lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: Any time before the start of the event.
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: Once you've submitted your AU summary, you can use this post to do some CLOSED THREADING to play out some character interactions that happened before the event start. This means that memory regains will not be in play yet. Open top levels are not allowed - these threads are intended to sort out closed interactions between planned backstory connections, during the week leading up to the actual event start.
Warnings: Could be anything.

PORTLAND, AS YOU KNEW IT↴

The shift went unseen and unfelt. One moment you were one person, and the next, another. This before all that, though, in the new life that you remember living here in Portland. No memories of your true self have arisen yet, and at the time this was the only life you knew. Did these events truly happen at all? Or do they only exist in memory?

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It's a rare quiet afternoon in the cafe, when there aren't so many students coming in -- probably because they've got better things to do or it's the break. That also means Lambert's got more time to spend at the cafe, using the downtime to clean up behind the counter and read through a book between serving customers.

Even the cats seem to be feeling lazy, not quite as bloodthirsty as they usually are. When the shop bell rings, announcing someone's entrance, he tucks the bookmark back between the pages, and straightens up to give the new customer his attention.

"Welcome to Toe Beans. Is this your first visit?" The words come smooth and practiced, before he even really registers who's standing in front of him. He'll never sound really welcoming, but at least he doesn't sound like he'd rather visit death upon someone rather than serve them coffee, too.

Street cats will not allow her to harvest ingredients from them, Tallisibeth has noticed. Probably just as well, there are people who want worse from a cat than loose fur, but it's inconvenient. She really doesn't want to have to call in favors or look online for something like fresh cat hair, seriously. So, cat cafe. This one's even close to her favorite public library.

For now Thranta's in the hood of her sweater, out of sight and probably sulking about the weight of the charms Tallisibeth made to keep her from being noticed by cats. It was simple enough to adapt the spells that made hawks look past her. Took a few hours to draw though.

She doesn't notice immediately that the barista's familiar, just seeing his uniform at first, though her hindbrain stops her as she starts to order. "Yeah hi, I'd just like a macchiato with... oh, no!"

Just last week she'd fallen asleep at the study table on the notes she'd been taking on the Dictionary of Occult, Hermetic and Alchemical Sigils, comparing it to the newer revised edition she had at home, because of course she couldn't just check it out, not a book that thick and old. "It's you!"

Generally, Lambert doesn't pay much attention to visitors at the university's library, but it's hard to forget the ones you had to prod awake so they didn't just end up sleeping in the special collections section. It's amazing how many of those there are.

Oh, no! What the hell is that reaction supposed to mean?

"Yeah, it's me," he says dryly, fingers already ringing up her order. A nice change from the library (sort of) is the helpful addition of a name tag pinned to his shirt, reading Meow name is Lambert 🐾. "Just the macchiato? Or do you want anything to eat?" There is a pretty extensive pastry case. Though the food might be a little too cute to consume.

She's terribly self-conscious about anyone seeing anything she does that could possibly be construed as failure, and too wrapped up in her work to notice that at a university there are absolutely drained, exhausted students dozing off at the wrong time and it's not something horribly rare.

"I didn't know you worked here," Tallisibeth says lamely, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks and hoping her skin is dark enough to hide it. "Uh. No thanks, and can I get a lid?" Cute as the pastries are, she senses they'd get coated in cat hair in seconds.

Fortunately for Scout, Lambert has zero fucks to give unless she's actively trying to steal the books or accidentally spilling things on the pages. Unfortunately for Lambert, Scout doesn't seem to have realized that.

"I've been here about half a year," Lambert shrugs, no big deal. No need to admit that it's partly involuntary at that. "I can get you a lid. What's the name for the drink?"

He's going to say something about it, she just knows it, and she's terrible at responding to barbs, she stammers and shuts down. Tallisibeth pulls in a breath, reminds herself it's not the end of the world if someone teases her, and keeps her head high.

"Um, Tallisibeth." He's probably not going to spell it right, but there's no one else here right now, so does it really matter? She's grown up with a name clearly picked by someone who wanted it Different and Interesting and is well used to how that goes. "You can just put Talli or Beth or whatever though."

There are about five nicknames people can take from her given name. She'd kind of like to give people the name she signs her workings with, but she knows it'd draw even more comments.

Tallisibeth is absolutely correct in that Lambert doesn't have the faintest idea how to spell that, but if she's at the library regularly enough to have a card, he can probably look it up later. Well. If she ever shows up here again, at this rate. She'd seemed more comfortable surrounded by books than she is now, so he's already doubting she'll come by for another visit.

