2023.12.01: Bob and Lyra Meet

Bob and Lyra Meet
New arrival Bob is sipping Mocha in Roasters when he meets enigmatic Lyra and learns to avoid becoming a Toad
IC Date	December 1st, 2023
IC Time	Evening
Players	Bob, Lyra
Location	Prospect Roasters
Spheres	Mage

Mid day coffee is never a bad idea.

And from the density of patrons in here? The majority of the Prospect University population agrees. The store is filled with students and other unaffiliated adults milling about. Waiting in line, sitting in place, hanging out with friends or business partners... And then, there is a space of the shop which is largely empty. A sort of social desert. A darkened corner of the place... At least comparably to the rest of it. In that corner there sits one woman who, even amidst the dense crowd of patrons in the space at large, attracts an undeniable moment of attention. Sometimes several.

Lyra sits at the dark booth in the corner with her legs crossed, out into the walkway as she rests her head on her right hand's palm supported on the table by her elbow. In her left hand, she holds a book which seems to be about three quarters done... On the table is a large sugary nightmare abomination of a custom coffee, and a simple black leather bag... It seems, for some reason, she is the reason that this corner of the place is relatively empty of company.

      This woman is A vision of seaside arboreal beauty standing to a height of five feet and eight inches. Her face is softly square, framed in

lusciously long silver hair which reaches the small of her back. It is worn loose, slight with natural waves. From beneath sharply arched brows there peers impossibility. Shocking silver, like the very moon itself, is the color of her almond eyes.

She wears light makeup on this occasion. Light, only by way of meaning there is no need for foundation. Her lips are painted a rich wine red, and her eyes are sharply lined with cat's eyes and black shadow.

       The occasion sees her dressed extra casual. She wears a black tanktop with a bindrune in white as its design, over a pair of

black featureless leggings which lead down into a pair of black ankle boots, clasped twice each.

       She wears an array of jewelry, chief amongst these the four necklaces around her throat. One is made of what appears to be small

metal rail spikes, wound and twisted into the shape of an esoteric symbol which may bare some familiarity. Alongside this is a necklace of purest silver, astoundingly beautiful with a charm wire-wound into the shape of an oyster's shell, �[0;37mhousing a pearl who may well be a small replica of the moon itself in its luster.

       The rest, by comparison, are insignificant. A black featureless choker is secure around her neck, and a charm necklace full of

what looks like nothing more significant than various bits and bobbins.

The door pushes open, letting the winter air in for a few moments as a man in a motorized wheelchair rolls through and to the counter. The twenty-something man is wearing a knit grey polo, with a black blazer over it. He also wears a pair of black jeans and brown loafers. A small tray connected to the wheelchair has a couple drink holders and a closed ultra-lite laptop with many stickers on the back. Into one of the cup holders goes a Cafe Mocha he orders, after a sip.

The man is tall, if he were standing, perhaps 6' 1". He has an oval face with a thin beard and mustache. He is smiling and his hazel eyes are merry. He also has a small bit of foam on his mustache. He rolls further into the room and looks around. The woman in the dark corner gets a curious glance. He seems inclined to join her, but stops. After all he's new, and not going to be pushy. He rolls to what may be becoming his usual spot, next to the bigger uglier couch. He takes another sip of his mocha and wipes his mustache with the back of his left hand, looking embarrassed.

The moment that Bob's eyes find the corner with their curiosity, they find that Lyra's silvers meet them with an absence of the same. The kind of expression that says 'it is what it is' as she turns her attention back down to her book... Not one to make a spectacle out of the wheelchair man wheeling in, after all!

Her eyes flit back down to the book... But she does find the interest enough to comment. She does not look, but it's clearly Bob that she's addressing.

"There's these wonderful things these days... Called straws?" Though the words spoken by her lightly Welsh tone could easily be sharp, they are well intentioned enough towards humor. She says little more, and still does not look in his direction.

His hand was reaching for the lid of the laptop, but pauses when he hears Lyra. "Heh. Yeah. I always feel self-conscious when drinking from them. I'm Bob". He looks at the book, seeing if he can read the title, then looks back at Lyra.

The book is... Well, without a title. It is old, to Bob's eyes. Filled with yellowed pages looking the kind that would sooner crumble into dust than yield to the page turning of a reader.

"Why would you feel self conscious about drinking from a straw, Bob?" Lyra asks without introduction, "It's a marvel of modern technology. And you are already so much a beneficiary." It's only now that Lyra's gaze lifts from the book, and she affixes him with a small smile which 'does' betray her amusement for some reason or another.

