prismatica | 02 | Video | For Those Who Think Sanguis

( Oh, he doesn't need any extra confidence. He already has her on his post offering company! But that little laugh has her smile gentling further, seeming to let go of whatever she'd been wrestling with to an excited little yap behind the camera. You're just fine as you are, Don. Plenty handsome. )

Well, don't think me dissuading you. It would make it significantly easier than explaining the basics to new faces all the time. Someone did start an informational post once before, at least. But it only touched on a few aspects.

( She'll attach the link to the post to her message. )

And it would be no trouble at all. We can try to find some clothes for you after, hmm? I think drinks and company in turn are payment enough.

My name is Angela; I have the free clinic on the beach you'll probably hear of eventually. Do you know how to send your location over the devices? There should be a displayed little flag in the top right corner and it will ask if you want to share it with me. I'm on level 1 so it may take about 45 minutes to show up, assuming you're in the provided flats in level 2.

[Interesting. Living on level one? Also gosh she's cute. About damn time. He relaxes and offers her a cocky grin. His expression goes serious as he reads the post.]

...Interesting.

[Book's still a good idea. He's not really an author but he could find someone to do it. And Market the book. Draper Advertising could use a PR firm. His smile is cocky and self assured.]

Angela. My name's Don.

[Level one. That's the goal. He sends her his location before nodding.] I've got a few nice restaurants on my block if that's your interest, but I could also meet you at my apartment before going out. I have whiskey, scotch, gin...

( In a mansion no less; she's been here for a year now and hasn't been shy in what it takes to earn money, even if money had never been the goal. She's a bleeding heart always out to help others, no matter what.

Also, you know, half-demon beaus. Who the house had been originally purchased by. But they're gone from this place, as many who she's known are, and now it just... belongs to her and her last housemate, and her little pup. Needless to say, all the extra space doesn't really suit her. )

Like I said, it only covered a couple of topics. But people are clearly in need of the information from our perspective, here. Most don't absorb the lecture we get on arrival when everyone is quite understandably disoriented. And it's very nice to meet you, Don.

Are you sure you're feeling up to going out? I promise my pasta isn't that bad. ( She's only recently started learning to cook, but she caught on quickly enough once she was shown how to improvise, which most recipes seemed to call for. Less science and more feel— well, it wasn't really her thing. ) And I'm not too picky; liquor is liquor.

( She prefers her white russians just for the taste, but that's because alcohol does next to nothing for her with her inherent healing; such is life when you're teeming with nanites. She'll accept hospitality when it comes and simply be glad he doesn't try to offer her wine. )

But you'll have time to decide before I'm knocking on your door.

( He'll be able to watch her fold aside blankets she'd nested in and shed her hanten before the feed switches to audio; she can keep him on the phone for conversation while she gets her coat and boots on and sets out. )

[Don relaxes at that. It's kindness. He buries the brief thought of his wife - because that's just the kind of thing Birdy'd do - but she's gone.

His expression doesn't waiver in the slightest but fatigue hits him hard.]

...Actually. Eating in sounds great.

[Eating out does too. Don isn't picky when it comes to women. He's learned from the best.]

Maybe I'm overestimating my energy saying go out. I do have a pretty full liquor cabinet.

[He slumps] You said you were sanguis right? ...Is it this hard?

( The fatigue is expected; especially when he was already asking for moonlacing as brusquely as he had. He hadn't looked as if he were feeling well. Sanguis took a lot out of people when they weren't quite prepared for it, if it decided to hit hard. It seems it had about knocked him flat, at that.

Coat on, boots zipped, and he'll hear her door closing behind her and the click of heels on the hard ground, smile in her tone. It isn't long before she reaches transport between the levels and boards, emerging some minutes later on level 2. )

I thought it might sound a touch more inviting.

( He can take her on a proper date another day, if he wishes to try. A nice dinner and fancy lighting and an ocean view. Perhaps surprisingly, she'd be fine with purple drinks and lukewarm MREs and sand in her face just the same. Truly, she's easy. But when he asks after Sanguis, he'll hear that same light tone turn to something empathetic. Never sympathy, she doesn't deal in that— but she feels for him as her voice softens to something almost soothing. )

I did, and I am; and... it can be. It's overwhelming, the honed senses— and it can be incredibly exhausting if you can't get a handle on the aggression and other urges. But it's no different if you were one of the others. Cordis has their vices in indulgence and burn through chroma the fastest, and Iris is just... neverending desire. I would call it the hardest, perhaps. Iris-blessed are the most debilitated when it's "bad".

