Apoc and Tobin Meet

[hazlogs]

It is currently 14:51 Pacific Time on Mon Jun 24 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 71 degrees Fahrenheit (21 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.13 and falling, and the relative humidity is 49 percent. The dewpoint is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (95% full).

Falcon's Rest(#2599RAJLMh)

The large spacious living room of the estate appears to have been decorated to promote comfort. The room strives to remain lighted either naturally with open windows, or artificially with conservative lamps placed on wrought iron and glass end tables.

A beige couch sits before a coffee table similiar in style to the end tables. A loveseat and chairs matching the couch is placed about the room to offer more sitting space.

The hard wood floor is covered with a large oriental rug, and carful attention has been placed on putting the furniture upon it.

House plants are strategically placed about the room, while the windows have a beige scheme to their drapes.

The south of the room can find the study, and guestrooms. The north possesses a hallway that branches into the kitchen, to the left, and a bathroom, right, with the master suite ending it. The east leads to the balcony.

Apocalypse clatters around in the kitchen, wearing her black jeans, a Goonies t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and bright pink socks. Snippets of Cindy Lauper drift out from that direction as the newcomer goes about making herself a massive sandwich.

The back door opens and closes and Tobin comes in. He's talking to someone, but only one side of the conversation can be heard, like he's talking on the phone. "What do you mean I need new clothes?" he says, sounding irritated. "The ones I've got are fine, and I've patched the holes and... Fashion? What about fashion?...No I don't care about 'looking fine for the ladies' and... No I'm not going listen to your advice on it, I'd end up looking like a goth wannabe..." As he comes into view, it's not apparent that he has a phone of any kind, and is just talking to the air. He stops when he sees who's in the kitchen and just kind of peers...

Apocalypse sings without benefit of Walkman or Discman or any music other than what's inside her own head, bopping along as she puts together lettuce, tomato, cold cuts, bread, and condiments. "Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep! Papa don't preach, I've been losin' sleeeep... but I've made up my mind! I-I'm keepin' my baby! Ooh oh, I'm gonna keep my bay-be, mm, ohh..." She spots Tobin somewhere in the middle of this and waves the mayo-slathered butter knife at him in greeting, not missing a note and completely unembarrassed at being 'caught'.

Tobin just stares at this...person, merrily singing and making a sandwich as though everything was perfectly normal. He looks around to see if there's anyone else he can ask to see if they see her, too, or he's hallucinating. He takes a hesitant step forward. "Uh, hello. Who are you?"

Sharp, aquiline features dominate this pale young man's face, belying a pure blood-line many generations old. One day, he will be very handsome, but now it looks like all the pieces don't fit quite right together. This situation might be helped if he smiled more, but smiling doesn't seem to be something Tobin is much interested in. Lank, chin-length black hair frames clear blue eyes which are as sharp as the rest of his face. He looks to be about 16 or 17, and is not very tall at 5'5", though he may still add height as he gets older. However, his lack of height does little to dampen the presence he brings to a room. He has a wiry build, somewhat awkward but not without its grace. Sometimes he seems sure of himself and proud, carrying himself with a dignity not normally found in people his age. Other times, however, he is wary and seems suspicious.

He's dressed in an odd combination of fashion and utility. Starting with a dirty white button-down shirt and black slacks, over the shirt he's wearing a trendily cut black suit jacket that looks like it came from Hot Topic. Enveloping this ensemble is a black floor-length duster that must have been very nice once but is now scuffed and worn. Equally worn hiking boots adorn his feet. Occassionally glimpsed underneath the duster is a small, primitive-looking drum hanging from his left hip. He's often seen carrying a walking stick a little taller than he is. The top of the stick is wrapped with leather cord and has a variety of rocks, crystals, and feathers dangling from it on yet more leather cords.

Apocalypse sticks the knife in her mouth and licks off the mayo. Bright, pale blue-lilac eyes regard the arrival with keen interest; manic energy comes off her in waves. "Defies the Apocalypse at yer fuckin' service," she says, cheerfully, with a thick Noo Yawk accent. "An' you, you're either Valoran, Wilbur, or Tobin." She thrusts out a hand for shaking.

Tobin takes the remaining step towards her and shakes the hand with a strong grip, though he still looks unsure of this woman. "Neither Valoran the Ragabash nor Wilbur the Ahroun am I, so that leaves Tobin the Theurge, who I am for the moment. I'm called Long-Past, and am, for the moment, a cub. Though that should be changing..." he pause to look at his watchless wrist. "Any day now." A glimmer of a grin comes to his lips.