"All right." He finishes ringing up her order and sorts out the payments, then turns away to get her drink started. "Go ahead and find a seat, read the house rules. I'll bring it by when it's ready."

"Okay. Thank you." Still wary, she finds a chair against the wall where she can see him and anyone coming through the front door. Cats survey her with various levels of interest as she slings her backpack off and sits down.

Tallisibeth is pretty indifferent to cats, which means she doesn't get in their faces or stare at them. This makes them more inclined to like her. As soon as she's seated a huge orange longhair tom immediately hops up into her lap and graciously sniffs and rubs his face on the hand she offers. Tallisibeth smiles faintly. There's an old fashioned wooden comb concealed in her sleeve, and a linen bag in one of her many pockets. They won't leave anything suspect on the hair.

As she gets started her familiar struggles out of her hood and perches on the back of the chair, grinding her cockatiel beak and raising her crest with interest. In a rush of wings she takes off and swoops across the room, perching up on a cat tree to survey the place. The cats don't even look at her.

The noise of the expresso machine means Lambert doesn't hear the beat of wings as the familiar makes her way onto her new perch -- and he isn't looking up when he takes out her drink in a cup and saucer topped with a silicone cap shaped like cat ears. When she lifts it off, she'll find a slightly sunken cat shaped out of the foam.

The tom arches under Tallisibeth's fingers, leveling a flat look at Lambert and rumbling in displeasure. He ignores it in favor of setting the drink down on the table.

"Here you go, Tallisibeth." At least it's unique enough he can't forget it's hers. "You need anything else, let me know."

Edited (even in an AU he'd never say "holler" wtf me) 2017-05-26 23:20 (UTC)

"Great, thank you," she says, her voice small. Tallisibeth wants to say the cap is cute or point out the orange cat is angry but he probably knows both already. A foam cat is drowning in her coffee. She wonders that the constantly aggravated-looking librarian knows how to make this kind of thing. Maybe there's a trick to it? She should have looked at his nametag this time.

The cat settles. Tallisibeth stirs up her coffee and destroys the art before tasting it. The barista-librarian has his own stuff to do, and she starts to relax and run the comb along the back of the cat's neck. She looked things up, and apparently cats don't like too much full-body stroking. This one acts like he enjoys the contact. "Please don't actually be a werecat," she says under her breath, not expecting or getting an answer.

After a few minutes, the cockatiel up on the highest point in the room starts to sing, whistling a merry tune. Almost as one the waking cats in the room look up and around. Tallisibeth spelled her familiar so cats can't see or smell her, but she left off sound.

The cats won't be the only thinking looking up at the sudden burst of birdsong. From where he's settled back on a chair behind the counter with his book, Lambert looks up with a frown, pushing his glasses up his nose again as he shuts his book again. The cats are circling and pacing -- the lazier ones are content to lounge and watch -- in an effort to pinpoint the source of the sound, fluffy overfed bodies still moving with the grace of the predator that still lives in their genetic code. The cafe's walls bounce the sound, amplifying it and confusing the cats, who stare up like willpower alone might be enough to make a bird appear out of thin air.

Lambert, however, doesn't have that particular problem, though he does have a brief struggle not to move too quickly to his feet. He picks up a tea towel along the way as he steps into the cafe proper, a cat on a couch aiming a lazy swipe that he effortlessly dodges. He looks up, and ... sure enough, there it is, perched not even on the walkway but one of the struts leading off it. Lambert scowls, hands on hips.

"Now what are you doing up there?" He glances at Tallisibeth, since she's the only other person in the room right now ... "Did you see how it got in?"

It takes a moment for Tallisibeth to hear the whistle and register it, her bird sings pretty often at home. Another moment to realize why it's a bad thing. She then looks like she wants to die.

The cockatiel looks down at him and raises her crest like an antenna, still singing a meandering whistling cover of something out of a videogame. She sees him. She sees the towel. Try it, punk! She's fully flighted and fearless!

Her mage on the other hand sinks down in her chair like she would like to hide behind the suddenly alert cat and shakes her head frantically. Internally Tallisibeth riffs quickly through the short list of spells she's prepared to cast without rituals, and the longer one of magic inscribed on items on her or her familiar's person that she could activate, looking for something that would fix this situation.

The way the girl instantly tries to disappear tells Lambert he's not about to get any help from that quarter, so he's on his own here. Lambert suppresses an external sigh. Funnily enough, he recognizes that particular tune as the battle theme from the Fury Fantasy series, though how the hell a bird knows that is beyond him.

