Scene #4385: The College Try

Owner	Pose
John Rizzo	San Francisco. Nine p.m. The air is muggy, hot. It rained earlier tonight, both a blessing and a curse in this climate. The streets are still slick, the sidewalks still darkened from the rare downpour. Streetlights and traffic lights reflect off of the weathered asphalt, as people make their way. This area of town's where a lot of the older buildings are, buildings with bricks from decades ago, still standing and showing off what was once considered state-of-the-art. One such building is the Midnight Oil Detective Agency. The squat building stands two stories tall, the second story boasting an odd lack of windows. The paint over the bricks is cracked in some spots, a cheerful 'YES, WE'RE OPEN' sign hanging in the window. At precisely 9:04 PM, one tall, haggard man known as John Rizzo exits the premises, leaving them in the care of his oft-mentioned business partner. Slipping on his trench coat in this weather seems counterintuitive--surely he must be hot. But even if he is, he doesn't seem to show it. Rizzo pulls the trenchcoat close and as people pass by him, he seems to... blend in. Just leaning against the wall, he waits, the collar flipped up so that it hides his features, his gaze pointed downwards. Someone catches his interest--a young man and his girlfriend. The redhead waits for them to pass, then pushes off the wall, hands in his pockets, head still angled down. The couple turns right, into an alley. Rizzo follows.
Eithne Sullivan	The thing about being a cool detective is that some people tend to get curious. Her experience with detectives thus far have been 'a few crime novels' and 'one or two movies'. Who could blame Eithne for wanting to do a little investigating of her own?! She's even got a good excuse for showing up: there's a thermos of warm rabbit's blood in her backpack, preserved with her own special brand of talent. Anti-coagulants probably taste terrible. And just as she's getting within sight of the detective agency, John emerges from the front door-- wait, he's doing something... Eithne stops a block away, watching curiously as he follows the couple. "Well, well... what's all this then?" she murmurs to herself, and waits for him to disappear before crossing the street. Overhead, feathers rustle as Sheela settles down on a power line to watch his mistress do something foolish...
John Rizzo	If Rizzo notices Enya, he doesn't show it. He seems engrossed in following these two. Once Enya crosses the street, she can make out snippets of conversation over the din of the city, over the hum of motors and the distant, offended blare of horns. "...how it starts." Just a moment later, the young man's girlfriend is seen briskly exiting the alley. Her expression is a mixture of offended and sad, which, taken in the context of a relationship usually means one thing. What's strange is that John saw fit to deliver this information in person, instead of calling a meeting. She makes it to the rest of the street, then turns a corner and disappears. But the wind picks up, and carries more snippets of conversation from the alley. A low, gravelly, measured voice--John's. And a voice full of fire and vigor--must be the other guy. "What the fuck, man?"
Eithne Sullivan	How what starts? She probably shouldn't follow him. This might be something private, or sensitive information, or something...? Except now there's just John and that man in the alley, and the stranger sounds pissed. Eithne shoulders her backpack a little more securely and glances after the departing woman to make sure she keeps going, then slowly approaches the mouth of the alley. Eithne strolls forward at a leisurely pace that does a fairly good job of disguising her mounting interest. She lsitens for another few moments, then leans around the corner. What are you up to, John? "..."
John Rizzo	"What the fuck did you do that for? I had that girl eating out of my hands." "This isn't a game, pal. You bring a different broad to this alley every week." "So what, you're my mother now, ese? Fuck you, gringo. You can't tell me what to do. Just because you wanna suck on rats in the sewers to feed doesn't mean everybody's got to. The prince runs this place, not you. I can hunt wherever I want." John crosses his arms. "Camarilla, huh? Figures. For guys who go on about mastering the Beast and being noble monsters you guys have some pretty high opinions of yourselves. Prince. Hunt. Feed. Close your head for a minute and think about all that." "Who the /fuck/ are you to lecture me on that, ese?" The young man points a finger at Rizzo, who permits it with a nonplussed expression. One that communicates experience with this discussion. "You think I chose to be this way? I'm doing the best I can, man. It's enough of a struggle without the sermons." So that's what this is--Rizzo giving a younger vampire a lecture on humanity.
