Dririmancy - Verna Meets Jon Marc

Verna

It's Wednesday, and Verna is (as is usual of late) spending time in a coffee shop. She's burned through three of them already, as the baristas give her scathing looks when they realize she's only ever going to order free water and leech wi-fi. Unemployment sucks.

At least she's not a barista. (At least they have jobs.)

Whatever.

In the waiting period between now and the fall semester, she's got work ahead of her. She's got to put together lesson plans and come up with a syllabus and... it's hard doing all that when you've cut your internet off to make the savings last until then.

In her mind, she's not unemployed. Oh no. She's just waiting for her new job to start.

Every so often, however, the circumstances that brought her to this place flood back into the prime rumination territory of her consciousness. Every now and then, she wants to cry at the unfairness of it all.

Verna

[Perception/Awareness!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 10) ( success x 1 )

dririmancy

Life isn't fair, someone wrote once. It's just fairer than death, that's all. Death isn't fair to anybody toiling in his [let's personify!] halls; death is an interruption, a disappearance, a punctuation mark deferred instead of granted - death is unfinished things, words never spoken, an absence and a void, and death (or at least creatures who are Death's temporary exceptions) has probably brought Verna to this place.

Isn't it too sad?

But maybe death will take notice of her soon and bring her to another place (and nobody leaves that other place, except another kind of exception). The summer is hot and stormy and the baristas are talking about a house painting party one of them is going to have. They're not paying Verna much mind because, although she only asked for free water, she doesn't look like or carry herself like a bum, and it's not one of the busier hours of the day. One of the female baristas is a tall olive-complexioned young woman with nappy hair dredded like medusa snakes and she uneasily scratches at her wrist now and then, practically bolts out of the shop once her shift replacement arrives.

Verna can feel something cold. Air conditioner? No; it's a presence. She can practically feel it solidifying beside her, hairs on the back of her neck chilled to attention, this impression of a shadow falling across her- but there's nothing there.

Except the pressure of the air (uncanny) has changed, a subtle (creepsome) thing.

Verna

Oh, it's that ice-down-the-back-of-the-neck feeling again. Verna looks up, eyes the place a bit warily. But she has no belief in intuition or 'sensing' things. She's a woman of science. The heebie-jeebies are a figment of the imagination.

At least, that's what she tells her oh-so-rational self to calm it down while the rest of her deals with the pressing chill.

It happens more often nowadays. Maybe it's something to ask the doctor about? Why does she occasionally get the sensation of sudden doom? Didn't she read something about that symptom once?

So she looks up and around, and if nothing catches her attention, it is back to the laptop to work on her preparations.

Verna

[Percept + Alert!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

dririmancy

There's nothing out of normal when she looks up. Just that feeling, just that cold spot.

But she isn't long at her laptop when she notices somebody solid, somebody real, coming up behind her. A good looking man with dark curling hair, oil slick black, dressed in the most nondescript clothing one could pick out of the good will bin. He's dressed in order not to be noticed, one might say. Dog-tags jangle, glint silver, at his waist.

He's coming up behind her; if she looks, he's about to put a hand down on the back of her chair and lean over, looking at her laptop. Or that's what it seems, anyway.

Verna

She does look, and looks again at him when he continues forward. (Are you actually coming over here?) "Excuse me? I'm sorry, do I know you?"

A stranger coming up behind her in a coffee shop to sneak a look at her laptop? Odd.

"Are my lesson plans that interesting? My, I should be thrilled, really," she says, a cautious smirk on her face. It's an expression ready to sour if need be.

dririmancy

"You made a typo," the man says, returning her cautious smirk with one of his own. He's in his, what, mid-twenties perhaps, something not exacty baby-faced about him but young in that vulnerable way many women find appealing. He points to a place on her screen. His hair's black but not as black as his eyes which seem oh so soulful, oh so beseeching, oh so ready to flick on the laughter, to invite, to engage, oh be engaged. He doesn't lean on her chair after all, though he did look at her laptop screen.

