Attention Quick-Mart Shoppers

[Tristan Hardt]

Tristan, driving around in a police cruiser on empty, finally spots a gas station. He veers off the street to pull squarely up to the station's... only pump. Old-fashioned looking, too. Most of the competition has long since upgraded to multiple pumps in [s]clean[/c] quick, standard terminals. Tristan shrugs, mostly for himself.

Curiously, the Quick-Mart behind the pump looks relatively new. Must be in the middle of a long-needed update. It suits the grizzled cop well enough. He could use another cigar. Hell, throw in a coffee and he'd be all set. So he locks the squad car up and heads inside. Air conditioning works, thankfully. Staff even gives him a friendly greeting.

"I'm just going to get myself some coffee started." ​is his answer. He takes off his police cover and tucks it under his arm to free up his hands.

[Emily Makerith]

Standing in front of the coffee machine is about 5'5'' of punk girl in oily dark-blue coveralls, chatting on her phone. To tristan, there are three noticable smells - motor oil, tobacco, and the immistakable scnt of Uratha.

Yaay coffee. Stupid ancestors. Specifying *what* the Wolf must Hunt might have been a good idea. "Not in the spirit of the Law" my ass - I'd like to see how well they did without coffee.

"Nope. It's busted. Ben, I'm not a miracle worker. Benny... Benny listen. I can keep it tonight..." Emily sniffs, pausing. Nah... can't be... "Uh, yeah. Tonight, maybe tomorrow, tops. Then I need it out, okay? Uh..." Another pause. Slowly, Emily looks over her shoulder and sniffs the air again, more noticably this time, her eyes settling on the cop coming up behind her. "Wha...? Uh... yeah. Yeah, I know, I'm the greatest... yeah, gotta go."
Emily's eyes widen as Tristan approaches, watching with a look of awe and confusion. "Uh.... Hey."
Smooth.

She blinks and tries to regain some composure. "So. Uh... I gotta ask. Settling in or passing through? Or just here to stare at Sacarmento's deserted wilderness?" The last past is pretty subdued.

[Tristan Hardt]

Tristan frowns at yet another sign that the youths of today are completely lost. After an initial, obvious look of disapproval, he all but ignores her initial greeting. Busies himself with pouring some gas-station dark roast. He brings the cup up to his nose. It smells a little burnt, but he's not one to complain. There's something else, though. Something familiar...

His eyes - hard and challenging - regard the punk girl anew.

"Settled." he answers flatly. Past tense. He gives a cursory glance to the aforementioned 'friendly staff'. Which, thankfully, are busy with other customers. Returning to the intruder, "So I think the better question is: why are you here?" The Elodoth stands rigid. If he'd been wearing a different skin, his tail would be standing straight out. Rigid.

[Emily Makerith]

If the condescending look wasn't enough to raise Emily's hackles (and it was!), the look of challenge certainly does. She doesn't quite square off to Tristan - he's still a cop - but does drop into a more guarded stance.
"I'm here because I've always been here. And before you go whingeing about that being some cryptic spiritual bullshit answer, it's the short way of saying I was born here, I grew up here, I live here, and I work here," she retorts sharply, then looks thoughtful. "Well. Not here exactly. The garage on this block. It's mine. Or at least. Will be." She turns back to Tristan. "The point is, *if* you're settled, and I had heard a thing or two from the other side that a whole pack of folks were stakin' a claim near here, so I guess you're one of them. But this bit of town, this tiny square, is my home. And I'll fight tooth and nail for it."

Emily takes a small step back, and tries forcing some calm into her voice. "Look. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. You... kinda startled me. So how about we go somewhere a little less crowded," she nods in the direction of the staff, "and try and talk this out like civilised....People?" She shrugs, palms outstretched.

[Tristan Hardt]

She's got nerve, he'll give her that. But she also knows when to ease off it. So not an outsider per se... more like an unknown. Still a variable he could do without. Tristan lets out a sigh through his nose. His jaw still set, he gives her a slow nod.

"That'd be best. Car's still at the pump. Let me pay for this and we can talk." Like People. The civility part still remains to be seen. Tristan finds a lid for his coffee - black, apparently - and heads to the register without waiting for a reply.

