Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-08 15:56:00 |
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Nathaniel Porter, in all of Ari’s dealings with him so far, had seemed a fairly upstanding sort, especially considering the fact that he was connected, one way or another, to the Wildes. She had quirked a brow at his request for a nighttime meeting but not protested otherwise; all things considered, she was bound to be up, rehearsal would be over, and she could just as easily arrange not to have company any given evening. The Theatre District crystal was only a few short blocks from the Tipsy Sheep, which was probably why she was running late (it was always harder to gauge a time to leave for a nearby appointment, at least in Ari’s world). Still, if the machinist had named an absurd hour like ten o’clock for a business meeting, he could wait until a quarter after. These were her thoughts -- but as she arrived at the crystal, she realized no one was there. Nate didn’t want to get a reputation for flaking out on commissions, so he’d forced his way through finishing the bard’s upgrades, despite the fact there were better things he could be doing. At least she was a night owl, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the sun making his constant headache feel like a thousand dwarves were hammering tiny nails into his eyeballs. (Gruesome, something in his head thought appreciatively, and Nate tried to ignore it.) He’d taken the long way round. He didn’t feel like running into anyone he knew, so he’d snuck out his back window at some time closer to midnight than sunset, sack containing the piece slung over his shoulder and collar turned up high against the night chill. Looked like the bard was already waiting. Good, that’d save time. The dumpsters behind the mage’s tower were probably full by now, and he should try to get there before the street kids started digging through them. In fact, Ari had been on the verge of sending a message when he appeared. She was late herself often enough to forgive it easily of others, but really, a full half hour? She put her communicator back in her pocket, looking Nate over with curiosity as he made his way closer. “I was about to call for a search party,” she called as he walked closer. He looked a bit odd upon closer inspection; it was not a warm night, but the hunched posture, turned-up collar, and hat pulled down very nearly over his eyes gave a bit of a worrisome impression all in all. The bag was another question, though of course, as he was guild, she wouldn’t ask unless he offered. “Been busy, I take it?” she asked, keeping her tone nonchalant. Just because it would be impolite to ask straight out didn’t mean she couldn’t talk around it. The commission had been delayed quite a long time, if the cheerful young machinist she had spoken to about it previously was to be believed about the relative ease of the upgrade -- though she had to admit that the young man in front of her now had little in common with the one she had last seen. None of her business, sure. But she couldn’t help her curiosity. Busy? He supposed. To be honest, exactly what he’d been occupying his days for this past while was something of a blur. “I finished the thing,” he said, swinging the bag down off his shoulder. He’d been surprised by how much he’d enjoyed working on it, once he started, tools in his hands and memories of how he’d intended to build it. But his thoughts had kept cycling away from the things he was doing, and he’d find himself standing there an hour later, tools suspended in midair, arguing with himself over the best way to find more magicite once the sun set that night. He’d gotten it done, though, and he’d done it properly. Nate didn’t sell shoddy work. Still, he was glad to have one less thing on his list. It would be a relief not to have the guilt of late work hanging over him. He pulled the top of the canvas sack down to display the amplifier. “Here,” he said, holding it out in the vague direction of the bard. Well, then. He’d been game for conversation previously, but it seemed that tonight he wasn’t feeling chatty. Or particularly well, for that matter; Ari considered whether she ought to be worried about him before dismissing the thought. He was, after all, a big boy who could take care of himself. No need for someone who barely knew him to interfere. So she took the amplifier (smaller, lighter -- exactly what she’d asked for) and handed over a bag of gil in exchange. “Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll let you know how it works out.” She assumed he’d pick up his sack then and shamble off, and while it might perhaps be easiest to let him melt back into the night, she did feel the urge to ask him, “Are you... doing all right?” Not that she expected him to talk to her, necessarily, but sometimes, she knew, you just needed someone to ask. That was taken care of, then. Nate tied the bag of gil to his belt, the tucked it into his pocket for good measure. It clinked satisfyingly. He felt a brief twinge of paranoia, but repressed the urge to count the money - the bard had shown she paid her dues, and he didn’t want to flash gold on the street. She’d asked him a question. Nate jerked his head sideways, not quite able to meet her eyes. “M’fine,” he said, and nodded. Nobody really meant it when they asked things like that, anyway. Task complete, Nate turned and headed off into the night. There were dumpsters to visit. |