Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 8 April 2005 |
| Who: | Hirah, Kacela |
| What: | Two pretty faces meet, and plans fall into place to size each other up better. |
Foo.Bar.Com
A cybercafe like no other, instead of just catering to the tech-savy with a wireless connection or having pay-per-minute computer stations, Foo.Bar.Com has free access for everyone. If you've got a laptop but no wireless connection, there's plug in stations for dialup or high-speed. If you want to use one of the Foo.Bar.Com computers, there's no charge, as long as you buy a drink or something to eat. And in the background at all times there is playing a sci-fi movie or reruns of old sci-fi TV shows.
What few realize is that the Foo.Bar.Com cafes are a means for Jean to watch the trends and ideas of humans who deal with technology the most.
With slender fingers practically flying over the keyboard, Kacela is practically leering at the screen in front of her, eyes glinting in amusement. She's dressed well today, complete with stylish sunglasses set to the side at the base of a tall glass of orange and strawberry puree. Humming merrily to herself, the black woman pauses to lean back in her seat, one hand rising up to flick a stray braid behind her shoulder. What's on the screen is totally unexpected. No make up tips, no fashion sites -- instead, what sits there is an epidemiology statistics page for the occurence of West Nile Virus in Texas, linked through the CDC.
Quietly, though perhaps not without notice, a male figure enters the cyber cafe and moves over to order a drink from the coffee bar. He's dressed for 'metro' and walks with a self-assured but understated slight swagger. As he passees near other customers, the faintest whiff of a slightly musky cologne wafts into their nostrils, turning a few heads both male and female. After getting his soy latte, he takes a seat at a table rather near the attractive black woman.
Herself not utterly unconscious of the value of scents, Kacela typically has a hint of ginger, possibly basil hovering about her. At the emergence of another fashion plate, she manages to tear her gaze away from the screen, and hums pleasantly to herself. "I suppose I could make some comment about downloads, but..." At that point, she pops up a screen and says, "You don't look like the motorcyclist type, but you DO look like someone who likes to smirk." She rotates the monitor to display the 'Full Moon' line of shirts from wickedjester.com
Hirah glances up from looking over the covers of Wired and Computers Today magazines, changing his expression from slightly disdainful to amused as he sees the screen. "Not quite my style, but imminently amusing nonetheless." He rotates his chair to better face Kacela, "I might consider getting the one about being an open sinner, though." He does indeed smirk, his attractive face still looking, well, attractive.
Sizing up the slightly taller male, Kacela abandons her site, and then paces over to seat herself opposite of him. "And just what do you do with yourself to enjoy such a pretty message about such a pretty angel? Those wings are lovely, aren't they? I think it's the black background that does it for me."
Devon's face scrunches up momentarily at mention of 'angel,' though he hides it quickly. "Oh, I've done my fair share of sinning. The list would take too long. Maybe I'll give you some highlights sometime. But mostly I just like it because anyone who thinks he's a martyr or saint is usually a bigger hypocrite than those of us who know we're imperfect." He says this with a casual air, but there's an undercurrent of real bitterness he can't truly hide.
"The drawback to being a martyr is that you have to die," Kacela comments. "And even though I've had my share of running out into traffic to avoid larger, potentially axe-wielding people, well..." She shrugs, "I think I'll take my chances with the grilles of SUVs." She smiles thinly, and picks up on a few nuances in his voice. "But you don't look like the type that likes to flirt with danger. So, what's your favored gainful pasttime, if you don't mind me asking? Modelling?" She drops a sly compliment, crossing legs even as she slips her gaze back towards the statistics, murmuring 'not until May' to herself.
A mild sigh escapes his lips and he leans back and takes a drink from his latte. As she asks about his profession, he smiles a little. "No, no modelling at least for profit." He winks, "I'm an artist. Mostly oils and watercolors, a little sculpture. Though your suggestion of SUVs as combat opponents gives me some ideas for a work... What do you do, miss? Oh, I'm Devon by the way." He offers a hand.
Kacela lofts eyebrows to the ceiling, and ahs. "I'm sure you can use that to win a goodly number of hearts. And I've -SEEN- people get hit by those things..." She shakes her head, tching quietly to herself, although she gives a firm shake of the proffered hand. "Social work. Mostly in it to get people to fight back for themselves, and not let the nastier humans run all over the place. The problem is," she deadpans, "The nastier humans tend to have more experience and ultimately win anyway."
Hirah notes her use of 'humans' in a more 3rd person sense and raises on eyebrow delicately. As their hands touch, he doesn't bother to try and sense anything himself, as last time he tried that it nearly got him killed. Or at least de-corporealized.
"Yes, humans do tend to prey upon the weak despite what their vaunted morals and values claim to be. Its quite depressing. One wonders what the point of humanity is at all... is there a divine plan, or merely a lot of accidental mucking about."
Kacela considers long and hard, as if seeking out some truth in his words. "You sound delightfully disgruntled, I would positively adore picking your brain a bit more about it." She stretches slightly to finagle the orange smoothie off the tabletop and into her hands, pausing to savor its cool tartness before continuing, gesturing towards Hirah with the glass, pinkie extended. The two are sitting opposite each other.
Hirah smiles and nods, standing up. "Surely. Here's my card... number's on there. Give me a call and we can chat sometime." He takes a silver filligreed business card from a silver case and puts it down on the table. "Unfortunately, I need to head out. A potential buyer coming by my loft. It was lovely to meet you." He flashes the kind of smile that makes you feel warm in your nethers, if you're apt to that sort of thing.
"Kacela Howard," she calls after him as he begins to withdraw. She seems content enough to toy with the pretty card from the pretty man. In retrospect, too pretty -- and that's how she liked them. It was now a matter of trying to whittle just whom he answered to. "Probably media," she murmurs with a hint of regret, before slipping it on the purse awaiting her. "Time to go swimming," she proclaims to the site sitting open on the computer about the viral statistics, before flicking the window shut and standing to take her leave. She takes the glass with her.
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