812/On a School Night

On a School Night
Date of Scene:	16 October 2014
Location:	Bar and Grill at the Edge of the Multiverse
Synopsis:	An Exalt and a Servant have a random encounter at the Bar.
Cast of Characters:	416, 569

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Jack (416) has posed:
    It's late but quiet evening at the bar and grill isn't it? Nevertheless, it's a hot spot for anyone who needs a snack or a drink, so it's not out of the ordinary to see almost anyone and everyone here at some point.
    Even students.
    To be more specific, seated at the bar is a small girl maybe thirteen from the looks of her; silver hair done in a neat bob, big round glasses worn over blue eyes and the twin scars decorating her eye and cheek. Jack might look a little out of place in a bar, but she's not here for the alcohol, judging from the Japanese 'sailor' schoolgirl uniform, sitting in a seat in a forward hunch with her legs hugged to her chest as she slurps at a bowl of noodles and sips some soda.
    It's kind of late, and on a Wednesday to boot, but at least she's not trying to sneak any drinks harder than a coke.
    Jack is a good girl.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     Pizza was mentioned on the radio. It's enough to drag Bitter Medicine away from brooding, if only because the occasional human contact is good for an Alchemical in his position. Also, come on. /Pizza./

     Men like Bitter Medicine have a tendency to make quiet rooms even more quiet. At least tonight, that's not intentional. He's aware of the eyes on him as he enters, but he pays them no mind. He scans the bar for a place to sit--doesn't look like there's anyone he knows here.

     His gaze stops on Jack. A bit young for this kind of place, isn't she? The Alchemical's jackboots thud against the floor of the establishment as he approaches, looking like the Truant Officer of the Dead. His eyes move slowly from the noodles to the scars on her cheek. "Elite?" He asks.

Jack (416) has posed:
    Pizza is always good, but that doesn't seem to be on the Servant's menu tonight. No, she seems to be quite enjoying those noodles, rich with red sauce and a little meat, and cheese. Good stuff. The approach gets her attention, though she does not make it obvious. Keeping it simply to a gaze from the corner of her vision at first, before she's directly addressed.
    'Elite'? he asks. And for a moment she finishes slurping on her meal, before daintily dabbing her lower lip with a napkin.
    "Yep yep." A simple, almost childish answer- and a voice that the alchemical might have heard on the Union bands before.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Her Elite status might grant her a few concessions. Then again, it might not. He's uncertain of how other worlds treat their children. "Affiliation?" he asks. The epitome of tasteful social interaction folds his hands behind his back, observing Jack with an appraising frown, one of his more friendly expressions. If he can help it, he'd prefer not to sit with an enemy--he's guarded enough with his allies.

Jack (416) has posed:
    Once she's done wiping her lips the napkin is set down, arms find way to hug around her legs and keep herself tucked in a small ball, a sitting up fetal position, as she rests her chin on her knees. A tilt of her head turns her for a better look at the Soulsteel, innocent blue eyes blinking slowly at first.
    "Niether." Comes Jack's answer, smooth as silk as her cheek smooshes to one knee. "But we are a good girl."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Not ideal, but... at least she's not a Fed. Fine. "Are you," he says. He's a little dismissive of people who praise themselves, though that probably wasn't her intention. He's just that way--even with friends. He snatches up a menu, then peers over it as he stands, assessing Jack's eyes with his own intense gaze. "Name?"

Jack (416) has posed:
    Those deep blue eyes are utterly childlike, pure, and at the same time far too intelligent. And she seems to have no problem holding steady eye contact, where most others might turn away or shy off. "Yep yep." Again, a simplistic reply as she twirls her fork in the remnants of her spaghetti. Though she mostly paws at it for now without actually eating at the moment. Her name though.
    "Mother says we're not supposed to give our name to strangers." She does note. "'Assassin' is fine though if you need to call us something."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     "Interesting appellation." Especially considering her claim of being a good girl. Good /is/ a subjective notion, though. "I'm Bitter Medicine." With that, he peruses the menu once again, searching for--there it is. Pizza. For a moment he's surprised. There are kinds of pizza other than the yellow-stuff-with-red-disc-things on it?

