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Post by Tzelle on Jun 6, 2016 1:30:12 GMT
(This topic may open in the future; for now it is closed.)
In the corner of the convention hall, perhaps befitting its name, The Dustbin of History stood. It was an easy sort of thing to overlook, with a fairly plain sign, out of the way and out of the flow of traffic. Its function certainly contributed, too. In the midst of a busy convention, a book wasn't exactly going to be high priority. That was especially true of most of the books on the shelves behind the table functioning as a counter. There were half a dozen shelves, each covered with row upon row of history and non-fiction and biography. Interesting to their fans, but difficult to break into for most.
Well, most of them were. There was one bookshelf full of books that would appeal to dozens if not hundreds of the convention's participants. Books of mythology and folklore, dragons and monsters, fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Already there were a dozen holes on the shelves where books had been bought, and the owner had no doubt that dozens more would be gone by the end of the convention. It helped that many of the monsters in attendance were rather vain, or fancied themselves proper monsters in the few daays that they were here. Similarity sells, and judging by the booth owner's smile, it was selling rather well.
After all, it took a while to digest a pretty girl, and what better activity than to read a book while doing it?
Alfred "Al" Hul leaned back in a stretch, stretching his legs out in front of him at the same time. Sitting in that chair between customers wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, and he wanted to stay loose. The Main Event was still hours away, but he didn't want to have to take the time to limber back up while the game was afoot. He wore no fake costume, instead letting his natural fur pretend to be a facsimile of itself. He did keep his claws retracted, however. That was a little bit trickier to explain, though he was certain he could manage. He liked to say, when the occasion came up, that the easiest way to trust someone was never put them in a position where trust was required. He'd never have to lie if no one knew they were there, and the fewer lies he told the less likely he'd slip up. Even small ones added up. Simpler to keep it as few as possible.
The rest of his "costume" he couldn't really hid, nor did he want to. His eyes had the distinctive feline shape of the pupil. Nobody ever asked about that one, for some reason, but he could see it in their eyes, in their stances. Exotic mean attractive, in a place like this, and his eyes were exotic. The fur on his limbs looked real (because it was), but could be explained as costume arms and legs. His teeth could be explained as a mouth prop, but he preferred not to show them if at all possible. The rest of him looked just like a normal person, if tall and on the large, well-muscled side. That carried with it certain advantages beyond merely his curious features, and he shamelessly abused them whenever it pleased him.
Right this minute, however, Al was relaxing between visitors. The previous convention goer interested in his books had just left, so by his estimation he had a good fifteen minutes or so before the next wandered far enough to see him in the corner, and that suited him just fine. Hell, sometimes he preferred it to be even longer. The solitude suited him, unless he found someone he properly enjoyed talking to. That hadn't happened this year, yet. Usually, it was some dark-skinned raven-haired beauty that caught his eye, but this year he wasn't so sure. Something in the air made him feel like something different was in the cards this year.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 6, 2016 3:01:25 GMT
Greenish-blue eyes darted about with nervous, unsure flicks. Mirabelle stood in the entrance hall of the convention, the long sleeves of her light, cranberry-colored shirt tucked around her front with crossed arms. The weight of her sneak-clad feet shifted in a pair of form-fitting blue jeans that flared out at the bottom and two tiny silver barrettes depicting flowers with a tiny trail of beads hanging from them tucked back either side of her medium-length dark hair. A single silver necklace dangled just over the collar line of her top, depicting a winged sword, and a small worn bag was hanging over her shoulder, flopping slightly every time she shifted her weight in indecision.
To say that Mira felt out of place at the Monster Boy convention would have been the understatement of the year. When she had her first peek inside while waiting in a short line for a pass, she had half a mind to turn back around and walk straight out. She was several hours late from when the convention officially opened its doors. There were a lot of people---most of them costumed---and the entire place seemed to be bustling with endless chatter and activity. The sheer volume of sound (ranging from talking to music and more) echoing in from the main part of the building was enough to make her wish that she had brought aspirin in preparation for potential headaches.
It was beyond intimidating from the outside looking in.
