Terroristas and Apprentices

Andrés

[I'M FUCKING DRUNK DENVER HOW YOU DOIN]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )

Arianna

It has been a very long time since Arianna Giametti has been asked to leave an establishment for being anything other than too Hermetic, which indicates exactly how unlikely it is for her to be removed from the premises of any Denverite establishment at all.  But on her arm, and distressingly sober, is the town's preeminent Etherite, and neither of them have a BAC which precludes them from driving.  They are stone cold sober.

This is a problem.

Though it doesn't keep them from speaking in some outlandish mishmash of Italian and Spanish, though her Spanish is almost intelligible these days. It helps that they have not been drinking.  And the apples of her cheeks are a ferocious shade of red and she is gesturing with the arm that is not trapped by his as they walk, and saying something that sounds an awful lot like "Terrorista?!" in a most exasperated tongue.

As always, the Hermetic woman is impeccably dressed, in shades of silvers, greys and whites.  The heels of her boots clip angrily on the pavement.  Somewhere on her body is a wand, and that can be viewed as a weapon capable of bodily harm in more ways than one.  Perhaps it is not entirely impossible to imagine her as a foreign threat.

Andrés

What follows is a slew of Mexican-accented Italian. Which is to say, Spanish following the rules of grammar and syntax but not vocabulary.

"Terroristas, han detto! ¿En che paese somos terroristas? ... Ay, no no no, I remember, ora ricordo, El Trump cree que li messicani son tan malos de gli islamisti."

They're not even drunk. That doesn't mean they're without. As they wander along arm-in-arm as they do, Sepúlveda reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and produces a flask. He unscrews it, gulps from it, and offers it to her.

"I should have punched that guy in the nose."

Arianna

"Eh... what is 'The Trump'?" she asks, somehow mercifully unaware of American politics. Though, once reminded of the orange-toned Republican candidate, she will agree: "Yes, you should have."

The flask is accepted, though she sniffs first and then drinks more gingerly from it.  Andres is a more accomplished inebriate than Ari.  She is merely an understudy, and Apprentice if you will.  Their path takes them through the park, where they are less likely to be accosted by a patron of the self-same bar which threw them out moments ago.  Ari's temper is still high; she draws the echoes of her father's House around her fittingly.

"It is not like this nella mia patria," she says, handing the flask back to him. "Well, it is and it isn't.  Or maybe it is the same. I just... do I look like a Terrorista to you, Andres?"  His name, at least, is pronounced correctly. It is shaped as if she were far more fluent in his native tongue.  "You do not look like one to me.  We would not be friends if you were so -- we are friends, yes?  I think we are."

Andrés

"Bah," he says, "claro que siamo amici."

They get to talking about the F-word too long he's liable to say something stupid. He hasn't worn his wedding band since the day he and a wild woman went to rescue a certain nameless Disparate from their friends over at Amaranth Laboratories. Easy enough to overlook the presence or absence of jewelry unless one happens to be looking for it.

"Terrorists are violent, Arianna, and they use violence to effect change in politics, and it has worked in other countries in the past and it has not worked in plenty of countries in recent history--" Big glug. "--and I prefer to change what I can change when I can change it without resorting to violence, but I am not opposed to using it. Sometimes force is necessary." A beat. A curious tone: "We would not be friends if I were a violent man, this is so?"

Arianna

"I have been friends with violent men," she says, but the way she says it is shadowed and many-layered.  It is too even.  It is too careful.  And this is the problem with sobriety; things are cast in too plain a light, and then shaded over cleverly.  She does not truly mean 'friends' or perhaps even 'violent' in the physical sense.  The elevation of individual Will and wants is not benign or pacifistic in any way.

"But, no, you are correct.  And I, too, prefer change on a local scope.  Limited.  Perhaps even narrower than your own."

Andrés

She can look him straight in the eye and see the green of them placid if alien in their intelligence. The man is handsome but the man is also deranged. Folks have called him plenty of things over the years. Called his wife plenty more things. Will call his daughter plenty of things, distant as she wishes she could be form him. There's too much of his genes in her.

