17198/Greetings in Ink and Paper

Greetings in Ink and Paper
Date of Scene:	16 February 2024
Location:	Cafe De La Magi
Synopsis:	Clara comes to invite Corben on an adventure! Surprisingly, he agrees. The two share the secrets of their powers and will definitely meet again.
Cast of Characters:	Corben Kelly, Clara Jennings

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Corben Kelly has posed:
It's just about time for Corben to wrap up for the night and turn the place over to his one employee. But he just hasn't gotten this one potion right. One last try, he drops a little of this into a little of that and then pours it all into a little more of something else.

*POOF*

He winds up with a face full of azure blue smokey powder. "Damnit," he grumbles under his breath. He's seated behind the counter with his back to the door, mixing the this and thats from the shelf there. Next to him is a fat little black slug looking thing, about a foot and a half long, with tiny wings that don't seem as if they could carry its weight. Whatever that is, it appears to be sleeping.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara is on script, which means when she enters, she appears focused. An arrow with a target. In her head, it all unfolds neatly. Open door. Find the man. Provide the invitation. Have it read. Answer questions.

    She wears an emerald green dress that is finely made, but incredibly modest. It has a high neck, covers her to her ankles, and it is cinched about her slend waist with a slender black belt. She wears glasses she technically does not need, but they complete the look. If the look is that of a school teacher from 100 years ago.

    She walks with confidence towards Corben. Well, towards his back. He probably hears her. If not, she will call out a soft, "Hello!"

Corben Kelly has posed:
For a beat, maybe longer, it seems as if Corben didn't even hear her. He looks off to his left for a moment before finally turning around. Even as he's turning, he pulls a small case from his pocket. It's clear, once he does get turned, why he didn't respond immediately. He's clicking the second of his cochlear processors in place when he asks, "Oh, hey, what can I do for you?" His accent is slightly french but he's deaf as a door nail without those processors, but somehow, eventually, he knew Clara was there.

It should be mentioned that his face and the front of that bleached white hair of his is now stained the same azure color as that smoke from a moment ago.

Beside him, on the table, that strange little thing just sleeps away.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara gives the man a curious look. She does her best not to get distracted by the.. pet? Companion? Other living thing. She reaches into her briefcase (odd, but she has one) and draws out an envelope. It's the only thing in there besides sheets of paper.

    "This is for you, sir. I was told to deliver it tonight."

    It is sealed. Like with a wax seal. With a strange emblem stamped into it. The seal can be read, with care. The Conservatory of Antiquities. Inside is an invitation that provides a location just outside Gotham. A considerable payment is offered (or services, should Corben prefer something to be recovered). The task? Get past a magical challenge to reach an artifact that the Conservatory seeks, the Manuscriptux Libravellum.

    Clara just waits for it to be read. She watches him the entire time, her eyes locked on him. It's not exactly staring. It's just the script she follows. And hopefully can stick to.

    "If you have questions, I will attempt to answer them."

    Abrupt enough? Certainly. But efficiency is a virtue.

Corben Kelly has posed:
"Ooookay then," Corben draws out as he takes the envelope. He spends a moment examining the seal. When he finally gets to opening it, he holds it at arms length as if that might really keep him from being blown to bits if it explodes. He even closes his eyes and cringes like he's expecting it to do so.

It seems impossible, but he looks even more wigged out and uncomfortable after he finishes reading it. "Uh... you sure you got the right dude?" he asks. He skims it again, then looks back up at Clara again. "Corben Kelly, you sure you're looking for Corben Kelly?" Please say no, please say no, is the mantra he's playing in his head and it's betrayed a little by his tone of voice when asking the question.

There's question number one.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    "Yes," replies Clara. "That is the name I was given." Her head tilts. "What happened to your face?" she asks suddenly. She has gone off script. "Drat," she mutters to herself. She was told not to go off her scripting. Now she has gone and done it.

    Corben may not notice, focused as he is on the matter at hand, but the change is notable. Clara immediately starts to fidget, plucking at her dress, her hands coming together awkward after, then parting to do all manner of distracting things.

    "Are you able to assist?" she asks curiously. Her hands, meanwhile, idly drive her insane.

Corben Kelly has posed:
He glances over his shoulder at the bottle of liquid behind him that's only about half full now. "Little workplace mishap," Corben replies. One he's hoping doesn't leave him stained for days, but magic doesn't always wash out that easily; even failed magic.

