Non-Canon IC Drabbles

The genius thing about Outcross is that the characters are based off of ourselves. This allows for organic, sharp-as-a-razor interaction that can play out separate from the main canon. Apart from that, it builds a greater sense of who we are through the prose, and is just a helluvalotta fun.

Enjoy!

Posts written by Vyral, Script, and ViceVerses. As per the rules of the RP, they're all in first person, so I have announced which character is using which different style of font. The rest isn't marked, so use the initial few paragraphs as a guide.

It's still confusing as heck. I suppose this is more a log for posterity, rather than ease of reading.

Edited for matching tense, and so there is no overlap in action.

---

Vyral

The Rose and Harp is a squat pub nestled amoung the maze-like streets of suburban London, a copper penny in a wishing fountain. Contrary to the name the pub smells slightly musty, with an overpowering odor of too-much-cheap-aftershave. The music, far from the enticing melodies of the harp is a collection of back-dated CD's ranging from the 70's until the modern age, most of which few people seem all that interested in. It is fair to say that the Rose and Harp is not a frequent stop for the young and rowdy, instead playing waystation to a generation of blue-collar workers.

It's for this reason (aside a few others, of course) that I've got this dour scowl on my face, back slumped against a wall while my friends chatter noisily, seemingly oblivious to my glaring - glares reflected by some of the establishments older clientele. CD (a name forced upon him, rather than chosen) is a lanky, ginger-haired whip of a boy with a a churlish, sarcastic attitude towards everything and everyone, and, irritatingly, pulls it off endearingly. CD is busy reciting the history of some band-or-another to Disco, a short kid with a mop of blonde hair that has grown unruly. Smartly dressed in jeans and a shirt he makes a stark contrast to my "city-kid" attire and CD's indie apparel.

I quick glance at his phone, aware of how dismally slow time can pass when you set your mind to disliking something. Twenty and Deb are already running late, and the trio of Navigators are seeping their way through their third pint of the evening. Then again, perhaps I should expect a flowery posh kid and a ditzy American chick to struggle finding the place. Hell, even I've never heard of it. The thought makes me scowl at an oblivious CD, who waves his arms frantically in the air, much to the annoyance of a near-by couple.

Twenty

C'mon, London ..

I stood on the other side of the street, like a creeper, texting to look like I wasn't just staring. Was this place the Rose & Harp? Who knew. None of these smaller pubs were obviously named - not like in America where the title of an establishment was advertised in two-foot high neon letters.

.. Be a team player, yo.

I had lost Deb once we left the underground, but that was okay. He was probably hiding somewhere, just waiting for me to get mugged, or something. Well. At least here, I could be inside. And if it wasn't the Rose & Harp, I could ask for directions, after first trying to tone down my Midwestern whine.

I stumped up the front steps, fumbled with the door handle, and then stepped inside.

Dark. Everything was dark. Anyone inside would have seen a small, confused girl blinking a lot, and, as though on reflex, reaching for her phone. The mobil's bright screen messed up my vision even further. I could hear, smell, but not see.

Motion caught my eye. Someone was waving for me. Uncertain, yet trusting, I crossed the room. There were three of them; about my age, the third in the center doing the most scowling.

"Hey, Vy," I said, pushing hair out of my eyes. "Who're your friends?"

Debonair

Once Twenty had disappeared in the crowd just outside the tube, I'd figured it would take anywhere up to an hour for her to get herself unlost. So of course, the gentlemanly thing to do would've been to go after.

Me? I detoured to pick up a bag of minstrels.

It wasn't like we were in a particularly bad part of London. She'll be fine, my mind said, further convinced by the addition of a mouthful of chocolate. And so when I finally turned up at the end of the street where the Rose & Harp lay, I was just in time to see Twenty tentatively wander inside.

Her uncertainty suggested she'd missed the artwork on the sign above the door, just about conveying something vaguely red and thorny perched over something that was probably harp-shaped at one point before wear and tear had turned it into a few gold splotches.

Stuffing the last of the chocolates into my bag, I sauntered up to the door and made my way inside just a few moments after Twenty. "Made it then?" I said cheerfully as I walked up behind her, flashing a grin and a wave to Vyral and his friends, "I was a little worried when I saw that bald guy with the weird tattoo following you with a camera-phone, but I figured you had it covered."


