Meet . . . Dad. Sort Of.

[Morgan Lake] It's nearing lunchtime on the Mile, and the street is getting progressively busier as nearby offices open their doors to casual Friday clad employees looking for a bite to eat at this hot spot or the other. Amidst this, a slim, possibly college aged girl sits at an outdoor table with a paper cup of some coffee-type beverage, a laptop and the remaining half of a chicken salad croissant. Today is khaki shorts and a minty-green polo (complete with little man on a horse), with her hair pulled up and back in a neat updo that keeps it off her neck, so she's not too hot.

Big, stormy clouds hover, making everything damp, but there's no rain yet. Basically, it's just another day in Chicago.

[Atlas Mason] The doctor was out today, out and about that is. The Magnificent Mile was his place of choice, his locality of preferential habitation and inter locational movation as he would say it. So there he is upon the streets of the city standing there with of all the possible things in his hand, an ice cream cone. Heavenly Hash icecream to be precise in a waffle cone.

He holds the frosted delight gingerly and away from his body when he isn't taking a moment to bite or lick at the slowly melting cone, from the occasional perterbed look he gives the treat, its obviously melting far faster then he would care for it to do so.

But when he isn't looking at his ice cream or trying to keep it from dripping down onto his arm, he is investigating a store window, one that is full of computers. His eyes are intent upon the multitudes of laptops, netbooks, and desktops. He looks at each in turn, occasionally leaning forward ever so slightly, as if to examine it in closer detail.

[Morgan Lake] That computer store is not so far from where Morgan sits, and when she pauses in reading what she has up on her screen to take a bite of sandwich, or sip of coffee treat, she happens to glance about. Her attention span is short today, for her; she finds herself distracted often, thinking about things she'd rather not. So when she sees Atlas, it's a more welcome distraction, and she rises to stretch, to move the few feet to stand next to him, where she can still see her own laptop and food.

"Hey. Looking for a computer?"

[Atlas Mason] Atlas is somewhat surprised when a woman walks up next to him and asks him such a question. However a smile spreads across that aquiline face as he realizes it is infact the young Morgan Lake. The last time he had seen her had been aboard the Lafette, or at least...at upon the pier where it had been moored. "Miss Lake, what attributing factors precipitate to engage your personage within this locality at this juncture of time and geographical precision?"

He turns partial towards her, giving her his attention and gestures with a hand towards the glass window. "The integrated spectral tissue within the facial structure of my personage was assessing and compiling a list of compatibility error's and contributing factors that would arise in the event that such a mobile computational processing unit were to be adapted or interlinked with the systems of the Lafette....they seem...inadequate as of this juncture." He says with some dismay.

[Morgan Lake] "Talk to Riley, maybe? She seems really good with computers, if the way she talks is any indication. I only know enough to play games, write papers and do research." And surf the internet for random webcomics or any number of other shiny time wasters - she's a product of the computer age, certainly, but that doesn't mean she's super tech-savvy. She's never not had computer and internet access, is all. Other than near-constant immersion, her inclinations don't lie that way. "If you know her, anyway. And I'm out because out of the house seemed like a good idea. Here, because that cafe," she indicates the one in front of which she'd been sitting, "has the best chicken salad sandwiches you can find that aren't homemade."

They make her think of her dad, but she's hardly going to say that - it's difficult enough to think it.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods at the mention of Riley and the suggestion that he talk to her, he notes that, and files it away in his encylopedic brain for another day. He had plenty of time to talk to Riley, and plenty of time at this moment to talk to Morgan, being ageless tended to mean you never really had the need to hurry about anything.

He looks at the cafe and almost looks disappointed before looking at Morgan once more. "Dissemination of those particulars 24.72 time units prior to the active unit of temporal flow would have been optimum, such conglomerative comestible nutrient derivatives would have been preferable to the current acquisition of menthe-cocoa infused pasturized dairy by product." He chuckles slightly as he goes to take a lick, stopping a cascade of ice cream from hitting his hand.