"Lyra. Charmed I'm sure."

'Darkened corner and all, I should assume no writing or text is visible or readable on the pages she's on?

A shrug is Bob's initial response, ineloquent as it is. "I don't know, it just feels that way. Also seems to taste better without the straw. Also, I hate plastics. Or rather, I hate what they do to the environment."

He pauses, then continues. "And I'd love to get rid of the chair, and am working on it. Mind if I join you Lyra?"

"I don't mind at all." Lyra says, not looking up from her book.

"And there 'are' metal straws. Re-usable ones. I know several people who carry metal straws around in their bags... Easy to re-use. Wash them in the bathroom and there you go." It's only there that Lyra does close the book, setting it off to the side before leaning back and resting her hands in her lap.

"Why would you want to get rid of something like that chair? It gives you what you lost. It's practically magic."

Bob smiles and manipulates the joystick on his chair to move to the dark corner. He won't move into a seat, but he parks at the table. "I hadn't thought of a metal straw. I will need to pick some of those up. That is a great idea." Bob sighs. "The therapist said I will be able to walk again, I just have to give it time. And yeah, it gives me mobility again. But it's not walking."

The 'kind of magic' comment gets a curious look, but that's all. "But it is better than not being able to move at all. I'm new to town, but a lot of places are wheel chair accessible here. Much better than N'Orleans." This last is said with a hint of a legit Cajun accent.

"Mmm." Lyra replies to his last statement, not responding much to the humor in the accent beyond a small, insignificant laugh.

"Well it's always wonderful to put a voice to a new face in the city... You see so many day in and day out that it's hardly novel." She cants her head, regarding Bob with an air of slight curiosity.

"That kind of hardware isn't something you typically see when it comes to people who 'will' make a recovery. At least, not in my experience... That must mean you've got a pretty healthy work situation going on hm? What brings you here to Prospect? What's here that's not in Louisiana?"

@emit/here "My mother was from here, a, uhh, long time ago. Yes, the folks who took me in after the crash fixed me up with it. Well, my legs are actually fine now, it's psychological. But I am working through it."%r%rHe chuckles, "With the help of a good Mocha, of course."%r%rHe continues, "As for work, well, I get by. I do research for folks. Businesses, politicians, and so on. I also build computers, and security systems. I go back to UCP for my Comp Sci doctorate in the Spring."

"My mother was from here, a, uhh, long time ago. Yes, the folks who took me in after the crash fixed me up with it. Well, my legs are actually fine now, it's psychological. But I am working through it."

He chuckles, "With the help of a good Mocha, of course."

He continues, "As for work, well, I get by. I do research for folks. Businesses, politicians, and so on. I also build computers, and security systems. I go back to UCP for my Comp Sci doctorate in the Spring."

"Oh! Well that sounds like a lovely feather in your cap when you manage to get it done." Lyra replies with genuine, if weak, enthusiasm. "I see. If it's such a mental hurdle- then I suppose that you've been coping with the situation for a long time indeed. You're fortunate." As she speaks, she does pick that book back up... Flicking it open to the exact page she left off on, amd beginning to read while conversing.

"Speaking of caps to feather, it sounds as though you wear a great many of them. Again I reiterate that you are a fortunate man... But research, mmm? That's interesting. I presume that your research you do is in the field of your major, yes?"

An ever so slight raised eyebrow on Bob's face. But Bob knew folks like this in New Orleans. And if she's like them, she's been around..or is just arrogant. Still, he smiles in a self-deprecating way, "For the Ph.D.? Yes. That people pay me for? That's in whatever field they need the info. I'm really good at finding stuff online, even stuff folks don't want found." He pauses. "The wheelchair is new, for a year, since I woke from a coma a year after the accident." He takes a look at the page she is reading.

OOC: At this point Bob tries to sneak a better look at the contents of the book Lyra is reading. Lyra requests perception + stealth vs 6. Or subterfuge in place of stealth. Poor Bob tried to be too many things growing up, and lacks stealth or subterfuge.

Lyra allows that he'll see it if he wants to, but Lyra will see Bob looking.

Bob agrees, and they proceed.

The moment that Bob attempts to peer at the page, he'd find that the page is... Subtly, just so subtly, out of his line of sight. It is mundanely explainable of course! Through the corner of her eye, the woman had noticed... And just slightly enough, had tilted the binding closer to herself to avoid the contents being seen.