Twenty

My jaw dropped. "Wh - rea - DEB!"

The last word was punched out loud enough to make other patrons stare. I didn't care, though. We both knew what had just happened. I turned back to Vy and his friends.

"Hi."

Vyral

Smirking into the brim of my pint glass, I use my spare hand to gesture to a couple of empty seats as worn-looking as the pubs dubious sign. Before I can offer any names Deb appears from the dim backlighting of the pub and is greeted, sort of, by Twenty. I stick a finger into one ear, pulling a face of mock annoyance at her. CD and Disco simply grin lopsidedly in freakish unison at the two newcomers.

"Twenty, Deb, this is CD and Disco. Two fellas from when I was a Navigator."

"All right." They pair intone in unison, then grin and sink into muffled laughter. I roll my eyes, mirth quirked at one edge. The look of bewilderment plastered on Twenty's face couldn't make her look like more of a stranded tourist if she tried. Deb? Well, Deb was about as far in appearance from the pubs working-class patrons as he could get without being lynched.

"D'you two get a little lost on the way, huh?" I ask, straight-faced.


Twenty

I gave another feeble wave to CD and Disco. All right? All right, what?

"Not lost. Just decided to walk .. slowly," I took the seat by Vyral. "Like, takin' it all in, I guess."

I unbuttoned my jacket to sit more comfortably, reaching up to tweak with the string of my passport protector; it was digging into my neck. Oh yeah. I was out of place.

"Looks like Deb had time to get himself something to eat," I scowled at his chocolates.

Debonair

"What?" My words were slightly muffled by the minstrel I was halfway through chewing, and I hastily slid the bag away again like it were stolen goods. "I figured you'd be a while so I had time."

I grinned, "I had your back. From a few roads away." My coat and scarf were tossed haphazardly onto the back of a free chair on the other side of Twenty, and I sat with a relaxed sigh. "Anyway, bygones are bygones and all. Nice to meet the pair of you," I looked to Vyral's friends, "How's life, Vyral? You look really cheerful, let me guess - new shoes? Won the lottery? No! I got it, you found a penny!"

Vyral

I snort laughter at Twenty.

"'Course. I'm sure that's how it went down."

I turn to Deb, who is half way through stuffing a plastic bag into his coat pocket. CD and Disco chuckle quietly to themselves and are only encouraged by the sharp glance they receive for their mockery.

"It's just the prospect of having to spend my evening with you that's draggin' down my spirits, Deb. That or the fact we'll probably have to drag your arse out of here when you fleece some bloke for his coppers," I snark, though it is half-hearted at best. I gesture to his slightly bulging coat pocket. "Aren't you going to share the love, mate?" I grin. "Besides, I'm sure the that is the least you owe Twenty." I glance at Twenty. "Ain't that right?"


Twenty

"Sure."

What a perfect asshole.

Debonair

"I have plenty of love for everyone, and some chocolate too if you're lucky!" I tease with a half-hearted wink, resignedly tossing the bag out onto the table. "The vultures may descend when they are ready."


Twenty

"They look like flat Whoppers," I said absently, eyeing the pieces of candy.

Vyral

Me? I'm not so disconcerted by the odd shape, and stretch over the table to swipe a few up.

"So, who are you guys finding sunny ol' London?" I ask, through a mouthful of minstrels.


Twenty

"Not very sunny," I quipped, taking a piece of the chocolate and popping it into my mouth.

Debonair

I think for a moment, before shrugging. "You know Revels, Vy? And how they all look pretty similar but if you eat the wrong one you want to spit it out but can't because you're in civilised company? That, but with different parts of London."


Twenty

I looked from Deb to Vy, to CD to Disco. My mouth made a perfect "o" shape.

Vyral

"Ha. Yeah, I get that." I pop another minstrel into my mouth absently. "Everything all right, Twenty?" I ask, bemused.

"Revels are more chocolate," I inform Twenty."They have random flavors, like coffee and orange. So if you eat the wrong one, it tastes nasty."


Twenty

"Like those Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Thingies?" I said brightly.

Debonair

"It's disappointing how frequently you manage to compare something in England to its counterpart in Harry Potter." I noted with a sigh.

Twenty


"Wull - !" I flung out my hands, demonstratively, " - hey! It's either that, or, like, every public access made-for-TV movie about ponds, lakes, stairs, and people in bowler hats."

