(( rped live with Shae. Thanks for the play!))

Wednesday, Oct 5th

Minutes to nine in the evening. As the straggling visitors were making their way out of the museum, Shae was moving against the current. A door held here, a smile and an 'excuse me' there. More than one gave her an odd look for the fur around her neck. The weather was not yet cold enough for such indulgences and the rest of her attire seemed unrelated to the statement of such an accessory. Leather pants secured by a studded belt; a cream-gold, half-sleeved blouse beneath a corset done over in black lace. Her hair was swept up, lacking decoration of clip or jewelry. As a rarity, her nails had been painted: a more vivid gold color, but still muted next to the two sets of gold eyes that now peered around the interior of the museum. Pressing further in with curiosity about what might be on display, the woman and her familiar brought a draft of fresh air further in than the opening of the door normally allowed.

The back of his fingers brush the page of the museum ledger. He doesn't look up, it's the steps that first occur to him, "The museum closes in ten, I'm afraid we won't be--" His voice stops. It's because his eyes have moved up and landed on Shae's figure. She is unexpected.

Very little in her life went to plan, very little was expected. Sometimes she took a perverse sort of pleasure in visiting that unexpectedness on others. This evening was a whim, but one that felt right for the moment. Feet found themselves walking in the direction of his workplace as her thoughts wandered. Before she knew it, she was here. Fox was the one who turned to face Robert first. Shae currently prioritized the info plaque on the nearest display, but she spoke. "Won't be...?" Leading the sentence he'd abandoned into a question.

"... Open for much longer," he ventured. There was a pause and glance down to his partial alley, the fox. If he recalled, the creature never knew what to make of him and he never had the curves to suit. A few more things were inked onto the pages, his lips forming an 'o' as he poured a breath over the wet ink. Once it was dry enough, he shut the book and then smiled up to her face, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice said he suspected no pleasure at all.

"There's something more charming about a place after hours. The quiet. The barest echoes of the people who were there." Turning towards the counter, Shae placed hands on the edge closest to her. Set wider than her shoulders, enough of a lean that the vulpine on her shoulders was forced to adjust his center of gravity. "I'm wanting to be grateful," she began, almost an apology. "I did give you a rather sharp greeting, so I'm here ask for some leniency." A pause. "And a story, if all goes well."

"As charming as it is, I don't think it's the reason." Call him a skeptic. Call him reserved or unbelieving. Robert simply didn't think that She had some suppressed interest in him that drove her there. Or if she had? This was some grand unveiling. Usually, people came to him with a need. He was an unsummoned crossroad demon for a not-crossroads convention. The apology was so unexpected that it caught him off guard-- enough that his shoulders dropped with surprise and his lips parted, wordless.

And a story. He swallowed the surprise, looking down at the face of the ledger. One hand worked along its parameter as he spoke, "What story have you come for, Shae?"

She pushed away from the counter even as Fox jumped from her shoulders onto it. "Yours. Specifically, the last few months." Specifically, the piece she'd started snapping at him about. "I'm seeking some perspective." Fox moved to where he could peer at the closed ledger. One sniff and then he was looking up at Robert from beneath expressive brows while Shae clasped her hands behind her back and wandered towards another display.

So far, everyone had been digging at him, unearthing the last few weeks, months, for themselves. He paused as he looked at the fox, and then to her. His hands dripped off the ledger book, gaze settling on Shae's face, "A few months is a lot of time. What is unclear?" He offered an open palm towards the Fox, allowing whatever sniffing was necessary.

Sniff he did, calm and amenable. "There was a lot of sensitive information in a not too sensitive jumble. I suppose I'm unclear on where you are." Her voice carried to his ears, no matter how far along the display she drifted. "Motives, state of well-being, and so on." They may not have started -- or even landed -- on the smoothest footing, but she only felt confused on how to regard him. "That is, if you feel like sharing things more coherently."

"You're asking a very relative question," he reminded her. Once the fox had its fill of him, his hand withdrew and his gaze followed the last of the museum guests as they continued down the room and out the front door. When the wide, wooden thing came to a shut behind them his gaze focused back to Shae. He swallowed, looking over his shoulder and then back to her, "There is coffee in the kitchen, if you are interested." She wasn't here for coffee, though, was she?

"My motives are like that of anyone's-- they're for me. My well-being is... happy." He said the word happy with a heavy iron to it.

"So, you'd like me to believe it was for you that you picked up the contract on a woman's soul. And that you're happy about it." Not quite a question, but enough of one that it expressed uncertainty about forming that perception. Especially since 'happy' wasn't meant to be so heavy.

