John Barrister

[Nadia Bashir] His call had been returned and the phone tag continued to play until they could schedule a day and hour that suited both their needs. She scarcely answered the phone, it almost always went to an automated voice mail, that wasn't a recording of her own voice. Unless, of course, he had called the emergency number, and that would result in a conversation entirely different.

Two pm, not a moment earlier, she had arrived to the door of the address she had been given. The weather was far too cold to be wearing skirts, and she opted for another pant suit that cluttered her closet. Black was for evening, so she wore a medium toned gray and a light pale blouse, collar small and short, crisply folded back. Her jacket, however, was heavier and black in colour. She was unbuttoning it as she stepped in the door, hair clipped back and out of her face. Dark green eyes sweeping the interior, looking for someone in particular as she noted other few, but important, details.

[John Barrister] Originally they'd spoken of roastbeef sandwiches at Richmond&Sons, one of the many overpriced, family-run corner delis in their neighborhood. However, this having morphed somehow into lunch rather than a simple sandwich-stand recommendation, John Barrister felt obligated to choose a slightly classier venue. At least, some place with waiters and sit-down tables.

So: the University Cafe. A name at best, because this is neither a cafe in the classical sense of the word, nor your average college dollar joint. It's not exactly old-money elite by any stretch of the imagination, but it's well-kept, clean, airy, modern, with a verve toward fusion cuisine and a polite young waitstaff that practically ran to do one's bidding. The menu is simple, mostly sandwiches and soups in the 12-16$ range, but each entry comes with a small description full of words like "succulent" and "plum wine sauce" and "served on mediterranean-style couscous." In short, it's one of those places that specialized in power lunches and lunch dates, popular amongst the white-collar urbanites.

The restaurant is situated in a building large enough for two stories, but is furnished with only one -- skylights open in the roof to rain light down on the diners. Nadia is directed past a smattering of other patrons to a table for two in the back, near a screen of some long-fronded plant. Barrister, waiting at the table, reading a book to pass the time, looks slightly out of place with his bowling-ball shoulders and his ever-burgeoning five'o'clock shadow. At the same time, he has an ease in such a place that speaks of frequent visits. He looks up as she approaches, and closes his book, marking his place with a slim bookmark. The title reads Peace Like a River; the dustjacket is pale blue and white.

John's chair scrapes out as he stands. At least he had height to go along with his breadth; some six feet four inches of it. Otherwise, he'd have a build most would refer to as a brick shithouse.

"Hello again." All the way here, the bright young waitress has not dared to meet Nadia's eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. Barrister looks her squarely and evenly in the eye; there's genuine friendliness in his handshake. He's exchanged his charcoal running sweats for a dark coat, slacks, crisp white shirt, no tie. It doesn't make him any less hairy, but it at least makes him less out of place. "Please, sit. I went ahead and ordered appetizers," he adds as they seat themselves. "Calamari and a greek salad. Pick whatever else you like."

[Nadia Bashir] The waitress had been, more or less, ignored by the darkly coloured woman. By the time she was at the table, her overcoat was laying over her arm, leaving her in a casual pant-suit. Even with her heels, she wasn't as tall as John, and tilted her head, just slight, to look up at his full height. She shook his hand, casual, brief, and put her jacket over her seat as she replied, "No, that's fine." Her Middle Eastern accent was still evident, but the English remained clear. "Thank you."

"How are you?" She looked at him across the table as she eased into her seat, crossing the length of her legs beneath the tables cloth, one laying over the other at the knee. Her foot tucked closely to her opposite calf, leaving plenty of leg room for the taller of the two of them.

[John Barrister] "As yet un-sued," Barrister replies with a smile. He seats himself a beat after she does, pulling his chair forward again with another unavoidable grate. When he sits back, the joints of the chair creak. Though he'd buttoned his coat out of reflex when he'd stood, he unbuttons it again as he sits. "Yourself? I have to say, you're hard to get ahold of. I think I've had more conversations with your answering machine than with you."

[Nadia Bashir] "Bruin must be behaving." She had said, remembering his dogs name, if only for his fondness of it. They were both going through the same actions, unbuttoning their blazer jackets, while getting themselves settled. She raised her cuffs a little. A gold watch made her left wrist appear dainty under its expensive weight, it's colouring brighter, foreign (and more pure) gold.

Her laugh was soft, almost classified as a chuckle, and she inclined her head, just slight at his remark. "Unfortunate. I am very busy." She raised her eyes from roaming the room to look him over and meet his gaze. "I am glad it has not deterred you."

