Log:Dickens Faire

2014/12/22 Grimm Malcolm 1

Nicholston

Nicholston is the historic name for this part of town, though most people would probably say "near the mall". There's a seaside town atmosphere here, especially in summer, though the traffic on Beach and Wharf Streets are a reminder that this is a full city. The tourist industry prevails, embodied in convenience stores, surf rental shops, souvenir stores and restaurants; and at Wharf and Beach is Boardwalk Mall, unquestionably the center for shopping in the city. The most affordable of the bayside housing is also to be found here. Remarkably, there's plenty of parking, which helps the trade of mall and beach alike.

As part of the local Chamber of Commerce's on-going efforts to pack more tourist dollars into Nicholston's pockets, there is a vast "Winter Carnival" spread throughout the northeastern end of the area, just beyond Boardwalk Mall's sphere of influence. On the other hand, much of the district has been expertly decorated to give the atmospheric seaside town a more Dickensian Christmastime feel.

Carolers in full Victorian regalia serenade on street corners, Salvation Army Santas are discreetly tucked away with their silver bells and donation kettles, snow and ice decorate store fronts and street lamps, and there's this weird veneer of holiday cheer smeared across many of the major tourist corridors.

Malcolm, however, seems intent on dragging Grimm to the carnival itself. He's dressed (stylishly) for the weather, including the return of his leather jacket - it goes well with his white turtleneck sweater and black jeans - and Malcolm is presently trying to make a comparison between Pearl Jam and The Cranberries as he leads the way toward the heart of the carnival area. No doubt the biggest question is 'What is that damned buzzing?'

A Dickens Winter Carnival Fair! Despite what people seem to think of Gabrielle when it comes to being gloomy while facing unnameable horrors and vile villains, she actually does enjoy fun and games. It didn't take much dragging to get her to go, but the surprise was when she showed up in full steampunk goth victorian regalia for the event.

"I can't go to a theme event and -not- dress up the part," Gabrielle explained with authority. "It's a rule. Like going to Renaissance Faire without a medieval costume. It simply isn't done." And she proved it by showing up dressed in a black overbust corset with gold brocade worn over a black frilly sleeved blouse worn buttoned down, a long black bustle skirt, lace up high heeled boots, and a black ribbon choker with lace. Her hair is done up in a bun with her bangs still free, and she has one of those tiny black victorian hats pinned to her hair.

"I'm a Pearl Jam girl over the Cranberries, any day. But they're both classics," Gabrielle says over the damned buzzing.

Malcolm may still be working on trying not to double take at Grimm every few seconds. Whatever he may have been expecting of Grimm's choice in carnivalwear, he certainly did not seem to have expected this outfit. He rubs the back of his head thoughtfully, smiling off into the distance just ahead and to the right of Grimm as he replies, "I can see it. I certainly like the earlier stuff from Pearl Jam, though on the whole, I think I'd go more Cranberries."

That buzzing continues to get louder the closer to the carnival's major thoroughfare the duo get. Malcolm doesn't seem to mind it at all, who knows what Grimm might think of the peculiar, probably vaguely familiar sound. Gesturing a bit, Malcolm grins as he comments, "It's not really a straight up Dickens Fair, Gabrielle. At least, I've never seen another Dickens fair with a Moto-Drome."

Oh, that's the buzzing. All of the tweaked out racing bikes hurtling around the interior of a giant metal sphere suspended fifteen feet above an intersection by dozens of steel cables, pulleys, and possibly chewing gum.

"Oh yeah, early years on Pearl Jam, definitely," Grimm is on the same page with Pearl Jam. She looks mildly crestfallen on her choice of clothes. "I suppose just some of the people working the carnival are dressed up." She eyes a family dressed in plain clothes. "Some people just need to take initiative with the holiday spirit and seize opportunities. Carpe Awesome!" she proclaims.

Speaking of awesome, her eyes grow big as she looks up at the Moto-drome. "Well, since this isn't really a Dickens Fair, I guess I still can't say that I've seen one," she says as she watches the show.

"It's a tourist thing, they're not really shooting for accuracy, Gabrielle," comments Malcolm. He smiles warmly and shrugs his shoulders, "Then again, you look absolutely spectacular, so I can't really complain about the lack of accuracy."

Yes, it's because Grimm is hot that he can't complain. It's definitely not because they have a Moto-Drome in the middle of the carnival, which is practically Malcolm's favorite thing in the world.

Malcolm smiles cheerily and takes the moment to enjoy what he is going to consider "his win". He joins Grimm in gawking at the show going on in the SPHERE OF DOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!


