Fox and Goose Seconds

[Star]

Every day I'm shufflin'.

Some people have theme songs for themselves. Or even entire soundtracks. Sometimes, it's just a line here and there. Outside, leaned up against the railing of the Fox and Goose, cards spilled and twirled through a series of cuts and shuffles. Spiraling, spinning, collapsing, and then beginning again. Because practice makes perfect.

Perfection rarely lasts.

Bluish eyes slid around from below the re-grown mop, taking in the sights and sounds as Star waited for Truce . An excited green flashed teeth here and there at looks or remarks from passersby at the card display. It wasn't a show, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be appreciated.

[Truce]

With all that's going on in the city, Truce welcomes the chance for reverie. The invitation is unexpected, but nonetheless, Truce has agreed to meet his one-time student at the restaurant. Yet, despite it being in the guise of a social call, Truce suspects the Guardian is not as carefree as he seems. It's just as likely that Star has more business with the Necromancer. But business or pleasure, a drink would be nice.

He walks in with a light jacket on which he removes to reveal a gray sweater beneath. He folds it over his arm and his eyes begin their search for the familiar Theurgist. The display of twirling cards at a table caught his eye and he recognizes Star manipulating the pile with a dexterous mastery.

"Hello, Star," he says in his soft voice with a sprinkle of good cheer. "Cards, is it? Are we going to play a game?" he asks curiously. An alehouse isn't an unusual place for a card game, he supposes.

[Star]

"'Sup dawwwwg."

The descriptor might be questionable, but it's delivered with a friendly drawl.

"Oh. Well. We can if you want?" The surprise is almost genuine that the cards are weaving through long fingers and the deck quickly collapses. "Sorry. Just, you know. Habit. Idle hands and all that, right? But we can, just, I should warn you, sometimes I cheat. Like, I used to all the time? So it's kind of a habit so if I forget I'm not supposed to, just saying, it's not, like, personal."

A hand juts out for a fist bump.

"How about darts? Want to do darts?" Darts is also great for privacy. A person has to be pretty low on the Darwin-o-meter to get too close to guys who are drinking and throwing spikes around. "And, dude, I'm kind of bummed." Sneakers scratch on concrete steps as they head up to the door and the Angel pulls it open, then pauses. "This guy," come soft, low words. "He was, like, legendary. Had this punk band called 'Seven Seconds', so I was like legit excited, right? I juuuuuuust found out he's here weekly doing, like, folk music."

Just let that sink in. Folk. Music.

"It's all good, though." The door is held open for Truce, then a beeline is made towards the bar. "His new stuff may be okay, too. Besides, there's, like, what's that saying? Good drink, good company? But I may ask in to do 'Ninety-Nine Red Balloons'. Like, I loved his cover. Would that be wrong?"

A hand waves for the bartender and points towards the Heineken tap.

[Truce]

Truce awkwardly returns the offered fist bump. He'll get the hang of it one day perhaps. "Well, at least you're honest about it," he remarks with a light laugh, wondering on how Star might have developed his cheating habits. He knows so little about the man. But it won't do well to start jumping to conclusions.

At the suggestion of darts, Truce expression betrays his disinterest. After losing to Wayland not too long ago, the Necromancer has lost his taste for the game. But if their skills were anything like golf, the game might be evenly matched. He makes an honest effort at forcing a smile. "Sure, that sounds alright," he says in a neutral reply while following Star through the doorway.

When Star leans conspiratorially, Truce instinctively leans in as well as if to hear the secret. Kevin Seconds isn't an artist who had been on Truce's radar when he made his music selections. Though now he would have a chance to enjoy the local artist.

"I imagine he may expect to take requests. It would be a chance to appeal to his fanbase," he comments in the same lowered voice. It'd been a while since he had been invited out for live music. Since coming to the city he'd treated everything like a professional encounter. Meeting at teahouses, microbreweries, and restaurants, he still approached them all business. But he didn't have any business to conduct tonight. He almost felt a little lost and is reminded of his early college days.

"Um, thanks for inviting me out, by the way. I forget sometimes to take a break for myself," he confesses somewhat shyly. "I have to admit, I'm not really familiar with this musician. But I'm sure it'll be good with good company."

[Star]

"You know, okay, you don't know, but the joke used to be that the band was named 'Seven Seconds' because that's how long their songs were."

