elseralogs | open | knock knock

It had taken Will a few days to accept what was going on, but... he had found someone at Xochipilli willing to douse his skepticism and he feels that he is on point with the rules of this delusion. And it is certainly a delusion, in his mind, a long dream that he's going to wake up from eventually; and God only knows what he'll have done. For now, however, he's reached an uneasy sort of peace with the situation. Especially after nearly being drowned by ice pixies.

A dog barks when Julien knocks on their door, and when Will comes to answer, the animal is sitting at his side: a shepherd with a bandaged paw.

"Yeah?" Will looks distrustful.

Julien regards both man and dog with moderate curiosity, within the boundaries of polite reserve. While he cannot miss the distrust he's greeted with, he does not take it personally. Nor does he allow it to deter him – perhaps his success will be limited, but even an opened door has given him a face to associate with the room and a master to associate with the hound.

"As I took up residence here yesterday, I thought it past time that I introduce myself to my neighbours."

Julien's Voldoan accent is strong, immediately marking him as foreign. Fortunately it has an equivalent in this world – French, his Xochipilli tour guide had assumed – because he cannot prevent it from being distinctive. He certainly knows better than to try to conceal it. Arrogance has never been his downfall.

"I am Julien."

He does not ask for a name in return or offer any additional conversation, knowing better than to force interaction. His words are already a clear invitation to engage him; no more is necessary.

Will's brows pinch slightly. The calm directness is not unpleasant, simply unusual, and it says something about the personality of this man. Already a file has been created and labeled in Will's mind, taking note of everything. He really wishes he could just not take so many notes, could just interact and exist, but that's not how his mind works. He's used to it.

The dog tilts his head up at Julien, friendly and inquisitive.

"Nice to meet you, Julien." Will is secretly relieved that they don't have to shake hands. "What bring you to the neighborhood?"

Will isn't so good at pretending to be friendly, but he also isn't trying to be rude.

“Employment,” Julien answers with a trace of dry humour. “A change of pace and fresh opportunity.”

He extends a hand towards the dog in the universal offer of a scratch behind its ears.

“What happened to your companion's paw?”

It isn't the first time Will has heard that wryness. He's... used it himself a couple of times. He wonders if he should be questioning everyone who moves into this building. It's a difficult question to work smoothly into conversation however. Hey, hi, are you a magical boy too?

For now he just scrubs a hand back through his hair, glancing down at the dog.

"Frost bite, it got nasty the other day."

"Poor fellow."

The difficult part of adjusting to this world is the sheer volume of difference between it and his own that Julien must learn of and ingrain. In Gransys his watch was the Stone of the North, and its large snow harpy populations made frost-related injuries a common risk, so it takes Julien a second to realise the oddity of such an injury given the warm climate and general lack of magic. It is a barely noticeable lapse, but a lapse all the same, which is less than ideal. Faint puzzlement touches his expression.

"I did not think this city cold enough for it."

"There was a... cold snap, earlier in the week."

It's a little bit obvious when Will is lying about something. He is just not very good about it, but in this case he is not completely lying, merely omitting some details. There's still the same sort of breathiness to the assertion, however, a lack of total conviction.

"It was really strange." And he shrugs, as if to dismiss the issue. "What is it you do, Julien?"

Julien is certainly perceptive enough to note the lie. While he has the grace not to call it out, he does raise his eyebrows. The deception is easy to understand when one is aware that the existence of magic and monsters is not publicly acknowledged. But is this man merely an observer?

There is no time to follow that thread of thought, however, because the question posed to him takes quick-thinking. To call himself a knight would be folly in this world, yet to hesitate would be suspicious. The truth requires no conscious effort to maintain, so he simply omits his martial duties.

"Diplomacy. The management of people and resources, requisition." Julien cocks his head. "What of you?"

Will's change of expression is subtle, just a little more interest. He's taking note of similarities he feels about Julien and about his own roommate. Someone used to a far different set of cultural identifiers, abstracting his world to explain it. It is a theory in process, one of the many newly opened files in his mind where he stores information. The initial thought of where Julien might fit amongst them is noted.

"Sometimes I do the same thing." It's a bitter observation, though Will's tone is easy enough that without context, it does not strike as such. "Currently, I teach criminal theory to officers."

"An interesting line of work."

The concept is a fascinating one to Julien. With experience keeping the peace one tends to gain an instinct for picking out criminals, and some idea of what drives them. But to make a serious study of it, and teach those whom the knowledge serves best... that is truly progressive.

As far as settling in goes, it is a twist of luck that his past lies beyond the rift. It also reminds him that he must research El Sera's laws.

"Do you teach from experience?"