"Oh, yeah! Th' kid wit' a gazillion fuckin' ancestors in him!" Apocalypse gives Tobin's hand an enthusiastic handshake and then releases it. Whirling around back to her sandwich preparations, she tosses off, over her shoulder, "Galliard, child a' two idiot charachs, Cliath from th' Sept a' th' Green. You hungry, Tobey?"

Tobin blinks in surprise that this woman knows something about him, then pauses a moment to process what she just said. He nods slowly when he does, then realizes she asked him a question. "Ah, yes actually I am. I don't think I've eaten since yesterday evening before I went to feed the spirits again." He walks slowly around the kitchen to sit on a stool by the counter, peering at her some more. "Wait, I do know you. You showed up at the park the other night."

Apocalypse slaps down a final piece of thick whole-wheat bread and brandishes the gargantuan, multi-layed sandwich, on its plate, at the other Fang. "Th' place wit' th' fountain? Yeah." Her manic grin widens. "I helped you guys wit' th' fuckin' raid spirit-side th' other fuckin' night, too. I was wit' Kaz an' them, slicin' scrags."

Tobin's eyes widen in recognition. "Ah-hah! I saw you there, too! I wondered who you were," he says, taking the plate with a quiet thanks. "And you must be who Kaz was talking about when she mentioned..." he stops, blushes, and changes the subject. "Good to see you made it through. I was there, beating on a crystal bane with Valoran and Kristine and Sepdet's pack."

Apocalypse starts the process of making a second sandwich with no visible decrease in energy or enthusiasm. "Brigid gave me th' address of th' place, but I ain't fuckin' met Brittany yet." She glances at him, getting more solemn. "Was there when th' fuckin' word came through, 'bout her bein' in the fuckin' hospital that's /also/ a fuckin' Blight. Oh, yeah, an' yer missin' Alpha." She shakes her head. "What a fuckin' fubar! But th' Forge fucked up those Spirals fuckin' good, yeah?"

Tobin nods solemnly at Apocalypse, quiet while taking a bite of the sandwich. He chews slowly and swallows, almost meditative in the actions. "We can only hope they don't know who she is, and that Robert-rhya is alright."

Apocalypse nods vigorously. "Oh, yeah, fuckin' obviously, /yeah/. An' meanwhile, get th' fuckin' caern back from those motherfuckers." She grins toothily. "That is gonna be one fuckin' asskickin' /party/."

Tobin can't help but smirk at the other Fang's energy as he nods in agreement. He sobers as he speaks, though. "The War spirits with us will take some time to reform and come back to power. I didn't expect we'd lose them all in the attack." He seems to be very sad about this.

"Seems t'me they fuckin' took some out along wit'em," Apoc points out, gesturing with the butter knife again. "But, yeah. Still, wanna gak 'em sometime soon, yeah?"

Tobin nods in agreement. "Oh yes, they certainly did. We'd have been hard pressed to hold that flank without them. I just wish...oh well, they knew what they were getting into."

Apocalypse pauses to give the young Theurge a look, the pierced eyebrow lifted and a quirking grin twitching up one corner of her mouth. "Ya'd be fuckin' surprised what spirits know. Th' really intelligent fuckers, half of 'em have been alive fer fuckin' longer than you 'r me. They fuckin' /know/ stuff, an' I wouldn't be fuckin' surprised if they knew /exactly/ what they were fuckin' gettin' into."

Tobin smirks again. "Not the first time I've been reminded they know more than me. I'll remember that one of these days. I remember every every other detail from a hundred lifetimes, you'd think I could remember one I learned in this one," he says with mock-bitterness and takes another bite of the sandwich.

Tobin pages to the room: Great, he's using the Spanish version of Windows. ;)

Apocalypse finishes off her sandwich with a florish and takes a massive bite out of it. "Mmmmmh." She chews for a bit, then starts putting things away. Mouth full, she says, "Past lives is past lives, yer life is now." She swallows and adds, more clearly, "S'what my Uncle told me once. Details on stuff yer ancestors did still ain't the fuckin' same as stuff /you/ did, so ya can't be fuckin' expected ta remember it the same."

Tobin shrugs. "Sometimes it's all the same to me. The lives are there own and the memories can be very strong. I remember myself as I was then and there, and when it meshes with what's around me now it can disorienting, to say the least. But I can tell the difference, and most of the time, so can they."

Apocalypse nods in acknowledgement, then takes another bite of sandwich. "So, 'sup wit'cher Rite?" she asks, chewing and cleaning away.

(And here's where my connection dropped off under me. Feh.)