A wadded, dirty bill was exchanged for the draft and a hand gestured to the bartender. Keep the tip, yo. Always tip the waitstaff. Well, unless they suck. But always tip bartenders, even if they do suck. A wending trip fished out a table in a corner; a bar table, the high sort flanked by stools. There's not a dart board in sight, and that isn't a mistake.

"And no big, man. You should get out more if you'e, like, forgetting. Everyone needs 'Me' time." The hand not holding the glass added an air quote, then pulled out a stool. An exploratory slurp sampled the draft's head. "You don't, like, do stuff with your crew?"

Crowley. Who else? Flidais.

"Lisa, Mandy, and us used to do stuff all the time. I guess that's changed a little? But everyone went ice skating a while back and, like, there are movie nights. I guess it has been a month or two. Honestly? We had this thing and spent, like, hours. Hours, man. Maybe days. In a van. Driving. I think everyone kinda, you know. Needs their 'Me' time."

Or at least their 'No VT' time.

[Truce]

After a soft chuckle at Star's joke, if that's what it was, Truce orders a draft of his own from the bartender after Star. He follows Star as if attached by an elastic leash, allowing his host to lead him to the high table. His attention never wavers, as he prepares various avenues of small talk in his mind, for lack of substantial conversation. Thankfully, Star seems to have no trouble leading the conversation.

"No, not really. I mean, we would meet up pretty regularly at the apartment, make time for each other. But we never really went anywhere for fun. We lost Damascus and Gyges early on, so it was just Crowley and Einstein for a while. But Einstein was always very private while Crowley is always out and about on his own. It's really strange how it came together, and how it's still going. But being around him as often as I am, I do trust Crowley. He's a reliable guy. Flidais is our newest addition. She needed a crew, as it were, and we needed more support. But it hardly feels like the group I had envisioned for myself."

Truce stiffens a moment, realizing he's said quite a bit without any provocation. Maybe he really has been keeping a lot bottled up lately. And he hasn't even taken a drink yet.

"Ehem, ice skating, movie nights, road trips? Wow, that sounds like a lot of bonding time. You must be pretty close to them."

Considering they live together in a Cabal that should be expected. Though Truce can't say the same about Temoin du Sud. While he knew he could rely on them, he couldn't say that he felt truly close. It made him feel a little envious of Star.

[Star]

"I liked Einstein."

And Gyges. But Crowley? You know what they say about not saying anything at all, right? Once upon a time, someone had almost gotten beat up over a cast, and someone else had just stood there and watched. Fast forward a year or two, and probably all that anyone remembers is that Crowley and Avis yell at each other and that Must Be Why. But it isn't, and never was. Because a Guardian Angel can forgive a lot of things -- but the hardest? Lack. Of. Conviction.

Apathy is the debbil, Bobby Boucher.

"Ummmmm, maybe not like the original group? But getting there." Thin shoulders shrugged. "It's like anything, you know, with people. Did you ever read, mmm, what was that." Long fingers snapped, a sound like chalk breaking. "Orson Scott Card. They made a movie out of 'Ender's Game', but it was the the next two, 'Speaker for the Dead' and 'Xenocide' that were awesome. But anyway. There was this, uh, idea, this hierarchy. Demosthenes Hierarchy of Foreigners. Wait, no. Of Foreignness. There's the people you know, then the first type of foreigner is an utlanning. I think her words are based on Icelandic? I guess because it's, like, they have words for different types of people because the population is low and scattered? Anyway. Utlanning. Someone of the same species, but from a different area, like, a different town or country."

Like Yankees.

"Then there's framlings. Same species, different planet. Oh, this is a space opera, eff why eye."

A pause was inserted to take a few swallows of beer. Blue eyes stayed on Truce behind the mug. Why include framlings? Getting It is what the pause is for.

"We're all utlanning and framling, man. Until we're not." Or until you realize you've got a raman on your roster. "And it wasn't all, like, wine and roses. We fought a lot, too. About dumb stuff and important stuff." There's nothing wrong with frenemies. "So let ask you this."

"Why don't you guys bond more? Group rits, donut runs, I dunno. Who's your Heart?"

[Truce]

"I had a friend who was quite fond of that series. I ended up reading 'Ender's Game' some years before the movie came out. I wish she could have seen it," remarks Truce with a voice that sounded distant.

