maskormenacelogs | your heart is so hard, my mother told me, it can't be good for your health.

You won't be able to miss me, she said; she wasn't kidding. The little thing that turns up at 2PM is a bright splash of colour in nebula leggings probably acquired in the children's section, a mini-dress with a unique design covering its entirety and a loose-fitting, long length cardigan jacket that was definitely second-hand, patchwork-repairs adding sequins and random patterns to a fluffy black base.

This is, of course, not to downplay the fact that she is a 4'11" lilac-haired elf; Persephone had found her hard to miss in beige, too.

The novelty of all of this hasn't worn off, yet; she orders her drink before she joins Hermann and it takes longer than it probably needs to as there isn't a queue to hold up currently and she takes the time to ask questions about what she could get and what the barista likes and yes she would like a big biscuit, please, thank. When she does settle opposite him at his table, it is with the spoils of her investigation of more shops, mostly looking for thrift-stores like Pablo had suggested, but also having discovered a specialty soap store, and more glitter.

"Thank you for meeting me, Dr Gottlieb," she says, warmly, French-accented and high-voiced. "I'm Margaux."

(The longer she lingers, the more nearby birds drift towards the door and windows of the cafe.)

In utter contrast, Hermann is rather plain and boring. Middle-aged and dressed like a worn out university professor, he'd draw little to no attention as an imPort if not for his choice in technology- and even then, it would be incredibly easy to write him off.

But Margaux is young, lovely, vibrant, and Hermann's almost self-conscious just to be sitting across from her.

He closes his laptop to give her his full attention, and sets it near the window. Sparing a brief glance for the birds flitting by, he holds out a hand in greeting.

"A pleasure, Miss Margaux."

Despite his German name and heritage, his voice is actually far more British than anything, if with a bit of a harsher undertone. He takes his glasses off and leans back in his seat.

"Bear with me; I've been told I'd make an awful teacher." Something about his lack of patience and snappish attitude when irritated. "But do feel free to ask questions."

Edited 2016-11-14 01:12 (UTC)

Her handshake is warm, dry; not brief, but not uncomfortably lingering, either, tattooed hands soft and nails long enough to momentarily press his skin before she lets go. She has her biscuit, and her coffee (...there's some coffee in there, beneath all the cream and syrups and chocolate dust), and she settles into her seat prepared to be attentive, setting her phone down, and -

"Do you mind if I record?" she asks, leaning forward on her elbows, probably a bit overly conscious of how strange or suspicious the request - innocently made as it is - might be. "I can't write fast enough to take notes."

You don't every day get an opportunity where someone is prepared to sit and deal with your stupid questions about things other people already know about; Margaux believes in taking full advantage when something presents itself to her.

Hermann blinks, the request unexpected, then manages a nod.

"Yes.. yes, that's fine."

Clearing his throat, he casts about for papers he doesn't have, then folds his hands up on the table instead.

"Really, it's a bit difficult to talk about the Cold War without mentioning the others, but I'll be brief. Germany lost World War I in the early 1900s, and embittered by their defeat, eventually rose to start World War II about 20 or so years later. Many atrocities were committed in that time, until finally, the world's powers stepped in and put an end to it."

He was skimming over some crucial details there, but some things were still hard to talk about.

"This resulted in multiple countries claiming pieces of Germany- America, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union- while they sorted out what to do with a decimated and now divided country. It was supposed to be a temporary solution to ensure that Germany didn't militarize once again, and they'd also learned that crippling a country's economy to make reparations wasn't a solution after the first war. And so they'd resolved to help Germany recover and form a new system of government. However, this is where the capitalistic ideologies of the West came into conflict with the Soviet's communism, and it was this conflict that began the Cold War."

With her phone set to recording, she listens - properly listens, little flickers of microexpression telegraphing reaction to things she does understand or doesn't, unsettled by the phrase world war and pegging the names of nations she recognises and those she doesn't (what is a soviet union?). She wraps her hands around her coffee mug, and -

"This is going to be a stupid question," she warns him, "but what is capitalism and communism?"

She has a feeling these are not questions with answers any more convenient than 'what is a cold war', so she adds, "I can look up more details later if you give me the stupid person short answer."

It really is a question without straightforward answers, but he spends a bit of time attempting to simplify it as best as possible.

"Essentially, I would break it down into control of distribution. Capitalism is controlled by businesses, and for communism, the government controls the market. In theory, it could work out well, but it's never been enacted as more than a totalitarian oppression."

He doesn't feel like he's explained it well, and shrugs a bit. "You likely should read up a bit more on it; I'm not an expert in economics."