Despite her dislike of crowds, however, she was still intrigued by what she saw while waiting in the entrance hall. Aside from some of the various hoodie-outfits and cheap knock-offs that were probably bought online, a lot of the costumes were... impressive. Right away, she was able to pick out a lot of different mythical creatures, ranging from centaurs and gryphons to nagas and satyrs. And there were even various beast costumes that she didn't even know how to classify with what she knew and learned about mythology and lore.
She was stunned. Was this really a convention created by and maintained by a bunch of young men? Mirabelle was startled by the amount of care and detail that appeared to have been taken not only with the outfits, but the convention setup as a whole. What she thought would be an absolute sleazefest of men trying to coerce women into various sexual situations turned out be different than she predicted. A lot of the women flitting about actually seemed to be having a really good time.
Mirabelle felt like she could actually get inspired from this from this strange, but alluring atmosphere. And lately, she had been struggling with new ideas for short stories that she wanted to explore. This seemed like it could really be her ticket to a few fresh ideas. She kept her notebook tucked under one arm as she purchased her pass, received a number, and stepped into what felt like a completely different world. Perhaps it wouldn't be something she would regret doing, after all.
That bright thought lit the feet of the young woman, carrying her further inside. She specifically avoided the most crowded areas, eyes scanning for something a bit more low-key where she could perhaps watch and take some notes.
And she found one. "The Dustbin of History", the sign read. It was far off in the corner, away from the clutter of con-goers. And the sight of the bookshelves had her feet moving in that direction before she was even fully conscious of it. Mira felt almost like this section of the convention was tailored right to her tastes. Potential writing material and reading material, well out of the general crowd and almost as far away from the boom of the music as anything in here could get. What more could she have asked for?
As she approached the corner booth, Mirabelle considered just planting herself down away from the person working there so as not to disturb them while jotting down some notes. (Or more to avoid interaction unless absolutely necessary, if she were being honest with herself.) But she found that her eyes were drawn to the man and the remarkably realistic costume that he was wearing. The colors complimented his skin tone very well and he had a very exotic look to him---like someone straight out of the middle east. He could have walked right out of the pages of a fantasy book.
Tearing her gaze away from him with a soft flush on her cheeks (gods, had she been staring?), she turned her attention to the shelves of fiction lined up, a few of the texts clearly having been already purchased. It would be... rude just to walk up and start picking at the books without saying anything, wouldn't it? She swallowed.
"Hello," she ventured as politely as she could, voice guarded. With her free hand, she gestured to the lines of books. "Mind if I take a look at your selections?"
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Post by Tzelle on Jun 6, 2016 3:34:38 GMT
His prediction was off. Well, one of them was. He saw her before she saw him, but after she saw his booth and started walking over. Feline eyes drank in her form, and what a form it was. To be fair, many of the women in attendance were fine examples, but he saw in this one what he craved: intelligence. It was in her eyes, it was in her decision to pick his booth, it was in the way she saw the books before she even saw him. Good, her priorities were in order. He'd have been interested no other way.
Mira realized she'd been staring, several seconds later. He affected a flattered smirk, easily practiced over decades. Unless her eyes could see far beyond his surface, she'd never know he'd played this game, danced this dance a hundred times over a hundred years. Her question was music to his ears. Yes, quite fine priorities. "By all means, look as long as you'd like, at what you'd like. History keeps many secrets, waiting only for the intrepid to unearth them. Perhaps you shall find some that tickles your fancy?" He gestures to the bookcase, particularly the one filled with folk and myth and magical creature. He took one risk, every year, and exactly one with his books. Buried deep in the various volumes, he knew for a fact that there was a picture of him as he appeared, identical save his clothes. Just one picture, on one page, in one book. None had found it yet, but the small thrill it afforded lent a genuine glow to his smile.
"I fancy myself a student of history, in case the books didn't give that away, in this, a convention more geared to costumes and flirting. But every once in a while, I can't help myself. Take whatever book you'd like. It's yours." It happened usually once a convention. Something about them, he couldn't stop himself. Didn't want to stop himself. This was the fifth time he'd given one away; three of the last four had shared a number with him. The fourth had lost hers, and joined the one marked for him in his belly.