Eithne Sullivan	Ooooohhhh. So that's what it is. Well, that's... less bad than she was expecting, actually! She was thinking maybe it was something like ritual human sacrifice, or the man was cheating on his girlfriend. Either/or. "It's not always rats, though," she interjects, fully stepping around the corner to block off the mouth of the alley. "Sometimes it's rabbit. I brought yeh a present, John," she grins, and shrugs off her backpack to set it on a relatively dry patch of asphalt against the wall. She doesn't have any idea what a Camarilla is, other than 'something to do with vampire society'. "But I take it yer dates don't know what's goin' on when yeh bring 'em here? Or if they're willing, what's the problem? Though yeh could really do better than an alley," Eithne chides the younger lick. "Girls like nice things like roses an' music."
John Rizzo	The younger vampire looks past John, at Enya. John accepts her thermos. "Thanks, kid. You shouldn't have." "Now you got an /assistant/?" "Co-worker," he says. "But you and me are chinning, and we aren't done yet." "Nah, man. I'm out." He attempts to shoulder past John, but the detective puts a hand on his shoulder. "Let go of me, Rizzo." His grip remains firmly tightened. "Let go of me, or I fuck your girl up." That seems to have done it--'it' being pissed John off. He forcibly yanks the younger vampire back. Clearly not expecting it, he utters a startled grunt as John lifts him off of his feet and slams him into the brick wall. "You're young and stupid so I'm gonna let that slide. I'm watching you, pal. I know where you 'hunt,' I know what kinda dames catch your eye. And if you ever, ever, try and use a mortal as a bargaining chip again, the Prince is gonna be the least of your worries. Savvy?" No response from him, save for a glare. "You think the Camarilla's gonna help you stay human, you're dinging the wrong buzzer. It's a shell game, bo. You want to make it out of this vampire lay with a soul, you go back to your haven tonight and you think about what I said. No more 'hunting.' No more 'feeding.'" "FUCK you man!" The younger vampire kicks John in the chest, shoving him backwards. Momentarily off guard, he catches one in the chin from the other guy. John rises slowly and rubs his chin. "Big mistake, pal."
Eithne Sullivan	Eithne hands it over with a pleased smile, like a kid that got praised for a good report card. That smile only gets wider when the unnamed man attempts to use her as a bargaining chip. She's missing a tooth on one side. "Oh," Eithne says to the Camarilla vampire, bouncing gleefully on her heels. "Won't yeh please try?" John is knocked back after trying to use diplomacy one last time, and Eithne giggles. Not at him! She's just excited is all. Despite dressing like the very picture of a good Catholic schoolgirl, nothing gets her blood pumping (ahem) like a good scrap. Eithne doesn't look at her hand when she reaches into thin air, because she can't do it if she looks. Space seems to /bend/ around her hand as she tears a sword free from someplace else. The thing looks /ancient/. Pitted, rusty, blackened along most of its length. Six inches wide, nearly as long as Eithne is tall, and she holds it like it weighs nothing. She rests the tip on the asphalt between her toes and wraps her hands around its long, red grip. She's still grinning. "Would yeh rather fight me or John? I have to say, I'm really hopin' yeh'll choose me~"
John Rizzo	John isn't so kind to the Camarilla vampire. When the other guy looks with surprise at Enya's sword, John reaches around, pulls his t-shirt over his head, and hits him with a jab straight in the nose. It sounded like something broke! He's not done, either. John catches the vampire in a headlock and repeatedly pummels his face with his free hand. The sight is just so... genuine, so real. There's no martial arts here, just sheer brutality. John doesn't even look upset--he looks like someone disciplining a child. Struggling beneath the elder's grip, the younger of the two eventually breaks free, stomping on Rizzo's foot to get him to let go. He is released, tearing his shirt off to reveal a battered, broken face that slowly mends. With a roar of anger, he swipes