[John Barrister] "A promise is a promise." Barrister has a warm smile. Nadia's not a foolish woman; she knows the laws of polite company, and that people ought to smile at each other if they're going to hold a friendly conversation. All the same, Barrister has a genuineness about him. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. His brow relaxes. "What is it you do, anyway? I noticed an emergency contact number on the card. Sounds rather dangerous."

[Nadia Bashir] "It's rare for promises to be kept." His genuineness was appreciated, though she didn't smile as much as he.

Brows arching at his question, she appeared a little perplexed at first before waving a hand. "No. It's not a business card." It had no company name after all, just her name. "It's more convenient to have those at hand, should I meet someone like yourself, or other persons of possibility." Sounded a little strange, perhaps. "I believe there should be an emergency contact number for most. I like to believe those I befriend can rely on me should the situation be dire enough."

[John Barrister] "Persons of possibility?" He's still amused -- though now, a suspicion has begun to niggle at the back of his mind. "What sort of possibility?"

The conversation is briefly interrupted: the waitress arrives with the appetizers, and then takes their order. John orders his roast beef sandwich, though here it's called a sliced top sirloin roast on focaccia with braised onions and bleu cheese, garnished with ... blahblahblah. Barrister still calls it what it is: "I'll have the roast beef sandwich. Soup on the side. What's today's special? Oh, no, I'll just have the french onion. Just water. No, wait -- the mango iced tea sounds good. Thanks."

After the waitress departs with their orders and their menus, Barrister turns his attention back to the woman. "Persons of possibility," he prompts.

[Nadia Bashir] Her own order consisted of fish, of all things, and salad with a bottled water. She watched the waitress depart before she returned to their conversation, already prompted before she could begin. This cause a smile, as small as it was, and a glitter of amusement in her dark foliage gaze. "There are endless possibilities where you travel. A person you meet today could be your boss tomorrow." It was all about networking, surely, with his stature, he could understand it. Unless she presumed much of this man before her, which wasn't that likely, considering.

[John Barrister] Barrister raises a dark eyebrow. They're just shy of bushy, though they are certainly bold: straight across over each eye. The eyes themselves are dark as well, but in this light she can see they're blue, not black.

"And you expect situations might swiftly grow so dire that your future boss may need to call you and actually get ahold of you?" The corners of his mouth lift. "You're rather unusual, Nadia."

[Nadia Bashir] Leaning gently into the table, bringing her own gaze closer to his, she murmured clearly, "It was an example, John." Returning his smile, even if it was small, twisting the corners of her rather full mouth, she eased back into her chair. It was her turn to talk.

"Tell me this." She began, "Did you come to this luncheon to be polite or was there another motivation?" Simply direct, though it wasn't unpleasantly said. Her curiousness was obvious.

[John Barrister] Now the other eyebrow goes up. Barrister laughs -- a short, quiet one, almost under his breath. Then he composes himself.

"Are you asking if I'm trying to pick you up?"

[Nadia Bashir] "Is that such an amusing thought?" She tilted her head to one side, regarding him fully and without the shared laughter. It's a possibility that she was offended, her gaze was a little sharper, darker. Perhaps he'd notice how she's sitting particularly still at that current moment, all of her attention on him.

[John Barrister] "I'm sorry," Barrister says immediately, perceiving the change in her and not at all the type who would enjoy snubbing a woman, "I don't mean to offend. You're a very attractive woman. But, no, you needn't worry. I wasn't trying to pick you up." He smiles again, half-wry, spreads his hands. "No ulterior motives."

[Nadia Bashir] "The thought didn't offend. I'm curious to why you would think it funny." Her eyes dropped to watch the way his mouth curved into another smile. Debating whether she liked it or not, she watched for several heartbeats later, looking over his bone structure before meeting his eyes again. "There are other motives than trying to bed someone, John." Now she smiles, a light gesture, but at least it reaches her eyes.

[John Barrister] "I laughed," he replies wryly, "because I was imagining you coming to lunch dreading a pass."

While they speak, he serves himself from the shared salad, picks a few calamari rings from the platter. He has a rough look about him, big knuckles and coarse hands, a jaw that always looks unshaven; it's wholly at odds with his table manners, which are surprisingly elegant. He keeps his elbows tucked in, his knife always in the right hand and his fork always in the left.

"Yes," he agrees, "but I assure you, I have no ulterior motives whatsoever. Except maybe to make a friend."

