Piece of Mind: Thin Air
Bobitron
Explorer
The Shaman said:
"Hello, Mr. Slocum."
Her greeting seems prefunctory, and her small smile doesn't seem to reach her eyes, which stay guarded and a little nervous. Kristen wheels her heavy aluminum case towards the back of the truck and lifts it into the tailgate with little effort, even though one hand is occupied by a small umbrella.
The Shaman said:
"I'm Dr. Kristen Alexander, specializing in Clinical Pharmacy, Chemistry, and Biology. Pleased to meet you all." Once she finishes her introductions, Kristen sits back and looks at the lights flashing past as they drive.
Brandon's chatter is mild enough. His good looks and charming voice probably have a lot to do with that though, she thought, hiding a smile behind her hand. Where do I know that face from?
Once the questioning turns to her, she responds quietly. You have to listen carefully to make out her soft voice above the hum of the tires and the rain pounding on the roof.
"My flight was fine, thanks for asking. I just came in from Maine, but I've spent the last few years in Spain." She doesn't volunteer more information unless asked. "My first time to the west coast, never mind Seattle. All this rain must drive you locals crazy, huh, Mr. Slocum?"
After Slocum's response, Kristen excuses herself, pulling out her PDA and starting to check her email, engrossed in the the small screen.
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James Heard
Explorer
"Realmente? Tiene gusto? Tengo gusto Madrid!" he exclaims and then launches back into English, "La Viuda Blanca is one of my favorite places to eat ever!"
When he talks his hands animate and if it weren't for the scruffy beard he'd look like he was all of 15. After that his conversation turns to comparing the intricacies of Spanish cuisine with LA sushi, if no one seems interested in his amateur culinary analysis before the vehicle comes to stop he eventually runs out of steam. Even in the uncomfortable silence of the rest of the drive he fidgets in his seat and with his hands.
Maybe he's doped up on something, it's as if he always has an internal rythym fussing at him. In the silence afterwards he at least seems like he realizes it, even if he can't seem to stop it. His chastened look is something like a wet puppy begging for a blanket. It's somewhere between cute and pathetic, and eventually he reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a pack of gum and starts chewing on two or three pieces at once.
OOC: Apologies to anyone who actually speaks Spanish and is wincing. Mine is limited to what I remember from high school and mucho assistance from Babelfish. So, basically enough that it took me almost a half hour to find the way of saying what I wanted to say that didn't look like Brandon was being a dork. If he still reads like a dork, so be it. He probably is, or just blame me.
When he talks his hands animate and if it weren't for the scruffy beard he'd look like he was all of 15. After that his conversation turns to comparing the intricacies of Spanish cuisine with LA sushi, if no one seems interested in his amateur culinary analysis before the vehicle comes to stop he eventually runs out of steam. Even in the uncomfortable silence of the rest of the drive he fidgets in his seat and with his hands.
Maybe he's doped up on something, it's as if he always has an internal rythym fussing at him. In the silence afterwards he at least seems like he realizes it, even if he can't seem to stop it. His chastened look is something like a wet puppy begging for a blanket. It's somewhere between cute and pathetic, and eventually he reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a pack of gum and starts chewing on two or three pieces at once.
OOC: Apologies to anyone who actually speaks Spanish and is wincing. Mine is limited to what I remember from high school and mucho assistance from Babelfish. So, basically enough that it took me almost a half hour to find the way of saying what I wanted to say that didn't look like Brandon was being a dork. If he still reads like a dork, so be it. He probably is, or just blame me.
Falkus
Explorer
Hawk was idly watching the scenery out the window, slighty discomfited at being a passenger instead of a driver. He mentally tuned out Brandon, turning him into background noise as he watched the traffic go by, and the water drip down the window. He reamined quiet for about a minute, before turning back to the other passengers.
"Biology, eh?" he said to Kristen in an attempt to strike up a cnversation after she introduced herself. "I majored in engineering, myself, but that was just to give me a better chance with an air force enlistement."
"Biology, eh?" he said to Kristen in an attempt to strike up a cnversation after she introduced herself. "I majored in engineering, myself, but that was just to give me a better chance with an air force enlistement."
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The Shaman
First Post
"My first time to the west coast, never mind Seattle. All this rain must drive you locals crazy, huh, Mr. Slocum?" asks Kristen.
