Owner	Pose
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan was proactive when it came to finding teachers and instructors for the schools extracurricular activities and she'd never been able to get anyone to come and fill the role of Riding Instructor. Hell, Jason Blood was the top candidate at one point, but he was prone to vanishing for months and years at a time. So she'd not asked in the end of things. She was taking care of things herself mainly. The job ad had went back out on the usual sites and there had not been a peep. Happy Harbor High School was news worthy in things, so that might be why. It's getting on in the evening hours and the sun is sinking in the sky, letting cooler temps roll over the sleepy little town of Happy Harbor. Morrigan has been working in the stables and checking in on the horses since the caretakers were gone for the Summer and she lived close. She's dressed in jeans, threadbare black t-shirt and work boots. Her hair is braided back so that it isn't down and a riot. The doors to the stable are open, allowing folks to enter at will.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna enters the main doors of the equestrian center without any drama. No swooshing of capes, no flowing cloaks flicking in the breeze. He moves with the compact, efficient gait of a professional athlete. It's not that he's 'graceful' so much as he screams 'physically proficient.' He pauses past the threshold, letting his eyes move around the room. His eyes go to that corner...that corner...that shadow....like he is checking off items on a list, click, click, click. He shows unabashed caution. The tall man seems out of place, really. Silk overcoat. Nice shoes. He is dressed professionally, and he wears it very well, indeed. Finally, his eyes fall to casually dressed woman tending the horses. He considers her -- appraises her, really, though the head-to-toe inspection doesn't come off as rude or overtly creepy. He then offers her a polite, white smile as he glides in her direction, hand extending once he nears. "Miss MacIntyre, I presume? Misses?" His accent is so generic that it seems taken from some weatherman from a local Indiana television station.
Morrigan MacIntyre	The stables are large and Morrigan's carrying a bundle of fresh hay into a stall when she realizes that there is someone standing in the open doors. The Irish woman gives a bit of a look to the hay, settles it into Anubis' net and then brushes her hands off as she heads back out into the thoroughfare of the stables. She closes the big black Percheron's door and pats it, "You're all set my dear." she tells him. He snorts a bit at her. Benvy caws as Desmond comes in and flutters down from the ceiling to sit atop of the horses stall rails. Watching curiously. "It's Doctor." the redhead tells him. "Are you from the local news wanting to do a story or something?" she asks him as she takes her gloves off and shoves them into her back pocket.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna's smile is polite. This is a man who understands how to deal with a minor faux pas and deal with it gracefully. Despite his disturbingly generic Midwestern broadcaster's voice, he speaks in a pleasant tenor, smooth and rich. "My apologies, Doctor MacIntyre." He offers a very faint bow at the waist that is, frankly, slightly archaic-looking. It just seems natural on him. "The advertisement didn't specify your credentials. You do have my apologies for discounting several hard-fought years of your life, though." He offers a smooth, soft, silvery laugh. His eyes flick to the crow, brows lifting. He seems less disturbed by it than he probably ought. Then he looks back to Morrigan. "My name is Desmond, Doctor. I'm here about the job as an equestrian instructor."
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan waves a pale hand at him with a chuckle, "It's fine, really." she tells him. Though she is curious of the man. She looks to Benvy and the crow caws at her and there's a shrug to the bird before she flutters back up into the rafters and watches. Then back to Desmond, "It was my lapse in thought for not putting in things." she admits. She looks over him and there's a nod of her head in greeting, "Pleased to meet you, Desmond. You can call me Morrigan if you like." she states. "Oh, you're here about the equestrian position. I thought I'd pissed off one of the Fae queens." she muses. "Well...what's your experience, Desmond?" she asks him.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna's brows /lift/ at that one. He masters the expression almost instantly, smoothing his face with the care of someone long-used to covering a reaction to something they VERY clearly did not anticipate. He is silent for a heartbeat. Two. Then a very white, very even smile appears on the man's face, sliding in place like it has returned home. His musical laugh is very polite, easy to ignore or enjoy as one wishes. "Morrigan, then. What a lovely name." He sounds completely sincere as he says it, too. Your parents were fans of folklore, I take it...?" He motions with a hand, turning it over, palm up as he explains. "The name, the Fae. I am going to go out on a limb here and guess you're not from New Jersey." Then he seems to realize he was asked another question, and he hastily adds, "Oh. I have been riding horses since I was 3 years old. I trained under some of the best trained tutors that it's possible to have. I've done practical riding for...erm...work, off and on for most of my adult life." He brings a hand up. "I should caution you now, though. I do not hold any sort of degree. My experience is trhrough practical use, mostly."
