capeandcowllogs | this is not a fiesta

Entry tags:

this is not a fiesta

WHO: Christine, Steve
WHERE: A hotel
WHEN: 8/24
WARNINGS: it's not a fiesta :(
SUMMARY: not even close to being a fiesta

"Sir, like I said before..."

Steve's hands lifted, smiling broadly, apologetically, and quite anxious to diffuse any unpleasantness. "No, I know!" he said quickly. "You were quite clear before as to your boss' busy schedule. And I am certainly happy to wait another hour more, if that's acceptable!"

The young concierge, uncomfortable and faintly irritated, grimaced a little before giving her computer another long, needless look. She kept doing that, expecting the gesture to somehow make it seem she was doing something to change the situation to no avail, when the reality was she was having to recycle the same excuses as before. Again.

"Sir," she sighed, "I really don't think today's going to be a good day. I'm sorry. There's some kind of business conference he has to deal with, and–"

"I understand," Steve cut her off, clasping his hands together and ducking his head. "Truly! But if you could tell me of a more ideal time to inquire about employment..."

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It was another new day in the big City, another day to find something to cure her boredom. She'd looked at various ideas for jobs before, even considered this whole hero business, but in the end she really was enjoying not having any responsibilities to attend to. Even money wasn't an issue. Perhaps she'd been better off dead all along, if that meant a new beginning like this.

On that day she'd decided to pay a visit to a certain hotel. She hadn't quite heard anything about it, but she'd gotten the chance to pass by and appreciate the architecture, take a guess at its service. Why not see how good it really was? She was in the mood for some special treatment.

"Good evening," She walked in, clutch bag in her hands, smiling pleasantly at the concierge. Steve's presence didn't seem to affect her in any way - for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry - am I interrupting?"

That good evening had cut right in and plowed through the trailing remains of Steve's request, confusing him but seemingly a godsend for the concierge. While his mouth opened and closed, staring, the young lady took advantage to switch gears, turning her full attention to Christine.

All the while, Steve stared. It became outright gawking, wordless and persistent in that length of time where he himself was ignored. And really, his primary objective being there had been tabled without half a thought to tabling it at all.

Goodness, but that woman was attractive. Steve himself had little concept of his own personal aesthetics – things broken down into like, dislike, and tolerate. Most people were quite fine, and even interesting in appearance! Goodness knows there was little rhyme or reason to some of the attire or stylings of hair there could be at any block or time of day. It was probably not too unlike Zerard in that way – a melting pot of cultures and personalities. Only Steve was certainly only working with computerized methods of categorizing and acknowledging those things there. Here, in the flesh, living and breathing, consciously and unconsciously affected by things...

This is all just longhand for how very blatantly dumbstruck Steve happened to be by Christine's appearance.

And with reason. Christine was well known for never looking anything less than totally impeccable back home, from head to toe, whether her hair was caught up or curled at its ends, each strand exactly where it should be. Her make-up and attire were up to the task as well - she wore a turtleneck on occasion, but she'd repeated the look for every single day since her coming here. It was quite an effective way to hide the glaring scar across her throat.

She spoke to the concierge, bright and charming, clearly in charge, asking for a room before naming her conditions. The woman happily agreed to help and had to excuse herself shortly after, leaving the two guests to each other's company.

Christine clasped her hands, resting her arms on the balcony, smile now directed at Steve. She was quiet only for a moment longer - if their shared silence was anything close to awkward, she had no trouble hiding it.

"Christine Stanford." She offered a hand.

Awkward?

Steve didn't even think to consider it was awkward at all. He had to be told, more often than not, when certain situations had run their course while he was in the midst of some thought – or, in this case, a distinct lack. It was very easy to get overwhelmed in one way or the other, and...it was rather rare, in his case, to be as such in this particular way.

