Summary:Ambrose and Betty meet at a grocer in Brooklyn. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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Whyever Ambrose is in Brooklyn in the first place, one will never know.
Why he's at this particular little grocery store, however, has to do with a very specific type of candy preferred by his daughter. Kazimira had once stopped through and fallen in love with one of the 'retro' brands. He's over by the candy aisle, frowning at the broad selection, wearing a lightweight black windbreaker and jeans, these tucked into combat boots. Beneath the windbreaker, a dark-grey t-shirt with 'BEST DANIFF DAD' on it in white lettering.
"What in the bloody hell is 'Nerds'…?" mutters the silver-haired Jackal to himself, leaning in to peer at the collection of brightly-colored boxes.
"They're a tiny lil crunch candy that's a bit tart to that taste." A voice answers. Should he turn to look upon its origin, he'd find the dirty-blonde with braids and beads in her hair. She offers him a cherry stained smile, soft lipped and kind. This woman had doted on him as a pup and forced the nashing teeth of a beast off his body as a man. Now? She was standing there with a basket hanging on the crook of one arm, filling up with some odds and ends of foodstuffs.
"Ambrose, is it?" She questions before reaching out for the box labeled with the candy in question. The '80s neon hue of the whole thing is unmistakable.
A voice close nearby has the master-thief abruptly straightening and sliding a step away, kicking aside his borrowed handbasket with the impact of shin to the plastic wickering.
"I…see," he replies, his eyes still carrying their mote of Bane-glow trapped within dark pupil running down and up Betty as recognition catches up with him. To hear his first name used always throws him, a hangover in Victorian propriety and concern to those of mystical ilk. Still, he manages a faint smile.
"And yes, Miss…Brant," he decides. His voice takes on a nearly-melodic musing now. "Yes, I believe you were present for the Cwn Annwn at the Park. Ah, yes, with the staff." He snaps his fingers once, the sound crisp. "It remains an impressive relic."
"A gift from someone dear I can assure you." She explains, motioning toward the decorative hairpin in her locks. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I just thought…I'd help." Giving the box of candy a bit of a shake, it sounds as if objects rattle inside - gravel like and hard.
"Betty, please. It's only fair." Perhaps the idea of 'names and power' did mean something to her. At least it wasn't lost. "I'll leave you to your shopping, but I do have a question for you. If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Betty then," agrees Ambrose in turn. He slips his hands into his coat pockets and leaves his attention on her face. Her question has his silvery brows lifting. "A question, is it? I am no jinn or crossroads demon to ask after your soul or the like, so I suppose you may ask it. I reserve the right to answer it as I see fit."
He still wears the mild smile, just enough to tick up a dimple, as he stoops to get his basket. Might as well keep it out of reach of others who might trip on it — really more to take HIS STUFF in it, but he hasn't paid for the small collection of random items yet…old habits die hard.
Betty Brant quirks a brow before looking at the box of Nerds and putting them back on the shelf. At least he knew what they were now. Keeping some distance of the polite conversation variety, she offers him a fresh smile. Now her own dimples were showing. "You said we had met before that night. I'm not sure if that's true, though. I'd remember a face like yours. Would you care to tell me how we've met?"
A slow and deliberate nod follows the question. Ambrose's eyes half-lid contemplatively as he muses on how precisely to word his answer. He isn't supernaturally still, but far more composed than the average person on the street.
"You are too kind," he says firstly. "And here I thought my changed hair would be a detriment. I did speak the truth, however: we have met before…though I ask pardon for my caution in matters. Who gave you your staff then, Miss Brant?"
"I understand, but that still doesn't change the fact that I'd like to know. My," she pauses. "Past experiences have made me a touch paranoid. If someone knows about me, but I don't know about them? Well…that creates a warning in my head. I hope you can understand this."
"My Lord Fenris and his companion, Lady Astryd." She answers without hesitation or pause. There's even a sliver of affection and love in her voice as their names are spoken.
"Ah…hah." Now shows a bigger grin, absolutely boyish in passing, and a lessening of some subtle tension which had filled his body. "I wondered. I would not have won the bet with myself had I made it, but now I recognize their artistry. As to your paranoia, Miss Brant, you find yourself in excellent company." Appropriate emphasis includes a flick of brows.
"But you need not fear me. Our previous crossing came to no harm." A twinkle of pure cheeky amusement passes through his gaze before he asks, delicately, "Do you happen to remember a small canine interrupting your jog not so long ago…?"
"Dwarven made. As is my weaponry and armor. I'm blessed to be sure." She beams. As he continues to speak, she glances down the isle idly before returning her attention to Ambrose directly. She scoffs, "It's becoming habit to have my jogs interrupted by the magical and bizarre."
"Yes, I remember a lil pup. White fur. Pointedly /not/ Rosebud?"
"And pointedly not lost." Who else but the wearer of the collar would know what the back half of the tag said? Or, at least, someone directly involved with the large-eared jackal who absolutely threw a wrench into the whole affair — and was fed breakfast food to boot, which made his proverbial dog-day.
"Indeed, that was I. It behooves me to continue to be aware of the state of the Park itself. It is, after all, part of my territory," Ambrose explains without a hint of compunction for the term.
"It seems that apologies are to be made then. I didn't know I was trespassing." Reaching up, she tucks a few stray slips of hair behind the shell of her ear. "May I have your permission to pass through your park, sir?" With even strokes of teasing and sincerity, the woman waits for his reply.
Betty gets a measuring squint for just a second. The tease is enough to make him think better of replying, but she seems equally polite about the entire affair. As such, the Jackal merely lifts his chin a touch, his faltered smile returning.
"Yes, you have my permission." Ambrose too takes up a tone just a hair too theatrical to be entirely serious. "I was unconcerned about your presence, but the formality of the request is appreciated nonetheless. Please do beat anything troublesome with your staff as you come across it. You will be doing us all a favor."
"I'm sure I'm doing a few people a favor by doing that. I'll admit, I'm a bit…hungry for action. I need to test out my abilities and haven't had much chance to. Can't exactly practice magic very well when sitting at a desk, right?" She winks and even bubbles a soft giggle. "Anyway, thanks for letting me visit the park and thanks for letting me know where you'd seen me before." A beat, she glances around once more.
"I'm curious about that and you. Maybe we can grab a coffee sometime and talk?"
Ambrose nods agreement of the troubles of magical learning in a less than cooperative environment. "Indeed, practice is what makes perfect, if the old adage lies true." He wonders at being more clear about the territorial aspect of things, but in the end, decides to let it be. Let a rumor spread, it'll inflate his reputation all the more.
As to coffee: "I…do not see why not, though be aware that I value my privacy immensely, Miss Betty. However, that you are have proven connections to Lord Fenris and Lady Astryd remains reassuring. Name the time and day and I shall endeavor to be present. If I fail to show…" His mouth remains open for a second before he continues, on a resigned sigh, "Do know that it was not deliberate. I am a busy man oftentimes when I least expect it."