He caught himself before a hand idly stroked his belly. No, save that for later, when there was something wiggling within. For now, restraint. It always made the hunt more satisfying. He could only hope, for now, that Mira shared a number with him. "In any case, may I have the pleasure of learning your name? I always like to introduce myself to potential customers, but rare is the beauty who's name I desire in return." He stood up and offered a regal bow, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. "My name is Alfred, but you can call me Al, if it pleases you." The glint in his eyes as he met hers was unambiguously interested.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 6, 2016 4:23:36 GMT
Truthfully, Mira could not help but be surprised by the man's demeanor. Although there were plenty of people manning booths around the convention that seemed genuinely interested in what they were doing or selling, she thought that the person stuck in charge of the books in the far corner would be the one looking the most bored and agitated with having to stay out of the hustle and bustle of the main area.
Instead, it seemed to be quite the contrary to her expectations. He seemed eager to show off the "wares", so to speak. His tone was pleasant and harbored what sounded like years of wisdom---matching the 'student of history', title that he favored for himself. And he certainly sounded like one. He had a manner of speaking that sounded almost straight out of a myth itself.
The offer of a book, however, took the young woman by even starker surprise. "Oh--that won't be necessary!" she assured him quickly, holding a hand up. "If I find something I like, I would be happy to pay for it."
As generous as the offer was, she felt like she had done nothing to earn it. And the responsible part of her insisted that a working girl should certainly pay for things that were meant to be purchased--especially back in a small niche like this booth was and far away from most wandering eyes. "Thank you for the offer, though," she added quickly, so as not to come off as prickly.
Oddly enough, she wasn't too bothered by his presence, even as he extended conversation further. In any other social situation, she would have given maybe a short nod and perused what she came for while gradually putting distance between herself and the other. But she had something in common with him that made him feel less invasive than most--plus, the intelligence glimmering in his almost feral-looking eyes was unmistakable. He wasn't really what she would consider unpleasant company.
"Ah, my name is Mirabelle Riverstone," she responded to his request, one hand raising to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. It was a little difficult not to trip over her words when he had such a grand and almost theatrical way of introducing himself. Was this part of an act? If it was, he was clearly well-practiced in it. She wasn't entirely sure how to handle this. A little pink in the cheeks, she amended, "Or just Mira, if that's less of a mouthful. Nice to meet you, Alfred." After a beat, she chuckled, looking away from the rather captivating luster of his eyes. "I admit that when I came back here, I didn't think the person working would actually be interested in the books or mythology. Kind of a pleasant surprise."
Perhaps taking a day off of work to attend wasn't as poor of a decision as she originally thought.
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Post by Tzelle on Jun 6, 2016 5:22:54 GMT
No, it most certainly wasn't as poor of a decision as she originally thought. It was far, far poorer, but Al had no desire nor intent to ruin the illusion just yet. His eyes flashed with intense interest when she told him her name. "Ahhh, belle nom, Mirabelle. La plaisir es pour moi. Please, I insist. Take whatever book catches your eye. How could I charge for the gift of knowledge? I harbor no such arrogance." He stood up, stretching his legs from sitting so long. He wore no shoes, his feet looking for all the world like those of a massive feline. Another part of himself he didn't bother to hide. If anything, it made him more believable as a costume, giving a reason for his significant height. "I hope you don't mind if I use your full name? It's a beautiful name, and a shame to hide its beauty behind convenience."
Her own voice stirred in him feelings he felt only on occasions such as this convention. There was attraction, but there was also hunger. He craved this woman already, her presence, her very interest in his wares and knowledge marking her as his without any scent or sign. This was the first time it had happened so early, and it was also the first time he'd felt it so keenly. She had to have his number, she had to. And if she didn't... well, people lost their numbers all the time.