He then returns his gaze to Morgan with a friendly, amiable smile. "Is your intrinsic noospheric and neuro synaptic state of existence nominal within this juncture Morgan?"

[Morgan Lake] "I'm . . . alright, yeah. It's been a busy week," she says with a shrug. "And classes start after Labor Day. So pretty soon, seeing me without my face buried in book or laptop will be even more rare." The last comes with a smirk, and a look that says 'bring it'; she enjoys the challenge, enjoys pushing herself to not only keep up but to surpass those around her. It doesn't take long of knowing her, or knowing her well, to know that.

"How about your intrinsic noospheric and neuro-synaptic state of existence? I hope it's more than nominal, really. Good guys deserve better."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas chuckles as she calls him a good guy, its not sarcastic or mean, simply good humored. "Your self deduced evaluation of my socially aligned action and vocalization based assessment is appreciatively noted Miss Lake." He says as his head begins to nod slightly. "My personage is nominal to within a 1.46 percentile deviation based upon active atmospheric activity and fluctuations within my intrinsic biological chemical structure. Neuro-synaptic functionality is also nominal." He says with a pleasant tone as he gestured about. "Given current conditions of this planar sphere including extra-dimensional, urbane, and political status' my personage is remarkably positive."

He notes her computer and other belongings on the bench nearby, and knowing the likilhood that they will be snatched, the man turns from the computer window and slowly makes to move back towards Morgan's things.

"If applicable excuse the rudimentary lapse in cognizant recollection, but what particular field of knowledge codification and assimilation are you currently actualizing upon at this juncture?"

[Morgan Lake] "Well, this semester I've got a load overflowing with pre-reqs," she says with a roll of eyes. "I was lucky enough to test out of some, but there's only so far you can go - basically, I'm freshman and a half." This as they move back to her table and she gestures to the chair across from hers, and offers some of the sandwich, despite his ice cream.

"But I'm declaring pre-law. Policy and Poli-Sci, mostly, with an eye on helping our sort in an arena that's mostly controlled by . . . them." That with a shrug, and she's not told Atlas much, if anything, about what she knows of the Technocracy. Still, if he's looking close, there's fear and distaste on the mention.

[Thomas Taylor] For Tom this was morning, as in recently woken up morning. With one hand rubbing his eye underneath his shades, earphones in and singing along (Surprisingly in tune) he is walking long Mag Mile. He has on a white vest, ripped jeans (His most well worn pair no less) and those converse that had quickly gone from new, to worn to....what is that! He had a tracksuit top wrapped around his waist, he was ready for the rain, he was British he could sense it.


He too was looking for a computer, but one in his price range which made a bargain bucket sale look like a royal auction...ah the perils of being poor. Or perhaps spends too much money on fags and drink. With blurry eyes he seeks caffeine or a pub...either will do

[Atlas Mason] "Ahhhhhh a field of value and noteworthy recollection, albiet not a field of knowledge which my personage has assimilated any pre-requisite or fundamental data regarding." He says with a nod of his head as he slides into a seat, his long limbed body resting comfortably as he adjusts his suspenders.

"Cautionary planning and preparatory undertakings are advised in regards to such activity however Miss Lake given to a relativistic increase of a minimal 23.06 percent of interaction and subjegation by the socio-paradigmic conglomeration that exists in negative polarity to our aligned conglomeration."

[Morgan Lake] "Of course, Dr. Mason," she says a bit wryly (or maybe bitterly). "I've had some exposure, which isn't to say I'm prepared for everything that might come from that front, but is to say I know to be wary and watchful. I've wanted to go into law since junior high, though."

The last comes with a shrug and a smile, and it's not difficult to imagine Morgan a bit younger, a bit shorter, but not terribly much less focused. And there she is, a spot of bright red hair in front of a deli-style cafe (counter for ordering drinks and sandwiches, seat yourself), sitting with a man apparently old enough to be her father.

"I'll be careful."