[He makes note of all of those mentally. Iris and Cordis especially. Finn is Iris and this Cordis moon sounds intriguing. The sort of people - if he were a lesser man - he could take advantage of.

Who the hell was he kidding.]

I should warn you my apartment's still sort of in a state of disrepair. I threw out the table that came with the place and am...hoping to replace it.

You're a doctor. How does the moon pick this kind of thing? I never thought of myself as...bear-like.

( He may yet get his chance, if he establishes some sort of marketing foothold here. But most Moonblessed who consider businesses here do more practical, immediately-satiating sorts. No advertising needed. The Prismals talked up the locations plenty on their own, excited about free clinics and new restaurants with alien fare and other assorted little shops and venues— it was a touch too much, sometimes. )

I was a combat medic volunteering my skills before arriving here; I can assure you it won't be nearly as bad as a warzone. What did the table do to offend you?

( He mentions her profession as if it'd give her any additional insight to the lunar magics of this place and she suppresses a little laugh, and he can't see the way she shakes her head. )

I'm afraid I haven't the slightest, nor does anyone here. Some traits suit and most don't, I've found. I'm sure there's some sort of energy balance at work, seeing as we sometimes change which moon we're influenced by. I thought myself adequate for Iris and could at least justify "being a deer"— I suppose that sort of gentle demeanor would match my own. But now that I'm Sanguis... I don't think I ever would have pegged myself as an aggressive or volatile sort, nor would I have ever aligned myself with a wolf. The amalgam of sheep traits makes slightly more sense, though.

If there is to be a way to come to terms with it... I suppose I could call myself ferocious on behalf of my patients. But even that is... a stretch.

( Hmm, is this it? She thinks she's at his door, if the location address was correct. Knock knock! She's in a smart ivory peacoat with a small bag in hand like to contain the pasta she'd mentioned, and a little first aid kit, in case anything else has gone unmentioned. Can't say she isn't prepared for anything. )

[Don for his part has tried to clean up. The place is picked up but when he opens there are a few strands of hair instead of his unkempt look and despite looking like death warmed over he takes her in with visible interest. she's given him food for thought however. Why a bear?

Maybe it's Sanguis's way of trying to remind him that he's stronger when he's himself - more confident and more self assured when he's able to embrace his abilities and skill and desire. That he's able to stand up against adversity, but that he's also capable of doing an ungodly amount of damage.

When she stands in the doorway he takes her in - trying to be polite despite the sheer physical exhaustion.]

What's up Doc.

[He smirks to himself, but it falls.]

I ought to get myself a carrot. C'mon in.

[He's not going to apologize for any little bit of mess.] Can I get you a drink?

( Don't worry, Don— she won't be paying much attention to your apartment. Her interest will rest solely on him and on seeing him feeling better, sure he's low on chroma after what seems to have been a difficult week for him. A hot meal and a bit of overt tactility between strangers will see him back on his feet in no time.

And she clearly doesn't mind his eyes scanning down her; he'll see the hint of a sweaterdress beneath the peacoat and bare legs beneath, with knee-high boots on a short heel. Warm, comfortable— but nothing too intricate. She offers him a smile that goes a little blank to his mention of a carrot— not only is she from another country entirely, she's a hundred years his senior. Or is it junior, when she's significantly "younger"? She doesn't know Bugs Bunny, but she recognizes it's some sort of joke, at least. )

Well, so long as it isn't an apple. I wouldn't be able to come near you.

( She'll take the invitation with ease and step right in, reaching down to unzip and ease off her boots to be polite and revealing knee-high socks beneath, padding right into his living room to— ah, right. He said he tossed the table. She'll glance around for any sort of breakfast bar or kitchen counter to go set her bag on and produce the promised pasta, then start poking around the cabinets below for a skillet. )

It's nice to meet you, Don. And a drink would be lovely; whatever you happen into, I'm not picky. I wasn't sure you'd have any milk so I brought a bit by to reheat the pasta with.

( With the necessary items laid out, she'll leave them for the moment and turn back to him, considering. He seemed all right, when he'd opened the door, but he had asked her to take a look at him. Was he hurt after all...? The first aid kit in her hand seems to indicate she worries about it regardless. )

You never did tell me the mystery of the table, you know.

[He panicked and threw it into the wall. Frowning, he looked away because - Pasta. Human kindness. Stifling a yawn, he moves to a cupboard up above his small cooking area and pulls out a bottle of whiskey.]