"Now, Mirabelle, I think you'll find my interest more than adequate for this booth. Tell me, do you have a favorite? No, no... let me guess. You strike me as a Renaissance girl." He stepped over to the bookcase next to her, the one with books already taken and bought, and picked out one in particular. Paradise Lost. "Ahh, here we are. A classic." He reached to Mira and took her hand, pressing the book into it. "Here. My gift to you." It wasn't the one with his picture in it, sadly, but his intuition demanded it be this book in particular.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 6, 2016 6:32:12 GMT
This man was just full of surprises, it seemed. He spoke french, too? She couldn't hide the widening of her eyes at the revelation. Despite being of half french descent, herself, she grew up in the states and didn't even speak the language fluently. However, she knew enough to infer what he was saying. It was always rather funny to her how many people mentioned that the name Mirabelle was very nice or pretty, when she never felt that it suited a plain and mundane girl like herself.
"Merci," she replied softly with a shy nod of acceptance for the compliment nonetheless. He was still speaking in that grandeur that made her feel like she had stepped into a novel. Mira wondered how he was able to keep it up so effortlessly.
...It must have been for the sake of the convention atmosphere or his booth in general, but even so, the silky manner of speaking was pleasing to the ears without coming off as too cheesy. Though that could have been his voice in general---there was an almost mystical quality to it. And now that he was standing, he was... taller than she anticipated. And his costume clearly went beyond the top half. Her eyes were briefly drawn to the cat-like boots that he wore and the life-like tail prop behind him.
"You can use my full name, if you prefer," she acquiesced, eyes raising to his face again. She didn't really mind, since he appeared to be so taken with it. As for the books, though... Her eyes turned back to the shelf she had been glancing at. "I don't think it's arrogant to charge for them. You're way back here in the corner and sales probably aren't that plentiful without the traffic, are they?"
She definitely wasn't about to question the depth of his interest in books and lore at this point. Mirabelle felt that her own knowledge probably didn't stand for even a fraction of what he knew. He had clearly been really invested in this for some time. And she was visibly impressed by what he could determine about her interests without knowing her. She blinked several times, a little bit of warmth rushing into her cheeks again. "I am pretty interested in the---" Mirabelle didn't quite get to finish before he was plucking a book from the shelves and subsequently taking her hand to place the text into it. Her flush grew darker as she stiffened from the contact. She flicked her eyes to the book in some effort to keep them from darting everywhere in the room. "Er---Paradise Lost?" Definitely something she had not read before, but she always welcomed a new story. Still flustered, Mira had to compose herself before she could speak again, taking a measured step back to give herself space to breathe. "If--if you're really sure, then thank you." It didn't honestly seem like he would take no for an answer at this point, anyway. "I've been looking for something new to read, anyway. Is it a... favorite of yours?"
As awkward as Mirabelle was with situations like this, she was pleased to have an opportunity to talk to someone else about these interests. Sometimes the internet just didn't cut it.
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Post by Tzelle on Jun 7, 2016 21:17:47 GMT
Mirabelle's awkwardness, perceived and real, was something that enhanced her attractiveness, not detracted from it. Al loved the ones that weren't entirely sure of themselves. There was a foundation there, potential to be built off of. She was certainly on the path that kind of self-realization as it was, if her thirst for knowledge had brought her into his portion of the convention. In time, Mirabelle could blossom into a strong, confident, and capable woman in her own right.
It was almost a shame that the odds were good that she'd never leave the convention. At least, not if Al had any say in it. She had piqued his interest, and that was a dangerous thing for an attractive, intelligent woman.
"I think 'favorite' is the wrong term. It is a powerful book, full of myth and legend, God and demon. You strike me as the type who would enjoy it." If you get the chance, he didn't say. His lips quirked into a pleasant grin. "If you want more than that, feel free to pay, but this one is my gift to you. Read it, enjoy it, learn from it."
The sphinx's stomach rumbled, possibly loud enough for Mirabelle to hear it. He checked the watch he wore on his left wrist, and grimaced at the time. It was largely a showpiece, but a useful one. "Oh my, where are my manners? I've kept you past lunch." Surely enough, it was nearly 1:30 in the afternoon. But she'd approached before noon! Surely it hadn't been that long? He offered her a furred hand. "I hope you don't think it forward of me to ask if you'd like to find lunch?" His smile was practically intoxicating, but he resisted spinning the charms that would have her wrapped around his finger. It was so much more fulfilling to snare a beautiful girl with his wits and wiles than it was with spell and sorcery.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 8, 2016 1:36:21 GMT
Coincidentally, Mira always had trouble seeing herself as someone with potential. She generally felt more like she fit in the position of cleaning up other people's problems and mistakes. Perhaps it came from being the older, responsible sibling in her household, but she never really felt like she was strongly walking forward in any one direction of her own.
