Scenario Entitled: Thank you... Come again?Characters:
Walter, TV newshound on the scent of something big.
Alejandra, mage on the scent of something else, equally big.
Roberta, journalist on the scent of something else, also big. Wow.
Rockhound, geologist unappreciative of where Walt's sniffin'.
Ani, minding her own business. She's here for the coffee, damn it.
Location: The Java Factory
Date: Jander, 110 P.A.
A white-haired, skinny, business-suited man toting a leather briefcase stands besides the yellow over-coated Walter in the ordering line. Neither appears to be in any hurry, as the line moves forward glacially, towards the summit of Mount Bean. A zen-like state of calm must have descended over them, perhaps they are finding enlightenment right now, basking in the warm glow and sweet scent of coffee victory. Who will be the first to plant the flag of conquest on this uncharted territory and claim it for his own, forever to be remembered in history? Perhaps it is not for mere mortals to know, or maybe Walter and his companion have just fallen asleep as Dawn fiddles with the blasted contraption on the wall. Knobs are turned, and squeals erupt from the device; pipes clatter, but nothing comes out of the multitude of nozzles and spraying appendages. It is a dark day indeed.
Ani quirks a brow as she sips a bit at the drink in front of her. Something cold...it'd seem. Clearish with a caramel colored substance at the bottom of the glass. There's a book or something open in front of her, but as she hears all the noise Dawn is making her gold eyes flicker up to look at the source, pursing her lips a bit. "Hell...."
The line surges forward momentarily, jostling Walter and his neighbor, as another set of squeals and pathetic whining noises erupt around the attendant, and finally a spurt of, something, squirts out of the one of the nozzles with a disgustingly vibrant noise. The line stops just as suddenly when the nozzle stops squirting goo into the bottom of a handy mug. A wave of crashes and stumbles as the line bounces back after striking the front counter knocks the poor old lady at the end of the line clean on her bottom. A sniff at the contents of the cup cause Dawn to wrinkle her nose in disgust and shout, "Faugh!", tossing the vile mug in the sink where it belongs.
Ani's gaze flickers across those in line briefly, momentarily resting on Walter's form. Mr. News man....been talking with Gareth lately too. Hmmm. She hrms quietly, then shakes her head to herself as she looks down, sipping at her drink as she flips a few pages.
Dawn reaches beneath the counter for a set of old iron tools and pulls forth a giant wrench from the heavy tin box, after setting it upon the counter. Eyes turn towards the attendant as she proceeds to misuse the wrench, banging it upon the top of the Machine with a loud clanking noise. The wrench is set down, and the metal case of the machine is pummeled with fists, and even a well placed kick to the base. Another attempt brings forth very loud groans, and a spurt of green steam, wafting up from the cup and disappearing just as magically as it appeared. The little old lady, showing herself perfectly capable of picking herself up off the cracked linoleum floor, beats off a kindly Samaritan Dbee with her purse, shouting: "Get off me, I can do it myself, blast it!"
Having been shaken out of his reverie, Walter moves his feet back and forth as he places weight on first one, then the other during the long wait. Dawn finishes pummeling the device, and grabs a third mug, placing it beneath the spigot. Out of spite, she sticks her tongue out at the machine, which whistles suddenly, causing Dawn to give up and storm off to the restroom. The machine stops whistling as soon as Dawn leaves, and starts spurting coffee into the mug. Cheering begins as the mug begins to fill, but stops as soon as it's obvious the machine will not stop filling the glass. Soon, a steady stream of some random flavored coffee spill forth upon the ground and begins to pool into a convenient floor drain.
"Uh, you've been working here -how- long and you haven't been fired?" Ani says as Dawn steps out of the bathroom, who probably doesn't give Ani the most pleasant look. "Jeez..." She mutters quietly as the girl heads back behind the counter. Ani rolls her eyes and sets her half full glass down, happy she didn't get coffee.
A dial is turned, and the machine chirps a whistle a few times, as if laughing. The flow of coffee stops, and slowly drain away into the sewer. Dawn glances at her slips of paper and then manipulates a few levers, grabbing a number of mugs and placing them beneath the spigots. Warm, brown coffee spills forth, as if nothing ever happened, and the line begins to move forward at a more brisk pace. The tiller is opened and closed, as customers pay in cash, the Machine whistles again, as the mugs of coffee are filled, and the stream stops, ready to be rest for the next batch.
