kore_logs | can't seem to find our state of grace

Entry tags:

can't seem to find our state of grace

Who: Balthazar and OPEN
What: Exploring and chatting.
When: Day 54
Where: All over the place, but eventually the bar and House 11. Encounter him anywhere you like.
Warnings: Probably none, will update if that changes.

Balthazar's not sure whether to be optimistic about this brave new world or not. There's no question but that certain individuals here are a threat. Raphael and Lucifer? Scary. Whatever's got them all trapped here? Also scary. At the moment, though, the weather is fairly pleasant, there's no looming apocalypse, planned or otherwise, and even the demons here seem to be, if not civil, at least tolerable.

Probably the other shoe will drop before long, but until then he's going to try to enjoy himself.

Hence the search for the bar he hears is around somewhere. He circles through streets, looking over houses, buildings, and...hmm. Rubble. That's a little worrisome. But not too far off he finds what he was looking for, and slips curiously through the doors.

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"I'm tempted to try, but if they explode or release poisonous gas or something, I don't think I want to be responsible for the damage. I'll ask around." He hasn't decided yet whether the cameras actually bother him. Shameless as he is, there's not much he does that he cares about being observed at.

"Well. Since we're here, we may as well have a drink. Do you care for anything?"

She hadn't actually thought about them doing either of those things, the possibility just making her more glad she hadn't bothered in the first place.

She looked around at the offer, almost expecting her parents to materialize out of nowhere to glare at her. "Um... a beer?" They couldn't get mad about that. She'd had beers in other countries, after all. The legal age varied from place to place.

Balthazar doesn't imagine an exploding camera could damage him, but she seems pretty much mortal. And in any case, wrecking the bar's not on under any circumstances.

He gets up to fetch their drinks, biting back a laugh. She sounds so uncertain, even guilty. That's a sure sign she's underage, not that he cares. "Sure. Looks like there's the usual American stuff, plus Corona and Harp lager."

Like she had any clue about what beer was best. She was more used to wines and concoctions made by tribes than anything in a bottle with a label on it. But if he wasn't going to ID her, and in this place she thought it was a little pointless, then she'd just go ahead and enjoy a beer with only a small margin of guilt.

"What do you drink?"

"Usually much harder stuff, but if we're doing beer, I vote for the Harp." He pulls out two bottles and brings them back to the table, opening hers for her before setting it down. "More flavor. American beer is too watery."

He sits back down to open his. "Don't make yourself drink it if you don't like it, though."

She takes the bottle with a smile, lifting it to her lips and giving it an unobtrusive sniff before sipping it. She wasn't used to the taste, but she'd certainly had worse, a fact she'd keep to herself. "No, it's fine. Thank you." She was used to shifter ways, and you never said anything negative about anything presented to you by a host.

He's not really a host, technically, but he won't object to her good manners. "Now is about the time when I start asking annoying questions for the sake of conversation. So, where are you from originally, Riley?"

She took another sip, feeling the carbonized liquid fizzle on her tongue. "Originally? Bishop, California. But we've probably spent a total of six or seven years there since I've been born. What about you, Mister Balthazar?" Whether he was a shifter or human, he was still an adult. Which meant unless he did something utterly rude or offensive, she'd mind her manners.

He's not about to tell her he comes from Heaven. He'll have to improvise a little. "Well, lately I've been living in Chicago, but I travel quite a bit. I'm an art dealer, and an antiques broker of a sort. Are you still a student, then?"

"An art dealer? Really? What sort of art do you deal in?" Another sip has her wrinkling her nose slightly at the bitter taste. "No, not anymore. Me and my brothers were home schooled. Our mom figured it was the only way to guarantee a solid education with how often we moved and into what areas."

"I'm fond of paintings and sculpture, myself, but I have a small gallery. I've been helping new artists get established." This is completely true, and probably the only thing he's done since leaving Heaven that he's actually proud of.

"You moved a lot, hm? Military, or some other reason?"

"Do you do any yourself? I mean... art stuff?" The next sip didn't taste so bad, but it still buzzed on her tongue.

"My dad. He's an anthropologist. Studies the cultural ramifications of the technological age on the more remote tribes and cultures and how much, if any, of an effect it has on them."

"No. I haven't the talent, I'm afraid. But I just have to be close to it. To be a part of something creative." His smile is wistful. "The best I can manage is a paint-by-number. Not very satisfying."

"Oh. That's...important work." It sounds lukewarm not because he's disrespecting anthropology but because it just hit him that she must be separated from her entire family. "I'm sorry, you must miss them."

"There's nothing wrong with that. It must be nice. Getting to watch all those things being made." She'd always enjoyed watching the weavers as they'd worked when she was a child. She could imagine that translating to paintings an sculptures.

Her eyes dropped down to her fingers as they traced the drops of condensation on the bottle. "I was sort of expecting to. I was doing my whole 'look at me backpack across the country' thing, but I was going to be calling them often. Then I got pulled in here before I even started. Not exactly any cell service around here."

"I enjoy watching creation, yes." It's a wry joke that references his angelic nature. He's not expecting her to catch the double meaning.

He picks up the bottlecap and flicks it idly from finger to finger as he listens, nodding a little. "Well...I'm told I was here before and disappeared and then came back again. I'm not sure what that means, but it would seem to indicate there's a way out somehow. Perhaps you'll see home again soon."

She doesn't. She'd mostly but the possibility of angels being real out of her mind, because really? Angels?

"That would be nice." She was sure her parents would be freaking out when she didn't call. Then she frowned as she thought over his statement. "Wait, you mean you don't remember being here before?"

Most likely, unless for some reason she gets to return home at the same time she left. Not knowing where they are or how it all works, anything is possible. He's fiddled with pocket worlds and divergent dimensions. He can think of a wide variety of possibilities. He's just not sure what applies here.

Shaking his head, he looks back up at her. "Not a bit. I'm even told I offended some woman who might slap me when she sees me, but as I've no idea what she looks like, I guess I'll be an easy target for her."

"Oh. So I guess you're going to be on the lookout for any woman looking angry around you." He didn't seem that repentant about the fact that he could likely get a hand to the face at any given time. "Is that, um, usual?"

"Most definitely." Suddenly he looks like he's trying not to laugh. "What, is it usual for me to make women angry? It's sort of a 50-50 chance, I think. Sometimes they find me charmingly roguish. Other times I get called a douchebag, and I have yet to get a handle on what subtle shift in my behavior prompts that response."

He takes a drink of his beer. "But I'm relatively harmless; don't mind me."

She smiles at him, hiding it as she looked down at her bottle. "I'll keep that in mind then. If I see anything that points out why you go from one to the other, I'll let you know." She needed to take a sip to stop the grin from spreading.

Oh, he's made her laugh? Excellent. Theoretically that means she won't be one of the ones that slaps him. "Thank you, I do appreciate constructive feedback! It helps me to refine my approach."

Riley wasn't one who usually went around slapping people, especially not adults. He'd have to say or do something intentionally cruel or crass. "I don't suppose she said how you offended her, did she?"

He's rarely intentionally cruel. Crass could happen, though.

"I haven't spoken to her, but a friend of mine implied I got too snarky with her at some point. And said something about medical equipment. I'm not sure if that's intriguing or alarming."

A confused frown crossed her face. "Medical equipment?" She could understand being offended at something said that was done so in a snarky tone, but medical equipment? She couldn't quite figure out how that fit in.

"Oh! Hers, not mine. I don't have any medical equipment. Is there an infirmary here somewhere? That might explain it." He shrugs, unconcerned.

"Do you mind if I ask where you're staying? I'm at number 11. It's good to have contacts in a strange place."

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