Directions in general seemed unclear to the young woman. There were just too many and each decision weighed heavily on her conscience when it was about her own path, oddly enough. That was why she wrote fiction---multiple directions in stories could always be explored and she did not have to feel held back by her own shortcomings. Doors opened left and right with ideas. And likewise, books and literature were a great thing to lose herself in under that same idea of exploration and branching out in a controlled environment.
She was intrigued by this man that called him Alfred Hul, though. It wasn't unusual, especially in her college years, to come across other studious men and women who took their work and general academic paths very seriously. But there was something to Alfred that didn't quite fit that mold. While he spoke like someone ages beyond their years, there was a quality to it that almost seemed to imply experience beyond her complete understanding. There was something deeper, something... she could not quite put her finger on, but it was alluring in the strangest way. He was unlike anyone she had met before.
"It does sound like something I would enjoy," she agreed with his assessment, the workings of a smile lifting the corners of her lips. She looked down at the book again, running a hand over the cover. "I appreciate it, thank you. I'll take good care of it."
She would probably even have time here to read, more than likely. That was part of the reason she meandered back here in the first place. It was away from the crowds, had books, and looked like a good spot to get lost in her thoughts for awhile. And Mirabelle was prepared to take her leave to do that before she heard the tell-tale grumbling of an unfed stomach. "Oh." She blinked. Was it that late already? She did arrive here long after the doors opened, but maybe she had lost track of time. "It's fine, I--" Mira fell short with her response when he offered her a hand. She had to take a moment to marvel again at how real the fur looked before she met his eyes.
Part of her felt the need to politely refuse his offer so she could safely return to her bubble of solitude. But... while she did not come here with any real interest in socializing, she was again reminded of how different Alfred was. And he wasn't by any means unpleasant company. Perhaps... it didn't hurt just to give it a try?
After a brief hesitation, she gingerly put her hand in his. It was large and warm, and the fur was as silky and smooth as it had looked. "All right," she spoke in a soft tone that still carried a measure of anxiousness in its depths. She could feel the heat flocking to her cheeks. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get something to eat. Sounds like you need it more than me, though." The last bit had just a light hint of teasing to it.
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Post by Tzelle on Jun 13, 2016 2:44:14 GMT
Mirabelle's quip didn't go without a response. He grinned, flashing teeth that looked subtly... off, in a way that's difficult to describe. They're concealed again before too long, and Al doesn't dwell. "That's the spirit. I find it bothersome to leave the convention, even though the food court here is woefully overpriced. Let's make our way over there to start, see if anything catches your fancy." He didn't mention, nor would he until much, much later, that he had already found the morsel he desired most.
With her hand in his, he led her away from his booth and back out into the hustle and bustle of the convention. He kept close to her, not letting go of the hand she'd graciously offered. When the larger, more ornate costumes went by, he would hold her hand a little closer, drawing her subtly closer to him. It was a possessive gesture he was only peripherally aware of, and one that might have been missed entirely by his companion. Even if she did notice, it would be easy to explain away as playing the part, protecting her from these monstrous beings.
The food court opened up before them, dishes peddled by a dozen different cultures in a dozen different varieties. He himself was partial to the Mediterranean cuisine. With monsters from every corner of the world represented, it only made sense that several of them would bring their favorite (non-human) foods. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how many people attended this convention, with the most visible or most sociable being a tiny minority in the crowds. "Does anything look good to you? I think I could go for a gyro. Not exactly home, but close enough to taste." He smiled at her, still keeping her hand in his. "The book was my gift to you. Lunch... well, it might depend on what you get," he chuckled, looking over one hand-written menu with dollar amounts in the double digits for what looked like fast food size portions.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 13, 2016 7:07:17 GMT
Mira was starting to second-guess her decision a little. And it wasn't because of Alfred, necessarily. Rather, her own self-consciousness was weighing down on her and not letting her heart rate calm down. When had she ever accepted an invitation like this from anyone, much less someone she had only just met?