"What can I say, I'm sucked in whenever interesting learning subjects are around. The, uh," and he's a fast reader, glib enough, "{whatever subject is on her screen" is fascinating."

She knows his voice, but she's only heard it once before.

Verna

"Mmm, a big fan of classical mechanics, are we? A bit old for my tastes, but you have to start somewhere. And besides, it's useful for when you don't actually need nine significant figures," Verna says, a bit lofty. Perhaps speaking over his ability to comprehend what she's actually talking about. Jargon is a language professionals love to speak, isn't it?

"And no, that is not a typo. My spellchecker just refuses to believe that irradiance is a word. It is."

Ahh, Verna is not going to be caught dead making typos.

"You sound somewhat familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? If so, I am afraid I've completely forgotten."

dririmancy

"It's important to have a good strong foundation," the black-eyed young man says. He smiles and it is a charming smile. He grabs a chair; pulls it up beside Verna rather than sitting across from her. He could just be sitting along the edge of the table, but she is effectively boxed in. "Else you'll never build to lofty heights of true understanding or some shit, right?"

"We've talked before." He looks at her for a second. "Jon." He doesn't include the Marc. He offers a hand, fingers pointed down like he's a cowboy.

Verna

[Int + Alertness = I remember you!]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

Verna

"Jon Marc," she states, and it's that sudden that her face drops and she turns to cold. Clever bastard, blocking her in like that.

She just looks at his hand. Glances at it like it's some kind of distasteful animal.

"What do you want?"

dririmancy

"Oh so you do remember me," he says, pleasantly. But it's the kind of pleasant that is surface, scum floating on the top of water; beneath it, monsters, sharp-toothed things, dead things, unpleasant things. Very unpleasant beneath that veneer. His eyes still look soulful; vulnerable; wounded, even. He keeps his hand out another second before dropping it. The hand goes into his pocket, slips there easily. He cheats his body so he's facing her even more directly than he was. "What do you think I want? You're supposed to be clever, aren't you."

Verna

"I haven't heard from Marie in weeks, if that's what you're asking. If anything, I should be asking you that question," she barks out, suddenly so very aware of his body language, the way he points himself at her. The way he slips his hand into his pocket, almost like...

Her eyes widen, and her own hand goes to her purse, ostensibly to pick it up.

"But really, I don't want to talk to you. If you'll excuse me..."

dririmancy

"I wouldn't," he says, and he'd like his voice to be thick with menace. Not overt menace, understand: something subtle.

"As a matter of fact, I would like to talk about Marie, more specifically poor little Rocket."

[Doo dee doo. Don't move. Don't go for your purse. Manip + Intimidation!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )

Verna

[Willpower!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 4 )

Verna

She licks her lips in a tight, nervous manner. Right. "Why wouldn't you? Are you honestly going to threaten to shoot me in a coffee shop? To keep me held here? Jon Marc?"

Her voice is raised, pointed, loud. She's trying to draw attention to her plight, considering he chose a very bad location to try to corner and threaten her. In public. With witnesses. Who now know his rather unusual name.

"I wouldn't."

To her credit, she's not stupid enough to reach for her purse again. But she does stare him down with no hint that he actually scared her. No, she just looks mad.

dririmancy

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (10) ( success x 1 )

dririmancy

In public. With witnesses.

But nobody wants trouble. Nobody thinks that Verna is being serious. Nobody wants to care. Jon Marc keeps his hand in his pocket but he rubs the back of his head and isn't he just so boyish, isn't he just so confident. The baristas are busy at the counter and the espresso machine is really loud. Maybe that's what drowns her out; maybe somebody glances then glances away.

Life isn't fair, and it's a dark world. Ennui. There are no heroes. There was blood in the lab and the police have found nothing and they never will. So she'll go to school, what then?

There are no heroes; and nobody

fucking

cares.

"I'm glad we can both agree not to do something fucking stupid," Jon Marc says. This teenager is looking uncomfortably at Verna and then at Jon Marc, like she's trying to guage what's really going on, nervous nervous fourteen year old.