He glances off to the side again and asks, "Do I have a choice?" Clara's the only one in the room, but it seems he's not speaking to her. After a slightly put upon sigh, his attention returns to Clara. "Don't get all jittery and jangely, I suppose I'm available." Note that he said 'available' not 'able'. Probably because he finds it laughable that he'd be at all helpful.

"What sort of challenge we talking about?"

And there's the second question.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    "It is mystic in nature," says Clara unhelpfully. "I suspect it will be a mix of magic locks that need to be broken or otherwise bypassed, possibly a portal to open, reading of runes, the usual thing." She keeps fidgeting. "I am not... that is to say, what do you mean by jangly?"

    It is not improving, of course. It will not on its own. She finally just clasps her hands behind her back. Which keeps them out of sight. For now. "You had an accident? Is it dangerous? I imagine magical accidents are the worst kind." She would offer to help, but she cannot imagine how. "Oh, and.." She looks to the creature. "Who is this?"

    Waaaaaay off script now.

Corben Kelly has posed:
Even as she's listing off possibilities, Corben is inwardly groaning over the amount of work it's going to take for him to be even remotely prepared. Through slightly clenched teeth, he mutters, "Suddup, Pup."

Once again, he's not looking at her and he's not looking at the odd little creature either. Just at... nothing.

Before Clara has a chance to be offended, he hurries with, "No no, sorry, not telling you to shut up." Who then? "It wasn't a bad one, worst it'll do is put some sort of magical beacon on me for a few days," he explains. Then she's asking about the tiny slug shaped elephant in the room. "Oh, uummm, that's Kib." He doesn't offer much more in the way of explanation and even moves to put a nearby towel over top the sleeping slug-bat hybrid looking thing.

"Jittery and Jangley, you know? All nervous and twitchy and fidgeting. Like you have ants in your pants."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara looks over Kib closely. Well, until Kib is out of sight. She does not pout, but it is clear she feels her curiousity was prematurely shut off. "They told me that mystics can be very tempermental and I should not ask questions. I apologize for prying into your affairs."

    The scary and anonymous 'they' are always looking over her shoulder. And yes, fidget fidget fidget. She will relax someday. Just not today.

    "I understand. It is my hands, you see. They are rather troublesome! I never quite know what to do with them, if you understand me." Yes, she is a weird one. But she has gotten used to being discouraged by her own problems.

    "If I may, though... wait, no. That would be a question. Drat."

Corben Kelly has posed:
And he thought he was the strange one in the room. Clara is proving more and more odd by the second. That just has Corben's own curiosity ramping up. "No, it's fine. Kib's just a lil bit shy." It's a lame explanation, but the real one is something Corben isn't even sure he believes yet and the evidence has now been living with him for a few weeks.

"When in doubt, stick'm in your pockets," he suggests. "Your hands that is, not Kibs," he further suggests.

"You may, so long as I can exercise my right to may not."

He shoots a glare in the direction of nothing again, same place he was looking when he told someone to shut up.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    "Oh, umm, well, they always find their way back out, and heaven help me if something is in my pockets at the time," explains Clara. "They are an unruly lot, and it is so hard to focus." With notable effort, she folds them together in front of her. They are still. For about ten seconds.

    "Oh, right, well. The question. Who are you speaking to, sir? I seem to be the only one present. Or are you speaking to yourself? I have read this is a habit that is common to most geniuses."

Corben Kelly has posed:
Corben actually barks out a LAUGH. "Trust me, I'm definitely not a genius." He's still chuckling softly when he turns to look at that empty spot again. Maybe he gets the go ahead to tell the tale because he does.

"I'm talking to Pup. Pup has been a thorn in my side since age five or so. I call him Pup because he won't tell me his name or what he wants."

It takes /considerable/ effort for Pup to actually make his voice heard on this side of the veil. His Irish brogue is thick, his voice raspy like an old man's might be. "As I've said, all in due time, Laddie, all in due time."

Corben tosses his hands in the air and laments, "See! See, thorn in my side, always the same answer."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    The explanation sounds as crazy as most things in Clara's life. Then she hears it. "Oh wow, so that is what you are doing! You are talking to Pup, the disembodied Irish man!" She seems very pleased by this, somehow. "Though it is odd that he will not share his real name. Perhaps if you called him something more terrible. Like Cromwell, he would be inspired to tell. Though that is rather rude, too, and should only be done as a last resort." Oliver Cromwell would be hated by any self-respecting Irishman, after all!