Was she going crazy because of this atmosphere? The responsible and impeccably careful part of her was all but screaming at her for taking such a wild and spontaneous plunge - especially in a place like this. But to turn back now would be horribly rude after she had already accepted. What a dilemma...
Swallowing down her inner misgivings, she darted her eyes around the convention center and tried not to think about the fact that her hand was nestled securely within his. Would these con-goers notice and infer that the two of them were dating or something? Another rush of heat and nervousness doused her over at the thought. She tried to concentrate instead on following his lead with a few curt nods, letting herself be guided for the time being. And although Mirabelle was by no means someone who needed to be looked out for, it was a strangely nice change of pace. Usually she was the one in those shoes, taking the dutiful "big sister" role.
The food court was... surprisingly vast. She hadn't really expected more than a few over-priced and haphazardly thrown-together stands. Yet this looked more like an international fest of foods. With his prompting, her eyes turned from the slew of dishes she was certain she had never even heard of, and focused on his. "There's... a lot to choose from. I haven't even heard of most of these." She was a little embarrassed of her lack of knowledge in this area, but with the mention of money, she instantly shook her head. "No, I can definitely pay for myself. If you don't mind giving an opinion, though... is there anything simple you would recommend?" She had breakfast before coming here, so her stomach wasn't exactly aching for a lot of food yet. And as much as she didn't like relying on others, he definitely seemed to have more knowledge of the cuisine here than she did. Meals at home were relatively simple and nutritious. She had never been that adventurous with foods. This might as well have been another world to her.
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Post by Tzelle on Jun 21, 2016 4:40:05 GMT
Mira's awkward innocence came out more and more every moment. Al could tell without even his gifts that it was entirely genuine, too. That was rare in the best of times, and the world wasn't experiencing the best of times just any old day! It drew him in, made him want the main event to start ever sooner. But he still resisted, especially so close.
"I must admit I have a particular fondness for the foods of my youth. Here, these ones." He guided her toward a particular vendor selling some sort of kebab. There were a number of different kinds, with different meats and vegetables and fruits along the length of the skewer. He struck up a casual conversation with the peddler in an exotic language, the two seeming to know each other in passing. The peddler seemed to have a sort of feline grace about him, too. "He was here last year," he explained to Mira, at her curious glance, "and we share a country of birth. Even though our birthplaces are separated by hundreds of miles, somehow the lines drawn on a map make countrymen of us all." He pointed out a particular variety of kebab. "This one is my personal favorite, and I daresay there's nothing simpler in concept than a stick with a piece of meat on it."
He purchased a couple for his own appetite, and suggested Mira do the same. While he tugged out his wallet, a slip of paper fell from his pants pocket. A number was written on it in plain script. The significance of the number might be lost on her, but the fact that it matched one she had received herself surely would not be. He noticed the 'accidental' slip a few moments later, reaching down to pick it up and slip it back into his pocket. He made no mention of it; let her bring it up herself, and see what she thought. Was it coincidence? Would she think about it like it was?
Her reaction was something he was interested in seeing. It would inform his pursuit of her in the hours to come. Would she kick and scream and lash out, or would she run until there was nowhere left to run? Would she struggle until there was nothing left of her, or would she give up and enjoy what little time she had left? Would he have an opportunity to toy with her, or would his fun be cut short? So many questions he had to answer, to get to know her so intimately in such a short amount of time. It was difficult, but the difficulty was rewarding with his favorite meal of the year.
He tried to keep his thoughts from drifting to her taste and temperament. It was exceedingly difficult, knowing the convention's true purpose, to keep himself focused on enjoying the convention for the facade it presented. But he had to keep up appearances, for both her sake and the sake of everyone else here who wasn't privy to that information just yet. If word got out too early, the hunt wouldn't be nearly as fun.
And that would be just.... terrible.