Vyral


"Says the girl wearing a passport protector."

Twenty


"Says the guy .. okay. I had something. Never mind."

Debonair

"Stairs. Stairs are an England thing now? And lakes? Don't you have an entire area that's called 'the great lakes'?" I shared an amused glance with Vyral (or at least tried to).


Twenty


"Yeah. They're big, and pretty, and full of freshwater," sitting in a crowded, dimly lit smelly pub an ocean away from home with people I didn't know who particularly didn't like me - far from cottages on lakes, from water skiing, from watching the sunset. It all hit me in a thunderclap. I was homesick. I hated all of this.

I took note of the drink in Vy's hand. "Oh, God. I can drink here."
Debonair


"Technically I can't, but I find I can usually pass as eighteen. With a few choice words, at least," I said brightly.


Twenty


"I bet. Did you pay for those?" I gestured at the bag of chocolates.

Debonair

"Of course. What do you take me for, a total dickhead?" I paused. "Don't answer that."


Twenty


Deb's comment got the first genuine laugh out of me all night. Hell, since arriving in England. It was one of those long, loud, freeing laughs and I felt much better after that. I loosened up. I leaned across Vy, and addressed DC and Disco.

"Bet you got some stories about this kid, huh?" I jerked a thumb in Vy's direction.

Vyral


"Well, actually we do-"

"No. No, they don't. Not if they enjoy breathing," I warn, only half-joking. "As you know, I am flawless in every way. Hey. Anyways. Rather than being subjected to a drunk Twenty, do you guys fancy getting a train into the City? All this dim lighting is messing with my eyes. Besides, I can hardly see Deb's girlish good looks."

Debonair

"And we can't have that!" I exclaimed, "I, fortunately, have finely honed the skill of ogling a handsome man even in the most adverse of visual conditions. Where did you have in mind?"


Twenty


"Who uses words like that?" I swung back around to Deb.
Debonair

"... uh, me?"

Twenty

"You know you're just reinforcing your own stereotype, right?"

Debonair

I folded my arms in a pout, "Well excuse me for having a vocabulary consisting of more than innumerable variations of '..huh?'" I jabbed.


Twenty


I turned back to Vyral, done with Deb for now. "Yeah, sure, let's do something. Adventure is what I signed up for."

Vyral


I shrugged at Deb. "Could show Twenty the London Dungeon?" I grin.


Twenty

"Dungeon?" I slipped off the seat I was sitting on, buttoning my coat up against. "Let's go!"

Debonair

"I'm not sure that would be morally justifi- Who am I kidding, let's go." Raising an eyebrow at Twenty's enthusiasm to get out of the dingy pub, I reached for my outer layers.

Vyral


"Well, that was easier than I expected," I chime, tugging at the zip on my hoodie as I stand. "Try not to get lost this time, though, Twenty. I'm only letting you off the last time 'cause I didn't exactly, totally, er... pay."

Twenty


"I'm all for seeing new things .. meeting new people. I mean, jeez. International flight, a few weeks out of classes, might as well make the best of it huh?"

There was the slightest hint of sarcasm in my voice. This kid was my contact Specialist in the city? He looked like the kind of kid who shrugged his way through everything, and got off on those pointed little comments.

"Oh, I won't get lost," I beamed with a severe sort of energy. I fell back from where Deb was, and wedged my arm (not caring if I met resistance) through Vyral's own. "See? You're escorting me now. Couldn't be simpler."

Debonair

"And yet, if I did that, I'd get a slap. No justice in this world." I lamented melodramatically as I walked up level with the other two.

Vyral

I stiffen slightly, but manage not to miss my step. "Well then, I guess we'd better be on our way, right?" I say. "So, what do you guys do when your not saving the world?" I ask.


Twenty


"Go to classes. It's one of those big Universities where no one notices if you don't show up for like, a month or so at a time," I was in much better spirits now that I knew I was the one making Vyral uncomfortable. We stepped out of the bar and back into the street, and I was ten times more welcoming to London's ins and outs. "I'm a career insomniac, too."

Debonair

"Oh, you know, a bit of this and a bit of that. I took tea with the Queen last month," I slipped the remark into the conversation casually, baiting Twenty as was one of my favourite hobbies.