at John, claws sprouting from his fingers. Those claws look as though they could easily remove the detective's face, but he leans backwards, gritting his teeth and reaching into his coat. The other vampire suddenly gains a burst of speed, moving almost too quickly to be seen--only to stop and take a step back at the sight of something glinting in the night. John dangles a silver medallion at him, slowly twirling from side to side. He advances, and the other vampire takes a step back. "I-I can't move! What the fuck did you do to me?" "Not a thing, buster. This is all the man upstairs." "But you're... you're Kindred!" "That's the rumor." Rizzo backs the other vampire into a wall, the younger of the two shaking like a leaf, terror burned into his face. "I'll do anything you want--" The medallion is slapped against the other vampire's face, where it sizzles upon contact with his flesh and elicits a startled cry of pain. Rizzo hisses into his ear. "Get into your car. Get out of town. And keep driving until you find a church. And when you get there, you repent and make peace with God. If you don't, I'll know. If you tell the Prince, I'll know. If you so much as fart... I'll know. Savvy?" "Yeah... savvy." He swallows. "Good," says Rizzo pleasantly. "You're lucky you didn't fight her," he adds with a nod toward Eithne. "Oh, and one last thing." He slaps the frightened vampire. "Watch your language. Now blow." Rizzo makes a vague 'get out of here' motion with his arm and the vampire hurriedly, hurriedly leaves, in a rush to be anywhere but here. Rizzo looks at the thermos, then back at Enya. "Sorry to use your dingus here to give that guy the Broderick, kid."
Eithne Sullivan	She's actually a bit disappointed that John doesn't give the nameless guy a chance to decide. Eithne watches him beat the other man with a cheerful sort of polite interest, hmm-ing when she thinks she hears bone snap. "Good one," she grins. It reminds her of her dad, when she was a baby and he was still drinking. Nothing good lasts forever though, and when the younger one breaks free her fingers tighten on the grip. She thinks she's going to see John put a stake in his opponents heart, and that would be kind of interesting~ But instead, he uses... magic? Eithne leans forward just a hair,eyes narrowing at the sight of something small and shining. It's... a saint medallion maybe? Her eyes are only so good in the dark, and the whatever-it-is is glowing like a star. Oh, it's...! He rushes out, charred and defeated, and she considers aiming a kick at his backside - but John gave him one more chance, so Eithne supposes she ought to as well. "Ding...?" Eithne blinks at him, and she's back to being a normal-ish high schooler (even with the sword and all). "Oh! It didn't break, so it's all gravy, yeah?" She's trying! "Well, it's not really gravy. It's blood. But that was really cool, good job!" Who the hell raised this kid?
John Rizzo	Rizzo sighs, running a hand through his hair. He puts the medallion back in his coat. "I don't like bumping the things that go bump in the night, but it's my lay. Practically the only way you can get to Kindred. You have to do it when they're young. Before the sects chisel 'em." He looks at the spot he'd pinned the other vampire against the wall, deep in thought for a moment. "Nice pigsticker, by the way," he adds absently before rolling his neck and facing her again. "What do y'say we head back to the office before we get copped?"
Eithne Sullivan	"Someone's got to do it though, right?" she asks him, stepping aside for him to leave the alley. "'If not me, who? If not now, when?' ...I wish I could remember where I read that," Eithne frowns after a moment's consideration. "Kindred means vampire, right?" Eithne tugs her backpack up onto her shoulders again. The sword gets a thoughtful glance before she looks away, holds her arm out, and drops it. Just like retrieving the sword, putting it away involves space rippling as a miniature distortion swallows it. She really wishes she knew what it looked like! "I've never been inside a detective agency before. Is it like in the movies, or is it more like a regular office?" Still asking questions, she follows him out of the alley.