Alas! There were at least more serious possibilities... And this is the least.

"Well, it's certainly a nice ride." She says of the wheelchair, "And that IS the kind of work that I would expect to pay well. Personally, I'm in the restaurant industry. I own a place down in Chula Vista called the Lady of the Lakes... Theme pub with fancy food and regular clientele. You said you were coming back to finish the Ph.D., yeah?"

Bob looks slightly disappointed, but not much. " A restaurant? Cool name too. What theme is it? I take it Arthurian in some way?" He seems genuinely curious.

"Mmm." Lyra replies, "Certainly that." She reads for a few moments in silence... Then finally, turns her attention back towards him.

"It's anthropological research." She explains, "I'm currently studying the sacrificial ritual practices of the tribal picts. I'm stingy, though, about people looking over my shoulder as I read." She cants her head...

"And I would have gladly told you if you simply asked."

A cringe, Bob clearly looks embarrassed. "It's not the first time my curiosity has gotten me in trouble. I'm always anxious to earn new things. Sacrificial rites of picts? Wow. Not exactly light reading. Also not Gourmet magazine. Are you also an anthropologist?" , Bob asks. "I didn't even know they sacrificed people. I mean, why do that? It's not nice."

Lyra snickers.

"Not nice? Civility hardly matters when your people believe it to be a matter of their own survival. Or, perhaps, the matter of proving a point to their enemies... And in some cases, believing that they could attain eternal life of a sort through sacrifice. Immortalization of the blood or some nonsense of the sort." The woman explains with dispassionate tone as she lets the book open, just a little more, to where it had previously been turned from.

The pages are utterly covered in the scrawl of the dead Pictish language, along with several pictures which seem more like diagrams. Guides, it would seem, on how to perform the rituals.

Some real historically accurate material.

"Many more cultures around the world sacrificed humans for some reason or another... You need only look at the Aztecs for more obvious proof."

A dubious look perches on Bob's face. "I suppose. I'm not for going down without a fight, but sacrificing. I don't know. Then again, I'm not the Picts, so who am I to say whether what they did was right or wrong. And you're right, Picts, Aztecs, and others. I don't know. I guess I am half the idealist I'd like to be, and twice the idealist others would like me to be. Ah well. The modern world is not the place for idealists I guess. Or at least, not for long.", he chuckles.

"You're a product of your time, as were they." Lyra replies with a clean candor as she turns the page... These two pages are just a slew of Pictish text.

"You don't have to be OK with sacrifice. Be as uncomfortable with the concept as you'd like to be, and it would be proper."

Bob nods, "You make a good point. We're all colored by our prejudices, especially by our generation. Besides it's not like anyone does sacrifice now days, right?" He is watching her response.

"There will always be those dark corners of the Earth where culture has not caught up to modernity." Lyra starts, "Papa New Guinea was a good example. Still indulging in cannibalism as a cultural cornerstone. I'm sure there's plenty of others... And perhaps, there are those freaks out there who still 'do' sacrifice human beings for the appeasement of some nebulous belief system they hold." She sets the book face down, and picks up her coffee to take a long drink... When it's set down? She shrugs.

"And whether or not those people are abhorrent is entirely up to the eye of the beholder."

Bob's head tilts a bit to the left, "Really? What do you think, if you were the beholder. Oh, there's a bad D&D joke in their somewhere.", he chuckles. "But, seriously, I am curious what you think. About sacrifices I mean."

"I think that the people who did them believed they were necessary." Lyra replies with the same candour, "In the face of the Roman invaders, for example... If you believe that a sacrifice of an enemy soldier will appeal to your war god and bring your people assured victory, wouldn't you do it? If I were faced with such an option, I don't think I would find myself hesitating the least bit." She leans forward, resting her chin on her palm as she regards him.

"To answer your question more directly: I think sacrifice is a 'very' sordid affair. Best left to antiquity, if you ask me."

OOC: Lyra lies, rolling for her lie, with Honeyed Tongue, which adds a success:

```

=================== Dice Roll ==============

Lyra rolls Manipulation + Subterfuge vs 4 for 8 successes. 2 +4 +4 +5 +6 +7 +8 +9 +9 ```

Bob attempts to detect if Lyra is lying, but Lyra has the Honeyed Tongue merit, and the dice are against Bob. Lyra suggest Perception + Empathy, except Bob does not have empathy. He could roll straight Perception, but they agree to hand wave that Bob fails, as he is unlikely to beat 9 successes.