Triage

Triage

daniel_icon.jpg jordan_icon.jpg

Where: The Market
When: 9/28/20
What: A lawyer walks into a market…

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic. - by Shakespeare (As You Like It)


Outside of the Market is the untamed wilds of California — the sort of setting the movies seem to forget exists — but inside of it, there's the untamed wilds of commerce. People are attracted to it for it's oddities and novelties, but the Fey are attracted to it for the privacy and practicality. Where else are they free from human eyes but in the underbelly of the place, beyond the warning signs (electronics are safer in your car) and glamours that keep the uninitiated out?

Most Fey around LA know the name of the woman that runs the place, even if they've never met her, as Jordan makes no secret of her role. After all, she's the woman who knows how to get things, can't make a buck without people knowing where to find her. Tonight she sits behind her own stall, feet up on a second chair with some sort of coffee concoction in hand. Above she sells unique, organic scents, below she sells unique, organic scents. They're positively enchanting.

By the time Daniel has managed to get back onto the freeway, he’s worked himself out a plan. The small, sickly looking pixie creatures tucked into his suit jacket get a few encouraging remarks here and there, but otherwise he’s driving in silence. Luckily, this time of night has the freeways relatively empty. It’s between opening and closing times for the night scene for the city proper, but way out in the state park regions, out in the forested areas tucked away from normal eyes, the roads are clear and open.

He drives rather quickly for someone who really just knows how to pilot an automatic.

Once he gets to the gates though, there’s no more use for cars. Or cellphones, for that matter. Just as well, as the people he’s looking for aren’t likely to have use for them out here in the land of no cell towers. After asking around from a few vendors, he’s pointed towards the Gossamer. Werewolf he may be, but he’s not all that familiar with things of the Otherworld, and faeries definitely isn’t his schtick. So this is what fish out of water feel like. And, walking up to the woman sitting behind the stall with her coffee concoction, he clears his throat politely. “Good evening, miss.” Oh, he’s formal, polite. Well-mannered, just like his mother taught him. “I’m told… perhaps you can help with a few small problems I have.”

Jordan looks up at the sound, tilting her head as she looks him over. An eyebrow arches subtly as he addresses her as miss, and she lets silence linger long enough for her to take a drink before she sets her glass aside. "Mental, emotional or romantic?" A smirk quirks just so at the corner of her lips. "You look like you've never see the down under before. You new?" Likely, she doesn't mean new to town, but rather, new to his hirsute condition.

Her feet swing down and she pushes up off the chair, coming to lean on the little counter between him and her, fingers splayed against the woodgrain. Her other hand stretches out toward him, each long finger holding at least one ring and (just the one) well-manicured nail. "Jordan."

“What?” Daniel’s confusion is evident when she lists off the possible problems he could have been describing. That bewilderment wipes off his features quickly, however, as he shakes his head and clarifies, “Oh, not me. It’s kind of complicated. I mean, the whole werewolf thing aside - been dealing with that for years now.” Catching himself on the ramble, once again he forces himself to pause and gather his thoughts. Focusing on her hand, he reaches his own to shake. “Daniel,” he adds. His other hand, though, dips in to his pocket and he draws out a sickly pale, barely luminescent blue, winged form of one of the pixies. No words exchanged, but a look that speaks thousands. Help it? He even has the sad puppy eyes.

"Mmhmm," Jordan watches as he rambles, smirk deepening. "Nice to meet you, Daniel." It seems she isn't going to challenge him on his problems being "not him", although she might be thinking it. She's probably thinking it.

When he pulls out the little pixie, though, her expression changes. She leans over to get a closer look at it, her hand cupping the underside of his. "What happened?" The playful tone is gone, replaced with something more serious.