John Rizzo	Rizzo departs the alley, acknowleding Enya's question about Kindred with a nod, and her question about his office with an invitation. "Follow me and find out, kid." He shoves his hands into his pockets and navigates the occasional pedestrian like a pro, swimming aside like a fish in water. An evening wind picks up and cools the both of them. John doesn't seem to notice it, but Enya might appreciate a break from the almost oppressively muggy night air. The office is just a few blocks away. He opens the door, and holds it open for her, before entering himself. The interior of the office is a mix of new and old. There's a waiting room with a water cooler and some paper cups, along with two doors, each sporting frosted glass windows that obscure the inside. Magazines of several different varieties are strewn across a coffee table, and a TV, perhaps from the late 90s, rests atop a small cabinet. The door labeled "MARCUS BORDEN" opens shortly after the two enter, and out steps the man himself, Rizzo's business partner. Marcus seems a study in the young professional--namely, he is everything Rizzo isn't. Mr. Borden, a black man appearing to be in his prime with close-cropped hair and an aura of personal organization lacking in Rizzo, lights up at the presence of a guest. "Hey there, John. New client and Kindred business in one night? You're knockin' 'em out." One immediate, noticeable difference is that Marcus' clothes actually appear to have seen an iron in the last decade. And they're nice--form-fitting polo shirt and pressed khaki slacks. Seems Marcus actually bothers to dress for the summer heat. "Nah, Marcus. This is Enya. She's Union." John gestures from one to the other. "Enya, this is Marcus Borden. He runs the place during the day and fills in for me on Union business, also during the day." Marcus extends a hand towards Enya. "Hey, Enya. Nice to meet you. Don't let John confuse you with all of that weird slang!"
Eithne Sullivan	It's a nice breeze! Eithne likes cooler weather in general, but even Belfast gets hot in the summertime. A breath of cool air is always welcome. She follows in his footsteps, not quite as practiced as John at swimming through the sea of humanity, but nobody runs into her (or she them). "Huh, not quite as Maltese Falcon as I'd thought," Eithne remarks, though she's smiling. It's probably a joke. "But no plants, though?" Not even an african violet in a butter tub??? This is unacceptable! And sad! She's distracted from fussing about the matter by the timely arrival of John's partner. The differences between the two men are obvious even at first glance - from clothes to manner to skin to hours. Eithne reaches out and shakes Marcus's hand with a smile. "I try not to! When he's talkin' over the radio I cheat an' look it up on the internet." "If I brought over some potted plants would yeh both promise not to kill 'em?" she asks, apropos of nothing, with another glance at the sad, sad fake ficus.
John Rizzo	Rizzo scratches the back of his head. "Don't let him fool you," says Marcus. "He's got a pink carnation in his office." Rizzo gives his business partner a look at that. "Yeah, and it's all I can do to keep it alive. But sure, go ahead, put the screws to me, why don't you." Marcus snaps his finger and points at John. "I'd do it more if I didn't wanna go home. Those leftovers are calling my name." "Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Marcus." The two of them share a moment of professional courtesy--and perhaps friendship, before Marcus departs, patting Enya on the shoulder and heading out into the city. Outside, a car hums to life and drives off. Rizzo plops down on the couch in the lobby and sets the thermos down on the table. He clasps his hands together and utters a quick prayer. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord, Amen." With that he unscrews the thermos and pours himself a cup, pausing. He nods over to a coffee machine in the corner. "Marcus put a fresh pot on about a half hour ago. Want some?"
Eithne Sullivan	She perks right up at that. "I wanna see~" So it appears that the place isn't totally devoid of plant life! Eithne was starting to worry. "Have a good evening an' drive safe," she wishes Marcus as they're saying their goodbyes. He seems really nice! She's about to follow John to the sofa when he begins a prayer. Despite no longer being Catholic (or even Christian), Eithne stops in her tracks and bows her head until he's finished. "I hope it's still warm. The blood, not the coffee," she amends, and goes to check on the coffeepot. "Though cold coffee's not that great either." It is in fact rabbit's blood, like she'd said earlier, and it's practically fresh. No anticoagulant, and yet no clotting. Eithne pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot and considers the non-dairy creamer before opting to leave it alone. "So yer the kind that has a black thumb, eh?" She'll never let him get away with plant murder now!