Control of distribution, businesses - the market. These are also terms that Margaux is not completely up and up with, but on the other hand, they're terms that are a lot easier to extrapolate context from and if she hasn't suddenly developed a perfect grasp of complex economics, she does at least now have enough of the melody to hum along with the rest of what he's saying. And she isn't taking notes, per se, but she does jot down C A P I T O L I Z M and C O M U N I Z M in a pink fluffy notebook emblazoned with NOTE 2 SELF on the front, produced from one of her bags.

The pen matches, because of course it does.

CONTROL OF MARKET and ECONOMIC THEORY are words she already knows how to spell, and slot neatly underneath.

"I know a bit about supply and demand," she says, lightly. She also knows a bit about totalitarian oppression, but that's hard to make light-hearted over coffee and biscuits, even the kind where you're getting a crash course in cold war politics. "Gottlieb is German, yes?"

Hermann straightens a bit, ignoring the itch to correct her spelling, and nods.

"Yes.. I was born months before the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, and two and a half years before the Cold War finally ended, so it wasn't something I experienced directly. Although even if I had been born much earlier, my family lived deep in Bavaria- southern Germany- far from where most of the conflict took place."

Newton was born in Berlin only months after the wall fell, he almost feels compelled to mention. But his fiance isn't here, and wasn't exactly relevant at the moment. But in any case, he's getting ahead of himself and clears his throat.

"Anyway, each of the four countries also claimed boroughs in Berlin, Germany's capital."

And he pauses again, wondering how best to proceed.

"This isn't to say there weren't other conflicts outside of Germany within this era, but at its root, the conflict in Berlin was representative of the state of world at the time. The Soviet Union and America, primarily acting in support of foreign nations and thus, against one another."

He was really awful at this. There was so much to cover.

"But the point is, these conflicts spurred the Western allies into distrust of the Union, exacerbated by the way the Soviets treated the German population of their 'zone'. While the Allies focused on assisting Germany in its recovery, the Soviet Union stripped them of their land and restricted their intellectual freedom.

As you can imagine, this caused a great number of Germans within the Soviet zone to flee toward the Western zones, where life was gradually improving. Unable to sustain these losses however, the Soviet Union tightened control of their zone, and ultimately led to the construction of the Berlin Wall that became representative of the division between East and Western Germany."

[~~ooc: rly hope my main source is accurate~~]

( ~~who can say what the cold war looked like in pacific rim~~ )

As much as Hermann might not feel as if he's doing a great job - and as much as he is definitely not an actual history professor or particularly dedicated to study of the Cold War - Margaux is hanging on his words, her brows pulling together as she follows what he's telling her, and the important part is not, really, that he give her a completely thorough grasp of the history in the time it takes to drink a coffee. What she's getting out of this is somewhere to start, some context, somewhere to orient herself so that when she sits down with whatever local equivalent of google and a library card, she isn't left overwhelmed and without a map.

So when there are pauses, her smile is consistently encouraging - he's doing fine. He's a map, not a destination, it's all right.

"That's something people do a lot, isn't it," she notes, tapping her pen against her notebook, aware of the blinking red light on her phone that reminds her all this is being recorded and she can play it back for herself later when she's looking up more details, poring over maps to tell her about the way the world looks now and how it might have looked then. "Try to decide how other people think for them. So that they don't think of fighting."

Margaux thinks about fighting a lot.

"Yes.. I suppose you could say that."

Even if it wasn't blatant as it was in the early 1900s, propaganda, biased news, and politicians still exist even in the 21st century. But that way lies conspiracy theories.

"Many East Germans lost their lives trying to flee to the West," he continued finally. "The Wall physically split the city, forcing families apart and making escape near impossible. But although the West could have intervened, they did nothing."

And here he frowns, tapping his fingers on the table and willing his memory to work with him. He'd studied in Berlin, recalls most of the history, but details escape him. Eventually, he sighs, shrugging a bit.

"The allies were battling conflicts in Asia. Vietnam, Korea. Likely some reason behind their lack of action in Berlin. In any case, calls for action in Berlin went mostly ignored. There were attempted meetings, but ultimately no progress was made. Frosty tensions mounted between the divisions of course, a fair bit of attempted subversion, politics changed, but the Wall stood, dividing the country, for nearly thirty years. An apt name for the war, really."

"It's hard to imagine so much travel," Margaux admits, contemplative, pressing her palms together at the side of her jaw. "Or-- the communication."

She has advantages that other people don't, where it comes to getting messages further and faster, but - there aren't that many people to send messages to. Conflicts are a fact of life, but conflicts on the scale that he describes require an infrastructure and population that is utterly lacking in the world Margaux was born into. The uphill struggle is starting from much further down the hill.

