#scarsdale

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(Ice shows up, and just to be on the safe side, he has a hoodie in August's size and gloves in his backpack, and a spare Bluetooth-enabled helmet. He's in his own usual clothes, although with some of the jacket armor in; New York is a tougher drive than KC. He heads to the library to check for or wait for August's arrival. If he has to wait, he'll look over some of the books, curious at the kinds of things libraries in Freeholds carry)

*August is there, and ready to go. Kind of. He's in clean jeans, loafers, and a St. Patrick's Day tee shirt....oh dear.

*He has a cold-weather jacket with him as well.*

(Ice stares at the shirt) "Well. You look festive. Nobody accuse you of not getting into the spirit of things. Here." (The gloves unpocketed, tossed over) "Somebody sideswipes us, better the leather than your palms."

*He catches the gloves and looks at them blankly for a minute.* Oh. Your motorcycle? Oh.... ok.

"Yeah. You want a hoodie, go under the jacket, too? Brought one, looks your size. Come on." (He tosses the clean hoodie over from his mostly-empty pack if August wants it, and leads him out. It's black, of course, and probably picked up used from a thrift store) "Know this place, not too bad, pretty dark so ID's shouldn't be a problem to get in. You a sports fan?" (He's locked the bike outside, and once there he tosses August the helmet; it's a sleek, shiny black piece of hardware) "It's got bluetooth, should be able to hear each other. Turn it on, and -- watch your ears getting it on, mine always get caught, yours probably will, too." (He'll help if needed, and ask August to shoulder the pack as they get on. Hopefully August has no problem with holding on to him as a passenger)

*It becomes quickly clear that he's never been on a motorcycle before, but he's seen other people do it! He puts the hoodie on, and wrestles into his jacket, helmet, gloves, and straddles the bike carefully.*

"Okay, here's the important thing, if we're taking a corner? Lean into it. Going to feel wrong, but you try and straighten up, throws off our balance, we'll go down, vershtay? Don't think it's going to be a problem, can't get up speed here like you can in the sticks, but telling you so you know. Now hold on. And try not to do the Heimlich, Ghost did that first time she rode, and couldn't breathe. Like a damn anaconda." (Again, if August seems reluctant, he grabs his arms and sets them, rasping) "It's not a hug, it's not wanting to go falling off the back and get hit by a taxi. Kind of a bad joke way to go." (August can put the visor up or down as he wants; this close, he can smell the leather of ice's jacket, something dead and rotting -- well, that's sluagh for you -- and some kind of drugstore soap or spray. And the bike gets started, and off they go, into evening commute traffic)

25¢ for the swear jar!

*He's holding on, rather tightly in fact.*

(He sighs. Anacondas. Why does he always get the anacondas?) (It's a long drive for a relatively short distance, as it is in every urban hub; and parking is at a premium. Rather alarming to August might be that Ice is a quick learner, and so he has learned to drive aggressively; more than once August might be convinced he was about to die in the middle of a New York street. But whether by skill or luck, Ice gets them there, unscathed except for whatever bruises may now be freshly on his ribs from the sidhe's death-grip, and finds them a spot to park, probably illegally, in a bicycle space a block down. Well, someone else is doing it too with a moped, so....)

*August -was- alarmed, but he tamps it down and tries to fight his instincts; he leans into turns and lets Ice go when they stop.*

"Not so bad, right?" (It's odd hearing ONLY Ice's mortal voice through the helmet; it's still rough in timbre, but oddly less menacing, unpleasant. Then the helmet is yanked off and the sandpaper rasp once more predominates) "Ever been here? Boat Bar? Passed it a few times, never been, either. Was fifteen, couldn't get in, like I can, now." (yes, that one year made SUCH a difference, Ice....)

Ah, no. I don't spend a lot of time in the City. Maybe next year, though.

OOC Ok, heading out BUT will be on... expect delays.

((Salutes!))

OOC your post!