Will nods, his eyes on the floor for a moment. His place in law enforcement is a particularly grisly one and he does not particularly like to highlight that fact to every stranger who inquires about his work.

"Sometimes." Most of the time. "I also studied forensics at school, doctorate."

But he's not a doctor, contrary to what some people seem to think.

It is a statement that means little to Julien, the consequence of incompatibility between worlds. He simply dips his head in acknowledgement in response, and embraces the aversion to the subject shown. There is no reason to pursue.

Moving the conversation onward is easy enough.

"Will you introduce yourself and your companion?" he asks.

Julien ensures that there is patience in his tone -- it is, after all, not a demand.

The calm would almost be unnerving, if Will didn't appreciate it so much. He was usually bombarded with his understanding of others, all their volatility.

"Will Graham," he really prefers not to shake hands if he can help it, so unless the other man makes some motion suggesting he'd like it... Will is just going to motion down to the dog next instead. "He's going by Deoji, for the time being."

DeeOhGee. Will wasn't entirely sold on the idea of keeping the dog yet, however. Not entirely sure about trying to make this place home.

Fortunately for Will, the handshake is too new a gesture for Julien to be in the habit of intiating.

"Deoji," Julien echoes, the pronounciation distorted by his accent. "An unusual name."

While El Sera is far indeed from Gransys, the people that he's met thus far have very Gransian names. Even 'El Sera' sounds as though it could belong in Hearthstone. Yet it will not do to wander in stray thoughts right in the middle of a conversation.

"Have you lived here long?"

John needs a drink. In fact, he needs several of them. He's never been fond of dealing with paperwork. Paperwork where he's lying through his teeth about passports and work Visas is particularly irritating, though. He's not Sherlock. He doesn't slip out of one skin and into another with the ease of a snake. Still, it's nonsense that's got to be done. The stack of forms had arrived along with fake documentation in his name. If he wanted to be a doctor in an American academy, it would be tedious.

The knock at the door is a welcome distraction, and John's up and over to the door more quickly than he really should be for someone supposedly engrossed in something. He pauses at the door give it a moment not to look overeager, then opens it. There's a man he doesn't recognize standing there.

"Something I can do for you, mate?"

This man sounds almost Gransian, and the inherent openness of those words bodes well; Julien does not quite smile, but an underlying friendliness colours his politely restrained disposition.

"I took up residence here yesterday," he says, "and thought it time that I introduced myself to my neighbours."

His Voldoan accent is strong, marking him as foreign, but its close similarity to this world's French disguises its alien nature -- it is distinctive, but not, he hopes, suspiciously so.

"I am Julien."

He is confident of establishing some rapport.

He's certainly established some rapport. John's no Sherlock Holmes, but he can see the military set of the other man's shoulders, and his accent is easy enough to identify. Some sort of French soldier? Julien looks built enough for it.

John holds out his hand and offers an easy smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Julien. I'm John. Been here a short spell, myself. Transferred over from the continent, have you?"

Julien dips his head in acknowledgement. With his understanding of this world limited, thus far he's been quick to defer to the assumptions of others when they've aided his cover. While misguiding, no lie has passed from his lips -- the only concession to honour he can make in the situation.

The handshake he's at least had one or two awkward encounters with by this point, so Julien responds as he should, if not as quickly as someone the gesture is second nature to. He takes John's offered hand and shakes it with the level of grip and duration that he's observed to be polite.

"'Tis a change," he comments. "In truth, this was an unexpected opportunity... but one impossible to turn from."

It's something of a challenge to hold back a grin at the somewhat archaic mode of speaking. John imagines he'd sound about the same if he tried speaking French, though. He does raise a brow at the mention of opportunity.

"Unexpected and impossible about sums up my experience to date, as well," he says, withdrawing his hand. This is going to be a very short conversation - and very quick return to paperwork - if he doesn't draw it out. "So, has anyone shown you around the neighborhood? There's a cafe down the block if you're interested in tea or a coffee."

Edited 2013-07-03 16:39 (UTC)

"No one has," Julien answers.

He has no inking of what a cafe, tea or coffee might be, but he is not a man easily intimidated by the unknown, and he comprehends the underlying offer. The corners of Julien's mouth lift slightly, curving his lips into a subtle smile.

"I should like that, John."

He steps back from the door to make room.

"Just a moment, then." He doesn't want to shut the door in Julien's face, so he leaves it open as he goes to tidy the papers on the coffee table and fetch his keys from the counter. John hasn't added any particular effects to the sparten apartment. Not that he has much to work with. The money he'd been allocated by Xochipilli had gone to supplementing his wardrobe with some basic necessities. Decorating could wait.