Walter and his neighbor sidle forward, both ordering beverages from the balky Machine. Paying their dues, the two accept the large mugs of essential oils, caffeine, natural coloring, and niacin; proceeding to a table all of their own: coincidentally nearby the seated Ani.
Roberta passes along the walkway outside the Java Factory, as seen through the large picture windows set into the front wall. Steamy air curls up and away from her nose and mouth, streaming out behind her like a locomotive's fumes as she walks quickly, long-legged stride bringing her halfway past the Factory in a matter of seconds. Then she happens to glance inside, kohl-lined eyes squinting through the frosting on the glass. She's carrying a plastic dusty-blue case, the size of a purse, in one hand.
Yes, one can almost smell the seething destruction and battle raging. Norepinephrine and the rest of the catecholamine gang leave their marks wherever they ride. Raised heart-rate, constricted blood vessels, dilate pupils, and adrenaline seething through the bloodstream are all present here among the few, the proud, the Caffeine Warriors of Tolkeen. Walter is, well, almost proud to be called a member of that not-so-exclusive group. Undoubtedly numbering in the thousands here in Tolkeen alone, these warriors would battle to the death each day to dance once more with the vile fiends of chemistry, much like the warriors of Valhalla battling endlessly until the end of the day, only to start up once more after the feast. The only way to gain membership of this band of hearty warriors is to brave the terrors of mug, to boldly go, where thousands have gone before! Oh, and Walter has a friend along with him too...
Who could resist even a deadly setting when it is so well window-dressed? The door sticks in its frame at the first try, then Roberta is able to force her way in. Her fist and arm swings in first, with her following like an afterthought on her limb's part. Sighing to herself, she demostrates an uncharacteristic public melancholy by not forcing her beaming 80watt smile on the populace of the cafe like some avenging sunburst. Striding past the occupied tables, she lays eyes on Walter with a hesitant frown, before shifting her gaze to the opposite side of the aisle, and starting to continue her way on past.
The reporter's compatriot, a thin, aging man with angular features, brings his oversized mug to his face, partaking of the orgiastic battle between chemicals contained within. The steam from the concoction causes his small set of glasses to fog momentarily until he sets the ceramic ware back down upon the table. The man's briefcase is forgotten at his feet. Across the table from him, Walter sips his mug as well, holding the large device one handed while moving the other semi-animatedly and speaking simultaneously: "I have something to ask you, that I've been meaning to all day, Jorin. How did you know about the, Slurp, project? The only person I told was Benjamin. Sip." The last sentence is partially muffled by the presence of the mug before the reporter's face.
Roberta walks right by her 'peers' and finds a table near the back of the establishment. Up comes her little briefcase, to be popped open on the table before her. She stares inside blankly, but doesn't make a move to remove anything.
Rockhound bashes the door aside with his shoulder, his diminutive frame squirting through the small opening. A blast of cold winter air follows him, but is quickly negated as he deliberately closes the door behind him. Raising his head and revealing his eyes from beneath the down-turned brim of his hat, he looks around the busy room, spotting Walter and... which one was that... Walter's companion at a nearby table, and frowns as he catches the barest trail of the "...did you know about the, Slurp, project? The only person I told was Benjamin." Roberta, unknown to him, is ignored.
Jorin places his mug down on the laminate table before him, and reaches up to remove his glasses, using a small pocket-handkerchief to wipe away the fog. The opening and slamming of the door gets him to glance around without his glasses, until he places them back upon his head and studies the new entrant. Additional beings float in from the crystalline cold outside, chilling the interior of the cafe further, and causing the man to grasp his coffee again with two wrinkled hands. From behind the mug, he answers: "I figured it out, you can't hide such a large transfer from us. Isn't that your new 'partner' over there, Professor whatever his name is?" Walter nods and stands, rubbing his arms momentarily and reaching down for his coat, resting across the back of his chair. He announces while performing gymnastics to don the insulating garment, "Professor," He pauses as he reaches behind him for the second stubborn arm, "Good to see you again, won't you join us?"