...Rampaging bear attack. I have no idea who might have been responsible.

[He's teasing nearly stumbling as he drops a hand to the counter. He can shuffle his way through this, setting it down very carefully with a weak laugh. Pasta's a reminder of home.

Jesus. This place was supposed to be full of freedom. And it's not looking like he'd get back anytime soon.]

( Did you at least hang a nice tapestry over the damage to the wall, Don?? Also, she warned you about the pasta! No breakdowns allowed in front of new friends.

Or do, she's not the boss (yet). As she surmised, however, he probably needs a hot meal and some good rest, and the chroma would do nothing but help. Except he's stumbling and having to catch himself on the counter, and she certainly hadn't smelled alcohol on him when she walked in, so... Buddy.

That's her hand at his arm with a firm grip just above his elbow, her side bumping to his as she faces him. Don't mind those baby blues wide with worry beneath the pinch of her brows; she's trying not to ask. )

I see no bears in sight; must have been a freak accident. Come now, let's get you sitting down and let me have a look at you first. I can get the drinks after. Are you hurt...?

( Oops, she asked. )

[So he's slightly drunk.

By a hair. Just a little bit but that's what happens when you spend a weak furry and trying to navigate claws. Staring down at her he smiles weakly .]

Just my pride. and a little bit of annoyance. At ripping apart furniture and having a time of the month.

[Gosh she's pretty. He's always had a thing for blondes. (and brunettes, and redheads - but mostly blondes.) and blue eyes. One hand moves to her face, gently, but she could probably dodge it. He's trying for gentleness.]

I'm terrible with housekeeping. That's a bit left over from last week. I've been trying to get my foot in the door with some of the local businesses.

[Doesn't leave him a lot of time to. Sleep. Or do things. You work hard. That's how he rolls]

( Bad boy, Don. Don't make your new doctor worry!! But so long as the stumbling is from that and not absolute exhaustion, she won't scold him too terribly once she's close enough to smell it on his breath. He's got her hook line and sinker with that weak little smile, and if she notices she's been looked down on for any reason other than their significant height difference, she doesn't show it. It wouldn't be the first time or the last, and she isn't nearly so easy to offend.

The "time of the month" joke gets an easy little laugh from her, at least. )

Well, I hear those heal with time. And furniture is an easy replacement, here. Have you tried the panel by the door? You can place orders for things and they'll be outside your door in the morning, if you're truly mourning your table.

( With the reach of his hand, though, she tips her face up and doesn't move, allowing him to touch as he pleases. She's always been tactile, and besides; she came over knowing he would need a bit of tactility for whatever it is he's recovering from. He had asked outright. Her being here was consent enough and she'll cover his hand to press her cheek into, inviting him to stay put. )

I'll clean up my own mess then, promise. I have manners. What businesses are you looking into?

( Don't mind the way she rests her other hand against his arm and settles into an ease stroke, offering up more moonlacing in something soothing. )

[He has always been a tactile man when it comes to women. Women touch and heal, women are kind. They're delicate creatures while men are rough and tumble animals. Women touch him and heal him and love him and he feels better because they fix him.

Here though, where his body has been touched by those stupid stupid moons her touch is actually healing. His own exhaustion slowly starting to lift, his thumb strokes her cheek gently. Ever so gently.]

Advertising. This place is pretty plainspoken but there's always room to get people...excited.

[He continues to move his thumb slowly, sliding it back to her ear and her hair.]

I want to get people as excited as I feel looking at this. This place. The people. It's beautiful. It's a futuristic Kaleidoscope, showing people a thousand and one different patterns and ideas. Like seeing a thousand one futures for anyone to choose.

[He pauses before his chest rises and falls.]

I think I could use a little personal attention Doc.

( His touch is a sweet little thing, brushing along the softness of her face like she's precious when he's only just met her, but isn't that the thrill of this place? Sometimes people just click and it's socially accepted to just... reach out and take someone's hand. If she can help him to feel even a little better, to feel on the verge of being fixed— she will step in that much closer and let her other hand rest on his waist instead, in the very beginnings of an embrace.

Advertising to get people excited, is it? You have her attention. And her smile warming to his fingers in her hair, worn down in waves lately instead of styled, so it makes it a touch easier for him to do so as her fingertips skim down the back of his hand and to his wrist. )

That is a beautiful way to put it, if a bit of a conflicted concept. Not everyone is happy to be here and enjoy it for what it is. But I think they could be shown the possibility of it.