[Nadia Bashir] Dropping her gaze to watch the way he served himself, how he held his utensils and general table manners, she let the conversation dry up. Reaching for her bottle, she opened it and poured water into her glass, stopping when it was three quarters level. Her bottle, recapped, was set to the side and traded for the glass itself.

"Are you interested in art, history, John?" A simply out of the blue question.

She took a sip from her glass, then another that had more to do with drinking than merely tasting. Holding it in hand, cradled in her fingertips, she continued to watch him eat, her gaze flicking to watch his movements. Plate to mouth.

[John Barrister] One might be discomfited by the intent way this strange, desert-eyed woman watched one's every motion. If Barrister was uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. There's an immense, quiet confidence about him; it underlies everything he does, up to and including his unfailing courtesy and genuine goodness of nature. Perhaps there's some truth to the adage that it takes more courage to be kind than cruel.

"History, yes. Art, depends on the type." He eats another forkful of salad, chews, swallows before continuing. "Why do you ask? Let me guess -- you're a hunter of exotic artifacts?"

[Nadia Bashir] "It would be ... cliche, wouldn't it?" With an air of amusement she set down her glass and began to serve some food onto her own plate, little of it, but something to make her plate look colourful and enough not to offend his choice of meal. "Most of those artifacts come from markets of my home town, or not far. I would not be much of a hunter, if that were the case."

Picking up a fork, she rolled some lettuce and stabbed it gently. "What is it, about History, that you like? Something must draw you to it. Much like there is a reason, beyond keeping yourself in physical fitness, that makes you run every night."

[John Barrister] "You're an antiques dealer, then." He looks pleased with this, somehow. "I do a little of that myself. Not so highbrow, though."

She asks him what he likes about history, and he appears to give this genuine thought -- narrowing his eyes into the distance, leaning back in the trendy little woven basket chair, because apparently people nowadays were too hip to eat in proper dining chairs. His limbs are long enough that his hand easily reaches the table without stretching. He holds his mango iced tea and swirls it around unconsciously, the way one might a good wine.

"I don't know," he says finally. "The sense of time, maybe, and what's come before. The movements of mankind, the rises and the falls."

[Nadia Bashir] While he spoke, she ate. She took her time with it, picking more than she devoured. Hunger wasn't a motivating factor at the moment. Her gaze moved from her plate up to him, small flickers to the former, as she ate small bites. "I like them for the stories. The lessons learned, morals to be followed, mistakes made." Eating some calamari, she waited until she had swallowed before continuing, "Have you heard anything of Mythology that you may like? Gods and Goddesses. They fill our history books with names and tales." The more she spoke, the more he became accustomed to her accent, the easier her educated English sounded.

[John Barrister] This time the smile has something a little ironic in it. He studies her for a moment, as though trying to make up his mind about something.

He's spared the necessity to answer immediately. The waitress arrives again with their entrees, and sets them down in front of them. She asks them if they'd like anything more. Though she's been trained to smile brightly at everyone at a table, she converses largely with Barrister. One might think it were a matter of attraction, flirtation, but no: whenever she looks at Nadia, there's something like worry on her face, so mild that she likely doesn't even register it herself.

Assured of their satisfaction with the meal, she departs. Barrister is left alone with Nadia again, and he swallows a mouthful of iced tea before he replies -- meanwhile drawing the toothpick out of the sandwich.

"I've always liked history more than myth, artifacts more than stories. But I suppose I'm partial toward Norse myth." He smiles a little; this is the first time it's been anything but genuine. This smile is a little calculated; it means something. "It runs in the family, I guess."

[Nadia Bashir] Tempted to give the waitress a little more to sweat about, Nadia had taken to watching the woman as she was so obviously uncomfortable. She could almost smell the changes in the air around her, the lingering emotions of others that prickled along her skin and stimulated her senses. Thankfully they were sitting far beyond the rest, and the foliage about them was strong enough in smell to be a distraction.

"I thought as much." She had said, and stated, "Artifacts are nothing without their story." before she picked up her fork and began to cut her moist fish, adding some salad to her fork. The two textures, soft and crisp, mixed well in her mouth.

[John Barrister] "What about you?" He lays aside his utensils at last, picking the sandwich up in his big hands. "Have an interest in myth, history, artifacts -- stories?"