Roberta looks up as a waitstaff attends to her. A nice false smile plasters itself to her face as she makes a half-assed attempt to order some coffee and pastry-product with her more habitual perkiness. When the white shirt/black skirt server departs, she tosses the expression aside like a used hankerchief and leans forward to rummage aimlessly through the contents in her case.
Rockhound, hearing the reporter's apparent river of running-off-at-the-mouth, rolls his eyes and walks over toward the table occupied by the two men. He extends his right arm in greeting. "Good afternoon, Mr. Riely. I'm afraid that I've forgotten your companion's name." He cocks an eyebrow toward the other man at the table, then glances over at the pasty-skinned woman who had entered before him.
Rockhound is standing beside Walter's table, hand extended in greeting to Walter's companion. Roberta is parked somewhere farther back in the establishment, peering into her powder-blue case without too much interest.
In slips one Alejandra, just behind another entering patron. She's, well... glowing is just about the only word for it. Euphoria radiates in waves, her eyes bright and her smile wide. A blown kiss is sent across the room to some vaguely familiar AoM student before she heads for the counter, hips asway. Maybe she's high on something, that might account for so much overflowing good mood.
A sideways hand motion between the two men accompany Walter's introduction, or re-introduction in any case, "Professor Kelly, this is Jorin Pulain, Jorin, Professor Kelly. Now, why don't you sit, Daniel, would you care for anything to drink?" He motions towards an empty chair nearby, pulling it towards the small table near the window. He himself sits back down in his seat and takes a gulp of still warm coffee, one handed. He continues his brief conversation with Jorin, without really waiting for Rockhound to answer, by stating behind the mug again, "I'd rather, gulp, have liked to keep his request confidential for as long as possible. And I had hoped you would have had more digression than announcing it to a potential client, Jorin." The cup gets set down on the table, while Jorin reaches for his and brings it back up to his face two-handed.
Roberta unbuttons her fur-trimmed coat as her skin warms up to the interior, and crosses one long leg up over the other. She starts to reach into her case again, then tugs her hands away again with a slight snort. One escapes into the wild curls at the side of her head, fingertips scratching idly. She ends up leaning head and arm down until they're propped against the table, former over the latter of course, her gaze cocked downwards. Her free hand waits upon the table, waiting to be occupied by the coffee soon delivered by the waitstaff.
Rockhound accepts Walter's offer and seats himself beside the two men, keeping a careful ear out on their conversation. "A milk, please, ma'am." He states to a passing waitress.
Once she has a cup in hand, Alejandra turns about to consider the room. Hmmm. Vaguely familiar faces all 'round. After a bit of speculation, she sets a path towards Roberta at an idle, unhurried pace, sipping as she goes.
Roberta's white hand clamps around the warm mug, soaking in its surface warmth, and she inhales a breath with a drawn-out 'mmmph' sound. Her eyes slip closed for a few moments, robbing the best spark of life from her bloodless features. Blindly, she lifts the mug to her lips and sips carefully at the hot liquid, lowers it, then opens her eyes again. Instead of the caffiene-laden beverage firing up her consciousness, she instead looks more peaked.
Hands idle, Walter drums his fingers upon the table as Jorin apparently takes his time enjoying his coffee. Perhaps the old man feel asleep in his glass, or worse, had some sort of stroke? All fears are put to rest as the cup is clutched to the thin old man's chest. One hand releases the lukewarm cup, and reaches upward to adjust the wire-frame glasses, having slipped from his nose slightly during the long silent gulp. Jorin answers, rather belatedly, "You didn't exactly make it hard for me to find the information out, Walter. Hmm," He peers into the bottom of his mug, perhaps there is some magical subliminal message ordering him to buy more coffee? "I seem to be empty now, and it is quite cold in here near the window. Perhaps I need a refill. Yes." He nods and then continues after yet another brief pause eyes focusing upon Walter's face, "I took the liberty of making the transaction harder to..." Walter cuts the accountant off with his hand and turns to Rockhound, "How have you been today, Daniel? How is that lovely young woman of yours?" Yes, if two heads can be considered lovely, but this /is/ Walter here, supposedly rumored to have done anything from a stump to that, well... nevermind.
"Ms. Gheist? Roberta Gheist?" Alejandra asks this hesitantly of the poor, weary-looking woman. Real gentle-like, even, to avoid startling her too much, what with that hot drink so close to her face and all.