Once he's sorted, John heads out the door, locking it behind. "What is it you do, then, Julien?" he asks as he takes the lead toward the stairs and the building exit.

Julien falls smoothly into step.

The question is an awkward one to answer in his position -- he may not have familiarised himself with El Sera yet, but he knows that no men-at-arms keep the peace in the city, no blacksmiths or bowyers sell their works, no person in its streets bears weapons or armour or heraldry. How can he say that he is a knight when there is no place for one, except in secret?

Yet the truth takes no artifice, no painstaking maintenance, no focus to recall. Better to simply omit the explicitly martial portions.

"Diplomacy. The management of people and resources, requisitions."

It is a decent summary of his other duties -- ones that he does not doubt to be acceptable in this land.

John's brow furrows momentarily as he glances over at Julien. A diplomat and requisitions manager with that build? Stranger things may have happened, but he's still dubious as they reach the bottom floor and exit out to the street. John turns right and leads them down the street. It's past the time that it would be busy, but there are still people passing by and the typical city traffic, whatever the hour.

"Reckon most blokes would choose negotiating with you over fighting, eh?" John jokes. Outright questioning the statement when he's got his own matters to hide wouldn't work out particularly well if Julien decides to turn things around. "What got you into that line, if you don't mind my asking? Would've thought the army would be after you with a stick. Or the local rugby teams."

Edited (Tenses...) 2013-07-05 21:05 (UTC)

Julien adds rugby to his mental list of words to research later, even as he laughs. He's certainly fought and won his fair share of duels, but words can be just as effective a weapon in his experience. He is skilled in both manners of combat.

"Facilitating peace and the comfort of others are worthy contributions to make," he answers.

Yet John's perception of his advantageous build, perfectly suited to knighthood and at its physical peak, and martial bearing is not something to dismiss -- he has the honed instincts of a veteran warrior, and those too are likely to be picked up upon if the circumstances are right.

Julien visibly considers for a moment, then sighs. "I have fought in the past, but I've no wish to speak of it. Will that soothe your disbelief?"

There is no offence in his tone, but there is a hidden calculation behind his words, deeper than the thought he openly showed; he has no personal aversion to his actions prior to El Sera, but they are troublesome to reconcile with El Sera's façade, and that is reason to be reluctant. Let John make of that as he will -- it is a portion of the truth, but Julien offers no justification for it.

Instead he looks to John with curiosity, within the bounds of politeness.

“What of your livelihood?” he asks.

John's a little embarrassed to have asked after something Julien wasn't interested in speaking about. He certainly didn't go banging on about his time in Afghanistan with perfect strangers. Barring Sherlock, but John didn't even have to talk for the other man to figure out everything on his own.

Shrugging to throw off the slight discomfort, John offers a brief smile up at Julien. "I'm a doctor. Peace and comfort are well up my alley, though, a different sort, I suppose. Just putting together everything I need to start at Xochipilli Academy next week. Should be nice."

He tries very hard to sound enthused at the prospect. GP work is all right, after all. Pleasant, on occasion, even. It would also bring in some extra money and give him an excuse to be out and about instead of languishing in a smokey apartment. There's also the curious case of at least one younger man he'd met with extraordinary abilities on the night of the pixie attack.

They stop in front of the Brick and Bell Cafe. It's a quaint little building with mostly-empty white tables outside and a counter for ordering visible inside through the open door and windows. John gestures for Julien to go ahead of him. "They've got a decent set of sandwiches if you're hungry, as well."

Sandwiches are yet another thing Julien has not heard of, but he supposes that he will learn very shortly. The prospect of food is very appealing right now however mysterious.

"I have eaten little. The aftermath of moving at such short notice... I am sure that you understand."

John indicated earlier that the full meaning would not be missed.

Julien takes the cue and strides inside the cafe, looking around with interest. He picks the conversation back up after a short moment.

"Yours is a noble profession. There is no greater cause than mercy," even though his reserve, his belief in that sentiment is clear.

Still, it does not prevent the hint of dry humour in his following words -- Julien is a perceptive man well-practiced in reading others as part of his own profession, and John's enthusiasm does not quite ring true. "Though I imagine tending the academy to be somewhat more tedious than caring for a wider community."

John follows after and considers whether he wants to spend the money on food or go back to beans on toast at the apartment after this. He's entertaining someone, might as well make it entertaining for himself. And someone very astute, at that.

Julien isn't anywhere near what he's used to getting from Sherlock, but John would hope he's not that easy to read. It's a little harder to put up a front, perhaps, when he still feels so out of his element.

