called, remember?"
Fuck it. Sepúlveda takes the second shot he was going to force on Ned and pours it down his own throat. No chaser. The burn gives him something to focus on for a couple of seconds besides the internal debate he has going on right now which has nothing to do with what they're currently discussing but does cause him a bit of distraction.
Sepúlveda
"A number for you. Yes. Hang on."
He produces a business card and it would come with a description but it is late. The business card contains the contents of his earlier confession. County ME's office. Numbers. Email. All of the means of contact in the case of shit and fans.
Grace
"I don't really fight much," Grace says. "I just track things down. You'd be surprised how much damage you can do with the right information in the right hands."
Hence why the not Kung Fu. Hence why she just wanted to get the fuck out of the bar at first.
She takes the doctor's card, looks it over like she's inspecting it for possible... not-niceness. That resonance isn't easy to get over.
"You don't have to fight. Not really. Just be prepared to -- always a good idea."
And with those not entirely comforting words, she gives the two a flash of an awkward smile and finally makes it out of there.
Ned
"You explained where they came from Doc. What do they look like now? How do I identify one? What do they want to do to us that makes it so-"
Ned stops himself with a deep breath, eyes flicking to the table full of cheesie fries. It's a moment of considerable effort but he reaches down and pulls apart a stringy morsel, popping it into his mouth.
"I've got work tomorrow and...lots of stuff to think about." He glances at the Doc again, chewing rather forcefully. "Need to talk to Margot too. Updates so we're on equal ground."
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