He barely noticed the hand for a length, catching glimpse at the furthest reaches of his vision if only because of the way her shoulder drooped to extend it to him. He blinked, then blinked again, mouth opening and closing, then clamping quite shut as he straightened up.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, the sound of his own voice snapping him right out of his daze. He fumbled for a couple seconds more to get his bearings, staring at the hand with the alarming feeling of missing something. But he remembered at last, his smile a little too wide with the relief of remembering as he took hold and gave her hand a quick squeeze and an overeager shake.

"Greetings! My name is Steve." His smile was less a panic once he'd let go. "And you are–?"

"Very pleased to meet you," She doesn't quite chuckle, but it's close enough. Nothing but pleasantries follow her every move, red lips drawn in that same, perfect little smile. Surely he only needs a moment to remember she offered her name first. There's clear amusement in her eyes when she looks down, shifting her weight lightly. "Are you staying here, Steve?"

She was right; Steve very plainly realized it even as she took it all in stride and carried on. His face flushed to punctuate the sudden grimace drawn all over it. Christine Stanford is the name! Very obvious, in painful hindsight. His shoulders drooped a little out of their wince, but only for a moment; he straightened right back up at the question – a means to redeeming himself if he were to carry on alright.

"Ah, me?" He shook his head. "No, no! I was...I was actually just inquiring about potential employment! A survey of sorts. I'm building a list, you see."

"Oh! You are?" Her smile stretched to a grin, tilting her head. It softened shortly after as she looked down, scanning him from head to toe, curiosity either completely feigned for the sake of good manners or genuine for the sake of asking about things that were none of her business. "What do you do?"

Head to toe was somebody clearly out of touch with fashion, but not entirely a lost cause. He looked like he belonged on a college campus more than a high-end hotel with those skinny jeans, high-top shoes, and a shirt that looked like it came out of a Sears catalog. Not to say anything of that out-of-control, frizzy mop of hair.

He hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of the language of fashion.

He nodded eagerly, encouraged by the flash of her teeth. Wow!

"Ah, well...!" The question stopped him. Now, the ebb and flow of civilian opinion of Cityzens was not something he was an expert on, but...but he was sure he could trust what he'd heard enough of, right?

"Well, I'm currently unemployed – understandably, given my current investigation, yes?" A light laugh. "But, ah, my initial occupation involves observation and data gathering! Though I doubled as a navigator for, ah...uh..."

Were...pirates appropriate to mention? For some reason, he felt he ought to not...

Christine waited for a moment, then arched her brows and turned slightly in expectation. True, he looked like he had no place working in a hotel like this, which suddenly made the concierge's attitude towards him have a little more sense, but his look and general demeanor also made it extremely easy for Christine to take over the conversation and steer it to her liking. That's what she was used to - making men talk about themselves (it was their favorite subject, she'd told Isabelle not so long ago,) and all the while making herself into the center of their attention.

If he was looking for a way out of his own words, however, she fully intended to make him talk. He might as well have been on an interview with Christine right then.

"For...?"

"For, ah..."

Steve licked his lips, ducking his head and leaning down in a more conspiratorial way. His voice lowered as well.

"Well, space pirates, you see."

If such a thing weren't actually feasible, given the circumstances of the City, he would've probably looked and sounded like a crazy person.

"Oh." She made a little bit of a theatrical display, mouth changing to the shape of the sound, attention locked on the young man before she looked to the side, as if considering the answer. Christine couldn't hide the amusement in her smirk if she tried, but it wasn't intentionally unkind. She leaned in, lowering her voice accordingly.

"Well, that sounds very interesting, Steve, but I don't think it's what they're looking for in a hotel."

"Ah–" He startled, then leaned back, laughing a bit too loud for conspiracy. The moment had passed, and he carried on as if there were no secrets to be had at all.

"I hope not! Well, I mean, I expect as such!" He scratched at the side of his head, his grin growing sheepish. "That is to say, I didn't come here anticipating a repeat of my original occupation. I'm quite eager to expand my horizons!"

"That's always a wonderful idea," She nodded, appreciative and welcoming of Steve's new attitude. "To get out of your comfort zone. I say go for it."