"Yes. Do I.." Roberta keeps the coffee mug around her chin, but away from the tip of the small microphone wire without even having to think about it. She gazes at the other woman intently, then lifts her head, fingers disentangling themselves from her hair so she can address Alejandra properly. "..no. I don't know you," she says decisively, but favors her with a sudden smile. "That doesn't matter, though." With a light pat, she bounces the lid of the blue case closed, and leans forward curiously.
Laughter colors Alejandra's voice, "And here I was thinking I was memorable. We met before, chatted. Doesn't matter, you're right." A hand is extended downwards in the traditional offer for shaking. "Alejandra Hawthorne. Pleasure to meet you again."
"How embarrassing. I suppose we must have met, then. The name is familiar." Laughing a little herself in unconscious mimicry of the other woman, Roberta puts her mug aside in order to get the right hand out for meeting Alejandra's, now warm palm and fingers grasping hers in a friendly, but rather brief shake. "It's unusual for me.. forgetting, that is," she explains earnestly, clasping both hands together at the table's edge. "Not good for my line of work. Would you care to join me, Ms. Hawthorne?"
The conversation between the trio, although drastically changed in course, continues smoothly as Jorin leaves the table to buy a refill of his mug. The Machine, apparently balky today, groans and whistles shrilly as the attendant adjusts knobs to simultaneously fill six mugs at once from the adjustable nozzles. The shrilling gets louder until the attendant bangs the flat of her hand on its top, ceasing the noise miraculously.
Alejandra corrects absently, "Alejandra. I hardly ever use the last name." Having shook, she accepts the offered seat with a cheerful, "Thank you, I'd be delighted." Her own cup is set on the table, legs crossing just .so. at the knee. "How have you been lately, Ms. Gheist? I look forward to reading your articles when I get the paper, it must be fascinating to be a journalist, of all things."
Rockhound walks out of the men's room after a long absence. Apparently something didn't agree with him.
Roberta absorbs the good will from Alejandra like a sponge, assuming the classic posture of open friendliness: leaning forward in her seat, a large smile of her own that shows the tips of her teeth, and tipping her head expressively as she speaks. "Of course it is. It's terribly exciting being in Tolkeen at this time, but also /very stressful/, Alejandra," she intones, and finds her coffee mug again. "The competition has gotten fierce.. with the Spring Journalism Awards coming up." She lifts the cup, peering over the edge with wide, black-lined eyes. "You.. are a student.. or an instructor at the Academy, unless I miss my guess."
Rockhound returns to the table, eyeing the two women nearby. The waitress returns with his milk, somewhat belatedly, but at least close enough to quench his thirst. He leans forward, elbows on the table, looking for Jorin.
Alejandra has plenty of that goodwill to spare, still smiling bright as a 40watt bulb. "Student at one point. I don't go to class all that often anymore, but I do every once in a while." A small gesture dismisses that topic. "What are these Spring Journalism Awards about? Do you get prizes, or just recognition for some story you've been a part of?"
Mug full, Jorin returns to the table and clutches the mug once more to his chest. Walter glances back over to the now safely returned members of the group. Rather than bring up topics that shouldn't be discussed in mixed company, Walter decides to announce his impending departure. The mug gets toyed with as the three men sit quietly, to be set down again after a few seconds of idle play. Pulling his Wool(tm) hat atop his head, he finally speaks to his companions, "Well, unfortunately, it is getting near one, and I have to be back at the studios in a little while. So, Daniel, I'll let you and Jorin just do whatever it is the two of you want to do, because I have to go." The chair gets pushed back, and gloves are placed upon the reporter's fingers. Yes, it's definitely obvious that the man is going to leave poor Rockhound with boring old Jorin. "No you two play nice..." he adds with a half grin and then sidles towards the front door.
Rockhound, caught off-guard by Walter's sudden departure, stands and offers a polite bow, then turns back to look at Jorin. What the hell is he going to do with him? He looks over to the two women, hoping that perhaps they will be able to save him, though he is only acquainted with one of them.