"Thought you said you lived around here? Maybe I'm thinking somebody else." (He shoves his helmet into the gear pack - it has a dedicated compartment for it, and carries August's hooked in his fingers, the pack over shoulder. They'll cross the streets twice to get to the bar; Ice is not a large guy; with his boots on (which add an inch or two to his height), he's about 5'6" and maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. But just as he drives, he strides aggressively, with a direct, intense stare ahead that is a definite 'keep away' to any that might seem inclined to approach, even if only to ask directions. It may well be a contrast to August's more easygoing and approachable mannerisms, and definitely unusual for a sluagh. They pass brick buildings and storefronts; here is a nail salon, and place For Lease, with papered-up windows. They pass a Chinese restaurant on the corner, and a music store -- the red door next to it appears to the their destination, a beer sign in neon illuminating the window. Not upper-crust, by any means, it is a dive bar, and the area has a decidedly blue-collar vibe) (Ice slows as they arrive, and digs for his fake ID; he straightens to his full (augmented) height, and heads inside with the appearance of absolute confidence)

I live in Scarsdale, too. *He follows the sluagh.*

(He nods, and shrugs. He has to nearer to be heard; it isn't AS crowded as it would be on a weekend, but there are people inside adding to the ambient noise) "Makes sense, I guess." (Unsaid, 'For a sidhe') (He scans for a table, and settles for one that isn't all the way in the back -- everyone wants those, it seems -- and takes one near a wall, a circular wooden thing with candles for lighting. Not romantic; any remote notion of that is disabused by Ice dropping his pack over a chair and grabbing for a beer menu before dropping into his chair. He flips it over) "Sure you don't want to try this crafts beer stuff? You know, support small-scale hooch makers. This one, low alcohol, won't get you dancing on tables."

"Huh. Pear cider?"

"No, thanks. You go ahead though." His tone is easy as he looks around the room.

"Huh. Molotov cocktail. Really got to try that one sometime." (The bar is dim, but lit with flaring bright spotlights of orange, red and yellow in places; better lit near the bar, where a girl with a nose-ring is currently helping out the patrons there. A Metallica pinball machine is being ignored by all, and an ATM machine rests comfortably by the bathroom; booths line the wall. Ice slides up to approach, an will simply get them both Cokes, and comes back with a bowl of peanuts, shrugging. The jukebox is playing, and Ice has to lean to be heard over the sound of off-beat music) "Thought it was going to be different. Can go someplace with food, a TV, you want. But, here." (He slides over the Coke, and sets the peanuts nearer the sidhe; he can't eat them comfortably. His own Coke has the wrapper on the end of the straw, he idly plucks it off, balls it up and tosses it aside. Then he reaches into his pocket for earplugs, putting them on one at a time, bright orange foam, scowling) "Better."

*The Sidhe, muted to a merely handsome boy here, grins with a flash of brilliant teeth as he sips his coke.* This is fine, but if you want to go somewhere else that's ok too. I don't have, like, an agenda for tonight."

"Well, you get hungry, there's places to eat, get Chinese or something a few doors down." (He takes a sip of his Coke, seeming disgruntled to find grenadine and a cherry in it. He fishes out the cherry by its stem to stare at, then sets it down on a bar-napkin, where it sits like a bright red ode to artificial color) "By the way, wanted to say sorry, the other night, wasn't you. Or her. I should know better, get out when there's a lot of people. Ghost, she shuts down. I kind of, I don't know, get mean, I guess. Snappish." (He shrugs, flicks eyes up, narrowed) "Guess it didn't help, just had a kind of philosophical disagreement, her and me, you know. You think it carries over to the, you know, other side of your life?" (A quick sip of the sweetly-flavored, now cherryless Coke) "Sorry, can change subject, it bothers you any."

"Like I said, Ice, it's not a problem." Mildly. "What do you mean, '...it carries over...'?"

(He flicks eyes over, wary; his back is to the bar, letting August have the better view, and it's making him edgy. But, no one could likely hear them anyway, even if they were nearby; the current music is an angry-sounding mix of bands-you-never-heard-of, with a faux-hipster vibe. Then he looks back) "You know, Kithain stuff. Doesn't seem to really, you know, make sense, all of this, with that." (A shrug, leaning folded arms on the small table) "Like, the whole idea, you know, you think about it, hell. For instance. When half of you -- us, sorry -- half of us keeps going to the recycle bin, and the other half goes to whatever, doesn't make a lot of sense, vershtay? How you figure?"

August listens, taking the question seriously. "Well... please understand, it's not something I have spent a lot of time on... I mean.... I'm not in a position to be responsible for anyone but myself, you know, not a leader. And reincarnation is not something I'm anticipating so...." He sips his coke "But, just off the top of my head, I'd say that an afterlife could be possible for the Sh.... folks like me. And for other folks...." He ponders. "... maybe the part that doesn't reincarnate goes on to an afterlife?"