Turning away to reach into her pocket, Christine pulled out a silver case of cigarettes, taking one out to place it between her lips. A young man in the hotel's formal uniform approached to ask her not to smoke, but suddenly changed his mind and left her to her devices when she flashed him a grin and uttered something along the lines of "Oh - well. I'm sure it won't do any harm to smoke just one."

Some would find that moment peculiar. Christine simply continued as if nothing had happened, clicking the lighter she had in her hand.

"So. How is that working out for you?"

It was peculiar only for a moment; Steve wasn't too familiar with how strict smoking laws were or all the many oddities that came from her bypassing it all in such a way. Because really: Steve was formerly an android who traversed planets with pirates, some of which wielded fire and ice and alcohol with reckless abandon, carving through mysterious labyrinths of foes of all sorts.

He had no trouble moving past it and piping up to reply to her question.

"It's been interesting," he remarked, smiling a little less, but no less bright. "That is, there's a great deal I have to learn before I can acquire a new occupation to learn, I've gathered. Cultural expectations that I...I'm not overly familiar with and the like." The last of it was punctuated with a sheepish kind of chuckle, shoulders shrugging up.

"That's right," She agreed, mildly condescending. It was nothing most people could be offended by - it certainly wasn't her intention for it to be; simply how Christine was. "Especially in a hotel. You need to have a degree. Even if you want to work as security you need some kind of formal training," Brows arched, she nodded with some amount of seriousness, taking another drag from her cigarette before clasping the silver case shut and placing it back in her pocket.

The concierge finally returned at that point, and a bright Christine finished the arrangements with her before handing over a key. No currency of any kind was exchanged, thanks to Christine's elegant way with words, once again.

Turning to Steve, key in her hand, she tilted her head to think for a beat.

"Can I offer you lunch, Steve? If you're not too busy."

"Ah–"

Steve blinked, seemingly surprised to be addressed, having spent a bit too much time staring and thinking only half of the time about what formal training would entail. It had all tapered off to watching Christine and the concierge interact, dropping off into that momentary daze.

He shook his head free of the last of it, blinking again. "Ah, lunch, you said? Well, I..." He hesitated only to wonder if there were some reason to refuse at all. Weird, wondering that.

He smiled instead.

"I would be delighted to join you!"

Christine exhaled one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out on the marble desk. The concierge didn't seem to mind in the slightest. People around her seemed to be in a slight daze, actually, as if her perfectly put-together appearance and carefully cared-for beauty made her untouchable to certain rules. It was a perk she'd enjoyed back home, but never quite at this level. It wasn't hard to guess that it was related to those superpowers the machine handed out to her captives.

"Wonderful. Shall we, then?" A little smile, coy but certainly not lacking in confidence, preceded a tilt of her head before she took the first step forward, towards the hotel's very own restaurant. "I'm starving."

"Goodness," Steve's tone took a more sober note. "In that case, we ought to look for sustenance immediately!"

He, of course, was not looking in the direction of the restaurant right away. But he turned to face the direction Christine had taken and was quite surprised to see exactly that.

"Oh!"

Well, that was a relief. Quest almost complete! But there was still need to be quick, lest the lady suffer the adverse effects of starvation.

"How fortunate to have food services right here!"

Christine nearly laughed, knitting her eyebrows at Steve's urgency to help her with her little problem. He was quite the distracted fellow, wasn't he? But at least he was showing no signs of embarrassment over it. He was quite excitable, in fact. She liked that, in way.

"You're adorable," She said, condescension sugarcoated in her usual charm. There was no pause to hesitate when she moved closer to wrap her arm around his. "Tell me, Steve, what are you in the mood for?"

Adorable? Steve's mouth opened to utter some kind of reply, but wound up making just a stuttering sound as his arm became captive. He felt a very odd chill run up his spine, heat up his ears. They were sensations that he'd experienced before separately, but it was more surprising to have them simultaneously.

Organic reactions were numerous and strange.