John Rizzo	"Yeah," says Rizzo. He drinks the contents of the cup, grimacing at the taste and stifling a cough, a fist balled up and pressed to his chest. Imagine drinking that /every day/ for decades. Ugh. "Makes sense you'd give me the business about that," he says mysteriously. "Blood's fine, by the way. Nice of you to bring it along." Rizzo eyes the thermos, then peers at Enya. "Said you were mortal," he remarks, as if she's supposed to know what that means. "Didn't want the Cam sending a peeper your way." He pours himself another cup. The detective peers at Enya as she pours herself a cup of coffee, downing the blood with another grimace. It's an expression that suits him, that determined frown, those eyes set on weathering the unpleasant. With that down, he gestures with a hand. "Have a seat, make yourself at home." He clears his throat. "Had a dust at your aura, over at Bedivere's dump. You could've really let the daylight in that guy. Thanks for playing along."
Eithne Sullivan	"I have to ask - why is there a difference between animal blood and a willin' human donor?" she asks, looking over at him curiously. There's no judgement in her voice, just the desire to figure out a puzzle. "I'd think it'd be more ethical to bleed a human than kill an animal, but I'm not really what someone would consider an expert on the morality of the topic." Or maybe it's a self-flagellation thing, Eithne does not say. He doesn't seem to be the kind of guy who would take the suggestion poorly, but she's not really sure where the line is. "I'm glad it does the trick, anyway!" Sipping her coffee, she has a seat on the couch as well. She'd kind of like to put her feet up on the coffee table, but even Eithne knows how rude that is. She'll do it at home - her own coffee table has seen worse than her socks. "The Camarilla's a bad lot, then?" she asks, rocking her drink back and forth, watching the dark liquid swirl around in her cup. "Thanks fer watchin' out fer me. Hope I didn't undo it all with showin' off. There're so many different kinds of powers out there, pullin' a sword out've my ear should've been nothing." Eithne tugs thoughtfully at a lock of her wavy hair, frowning as if she's in thought, but looks over sharply at the thought of her 'aura'. "Eh? Yeh can do that?! --And if he had been fightin' me fer real he'd have ended it before I got my sword up, so..." Eithne shrugs, a little uncomfortable somehow. Funny, not twenty minutes ago she'd seemed perfectly content to maul some guy. But Bedivere's her friend.
John Rizzo	"The curse was designed so that you'd want to seek out humans," he says. "Human blood is..." He frowns. "Pipe this," begins Rizzo anew. "It's like Christmas, your birthday, a drag off a mudpipe, sex and a jorum of skee, all rolled into one. Get? Makes you want more." He takes another cup of blood, downing it all at once like a particularly hair-curling shot of cheap vodka. "Willingly, or otherwise." "The Camarilla'll tell you that's just the way of things, and it's up to you to master your own Beast. They're all about being human, or noble monsters at least, until somebody actually gets somewhere doin' it. Then that unlucky stiff gets the bum's rush. Really, what they want is what people out there want. Money, power... control. Everything's posturing with them. For God's sake, they call the boss the Prince. You know there's a Prince of Gary, Indiana?" He scoffs. "Gary. Indiana." "Near as I can tell it sprung up in the Middle Ages as sort of a union for vampires. You pay your dues, you get protection. Thing is, they expect everybody to, and they consider everybody a member whether they signed up or not. Then, when you break one of their rules, that's the justification they give when they're about to give you the Jump." He chuckles bitterly. He places a hand on her shoulder. It's warm. "Individual Cammies can be good. But the thing itself? Not a fan. All you have to do is look at that newbie in the alley. He was ready to bury himself in sin, all because the Camarilla told him that's how life had to be. Feeding off humans, thinking of them as cattle, distancing yourself from them and getting swept up in the grift, that's easy. And the Camarilla sells Easy." He pats her shoulder. "You'd have done better than you thought. Celerity's a tough Discipline to fight against, but a sword's your best bet against Kindred."