     Without so much as a request, the Alchemical seats himself in Jack's booth and waits to be served. When a waiter does arrive, he makes a declaration. "I'll have this one. With the white solidified milk, the white sauce, and the cooked dead bird meat."

Jack (416) has posed:
    Slim shoulders lift into a shrug, and she doesn't seem to mind suddenly being joined. The bar is a public place. But most people would probably be put off by such mannerisms and actions. Perhaps it's a good thing that Jack herself is not so easily shied off as she used to be. By now she's nearly done with that coke, judging from the slurping noise beginning to filter from her straw as she works on it, gaze focused in a direct stare. For eyes at first, before finding the curiosity of the gem embedded upon the alchemical's forehead. But then back to his eyes. "It is nice to meet you, Bitter Medicine. We did not pick it. We think it's better than Berserker though." She goes on before sidetracking: "The pizza here is good."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     The Alchemical offers a grunt of greeting--his way of saying it's nice to meet Jack. "Glad to hear it," he says as he hands the menu over to the waiter. His gloved hands reach for a couple of napkins, unfolding them and placing them on his lap. "Moderated radio got me thinking about it."

     "So. Didn't pick your... appelation." It's not her name, but it's /a/ name. "That begs the question--who did, and why?" If she takes issue with his line of questioning, she can say so or illustrate it. That's the extent of his mannrs, really.

Jack (416) has posed:
    "Holy Grail." The answer is so straight faced, and given so smoothly, there's no way it can be a lie. It is a simple, earnest, and honest reply as the girl laces her fingers together and rests her chin atop her knuckles. Jack gives the Who, but she doesn't seem to give the Why just then as she tilts her head the other way, adjusting her glasses. "What about your name?" Something of an obvious deflection there; and she seems to know just how obvious it was.
    "First time we had pizza we got a little sick. We're used to it now though."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     The Sangraal, the Matter of Britain and any permutations thereof are alien to an Autochthonian. It doesn't matter to him that the Holy Grail named her--he doesn't even know what one is, so he can't know the significance of it, at least, not yet. As far as he knows, it's just an artifact. "You didn't say why," he says, almost as a formality. His expression communicates that he doesn't expect an answer. So he answers her question. "Was born knowing my name, who I was. It's part personality descriptor, part weapon designation."

     "Your food always surprises me," he admits. "Don't normally have stuff that good except on feast days."

Jack (416) has posed:
    Why. He has to ask why. He has to push that. It earns a frown, nose scrunching into a distasteful look as the fact that her omission is brought up seems to displease her. For a moment, she doesn't go into it, opting to slide along the topic of pizza: "Never had it back where we were from. Back then we were lucky if we got to eat. Not anymore though, things are better now. Yep."
    But then she relents. "We don't like to talk about why. It's from back when we weren't a good girl."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     Bitter Medicine isn't here to cause trouble, and his opinion of Jack, fence-sitter though she may be, is certainly higher than a select few /other/ multiversals. "Let's talk about something else, then." Having laid that pit of spikes out, he goes through a mental list of topics to blunder his way through. She looks young. It's not always an indicator of age--he knows that best of all. But she /seems/ young. "Favorite subject in school?"

Jack (416) has posed:
    Like some pixelated dungeon delving hero, Jack jumps the spike pit. But now must navigate the tunnel of snakes and scorpions, as the topic of school is raised. Talking about something else seems to be quite alright with her though. "Not math." She answers, that seems to make her frown harder, and for good reason.
    Addition and subtraction are easy enough when thinking in terms of 'if we take x knives from the pile there will be so and so left'. But multiplication and division are not as simple that way are they?
    She does not mention this fact.
    "Writing." She gives after a beat. "English is easier for us. But we go to school in Mother's Japan. So Kanji, kana, and hiragana are tougher. But we are getting better. Scored a 68 on our last test."
    This seems to be a particular point of beaming pride for her.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "I only know Autochthonic. Very different from Earth languages. Written form's not so much a written form as it is a bunch of pictoglyphs. Some things," he says, pointing at his 'Regulator' badge, "Translate better than others."