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan gives a look to the man and there is a moment taken to relax. He wasn't there to take a swing at her and she was being paranoid. But little sleep did that. "I'm sorry, I'm pretty straightforward on things." she tells him. Then there is a bit of a wince when he talks on parents. "Ahh...my dad is a vampire who murdered my mom when I was barely one. She had a funny way of doing things when it came to my future jobs." she chuckles grimly. "No, I'm not from Jersey. I was however raised in NYC by my adoptive parents." she admits. "That's a lot of experience." she nods to that. "Do you have a resume or references I could call?" she asks him with a bit of a look. "If not we can always just set up a trial run. I just want to make sure the students are in capable hands." she tells him truthfully. "So when you say...adult life...how long are we talking? I'm used to long lived individuals." she tells him.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna seems to consider her. Whatever she was expecting to see in him as she drops those truth bombs, the tall man retains his calm. He seems to consider something, very carefully indeed, and there is the sense of him looking rather deeply into her face. Bright blue eyes move to hers, and he stares at her, now, for several long moments. Then he smiles, pleasant and polite. He has the sort of relaxed posture that you see in hungry tigers or lions. Relaxed, but wary and seemingly...coiled. "Well, decades, in fact." Watching her face, still, he adds, "I could provide some personal references, yes. As for my skill and ability? I am able to demonstrate those whenever you'd like." He raises a hand. "I should add, I have never taught. That would be a new experience for me. But I'm good at instruction, and correction."
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan wasn't really expecting anything these days. She was starting to get grumpy with people and that was no good. She gives a bit of a smile to him though after he seems to brush over things and she doesn't blame him! Though his stare makes her cheeks redden a bit out of something. "Oh, that's cool." she tells him as she smiles at him. "It's always good to run into others that have extended life spans. Helps to have a list of folks that you can go to when everyone else starts dying." she nods to this. "References would be great. And we could do paperwork and a practice ride tomorrow if you would be amiable to it? Anubis and the others are turned in for the night and his supreme grumpiness might not be inclined to agree with me on an evening ride." she chuckles. "And instructing is fine. It's an after school thing, not during the day so experience will override the other stuff." she tells him. "If that makes sense?" she asks him.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna's head tilts, just so, and he regards her with a close....not stare, anymore, but he seems to be interested in her. The blush isn't commented upon. In fact, rather gracefully, he doesn't seem to notice it at all. His tenor rolls out, quietly
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna's head tilts, just so, and he regards her with a close....not stare, anymore, but he seems to be interested in her. The blush isn't commented upon. In fact, rather gracefully, he doesn't seem to notice it at all. His tenor rolls out, quietly, "It...might take a little time to get my references in order. I am in no rush to begin working. I trust it won't be a problem if we need to talk a few times on the phone before all this is said and done?" He looks at the horses, clearly trying to discern which one Anubis is. He seems to pick correctly. "Ahhh. That's really too bad, Morrigan. It's a lovely night for a ride. Really, it's the sort of thing they pay poets to write about."
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan crosses her arms over her chest as he gazes at her, she curbs the urge to ask him if he wants to fight or something. Because she wasn't a five year old. She gives a smile to him, "I've got nothing but time, Desmond. I assure you I'll be here or you can talk to Susie in Administration if I'm not available. I have times where I am...out of commission." she admits. She doesn't elaborate. "And no, I don't mind talking on the phone. Texts are great. I work a weird and varied schedule so feel free to send me one whenever." she offers. Then there's a chuckle and Anubis snorts, "Well, we could do it another night? I don't mind getting more time in with them. Anubis needs a good leg stretch sometime." she smiles to that.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna laughs, easily and richly. "Don't we all, really?" Her crossed arms draw a soft little laugh, and he raises both hands up, palms out towards her in a universal pantomime of peace. "You have questions, and I am not offering you much in the way of answers. Morrigan, you have my apologies. I think we actually would have a lot to talk about." He looks around the stables, his voice lowering. "There are too many mirrors, too many shadows, and too many ears here for me to talk about....personal matters." He offers a faint shrug. "And it would be unprofessional of me to talk about some things when I'm here for a job interview."