"Ah, I-yuh, I–" He shook his head quickly, trying to clear out the jittery mess of confusing information filling it. "Well, I...I'm quite sure I'll be content with most anything! Ah, aside from raw fish. I seem to, ah, have difficulty negotiating the digestion of such...so far...ah, ah-heh..."

"So no sushi," Something Christine could very live without, but had gotten much too accustomed to with all the business meetings and safest options to impress clients with simplicity and sophistication. For another moment she mimicked a contemplative thought, humming to herself. Her movements were all very poised, natural but rehearsed, the result of a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it, even if that meant playing herself as something less than what she truly was. Very few got to take a better look at her core, and even less liked what they saw.

"Do you like oriental food otherwise?"

"I believe so..." Steve wondered about that. "I, I mean, I'm still in the process of exploring my tastes, you see. It's an ongoing process!"

What entailed oriental food was a good question, too. His mouth twisted with thought as they approached the open-seating restaurant.

"What does that genre of food entail, if I may ask?"

"That's quite an unusual thing to say, Steve - didn't you have any taste before?" She wasn't entirely sure she cared, but whatever kept him talking about himself would be considered a mild success. His question could come after.

"Why, no!" Steve's face felt extraordinarily hot just then, and found himself unable to maintain a consistent smile for how one side had begun to twitch. He could cite similar reactions in other situations, but it still boggled him how he could seldom detect them in advance; it'd make situations such as this one so much more manageable.

He gave a bit of a cough, his posture shifting out of the slight slouch he'd fallen into as a captive on one side.

"Ac-actually, I haven't! You see, ah, I'm actually quite new to the organic experience. I had been completely mechanical previously. You see." Hem.

"Mechanical?" She voiced a little laugh, incredulous and impressed. It seemed she had quite a talent at picking out interesting individuals - this City certainly wasn't lacking in that aspect. Christine was as bright as ever, with a new spark of shameless curiosity in her demeanor. "And you were made human? How?"

He only needed a fifth of that curious energy to get him rattling on. "I'm afraid I couldn't tell you the details, Miss Christine, but my understanding is that it's a common occurrence for non-humanoids who are brought here via Lachesis!" He hesitated only a beat, a thought striking him. "Ah, that is...if you...know well about Lachesis, that is. Considering what a beacon of strife and struggle she has been for this city alone..."

"Clearly I don't know enough!" They kept walking, and their conversation progressed without a hitch as she took a place in the restaurant, sitting across the table from him. The chair was pulled for her by the garçon, thanked with another bright little smile. "This place really is amazing." Leaning over the table, elbows resting on it, she tucked her chin over her intertwined fingers. "Tell me more."

Steve had none of the grace and control Christine conveyed in nearly every motion and word, and so while she eased into her place at table, Steve was like a pick-up stick trying to noodle its way through a side-winding space. A pick-up stick that had none of the self-awareness necessary to feel embarrassed by that fact.

He situated, flustered but chipper, energized by the request for more. If he was good at much of anything, he certainly was good at rambling on and on about the things he knew a great deal about.

"Ah, well! How familiar are you with the circumstances relating to the Porter, alternate universes, and all the many persons drawn in by it?"

"I'm aware of the different worlds," She replied, eyes narrowed, looking away to think about it briefly. "I met a boy who already had super powers, for example. And now I've met you."

"Oh, good!" He was relieved, shoulders sagging with his breath. "That makes it easier to segue right into the particulars of my own situation."

Steve's mouth opened and closed, eyebrows raised in a sudden look of confusion. His own situation...Where was the right place to start, again? He blinked.

Oh!

"Ah, that's right. See...See, there's this somewhat-stable circumstance wherein mechanoids and the like transported from their respective worlds and-or realities are reconfigured to better suit the environment here. That is, it seems it won't do well for the City should robots and androids walk freely the way they are without causing quite the panic!" He half-squinted, wondering if that was the true reasoning at all, or simply a good reason to go with. "And being myself an android, I found myself organic for the very first time upon arrival! I only wish I knew the processes involved in such a feat, but I'm afraid I can offer you none of the details."

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this is not a fiesta

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