     "How many years of school you got under your belt?" The pizza is brought forth before long, which means that the Alchemical can fill the silence with food. His authoritarian garb is somewhat lessened in the presence of pizza."

Jack (416) has posed:
    Fingers sliding up the bridge of her nose to adjust her glasses, Jack's gaze turns to the badge. "Autocthonic." The Servant muses, turning the name of the language over on her tongue briefly. Before revealing she seems to be somewhat familiar with some forms of creation: "Exalted?" Ventured as she resumes working on her spaghetti before it can get TOO cold.
    "About one year now." She answers candidly. Before getting curious of her own volition. "Said you were born knowing your name?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     "Yeah," he answers. "Chosen of the Machine God, Soulsteel Caste." The food, or its quality, improves his disposition. "All of us are born knowing who we are. It's a combination of what we're made of and the mortal soul that animated us."

     One year of school, huh? That must have something to do with the whole 'before I was good' thing. She looks older than that answer would imply. The scars on her face--likely also from that time. Bitter Medicine grunts. "You like school?" he asks, if only to swat away the silence.

Jack (416) has posed:
    The slow nod says that while 'Assassin' has a vague knowledge of Exalted, the Machine God and his ilk are not among the number she can claim to know a thing about. So it's something to file away for later. Indeed, the scars are old, but too etched in to be faded, one line slashed straight down the middle of her left eye- undamaged from the looks of it-, and the other running up her chin, held together by old suture marks, though the stitches are long gone.
    Definitely before she was good. "Yep." She answers the question, though. "Though our classmates think we're a little weird. Probably because we hang out with Kiyoko a lot." ... And then comes the question. Almost utterly childish in execution:.
    "Are you like a robot?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     The Exalt can't help but snort. Even he's not immune to cute. "A little. I have skin," he says--although it's pallid and clearly not human, a grim marking of his particular caste. "I feel things. I bleed. Really, I'm between man and machine. The..." He pauses, searching not for the right word, but the appropriate word. "The older Alchemicals tend to get rid of their human parts for machine parts."

"People think I'm weird, too. It comes with the territory."

Jack (416) has posed:
    And thus she gets a reaction. The snort gets lips tugging into a tentative grin, and now Jack's hands are on her cheeks. "Hm. Between man and machine. Kind of like us between life and death." Murmured thoughtfully. Then she pauses and adds:
    "We don't get cool robot parts though. Our legend either grows or just gets forgotten." Odd musing, there, but then her grin widens. "The territory of being a nosey-noseypants, or?"
    Oh that was a tease.
    Well after all this discourse she seems to decide there's no harm in...
    "We are Jack. But you can't spread that, okay?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
     Bitter Medicine smiles. It does his face, given to dour expressions, some good. "Not too far off the mark, actually. It's my job to be nosy, in a way." Spearing a bit of pizza with a fork (!!) he nods. "I won't." Because sometimes it's his job to /keep/ secrets, too--and that's often the more ugly of his duties. "As far as anyone else knows, I know you as Assassin."

     The last bit of pizza goes, and leaves Bitter Medicine with a somewhat surprised feeling. Has he already had his two slices? So he has. "I should go. /You/ should tell me about your legend sometime. Exalted tend to appreciate those."

Jack (416) has posed:
    Pizza with a fork?! What heresy is this? It's anathema!
    Jack doesn't comment though. Not on that anyway. But it's good that the Exalt promises to keep the secret of her name. So she starts nodding again. up until the topic of her legend. "Mm." She pauses there.
    "We don't like our old one. It is a bad one. Maybe we'll tell you the new one we've been working on. Because Mother and our friends pointed us that way."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine leaves payment for his food, and, as is customary, an additional increment as thanks for his service. "Look forward to hearing it," he says, looking around to make sure there aren't any prying ears. Satisfied, he calls Assassin by her real name. "Later, Jack." With that farewell, and with his tab settled, he departs.