fandomhigh | Bailing 101, Monday

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bailing 101

Bailing 101, Monday

It was Danger Shop time again-- this time, Atton had snagged the Streets of Fandom program, so they were standing outside a bar that looked a lot like, but wasn't technically, Caritas in the middle of town.

"For anyone who's been keeping track, today we're on follow-through," he said. "This is maybe the most important part. See, when you decide to bail, there's this surge of adrenaline. You get everything in order, and then you get out. But it's easy to crumble when you hit your first real obstacle. If it's the short-term, fleeing the battlefield, well, maybe your friends don't want to go. Maybe they have some stupid reason to try and convince you to keep going."

He shrugged.

"That's scenario one, today," he said, "You can partner up and try to talk each other into leaving. Then follow through on it, head back to the school."

He gestured towards the fake bar. "This is scenario two," he said, "Say you've managed to successfully bail on the long run, but you need to sleep somewhere on the way to your final destination. The people here aren't anyone you know, but they're close enough to where you came from that they might have questions. Or know someone who knew you. Or they might recognize the look of a Fandom High student. Who knows."

He rapped on the bar's door. "If you choose scenario two, you get to go in here and try to remain inconspicuous," he said. "I suggest you work out a story."

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Following through.

Anders

Tali'Zorah

Garik Loran

Ada Miller

Or loiter, like the disaffected student you are.

In the distance, the sound of battle. You're making your exit.

Your partner, however, is not quite as raring to go. Maybe they have a friend in the fray. Maybe they have some weird ideas about nobility and standing and fighting. Whatever the case, one of you wants to leave, the other wants to stay. Person A, talk Person B out of their delusions.

Tali wasn't the sort to be cavalier about just leaving in the middle of a fight, but she'd had a few hard lessons in knowing that sometimes you just didn't have another choice, and she wasn't so idealistic as to be that stubborn about it. Not that she'd want to have to talk, say, Ashley out of bailing on a bad situation (a line of thought that still led to some wincing if she didn't drop it right there) but she'd be game for giving it a try here.

...or you can walk into this bar and settle in for a drink and the promise of a good night's rest. The patrons - who, strangely enough, look a lot like people Atton knows because he gets bored easily - are regulars, and might have a few questions when they see you.

Talk your way out of it.

Anders decided to go with the bar, mainly because he was feeling lazy and it seemed the easier path. He ordered a soda and sat at the edge of the bar sipping it and going over what he'd say if he were interrogated.

There was a woman clad in all white, eyeing him across the bar. She hadn't moved yet, but the way she was studying Anders made it rather obvious she was considering it.

She was scowling, but her general bearing suggested that was normal for her.

Anders quirked an eyebrow at her once he realized he was being glared at.

"Yes?" he said, drawing out the word. "Is something the matter?"

"I did not know your kind were allowed to drink in this bar," she said, still looking him over critically.

Anders looked at his cup, looked back at her, and frowned. "It's soda," he said. "And what do you mean, 'my kind'?"

"Soda? Hmph."

She failed to answer his second question, but simply looked at him more sharply.

"Where are your parents?"

Dammit. If he hadn't mentioned the soda, he could have claimed to be perfectly of legal age (which he still thought was a ridiculous concept) and flattered by the misunderstanding. But since he'd effectively closed off that road ...

"At home, I'd imagine," he said. "What's it to you?"

"This is a strange place for a child to be wandering into," she replied. "Why are you here? Do I need to call the authorities?"

Anders gave her an irritated look, because seriously? He'd been asked some awkward questions as a runaway mage in Fereldan, but no one had ever assumed he was too young to be out on his own.

Other worlds were very strange sometimes.

"I'm seventeen," he said, certain that at least the annoyance in his voice would ring true. "I was supposed to meet friends near here for dinner and they bailed on me. I just came in to get a drink and kill some time before I head home. Is that all right with you?"

[OOC: Blerg, sorry for the many edits.]

Edited 2015-06-01 15:36 (UTC)

"Young people shouldn't be allowed near bars," the woman grumped. "I'll bet you were playing truant today, weren't you?"

"No," Anders said, which at least was true. "How old are you, anyhow? You don't look old enough to worry so much."

"Old enough to drink in this bar," the woman said flatly.

Well then. Anders hmmphd out an answer and turned his attention back to his drink.

It didn't seem like a conversation that he needed to continue.

The woman, however, didn't think so. "Why are you still around when your friends aren't showing up?" she said. "Don't you have curfew?"

Anders held up his glass, which was about a quarter full of dark liquid still. "No, and I haven't finished my drink yet," he said. "But maybe I should just leave it. It's mostly melted ice anyhow."

Besides, he wanted to get away from her more than he wanted the soda.

The woman's eyes got squintier. "You should leave it," she agreed. "It's a school night."

"All right," Anders said agreeably, and slipped a dollar bill under his glass for the bartender before turning to go.

If Atton wanted him to talk the woman into a place to sleep, he'd failed the assignment. But the more important thing seemed to be just getting away, and he figured he'd succeeded at that one.

Face changed his body language as he entered the bar, shifting to a kind of closed off swagger, not hiding or furtive, but not openly challenging either. Occasionally he let his hand drift towards either his thigh or his jacket, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

Just another two-cred spacer, looking for a bunk between jobs.

There was a man in a Jedi robe sitting quietly in one corner of the room. He would not have paid Face much attention, but that gesture...

He cleared his throat. Politely.

As he looked over the in the man's direction, Face's hand started drifting once more before he aborted the movement and crossed his arms over his chest instead, as if trying to hide his tells.

"Something the matter?" he asked, his accent now Corellian.

"You would not be carrying a weapon in here, would you?" the man asked, his voice polite and Coruscanti by way of the Mid Rim.

Edited 2015-06-01 16:08 (UTC)

"Course not," face replied, holding his hands wide to show off his lack of blaster, his stance off just enough like he had trouble compensating for the lack of weight. "After all, none of us want any trouble here."

Just a dumb Corellian without his blaster, that was him, too dumb to figure out he was mouthing off at a Jedi.

"No, we do not."

But the man was clearly alert now, straightening his shoulders. "Then what brings you here?"

"The usual things that bring sapients to bars," Face said. "Never been in one before?"

"I am merely asking because you seem a little... twitchy," the man said. Politely, still.

"Why do you care?"

If that's your speed.

Ping into One for partnering with your fellow students. Two gets a random Lost Jedi NPC, la la la.

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Bailing 101, Monday

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Talk to the Teacher

OOC