The cockatiel's a little too high for him to actually climb up to and get like this, though there is a step-ladder in the corner that's normally used for reaching up to clean the walkway. While Tallisibeth dithers, he heads over to fetch it. He guesses it has to be someone's pet or something similar, which means there's inevitably going to be someone coming in to yell at him if he damages their precious baby... so he's got to be careful with this.

Hopping up on the ladder, he gets the towel at the ready, preparing to throw it over the whistling bird, hoping he can catch it without too much incident.

There's always the one she knows for setting off fire alarms - no, actually, that's a terrible idea and would make everything worse. Simple's probably better.

Tallisibeth knows a silent recall and an equally silent order home that will be obeyed when normal, trained commands fail. It's essential to have spells like that, especially when your familiar is a small, flying prey animal. Of course, there aren't open windows here, and if she just comes to Tallisibeth Tallisibeth's getting in trouble. Then again this harvesting expedition's unsalvageable now. Then again again this is definitely not the last time she'll see this librarian.

Thranta pauses in her song to spread her wings and gape her beak in nonthreatening cockatiel threat, accompanied by harsh squeaky chatter. This reveals that she has a flight harness, normally hidden by feathers. At precisely the last moment she'll take off and very helpfully land near the fluffiest sleeping cat to pull a tuft of fur off its tail, fluttering and whistling.

Tallisibeth tucks her comb and the modest load of hair it's collected into her linen square and back into her pocket, and gets to her feet, turfing the cat, which interrupts its search for the source of the bird sounds to glower at her. "It probably flew in when I opened the door," she says indistinctly.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Lambert curses -- but very, very quietly -- when the bird flutters away. The strange little vest it's got on definitely means is someone's pet, anyway, though it would probably too much to hope it conveniently has a name and address he can call for it to get picked up.

The cat reacts about as well as can be expected from having a bit of fur yanked so so suddenly when it's having a peaceful nap -- meaning it shoots about a foot straight up in the air yowling fit to bring the house down, and bolts off for the nearest dark, quiet, hiding spot, leaving a bit of fur in the bird's beak. That gets the other cats to start up, meowing in distress, and Lambert nearly falls off the ladder in his hurry to get off, dropping the towel. Forget trying to be responsible and catch the damn thing; if it came from outside, it can damn well go back out there.

"Then let's get it back out," he says, decisively. The cats aren't likely to make a break for it, so he shuffles over to one of the sliding windows, pushing it aside to let the breeze in.

This would probably be funny normally. With the extra noise and confusion Tallisibeth is too anxious to want to laugh. Thranta, sanguine, transfers the fur to one of her grippy parakeet feet and takes off again.

Are you sure the cats won't try escaping, Lambert? Are you sure? There's probably an airlock system in place at all the doors in and out of the cafe just to prevent that.

The cold February wind comes in through the open window. Not sure what to do with her hands Tallisibeth waves them and advances as her familiar's flight starts curving towards her, and sets off the go home! spell.

Thranta hovers for a second and makes an eardrum-lancing shriek that sounds like twooo-KEEEE! before bolting out the opening, leaving the echoes of that scream. Cockatiels have a limited ability to mimic human speech and that there was the result of Tallisibeth's patient attempts to get her to respond with "okay" to commands. It works better when she's not this excited.

Tallisibeth hesitates, but this operation is clearly past salvaging. The cafe resembles a hoarding situation with anxious cats meowing and yowling, pacing or hiding or suddenly very intent on the open window. Even aside from the human element she's not going to be able to collect fur from such worked up animals. Time to go. She heads for the door, mumbling something about that looked like a tropical animal.

If Tallisibeth knows to look, there is a vague sense of something magical woven into the architecture of the cafe -- a protection spell of some kind, but for what purpose, it's hard to determine. It's strongest at the entrances and openings, though, and while the cats do look at the entrances, they seem disinclined to bolt. When she casts her spell, something in the air hums briefly, reacting to the magic, but it settles down quickly enough. Lambert doesn't seem to noice.

Though it's all a moot point as the bird bolts. Lambert winces, slamming the window shut behind it and muttering something that might be like 'good riddance' under his breath. He glances back at Scout, raises his brows, but sadly doesn't get out more then a 'see you around' before Tallisibeth exits.

Well, if she never comes back to the cafe again, he'll undoubtedly see her at the library, as dedicated a bookworm as she is. For now, Lambert chalks it up as another 'weird shit that keeps happening here' and goes back to work.

Edited 2017-06-02 13:29 (UTC)

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

not-so-first impressions [scout]

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tmw oops you wrote the wrong name in the previous tags but WHATEVER

it's cool

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in which i make up references because fourth wall breaking isn't a thing

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