( It suits him; it must have been his profession where he came from. He has a way with words she doesn't come across often, and the breath he takes after makes her wonder if he's just that passionate about it, or if it's this. The effect of the moonlacing taking his breath away amplifying everything.

Ah, he has hazel eyes. She only just noticed in the light, this close. So she presses in a little closer, curving to fit up against him as her touch smooths up his back, fingertips fluttering gently along his spine as she tips up to keep eye contact. )

Of course; show me where it hurts?

[He has two options here near as he can see. He can make something up, pull away or he can lean in and move to kiss her. He's practically glowing and this is just right. Damn, this Chroma was something else.]

People don't know what they want, because what they want is mutable, constantly changing. Happiness is quicksilver, like moonlight. That's the whole point of this place isn't it?

[Someone once told him get your own sins and he had them, he knew them, they were old friends. His fingers trail down her neck before he presses two fingers to his cheek.]

Here.

[A pause. He presses two fingers to his lips.]

And Here.

[He pulls back slowly, very slowly. Very very slowly.]

I don't think there's any hope for me at all.

( It seems he chose the third option, where he lets her play out the scene from Indiana Jones that he is sadly yet unaware of. Don Draper has now had the good fortune to meet Prisma's Top Thot and he picked well on how to handle it. Already he seems quite taken with the chance to just touch her, and she's sure she could have been just about anybody, but— )

Is that what you think of everyone? And what you think of this place? I'd like to think that I'm old enough to know what I want, by now. And I think you're much the same.

( —but he's asking her, right now, with his fingertips to one cheek, and that hand atop his own in her hair slips away and reaches for him, cool skin pressing to the nape of his neck and guiding him down with the slightest pressure applied as she rises up on her tiptoes. And lips just as soft as he'd touched her alight on his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble against delicate skin, and she lingers there for a long moment before drawing back.

Then he indicates his own lips, but he begins to draw back from her before she can think to oblige. So she tips her head in silent question, gold lashes low, and she applies that little bit of pressure to the back of his neck again. She doesn't usually jump right to kissing someone so directly, having barely spoken, but she'd keep it chaste. Just for now. )

That is an opinion best left to a medical professional, sir.

( She's quite soft-hearted, to no one's surprise. )

[Rachel was the same. That same air of ownership of the world around Her, that same soft heart beneath business. When she puts pressure on the back of his neck he leans down and moves to press his lips to hers.

She might be able to tell there's restrained power behind it. That he has absolute control but there's also alcohol on his breath. His hands don't shake however and she might have to be the one to pull away. He'll accept it however and sigh.]

...Chroma And pasta. You're a hell of a medical professional doc. Angela.

....You have to let me make it up to you.

[In any way. Settling, he rubbed at his wrist.] I think I got a little too drunk and that plus a lack of chroma is...not good.

( The kiss lingers as a button nose bumps against his and she offers him the shape of her smile with it, freshly-balmed before she'd entered and tasting of rosewater and coconut oil, softening the cream on her breath. Likely from that pasta, earlier. But he does well to restrain himself and fit to her pacing when she doesn't press for more. She offers the seep of chroma between them, the soothing of her hand along his back, and the sweep of her thumb along his carotid to match, both just as slow as her breathing.

Very nicely done, sir. Treatment complete. When she does pull away after the space of a few breaths, it's with a kiss to his other cheek to even him out and the eventual lowering back to the heels of her feet. )

If only my medical prowess benefited others as much, here. I've been trumped by affectionate healing. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Has that taken the edge off for now?

( She isn't entirely letting go of him, but if he's steadier, she'll likely set about reheating that pasta in the skillet she produced and let him pour them some drinks. She's content to settle in for the evening pressed against his side and see him in the green, chroma-wise, but everyone takes to it differently. Sometimes even this would have been enough to "recharge". )

You'll have to tell me what you have in mind. But you're right, that isn't a very good mix. I would rather not see people drinking too heavily to begin with, but the lack of chroma is a problem. As I'm sure you're aware. The sedation from drinking just makes it all the more dangerous if you were to begin crystallizing, you know.

( But even the way she scolds others is gentle, spoken softly and with concern weighting her tone instead of anything like a proper chastisement. )

[When she moves away to reheat pasta he strides back to his apartment, picking up a few pieces of trash and tossing it into the trash. Slow - but he's known plenty of women who would do the same. He's not some kind of monster.