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Post by Chammy on Jun 21, 2016 23:10:24 GMT
She took in the sight of the kebobs with curious eyes, noting the different meats and vegetables that were pierced upon each. There was something like them on the menu at the restaurant that she worked at, but it wasn't nearly as exotic--or as appetizing from the looks of it, if she were being honest. "It looks really good," she said with sincerity, a small smile on her lips.
And she might have said a little more, if not for Alfred engaging in an impromptu chat with the vendor of the foods. Her mouth fell open slightly as she watched the two of them converse---very fluently in a language that she didn't recognize at all. But it was very pleasant to listen to. Mira had been so drawn into their exchange of words and thoughtlessly staring that she had to snap back into reality when Alfred once again spoke to her. "O-oh? Really?" She looked between them. Now that he mentioned it, she could see some subtle similarities between them. It wasn't hard to imagine that they came from the same area. "That's great. It's nice that you can find people from your country in a place like this." It did seem like a pretty diverse gathering, from what she had gathered just by looking around a little in the time she had been here.
As he bought a lunch of his own, she followed suit to purchase the kebob that had caught her eye and handed the vendor some money to pay for it. But before the food could be handed over in exchange, she saw something fall from Alfred's pocket and onto the floor. Without really thinking, her eyes darted down to it, Mira herself preparing to duck down and pick it up for him.
But the young woman stopped short, her greenish eyes widening slightly. There was a number plainly printed in large text on the slip of paper. And with just that glance, she instantly knew that it was the same number that she was wearing. She remembered the one she had been given. And considering all of the different numbers she had seen upon the other women attending the convention, it gave her pause. What was the likelihood that he was simply carrying around a random paper with the number she had been instructed to wear? Were they to be in a group or pair for some kind of event?
Before she could think any further on it, he had nonchalantly picked the paper back up and pocketed it. And Mira abruptly realized that she had left the vendor waiting, holding the kebob she paid for out patiently for her to take. "Sorry!" she apologized immediately and with a little more volume than intended. Flushing in embarrassment, she gingerly accepted the vegetable and meat hybrid kebob with one hand and she tucked her coin purse back into her bag with the other. "Thank you very much."
Silly, she thought. It was just a little slip of paper with a number. It might not have any significance whatsoever. Spinning on foot to face the opposite way, she bit into the kebob, eager to distract herself and hide her face long enough for the warmth in it to subside.
At least the vendor hadn't seemed offended by her zoning out. Though now a part of her couldn't help but wonder if Alfred knew that the number he was carrying matched hers and if he might know what it meant. This wasn't his first time to the convention, after all. But that seemed like an awfully random thing to ask out of the blue, didn't it? He obviously hadn't meant to drop it.
"It's really good," she told him with a glance from over her shoulder, indicating the kebob she had sampled. "Thanks for the recommendation."
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Post by Tzelle on Jul 25, 2016 5:53:34 GMT
Al doubted Mira realized how quickly everything had happened, from the paper hitting the floor to back in his pocket. It was endearing, really, how flustered she got when the man had only been holding the kebab out to her for all of half a second. The man caught Al's eye, an unspoken question passing between them. When Al merely returned it with a smirk, the man had to suppress a grin. The incident had not gone unnoticed among one of his own kind, after all. The timing being just a little bit "off" was something that happened with Sphinxes, almost as a matter of course.
He turned back to Mira, leading her to a seat in the food court to enjoy their meal. "I'm glad you like it! It's rare to find it prepared properly in this part of the world, but I would go out of my way to find it." Al dug in, devouring the simple meal with gusto, savoring here and there. He actually had to slow himself to avoid finishing too quickly! He yearned to speak more with Mirabelle. Yearned it enough, in fact, that he rather hoped she didn't check her watch for the time. It'd be terribly inconvenient to explain why the time was still 1:30 when they'd departed from his booth what felt like many minutes ago. He may be twining their fates together with wit and charm, but it never hurt to make sure he had that extra time to do so, and it was so convenient.