Daniel lays the ill looking creature on an empty part - a little tough to find but doable - of the stall’s table top. “Iron,” he explains as he proceeds to draw out another two of the pitiful beings, “Someone was keeping them in cages with iron bars. Selling them, like pets.” He looks from them to Jordan, the sad compassion replaced with a tougher seriousness - a game face of sorts, but this far more darkened by the circumstances before them. “They called us for help, and we got there in time to free some. But, who knows how many more? And when? And… what are they?” Too many questions, and no answers at all now. But Daniel goes on. “We got a ledger with some addresses. Well, not exactly ‘we’. The vampire took the book, but she can’t have gone too far. Seemed like she had her own agenda.” There he is rambling again, but it seems to just be the man’s thought processes being voiced aloud, even if it is in the face of a friendly stranger. “These little ones need help though. Can you help, Jordan? Have you got any medicines or something?”

"Didn't want their pets to live very long, did they?" Jordan says, straightening up as he sets the creature down. She lets him ramble again, and it's hard to tell if she's really paying attention until he asks what the creature is. She looks up, tilts her head a little and fixes him with a sidelong gaze. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio," she starts the quote, but adlibs the ending as she focuses more purposefully on him, "You need to get to know your roots a little, Daniel."

She scoops up the little pixie gently, bringing it closer to her eye level as she looks it over. "They need rest. These little ones don't do well in the city in general, let alone in iron. They need nature. Wilderness. Which, luckily, we have plenty of." They are at the feet of a park, after all. "Not much can help, beyond that, not that I know of, but if there's a faster cure, this is the place to concoct it. If your… 'we' have any others that need help, tell them to bring them out of the city and let them recover. Honestly, this is all stuff you should know already." Tsktsk.

Daniel runs a hand through his hair, breathing out a sigh of relief. “That’s good news for one,” he says as he starts to habitually reach for a cell phone only to find none and remember why. Right, no electronics. “I’ll let them know once I… well. I’ll find them,” he states with a confident enough nod. “Just have to wait for trouble.” Now that the little creatures are out of a certain danger zone, he’s comfortable enough to slide an undertone of humor back into the thick of things.

“Just consider yourself lucky enough to find a Macallan, right?” Daniel says with a crooked smile. “The one Macallan who’s been in Scotland, but knows just about nothing of faeries or pixies or things fantastic. But speaking of, you seem to be the go-to gal in these parts for that sort of knowledge.” The man leans in a little, a hand starting to reach out and brush the fingertips lightly across hers, as he looks her in the eyes searchingly. It’s an action he seems to do often enough that it’s second nature.

"If you don't find it, it'll find you, that seems to have been my experience. So far." Jordan turns to set the pixie down again, in the crook of the chair so recently used as a footstool. But when she turns back, it's with a half-smile.

"A Macallan? I would consider myself lucky; I love a good single malt." She leans a hip against the counter, arms folding loosely across her torso. "I think you have to try very hard, not to learn a thing or two about faeries in Scotland, Daniel." When he leans in, she lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't seem adverse to locking gazes. She seems pretty at ease with the lawyer, in general, maybe it was the puppy-dog eyes, or the selfless motive that brought him in, while there's a general sense of tension behind those eyes, at the moment, it's on a back burner.

Of course, she takes advantage of the stare as well, or rather, she can't help but, since her soul gaze kicks in on that first look whether she likes it or not.

“I was just passed the ‘wee babe’ stages really, but my mother’s proud as they come,” Daniel confesses under a soft chuckle. “More of a Bronx boy to begin with anyway. I’d have to identify Noo Yawker first in most cases.” He’s the first to break eye contact with a blink, turning instead to gaze at the various perfumes and interesting wares for sale. “So I’d hate to just dump you with those and run without properly compensating you for your trouble,” he muses, “but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Care to strike a bargain?” He gestures, inviting her to pick something out to show. Money appears to be an object, even it’s not the primary reason. At least he’s a good man who pays his debts.

"Well, I suppose you can't be held too accountable for it, then." Jordan can't help but chuckle a bit when he breaks eye contact, and she taps a finger on the counter as his gaze turns that way. Her smile widens when he brings up the subject of payment, though.

Her response comes at length, after a gentle sigh as she sinks slightly against the table. "Oh, you know. Bring me something pretty."

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