Eithne Sullivan	"Hmm... I dunno if I'd be strong enough to never seek it out, then," she has to admit. "I like at least two've those things." Birthdays and Christmas, to be specific. She considers the idea of a vampire union, with all the good and bad involved. "P-Prince Gary," she laughs, even though she knows that's incorrect. "Yeh really meant it about the Prince, then! So that's what yeh meant!" Eithne takes a long drink, a few drops spilling onto her dark jacket. "Mmmah. I thought yeh meant Bedivere. I did want to beat the fear of God into that fellow in the alley." "The Beast... so that's the part've yeh that wants to wreck stuff an' kill people an' drink yer fill?" Eyebrows furrowing, she looks up from her coffee, faint freckles dotting her cheeks in the flourescent light. "Is that somethin' humans have too?" Or Scions...? "I wonder... have yeh heard of the Warp Spasm - Riastrad? It sounds a bit like that, but... not entirely. It's the bits of yeh that want to fight an' kill until there's nothing left." Until her blood runs dry and every bone is broken and she can no longer lift her sword. Eithne gnaws on the inside of her cheek. "Some've my cousins use it. I've come close, but it's still just out've reach. Is it like that?"
John Rizzo	"You bet," he says. "In us, it's just, I dunno. Stronger. And when it whispers in your ear it's not so easy to dismiss. And when it takes you over, it really goes to town. Friends, family, consequences. None of that's worth anything to the Beast. The Beast wants what it wants. Escape, food, satisfaction. It's almost never a good thing." "Your shrewd types will try and goad other Kindred into frenzying so they can kill in self defense, and the Camarilla will always take their side, even if they were insulting the other guy's sainted mother." Rizzo doesn't seem like a terribly physical guy--even including the beating he gave the other vampire. Perhaps he's one of their type? "Never heard of Riastrad, but, since this whole mess goes back so far, it doesn't surprise me someone has a word in some other language for bad news. Rotschreck, Jyhad, and so on. It's a regular thesaurus out there, y'know?" A mirthless chuckle. He screws the lid back on the thermos. "Who'd you inherit your gift from, if you don't mind me asking?"
Eithne Sullivan	"So they're that type," Eithne frowns, and downs the rest of her coffee with a grimace before setting the cup on the table. "I don't ever know what to do about them. I'm not... I feel like I'd walk right into that." She's about as subtle as a brick, and about as political too. Eithne glances over at him before drawing her legs up, tucking her skirt between her thighs and resting her socked feet on the couch. "From my Ma. She's... it's a bit hard to explain this, yeh know?" she laughs suddenly, crossing her arms on top of her knees. "'My ma's a goddess' sounds really strange. The Morrigan. War an' death and cycles, that sort've thing. It sounds like something a madwoman would say!" Digging around in her jacket pocket, Eithne starts messing with her cell phone. "I've a photo in here, from when she was... When she was human? Before I was born," she gives up trying to explain. "Gods an' goddesses have a lot of half-human kids in my world. We're born to kill Titans." Finding the right picture, she turns the phone around for him to see. It's a picture of a Polaroid of a black-haired woman in a leather jacket and a man with ruddy skin and sandy hair. They look to be in their twenties - the woman's Siouxie Sioux haircut indicates the late '80s. "See? My ma and da."
John Rizzo	"That's what you got me for, kid." He smiles wanly at her. Yep, definitely that type. He listens to her explanation, peering at the phone and the photo on it. Seems like Enya takes after her mother quite a bit. "Well, you're sitting with a madman," he says. "In for a penny, y'know?" He nudges her shoulder gently with a fist. "You don't have to justify anything to me, kid. Me and Marcus've got enough files between the two of us to fill up Wrigley Field. Here, we've just got the one, but a god's kid isn't much to chew on when your whole world's lousy with stuff like that."