"Because that is what we're agreeing to, right? If I did have a gun, if I was going to shoot you," he grins; see the blood in his teeth? Metaphorical, mad-edged, "What the fuck makes you think it would be to keep you here? I'd be crazy as fuck so I guess ... well why would I stop with just you?"

"Going down, so go big, right?"

He's wary of her but his tone is (charming [or it would be if the situation weren't so ugly]) curious.

Verna

There may be no heroes. Nobody's running for the police yet. But at least he knows if he does try something stupid, she's not going to go quietly. She's made sure that everyone within earshot knows at least his name and that she isn't happy with him. If something happens to her and the police start asking questions, at least they will have some answers.

Unless he kills every last person here, as he is so claiming. She smirks at him. Oh, that isn't his plan at all. He has Rocket on the brain. He has a reason to live, doesn't he? "I was more thinking you'd try to cow me with your threats, or try to smuggle me out of the place all quiet and then shoot me. But if you were to do that, I've just planted the suggestion in all these people's heads that you are the responsible party. It is a good thing we're agreeing to be reasonable.

"Now, what do you want to know about Rocket?"

dririmancy

[Mystery NPC wants to interfere.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Verna

[Awareness!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 7) ( success x 1 )

dririmancy

Verna smirks at him.

Verna smirks, at him.

Jon Marc's pleasance coagulates, becomes thick as old blood, fly-bait, and he leans (just slightly) toward her. "I want to know where he is," Jon Marc says. Metal in his tone; an injured air that would still fool some, but it's just an air, just the shape of his face. "I want to know where she's putting him during the day."

"And, Verna, Verna Gardner, former employee of the late Stephen Andrássy and René Jacobs, if I wanted you somewhere you were all on your own, somewhere quiet where nobody would hear you scream? I wouldn't need to get you in public first. Understand me?"

dririmancy

That sense of something coalesces again, creepy tingle-of-awareness, and her water tips over, spills, not much liquid left but what there is rushes for Jon Marc's pants. At least it didn't spill toward the laptop?

Verna

Suddenly, all that carefully crafted facade of fearlessness fades, when he mentions the late Stephen Andrássy. Her face goes to pure pain, like that was the soft spot in Verna Gardner, and he finally scored a hit. It certainly hit a lot harder than all of his threats combined.

"Jon Marc, just now was the first hint I've had in weeks that Marie is even alive. She hasn't been answering my calls or texts. I've never even seen Rocket, much less know where she might be keeping him."

And it's the truth, that. She's not trying to pull a fast one, she doesn't need to.

Verna

And then there's that feeling of ice at the edge of her perception. An odd look comes across her face, but her hands are visible on the table when the cup of water goes tumbling for Jon Marc's pants. She obviously didn't move. He obviously didn't move.

Her eyes go wide again, and she looks at him with a bit of shock and confusion. "I didn't do that."

dririmancy

[Mystery NPC. Glee! Attention!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )

Verna

[Awareness!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

dririmancy

"Yeah but that's because," he begins, belligerently - sullenness welling up in his tone like a bead of mercury, dark and occluded, poison; and then the water tips over, splashes his pants and he leaps, flushing, cursing with a lot more anger (savage) and vehemence than something so simple deserves. His shoulders are tense.

Verna didn't do that. Jon Marc swallows and looks at her.

"No?" sarcastic. "Maybe it was a fucking ghost. Some dipshit who deserved what they got. About Marie, couldn't you-"

The lights in the coffee shop go out and the glass rattles as if a train is passing by; the light dims as if clouds have covered the late afternoon sun, but it's eerie inside the shop, it's got that unhealthy (unnatural) glow of fire season when something bad's on the horizon you just know it, and other people's drinks fall over too.

Is it an earthquake? Is it some weather storm outside? An explosion going off somewhere?

It's eerie is what it is. Verna's laptop dies.