"So it wasn't a war that everyone was," she mimes hitting someone, "more a war of what they weren't doing? While they were somewhere else. But all of it...combining."

That's a very rough way of putting it, but he doesn't disagree.

"Yes, it was more political conflict than outright hostility- although they certainly did exist, it wasn't on a large scale. The victims here are the East Germans under an oppressive rule they can't combat, and the western allies that stood by unwilling to risk that open conflict."

Taking in a breath, he hopes he can summarize the end of it all fairly clearly.

"As I'd mentioned, there were political changes.. Different leaders, and Eastern Europe was being eclipsed by the Soviet Union. Eastern Germany's borders opened into other Soviet territories, and refugees fled through those countries in order to eventually migrate to the West. The borders closed soon afterward of course. In hopes of keeping the Eastern Germans from fleeing the city and country, the changed leadership of the Soviet Union decided it would open the wall to the West to those with permission."

And here he smiles a bit, lips twitching.

"It's not clear precisely what happened, but it's agreed that there was certainly miscommunication about that announcement. This decision was broadcasted to the city and resulted in East Germans flooding to the Wall's checkpoints. The guards were aware they couldn't hold the sudden crowds and eventually made the decision to let them through. Both sides rejoiced, and there simply wasn't much to be done about it from there."

It feels a bit inappropriate to laugh, and she catches herself quickly, but - oh, that is just perfect, isn't it?

"Those underneath always have the numbers," she notes, pleased. It might not always do much good - it often does little good at all - but it can be very usefully leveraged, purposefully or otherwise. And keeping the people on top a little bit nervous of what the people at the bottom might do if they're of a mind, that seems like only a good thing so far as Margaux is concerned.

They push down harder, but they risk sparking the push-back they're afraid of, too, and mama's little revolutionary would very much like to push, hard.

It is a bit amusing. That a small chain of miscommunication would undo nearly thirty years of careful control. A bit anti-climactic really.

"Germany's problems weren't over with the fall of the wall, of course. There were still two different government systems to reconcile, cultural differences, different currencies, work forces, and all the economic difficulties that entails, but that moment marked a certain turning point in the war and Germany's recovery."

And those are things that would take time, but could yet be handled by the Germans themselves. He still wonders what Newton's parents must have gone through, only a scant few months into that recovery.

"Following that, the weakening Soviet Union's presence dissolved, and in late 1991, the Cold War ended. The wall was physically torn down and bits of it were shipped off- sold to various museums and collectors around the world. In this world however, I've heard it still stands."

The part of that that surprises her least is the commodification of it; museums are one (complicated minefield) thing, collectors...well, another. A more sobering thought is the detail on which he ends, and Margaux tilts her head, pressing her lips together as she absorbs it. A war that has ended, still going.

(A world that has ended, for her, tick-tick-ticking over with life and negotiable liberty. The comparison does not pass her by.)

"And it hasn't ended."

"No."

His hands twist together a bit. He's been to Germany- his hometown in Bavaria, and Munich proper, but he hasn't ventured to this world's Berlin. It's tempting to just send a drone, but the moment he sees the wall, he knows he'll be very tempted to interfere.

Because the Berlin Wall may have fallen a few months after he was born, there was another wall in his lifetime that threatened the world.

He sighs. "The Russians- Soviet Union, I should say- here were intent on recruiting us imPorts earlier this year. They adopted the sort of communist regimen you'd expect, starting with controlling our intellectual freedom."

And that had been painful. "Some of us escaped to Mexico until we could force them out of the cities. They'd kidnapped roughly fifty of us at one point, and were also building another wall at some point slightly earlier. I don't recall where exactly."

Norway? Denmark? Somewhere around there.

"Still minor conflicts, but that the war has taken this long, and the Soviets have new technology, interested in using it to relinquish America of their weapons.. It's still a very uncertain time."

"Russia," she repeats, making the connection that had eluded her when he'd earlier referenced the soviets. She contemplates the picture painted for her of the situation in this world, that they've all been brought here for: heroes. (A tempting moniker, but one she's cautious to too quickly adopt for herself; she's savvy, but she has a realistic idea of what all she can singularly accomplish.)

Margaux clicks to end the recording - they've covered the parts she needs to be able to quickly reference when she starts studying up - and says, "Are you - registered? That's what it's called?"

It makes sense to be, she thinks. Some caution stays her hand on deciding too swiftly, though, and she is interested to know what other people have done, and their reasoning. She doesn't have a particular distrust of government because she doesn't have any real experience of it, but she is cautious of power, who wields it and why.

That was probably an oversight, but at least it's out there now. The recording ends and the line of Hermann's shoulders relax a bit.