Slocum smiles. “I’m from Clarkston originally, in eastern Washington. It’s a lot drier there. I’ve been here in Seattle for fifteen years, so I’m accustomed to it now.”
The attorney doesn’t respond to Brandon’s chatter, just giving an occasional polite nod. The driving rain has his focus on the road as the Range Rover pulls away from town. It’s nearly impossible to see anything other than the lights on the road ahead through the darkness and the downpour.
Sirk: Make a Spot check, please.
Slocum smiles. “I’m from Clarkston originally, in eastern Washington. It’s a lot drier there. I’ve been here in Seattle for fifteen years, so I’m accustomed to it now.”
The attorney doesn’t respond to Brandon’s chatter, just giving an occasional polite nod. The driving rain has his focus on the road as the Range Rover pulls away from town. It’s nearly impossible to see anything other than the lights on the road ahead through the darkness and the downpour.
Sirk: Make a Spot check, please.
Bobitron
Explorer
Falkus said:
"Hmm. You were in the Air Force? I had a cousin that joined, flew some sort of helicopter in Bosnia in the early '90s. He died there, unfortunately. Car accident." Kristen talks about her relative's death nonchalantly, as though she didn't know him well.
"Where did you attend school? What sort of engineering?"
Falkus
Explorer
Hawk coughed, and smiled sheepishly. "Actually I, ah, bounced out during basic. Insubordination, they said. All I did was tell a Lieutenant-Colonel what I thought of him, his command, the chain of command, his sexual habits, and then I speculated about his ancestery," Hawk chuckled as he related the story. "It's actually worked out for the best. Now I can fly without having to take orders from career focused baboons who don't know anything about what it means to fly."
"I got my degree in mechanical engineering, back in Iowa."
Spot: 8
"I got my degree in mechanical engineering, back in Iowa."
Spot: 8
The Shaman
First Post
Slocum is true to his word: after a little more than twenty minutes, he turns off the main road onto a side road – the headlights briefly illuminate a sign which reads, “Smugglers Cove Road.” A couple of minutes later the Range Rover pulls up to a tall wrought-iron gate, which the attorney opens with a remote. The driveway winds through dense growth of firs and madronas before ending in front of a breathtaking house, a Northwest Contemporary harmony of wood and stone and glass.
Slocum stops the SUV in the port cochere before the door to the main house and turns to all of you. “Go ahead on in. Your bags will be taken to the guest house for you.”
The double-doors at the front of the house are unlocked. Through the foyer is the living room, dominated by a great stone fireplace; a fire is burning brightly. Surrounding the fireplace are two overstuffed couches and a pair of high-backed chairs. To one side are a small table and four chairs. The far wall is not a wall at all, but rather a series of wood-and-glass doors that look out onto a flagstone patio. To the right is a dining area – through a doorway to the left is a darkened room.
As you walk into the room, a man rises from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. He’s of average height and his lean build is clearly that of someone who exercises regularly. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, his youthful face clean-shaven. A cluster of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are the only suggestion that the man is well into his thirties. He’s wearing grey slacks and a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar – a matching suit coat and maroon patterned tie lie draped over an arm of one of the couches.
He sets down a sheaf of papers on the chair and walks toward you. “Good evening. I’m Dr. Peter Martin. Thanks for coming. I hope the trip out here wasn’t too rough.”
Slocum stops the SUV in the port cochere before the door to the main house and turns to all of you. “Go ahead on in. Your bags will be taken to the guest house for you.”
The double-doors at the front of the house are unlocked. Through the foyer is the living room, dominated by a great stone fireplace; a fire is burning brightly. Surrounding the fireplace are two overstuffed couches and a pair of high-backed chairs. To one side are a small table and four chairs. The far wall is not a wall at all, but rather a series of wood-and-glass doors that look out onto a flagstone patio. To the right is a dining area – through a doorway to the left is a darkened room.
As you walk into the room, a man rises from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. He’s of average height and his lean build is clearly that of someone who exercises regularly. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, his youthful face clean-shaven. A cluster of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are the only suggestion that the man is well into his thirties. He’s wearing grey slacks and a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar – a matching suit coat and maroon patterned tie lie draped over an arm of one of the couches.
He sets down a sheaf of papers on the chair and walks toward you. “Good evening. I’m Dr. Peter Martin. Thanks for coming. I hope the trip out here wasn’t too rough.”