Verna

This has to be the strangest lesson in why one should always save their work often than Verna's ever had. She instinctually grabs the table to steady herself as the ground goes wobbly. No, Jon Marc, she's not going for her purse.

Earthquake. There was one that night when her car broke down too. They're happening so often nowadays.

But the lights go out, and Verna's laptop had a lot of battery power left that just got sucked dry... But no, that is impossible. The vibrations must have caused a short.

That's all it is. Really.

But for the first time since Jon Marc's appearance, Verna is actually scared.

dririmancy

[Mystery NPC. Mm, fear. Slurp.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )

dririmancy

[Mystery NPC again!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

dririmancy

[Jon Marc]

Dice: 3 d10 TN8 (6, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )

Verna

[Percept/Alert Diff 7!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (5, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

dririmancy

The fear must sharpen her, must turn her into a honed thing, because she notices so damned much in that moment: notices the horrified look the teenager is giving her drink; notices how the teenager's mouth seems stained red, bloody, bloodied lip; notices how the pressure changes in the air, how it crackles even though it's cold; notices, too, that the ground is not moving, is not moving at all though other things do, though the windows rattle, though the power goes out, though certain things fall over; notices, too, that Jon Marc seems to be wrestling with himself, seems to be under some sort of pressure, fury restrained and he wants to -

He stands up. He says, "fucking think really hard about fucking Rocket and where the fuck he is." That uncanny feeling; it wasn't coming from Jon Marc. There's that. But he seems unsettled, doesn't he?

Cautious.

So he stands up, and she's no longer trapped. She feels- what does Verna feel? Something external working on her- like she's coming down with a cold, energy sapping. She notices that too, even as Jon Marc says, "I'll talk to you later. Okay? Okay."

Backs towards the door. The lights are still off but nothing else is moving. Verna's computer is still off- another laptop user is also complaining, loudly. Power surge? Or just coincidence.

The teenager is hyperventillating; someone else looks down at their scone and then jumps, screaming about a spider.

Verna

This isn't the first time that fear has so sharpened her senses. She notices so much, so much that doesn't make sense. It's easy for the rational mind to rationalize it all away as being caused by the fear. Someday she might survive long enough to learn just how much that isn't the case.

Jon Marc, the asshole, wants her to find one of Marie's kids for him, and like hell that's going to happen. She'll buy a gun first (With what money? Food money? Beg it off her parents? Whatever.) There's not much she could do anyway, with Marie not returning her messages.

How did he even find her in the first place?

"I don't know anything!" she yells at his back as he leaves, and there's an edge of a crack there in her voice. She just keeps getting presented with irrefutable evidence that there's something unnatural going on. The strain required to force it all into a framework that makes sense to her can be a bit much to handle.

She really doesn't know anything.

dririmancy

Jon Marc is gone.

The blackout lingers for a good five minutes before flickering on. The teenager is having hysterics, is yelling at one of the baristas about blood about blood about blood and then shutting up going blank as a piece of paper because there is no blood in her coffee.

Probably on drugs, right Verna?

And the woman who saw the spider crawl out of her scone shudders, cannot be convinced it was a trick of the light which -

The blackout ends and the dimness which seemed to press in even at the windows, that crawling, heebie jeebies, something strange sensation, that subtle air pressure - it fades too.

Verna's computer blinks back on as if nothing ever happened.

Oh, except: it's restarted, and she did lose her work.

Life's not fair. It's just fairer than death. That's all.

Verna

Verna's shaking. The others around in the coffee shop seem to be faring a bit worse, though. Really, shaking after being threatened by a Marine who obviously hates your guts should be rather expected.

But really, it wasn't him she was afraid of, was it?

Maybe she's a bit too sure of herself, too courageous for someone like her to act. She shouldn't have made him so angry.

She doesn't stay long at the coffee shop. She loses her work for the past hour or so, but she's just going to go home. It's not worth trying to stay and finish. This place will be another she's got to cross off her list and never return to.

It's a place she'd rather forget about entirely.

Before her laptop turns back on, she's already got it packed up, and is headed out the door.