"...Yes. There are plaques and lovely little sculptures," Roberta relates, a little puzzled, but no less pleased by Alejandra's interest. "It's actually part of a larger banquet, but the Journalism is my category." A hectic flush of color rises to her marble-pale cheeks as she glances over towards Walter's table. "Mister Riely over there took Best Live News Coverage last year, in the Television Awards. This will be my first banquet, and I believe I'm being nominated for my coverage of the Dream Plagues.. however, I must keep attention on my work, and," she grins helplessly and makes a blustering sound, before taking a quick sip from her coffee. "..I feel as if caught in a maelstrom. I feel like a green rookie." She gazes at Alejandra a little apologetically then, as if sorry she just blurted her troubles out like that.
Rockhound leans forward, placing a firm hand on Walter's shoulder. He mutters to Walter, "Mr. Riely,... of... do not... all about... current... potential.... I... a... your... half the... of... impact *MY*... I don't... changing hands.... to never... I... your... and I..." He looks at Walter with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. "Do we have an understanding?"
Remaining seated, Jorin simply glances up at the bored and apparently confused Rockhound. The mug gets placed upon the table, still full. Jorin steeples his fingers for a moment, and then pushes his glasses back up on his nose, before acting on impulse and reaching down by his feet to retrieve his briefcase. Placing the leather box upon the table, he pulls forth a stack of printouts and a red inked pen and proceeds to circle apparently random items upon the spreadsheets, thoroughly ignoring the professor, except for the occasional sideways glance around the room.
No need for poor Roberta to worry - Alejandra is ever-so attentive a listener. She leans forward, showing every sign of interest, "/Nonsense/. You're hardly a green rookie if you're receiving an award. What on Earth could you possibly be worried about? I wouldn't be surprised if Mister Riely had to look to his throne, with you on the way up." Perhaps she didn't see the Riely in question over yonder, because she doesn't glance over to see what effect the words might have had. Nor does she notice Rockhound, poor guy.
Roberta looks at Alejandra with a surprising amount of warmth for someone who just re-made her acquaintance. "You're lovely," she states frankly. "It's so /good/ of you to say so, Alejandra, especially being a reader of mine." Pressing her free hand to her breast, she is equally amiable. "My worry is that my next deadline is coming up and there are so many of my peers clamouring for the biggest stories, that the interview circuit has all but jammed. Sources have gone into hiding, from all the publicity.. I would love a contacts network like the one Walter has, oohps," she utters that small squeak for the familiarity with which she spoke the anchorman's given name, then forges on with a sigh over the steam of her coffee mug. "..I don't know how he managed to wrangle that eyewitness account to the very surprising fate of Rooke Del Reyhart."
Pausing in the doorway while adjusting one of his gloves, Walter turns to face the professor and his muttered threats with a neutral expression; disdain apparently following soon after. The response: "No, we do not have an 'understanding', Mr. Kelly" He drops the honorific and lowers his tone to barely above a whisper, "The only people that know of this are those that need to know in order to get the job done. That includes Mr. Pulain over there." He directs his hand towards the impervious form of Jorin, innocently working on whatever it is that he does. "I don't take kindly to threats, Mr. Kelly, don't insult my integrity by making idle threats." Again, the honorific is dropped, and with that, he turns to leave once more.
Rockhound follows Walter to the door, opening and holding it open for him. He mutters to Walter, "... if our... acquiantence... that... is... a need-to-know basis,... you will... most sincere... Until... to... lacking.... if... Pulain *is* authorized, I suggest... behind closed doors,... We... oaths... reason." Holding the door open, he gestures with his free hand in an "out" motion. "Good day, Mr. Riely."
Alejandra leans over a bit closer to Roberta, noting sympathetically, "I'm not at all surprised. About things getting clogged, that is." She pays no attention to the hullabaloo at the door for now. "Don't you have anything at all to help you shine? You deserve so much /more/ than a simple recognition." A sigh escapes as she sits back, cup brought up to lip for another sip.
Refraining from speaking, lest he suddenly burst out in a chorus of "Nyah Nyah!" in Rockhound's direction, Walter pushes through the door and leaves the cafe. Pulain continues his work, sipping his coffee every now and then as he randomly circles things, maybe he's doing a word search puzzle like the ones they have in the Crier on Sun days?