Registered.

"Yes. I don't begrudge anyone their choice not to be of course, but I find it's fairly more convenient. Certainly, there's less restrictions."

And benefits that admittedly, he's growing out of needing. They're building a house, he can afford his own medical coverage.. Fortunately those particular bills aren't likely to be outstanding if his condition isn't due to get any worse.

"Of course, that's not to say I'm entirely aligned with the government's views."

Edited 2016-11-16 08:24 (UTC)

"I haven't decided what to do," she admits, picking her biscuit into smaller pieces she can eat with slightly more dignity than she would find in taking little bites out of the entire thing when it's roughly the size of her actual face. "Governments like this, it's very new to me. In France, it's more like..."

A tilt of her head.

"My people are very spread out. Nomadic clans that share a common goal, one that would mean something more...sophisticated, but it's been a hundred years and nobody's found what we're looking for, so." She dips her biscuit in her coffee-- "And the humans, they're all separate. Every settlement has its own leadership, designed its own way. The chateau where I was living, it had been controlled by the same family for I think about seventy years? The Gagnons, called d'Angers because that's the chateau. The master there has a private force there, but he doesn't take it further than his own walls. It's a fortress. He doesn't need to."

And that is Margaux's experience of power and politics; her caution here is not because she has a sophisticated grasp of the implications of registering or not (she doesn't, and knows it), but because she is intimately familiar with the power of leadership as a blunt instrument harshly wielded.

A little wryly, "I know about making compromises, with what they think and what you do. I just don't know what it is I trade here."

She's not stupid, though; because she doesn't know what it is doesn't mean it isn't something.

It's a fair assessment, and a wiser one than he would have attributed to one so young.

"For most I think, the Porters are the greatest concern. If you're not registered, you need an escort that is in order to access them, and thus the other cities. Now if you have teleportation abilities, that's much less of an issue. However in that case, there are other concerns."

And he should certainly know.

"In my opinion, registration is more of a formality than anything. A statement that you'll cooperate with the government, and thus life is a bit easier for it. If you're a hero type, you can work alongside the military, but otherwise, you're an American civilian- albeit one with unique abilities. Occasionally, there are assignments that will come through calling us to action.

Unregistering isn't particularly difficult from what I've heard, but you may want to look further into it before making any decisions. Ultimately, I believe it will come down to what you require in your day to day life."

It's been likely from the beginning that Margaux will register; a good reason to hold off might persuade her to do so, but in the main, her perspective on it is a pragmatic one in line with the way Hermann frames it to her now, and if she can always undo it later...

It wouldn't be, she thinks, the worst compromise she's ever had to make. And she would be in a better position to understand what's going on around her.

"I've seen a bit of action," she says, brightly, not unaware that she really does not give that impression. "But nothing so sanctioned."

Margaux never has more that she wouldn't leave behind than can fit into a bag she can easily climb out of a window with for a reason. The accumulation of other things tends to be camouflage against people paying too much attention to her slightly spartan existence and getting concerned about what it might mean about her intentions.

"What do you do? In your daily life. If I can ask!"

It really doesn't look like it, but then, it seems to be a general rule that all imPorts are more than they appear to be. Still, the question about his life is a bit unexpected and he flounders for a moment.

"Well I'm sure you've gathered that I'm a scientist by now. Theoretical physicist, engineer, mathematician, computer programmer- whichever title." Really, his resume's gotten a bit out of control after his work on the Jaegers.

"After wasting a fair bit of time on creative production, I've turned back to research, and have a number of mysteries to solve. Further than that... well, I'm in the process of having a house built for myself and my fiance, our cat, and likely Miss Foster as well."

Margaux experiences a moment of absurd pride in the fact that only one of the things he names - 'theoretical physicist' - means absolutely nothing to her. 'Computer programmer' didn't mean a damn thing, either, before coming to the states, but Catherine's computing for dummies exposition has been extremely helpful. (Mainly in creating a value ranking system for computers in Margaux's head which Catherine is at the top of, but never mind that. She does manage to contain her enthusiasm for knowing about the computer boxes, but tellingly brightens when he hits that one, regardless.)

"Productive," she says, with no small hint of approval. He is a contributing member of society and she's about that life. "Is the cat a pet or a familiar?"

Human mages come in twos, in her experience. He didn't say he's one, but - they don't always.

"Do you live in De Chima as well?"

Well, maybe she likes computers.

"Our cat is a pet, and yes, we live in De Chima."

He gestures loosely through the window, where there are a strange amount of birds pecking around the pavement. Hermann spares them a look.