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan looks down to her arms and then tsks herself, "I...am the one who should be apologizing, I don't do well with new people and I'm needing to get in the habit of speaking to people again." she tells him. "So I apologize if I have been standoffish, it has been...a trying last year or so." she frowns. Then she shakes her head and brushes it off. Not talking about why it has been. "Oh...well, my Herald generally hangs out in the shadows. I assure you he is no spy." she states. "But I understand keeping things close to the chest." she dips her head to that. "Well...welcome to the team tentatively, Desmond." she states as she approaches and offers a hand to shake. "And...this place is very weird. I hope you like that sort of thing." she chuckles to that.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna stands there, some sort of internal deliberation playing out on his face as he watches her speak. He steps to her, stopping just outside of her personal space, not breaking that barrier, but coming close enough to not be impersonal and distant. He lowers his voice, which is warmer, now, less formal. He offers her a little bow if his head. "We've started on the wrong foot. I'm Desmond mac Morna." And the way he says it, it's like a leprechaun has possessed a Midwestern weatherman for an instant, the lilt is so heavy. "I can assure you, nothing here is the weirdest thing I've ever seen. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I would like to speak with you more, at some point. I would buy you a meal and dine with you, if you so desired?"
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan doesn't move back when he moves forward, she wasn't one to surrender her space and she doesn't do so now. She allows him into it. The change in his accent throws her a little, but it's welcome to hear it, "I'm pleased to meet you, Desmond mac Morna." she tells him with a genuine smile that brightens her features. "And good...because things can and will get weird inevitably." she muses to that. There is a bit of a sheepish smile when he offers to buy her a meal, "I'd be happy to have a meal with you and to talk more." she offers. The look he gives her though, the daring there. She was about to say something but instead the redhead sticks her tongue out at him in a rather shocking turn of events.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna looks down at her mouth. Blinks. Sees her tongue. He blinks. Then he just laughs. It's like the rolling series of struck bells on a clear, crisp morning, the sound uplifting and happy. "Then no matter what happens with my references, this was a good idea." He reaches up, running his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard, the gesture unconscious. And then as if coming to a decision, he reaches into his jacket's interior pocket and withdraws a black card, embossed with white lettering. It reads: MacMorna Investigations and Process Servers. Below that name of the company is an address in East Harlem and a phone number with a 202 area code. "I'm new to the area, mostly. I'll rely on your superior local knowledge to find a suitable establishment for our dinner. In return, I'll provide good company, good humor, good drink, good joke and, one hopes, good cheer and good fun." He holds the card out to her, between two fingers.
Morrigan MacIntyre	Morrigan gives a smile, "Ah...so you do have a sense of humor. Excellent." she tells him as she seems to relax a bit. Laughter was the best medicine after all. "I'm sure your references are great. If one of them is Jason Blood though I'll have to give you a little grief on it." she muses to that. She did miss that demon sometimes. "Oh you're a PI?" she asks him as she looks to the card. Hard not to see it really. His words are listened to carefully and there is a softer smile that smoothes over her features, "I think that's a deal, Desmond." she tells him as she reaches out to take the card.
Desmond mac Morna	Desmond mac Morna laughs, then, his voice a silver whisper of amusement. He seems to be making a joke. "Oh, I'll get Mad, the Queen of Air and Darkness, and Aiofe the Terrible, Ravenspeaker to speak on my behalf." He makes it seem like a joke. Surely it is. The card is released, and he steps back, head tilting. "I love your boots, Morrigan. I wonder, where could a man like me find boots like that?" The question seems rhetorical, though, because he steps back and bows at the waist again. And again, it seems archaic, but fitting. "Call me at that number, and we'll arrange our meal." He pauses, then adds, "And Morrigan? I'll be looking forward to it." The smile he offers is radiant, fit to melt hearts. And then he turns, and glides towards the door.