Twenty


My broiling frustration with being the butt-end of everyone's jokes finally armored me to a point where I could (arm-in-arm with Vy) glance over at Deb, and just give him a look. "No you didn't. I bet you don't even like tea."

Debonair

I gave Vyral a mournfully pitiable look (that was, doubtless, entirely unpitied) as he ruined the setup. "You got me. I'm a failed Brit if there ever was one," I replied to Twenty.

Vyral

[font=Arial]"Most of us are," I intone cynically. "Still, you've got us two to cheer you up. What could be better?"


Twenty


"We've got two Navigators with us," I craned my neck, seeing if CD and Disco were still behind. "Why're we taking a train?"

Vyral

"Just you?" I ventured, snorting, "No, that's harsh. Twenty makes good comic relief. And apparently a good armband," I observed, smirking at Twenty's limpet act.


Twenty


I smirked back. "Can't lose me this way!"
Debonair

"Would you want to drive with a me and you in the back?" I asked Twenty with a raised brow.


Twenty

"That's .. probably .. not a good idea," a cab whisked past us, on the "wrong" side of the road.

(Twenty)

For a period of three full days or so, the airwaves were deathly silent. The last I had heard from the Administrator, I was told to sit tight. Someone was looking over M’s letters, and the DI assigned to the case were connecting dots as much as possible, but ultimately it meant that there was nothing for me to do. I got real lazy then. And I mean, epic lazy.

It was too late in the season for the outside pool, and the inside one was almost too warm, too bleachy, if that’s a word. I didn’t have enough pound coins to afford playing pool or paying for internet, so I amused myself by doing the two free things I could at the Marriott — watching TV, and eating.

The Marriott provided a host of interesting channels for its guests, along with buffet-styles meals. It got to the point where I would spend a whole night watching, I dunno German infomercials or strange British comedies, and then load up solely on plates of bacon and blueberries the following morning. I knew I had to get out of that hotel.

Problem was finding out where to go. All the major European cities start to look the same after a while. They’re old and busy and confusing and depending on the time of year, miserable to try and navigate. I’m sure I could have learned my way around London if I had sat down with a map and put my mind to it, but if I did that for every major city I’d ever been assigned to, I’d have a thousand public transportation networks all tangled together in my brain.

I usually did alright, I guess. I had an Oyster Pass for the rail, and the Administrator watching over me, so even if I did get lost, it wasn’t long before a humorless all-caps text got me back on the right track. At least the people around me spoke English, which made it drastically less of a nightmare to ask for directions, and much less bewildering to stand on a crowded street corner, and just feel swept away by all the noise.

When it came to deciding where to go in London, I guess I could have tried to get ahold of Deb, but pride made me turn to the stack of informative brochures by the Marriott’s check-in desk rather than him. Thinking myself some boundless maverick, I jotted down directions to some of the more tourist-friendly attractions in my area, preferring the idea of walking quietly through rather than being caught up with some sort of shouty guide. Soon, I left the Marriott wrapped in coat, scarf, passport tucked away, shoulder bag slung — intending fully to catch a bus and see Tower Bridge, but my general trepidation and uncertainty of my own hasty handwriting led me, I believe, to miss what I feel was the correct bus, and just begin walking towards the river.

There were people jogging, couples walking, school groups marching along the paved grass-side path. I was a fan of river walks, I guess, except it seemed like all the interesting things in the city were on the other side of the Thames. Oh well. It was still nice. I welcomed the relief from the rushing hiss of traffic, and if I walked at the right pace, the water looked like it wasn’t moving at all; instead, it was the world doing the turning.

I walked through a sort of river-side park with grass, wood chips, swings, and tiny modest bathrooms. A blot of color caught my eye. There was a young man sitting alone on a bench up ahead about a stone's throw from the largest slide, ankle crossed over his knee in a sweatshirt that looked suspiciously like Northwestern purple. Huh.

Northwestern University, of course, being one of the huge schools just to the north of Chicago, near the Gold Coast area. Ground zero was approaching fast, and I could have sworn it was indeed one of their school sweatshirts. He wore dark jeans to match, with bright white sneakers. I could only see the profile of his face, but he had thick curly black hair, and, I would have bet, a very nice smile.