Eithne Sullivan	The smile might be wan and slight, but it makes her feel better. So does the reassurance. "Thanks, John. Tell yeh what, just point me at somethin' and set me loose. We'll be a fine pair, yeah?" She has her mother's hair and pale skin, but her father's light blue eyes and general air of good cheer. He'd been so in love. "Thanks, John. That means a lot to me, yeh know?" She rocks with the gentle shove, uncurling a bit and settling her feet back into her boots. "Just fer that, an' because I'm such a saintly young lady, I'll show yeh a magic trick. Want to trust me with that carnation?"
John Rizzo	John stands up and wordlessly approaches his office. Reaching into his slacks, he produces his keys, inserting one into the lock and turning it. He opens the door and steps inside--Enya can peek that John's office is /really/ inspired by those crime novels. Or perhaps it's the other way around? Aside from the plant she can see a coatrack, a typewriter, an old, old landline phone and a filing cabinet, plus one of those electric fans without the bars in front to keep kids from sticking their fingers in. He exits with the pink carnation and sets it on the coffee table. "Go on, kid."
Eithne Sullivan	She /does/ peek into his office when he goes inside - who wouldn't? It looks like something right out of the Maltese Falcon! Even Eithne has seen that one! He's still got a typewriter! She kind of wants to play with... er, /write an important business letter/ on it. Better not to mess with it. It's probably really expensive to fix them. "Where'd yeh get this, anyway?" she asks, shaking her hands out with a jingle of her bracelet and leaning forward over the potted plant. "From a client? I bet it was somethin' nice, like a pretty lady sayin' thanks fer solving her case~" She reads way too many novels! Eithne touches a fingertip to one of its leaves. Green surges through faded stems, bursts into the leaves, and a few new buds push their way out through the foliage. "There. Water it a little less often, yeah? But it should be good fer a while, regardless!" This is her favorite gift, and she glows a bit from the joy of being able to share it. "Tada~"
John Rizzo	"Nah," he says. "I get one every year. Kind of a tradition, if that makes sense." Not quite the answer she might have been expecting, but perhaps that one might raise more questions. He seems eager to change the subject, uttering his response almost hurriedly and quickly sitting down. He watches as she tends to the plant, and turns away as it begins to perk up. Strange... he's avoiding looking at the flower or at her, only casting it a glance once she makes her little noise of presentation. John's silent, the soft lighting of the room slightly obscuring his expression. He leans back in his seat and rests his chin on both hands, in so doing revealing his... curious mien. There's a lot of emotions there. Too much to pin it--but he sits there, looking at it, wordless, nodding as if taking it in. Slowly he realizes he's not alone in the room. "That was real nice," he says. "Real nice thing you did for me, Enya." Clears his throat. "Thanks."
Eithne Sullivan	A tradition...? Usually it's people buying flowers for others, isn't it? Eithne looks at the plant again. Hadn't Marcus said 'a pink carnation' like there was something strange? Is it because it's a /pink/ flower? Men are so strange... John isn't acting like it's just any old plant. He looks like he might cry. Eithne wonders, briefly, if she's done something wrong. "John...?" she murmurs, pleased smile falling away. She wants to ask what's wrong, but he doesn't really look like he's seeing her. What does a pink carnation mean--? That's it, Eithne realizes suddenly. Flower language. Carnations... Mother's Day flowers usually, or sometimes used for corsages. The meanings vary by the color, but pink means 'I won't forget you'. "Yer welcome," she tells him quietly, and stares at the plant so that he doesn't have to feel like she's staring at him. "This one will last for a year. Even so, I can come back an' do it again." Who did John Rizzo lose? Who will he not forget - or who won't forget him? "...Do yeh want to talk about them?" Eithne asks hesitantly, after a silent moment.