 * toot*

"You want something to drink?"

Grimm supposes tourists have an excuse, since few happen to carry around a set of victorian era clothes for special occasions while on vacation. "Well, I suppose some exceptions can be made. And thanks! I tend to have a costume ready for just about any occasion," she grins at Malcolm, then goes back to watching the show. "Man, it must be fun to ride those. I just don't know that I'd want to ride one in a sphere of certain demise."

A prim and proper dressed Grimm on a motorcycle in the Moto-drome? That sounds like a risky combination. At the offer of a drink, she smiles broadly. "Oh, that sounds like a great idea. Something warm? I wonder if they're selling spiced cider around here," she says as she tries to peer over the crowd at the variety of vendor booths in the area.

"Oh really?" inquires Malcolm at the costume comment. He casts a sidelong look at Grimm, studying her for a few long moments before grinning and offering a playful little wink. "I better work on getting ComiCon tickets then, see what kind of costume you have for that."

Malcolm glances around the area as well, gaze settling on a booth set up beside a street cart vendor selling roasted chestnuts. Offering his arm to Grimm, Malcolm gestures in that particular direction. "Your spiced cider awaits, madamoiselle," he intones, adding a quiet, "You've never ridden a motorcycle?"

Grimm's eyes light up at the mention of ComiCon. "ComiCon?! I almost forgot! When do the tickets go on sale? I always miss out and the tickets are sold out before I can land one," she sounds in a sudden brief panic at the prospect of having forgotten. Maybe. She's not sure. She may still be in the clear this year. "Oooo, if I make it to ComiCon...oh man. So many costume options. Who to cosplay as, I wonder. I could probably pull off any costume."

Of course, thanks to her very recently acquired powers, the dubbed Mistress of Tenebration (courtesy of Rose) really could. Which gives her infinite options to choose from. Ironically, this makes choosing even more difficult when you have a huge selection of options. Gears are turning. She may even be receiptive to suggestions or requests.

She's still pondering as Malcolm offers her his arm. Gabrielle smiles, and slides his arm around his to be escorted. "Mmmm, nothing like hot spiced cider in the winter, Monsieur Gibbs." At the question about motorcycles, she shakes her head. "No, never had a chance to. Well. And I never learned how to ride one. But they look fun. Maybe a bit terrifying not having a metal cage to protect you like with cars. But that's all part of the fun!"

Malcolm laughs a little bit at the sight of Grimm pondering the options - so very many options - so seriously. He can't help it, it tickles his funny bone. Naturally this means he's going to have to get tickets, since his joke has gone well beyond his intent.

"Black Cat's always a fan favorite," suggests Malcolm.

The tall man gently secures Grimm's arm with his own, leading the way toward the vendor. Within about thirty feet the air is fairly thick with the scent of roasting chestnuts and hot spiced cider - made fresh from local farms, according to the signs on the stand - and Malcolm opines, "A good motorcycle is more than fun. It's as much an expression of your artistic tastes as it is a statement of true, ultimate freedom. The right motorcycle can be a thing of both beauty and spiritual communication with the great open spaces around you."

"Black Cat, hmm? I suppose I could learn how to use a whip for that," Gabrielle ponders to herself thoughtfully as Malcolm escorts her around. The smell of cider and roasting chestnuts derails her thoughts on costuming; that can wait until the last minute. Her gaze turns up to Malcolm as she listens, then breaks out into a smile. "Ah, you're a motorcycle enthusiast. So now I'm curious. You've got to have one. What sort of motorcycle do you have? What does your bike say about -you-?" GAME: Save complete.

"... Black Cat has a whip?" inquires Malcolm. He seems equal parts surprised and curious, as though comics were not his major area of expertise. Tipping his head to the side, Malcolm smirks at Gabrielle's response, correcting her with the simple statement, "I've got five bikes at the moment."

Pausing the conversation for a few moments, Malcolm fishes out a billfold whilst he orders two spiced ciders and "a large sack of nuts". Yes, those exact words. Curse you, Unluck, for putting the wrong words in his mouth!

Looking back to Grimm, Malcolm offers a little sigh as he considers his actual answer to the questions posed. "I've got three choppers, a sport-touring, and a chopped out hovercycle. Where do you want to start psychoanalyzing me through my babies?"

Grimm ponders for a moment with her head tilted slightly as she gazes up and to her right. "Hmm. Maybe I'm thinking of Catwoman," she admits with a quick, brief shrug. Her eyes widen. "Five?" She sounds impressed. And then he orders the large sack of nuts, which causes her to purse her lips to avoid laughing out loud, but the corners of her mouth are being uncooperative as they twitch upwards.