Golden glance for the door, then eyes drifted to his face with an arched brow. "Is there tea in the kitchen?" Sans the psychoactive drugs, naturally, or so her ghost of a smirk said. Fox moved to the edge of the counter and jumped down to the ground now that there were no patrons about to accidentally step on his tail.

"I have the contract," there was a pause. Was he happy about it? Or, more importantly, was he unhappy about it? Robert hesitated, weight leaning to one leg as he added, "And it is... what it is." It was a noncommittal answer, but that was necessary. He didn't know. The answer reflected the truth, for better or worse.

There were times he was glad he had her soul. At times, not. Shae asked about tea and there was a nod, "Only Earl Grey, English Breakfast and Green Tea." Only three choices in what one would say was thousands. He stepped around the desk, the counter, beyond Shae and to the front door, "I don't want anyone else coming in..." he justified before locking the door. Of course, from the inside all she had to do was flop the metal lock over for her own purposes.

There were some people who might find reason for concern at being locked in a building with someone like Robert. Even in this realm, to own the soul of another (no matter the extenuating circumstances) was a feat to give pause. Her calm demeanor remained unruffled. Maybe it was because some folk tales claimed her kind lacked souls to claim. Others suggested she'd have had to have sold it already.

"Green tea would be fine." Fox roamed about, nose to the ground on the trail of mice. Appearing wholly uninterested in the conversation. Like a chaperone at a school dance. If Shae had commentary on his response, she was keeping it to herself for now. "Which way is the kitchen?"

Robert was not particularly 'soul hungry' to begin with. He was not a demon who bartered souls, anyway. This had come upon him, and as much as he was a participant there was some part of him which remained undeniably hesitant.

"Green tea it is. Down the hall. Last door on the right." Some could recognize the simple kitchen for what it was. It had been larger, once, but to make space for the exhibitions half of it had been removed. It left a kitchen with a counter that looked far more promising than what it could deliver. There was a picnic table with bench seating. He moved to the coffee maker, removing the filter and grinds so that only hot water would pour through when he pressed the button.

Fox accompanied them to the kitchen at a lazy pace while Shae made herself comfortable on the bench with her back to the wall. Tongue passed over her teeth as she watched him clear out the coffee maker. "I don't suppose you have honey?" Asked as Fox finally made his way onto the bench beside her.

"Perhaps." Honey didn't go bad. The Egyptians had used it to preserve the dead. With a little digging the bottle was produced-- an adorable plastic bear rubbing its own belly. He set it before her while the coffee pot gurgled with boiling water. When it was done, he poured the hot, steaming liquid into a "Smile like you Mean It" cup. The green tea bag was added to the water. The leaves resisted at first, floating at the top and then ultimately dropping to the bottom as the liquid became green with the addition.

He set it atop the table nearby her arm. For himself it seemed he went about reintroducing a filter and coffee grinds. Robert liked his coffee black, after all. "You've been well?" It sounded like chit chat, but the question pressed harder than that.

((rped live with Shae. Thanks for the play!))

At first she thought he meant the dog. Shae was smiling at the creature as she began to rinse out the cups, letting him sniff as he liked at her boots. Fox, safe at shoulder height, twitched a nose down in Troy's direction.

When she realized he meant Cris, the look Shae tossed over her shoulder at Robert morphed from confusion to surprise. Resolving at last in half a smile. "There are...some circumstances that might make vary the general expectation for such an experience. I'll be observant, though, for things to be concerned over. I'm not about to let my hard work be for naught if I can help it." The wet mugs were left in the sink to air dry. Her hands would dry on their own.

"I know you are no weakling-- I don't mean to suggest you couldn't handle a situation." He stood up, dusting off his lap unnecessarily before his arms crossed his chest. He watched her as he spoke, "But it is the element of surprise that devours us. That can make stronger armies fall to weak ones."

She turned there, leaning her hip against the counter and mirroring his folding of arms. "I didn't take it that way, so don't fret." The half-smile spread to a proper one that sat easy on her lips and hinted at crow?s feet at the corners of her eyes. Old eyes in a youthful face. An epidemic in the making in this city. "Actually, I'm appreciative of the concern. The circumstances I meant weren't mine. I wasn't hinting at some talent. I meant Cris." She didn't elaborate. Robert would see it, or he might not. She thought, if anything, he would feel it. What was divine in Cris had changed.

Her head tilted slightly to the side, chin dipping to acknowledge what he said about the element of surprise. "A hard thing to defend against. It's true."