Like any professional teenager, I went for my phone to do some spectacular pretend texting, flipping it open with a practiced swing, clicking aimlessly through contacts as I —

— Yes, it was a Northwestern sweatshirt. I saw the N splashed on the front, along with the Wildcats head. There was an awkward moment as I veered to the right, making a terrifyingly inelegant balance of pretending to have just caught sight of the man, and having been eyeballing him from about a hundred feet back.

“Hey!” I pointed, approaching, slipping my phone back in my pocket. He looked up — oh. I had his attention and I realized I had no plans on what to do with it. “I .. hi. I’m American,” like he couldn’t tell from the accent, dumbs! “Couldn’t help but notice your sweatshirt. Northwestern!” I pointed at myself with both thumbs, as though this gave me extra validity. “Go Wildcats!"

He stared blankly. I felt myself dying on the inside. "I’m from Chicago!”

“Oh! Yeah! Yes,” he touched his chest where the Wildcat was, as though remembering suddenly what he was wearing. "Awesome! I graduated there just this spring, actually .."

“Sorry, I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of stalker,” I said, not sorry, as I invited myself to sit down next to him. “But y’know. So far from home, I had to say something.”

“Right, right, definitely” he smiled at me the way that strangers smile at each other, but for some reason, it still felt a thousand times warmer than anything I had seen all week. “So where in Chicago are you from?”

“Kinda by Logan Square,” I made a vague gesture in the air. “I go to school around there. Well, I did. Now I’m here.”

“Cubs or Sox?”

“Cubs, baby."

“Damn straight," he nodded solemnly, awarding my mortification at calling him "baby" with a fist-bump. So. Are you, like, on vacation with family or something?”

Um. As he casually glanced around to see if there were any more people with me, I launched into one of my least developed skills — lying.

“No. I’m on .. I'm an, uh. Exchange. Student. At one of the schools here," I jerked a thumb over my shoulder in a general direction. "For a few months, yeah."

"Oh, neat,” he bobbed his head again. “How's that?"

"Lonely, boring .. ” oh my God he’s going to think you’re pathetic! “But really informative. Like, I’m learning things.”

“That’s cool!”

“All European cities start to look the same after a while, though.”

“Oh. So you travel a lot?”

“Yeah. I study abroad,” I lied quickly. Too quickly. Shut up.

“What are you studying?”

Okay. Slow down.Think about what you’re saying.

“Languages.”

I thought I’d get away with that one, but he said something jovially to me in French. I withered.

“Okay, look,” I glanced down at my feet. “I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve just been feeling really homesick and just .. lame lately. Everyone I'm working with is just .. and seeing the Northwestern purple, and like, hearing someone talk like me, just, I dunno. I guess I needed it. Does that make sense?"

" .. Yeah," he said. And we sat. And that was all I needed.

“Jerr?”

I turned. I saw purple. An attractive woman in a matching Northwestern sweatshirt had strolled over. She had thick brown hair with blonde highlights, was prettier than me. My phone buzzed against my thigh.

“Hi!” she said to me in polite puzzlement. "Jerr" opened his mouth to introduce me to her, but I saw the glint of gold on their fingers, now, and I had already stood.

“I have to take this,” I said in a tone that surprised me. I reached for my phone and had it pulled out and open before I could even once look back.

This is a random scene between ViceVersus and XavierDanitius32, meant primarily to get the latter used to writing himself as a character in first person. What'll likely happen is that it'll be posted IC during the second part of Act II, when Debonair and Vyral will mostly be running around figuring out things about the guitar.

Near sent Twenty and Vulpes out on a date directly into the public eye.

---

VULPES

This wasn't the best date I'd been on recently, I thought as I lounged against the supple leather of the booth, sipping gently from the frosty glass of coke. She'd tolerated my awful attempts at flirting with smiles and small laughs, but the hordes of crazy-ass people that dogged my every step, and the hulking man-mountains that were supposed to keep me safe kept getting in the way every time I thought we were starting to make a connection.

Ah well, I sighed. We'd made it to the resteraunt in one piece. The candle on the table was a nice touch, and the service had been excellent. Now, what to have? I glanced at the menu, before looking up at my date over the flimsy cardboard.

"What'd you like to eat?"

TWENTY

“Pizza. Probably.”

Don’t be a dick.

