Recent Posts

Snooping About
[[ Dorian & Alma ]] In which Alma finds a stash of M at the Sanc, and meets a mute.

Bah! Humbug!
[[ Aurion & Alma ]] Nothing says "Christmas cheer" like hating on the holidays with a friend.

Waking Up and Breaking Out
[[ solo ]] In which Alma is nearly killed, and opts to flee Canada.

Don't I know You?
[[ Akshay & Alma ]] In which two old friends cross paths once again.

Excuse Me, Miss-- Are These Pests Yours?
[[ Kaitlyn & Alma ]] In which the antics of the bodachs lead to finding a place of residence.

A Fortuitous Mistake in Identity (AoS)
[[ Aedus & Alma ]] In which the antics of a "bodach" leads to tea and so-on.

Artistic Intentions
[[ Sapphire & Alma ]] In which Alma attends the opening of an art exhibit.

<3 This sounds like a spectacular idea. I've wanted to push Chase towards the X-kids for a while, and I was thinking that the police beat-down could catapult Gina into becoming a trainee, so yeah. Me gusta. :3 Let's do it. (God knows why I used the Alma account for this, considering that this doesn't involve her.)

As per the norm, El Asesor maintained a degree of polite attention on the woman. Even though he was eating while she spoke, his eyes never ventured anywhere beyond the path between his food and the young woman’s face. Lenna began with what she wanted out of this meeting—they wanted to work together. Luminous eyes dipped contemplatively towards the tea to his right, which the stone man lifted and took a sip of. Interesting.

Having stated her desires, the young woman launched into an explanation about a network of criminal dealings, largely surrounding the M-trade and protection money. This was all well and good, if they were talking to an up-and-coming gang. The thing was, however, that Falcone’s legacy was a long-standing one. It was no surprise that Lenna was offering such information as “new” information. Over the years, the family had transitioned from gangster poster-children, to something far more underground. Underground, but no less powerful than before. It was akin to the transition from being an advocate—in the limelight, in the focus of the NYPD—to being a puppeteer… someone who worked behind the scenes but still pulled all the strings.

El Asesor smiled faintly, exhaling a chuckle that stopped before it could really take form.

“Speak to me more on the topic of expansion, if you please,” the stone man purred, taking another sip of his tea, “And the potential benefits that Falcone and his men can reap from this exchange. By what little you’ve told me, it sounds as though the funding can contribute to a potentially… very public enterprise. This is not the style of the familys’ endeavors.”

He set the teacup down, folding his hands atop the table as he surveyed the young woman shrewdly. He leaned forward, balancing his weight upon his elbows, his smile faded into a lopsided smirk.

“Also—speak to me on the state of your faction’s infrastructure, if it pleases you,” El Asesor continued. Lenna was not one to beat around the bush, thus El Asesor would not do so, either. The luminous pools of his eyes seemed to glimmer at this request, as if to silently laugh at a private joke. If this request was too vague for the young woman, El Asesor made certain to specify as to why he was making the request.

“There have been… murmurs… on the street, of the potential for change,” the man explained, “Of what sort, I have not heard. Change, however, often leads to instability. Instability is not a promising feature when one seeks an investment. Don’t you agree, madame?”

This entire exchange was polite and disconnected, just as it had been the whole time.

((ooc: I was thinking that he might go over to meet with the “higher ups”, whoever that might be at this time… maybe see the Sanc for himself, or the Order to see if it’s an investment that Falcone would want to make, or if it’s too unstable to risk it… if that works for you?))

“Combination,” Alma explained placidly, “Vegetarian.”

It was also gourmet pizza, beyond which, which made it all-the-more better. Forget the fact that it was “unhealthy” by anyones’ standards (even Almas’). On a night like this, one needed to indulge. She settled on a soccer game, where the announcer was shouting in excited, fluent Spanish. Obviously a rerun of a past game. No one would have a soccer game on Christmas.

Aurion caught-on to the pattern, wryly inquiring as to Almas’ preferences on the season. Alma was about to utter an equally-wry retort, but just then, her reptilian friend awkwardly swung his leg over the couch and hopped to the same side as she. While he was in the middle, Alma was to one side—but it was impossible not to feel crowded next to the reptilian behemoth that Aurion was. It seemed to be the typical, “I’m going to take up as much room as possible” seating position the men often seemed to take, except… with a tail factoring into the equation.

Alma snorted back a laugh, but did not restrain the smile she quirked at the lizard mutant.

“Not at fan at all,” she confirmed, “But I also have no one to enjoy it with… probably makes me biased, ¿sí?”

The young woman leaned forward, and flipped the lid off the pizza box. She was going to shamelessly devour the whole thing on her own, but hey, company made pizza all the tastier. She got a piece for herself, and leaned back.

“Please,” she said to him, lifting the piece of pizza faintly before taking a bite. It was an open invitation. The dark haired woman sighed. This was fantastic pizza.

“I have been enjoying the quiet,” Alma murmured, “I do not get much. Ever.”

She looked over the back of the couch, past one of Aurions’ awkwardly draped arms. The stitchlings were at the far end of the room, scientifically investigating a foosball table. They were far enough away that Alma couldn’t hear them… it was about as much “rid” of them as she could get.

“They have been keeping themselves amused,” Alma said vaguely. Aurion would know who. He’d been attacked by them, so knew firsthand who they were.

It was interesting to hear the differing opinions of the two mutants—one, older and visibly mutated, who had probably had his fair share of encounters with humans. Even despite his broken speech, Aurion seemed to have a somewhat shrewd mind when it came to the mob mentality of frightened humans. They exchanged a glances and Alma quirked a smile as Aurion nodded his head. Boys who were so eager to please were simply adorable.

>> "What you eat? You say you picky. What mean?"

“It’s hard to explain,” Alma said, her voice trailing as if she were searching for the words to explain, “But… I like healthy food. Clean food that will not rot your insides.”

Alma turned her attention to Miles as he went towards the stove, watching him as a teacher might watch a student. She patiently waited as Miles found a pan. Alright, maybe he was not totally hopeless—at least he knew what a frying pan was.

But Alma was getting her hopes up too soon—for, in his quest to find a spatula, Miles had somehow found a slotted spoon, which he proclaimed to be “spatula” from this day forth. Alma smiled uncertainly, and then coughed back a giggle. She rubbed her face, as if to silently say, “Oh my God,” before her hand moved to her mouth in disbelief. Boys.

A giggles escaped her when Miles eagerly went about placing the pan on the stove, pulling the meat closer and standing with the spoon in-hand. He was ready to go. Well… psychologically, at least. Alma moved towards the stove, and towards Miles as well. She took the spoon gently from his hand.

“You are very close,” Alma said patiently, holding up the spoon as she spoke, “This… is a slotted spoon. You use it for noodles. Spaghetti, that kind of thing.” The young woman slid the drawer open again, nudging the utensils about with a discerning hand until she found a spatula. Alma fished it out and held it up for Miles to see. She spun it slightly, as if to showcase the flat planes and similar slots, “This… is a spatula. You use it when you use a pan, usually. For when you fry things.”

Alma offered the spatula to Miles, bumping the drawer shut with her hip.

“Now that you have the tools, the first thing you need to do is turn the stove on,” Alma explained. She’d let Miles try, first, then interject if she had to. Alma leaned against the counter beside where Miles was about to start cooking, facing Aurion.

“You’re a big guy,” Alma commented offhandedly, “How much do you eat, would you say? You look like you eat well enough…”

She imagined that a guy as tall as him would have to eat a good deal to look as well as he did. Not fat, by any means, but cut. And he easily surpassed six feet.