[Thomas Taylor] He spots Morgan, still rubbing that eye by the time he is over there and realises she could be with a man that is her father Thomas enters the rock and hard place so he just carries on...he who dares wins

He stops by their table within a few feet but not too close, it might be a private conversation and as much as he liked to over hear them interrupting them was not his style. “Mornin’ Le Fay, ‘ows tricks?” He then looks to Atlas, his eyes covered by sunglasses “Mornin’ mate, ‘ope everythin’ is robin an I ain’t disturbin’ been after an everton for ever, an need to give me kingdom a rest.”

His eyes cannot be seen but they were moving.

[Atlas Mason] "Your levels of cautionary action are not in question or under systemic review Miss Lake. Experience and opinion derived assessments do not infer your specific personality patterns to be of a rash or foolish nature, the warning is simply based upon standard operating guidelines, and a societal requisite and formality on my behalf." He says with a wave of his hand as he speaks simply.

"Due to this information and and prior acquired data from other junctures and social cross interaction, is it your intent to align your personage with the inter conglomerative political faction known as House Quaesitor?" The last few parts are spoken quietly as Atlas leans forward, in part to keep himself from being heard, in part, due to the curious look upon his face as he asks.

But then Thomas arrives, for once...Atlas raises a brow, it was a rare day that he was ever disturbed by a language or an accent, but the man had a problem here.

"Accent, Cockney...inherent difficulty of inter social congress increased by 15%." He muses before nodding and holding out his hand. "Appropriate societal acknowledgements and formal acquisition of interpersonal exchanges Sir. My hereditary and parentally assigned identifier is Atlas Mason."

[Morgan Lake] A light blush rises to her cheeks when Thomas approaches and speaks; it's not overt awkwardness, but there's something in the way she looks up at him, in the tone of voice. "Hey. Everything's alright, how about you? Feeling . . . better?" Not that he'd been feeling bad last night any more than she had, but there'd been something, so much of himself put towards an end. Then, for Atlas, "It's okay, he's one of us. Dr. Mason, meet Thomas Taylor."

There's a pause then, during which she nudges a third chair at the table out so that Thomas can sit in it if he likes, before she continues to answer Atlas' question. "Yes, upon completing my apprenticeship with Ashley, my studies will be shifted to Quaesitor requirements with Mr. Gillingson."

[Thomas Taylor] His mouth opens to say something but hangs somewhere between open and closed, the sunglasses drop a moment showing those blue eyes blinking. A couple of small furrows appear on his forehead and suddenly it is role reversal...

This is what it was like for people that met him; this is actually what it was like for them. The cockney needs to buy himself time, nothing ventured nothing gained, after an obvious second he runs the words through his head again some of which he was sure he could not spell right anyway. “Aye mate...” He takes his hand and gives it a shake “Robin to meet ya. After the titan that ‘old up the world, nice name, am Tom or Tommy depends which way you roll squire.” He lets go of the hand he think he bought himself enough time. “So wat you said was it’s gonna be worse for you an me with the gob and the last bit was pretty much a meet an greet.” He clicks his fingers “Custy!” He then looks to Morgan, he chews his bottom lip. How to explain it was the magic, he was not a ponce. It started coming back to him, he had a great night he was just so pathetic...

His cheeks go a touch red as he sits next to Morgan the sunglasses pushed up his nose but still that’s perhaps an extra curl to his smile “Am not bad Le Fay, yer lookin’ a touch more spritely than meself...” He use to be so cool, so rogue, so bad boy...last night he was like a 16 year old teenager that had too many energy drinks and a mad crush. He is thankful when he stops talking and she carries on with Atlas, gave him some more time to save face.

[Atlas Mason] "Your decision and plan of action is relativistically logical and formulated according to progessive standards, additional addendum, the utilization of multiple teachers and mentors is a forethought of formulaical precision Miss Lake." He notes the interaction between the pair of them, the heightened senses, the blush and he raises a bemused brow at Morgan before turning towards Thomas.

"Your assimilation and verification of transfered data is of an acceptable level based upon basic comprehension and rudimentary social and cognizant recognition factors." He says with a nod. "Your derivation of my parentalogical identifier is also predominately positive, additional margins and factors would have been assigned had appropriate disertation and dissection of my hereditary identifier been obtained. It is based upon these codification's that it is a memorable unit of temporal flow to acquire your personage within my internalized reality field."