"It's a different level of excitement from what I'm used to, certainly," he replies with a light laugh. "I've worked a bit with kids" - on the battlefield, their eyes wide and terrified as he tied a tourniquet around bleeding limbs, pulled out shrapnel, or reset broken bones - "but nothing like this. Plenty to keep things from getting tedious around town, though. Bit of an odd place, El Sera."

John lets Julien make of that what he will as he steps up to the counter and orders a cup of Earl Grey and the turkey club, grateful for the debit card Xochipilli had issued him at the start of all this. He receives a number on a stand and steps aside so that Julien can make his selection.

After noting how ordering is done, Julien reads the cafe's menu; the sandwiches thankfully contain a number of familiar ingredients, but the drinks remain enigmatic. He'll have to accustom himself to El Sera's way of eating eventually, so once it is his turn to order he picks his sandwich (honey mustard chicken) and then simply orders the first listed beverage that catches his eye, and follows through the rest of the motions.

With that done, he moves aside, and resumes conversing. "I've heard that even the weather has been strange."

Once Julien has his number, John leads them out to one of the tables and sits. He speaks as they go. "I haven't been in American very much, but a hard freeze in the middle of summer certainly seems bit off." A wry smile accompanies his next comment. "I mean, I'm sure they've got this climate change thing right, but I didn't think doomsday would come quite that soon."

It's a moment before John continues, trying to decide how much detail to go into. If Julien was bringing it up, he must have heard about it from someone. "I took a step out during it. Hopefully there won't be anything like that again. Did you... hear about it from one of the other tenants in the apartments?"

While the reference to climate change is beyond Julien, the latter half of the comment draws from him a short, dry laugh. This world was lucky that it did not have to live under the looming shadow of doom. He takes a seat, setting thoughts of the wyrm aside.

Even when sitting, Julien's posture is impeccable.

"One whose dog suffered frostbite. I thought it a strange injury in a place warm as this."

"Will," John says after a slight pause in which he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He hadn't even realized the other man was in the same building. If he'd made an effort at being any kind of social, perhaps he wouldn't have to learn about that from a man who'd only just arrived. "Has he given his mutt a name yet?" John suspects the dog will be staying. "Was waffling a bit last time I'd heard."

Last time he'd snapped at Will via text message. John breathes deeply. He'd rather focus on not mucking up his current conversation with Julien than dwell on possibly pissing some other bloke he hardly knew off.

"Do you like dogs?" he adds, offhand.

It is no surprise that John knows Will, given that they live in the same building and both work for Xochipilli -- what he does wonder at is the deep breath that follows, though only minorly.

"Deoji, he introduced it as," Julien recalls, the last syllable of the dog's name softened and elongated by his accent.

His expression softens faintly at the offhand question, tinged with nostalgic sentiment as his thoughts tun back to life in Voldoa and the peaceful stretches between the duty that took him far from his homeland.

"They are faithful, amiable animals. As a boy I oft passed secret scraps to my father's hounds."

John can't help grinning. Whatever their quarrel, Will's conversation about his dog - it is his dog whatever the man might claim - had been entertaining. The use of the word 'hound' does catch his attention, though. It's a reminder of his and Sherlock's last case, and decidedly less friendly 'hound' than Deoji or Julien's pets might be.

"The good ones are, anyway," he agrees with a nod. "Had a run-in with one that wasn't particularly friendly not long ago. You said your father's 'hounds,' though? Was he into some sort of sport? Fox-hunting?"

"Hunting," Julien confirms, though foxes privately strike him as a very odd choice of quarry.

Naturally, John's initial statement makes Julien curious -- it could be but a dog with too much wolf in it, or perhaps something akin to the hellhounds that exist in lore back in his home world, or any number of explanations. The allure of mystery remains as strong as ever.

"If you do not deem it too impertinent an inquiry, might I ask what happened?"

John's grin fades to a deadly serious expression as he leans forward in chair. "If I told you, I might just have to kill you." He breaks the facade after a moment and offers Julien a wry smile. "The short version that won't get me hanged is that a mate of mine was looking into some demon dog out in the country. I went with him and, well, we found the dog. Mean sort of bastard a pair of the locals let run wild and terrorize the tourists to boost business. There was a local military base around the area doing 'weird' experiments with animals, though, so we thought we'd look into it. We did find some glowing rabbits.

"Hell of a holiday," John sums up. It's the extremely abbreviated and unclassified version of events, but he's still playing at being 'just a doctor' for the time being.

Their food and drinks arrive in the hands of a pleasantly forgettable young waiter who disappears as quickly as he'd come. "Any exciting tales from the wild countrysides of France for you?" It's a round about way of asking after his previous career fighting, but John doesn't want to be rude directly when he's been asked not to ask.

open | knock knock

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life has conspired against me tagging, so sorry for the huge delay!

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