Being famous is exhausting, weird, since you hardly have to lift a finger. I think I would have been more partial to the clothes, the cars, the coastal mansions if the fact that I had seen a vision of my own murder hadn’t been the thing to spark all of this.

Vulpes was a lot quieter, a lot shyer than I had anticipated him to be. Maybe because, in America, the only way I saw or heard of him was something outlandish. I realized now that this was probably Near’s doing. Or his manager’s. It was all second nature to him at this point.

“How do you stand them?” I nodded to our left. Fangirls were swarming on the streets, pressing their greasy faces against the plate glass window, scrambling, screaming, trying to get the best view of what was happening on the inside. The restaurant’s soft, muted music compared to what hellish chaos was out there — it made me almost smile.

VULPES

I grimaced. It was a stupid question. Rookie mistake. Although I was hardly a rookie at awkward first dates by this point. Hell, I could hardly remember not having an awkward first date.

"Honestly, I've learned to ignore them. They want someone I'm not. My stage persona is a carefully engineered facade."
TWENTY

He was practically hiding behind that menu. You’re being such a dick, girl. I let my fatigued, nervous, snarky-ass attitude soften a little.

“Look. I’m sorry I’ve been so bitchy lately. You don’t know what it’s .. actually!” I sat up up straighter. “Fuck it. You do know what it’s like. You’re one of the few people who understand what it’s like to run around chasing some carrot that the Administrator says you have to.”

I let a silence fall after that sentence. I waited for the guillotine to drop .. but my phone did not buzz. I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them.

“I know it’s taboo to ask this, Specialist to Specialist .. but I gotta know just one thing. Were you ‘famous’,” here, I gouged the word with those finger in-air quotation marks, “before Outcross got to you, or was the whole thing .. ”

I gestured feebly to the large, impassive guards sitting nearby. I didn’t have to indicate the crowd outside.

“ .. You know.”

VULPES

I giggled softly to myself, dropping the menu to the table, the ghost of a smile flashing across my face.

"I messed around on youtube a bit. Posted a couple of covers with my electric violin. Looked like a Kiss Army reject in some of them."

Rubbing a sleep-hooded eye, I took another sip from the coke.

"Without Outcross, I'dve been one of millions. They must have sent Aftershock my way."
TWENTY

“It’s stupidly lonely, isn’t it?” I reached out and messed with the top to one of the salt shakers. “By all rights, I should be loving it. I get to travel the world, eat basically whatever I want, not get shot at .. mostly. But, like. It just, it sucks.”

I leaned in a bit closer to him. If it looked like we were going to kiss or not — the air outside on the street was probably rent with screams.

“I’m scared,” I said in a low voice. “You know my story, right? Crazy-ass precognitive visions? Well, they don’t come as often as they used to. And when they do .. they just,” I closed my eyes again, “well, like I said. It sucks.”

What good was there in lowering my voice? One of Vulpes’ thugs probably had a wire on him. Either that, or the Administrator was tapped into the restaurant’s security cameras. Maybe being “famous” wasn’t all that much of a change, after all. I was living in public, anyways.

“I don’t know what’s going on. I feel trapped in this little bubble of press appearances, I haven’t heard from Vyral or Debonair in days, and to top it all off, people are just screaming at us wherever we go. I can’t tell if they’re screaming, like, because they love us, or if, like, they want to rip our flesh from our bones. And I’m being serious!”

VULPES

I glanced to my left at the baying wolves, trying to hide a small grimace as I leaned in closer.

"I can't begin to understand what it must feel like to know what you know."

I gulped nervously, reaching out to touch her lightly on the hand.

"We don't have to be here if you don't want to. I can take the hit for getting up and dashing out the back."
TWENTY

“Nah, it’s okay,” I stared at his hand. Like, stared at it. Probably more intensely than I should have. I forced myself to look back up at him. “Honestly? You’re the only Specialist my age who’s actually not been a complete dickwad to me since I got here. Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

My hand under his hand curled into a fist.

“Every. Single. Freakin’. Time I see Debonair after a while, he does his persuasive thing on me. And I always fall for it. Like, hardcore. And I don’t even think about it. And then Vyral. I just met Vyral this mission, but he’s .. he’s like, an anti-Deb. If that makes sense. He’s always looking at me like he thinks I’m full of shit. And maybe he does. Maybe I am!” I huffed a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. “Oh, jeez.”