    She turns her focus back to Corben instead of staring into space. "So you only hear the voice and never see the man? And you have had this secret friend watching you since you were five?" Her mind goes to questions she could ask, but whatever they are, they make her blush and fall silent. "Oh dear, and not a moment of privacy?"

    It should probably be pointed out that she has a very British accent. She's a Londoner.

Corben Kelly has posed:
"Oh no, I can see him too. He doesn't usually try to speak to anyone that's not capable of hearing and seeing spirits." Corben casts another glare in Pup's direction. "Yup, five years old."

He turns around a moment to start cleaning the mess he made before Clara walked in and maybe to hide the grin he can't bite back over Clara's blushing.

"Well, he has learned to make a posthaste exit when I have a 'friend' over." He turns back around again, still grinning that grin. "If you could hear him cursing you now. Too bad he blew his wad talking the first time. He really can't interact with the living world without a lot of effort."

He turns his gaze to Clara, looking her directly in the eye and says, "I like you Miss?" He didn't quite catch a name. "...you almost make me seem normal."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara narrows her eyes at the empty space. "No. Not a thing. Drat. I must not have it!" She is grinning, though. "Oh, and is he cursing at me? Well, I imagine he is just cross that he cannot get his hands on a pint of his favorite in whatever place he is stuck in." She has plenty of digs, when the target is a good sport about it. Or when she cannot tell if he is a good sport about it.

    She is doing her best to not look at her hands. But they are bothering her still. She has learned showing how frustrated she is only makes it more difficult for others.

    "My name is Clara. Clara Jennins. Oh! You showed me yours, I should show you mine." A pause, "I mean powers, of course." She blushes again, clearing her throat.

    She holds up her briefcase, opens it, and paper tumbles out all over the floor. She waits a moment, grinning. She just likes the effect of doing nothing. It is rather fun to have people think she is crazy.

    After this long, awkward pause, the paper ripples on the floor, then swirls about her as if caught in a violent whirlwind. This she does only for a moment, to make her point, and then the paper comes together, kind of flowing in the form of a creature that stands waist high at her side. It is a mix of canine and boar, it seems.

    "This is Dickens! He... does not talk much, but he is a very good listener."

Corben Kelly has posed:
Corben's grin grows even broader as Clara talks and it's literally almost ear to ear when the paper turns into Dickens. He doesn't seem in the least bit shocked, but that doesn't mean he's not awed.

"That's tres awesome!" he exclaims as he stands from his little bar stool to lean over the counter for a better look. He glances over toward nothing again and adds, "I wish I could say the same for Pup." Then he shoots a look toward the little towel covered lump that is Kibs and says, "...and for that."

After a long few minutes studying that lump, he offers, "Not sure what to do about him to be honest."

Wait, why is he spilling his sekrits to this girl? "Annnnyway! Are you going to be at this little excursion outside Gotham?"

Maybe it won't be so bad afterall?

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara looks at Kib's sleepy form. She is very curious. "I think Kib seems wonderful. Is there a problem with him? Are there others like him? I'm... the only one like me. The others didn't have quite the ability. Though I've got a couple of my classmates I can still go see."

    She rarely speaks of them. She wonders why she is now. Also, notably, her hands are suddenly still. Relaxed. No more butterfly wrestling match between them.

    "I will certainly be there. I am the only one who can handle the book. Honestly, I am the only one who has ever used one of these tomes and managed to, well, survive with only minor damage, I guess you would say."

    She sets a hand on Dickens' back. "I am hoping that I will have some more friends coming along. I have never done a retrieval before. Not like this. It should be most entertaining!"

Corben Kelly has posed:
"Oh, there are more like him, kind of." Corben reaches over and lightly scritches the odd slug-bat through the towel. It wiggles and lets out an odd, squelching purr of a sound. "I've just grown fond of the little thing, don't want to see it have to go back to hell." He almost slaps his hand over his own mouth in shock over letting that one out.

"So what, exactly, is it that you do? Other than that really cool origami? I mean, I know it's more than that..."

