#scarsdale

(A shrug) "Is, if you live in a Freehold. I moved out of one, though." (A quick grin, unpleasantly black-gummed) "See, right there, oxymoron. How can you USE something that's like, the definition of the opposite? It's like, you hear 'crime of passion', and it's like saying, well, why didn't you use being pissed-off....sorry, I mean, being angry -- at catching your wife in bed with your friend to -- I don't know, go get your taxes done instead of strangling her?"

"You CAN make a list, but if you want to break something, you want to break something. Why fight it?"

"And yeah, I got a list of things need changing." (A quick grin, again, unpleasant)

*He shakes his head.* No, even in a Freehold there are rites and responsibilities of the Freeholder to serve the Balefire. There's a cost.

*He offers a charming grin.* Anger is not necessarily passion.

And, you would fight the urge to be destructive -if- you were Unseelie and trying to live as a person of faith at the same time.

"No. But tell that to a Goat that wants to kick your....start something. Just saying." (Another sip, flicking eyes restlessly over the room, again. The music has changed; it's not better, and now, a few more people have entered. He looks over his shoulder, then back. His eyes narrow at the grin, and he huffs, taking another drink) "Just, I don't know. Obligations, think about it. Really -think- about it. There's nothing -- nothing -- making you stay and do something you don't want to be doing. Unless you did something like, you know, take an Oath, or something." (His restless, dark eyes settle on August) "Tell me something."

"Haven't you -ever- just felt like saying, 'To hell with all of you, all of this', and wanted to go out, DO something? Something YOU want to do, forget what people tell you you SHOULD do, responsibilities, all the things people tell you you need to do, to be 'a good Catholic', or whatever?"

"And knowing, there's nothing really stopping you, BUT you."

"Sure. But then I turned fourteen." He grins. "Believe it or not, I really -am- doing the things that I want to do. Not because I've taken an oath or because I'm forced to or because I'm Seelie or anything."

"Maybe little kids have it right. Maybe they're the only ones that DO." (A quick grin in return) "And yeah, okay. If you're happy, fine, not saying you're wrong or anything. Just something to think about. If you'd still -want- the same things you do now, if you weren't. You think so, okay." (A shrug, eyes narrowed) ""None of it matters, anyhow. Doesn't change what IS. But, was good to have somebody besides Ghost to ask."

*He nods easily, not at all offended.* "Sure."

"Don't really think about it all that much, though. Usually." (He checks the level of August's soda) "Okay, so, just asked you, like, a dozen personal questions. You're a good sport, guess it's you now, you want a turn in the cross-exam chair."

"Oh.... well.... no, not, ah, not really. I mean... Well, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself? We haven't, you know... talked."

(He shrugs, wary again. It's his default state, it seems; guarded, watchful. But he invited the questions, so he answers, albeit his eyes flick back over his shoulder again, then over the room. His eyes stop on a man drinking in a corner, narrow at something, studying him, even as he speaks, then moves on) "Nothing special. Moved a couple times growing up, settled in Brooklyn, different parts, once or twice. Moved when I was four, then Dad lost his job in '08, moved again. Different schools, different people to hate every time." (A quick, hard grin, flicking eyes back) "Got a computer when I was a kid, started building my own. Got a visit from FBI when I was thirteen, so don't think they cared much when I moved out two years later. Meant they weren't going to be getting Secret Service wiretaps." (A shrug, taking a drink) "Got Fostered at a Gwydion 'Hold, think I was somebody's punishment. Left about halfway through, said hell with this, they started talking Oaths and stuff. Didn't get along well with people. Weren't many slugs like me there, and Nockers didn't like me, much." (A flick of eyes over, intense) "If there's something bothers you enough, change it. Do something about it. Don't sit and complain, say 'poor me', change it. So I did."

"I left."

He nods. "That sounds.... rough."

(A shrug) "Rough how? What have I got to complain about? I have my own place, a business, kind of. Working on getting ahead, more." (Eyes narrowed, regarding him warily) "Figured out, don't need people to do stuff for you, you know? Good lesson, I try and teach those pooka kids, don't -wait- for people to do things for you, don't rely on other people, do for yourself."