"Might be. Know you're never the same person twice, and that's kind of why." (A shrug, and drinks, unconcerned) "But, you know, say that THAT part doesn't make sense, because we're not part of -- all that it's talking about. Why should we follow it? I mean, seems like if it was made for -people- to follow, we're something else, I guess. Never went much to synagogue even before, though, so guess it's like, what do you call it? Moot? She wants to follow it, fine, but me?" (He shrugs, eyes narrowed) "Like, question is, if we're not -- you know, ordinary people -- is it murder? Stuff like that."

"But, why you follow it, mind if I ask? Just because you were, you know, kind of brought up in it?"

OOC You've lost me, Ice P *grin* Accent's throwing me.

((L He's rambling, is part of it.))

(He flicks eyes up from the Coke, and seeing confusion on August's face, he clarifies) "If we're not human, does it even -apply- to us?"

"Sure. I think it does." *He takes another sip.* -IF- you accept that God is Universal, Catholic, if you will....." *Another grin.* "Then if follows that He applies to all."

"So, you really don't think maybe, the bible just applies to regular people? " (A quick grin) "I mean, what did demons, angels and stuff do, come to people, inspire them, scare them, cause change? Where do we fit in?"

"Well, there's a lot I don't know, Ice." Honestly. "I'm hoping to learn, of course, but.... No, I don't think the Bible applies to just regular people. I think we fit in just as they do; that we have the same instructions from Him, and the same invitation to Love and belonging with Him."

(A nod and shrug) "Just wondered. Going back to kind of like, what Marguerite was saying, doesn't make sense, then, that some people be Seelie, others not, if it makes it easier. When you were a....when you ate that sign, could you really believe like you do now?" (A sip, eyes sharp on him. Seeming genuinely curious)

"I mean, wanting to eat people, kind of sounds a little iffy, don't it?"

He drops his gaze, troubled. "It does. I... it was .... there was a lot of sensory overload. I wouldn't say I was thinking clearly."

"I can't honestly say my attention was turned to my faith at the time."

OOC Off to the job site! Your post. BBASAP.

"Yeah? Welcome to being Unseelie." (A quick, hard grin, then) "See, think that's the thing, makes it harder to, you know, reconcile, that the word? Because, lots of times, maybe it -isn't- about thinking. That whole Passion Before Duty thing, me, I been thinking about it a lot since I met Ghost, it isn't like, a list of laws you write down and follow. Think it's more what you are, kind of."

(He narrows eyes, appraising the sidhe) "I mean, you wake up one way, nobody hands you a list and says, "Go out and act like this", you know? Maybe she really can't help caring so damn much about her family, what's expected of her, the old ways of things. Me, I can't figure out why it -matters-.

(He sips and shrugs) "Guess what I'm saying is, makes it hard to figure how the rules can apply the same to everybody, don't it? When Dreaming pulls you one way, and the bible pulls you another. Easy to be virtuous if you're Dreamed up that way to start with. Yeah, I know you said you don't have all the answers, but been thinking. Might be why, you know, religion matters to her and you, not to me."

*He leans forward, elbows on the table, his dreamy grey eyes intense.* "That's an excellent point, Ice. Maybe it's just that you haven't found the right faith for you." *He stops to think.* "On first blush.... I could see how maybe half the Unseelie code could be.... well, in keeping with matters of Faith, depending on how it was used. Change -can- be good, I guess. And Passion, while it shouldn't come before Duty, could be used to enhance it, motivate it." *He frowns.* "But....Honor is not a lie. And Glamour is not Free." *He takes a drink of his soda.*

"Don't know. But, right there." (A shrug, eyes narrowed. Thought, not hostility; albeit those who don't know him could mistake the two) "You just said, how Passion is 'used'. Look at Goats. They don't use it, it uses THEM. Don't -think- it's something you think out, THEN figure out how to apply to whatever, nu? I mean, some people, it's easier, I guess. I know I have to work, get what I want for later, means not-doing stuff I want right now. But I can't say how it is for Goats, like, or -- hell, Thallain." (A sip, not liking the grenadine, but tolerating it) "And change, not like you sit down, think of things need changing, and make a list. I mean, computers, sure seem like the only real future to -me-, for ALL of us. Figure, we don't adapt, we get left behind, right? But can't say I -thought- about it much." (He pulls his phone from his pocket, oblivious to the irony, to check the time, then puts it aside) "Glamour, not so hard to get, our way, I guess. A lot of work, Musing, you know? Trying, not so good at it."

Well why not? Why not sit down and figure out what needs to change? Why not use your passion, instead of it using you? You're absolutely right, though, Musing is hard. It's supposed to be; Glamour is not Free.