Right now they are talking of an incident that had a bartender invite them to leave. They are taking a shortcut to --

"Where the hell are we going, anyway?" he asks. Non sequitur. Three times now they have drunk together. Twice he has invited her, in a way, back to his place. Speaking of narrow scope. He doesn't give her time to answer: "The Society of Ether's scope goes beyond mortal comprehension, Arianna Giametti--" He rolls the R's even though Italian does not have many rolled R's, throws some flare into the vowels where Spanish does not throw such flare, like flinging pizza dough into the air and spinning it. "--and it does not cause me sorpressa to hear this."

Arianna

"I do not know, Andres," she says, and the burr in her voice is most evident in how she will not make a contraction in the sentence. "I walk when I am angry. Or I talk. Or I say improper things in Enochian, which is quite fun, but utterly inappropriate in mixed company."

There, then, enough of the flame has burnt out of her to cast him a little wink of wry amusement.

"Ah, it is not that I view the Order's scope of limited, as much as it is I do not wish to invite responsibilities of such scope onto my self."  She says this plainly.  Initiative she may have in spades, but Ari is always on the look out for consequences.  "Speaking of... how are you students? Margot and, what was it, Nedward?"

Arianna

((Holy typos batman: It is not that I view the Order's scope *as limited...  ... how are *your students?))

Andrés

Andrés speaks English fluently. It's the presence of another Romance language and his growing up speaking Spanish at home that has him lapsing so easily when he's around the Italian woman.

It also means Nedward strikes him as heinously funny. He fails to suppress a laugh. Bares teeth in an attempt to suppress a laugh. Nice smile, he has, bright and honest. He himself is a bright mind, not one to mince words. He takes another long swallow off the flask and passes it back to her.

"He does not like when I call him Edward," he says. "Edward died in a car crash, he says. They're so dramatic..."

Arianna

"You should call him Nedward then, and when he is dramatic you say, like our mothers might, BUT I AM MAKING AN EH-FFORT!"  She says this sagely.  Arianna also has impeccable English.  She has impeccable German and Greek and Hebrew and Latin, as well, but there is something comfortable about another romance language speaker and not minding every last syllable and it tastes a little more like home.

"Pronounce both Effs.  This is what truly sells it."

She takes another sip from the flask and passes it back, eyes bright with mischief but gentled enough to be only teasing.  Mostly teasing.  Probably. Teasing?

Andrés

"Next time he is with the dramatics, I will do what my mother did, and threaten to beat him with a sandal. That is their problem, both of them. I can tell neither of them has ever been beaten with a sandal."

He sloshes the flask around to test its fullness. They will have to either part ways here or take their chances someplace else.

"Fuck terror, eh? The hotel where I'm staying has a bar on the ground floor. Come with me, I'll regale you with tales of Nedward's curiosity and why he might not make such a bad Bonisagus after all."

Arianna

"I will not come with you if you try to foist your Apprentice off on me.  This is violence, Andres.  We cannot remain friends."

This is said deadpan, though she feels the aversion to Apprentices perhaps more strongly than she feels an aversion to violence.  She supposes, like children of her own name and lineage, students are inevitable, but Ari is soundly putting this off for as long as possible. Instructing from afar? Sure.  Assisting with some difficult concept? Fine.  Being in loco parentis for some fumbling and untrained newly unSleeping member of society?

No thanks. This is what Academy is for.

The deadpan breaks, though, and her features soften.  "Though I must confess my curiosity.  Which, I hope, is not at all the same as your Nedward's.  And I do like the one of your understudies, well enough as company, so perhaps the other is not so bad..."

They continue on this way.  And at some point in the evening there will be drinking, and stories.  And perhaps Ned would make a decent Bonisagus after all.  Ari is not so completely and utterly opposed to the idea of scouting for the Order as she purports herself to be.  Though Pen is a far better reference, being an Adept and all.  It will be mentioned.

Andrés

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]