Roberta opens her mouth, then closes it again before she is able to ask Alejandra whether she's a stalker, or... perhaps a spy for that rag, The City Herald. Her gaze is drawn to the duo near the entrance, thin brows furrowing downwards, as she starts to reply in a thoughtful voice, "I do have some older material from that woman Rayne who created such a stir at the conference.. perhaps I can shape that into.." She blinks, then smiles anew at Alejandra. "I would love to have a chance to speak to the Dean, though.. that would be perfect." She gazes at the amulet resting over the mage's equally conspicuous clothing. "Would you happen to be acquainted with him, Alejandra?" she asks eagerly in spite of herself.
Apology writes itself across Alejandra's face. "Not the current dean, Ms. Gheist. I was apprenticed to Master Azrael, and he's left to go walk the dimensions, some time back." A small gesture indicates the front door and the city beyond it. "I wonder though, what sort of information you think would help you if you could speak to any of the other eyewitnesses to Rooke's... departure." Her voice lowered with that last question, keeping it fairly low-key and private.
Rockhound watches Walter exit, the closes the door firmly behind him, muttering quietly under his breath. He looks up at the two women, hoping that he'd been sufficiently discreet, then settles back into his chair.
Rockhound stands suddenly, nods to Jorin, and hurries out the door.
Heavens, no such luck, Mister Failure-To-Communicate. After the disappointment of realizing the mistake of her assumption, Roberta looks away, memorizes Rockhound's features as he turns back towards his table; ruffling Walter Riely's aura of cool charm (ahem.. forgive her, she's a fan) is worthy of some scrutiny. But Alejandra's more intimate question before her grabs her attention back quickly enough, and she's leaning forward a little more to peer at the woman. "Alejandra, the Dean is a hard fellow to get ahold of, but could you imagine the difficulties in tracking down any other witnesses in the Oracle business now that that broadcast has been aired? It practically accuses one of the most venerable religions of being nothing more than a scheming cult." She looks at her cooled java, then pushes it aside. "Granted, it would be fairly easy for the city to denounce the account as a fraud, and perhaps rightfully so," she hazards, though her bright black eyes are brimming with envious admiration for Walter's manipulation of the story. "But.. securing -another- valid testimony would be disastrous. And possibly very dangerous." She pauses and appears to mull it over for a brief moment. "Still.."
"What would happen?" Alejandra is allll curiosity. "If another of the testimonies were to come to light? Would their grip on the city be loosened at all, or would they simply laugh and ignore it?" A wry twist of her lips is followed by a quick sip of her cooling drink. "I'm afraid I was convinced, you see. I'm worried that all of my friends who follow the Oracle might be in some sort of... trouble." That worry has her face wrinkling up into a few disturbed lines.
Roberta is uncharacteristically quiet, leaving a pause in the conversation as she considers the ramifications, quickly. "It's not as easy as all that, Alejandra. There've been a few calls and even more letters into the Crier headquarters in support of the claims against the religion, and as such it's much more difficult now to be able to get a true, untainted account. The story as told by the unidentified witness, is out. I think the next testimony would have to be publically validated by that same person." She looks tablewards, where one hand is busily working to chip the black lacquered nail polish from her other hand's thumb. She slips both from the tabletop, tucking them down into the folds of her coat in her lap. "As for this 'grip' you're speaking of, I'm not certain of the effect it would have on The Followers.. most of the ones I've spoken to refuse to believe that their god has any responsibility in the matter. There is most certainly a feeling of confusion, though that may pass and fade as the account is further discredited, Alejandra. But of course, the dissidents, such as James Rae, are only too happy to argue the point.. but his style of ranting really is just counter-productive. He won't change too many minds without hard proof." Despite her somber opinions, Roberta really does seem more cheerful.. confident.. as if it truly helped to discuss such grim journalistic possibilities with an outside party.
She continues her questioning, the curiosity plain as day. "Then what /would/ work to help?" Alejandra shakes her head, the motion sending curls spiraling over her shoulder. "Because if what that witness said is true, then why the hell do we call ourselves a free city?" Hands shift a bit, small motions made to illustrate her intense words. "If that witness is right, Rooke couldn't even /leave/. That makes this city a prison."
