07.30.3013: No Use For Rocks
Summary: Rook meets Demos over coffee and some karmic staring. They have what passes for a discussion for the hacker.
Date: 30 July 2013
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!
Demos Ithaca 


The Bazaar — Blue District, The Ring
Stepping off the lift and into the Blue District is almost like stepping into another world. The senses are assaulted with a complexity of scents, sights, and sounds. Light that abscribes to the same hours as the rest of the Ring glows from insets in the dark metal ceilings. The Bazaar is one of the central hubs of the Blue District — also known as the Entertainment District. There are dozens of shops and emporiums that clutter around the outer edge of the bazaar with stands and kiosks making organized chaos of its center. There are some shops that have been there for generations, including the famous — if not a little infamous — Gregor's Strange Meats. This is the place to find the weird and the bizarre. It is known that the Blue District hosts the impoverish and underworldly inhabitants of the Ring, making it not only the most mystifying but also the most dangerous district on the space station. There are several corridor-like thoroughfares that branch off from the Bazaar, leading deeper into the District.
30 July 3013

The woman known only by "Rook" has been away for several weeks. Not that many people would notice, other than her employer. She's already had a talking too from LucCorp who backed off after she showed them the approved vacation request in their system. They both know she put it there herself, via her hacking skills, but the legit arm of the Syndicate can't prove it because she's just that good. So all is well again. The black-garbed throwback to Old Earth's goth culture is seated at a table in a cafe in the Bazaar, with a giant coffee beside her and a laptop in front of her. Her fingers fly over the keys like magic almost, as the quiet taptaptapping is a staccato background rhythm to the music of the Blue District.

Arriving himself, Demos comes in with a couple small 'shot' sized espresso-like drinks from the counter. As if he knows he'll want more, but doesn't want to bother getting up. He passes the throwback goth and the flying fingers, looking curiously at the dexterity on the fingers. He sits at the next table, opposite as if he could look at her while he sits, brining out his own small tablet/smart device. It flicks to life, partially flat screen, partial holo-display. Drinking from the first of several cups, he begins to look at the small display, but he can't help his eyes from looking up at the woman typing. Its not the style, the visible piercings or tattos, but the man, perhaps just normal if not slightly eclectic as a scholar, is more interested in how dedicated she seems to be to the typing or input or whatever it she is tap-tap-tapping away at. Without realizing it, his display is forgotten, his eyes transfixed in curiousity. An absent minded hand reaches up and knocks one of his cups over. He curses and tries to contain it, a slight flush to his caramel cheeks as if hoping no one noticed, him looking at her more so than his spill of one of the small cups perhaps.

Without looking up at Demos, Rook quips. "Karma. Staring is rude." She finishes typing whatever obscure line of code she was working on, and lifts her head, dark eyes focusing on him from beneath a fall of black dyed bangs and the hood of her tunic. She stares back at him without any flinching of any sort, like he's a bug under a microscope.

Half a grin, it fades as quickly at the admonishment, Demos nods his head. "You are right, my apologies. I meant no offense." He gets the spill under control, just a few napkins at his table now with the former mess, in a piled mess of their own, but contained. He looks back at his display, but can't keep his eyes straight, he then continues, "Forgive my curiousity." He has the descency to not ask aloud what he was curious about, only admitting that is why he was looking, rudely perhaps.

"Sit here. Looks less weird if you stare from here than over there." Rook doesn't seem to be much for words, but at least it's an invitation, if a strange one. "Don't spill here." Not on her precious computer equipment.

He won't pass it up, but Demos pauses, looking at what drink he has left. In a sporadic moment, he finishes them off, then comes over with his own smart device. "Okay, no spilling, staring closer. An arrangement has been made," he smiles, even if she's focused on her work, "Can I be curious yet what has you so busy, or is that breaking the trust?" She might have a few words, so he'll fill in with some of his own.

"Yes." Whether than means he can be curious, or that will break the trust, is anyone's guess, but the way she shelters the screen from his view would indicate the latter. "Work. Confidential." She reaches for her coffee and takes a swig of it, grimacing as it's gone cold while she was absorbed in her coding.

Nodding, pause, then nodding again. Demos gets his display up. Its all statistical and math oriented, nothing that is difficult to comprehend most likely. "Okay, no work, can I ask your line of work, or is that off the agenda as well?" He looks up, his display not going anywhere, he sort of whispers, "Geologist here, nothing exciting."

"Analyst," Rook replies. Getting a conversation out of her is akin to pulling teeth, or perhaps herding cats. Feral cats who are bitey and scratchy. "LucCorp." She looks up at him again, a brow arching. "Rocks?" she asks.

Not that he would pull teeth, or approach such a cat. Then again, he isn't a hunter and probably wouldn't know what he was walking up to. Demos nods, "At its root, yes, rocks. That's about as far as most anyone gets not in the field. I guess rocks to a Geologist might be close to numbers to an analyst? Not to, you know, assume their similar, just metaphorical." He shakes his head, that probably wasn't a good analogy at all.

"Similar," Rook notes. "All math. Everything in nature is math." She shrugs nonchalantly as if everyone should know this basic fact of the universe. "Which rocks?" she asks, closing her laptop so she can stare at him more easily with those sharklike, black eyes of hers.