Near had taken care to transform me into some media queen — new clothes, new makeup, newly straightened hair. I had a tendency to wipe off all the lipstick out of annoyance, and wiping my eyes usually led to things getting smeared. The loose strand of hair made me realize that my hair probably looked like a mess.

I inspected my reflection in my phone. Well. Not bad.

“So. While those two guys run around town figuring out things, I am more than happy to be in the company of someone who — although they’re assigned to think so — finds me charming, attractive, and has put a fake engagement ring on my finger.”

I glanced down at the massive diamond. “Uh. When I say fake, I mean, like. The principle. If Near says the diamond’s real, gotta believe her.”

I withdrew my hand from his, and put both of mine in my lap, suddenly embarrassed at my outburst. “ .. Near kinda scares me.”

VULPES

Good one, Tom. Good one.

I crossed my arms on the tabletop, looking up to meet her gaze.

"I'm glad you enjoy spending time with me. I'll try my best to make this fake-engagement the best you've ever had."

A broad grin broke across my face, a small giggle slipping from my lips. She was one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever had the pleasure to date, and this date was going rather well.

"I think she scares everyone. Anyone who says they arn't is lying."
TWENTY

“So all those models I see you with on magazine covers, all those stories of you being knee-deep in ladies, it boils down to a a lot of hair product and clever organization!” I gestured across the table.

Oh, wow, way to make him feel like a loser.

“And all the things you hear about Twenty, and her masterful understanding of Things to Come, and What Shall Pass .. you end up with a scared, confused American girl with no real discernible talents. I can’t even play the violin,” I made claws of my hands, and shook them, tilting my head back to the ceiling in a mock ‘whyyyy’ pose.

“You’ll have to teach me. Y’know, if I live that long, or whatever.”

VULPES

I giggled again, scratching an itch on my jaw, idly glancing from her eyes down to the menu on the table.

"Well, yes. Although the photoshoots are pretty fun."

Shooting her a wink across the table, I smiled and continued.

"I'd be glad to. It's such a beautiful instrument."
TWENTY

“I played, like, baritone in high school? There’s a band at my college now, but since I’m gone like three-fourths of the year, it wouldn’t make much sense for me to make any sort of commitments at all,” I shrugged.

“There was this one time in Moscow maybe a year ago when Deb and I had to pretend to be a band? Like in this little run-down bar. I played guitar and he sang, and did his persuasive thing to the crowd. They were all so drunk that it basically worked, and we managed to convince these arms dealers not to remove our heads from our necks.”

VULPES

"The baritone's nice, but I prefer the more synthy vibe you get from an electric violin. It's a nice versatile instrument. I can do acoustic if I want"

I smiled again, not quite sure how to react to her little anecdote. Guess that was the result of growing up in the sheltered south west of England.

"Well, at least you got to travel?"
TWENTY

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s not. I was in a pretty decent hotel when I first got here, actually. It was like, in the center of everything. Probably the Administrator’s way of helping me not get hopelessly lost,” I grinned. “So, wait. You travel, don’t you? Certainly you have tours and performances and whatever, all over Europe, right?”

VULPES

"This place can be confusing sometimes."

I sipped on the coke, watching the last of the ice dissolve into the liquid.

"I try not to travel too much, gotta keep up with school and stuff, but yeah. I did a couple of gigs in Italy earlier this year. And I played at a rock festival in Germany."
TWENTY

“I was in Italy, once, I’m told, but I was in the trunk of a car, so I guess it doesn’t count,” I grinned, flipping my menu open. “Or the boot. That’s what you call ‘em, right? Yeah, the boot.”

“Anyways, what’s Italy like when you’re actually there as a guest, rather than being dragged through it?”

VULPES

I glanced at the menu again, still unsure of what I was going to eat.

"Italy is a beautiful country. I would recommend the island of Capri if you're ever there under more favourable circumstances."
TWENTY

“Favorable circumstances, when working for Outcross? Puh-leez,” I returned to the menu. “Alright. How does England do pizza? Keep in mind I’m from Chicago, where we know how to do deep dish pizza, and I mean do it right.”

VULPES

"Well, you can't want to work for them forever. Maybe when we're done with them, we could go together?" I grinned, and met her gaze. "What suits your taste? They do a mean deep-dish pepperoni here."