open: a little rain never hurt no one.

[charmoffensive]

WHO: Loxley, Tony Stark, Marcus Rowntree
WHAT: Three awkward ferry rides. (Or more, if I get more tags, but you know.)
WHEN: Drakonis
WHERE: The Kirkwall docks
NOTES: Tag any of these! I don't mind double ups. This is also just a general catch all post if you want to do something slightly different, or drastically different.

Comments

[favoriteanalyst]

It would be super if the ferry could arrive before the inevitable downpour, so of course it doesn't.

It isn't the rain Mobius notices first, of course. Before that, it's this guy who seems, hm, a little familiar in profile, strange spectacles, strange whatever it is from his coat--all things he'd definitely like to go and ask about. Curiosity killed the cat, of course, but people never remember that satisfaction brought it back.

He's half a step in that direction when the skies finally truly open up, and the gentleman in question then takes out the oddest parasol he's ever seen. Unlike to block the sun from fair ladies in Orlais, it seems a cane and then is quite sturdy and. Also. Flinging more water around as though Mobius wasn't about to get wet enough already.

"Really," he says flatly, as though in reply. "I didn't need help with the shower, serah, but--" And then he abruptly stops. Yeah, no shit this guy seems familiar, he runs the research department. Ah fuck. "Provost Stark." Does he say hi? Does he apologize? Does he demand an apology in turn?

Well, he was already going to get soaked to the bone with the ferry taking its sweet time. No harm done? "Got any room to share under there?"

[propulsion]

Whoops. There's a full guy here.

Tony pivots from the waist to see this for himself, the blank black lenses of his glasses giving nothing away. It is, though, unsettling to wear magic specs that cast the darkness in bright daylight when looking at people and not, say, boats in the distance or a project he's labouring over by candlelight, so it's the first thing to go, slipped into a pocket.

The request gets some subtle twinge of amusement, just visible. "You wanna step into my office? Okay, here we go," and Tony takes one big side step into Mobius' space, the sparse curtain of rain redirected off the edge of the umbrella hitting him on the way and making it almost not worth the trouble until—he's under the shade, and it's a vast improvement.

"I'm off the clock, by the way, so I don't wanna see this on your daybook."

[favoriteanalyst]

Is it much better? Not at first, and it's not like he's going to be able to get much wetter, but maybe he'll be less likely to catch some death of cold. It at least gives him a moment to run a hand through his hair and over his face just to sluice the immediate worst off.

"Promise this isn't business related. Thanks." Could he have just used his coat over his head as he'd done for other spatterings of rain, sure, but the suddenness already caught him damp and off-guard, much less the surprise unintentional shower. "Didn't have 'hide from the rain with my boss' on the docket anyway. Could've been worse, though. I could be cowering from the rain under some lady's delicate, dainty, one-person parasol instead and looking more a fool."

[propulsion]

It occurs to Tony that if they're not talking about work, they're talking about the weather. To be fair, the weather is happening a lot, a hum of pattering noise off the slopes of the umbrella. The dome itself appears to be made out of some kind of light weight fabric that nevertheless isn't leaking, unlike the breezy silk and lace of gentlelady sun-shaders.

"Linseed, linen, a little finagling. I'd invent nylon but then I'd have to introduce plastics into the environment and I got enough on my conscience. But it's pretty lightweight, for oilcloth. Here,"

and with a little handsy insisting, he'll arrange Mobius to grip onto the umbrella at its curved handle. "See? Not bad. You're the librarian?" asks an independently operating synapse, via his mouth.

[favoriteanalyst]

Rifters are absolutely fascinating. He'd already come into Riftwatch thinking so before he'd ever met any, and the more he learns, the more exciting it is. That their bodies are made of (for lack of a better immediate term) Fade stuff and don't always adhere to the same illnesses or physical laws, or even the opposite where they are particularly afflicted by things that would impact lyrium that would leave anyone else unscathed. That some come from worlds upon worlds upon worlds and that ending up here seems to be just another step in their journey. That each bring new ideas, or old ideas made new here, and try to make improvements.

Stark speaks of nylon and plastic, and Mobius already wants to ask after anything and everything unfamiliar. From what he's heard, Stark is unapologetically a Rifter. Says what's on his mind without bothering to fill everyone in on the details or context. Mobius glances around them quick to see if there is anyone else standing in the immediate vicinity before giving the handle a quick twirl, the water sluicing off with some outward force.

Lightweight but sturdy material, comfy handle. It's the little things sometimes. Associates it with more the upper crust, the tidy dukes who can't bear to get their hair wet or the viscountesses who act like they'd simply perish if they felt the sun, and the servants who hold them up and keep pace while getting all the sun or rain themselves.

Mobius just smiles. Might have to get him one of these. Might have to get everyone one of these. They'll work better than hats anyway. "That's me, self-appointed librarian doing a lot of dusting and organizing. And reading. More than just the tomes there but reports and notes, too. Trying to get caught up on years of work so I don't sound like an idiot when I open my mouth."