"Speaker for the Dead. That was some religion from the series, wasn't it? I rather like that idea, for obvious reasons," he adds, finding his smile again. "But to answer your question, originally Gyges asked to fulfill the Heart's functions. We haven't had one since. I thought about filling the role, but the others said that they didn't like being restricted to specific responsibilities. So we're not even using the traditional titles anymore. I won't lie, I'm not glad of it. Perhaps I can bring it up again."

Truce finally takes a long draw on his beer before continuing. "Really? You liked Einstein?" he asks, circling back to that. "She was convinced that everyone hated her. And I was beginning to believe it, for how often she rubbed people the wrong way."

[Star]

"Uuuurrrrgh. Tiiiitles."

The low, guttural words from slack jaws are a good Walking Dead zombie impression.

"Did you ever think," the Angel leaned forward. Hands splayed on the tabletop, fingers rippling in soft staccatos. "That in a world where anything is possible, we sure are fond of putting limits on things?"

Because that's what a title is. It's a label, and a label is a definition, and a definition is a limitation. And Princess Di is wearing a new dress.

"You may not be using them, but I bet there's someone that usually keeps your library books. Or checks the locks on windows. Right? I mean, maybe everyone does, but there's someone that, like, totally always does. Don't get me wrong. I'm not, you know, advocating crew sedition. Just saying. Who'd be mad at you for fixing everyone dinner? Or asking if they wanted to go to that music festival in May?" Because you don't need a title. "But I'm not trying to be all up in your business. You know that, right? You just, I dunno, sounded like you wished things were different."

Look, it's a Heart to Heart talk.

"And I totally liked her. She knew it." See this grin? Maybe, just maybe, a little of liking her was just to irritate her. Maybe. "I mean, come on. Are you legit surprised? Really? We've met, right. Hi." A hand stabbed outward to shake. "I'm Jack, and I like, uh, strong-willed brunettes." Yeah, that's totally the right description. Something thin and silver gleamed on one of the fingers of the outstretched hand before it withdrew. "Oh, but going back to Speaker for the Dead? I guess it was a religion... ish? It was, hmmmm, more about... Truth. Of the dead. Who they were, what they did. Without, like, opinion. Now, color me surprised. Because that, man, that totally seems like something you would dig." Death. Substance. "You should read it. I'd ask you about that chick, but that seems like heavy stuff so I'll ask you some other time. I'm not, like, trying to announce I'm going to be nosy, just saying, I caught that and I'm not, you know, blowing it off."

The spill of words trailed off as the mug was raised and amber liquid began to rhythmically disappear.

"I shoulda got the Stella. I think." A considering look was given at the empty mug and foam slowly sliding back down into the bottom. Dance like no one's watching and drink like you're twice as large. "Next one's a Stella. But before I forget, I wanted to tell you that, uh, Vanessa? I think that's her name? If it's not, then I'm talking about that hot chick that isn't Faye. Anyway. Her. She came to ask how the snow was in Vail."

"But she seemed like she was fishing more than, you know, wanting to actually hit the slopes."

[Truce]

Truce blinks and looks at Star, confusion setting in as he listens and tries to understand just what the man is getting at. But it sinks in and the confusion dissolves and slackens his expression, his mouth opening in a silent "Ah".

"Don't do it because it's expected of me, do it because there's a need for it, perhaps? Yes, I suppose if I wanted to get closer to my...erm, crew, then I should have done something about it. But yes, I do wish things were different. And you're not wrong for speaking your mind. I suppose it's actually a rather obvious observation."

His hand lifts up from the counter and spreads over his face, in part from embarrassment and in part from frustration.

When Star thrusts his hand forward, the look of confusion returns for a brief encore. But eventually he gets there, just in time for the topic change too. He blinks it away, settling on one thought at a time, not because it is difficult to understand, but because he has trouble following the pacing of the information.

"Hrm. Right." Truce uses drinking his beer as an excuse for a pause, not sure if he's had nearly enough to drink to start spilling his guts. Which is just as well as Star has more to tell him.

"Hmm? Vanessa? Oh, right, Varyx. I haven't really had a chance to speak with her at length. I see. You know, I went fishing there once when Bishop was still around, back before I started climbing Ladders. I don't know if I was suited for it. He had said I was too inexperienced."

The subtle mention of the Guardians reminds him of something. "Oh, I never got the chance to thank you, by the way, for adhering to our agreement during the last meeting." Star's silence may not have been necessary, but Truce had wanted to avoid a public controversy over Banisher weaponry.