"Er, just at the apartments up the street in fact. For now anyway. We'll likely be moving sometime early next year.. Roughly 45 minutes or so outside the city. Close enough to commute, but far enough that we're out of immediate danger should disaster strike, as it's won't to. Although it's still safer than Heropa."

(She likes computers so much.)

One of the birds ventures a little bit closer; without appearing to give it much thought, Margaux lowers a hand with some crumbly biscuit and several of those birds gather to eat from it.

"What happens in Heropa?" she asks, since it seems like the natural follow up - Hermann is exceptionally helpful on this whole acclimatizing to her new existence thing and there's a strong likelihood she will just keep asking him questions as long as he seems inclined to keep giving her answers. Well; this interaction will have to end, sooner or later, but when she said I'll take you up on that, she absolutely meant it, in the way of someone who has never personally made an offer out of only politeness.

(Sometimes the social contract means the correct response is to decline an offer; when presented with something she needs or could use, Margaux will always accept.)

Hermann inches his laptop away from the edge of the window before the birds get any ideas about perching on it. The birds have obviously distracted him a bit.

"Well, Heropa is the most densely populated imPort city. Whether it's correlated or not, it's undeniable that most disasters start there. Not all of course, but it's certainly the most heavily impacted."

He's finally managed to look away from the birds. "..It could be a number of factors- imPorts, the Porter, or just the greater concentration means that the more destructive of our number are more likely to reside there."

Edited 2016-11-17 07:20 (UTC)

"It all starts to feel a little bit less organised than it was presented," she notes, and then - "Not on his computer box, please," absently, catching the way he moves it. The one lone sparrow that had been preparing to land makes borderline uncomfortable eye contact in the moments of pull up required to obey Margaux's instructions, but - Hermann gets his personal space, free of sparrows and pigeons.

This is all fine, probably.

"There are, um, four? Including this one? That's right?"

So she has an ability with birds then. ..Well, that's... something?

"Yes... There's Heropa, De Chima, Maurtia Falls, and Nonah." Just how new was she?

Losing his thread of thought, Hermann frowns. "I've hardly visited much outside of De Chima, really- at least not frequently enough to be of use. But if there's anything else?"

He is offering to be polite, though really, he doesn't have anything else to be doing at the moment. Newton was thrilled he was being social.

Very.

"I think I've got a lot to go on with," she says, tapping the edge of her coffee cup with her fingertips, thoughtful. "I really appreciate it - this is all a lot to try and get my head around. I wasn't really sure where to start."

'With socks', initially, but now she has socks, so -

Some actual acclimatization is actually necessary.

Hermann nods, happy enough that he's answered her questions and that hopefully he won't have to drag them through another long lecture very soon.

"Well I'm glad I could be of use. It is a bit much all at once of course, but if ever you need clarification on anything in your recording, do let me know."

Judging by the interesting pattern on the dress Margaux is wearing when she greets Pablo - swinging up onto her tiptoes to kiss both of his cheeks like they're old friends and this isn't the first time they've ever met in person, the scent of jasmine lingering in her hair and hanging in the air near him - and the hand-repaired, patch-worked black cardigan jacket over it, she's already taken his thrift-store advice a little bit before they meet. This does not, in any way, detract from what she is absolutely going to describe as--

"An adventure!" brightly, bells on her bracelets jingling. "Where do you want to go first? Do you like this? I thought you would like this." The dress, she means; Margaux has no idea who Prince is, but it reminded her of Pablo and she had decided that she had to have it.

Edited 2016-11-14 09:37 (UTC)

In person, she's quite stunning; even if that alone hadn't already come across from seeing her through a screen, it's still hard not to be thrown a little by Margaux in all her actual glory. Granted, Pablo has always been easily overwhelmed by beauty, be it that of people, things, or the world around him.

Wearing a striped cardigan over a tanktop along with denim shorts and banana-patterned knee socks, Pablo too is dressed for thrift-store success -- which is to say more or less how he normally dresses, though knowing he'd be in her company he went with socks today, instead of leggings under his shorts. When she touches him he tenses slightly, but only slightly, mostly from surprise; while not reciprocating the gesture, he has no issue with it either.

"I love it," he says plainly with his usual lack of much inflection, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Prince is one of my favorites. Though I don't own anything as cool as that."

But he'll have to keep an eye out now, clearly. He has to consider her question for a moment.

"Let's see... well, I think it depends," he says after a moment. "What do you need?"

"Prince," she repeats, smoothing her hand over the length of the dress - a baby-doll minidress, tight around what bust Margaux can provide it and loose-fitting everywhere else - and thinking, yes, that seems much more reasonable than if he'd said the man on her outfit was named something like Jeffrey or Alan. "There was fabric of it as well," she offers, "I got some."