At the mention of crystallizing however his motions stop.]

...Crystallizing?

[His happy buzz is still there, but now he's concerned and confused even because that doesn't sound good. He wipes off his table and moves to get the cheap dishes out of his cupboard, taking in the view of her as a means of distraction.]

( He looks like he's moving better, anyway. Getting some food in him will help him sober up a bit more, too, and give him a little more energy back. Cut off a migraine from a hangover at the quick. It's all the other things she thinks of while he's still thinking about kissing her, most like.

Whatever it was he was doing while she was spooning the pasta from the glassware into the warming skillet, however, comes to a stop. She adds the little bottle of milk she'd brought and puts the other half in the fridge, stirs it in to help thin the sauce back out, and glances over her shoulder.

Right, he's fairly new, isn't he? The lectures they give on arrival are far too much to take in while still reeling from the sudden appearance on some alien moon. That part probably went in one ear and out the other. )

That's right. If we run too low on chroma from a lack of moonlacing or running ourselves a bit ragged, we start to crystallize. It starts at the extremities, and it usually takes a couple of days to really set in, but— everyone reacts differently. It could be dangerous if anyone's prone to panicking or if they're immobilized when they come to. There is a monitor on the device on your wrist, there. It's the bar on top.

( She'll tip her wrist for him to see her own when he wanders back into the kitchen to pull out dishes; fully green, of course. )

That happens to be the reason I responded to your post on the network, to begin with. Not that you aren't perfectly handsome, of course— but we all have to keep an eye out for each other, here. It's harder for those who have only just arrived, who may not know anyone from home.

( ooc: I tossed you a friend add on plurk, I hope that's ok! I'm a quiet addition, I promise. 😔💕 I adore them so much already! )

[Concern is not a foreign topic but he chuckles at that - unintentionally sounding dismissive perhaps but then he stares at his own monitor with a frown.]

So paradise space planet's got some problems.

[That means making and keeping friends. He's not sure what she means by crystallize. but it doesn't sound good. In fact it sounds like whatever the hell was going on in that port city. He remembered reading about that as he continues to watch her move.]

I really do appreciate it Doc. Doctor Ziegler. Angela. Which do you prefer?

( It doesn't seem dismissive to her; it's not a fun truth to hear, and she sees him glancing down at his wrist. )

A few, yes. How is yours looking?

( It means exactly what it sounds like; she certainly speaks of it casually enough to not sound as though a couple weeks of holing up and suddenly you're the next Michelangelo through a kaleidoscope, but that's about the gist of it. Yay! Pasta's done. She'll gesture for him to bring over the dishes— he pulled one out for her too? sweet— and dishes nearly all of it into his plate. She already ate, but she'll accompany him for five or six bites with a modest little bit.

When he reaches for a name, her nose crinkles with her smile as she turns the stove off and hands him his plate, nodding back to his living room. )

Eventually everyone just calls me Angie. I'm not much for titles outside of workplace emergencies where it would be necessary to answer to "doctor". So really, whatever feels comfortable for you.

It's hard not to lean into Doc. But, I'll call you Angie too if you're okay with that.

[Because - it's so weird to have women have that title and it might be easier to just start with that because Bugs Bunny does and Bugs Bunny is...well.

Accepting the pasta he tries it - and his smile is genuine.]

This is delicious. This has been...just what I needed.

[Pause] Because it's bad enough I turn into a bear, turning into a giant ...diamond is unacceptable.

[He's been 2 different kind of animals. Some kind of crystal is not out of the realm of possibility.]

Some of my friends still call me "Doc", too. I answer to just about everything if I can figure out I'm being addressed. I'm quite easy.

( Jesse was the worst offender for that, and sometimes Gabriel, teasing her. But mostly she was just "Angie". Eventually she'll realize there's a 110-year gap between them and the implications that come with that, but for now... he's just a man who's ended up here, same as anyone else, and he likes her pasta.

That's a good enough start, she thinks. Especially since she's only just started learning here, with quite strict (and blind) teachers. (Somehow both of them.) She is Swiss; she has high standards. )

I'm very glad it suits. Anyway, you won't be turning into a giant diamond on my watch; I can assure you that much. If it makes you feel any better, I used to be a deer. I had spots and everything. Now I'm... a canine and sheep mix, best I can figure. I'm sure no one ever imagines needing a brush for their tail.

02 | Video | For Those Who Think Sanguis

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