Robert had not gotten to interact with Cris... much. He was a ghost, of sorts, and in theory. He would not know of his change until that flesh-to-flesh interaction occurred again and he was trying not to make any assumptions. She followed his motion and marked them as true which left him pressing his lips together in a quiet, thoughtful line. It was a bit strange, lately, to have visitors who had not come *for* something. Robert was starting to adjust to the idea that people came up with reasons to see him and that seeing him was the real goal all along. It wasn't that he was a circus freak, but that his reappearance and his own 'change' in atmosphere provoked curiosity.

The entire world was changing, apparently.

A ghost no more, but Robert couldn't be expected to keep up with that cycle of ups and downs when immersed up to his chin in his own quagmire, voluntary or not. Desirable or not. Unhurried, she observed his thoughtful expression with a tilt of her head. Eventually, she broke the silence and interrupted his reflection. "Although it was my intent to exercise the element of surprise on you for a discussion, I don't want to keep you if you've some place to be. The tea was a bonus, certainly. So, thank you for entertaining my curiosity for a while." Here she let her arms fall open and down, pushing a step off the counter.

"This is where I am, mostly. You're keeping me from nothing," he reassured her. Just because he was awkward did not mean that there were true variables to detract from her visit. He was slightly conditioned to being used, and that Shae had not arrived with some immediate need had been a difficult concept to navigate. That was Shae, though, she hadn't been that way with him before but in her absence users had dominated his experience. While Salome had hardly been one, even she had a bit of fun at his expense, knowing of his situation.

He swallowed, nudging the conversation on, "You did surprise me so, you had success there."

Her need hadn't been a tangible thing, but curiosity lived in her like an addiction lived in others. What satiated it took a different form. All people were greedy with a need for connection of some kind, if you wished to belabor the point to death. But to use? A different connotation. A different case and not her purpose here. "I'll take the success where I can get it." The easy smile had only dimmed a degree or two, at best. "Will there be a new exhibit coming through here, now that you are back?" Thumbs hooked into the pockets of leather for a place to rest as she slowly meandered towards the door that led back towards the museum proper. "Or do you have your hands full with your other matters?"

His stride followed her as she worked her way out, towards the goodnight portion of their interaction. There was a nod at her query, "I am still putting together the idea for it. Something suitable but not too monumental." Robert never was one for a lot of flash unless put into a corner. At the front door, he checked that the lock was undone and then swung it open, wide, the large door opening the front porch of the museum, "You will certainly see ads for it and perhaps... a text message from me." Robert's interactions via text message were not particularly eloquent, but they worked.

His continuance towards the door was a little faster than her intentions, but she didn't let that faze her. Fox, on the other hand, was more than ready to go. Watching Troy from her shoulders as if he feared the mutt might attempt to follow them all the way back to the Inn for the evening. "I'll be interested to see what you judge as suitable for a return. And, knowing you don't want help, I'll at least be inquiring, now and then, how it's faring." Apparently, she'd decided that the scales had tipped in his favor. Or at the least, in the favor of a probationary period on their interactions. "Text messages I can do." Some event from earlier in the day had her sounding less enthused about the mention of the technology. "Preferably not vague messages alluding to disaster."

There was an unfortunate secondary reason for his speed to the door. It wasn't a hasty farewell for the want of a cigarette. He really couldn't smoke inside. There was a quirk of his brow about vague messages and disaster as he stepped outside, past the column of the house. A spark sent a cigarette into life as he pulled from it, "I didn't think I had lured you out with such a message..." but had he, somehow?

That was some craving, indeed. Shae watched him light up and licked her lips against the temptation to do the same. The cravings were easy to bury most of the time. Her preference was social vice, after all. Fingers twitched towards a metal case in her pocket, but she refrained for now. "You didn't. I don't recall you luring me much of anywhere. No... I was referring to a particular class of message I sometimes get." Like that morning. "I've had enough heartache for a while that I'm not looking to add any more."

"How do you mean?" He unwittingly offered her one of his cigarettes from his pack. Perhaps it was the way she licked her lips or seemed to follow the cherry of his vice too closely. She mentioned heartache and to that he could say nothing. Robert hadn't been able to reach the point of heartache, not for a while. The intentions of his female company had made his "place" with them all too apparent all too early. Demons were an easy race to use and objectify, after all. Some might have even thought they deserved it.

"Er..." She was unsure of how to answer that question and suitably distracted by the offer. Internal debate eventually caved to vice and she accepted the cigarette. She stalled for time, bending to let Fox jump down from her shoulders. The creature had reached the end of his patience and was off to hunt up an evening meal. As she straightened, it was to put the cigarette to her lips and cup her hand around the end of it. There was a spark without a lighter and then smoke. She could practically delay no further. "I mean only that there has been more bad news than good that comes along with text messages. So it seems."