"Twenty on the pump. And let me get one of those cigars." he says, pointing behind the cashier. Nothing back there was classy. He really didn't care which one the cashier picked out. After exchanging money, he finally graces the newcomer with a look. The kind that reads 'you coming?' just as easily as 'I don't trust you'. He hangs back for half a moment before heading back out to the parked squad car at the pump. He grabs the hose and locks the handle so the thing can fill, then rests with his back against the car. Arms crossed. Watching the meter tick away at the dollars and cents.

[Emily Makerith]

Emily just about manages to refrain from sighing aloud. So much for a good first impression. I hope they' don't all come with rods up their asses.

Almost on auto she starts looking at the car, running a hand over the bumps and peering under the wheel arches before catching herself and heading towards Tristan.

"Sorry. It's a passion as much as a job," she says with a shrug. "So, uh.... let's try this again. Emily. Emily Makerith. Itheur of the Farsil Luhal. And yeah, I'm twitchy - because you're the first Uratha I've seen in months. I don't really know what to say. I didn't see many others before they disappeared, so, yeah. This is kinda a huge deal for me." Emily sighs." It's been weird. Here. alone. Not right, y'know? So I was just hoping, when some new guys arrived... We might... get on?" She smiles hopefully.

[Tristan Hardt]

A brow quirks at the girl's examination of his vehicle, but he doesn't move to stop her. He simply stares. At her explanation, he grunts. Not change in expression. Not a smile. Not quite a frown, either. Though it can be said that Tristan has the male equivalent of 'resting bitch face'. That's how kids describe people who don't smile all of the goddamn time, right?

"Right." he answers at first, leaving basically all of the context up to the imagination. Eventually, though, he elaborates. "You seem harmless. Know a few Farsil Luhal myself. I work with them." Maybe he's being too hard on her. Sure, she looks like a high school dropout turned mechanic... but Tristan understands what it's like to feel alone. Things had been wrong. And they'd been that way for far too long.

Mechanically, he bites the tip off his cigar, spitting the stump unceremoniously on the ground. The cigar finds a home between his teeth but - thankfully - it remains unlit. The telltale clunk of the gas pump shutting off prompts him to return it to it's rightful home and close the gas cap.

"Names Tristan Hardt. Elodoth. Hirfathra Hissu. You walk here? If so, maybe we can talk in the car. I'll give you a ride." The joke about being a friendly neighborhood officer never materializes. Also, he's not exactly friendly.

[Xadun]

Emily bristled noticeably at being called "harmless", but decides not to press it. For one thing, she doubts taking on a trained cop is likely to do her any favours in that respect."Yeah, I did. Uh, Thanks.... Tristan. I mean, we wouldn't need to go far to get to my place. I live above the shop," she smiles, hopping in the passenger door. Pulling a battered pouch from a pocket Emily begins rolling a cigarette of her own. "So, uh, how many of you are there? How many Iron Masters? How long have you all been here? I kinda wanna know everything. Who knows, maybe I could even help you?" She grins again.

[Emily Makerith]

Emily bristled noticeably at being called "harmless", but decides not to press it. For one thing, she doubts taking on a trained cop is likely to do her any favours in that respect."Yeah, I did. Uh, Thanks.... Tristan. I mean, we wouldn't need to go far to get to my place. I live above the shop," she smiles, hopping in the passenger door. Pulling a battered pouch from a pocket Emily begins rolling a cigarette of her own. "So, uh, how many of you are there? How many Iron Masters? How long have you all been here? I kinda wanna know everything. Who knows, maybe I could even help you?" She grins again.

(Sorry about getting profile muddled up.)

[Tristan Hardt]

Tristan grunts in response, putting the car in gear and pulling away. With all the haste and recklessness of an on duty cop. So it takes a while. "Used to be more of them, I think. One called himself Odie. Kind of butchering the namesake he took it from. But he's gone now. Then, well... Hector is one. He claims to know a lot about the People who were here before us.. Hector's Alpha, and damn if he isn't the patient type." The Elodoth lights the cigar before rolling down the window, temporarily filling the cab with noxious cheap cigar smoke. And the gesture had a purpose behind it. He makes eye contact with her before rolling the window down.

"Hector isn't the type to put you on your back. But don't think I won't if you don't give him the respect he deserves." Tristan almost feels bad for the girl. She isn't half as disrespectful as Viola. Dresses about the same, in his eyes, but more polite. Still, this is what he does. And damn if it isn't a little funny to him.

"Won't take us long to get to your place, I take it. We'll take the long way. Give us time to talk." That much he'll give her. A chance to vet her concerns and whatever else.