John Rizzo	John chuckles bitterly. "We can't cry anymore, y'know. Tear ducts wither up. That lump in the throat, though..." He finally takes a moment to look at her, smiling wanly. The vampire pats her on the shoulder. "That stays." A long sigh. "Oh, boy. Oh, boy, oh boy." He pats his knee, forcing himself to rise. He heads over to the window and pulls the blinds open to watch the view... such as it is. At this hour the older part of town isn't getting much business, save for the odd indie bar or pub. "This isn't my city. Thought after five years maybe I'd warm up to it, but that ain't in the cards. Funny how a little thing like that can set somebody off, huh? You, uh... you didn't do nothing wrong, kid. I, just, ah..." He leans against the window and presses his forehead against the glass, sighing. "Guess I hadn't thought about it, till right now. I left a part of me in Chicago, kid. Going back'd kill me, I can't take it back even if I went, and I can't get chilled while there's still work to do. So..." He trails again. "So." One of his hands makes a 'here we are' motion.
Eithne Sullivan	His hands are warmer than she'd expected them to be - not that she'd really considered them much, to be honest. She's quiet as he wanders to the window and looks back, blue eyes unusually solemn. What must it be like to live in a place for decades? To consider it home? Eithne doesn't know. "Still. I'm sorry I ended up remindin' yeh of it." She doesn't know how just going back to a place can kill a person; usually there's someone there to do the killing. "It was Chicago, wasn't it?" He'd mentioned it during the history lesson. "Why... should I ask why yeh can't go back? Or should I say that I'll help yeh tie off loose ends?" She'd already wished him a good death once. How badly does someone have to want to die before you offer to help them? Before they'll take you up on it?
John Rizzo	Rizzo listens to Enya's response. "It was home," he says wistfully. "It was home. Things weren't exactly eggs in the coffee after I turned, but I could at least... ah, forget it." Abruptly, "Y'know, me and flowers..." He turns and makes an 'iffy' gesture with his hand. "I guess that's why I get one every year. I don't really know what I'm doing, I just do it and hope it doesn't... y'know. That was the way I was gonna..." Going to what? He doesn't seem to know where he wants to go with that thought. With a sigh, he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "Boy, is that lay flopped. And so is this conversation." Rizzo sighs. "I got kicked out," he says. "By the Camarilla. I got sloppy, and they got busy. The agreement was, I stay out and they overlook some very important Kindred I bumped off. If I didn't have responsibilities to the Almighty, I probably would've stuck around and let 'em stake me. Listen, kid... Enya. I hate to give you the gate, but I need to do some thinking. Get my head on straight." All this over a city?
Eithne Sullivan	Aaaah. So that's part of it, then. His dislike for the Camarilla, the sense of unrest about his when he doesn't have something right in front of him that needs done. All this over a city, though? But maybe that's what it's like for some people. She could leave Belfast if she were made to, but could she leave the UK? Could she leave Europe? Would she be this torn up about it if she did? "Don't worry about it, John," she shrugs, and there's a bit of her usual cheer returning to her voice. How much of it is real and how much is just for him, well... it's probably an even ratio. "Let me know when yeh come back to Dun Realtai to hunt. I've got to get home anyway, there's chores to be done before bed and work." She's not going to get to sleep until after midnight, is she. Eithne gathers up the empty thermos and stuffs it back into her backpack as she heads for the front door of the agency. "Try not to let it get too bad, all right?" Does she mean the homesickness, the hunger, or the potted carnation?
John Rizzo	"You're a good kid, Enya." He pauses briefly, then claps her on the back and opens the door for her. "I'll drop you a line when I head out." At her request not to let his feelings get to bad, he gives a knowing chuckle. Smiling though he may be, his eyes convey a profound sadness. Perhaps John's entire state of being is 'letting it get too bad.' His life seems fraught with self-flagellation, in the form of his constant requests for forgiveness, his insistence upon his fellows knowing his dark nature, his feeling of responsibility for his lot in life. But why? What does it all lead to? "I'll give it the college try," jokes John. "Take care, Enya."