4983/I'm Only Happy When It Rains (Olives)

I'm Only Happy When It Rains (Olives)
Date of Scene:	02 February 2021
Location:	Gino's Pizzeria
Synopsis:	Something never finished.
Cast of Characters:	Illyana Rasputina, Julio Richter

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Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Pizza," says Illyana back in Westchester where the weather is miserable, snow piled up in icy layers rather than glorious powder. Nothing worthwhile to report around a school or elsewhere, but the only salvation apparently lies in a deep dish excuse for Italian food. And not the ones who deliver, adverts deep on the fridge in the kitchen, because their quality varies.

With a young woman who could conceivably have pizza on Hala or the oldest star in Andromeda or GN-z11, the galaxy 13.4 billion light years away, really not an issue getting some good grub. No Sicilian pizza tonight, no Neapolitan thin crust worthy of the gods. Nope, they're going to Gino's if Julio agrees. One horrible leap through the freefall of Limbo to rouse the appetite (or murder it), and the next stop is Battery Park.

Two affronted Canadian geese honk their wrath and flare their wings. She /hisses/ at them under her breath, and one demon knows another. There will be a stalemate until a flick of her fingers makes the shadows under webbed feet bristle, and they importantly waddle away, necks arching, to harass some other people. Ahead, the beacon of pizza. Nom nom nom.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio's response to the suggestion of pizza is a wide-eyed, mute nod. It has been one hell of a nightmare week. And despite the fact that passing through Limbo feels, to his extranormal senses, like a close-proximity foghorn blast, he's grateful that she whisks them away through her portal without further discussion of the logistics. His personal transportation, mystical itself, doesn't feel like the best idea at the moment.

Docs hit the pavement outside Gino's with a short scrape, and he marshals his willpower to steady himself, both from the trip and the existential dread he has learned to associate with wild geese. Once again, it's good to be friends with a demon queen, as she handles the faceoff, with Julio standing on a bias behind her, ready to toss out some wards and a few seismic blasts if the confrontation heats up. Fortunately for everyone, it doesn't come to that, and he opens the door so that she can precede him into the restaurant. Such a polite sorcerer's apprentice he is!

He flops into the seat across from her in a corner of the dining room, elbows on the tabletop, and runs his palms up and down his face. "Jesucristo. You have no idea how much I need this. Or... maybe you do?" Hard to tell what knowledge lurks beneath the icy surface of her Siberian eyes: never a good bet to underestimate its scope, certainly.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
A mute nod is something horrible in most circumstances, but Illyana is not one to question anyone being quiet. Others could complain, but why should she be overly bothered when her own nature prefers laconic stretches lasting weeks or months? Shattering foxfire shards glisten in their wake after breaching the interdimensional pivot point of her stepping disks, leaving a few embers dancing on the air. It's an easy way to forget and overlook the pair headed to the fire-baked joys of Gino's. The heavy facade welcomes the pair of young people with open arms.

Who better to devour a dish and not demand gourmand graces or, worse still, fucking organic ingredients locally sourced, like they can just grow basil and wheat year round in Battery Park?

Light on her feet, Illyana stalks with a grace lost on the geese, nudging open the door with the swish of her hip. She doesn't even bother to wait for a server, gliding up to the fridge and flashing two fingers at the craft beer bottles. Leaning forward, her voice cracks in the stubborn lilt of Italian, at least far enough to ask for a glass. Soon enough the amused fellow way too busy for schlepping drinks around has her armed, and she drops back opposite Julio. The drink's dropped with a thunk in front of him, glass slid over. Her own is considered, and she flicks her nail against the stubbornly perforated and crimped bottlecap. It flies off, bouncing on the table, swiveling around and around on its edge.

"What ran you down?" In her lexicon, that could mean a great many things.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio can't quite match the blasé ease of Illyana's bottle-opening, but he does know the trick to pop a bottle with the crook of his elbow from his time tending bar, and puts it to use getting his beer open. Her question can mean many things, so he offers more than one answer. He starts with, "Cipactli ate me again. Not in Limbo, this time. Just in the middle of the street. I think my magic is broken." He takes a quick sip of the Peroni, then sets it back on the table and gives it an approving look before continuing, "Bien, not broken. Compromised? So much of my magic I do by instinct. I think the reason I learned so much, so fast, is because they were boosting me... and now all my magic goes through them."

After a second, staring balefully at the wall -- well, as balefully as he can manage, although he's woefully outclassed in that department with her around -- he adds, "And then as I'm trying to figure all of that out? /Bobby/ showed back up." His hands go back to his face, repeating that scrubbing motion. "Why is it never just one thing? Why can it never be just one thing?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The ease and grace are a practiced thing of survival more than anything. Hardly different than prying it up with a butter-knife or smash the glass neck open. In the end, all about a drink. Raising the bottle a little, Illyana gives mock salute to Julio. She then takes a swig, a resonance of the swishing liquid and bubbling swirls. The beer has a taste of some kind, probably shot by herbs or burdock or something. It's interesting enough.

"Delicious meal? Maybe you should avoid looking so tasty, da?" Her fingertips tap in an elegy, crackling, clicking grace. "Your magic broken? Do you want me to look?" Her gaze slants sideways. "I could fix it, maybe. But it might hurt."

Just an offer, one she is not pushing against. Though she tips her head to the side, considering him, and then smirks a little. "Bobby? Ah, and what then?"