"So, Mirabelle, we've spoken of myths and legend," had they? It certainly felt like they had, but she couldn't quite place when they'd had the time, "and a little bit about me." Once again the words rang true. They must have. How else would she know where he grew up? But the actual conversation itself eluded her memory. It'd be impossible to know that they had spoken, at length. A quirk of his magic, but human minds simply couldn't handle so much time crammed into so little time. She'd be able to recall the information just fine, but how she got it would be fuzzy. Nothing at all that she'd be able to connect with him, though. How could she, even if she recognized what was going on? No more than one in a hundred million would even notice, fewer still would be able to wrestle through it on instinct. "Now, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself?"
And all around the two of them time stopped for them to speak without any interruption at all.
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Post by Chammy on Jul 25, 2016 7:08:48 GMT
Mira was still a mite flustered, hiding it as best she could through sampling the kebob she had purchased. She followed Alfred's lead without hesitation and seated herself to continue nibbling on the food in hand. It was very good---each bite seemed even more enjoyable than the last. "It's impressive," she complimented again. "I didn't really think they would have a diverse selection of foods here. Conventions are kind of notorious for having expensively-priced cheap foods." Granted, she had seen at least a few hot dog and hamburger stands, but there was a wider array of choices than she expected to see. They really put a lot into planning this.
She took another small bite as Alfred spoke and her brows furrowed together for a sparse moment. They had definitely spoken of that at some point. She could remember doing so, but oddly enough, the length of words exchanged and the point when they had done so was evading her. And Mirabelle thought that she had a decent memory, at the very least. Maybe the convention itself was getting to her somehow? After all, there was constant background noise, be it chatter or music pulsing from all the way on the far left end. But she was pretty certain that she remembered what they spoke about. Why couldn't she remember when? They hadn't known each other long. There were only a few times it could have been.
So why was she drawing a blank?
Alfred's following question effectively distracted her for the time being. With the focus put on her, she resisted the urge to point at herself as if to say 'Me? Really?' and instead twirled the remaining half of her kebob. "There's not much to---I mean, my life must be pretty boring compared to yours." And she still couldn't quite remember how she learned about his in the first place, which gave her mild pause for a moment before she continued. "I live locally. Oldest sibling of three. And I majored in Literature at the University. Aside from that, I work part-time in a restaurant not too far from here---Big Igg's, nothing fancy." She wasn't used to talking about herself, which was probably apparent from the way that Mira's eyes kept darting around. It was awkward to talk about herself and her life. "First time at one of these types of events," she continued slowly. "I thought I might get some interesting story ideas."
Eager to take the focus off of her, she gestured with her free hand toward him. "This isn't your first time to one of these types of gatherings, right? What keeps you coming back?"
It didn't seem to be solely for the book selling, considering how few people were even likely to head back that far into the corner. But he seemed perfectly at ease even in these more crowded areas, too. She wondered what else he dipped into in the convention.
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Post by Tzelle on Jul 26, 2016 0:35:43 GMT
Al entirely missed the signs of her budding recognition, the furrowed brow, the momentary distraction. His hubris (and there was quite a bit of it) meant that the thought she might see through his subtle magic weavings never even occurred to him as a real possibility. It was a passing fancy, an amusing thought to dwell on for half a second and then dismiss forever. Then he was distracted by the conversation in earnest, putting all of the attention he had to spare on her words that he wasn't using to maintain the magic around them. As long as he wasn't moving or exerting himself, he could keep this up pretty much indefinitely. Time would progress or cease progressing as it was convenient for him. And right now, it not progressing was most attractive an option.
She spoke, and he drank it up. He dug further. "I hear mention of siblings, but no mention of parents. Do you head the household?" He tried to couch the question politely, but there was no avoiding the implied question about whether her parents were still alive. "I can sympathize. It takes immense strength to shoulder the burdens of not only yourself, but of your kin."
Her questions were easy to answer. "No, it most certainly is not the first time I've been to a gathering like this. I find myself enjoying the crowd, but for some reason this crowd appeals to me more than any random gathering. Where else would one find such enthusiastic interest in the myths and legends from which great tales are spun?" He pauses for a moment, and pretends to try not to smile. "And perhaps I had the sense that if I kept coming, I'd find someone who deserves my full attention."
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