Even though his dreamboat (ha!) has its own saloon, leave it to Christopher to sniff out the most popular pub in his area. Kit has the nose of an Irishman (and the rest of an Irishman's body parts) and Christopher, the Sentinel of Aspirations had an aspiration himself -- to drink a pint...
     So there he sits, in one of the booths, on his lonesome, a black-and-tan at hand and a paper. He's actually reading the entertainment "dailies" -- what shows are at what theaters with what cast, who's in trouble, and who might, just might, be the next big star.
     There it is -- the Beau Monde Revue. Beautiful World, it means. It makes Kit smile, and Christopher within Kit smile. It is a beautiful world for all of that. The Beau Monde Revue is currently in rehearsal, due to open in September. It will be a cabaret revival, with a full chorus line, trapeze acts, striptease, and American and British showtunes. A Jazz Age Redux.
     And one of the bright stars of the production so far: Samantha James. Her other dream is that Julian Kane will ask her to be his wife someday. Kit answers dreams. He's no miracle worker...

     There is something comforting about a good old English pub. It seems to transcend all levels of distinctions of class and creed. The businessman drinking at the same bar as the dirty coal miner. Sure there are clubs and bars that will cater to either clientele but a truly great pub is something universal. So it comes as a surprise to no one that a fireplug of a man, who's apparantly a punker from the 70's that has yet to accept his time is over enters Davy's just behind a well dressed broker.
     Jack were's a crooked casual smile and offer's waves and nods to the patrons that reconize him. As a Cherub he has never really understood humanity but he loves them dearly. The feeling is usually mutual, his demeanor that of the quirky iconclast you cannot help but like. His eyes however are narrowed and focused. Of course he recently had an encounter that while fun, could've ended badly. Thankfully it didn't but he still can't help but shake the feeling that he's spinning his wheels.
     Despite what some might think there Angel's do not have built in 'buddy-detectors' but even so it does not take the stocky man long to spot Kit. Aspirations do make one stand out from the norm, no matter how hard they attempt to seem innocuous. With a smile, Jack approaches the table where Kit sits and says in a voice that is only mildly accented, "Evenin' Kit. You're looking well." Chances are good that you've never seen this particular vessel of his.. but the voice is immistakeable... It is Jonathan, Cherub of War.

     How different he seems and how different he is from the last time you saw him. Although still outcast from Heaven, the Lost Air about him is gone, replaced by a kind of...
      ... Sparkle...
     It could be called Charisma. It could be called Beauty. It could be called Je Ne C'est Qua... I don't know what. What it is, is Brilliance...
     He looks up at the voice, lowering the paper, and the smile is immediate. Say! You look ... different. "Well, well... this is a surprise," his voice is warm, sunny and still wearing the Venetian accent picked up over his couple of years there. Likewise, he doesn't look the least bit Irish. He looks like an Italian Cupid, with dark brown curls, red shirt and all. "Have a seat, have a seat," he says, standing and waving you across from him. "First round is on me..."

     "I never turn down a free drink." Jack says as he slides into the booth across from you. His variety of buttons of has been bands clacking as he does so. He eyes his fellow cherubs drink of choice and nods approvingly waving down a passing waiter, "I'll have what he's having." Can't beat a good black and tan after all.
     "So what brings you to London?" Well of course he knows part of it's because shit is happening... but which pile of shit is Kit invovled in? "Other than the sunny weather that is."

     "Oh... the usual..." he drawls as he curls his pint to him, resettling in the booth. "Keeping watch over the dreaming flock." Not really an answer, I know. "Part of my outcast promotion," he smiles, "... is to ... set upon a ministry of sorts. Like when the Jesuits when to China. Mostly... of course... I'm Elseplace."
      He takes a swallow and rests back. "And you? Funny... I was just talking to Sol the other day... about how it seems we have come full circle. And then... lo and behold," always a favorite phrase of his, "...you and I meet in a pub, just like in Clearwater. Sol would want me to give his salutations, I will have to tell him I saw you. He's in town now and again." He smiles for that. "It is not all my fault, but I do share the blame..."

