A Rose by any Other Name
22th of August 2006 A.D.
Your dad holds open the door of the shawarma place as you follow Lydia inside, the chill of the room a pleasant counterpoint to the late August heat outside. You grab a table and sodas as Lydia looks over the menu, her expression thoughtful. Simit, balık-ekmek, souvlaki and sweet baklava for desert, all of these pass over her tongue without a stumble, perhaps a taste of home. The faint clang of food being taken off the grill offers a pleasant counter-point to wordless music in a wistful minor key that puts one of a mind to other places: olive groves grown from the rocky soil by the sea and mist shrouded islands were the epics of old were sung.
The woman who steps in after you a quarter of an hour later seems almost of a piece with the music, black is her dress despite the heat and black the scarf on her dark blonde hair. She's older than you and younger than dad, though where between that she lies is lost in the lines baked into her face by sun and worry,
At the moment she's feeling something a good bit stronger than worry, the click of her shoes stops abruptly as she takes in the three of you. Dad... dad she had been expecting even if they may not have met before, but when it comes to you and Lydia you have no idea what'a passing through her head, maybe you don't want to. She fumbles with something in her purse...
"Wait," you call out, carefully not raising your voice or moving your hand from your drink. "I'm say 'I can explain', but I have no idea what you are feeling right now. I'd like to explain though, I'd like to thank you." You sound sheepish as you do sincere.
"I... was not expecting... When you said you were a Carpenter I'd thought you were..."
"I'm new," you cut in, still smiling encouragingly. "In more ways than one."
Rose of Autumn gives a shaky laugh. "I can see that, if you are... if you have questions..." She motions to dad as if to ask 'why didn't you just ask him' then she visibly collects herself. "Ah, where are my manners, I'm Pauline... Pauline Moskowitz, it's good to meet you, and good to know you made it out of Cleaveland fine." she says the last few words at some point between you and dad.
"Oh we were better than fine by the time we got done with the
people in Cleveland." Your tone is still low but it is sharp as steel out from under the whetstone. "Not to brag but I figured you would want to know, given your history with them, set your mind at ease while I get some kind of recommendation for among folk of good-heart and certain
talents."
Pauline steps in and sits down gingerly, as though not quite certain of the solidity of the chair, or maybe of the whole world right now. "I cannot promise you answers you understand, not all of them are mine alone to give, but I'm willing to talk."
What questions do you have for Pauline Moskowitz?
[] What can she tell you about others like herself, the minor talents of Chicago
[] What's her talent
[] Write in
OOC: Got a bit distracted with Christmas stuff, but done now, here's your in. 