[Nadia Bashir] "All." She said, having noted how big his hands were last time they had met, and just how hairy he was. It was a prime reason for her questioning, that and his little tell tale signs, in particularly the way her body responded to his, that had her suspicions now confirmed. Her fish was favoured over her salad and she didn't touch the tomatoes on her plate, pushing them to one side with her fork, even to the point of scraping off the tomato seeds that was on some of her other raw vegies.

[John Barrister] He laughs a little again, a hint awkward. "Not much of a conversationalist, huh. Should I leave you be, stop prying?"

[Nadia Bashir] Looking up from where she was fussing with her food, she shook her head and set down her utensils. "No, please." She had been distracted. "Ask what it is you would like." Pause, she went back to his question. "I enjoy learning about the world and everything in it. I would say as far as outside of our world, but there is not much known of the universe."

Picking up her glass, she washed away the taste of fish from her tongue and teeth with several sips. Gazes meeting again, or at least hers lifts to his, she continued, "Mythology, culture, religion, in many parts of the world have very similar ideals and icons. Many of them incorporate animals with men and women, have tales where such creatures would consummate, or Gods of either gender being several species simultaneously." Giving a little shrug of her shoulder, she had paused her words, considered him, them, "I find the ideas intriguing, now that humankind dominant over every other creature, including the very ground that keeps us dependent on it. The irony is dry."

[John Barrister] Were she talking to a human, his eyes might glaze over now. He might smile and nod, but he wouldn't pay any attention at all. Such things are not part of the world a human -- a human like JB, anyway -- cares about.

Barrister, however: he listens. Attentively. His eyes are fast on her, and when she finishes, a pregnant silence falls.

Then he sets the sandwich down. Wipes his hands on the napkin, and quite deliberately, draws his wedding ring off his finger.

"Since you sound like a bit of an aficionado of myth and culture, maybe you can help me decipher something. My wife and I bought our rings from a private small-volume dealer." The story here doesn't matter; it's just something to say, to mask things for public view. It's not true, anyway. "Anyway, my ring has this little etching on the inside. Can you see it? Maybe you've seen it before. I wonder if you know what it means."

He holds the ring out for her view. On the inside, against the skin, is of course a very small, very carefully carven Fenrir glyph.

All the while, Barrister watches her face like a hawk.

[Nadia Bashir] Picking up her napkin, she cleans her hands, not that they were dirty anyway, and takes the offered ring in her fingertips. She tilts it to the light, her eyes narrowing a little as she focuses on the inscription. Slowly, she smiled and further inspected the ring itself, its weight, value, purity. "I thought as much." Says the stranger.

Leaving the ring in her pale palm, compared to the rest of her skin, she offered it out to him across the table. "It's a symbol of strength and honour." Pause. "Loyalty." Another pause. "Which is, perhaps, why its fitting for the symbol of the ring." They both knew, she knew, that he knew. It doesn't help him discern anything about her though.

[John Barrister] "Huh," the sound is faint, amused. "Here I always thought it was just a tribal design."

He never quite lets the ring go. He doesn't pull it away when she touches it, but once she's finished he slips it back on his finger. His hand had felt briefly naked without it. When it rests again at the base of his fourth finger, he gives it a turn, and then picks his sandwich up again.

[Nadia Bashir] "Nothing is ever just." Done with her meal, she picks up her glass of water again, watching him. "A design is always based on a concept." Frowning for a moment, she put down her glass and slowly stood.

"Please excuse me."

The vibration in her pant pocket was removed as she stepped a foot or two from the table and put a small cell to her ear. She didn't speak English. It was an obvious Middle Eastern language, most likely some dialect of Arabic. The call was short, her mood changed with a minor irritation.

She returned to the table with a tight smile. "John, I'm afraid that an emergency needs attendance." Removing her jacket from the table she lay it over her arm. "See? It's always a good idea to have such a contact." Phone back in her pocket, she set her gaze on him. "Please, let me buy you dinner sometime. It may be a little more convenient than meeting midday."

[John Barrister] He doesn't rise when she gets up to take the call, but he does when it becomes apparent she won't be sitting again.

"I can do better than that. Your interest in myths, legend and histories -- why don't we meet at the Museum of Anthropology? I'll call you, set up a time."

[Nadia Bashir] Her smile is broad, delighted and she inclines her head. "I would like that."

"Thank you."

Gesturing to the table, "Please, sit, enjoy, and take care John."

With another smile, she had turned and left the restaurant. Not before she, without him able to complain, stopped and paid for their tab on the way out. Her jacket was thrown on at a pause at the door, before she disappeared onto the day lit street.