     "Oh well I'm certain you'll see him before I do... so give him my regards. I am certain his duties keep him busy...." Well his duties and you when he has the time. Jack gives a crooked smile at the mention of meeting in a pub, "Well I think Pub's have a higher 'coincidental gravity' than does the rest of the world. If you're due to run into someone you've not seen in some time it'll happen in a pub."
     "Life's a funny journey.. and it seems we're not the only blokes from Clearwater that Fate found us in London... Julian Kane is running a place called the Phantasmagoria...." He shrugs then and settles back into his place in the booth. "Well I haven't seen him yet, but that damn club is all a buzz about Julian Kane... it has to be Ram..."

     "Yes, so Salem told me." And there is something to his look, something weighty. Weighty, but not emotionally. Merely gravitationally. The gravity of the subject -- and of the things happening here. "I will definitely tell Sol you said hello. We should all have a drink sometime. I have a houseboat with its own saloon," he waggles his eyebrows.
     No, he couldn't resist that temptation...
     "Phantasmagoria," he says after a moment or two and another sip or two. "That's the dance club..." Well, he thinks of that a moment. Dance club, sex club, whatever. "I haven't been there yet. It is inevitable." Hmm... an outcast Cherub barely out of house arrest going to the den of sin? Sounds like disaster. "I have been working with someone he knows," Kit murmurs. "Not ... attuned. I don't know when, or if, that will happen again," he's not even sure he can do it at this point. He's not tried since his proscriptions. "...Not attuned yet. She seems to be progressing well enough without it." He sips at the beer. "I've been given... an interesting task, Jonathan. Maybe a little too interesting..."

     A confused brow raises slowly, "A houseboat with it's own saloon. Saints preserve us...." Actually some of them are probably already drinking. "Anyway I recently attuned to a young punker of a kid... I'll probably regret it but... she's got something of an oracular ability it seems... I could really use that kind of help on my side right now.. so I figured I better make sure she stays safe..."
     As you mention your own assignment words trail off. "Interesting is just another way for saying crazy or dangerous. You mind me asking what dangerous task you're being put up to? I went to alot of trouble to try and keep you out of trouble...." It never really worked but that's hardly the point now is it? "I'd hate to see you get all fucked up."

     Kit smiles blithely. "Oh, si... I mean, yes. It's own saloon. I will give you the grand tour some time. A former torpedo boat. And it's still sea worthy. That might prove handy." He nods and takes a swallow of the black and tan. Tasty.
     "Interesting. Crazy. Dangerous." He laughs a little, grey eyes widening slightly. It's all of the above. "I can't go into too many details. It is... fragile... like an egg," he murmurs. "That's what peace is. It is... fragile." He stares into his drink for a moment, then lifts his eyes to you. "I am here to answer the dreams of those who have forgotten how, those who think they cannot, or that they have been abandoned by the hopes and dreams of God. Having nearly forgotten how myself, my Master-Mistress considered me... uniquely qualified."

     Uniquely qualified. I suppose you are at that. The waiter returns with Jack's drink. He bows his head in thanks and quickly takes his first healthy gulp. "You just be careful, if you think you're going to run into trouble call me." Jack says this like it's more of a directive than a request. Old habits from being attuned to you no doubt.
     "I'm digressing however... Blandine wouldn't have asked you to do something crazy if it didn't play to your strengths so I suppose I'm worrying over nothing." Jonathan sets his drink down and spins it idly, a menial gesture meant to keep his hands occupied. "Well here's to aspirations..." Jonathan says holding up his glass, as if to indicate a toast, "Let's hope more people have them!."

     Kit smiles and he nods, raising his glass. "And to the faith of good friends..."
     Aspirations thanks you for the regard. And for the offer. Although Kit does not respond to it verbally, you see the nod in his eyes. You also see a good deal of formidability. There are none so strong as those whose faith has been tested and yet they keep their balance.
     No matter how shaky they might sometimes appear...
     Toast complete, Kit drinks to that. "Enough about me and my task. You say you have found an oracle?" Dark eyebrows lift to this.

     "Well Oracle is perhaps a strong word... but she certanly has an ability to see things." He shakes his head as fingers idlely run along the brim of his glass. "Gifted artist to. Save the attitude. I think you'd like her." Or you'd like her for the attitude.
     "I was given a mission but it was in something of a vague sense." Well actually it is and it isn't but that's a topic for another time. "I'm hoping she can learn some manner of control over her abilities.. I still looking for somewhere to start... I'm hoping she can find it. She's a trouble magnet it. It follows her everywhere it seems."

     Kit smiles and sips at his black and tan. "I can sympathize..."

Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 01:15 PM