Atlas reaches up and rubs at his own chin for a moment before smiling, someone who knows him might ALMOST call it a smirk. "Thomas is your chemical biological structure in some manner of internalized distress or agitation? The accumulation of red nutrient processing and delivery cells has increased by 40.734 percent within the nasal frontal facial area within the last four time units."

[Morgan Lake] ".....Dr. Mason," Morgan says with a groan, but it's the friendly-respectful of a much younger person to her elder - teasing and light, but not as she would be with Thomas, or even Ashley. "Don't pick on Thomas. He was basically a hero yesterday, you know." And that's teasing for Thomas as well, a look shot out of the corner of her eyes to study him, curious; in her experience, until last night, he is the bad boy, Mr. Cool. This? She isn't quiet sure what to make of it, other than it's cute. And a little fun to poke at.

"I went home and to bed, then got up this morning for a run. Quit smoking and start running, and you'll be more spritely too. And maybe I'll have a running buddy."

Why not? Safety in numbers and all that. It's a good thing to have.

[Thomas Taylor] He did not know exactly what Atlas said but Thomas was a social animal as much as a physical one and he got the undertones even if delivered by Doc Brown himself. He rubs his eyes again, he was tired and this was not his own laziness, last night he pushed himself mentally as far as he could in a long time.

“’angover mate, night on the lash, right session you know...” half a story and reason that came out so rushed. “Evertons, perhaps I sud get us sum Evertons?” He looks around for a waitress but no when he needed it most it was self service, he sighs as his hands go into his pocket and he pulls out a packet of smokes, the red growing just a touch. “Me an Le Fay wet undercover, in fact I got a chip sat at me pope that cud ‘ave yer name written all over it, needin’ a techie to check it out...” He shrugs once more looking to Morgan “she want too sorry ‘erself Doc, can’t take all the credit...an more vigilantante with a cause”

Now then Thomas, focus... the red stays for perhaps a few more seconds then starts to slowly fade as he places the smokes on the table, and the next bit might shock Morgan “Mind if I smoke?” He asks the question to both of them but seems to address Morgan first then to Atlas. “Wud yer techno-lungs not mind sharin’ reality with sum smoke with out causin’ sum air exclusion that...” He then just laughs, a hearty laugh “I can’t do it Doc, don’t mind me callin’ you Doc do ya?” He carries on like he does not “Remind me of Doc Brown, you know, ‘Hey Mcfly’...I ‘ad to give it a go an I thought cockney was bad.” He flips open his pack but does not pulls a smoke out yet, fingers tapping the packet until he had permission...small steps

[Atlas Mason] Atlas smiles amiably over to Morgan and shrugs as if nothing at all is wrong. "My personage is simply undertaking preliminary stress testing and acquiring additional data Miss Lake. Such rudimentary processes are necessary. In addition Miss Lake, the moniker and prefix Doctor, as I have previously stated at various junctures, is unnecessary." He looks between the pair of them, this being said to both. "Atlas will suffice if identifiers are necessary."

Atlas then looks over at Thomas and shakes his head. "My cognizant processes do not retain the information to which you are referring Mr. Taylor, the reference is most assuredly popular based within cultural moors and designs, but its specific route from your perspective is unknown, Atlas will suffice." Its not said angrily or in a way that seems unpleasant, its just simply stated.

"I am certain to within a 14.03 percentile variance that your personages both propagated proper conduct and capabilities matching and corroborative of your intrinsic abilities. Deviation is not seperately accrued due to Miss Lake's involvement."

He finally gives up on that ice cream and tosses it into the garbage, it was no longer salvagable by normal means...to bad really.

[Morgan Lake] There's a pouty hint of dismay - Morgan is not the sort of girl who is accustomed to not getting her way, or to calling people of her parents' generation (or near enough) by first names. She'll try, if it's necessary, but calling Atlas simply 'Atlas' is uncomfortable and unwieldy to her. "And calling me 'Miss Lake' is equally unnecessary. Call me Morgan," she says for Atlas first, before blushing over again at praise.