"Depends on purpose," Demos says, as a brief way to move into an explanation of what he means. "If someone wants to find valuable rocks, I'll look at what can be mined for them. But that is completely different from say, structural stone. I'm also a stone mason, the two seem to mesh like a natural fit. Personally, agate, its so diverse, but not a lot of people wish to have that studied." A pause, "There is rock you're interested in perhaps?"

There is a brief shake of her head in the negative at the question. Rook looks aside, back at the counter, as if pondering a hot cup to replace her cold one. "No use for rocks," she adds, to explain why she isn't interested in any of them.

Sitting silent a moment, Demos turns a thought over. "You are practical, or simply no interest in rocks?" A grin, he knows his chosen interest is his alone, but he knows others might go for shiny things, gems, etc. No rocks at all seems to drive his curiousity, it is rhetorical.

"Live here. Work with computers. No use for rocks," Rook clarifies, as if she shouldn't need to, looking a little confused. What the hell would she do with a rock? Maybe hold down some of her database printouts? But as she lives in the bowels of the Ring and has no windows, they don't fly around anyway.

A slight warm chuckle, offered to be friendly, "I'm not meaning to imply you should like rocks. I think I meant, is it just work for you? No curiousity if it doesn't have a purpose to further your conditions?" Demos shifts a little in his chair, his curiousity seeming to grow just a little.

"Doesn't matter," Rook says quietly, looking down at the top of her laptop. "Live here. Improvement unlikely." Those who live in the Oubliette, the Down Below, the Burroughs as they are called by the poor, rarely climb out, no matter how hard they try.

With a hrm of thoughtfulness, Demos shakes his head at that. "An analayst, seemingly dedicated to the work, is it all unlikely, or more accustomed to and comfortable?" The words are measured, he is probably minding his wording to try and not be offensive, or stepping delicately.

"It just is," Rook responds with an expression that she does not comprehend what Demos is saying. She was in debt to the Syndicate, as her mother was before her. They told her she would do this job at LucCorp. She does it. She doesn't get dead. What other way is there?

"Ever here the debate of tha automaton verus the animal," grins Demos, as if everyone should know that. "One doesn't know change unless it is shown to them, the other constantly changes to adapt, to better their life without knowing they are changing. A human, somewhere in the middle." Lifting a hand to his chin, he rubs it roughly, scratching a little. "What if I proceeded this way. Not to cross the threshold, or invade your personal life, but is there nothing you dream of?"

"Dream. Not usually good." Rook shrugs. She is Awakened. She mostly dreams of cryptic correlations to past or future reality. Clearly, she is not understanding the deeper philosophical bent of Demos' words.

Lifting a curious brow then, Demos proceeds, "So what you remember even of your dreams is not good. You proceed to work as an analyst, to live, but you only live to work. There is nothing else, something like a cosmic hammer, pounding out the same rhthym?"

"Say what you mean," Rook admonishes. "Straight talk." She is having none of his poetic wording. She is a blunt creature who doesn't waste words.

"I was curious if there was a topic to engage in conversation over. I'm curious what it is you actually enjoy doing," says Demos trying to be as straight as he can in that moment. He opens his mouth, ready to say more, then realizes if he says more, it might not be so straight anymore.

That's better. A straightforward question is something Rook can answer. "Red Eye," she responds. Yeah, probably not the response he was looking for. "Video games. Horror movies. Beer." Welcome to the list of things an addict finds fun.

A slight chortle escapes him at the blunt truth, Demos is taken by it but regains composure quickly enough. "Well, that narrows it down. My choice of games is multi-dimensional puzzles, but that's not everyone's cup of tea. Is there a personal game you prefer, or a favorite movie?" He specifically avoids the other two topics, either not familiar, or something he doesn't partake of.

"Gorox the Destroyer" That is an old video game, maybe. Rook ponders a moment. "Cabin in the Arboren Woods." That's definitely a more recent horror vid.

Trying to think of what he knows about either topic, Demos draws some blanks. Even at the titles, not familiar to him. Horror as a genre, more literary perhaps, he then ponders, "Yes, Cabin in the Arboren Forest. Lets take this angle, if you were in this, which character would be you?"

"I wouldn't be." Rook looks at him curiously. "I know better." She smirks and shrugs. "Maybe Marty." The stoner guy who doesn't buy into all the supernatural crap and is one of the last survivors at the end.

Easing some with the hint of a smirk, perhaps that is what Demos was really after. "You're saying, you wouldn't go out in the dark, up to strange places, and would leave when the lights randomly cut out instead of investigatind the strange noise?" He might not know the real names, but he may have seen one or two films of the genre.

"Yes. Also ready for Zombie apocalypse, Vampire infestation, axe wielding murderers, and a tax audit." Rook shrugs. She clearly watches too many movies of that genre.

Pausing a moment, Demos smiles but doesn't go further. "Wait, you're sort of serious, at least with a theory in mind of what you would do if any of that became real?" At least he's hoping in theory, and that she doesn't have the vampire surival kit (Corey Feldman Lost Boys?) or is stocking up to survive the zombie apocalypse.

Rook doesn't reply, just arches an eyebrow. She leaves it for him to decide on his own. "Bye." She says abruptly, rising and taking her laptop in hand. She realizes that might be too abrupt and adds, "Work," as an explanation. Then she's slipping through the bazaar crowds.

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