Clearly, Pablo needs something to match. But they can worry about that later--

"For now, I need..." She wrinkles her nose, laughs; "Everything? I have some clothes, but they aren't..." A little shake of her head, "They aren't really, I will stand out and not for the usual reasons. I want some more clothes. And some shoes! Maybe undergarments."

Edited 2016-11-16 05:06 (UTC)

"Wow. Really?" Pablo muses on the thought briefly, but then nods. "Well, I guess it was finally about time."

Not that he knows what kind of Prince apparel he himself would wear, but it's nice to know the option exists out there in the world should he ever have an insight. Actually--

"Maybe I could make a scarf," he adds. "Except I usually lose all my scarves. So maybe something else..."

But, that's a consideration for another day. For now, the thrift stores await. Pablo nods as Margaux lists off items, researching his memories of what places he likes best for each article and how to get to each one.

"You might not want to get underwear at a thrift store," he says, but in the same considering tone as before. "I mean, it's up to you. But, uh, drug stores usually sell some too-- like, packaged up in plastic?"

Several people, albeit people to whom Margaux had given a fairly vague answer on her professional history, had proposed that she might continue performing here in the US of A. On the subject she has been non-committal, saying that she'll have to learn more about what it means in this place as opposed to what she's used to, and - the Cold War isn't all she's been studying. She's done her research, and it's brought her here: to Maurtia Falls (which is a bit of a commute from De Chima, but Margaux is prepared to view that as a feature rather than a flaw), and to the Iron Throne.

She has more questions than expectations, presently, and has not made a substantial effort to impress (a little eyeliner and a smudge of something that shimmers, comfortable athletic wear and a bomber jacket with a butterfly motif); something ImPort-run seemed like a good place to begin, but if this doesn't work out, then 'a place to start' is a perfectly good thing for it to have only been.

"Pardonnez-moi - Mssr Baelish?"

The language is strange to him. While there are a lot of similarities between the common tongue in Westeros and English here -- what this pretty young woman speaks seems so foreign, Baelish studies her for a moment. At least he could tell she's inquiring him. But that's about all he can tell because he can't speak whatever she is speaking.

"Yes?"

Hopefully she would speak the common tongue now. While her beauty is apparent, and natural since it doesn't seem to be layered with makeup, if this is a job inquiry, it will likely go much smoother if they both understand one another.

When it becomes clear that she's pegged the right man - she is on familiar ground, here; he certainly looks like what she expects to be dealing with - Margaux's gentle hesitation warms into more explicit friendliness.

"Hello," she says, offering him one slim, tattooed hand; to shake, or to very quickly adapt to whatever gesture of greeting is more natural to him. "This is your establishment? My name is Margaux - I am a dancer. I think they do things a little different here, I thought I'd come and see if it might be..."

She shrugs, remarkably elegant for someone wearing yoga pants and that many bright colours, "Maybe I can offer something you will like."

Petyr has been in this world long enough that the handshake is something he's accustomed to by now. But it hasn't bred out his Westerosi ways entirely. And so, with her hand gently within his own, his expression warms over from the confused cast it held to a friendly smile at the prospect of employing this very unique and exotic looking girl. Petyr lifts that hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon her knuckles.

"Ah. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaux." Petyr straightens himself and releases her hand at that. "Normally, we schedule all of our interviews and auditions for Monday evenings. But I do believe I can make an exception if you would not mind showing me what you can do. Are you an imPort, perhaps?"

Only an imPort could possess the type of eye catching beauty found in this young woman.

She tucks her hair back behind the high, sharp points of her ears - both because it's habit and as an illustration to her prompt answer of, "Yes, indeed. Very newly arrived! I'm still learning the lay of the land, you know, but - I learn very quickly."

She's not kidding; she hit the ground running and at some point, eventually, she'll slow down - but not yet.

"Do you have silks, here? From, like," she mimes a set up on the ceiling. "I can do without, but it would be very useful."

More visually clear what sort of thing she tends to do, in any case; she can demonstrate without, but she is sort of hoping that if he lacks the set up then it's something that can be installed if she comes on board. It isn't as if most of the places she's performed had been completely prepared for her requirements before arriving, either, and there she did not have the benefit of being able to lift unaided off the ground to simulate the effect.

Her glance around the club is thoughtful; "It's a very different set up. I was the only performer, usually."

He offers her a flicker of a smile after her comment that she learns 'very quickly.' It is that trait he appreciates most in individuals -- their resilience, their wits, and how they navigate the world. Being here, experiencing the things he has, and having access to all the various worlds allows him far more insight than his tiny bubble of Westeros ever had. But most impressive to him is seeing how people from worlds of lacking technology adapt to this one.

