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Speaking of little French girls who can be anywhere… the Levain Bakery, a famous enough chain to warrant a visit, currently hosts the brunette geneticist. A small paper bag full of the day's purchases bring a sense of satisfaction, swing to the step and lightness of being. Not /actual/ lightness of course. Her sunglasses, oversized and dark, cover her eyes. Those eyes are presently brown. When troubled or startled they turn the electric blue defining her as so very not human, as does little else in this world. Her transition to autumn means dressing like she almost always does. Chic blouse, chic pants, chic trenchcoat: people can be jealous of the je ne sais quoi she exudes. "Pardon me," she announces herself in a French accent. The light push to the door allows the gamine creature to pass another clutch of people who want their coffee and pastry.
Looking for Vesper most likely, the tall Inhuman known simply as Gorgon starts looking around Harlem for his little friend, tracking her scent, which he had memorized around the time that they met. Gordon was wearing a dark coat that covered much of his form, and underneath he wears pants, and awkwardly fit boots to try to cover his hooves. Tapping the much smaller woman on the shoulder like he normally did when he found her, Gordon would speak "good morning." He states simply, his eyes resting on her own. He looks at what she has and tilts his head vaguely.
Vesper is not a tall person nor very short. A fawn in the city built for more robust folks, that's a fair call. Her patterned blue and aquamarine scarf floats around her neck. Pausing to tuck it in leaves her visible in the stew of people coming and going through this quarter of Harlem. The bag swings from her hand. Whatever it holds cannot be very heavy. She's unlikely to miss a tree wandering along. Especially one as tall, as broad, as Gorgon. The sunglasses reflect his image in darkness, shining lenses dwarfing her face. "Bon matin, Monsieur Zola." Oh, yes. That old joke. Gorgon Zola.
He would stand at her side, with a small gesture he offers to walk with her side by side, offering his arm even just for show and to be a gentleman simultaneously. Speaking in his naturally deep voice "you are well?" He was used to this nickname from Vesper and likely others. Normally, it'd be cause for a verbal bout, butGorgon doesn't mind her using it seemingly.
French manners led the world for three centuries. It should come as no surprise that it applies now, at least among the very tall Captain of the Royal Guard and someone who wouldn't even scare the average housecat. Then again, neither does Maximus. Maybe the house cat knows something. Her hair smells faintly of the almond-based shampoo she uses frequently. There's not much else. Perfume is not necessary in the lab. Her arm slips around Gorgon's, though he'll have to stand a little shorter or her go to her toes. No trouble given she has some experience in ballet. "I am quite so, oui. All work. It is tiring but promising." Only trying to stop someone from doing terrible things.
Gorgon would walk with Vesper with a slight crouch in his legs, but it didn't bother him none, nor outwardly distorted his appearance..thank god for trench coats. He does catch the scent of her hair, the scent that he had memorized on their first meeting. "Better to have work than to be confined to performing nothing." He states, not much humor in this one, but he nods "But it is good to know you are alright." He wondered if his king, Blackagar, but he does so often, as his duty demanded. "I will aid you if I can…though I understand little of your science." A small nod.
Indeed, thank God for trench coats, though the two seraphim of His highest making might arch an eyebrow at that being a favourite creation. Her own is belted and otherwise left open. Nothing to surprise her here, to be sure. "Idle hands do the Devil's work as they say. It is the same for this country as France." Her finger pushes up the sunglasses before they tip down her nose. "You are well? It is a time since I have seen any of our people. Triton is very polite." See, manners get you everywhere. "But Maximus blames me for his woes. I cannot turn a blind eye always to it." One day, she's going /in/ his damn eye.
An early concept that The royal guard captain learned was that manners maketh man, inhumans included. At her question, the tall Gordon would answer with an accompanying nod "I am well as I can be. I still search for unfounded members of our kind." He says quietly "but I wanted to check on you and see how you were doing." When Maximus is brought up, Gorgon growls "oh how I loathe him.." flashbacks of his rule race through his head "he is not wise in his leadership, and nor should you turn your eye." He thinks then of Blackagar again "oh my king, where have you gone?" He ponders, always pondering his whereabouts.
Manners maketh the man; something also shared by Colin Firth as a political agent of change. If Gorgon has an umbrella, beware enemies of Attilan! Vesper glances at Gorgon nigh nervously a moment, measuring his bluff features. "They're well still. Yes? No troubles that set to rain down on us?" Oh, that's a lie. There are so many dangers to them all. Comfort isn't something easily found these days. "Your… king? He is…" Her shoulders square up. "Maximus certainly doesn't think highly of him. I imagine he is nursing a headache. I fear I would have to." Alas there is no easy way around that statement, and she wrinkles her nose at herself. "I think is not such a man weighed by many cares? It is not hard to believe that it would keep him confined."
It would be terrifying if Gorgon had -anything- in his hands… though Gorgon looks to Vesper "as well as they can be…so many dangers lie around us. One must always be on their guard." He nods a few times. While he thinks that Blackagar is the true king, he grudgingly followed Maximus. "I doubt such a thing would. Regardless, we look to our own." He frowns lightly, but nods faintly to the young Frenchwoman, looking around as they walk through Harlem.
Little object in large hands, there is a comedy there. "Are there really?" Vesper holds her bag carefully so it won't be crushed but the croissants are not at a real risk. They are fairly durable. "We do. You seem bothered."
Just hilarious indeed. "There are. And I tend to be bothered by almost everything. It's part of my nature." He smells the croissants…but he's never tried them "what have you there? Smells…strange."
It must be part of the job, the act of botheration. Gorgon, the Inhuman Eeyore, receives a look from the corner of her sunglasses. Hard to measure when her face is so well hidden. The polite mask is called for. Harlem doesn't much like her kind, white girls with accents that speak to other places. Otherness has to be hidden in times like these. She takes it all in with a glance. Shops, clubs, and the uneasy balance of a powder keg between different peoples. "You have not tried Levain? I am told the bread is delicious, the best in the city even."
Gorgon didn't really notice her side look…but in a time of repression, really anything could be taken for offense and violence. At her question though, the massive inhuman would shake his head a little "I have not. May I have some, Vesper?" He asks politely despite the urge to snatch it. The smell was intoxicatingly good.
"Yes, of course. I would be remiss not to." Vesper pulls her arm free of the greater one, extracted with care not to pull on Gorgon's sleeve or off balance him. The caution extends to opening the folded bag of croissants. She pulls one of the flaky, golden buttery horns forth for his consideration. No doubt it possibly has a crushed corner, but nothing that would prohibit thorough enjoyment.
The large satyr-man glances to Vesper and takes time to appreciate her careful detachment from him. His eyes glaze over the croissant, tilting his head at it and just looking at it for a time, before his large hands take it gently from her "thank you." He sniffs it a few times, before finally biting into it. His eyes immediately go wide and he looks at the food in his hands "this…very good." He eats it more, happily enjoying this snack almost dorkily
"Oh dear. One of those is probably not enough, is it?" She has four. Another can be sacrificed to the satyr in giant shape, her hand rustling the bag as she holds out another. Vesper is not bothered by sharing. "It's a staple in Paris. We take them with our coffee, mostly. It reminds me of home. Better than toast, which has no character."
Gorgon seems -very- happy that he gets not one, but -two- croissants. He seems rather enjoying this, though let's the savage show when he thanks her with his mouth full "schthank you." He smiled without baring his teeth, eating on his snack. "I must visit this -France-."