"Maybe." Robert hadn't associated "good" or "bad" to text messages. They simply were. Perhaps now with Shae's mention, he was beginning to catalogue all the ones he had received, to wonder if the messengers he wanted to shoot always came to him in a printed message and never by voice.

"I suppose bad news is easier to deliver that way. People used to send letters or leave notes instead of say it." The tone of his voice hinted at not being entirely decided as to whether or not it was cowardly. Robert could appreciate that a letter allowed someone the time and space to concisely represent their thoughts while also... providing a comfortable distance from seeing the hurt their words might cause. In old times a visit could be days of riding-- that made a good excuse to provide a letter instead. Currently, though, there was face time and automobiles, magic and all sorts of instant communication. The choice to simply text was questionable.

Shae was firmly in the camp of making the effort to convey the important things in person, with some exceptions. "It's faster, certainly, but if the status of the news won't change from the speed of its delivery, a little extra effort to convey it respectfully wouldn't go amiss. I understand crisis. I understand time sensitive." A line worked its way into her brow as she attempted to find a line to draw in the sand on the matter. "Limitations exist and most people would rather get the news than not at all." The cigarette was used to space out her thoughts as she searched for descriptors here and there.

"It feels insincere." Settling on those three words, at last.

"I'm a bit..." there was the roll of his cigarette, followed by a nearly inaudible snort at using the turn of phrase, "old school for it all. You weren't expected to open up, to share, as people do now." The modern era seemed to forget that. It was wrong to dismiss women as they had been in the past. At the same time, he often felt that the modern era inundated him with unimportant, constant updates. Social media gave him images of what people had eaten. Where they checked in. Just what song they happened to be listening to at that exact moment.

There was something a bit romantic, a bit kinder, about filling in the details with his own imagination. Perhaps that was a less honest way to connect, but it certainly didn't feel rubbed raw by constant updates.

"It is insincere." Which was, perhaps, the irony of all of it. All the improved methods of communication and social media and yet real connection, real communication, stayed somewhere on the wayside.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that her connection to modern technology didn't extend to social media. Shae remained ignorant of things like status updates. The internet was a marvelous thing, but she saw it as a research tool first and foremost. His insights intrigued her, only because she didn't have his frame of reference for what was 'old' and 'new'. She knew plenty of people who had traveled here from Earth, but she was still wading through understanding cultural references. The cell phone had been her only concession to the expansive array of technology, and only done so soon because it was given as a gift.

"Tell me a bit more about this old school?" Opening up was relative, as was sharing. She needed more context.

She hadn't intended it, but the way she worded that statement caused him to smile around his cigarette at her, his hazel eyes brightening with a moment of mirth at what she said. Robert was so very dedicated to being sour that it too special moments to break him away from it. The corner of his lips dampened, though, prior to him pulling his cigarette away and speaking.

"It means old fashioned or... of an older age. It used to be for me that you would visit someone in person or with a letter. In my opinion... people in the modern age can pursue their little interests more easily and more secretively. Letting someone know you were interest lacked a bit of subtlety." For what other purpose was a man sending out letters to a woman? One hardly had to break the seal to know what was meant.

Unintentional humor often came from her interpretations of such sayings, and she didn't mind it. There was enough to be unhappy about in the world, and her confidence was such that humor at her fumbling didn't dent it. After all, she often wielded self-deprecation to her own purposes. The definition was filed away with others like it, with the added bonus of reference to the older age he had in mind. Which, given her limited knowledge, prompted another question to the fore. "You sound longer lived than I first would have estimated. How old are you?"

"Hard to say...exactly," Robert mentioned, though there seemed some discomfort at the admission. Demons considered lives and life spans differently. Most died in a span not that different from a human's, and this was attributed largely to the fact that "new" demons were born of a need to feed on humans and thus, embodied too many of their bad qualities.

It was said it was Lucifer's jealousy of mankind that ultimately caused his fall from grace and those like it, meaning that those angles were the "Originals." They were made up of strange universe-stuff, and ability to see and not see, to be a different creature altogether. Robert, and those like him, were born to an earth with mankind which they fed off and emulated. Many demons didn't make it past twenty or fifty.

Hitting one hundred was fairly significant. Plenty of friends and family at that age had died. For a creature to still be living meant that they had adapted, befriended, and continued to march forward. With all of that being said? Robert was still considered a young adult by demon standards.

"When the black plague hit Europe I was born, supposedly, sometime in the fall." Approximately five hundred years. It might have accounted for a few of his "quirks."