The silks question causes Baelish to snap his fingers. One of the staff members brings a rig down from the ceiling to detach a hoop and put the silks in their place. There weren't many of his girls who could even use it -- often they made an entrance hanging from the hoop and descended to the floor (it was all about making a spectacle), but none of them did tricks up there. Still, Petyr made sure his club was equipped for all sorts of entertaining possibilities. He had to bring something novel to the table.

Once the aerial silks are in place and secured properly, the rig ascends back to the ceiling. "Will these be sufficient? Obviously, if you are hired, I will tailor this all to be more toward your liking. I do not have many girls with your skill set, so this would all be left to your expertise."

If inherent suspicion that most elves do not, just as a general rule, look quite this much like hipster garbage wasn't enough to give some of that game away: Margaux's gentle wonder at the sophistication of the rig paired with sharp-eyed observation of its moving parts might be a hint that she is really not kidding when she talks about how much catching up she has to do. How much she isn't familiar with.

"I'd sort of like to learn theirs - I watched some videos, on the internet!" She's already starting from a point of strength and athleticism, the learning curve won't be as steep as it might otherwise. "But this has always been plenty, I find."

The bomber jacket she removes and folds, neatly, setting it down with her bag and - her shoes, a moment later, comfortable and practical brown timberland boots that she is going to wear to absolute death. She sweeps her hair back and fastens it with an elastic from around her wrist that hasn't yet broken, and - yes, there she goes, up.

Lithe, agile and quick, and...when she said she understands that 'dancing' is different here, she probably meant the context and not a failure to grasp the nature of his business. Margaux straddles the line between form and function skillfully - what she can do with her body is impressive, but she isn't hitting marks on a series of clever tricks, nothing so sterile. There is a natural ease to the eroticism of her performance, something that seems unstudied and unguarded not because it is but because Margaux is very, very good at what she does and the usual stand-by roles that she plays. Although she isn't nude, it's clear from the way that she moves between the silks that she would expect to be, that she is a born provocateur. Not aerial striptease but adapting to use the silks to obscure or expose.

From upside down, swinging a little, she observes, "Normally I hang them from the chandeliers, or the beams above. This is much better, more secure."

Petyr is thoroughly impressed as he watches Margaux in action. In every brothel, there is always one prostitute who stands out above the rest -- the star attraction, so to speak. The men (and sometimes women) will always request her specifically and be willing to pay more money for the services she provides. Margaux could very well be the star in this strip club. And as Littlefinger admires the blend of eroticism and athleticism, he also admires the money she will likely bring for the both of them.

Margaux is going to make a lot of the other women who work here quite jealous.

"I've never seen someone do the things you can do -- not with your natural talent and ease." The floor beneath her is a hard marble and yet, he knows with certainty that she will not fall. There are no precautions that need to be done, even though the man who had worked the rig is also standing there fairly uselessly as a spotter. Or maybe he just wants to admire the view he has directly beneath Margaux. Littlefinger certainly can't blame him.

"But I've seen more than enough to be able to offer you a job, should you want it. I pay my girls very well, and that does not even include the tips you will receive from customers. One last thing before we fill out the paperwork, though, and I hope you do not think me forward when I ask, but do you mind removing your clothing entirely?"

It isn't a sexual request. Baelish asks it like a professional. After all, nudity is part of the job, and the only thing that might make things a bit more difficult is if she's hiding some sort of hideous deformity. They could work around it, but he does need to see what he's working with.

She doesn't fall; she does drop, spinning to a stop inches before she would have hit the ground, gets her feet underneath her and straightens with the support of the silk. There are things you can get off mid-air and attractively, and then there's lycra athletic wear, which will cooperate with neither of those concepts even a little bit.

"My only - I think there will be a little bit learning curve," she says, pulling her cropped tank off over her head - yanking only slightly awkwardly when the bulk of her hair gives it more trouble than her shoulders did. "Your club is more people than I'm used to accounting for at the same time. But like I said; learn fast."

Fully nude, she is - well, not deformed. Despite her dark lashes and eyebrows, it is worth noting at least for novelty purposes that the carpet does, to put it crassly, match the drapes. A brazilian wax is not a concept she has yet been introduced to, and if she's aware of trimming then she hasn't taken an interest in it, but she's also never considered the potential value of a micro-g in a work environment, so some of her grooming habits may be shortly about to change.

"I am certain you will do fine." Baelish assures -- having complete faith in her abilities. He watches as she gets nude with that same professionalism -- admiring the round curve of her breasts and how they compliment her torso. He looks her over from head to toe and back up -- not seeming to mind the fact that some parts might be a bit untamed.