"Like you." (He juts chin, picking up his glass to sip) "Nobody got you into college, you did that."

He grins. "I had a lot of help. Teachers, counselors, my par... my host's parents, coaches, my scout troop, my bosses....."

"Well, -yeah-. Use help, if, you know, it's offered." (A sardonic twist of a grin in return, a salute with his glass) "And if you can trust it. But nothing's really -free-, you know? Not much, anyway."

"Do what you have to, take what you have to, give what you have to, I guess."

He levels a finger at Ice. "Ha!! Ok, -there-! I win."

"I didn't say Glamour." (A snort, narrowing eyes in return. Hard amusement) "Doesn't contradict. But sure, fine."

"You can win." (He raises hand, pushes down the finger, with a rasp of a laugh)

He grins. "You said -nothing's- really free."

"Well, can't wait for it to come walking up to you, or somebody to just hand it over for nothing." (He plucks up a peanut, examines it, then decides it's not worth the effort, and tosses it back) "Still got to go get it yourself, you know? Unless, like, you know of a vending machine, something like that, I can go put a quarter in, get dross back."

You know, I've never heard of anything like that but it wouldn't be a bad idea. I bet someone at Alabaster Hollow could build one.

Of course, you still have to fund and stock it but....

"What's the exchange rate, you think, cash to dross? And better make sure nobody tips the machine, they'll do it for a can of Coke, can be dam....can be sure they'd do it for that."

"Maybe some kind of security or bracing would be good. And I don't know.... " He thinks "... maybe the local Freeholder or noble would decide the exchange rate? What the market can bear?"

"Not a bad idea, you can get it going. Some guy has a piece of dross, but can't make rent, wants to swap it, or has extra cash, wants a little dross for emergencies. Huh." (Thinking it over, eyes narrowed) "You're right. Wonder why nobody's tried it before."

"Or maybe they did, failed miserably, and we just don't know about it." (A snort, and drinks)

He smiles, but it's not the full 100-watt version. "Tell you what, Ice, you know a lot of nockers; why don't you take the idea and run with it. Research it, at least. See if it's been done."

"Because I can think of a dozen ways for it all to go to hell. But, you want me to, sure. I'll ask around." (He scowls, now, into his drink, muttering something about not knowing that many nockers, not anymore. But he shrugs again, flicks eyes up) "Will ask Hirim, next time I see him. Sure if I can think of a dozen ways, he'll think of TWO dozen, and find at least that many ways of telling me I'm an idiot for even asking." (A twist of a grin) "Yeah. I'll do that tomorrow."

He nods, and sits back. "Ok."

(More people have started to come in; it's past nine, and as a group of two couples jostle over to look for a seat, Ice tenses, flicking eyes with minor hostility up and over, then back. The music has, if anything, gotten more frenetic. He huffs out a breath) "You hungry?"

He nods, understanding. "Sure. Let's go."

"You like Chinese?" (He gets up and drops the screamingly-red maraschino cherry into the mostly-empty glass; it lands on top of the ice, a garish splotch of red on the melting cubes) "Italian? It's on me."

"Chinese is good." He nods and drops a little money on the table for a tip.

(He puts head down and just -- powers his way through the crowd, as best he can. He doesn't shove, but neither does he seem shy about squeezing himself through people packed around the bar waiting for their drinks, ducking low enough not to cause spills. The most direct way out, the quickest. Likely, he arrives at the door before August, and is waiting outside, rolling shoulders and neck, releasing tension)

August follows and indeed, is no where near as 'direct' an escapee.

(And indeed, he'll lead the way for Chinese, and pay, although he doesn't eat much himself. August probably understands why; he picks off shiitake mushrooms to gum, but most of his own is packed up to take as leftovers, double-bagged and put into the pack)

August orders fried rice, and eats with a growing boy's appetite. The food is soon gone, and he insists on leaving the tip.

(...and laughs. A lot)

August grins and opens his, reading aloud "You will have long and healthy life."

"Want to trade?" (He brandishes his, and then balls it up and drops it into the waterglass)

"Let's go."

August follows along agreeably.