Roberta sits back, looking at Alejandra with frank interest as well, with a feeling as if there's more at stake than a friendly abstract discussion. "That's an interesting thought. But realistically speaking, what supposedly happened.. has not happened to anyone else that I know of. People.. even sworn citizens.. come and go from Tolkeen's walls. Some have never left, I'll wager, since they were born. Many cannot leave.. the enlisted Militia comes to mind. They are obligated to a term of service, for Tolkeen's protection. One could argue that the city imprisons them as well. Wait, though." She tilts head forward a bit, as if to preemptively dissuade counter-argument by Alejandra. "You asked what would work to support the broadcasted testimony? That would be public recognition. If that witness, and the others only hinted at.. would come forward without the need for voice filters, and shadow screens. /That/ is true conviction.. that will foster true belief.." She pauses, then mutters down to her hands as a thoughtful aside, "Riely's Channel One must have paid a pretty credchip for that account, even as it was.. so anonymous. If it could be proven that there was a great sum of money involved, that /would/ work for the 'other' side.. that would put the nail in the coffin for that testimony." She frowns thoughtfully, but raises her eyebrows as well. Hmm, the ideas are just popping out like gangbusters now.
"The Militia, those born here, that's their /choice/," Alejandra insists. Some of her detached curiosity is lost while she speaks, replaced by an intensity that lends color to her cheeks and a spark to her eyes. "What happened to Rooke, that was against her will. She wanted to leave, she announced it enough, and this pitiful excuse for a god stopped her when she wouldn't allow it to decide for her." The woman shows no sign of worry that she might be struck down for her blasphemy. "You're in touch with the city and its people, Ms. Gheist. What do you think would rattle the faith of those who believe in this thing, other than open testimony?"
"Uh.." Roberta stares at the woman across from her, and her gaze locks a little further down on her face, where those strange tatts make their spiral designs. "You /are/ rather determined over this matter, aren't you, Alejandra Hawthorne?" she murmurs, and makes herself aware in her periphery, and earshot, of what reactions might have been garnered by the womans' 'debate'. Her own color rises, if only slightly, as she dismisses such notions of paranoia.. that said debate might make its way back to more deific ears. "Open disgrace. That would do it. The people, even those who profess not to be beholden by the Oracle of Delphi or Apollo.. they believe, on onelevel or another, that Apollo is a benevolent being, a caretaker and a shepherd for the people of Tolkeen. It is originally a city of outcasts, after all. What could be more charitable than that?" She licks her lips, then wets them with her cold java, face wrinkling a bit in distaste. "The power of the god demonstrated, through the Tower, and through the high priests, support this view. The worst damage done, in fact, has thus far been by both Del Reyhart, and Mister Blane, themselves."
Fingers trace slow patterns on the tabletop while Alejandra speaks. "This sudden addition of a Rooke-shaped statue, what do you think of it? I have heard that there's some sort of text on the base of that statue... one wonders at the worth of an imprint of something like that." The tone is musing, nothing more, nothing less.
Roberta hesitates. "I..'m afraid you have the advantage over me on that point, unfortunately. By the time the significance of that new statue came to light last week, the mountain roads were already closed from heavy snowfall. There'll be no gaining admittance to the Shrine until the thaw." She looks down at the table where Alejandra's fingers move along the surface, as if she were writing the very aforementioned text in the wood itself. "You know for a fact that there are writings on the statue, Alejandra? I can safely say that a valid photograph, or even a rubbing or copy, would be a very valuable item indeed at this point in time. Worth thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of credits."
"Would accepting those credits," Alejandra asks slowly, "Devalue the worth of the copy as a means to discredit this monster and his cult of followers?" She shakes her head, rising abruptly. A hand extends, "You have a number I might call, if I should learn anything else about this supposed text?"
Roberta bounds up along with Alejandra, and takes her hand again for a warm, compelling shake, compared to the previous one. Her black eyes snap with ill-restrained enthusiasm; no attempt made to seem coy about the whole affair. "Not at all, I don't think. As long as it could be verified somehow as what is genuinely written upon the statue, a cash transaction shouldn't hurt the credibility of a matter that is already, literally, carved in stone." Still, she looks at Alejandra with some wary curiosity, as she stands back from the woman, giving her space to depart. "Please do not hesitate to call me, at the Crier with extension five oh five, or even my private cell.. Five five five, three six nine." She enunciates the numbers clearly. "Quite easy to remember. Three six nine." She beams, then looks down to smooth out the wrinkles in her coat from sitting.
Alejandra repeats the numbers just in case, then nods and heads out, moving fairly quickly about it now.
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