Still oversharing, he says, "I get visions, past present and future. I can also transform into a raven and I can mix a decent potion if I set my mind to it..." Ramble babble. "And I have nooooo idea why I'm telling you all of this." He extends a leather clad hand suddenly, only the fingers from the second knuckle up showing. "Hi! I'm Corben!" Because they really haven't properly introduced themselves. Might want to watch shaking that hand though, what with the way those fingertips are all stained a vibrant orange.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara smiles at the sound the little creature makes. "That is so wonderful," she says quietly. "Oh, and well, if he was in a bad environment like that, you should really keep him here. Provided he's happy, of course. He sure seems quite pleased."

    She has no reaction at all to the mention of hell other than that. Bad environment, indeed! And still those hands are behaving themselves. She concentrates a moment, and the Dickens breaks up into the sheets of paper, which then wind around Clara like armor.

    "My job is to retrieve and protect items of historical importance. The creations of genius must be preserved for future generations. The jobs vary, of course, but I have both robbed and protected museums. Though in my defense, the robbery was done before religious zealots could burn it to the ground. Radicals are a dangerous lot."

    She reaches out to take the offered hand. Her skin is soft and her grip quite gentle. Clara lets out a breath and draws in another. This girl has all sorts of stresses to dispel. "It is nice to meet you, Corben."

Corben Kelly has posed:
"It's nice to meet you too, Clara." He really seems to mean that for once in his life. He didn't miss the fact that she didn't immediately condemn poor little Kib for being from hell, for just being what he is and had no choice in becoming.

Yeah, sometimes a really dangerous lot," he agrees readily along with another glance at Kib. "Especially when the radicals are from Hell." He pulls his hand back and asks, "Can all that paper actually protect you?" If only she knew what a minimalist Corben really is when it comes to conversation.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    "Oh, yes, it can. It's not perfect, but I suppose it's about as good as a sturdy wall. The hope is that in time I will continue to progress. That way I can do more important things."

    Clara laughs softly and then sighs again. "And maybe not get shot. My poor Governess was very stressed when that happened. And then again and again, each time I get hurt. I am prone to accidents. Oh! And it helps me fly. Well, it lets me fly, that is. I cannot do that on my own, naturally."

    The paper glides out in the form of angel wings. If angels were made of paper, anyway. She laughs at herself and says, "These things are well and good, but, honestly... sometimes I just want to be, well..."

    The paper splits and even tears until the pieces are small enough to form ornate snowflake shapes, each about three inches across. These float about the room, slowly turning as they go. "I like the idea of doing beautiful things. Of making people smile. Or maybe someday using them in my lectures, too. Those are quite fun."

Corben Kelly has posed:
"I can only fly when I'm an actual bird. I tend to focus most of my potion work on things that allow me to be... unseen. Things that let me get away in a sticky situation." Corben chews on his bottom lip, almost as if he's biting it so he'll stop oversharing.

If making people smile is Clara's goal, she's achieving it. Those dancing snowflakes have Corben grinning wide again. Man's face is going to hurt tomorrow, it's not used to grinning so much. As much as he'd love to sit and talk all night, it's just not in the cards this night. "It really has been such a pleasure, Clara, but my band has a gig tonight and I need to get rolling, probably already going to be late." His smile fades a bit as stands. "But know you're welcome here anytime. If you need help with something else or to just talk." That's even more miraculous than the amount of talking he's done. Corben the self proclaimed slacker, never just /offers/ his unconditional help.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara draws her paper in and puts it back into the briefcase. All but one bit of it. She saves a piece that is just big enough for a business card. A blank one. She draws out a vial of ink and removes its cap, which proves to be a dropper.

    Two drops of ink splash onto the paper and she puts the ink away.

    With a smile she presents the card to Corben, and before his eyes the ink dances, swirls, and writes out her contact information. After a moment's hesitation, a note is added. "Call me."

    Clara laughs nervously at herself and says, "I, well, I wish I could come see you play! But I have a curfew and I would rather not get in a row with my Governess tonight. She is very put-out lately on account of me getting myself hurt again. Not to mention other work issues. So... um."

    She hesitates for another moment, then shakes her head. "Sorry! Sorry! Um, until next time, Corben. This has been a treat. Oh, and to Lord Irish there... fear not. Cromwell was a right bastard who every good person ought to hate. You are no doubt tenfold ten the man he was."

    And with a last smile at Corben, she finally goes. There's no flying home or anything. She just takes the loop back.