The other worker, however, is having a bit of trouble as he shifts himself awkwardly to hide his appreciation of Margaux.

"Good. Yes." Says Petyr. "You are exquisite, my lady. Both in your talents and your appearance. Turn around for me?" He gives a slight circular gesture with his finger. He has to see the back as well.

It's time for Margaux to learn about technology! Because she and Elliot totally had a conversation on the network at some point where he offered to help her with that. It absolutely happened and we all remember it fondly.

Somehow he didn't really expect her to look like she does IRL. He opens the door to his house (okay, like, it's not his because it's assigned but only one other person lives there right now so he's had a shockingly comfortable amount of isolation) and then just kind of stares because. She's shorter than him — by a lot — and he's not exactly a tall dude. She looks somewhere between alternative and high fantasy. It is the kind of look that would earn her a lot of money as a Suicide Girl, basically. If she had any idea how internet porn worked.

Yeah, he might need to borrow some of Darlene's expertise for this, specifically the module (that he's literally just thought up) about avoiding harassment online where nobody can simply kick the other person in the balls.

Shit. Shit, he's staring.

"Hello," he says, voice soft and syrup-slow, Jersey boy. "I'm Elliot. You're Margaux. Come in." Followed by the customary removal of himself from the doorway so she can in fact do so. They're going to go upstairs to his bare-ass room probably, even if the house is empty, because that's where he's set all the tech up.

Edited (annoying extra e in her name what) 2016-11-17 05:04 (UTC)

It definitely happened and it was great. Less great is going to be being told she can't just nut everybody who gets fresh with her, but - that is a shortly problem, not a now problem, and the solution to the now problem of Elliot staring is Margaux's tolerant patience of something she is used to until he catches himself and they can carry on with the interaction. She isn't any less striking in the world she came from - more, probably, it being a world without hairstylists, the internet or superheroism - and having spent the better part of the last half-decade in communities where she is more often than not the only thing like herself, being looked at is not a new phenomenon.

They don't have to go through the song and dance of 'yes I'm real' so - honestly, she's made worse first impressions.

"Thank you," she says, warmly, slipping in when he moves; she's all light and angles, and some of the softness is conscious and deliberate where it would be easy and perhaps even natural to be and become something much more remote. Elves, man: they sure are something. "It's nice to meet you in person! I like the computer boxes a lot - I live with a woman who lives in them - but you all answer much faster than I do, I feel bad. I'll practise!"

It takes Margaux roughly eight years to construct a text message, and then she gets one back in a few minutes - no one has actually complained about it, but she's pretty sure that's not because they haven't noticed that margaux is typing . . . and don't care.

The computer boxes. Elliot is charmed. It's funny: back home if some rich exec still using a blackberry had proven they didn't understand basic PC security he'd find that fucking moronic. There's no excuse for people with the ability and resources not to educate themselves. And his abilities, his pay grade, was way above teaching some IT 101 class. Here it's different. He feels like he can really make a difference, help people who are so unfamiliar with technology they maybe don't even realize they need help.

"Yeah, practice makes perfect," he says, then winces at his own inanity. "What do you mean your housemate lives in computers, though?" he asks, because. What. Is she misunderstanding something.

Margaux takes her time about answering - visibly ordering her thoughts, dredging up Catherine's explanation to share again. "I don't know if I'll explain this right," she says, apologetically, first. Then; "Her name is Catherine, she's from the swearing in this month? She said she's a computer programme made out of a person. Like someone took a picture of a person and made it into her. And she's always in the computer boxes, even when it looks like she isn't."

Which is weird, but she'd been won over to considering it extremely cool very swiftly.

"She has lots of them in her room. Instead of a bed or things."

What.

Like, what.

Isn't he supposed to be teaching her about computers? Maybe the first thing he should teach her is that what she's describing isn't actually possible. And yet despite this certainty, despite his blank stare, he can't actually just dismiss the idea as nothing. This place is too weird for that.

"Catherine," he echoes, "Okay." To be followed up on at a later date. Maybe if he sees for himself he'll have a better understanding of what the hell she's talking about. Elliot shakes his head ruefully. He is amassing a lot of computers in his room, too, but he does in fact also have a bed.

"We might have to start somewhere more basic than that," he decides. "Anything you wanna know before we begin?"

your heart is so hard, my mother told me, it can't be good for your health.

hermann gottlieb | a cafe in de chima

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pablo arjona | some thrift stores

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petyr baelish | the iron throne, maurtia falls

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de chima 004. / mid-nov but pre cosmic cube

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