"Smoke if you must, I suppose, but blow it away from me, please. And my drink is still half full, but if either of you needs something . . ." The remains of her sandwich, a chicken salad croissant, are nudged so the plate rests between the two men. "They have both hot and cold stuff. Tea's pretty awful, but the coffee's good."

[Thomas Taylor] Yes Thomas must, he had not the will to fight the urges. He pulls it out placing it between his lips as he lights it taking a deep breath and blowing the smoke upwards and away.

“Doc, you callin’ me Mr Taylor, means yer called Doc this is just sumthin we ‘ave to cum to terms with, in lemon we’ll be robin.” He lets the cigarette hang between his lips as again he wipes his eyes. “Ah I ‘member yer the Doc thats puttin’ up Nat, she tell me yer gaff is da bomb.” Thomas felt very tired for a moment and also faint but he does not show it as he looks to the food offered... He takes another drag then drops his smoke putting it out under foot

“Scran...” He picks up the left over sandwich not giving Atlas time to get to it.

[Atlas Mason] He had a response, something equally long winded no doubt...but as he opens his mouth to speak, his watch starts beeping and Atlas' eyes widen. It is at that moment he rises and excuses himself rather quickly, voicing long winded and verbose apologies for retreating, and asks Morgan to join him on his ship in the near future.

That all said and done, the man turns, and moves away quickly, something must certainly be amiss, or important enough for the man to take off like that.

[Sorry folks, kinda have to bail..and dont REALLY have enough time to make a proper post..so hope to play with you both again soon]

[Morgan Lake] "Of course I'll come visit," she says, and is used to these sudden departures - she's made a few of her own, after all. And then there's just her and Thomas, and he's wolfing down the remains of her sandwich. She, of course, is rather amused by all of it, even for the blush at Thomas' arrival and his praise.

"Etherite," she says quietly, "if that wasn't clear. And I can't not call him Dr. Mason any more than he can not call me Miss Lake, so I suppose you're right. Practicing or not, he still earned the title. Are you alright?"

She's doing better than he, but is not wholly herself either; pseudo-seducing a man and dealing with a club full of people half of whom wanted to fight and the other half of whom wanted to fuck wasn't particularly pleasant, and wore on her as well. She is, after all, a posh totty.

[Thomas Taylor] He eats the sandwich, doing his best to speak between mouth fulls as he does indeed wolf it down, you have to wonder when he last ate. Oh yes when he barely touched the Chinese he bought for them the other afternoon.

He looks to her, she can see the bags under his eyes up close when not laughing as he pushes up the shades to hide them “Takes it toll don’t it pet.” He lifts his hand as is about to pet hers when he stops and just rests it on the table it was hard after two days with the woman having on and off contact some okay, some she flinched in others she embraced.

“You don’t look as sorry as me, but it was a tough night for both of us, an pet...am sorry if I came over a ponce last night, just that emotion machine made me like robin robin like schoolboy ‘robin thing is I want that robin wen I was at school.” He licks his fingers at the sandwich. He looks to her “Am sure you were busy pet, I’ll leave ya too it.” No doubt meeting James or something he thinks to himself. Then kicks himself again over why he would care or think it.

[Morgan Lake] "Just studying," she says easily, and eyes his hand where it stopped from touching hers for a moment before reaching to give it a little squeeze, after which it move into her lap. Self-initiated touch is different than when others reach out to touch her, apparently. "And you didn't come off as a ponce. You came across as sweet, and a gentleman, and I appreciate that, particularly under those circumstances. So, you know. It's good."

Then, there's a smirk. "I was that good in school. Never talked back, never a bad mark, never a fight or caught smoking in the bathroom or anything. Believe it or not, I'm actually quite the rebel now, compared to what I was." But it's just casual talk, and easy to answer, to be comfortable with, and a pleasant way to waste an afternoon in each other's company.