She manages to rein in her smile into a more natural one as he talks about his collection. "I think you forgot, I'm not a psych major, so I wouldn't know how. Except that you call them babies," she chuckles. "But a hovercycle? That sounds meta crash! If I ever got a motorcycle, I think hover is the way I'd go. Or one of those pure sport motorcycles. Y'know, the ones that are just sleek, fast, and sexy?" No, she doesn't understand engines, so of course she goes for cool factor or looks.

"What else would you like me to call them? I only built them from the ground up," replies Malcolm. He has not yet noticed Grimm's attempts to staunch her laughter at his unfortunate choice in words. Instead, Malcolm shrugs and adds, "I think you're definitely thinking of Catwoman. Nothing wrong with doing a Catwoman costume, but let's face it... There's no beating Eartha Kitt."

Smiling thoughtfully, Malcolm replies, "Hovercycles are pretty crash, but they're not really my favorite. You want to really ride a motorcycle and appreciate the experience, there's nothing like a proper chopper." Pausing at the comment about "pure sport motorcycles", Malcolm sets his jaw in consternation for long seconds. Finally, the tall man offers a sly smile, "In that case, I think you'd probably like my cafe racer. It may not be a "pure sport" bike, but it has a nice throaty purr to it and similar style, just more oompf in its frame."

"That's true, Eartha Kitt as catwoman was purrrrrfect," Gabrielle says with the long rolling r's. Then she just announces unabashedly, "That's right, I did it. Don't you judge me." She can't help but laugh a little.

"So you built them yourself? I guess that warrants some babying," she nods, impressed. She just grins some more at his consternation and teases as she confesses, "Hey, what can I say? I'm not an expert on motorcycles. But if it purrs and has some oompf, it sounds pretty neat. Got and pictures of him or her on your smartphone?"

"Me? Judge you for liking Eartha Kitt?" Malcolm tries his best to look shocked and appalled as he proffers an insulated cup of hot spiced cider to Gabrielle. He collects his own insulated cup and the "large sack of nuts" before gesturing with his head back toward the moto-drome.

"It's what I did for a living before I joined Starguard," replies Malcolm, "I built and customized bikes for people."

Strolling along back toward the Moto-Drome, which seems to be winding down its action for the moment, Malcolm considers thoughtfully. Apparently it's hard to keep track of what pictures of your "babies" you have on your PDA at any given time. "I might have one or two of the cafe racer. It's been a while since I really had a chance to take that one for a ride."

"Thanks," Gabrielle smiles as she accepts the cup. She blows on the steaming cider a few times before risking a tiny sip. She inhales the cold air sharply to cool her tongue. "Ahh, that'll be perfect. In like a minute or two."

She starts walking with him back to the moto-drome, tilting her head thoughtfully. "So what made you switch from making bikes to joining up with Starguard?" she asks in quiet curiousity. At his comments about the race, she smiles slyly. "Aww, it sounds like that baby's been neglected. It may be time you took her out for a spin."

Malcolm watches Gabrielle battling the demons of hot spiced cider trying to murder her tongue and mouth. He smirks slightly and shakes his head a little bit, commenting, "I always figured the steam was enough warning."

With a sly wink, Malcolm turns his gaze slowly - ponderously even - toward the Moto-Drome as it begins its pulley-guided descent toward the hexagonal mount upon which it is to rest whilst the cyclists and their motorcycles refuel and recharge themselves. His gaze gently drifts upward, toward the night sky for long moments before he finally replies, "Same kind of thing that makes other ros put on a mask and parade around in their undies with a pretentious name. I couldn't stand by anymore, I couldn't pretend that all was mostly right with the world, and it was getting to the point where I couldn't protect the people and things around me from the mess not standing by, not pretending, was building up around me."

Shifting the bag of chestnuts into the same hand as his cup of cider, Malcolm reaches up toward the sky, peering up at the heavens beyond the thin, grey clouds washing across the sky between his spread fingers. He smiles absently, the expression tinged with regret, as he mimes grabbing the distorted orb of lunar luminescence out of the sky between thumb and forefinger.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to go all emo poetry on you, Gabrielle." Malcolm smiles warmly, suddenly snapping from his reverie, and looks over to Grimm. He holds out the bag of chestnuts, balanced precariously upon his cider cup. "Nuts?"

"I thought it was just because the air was so cold," Gabrielle defends her silly actions. She blows on the steaming cider some more. Her eyebrows raise as Malcolm waxes philosophic on the Starguard decision. She remains speechless for a few moments. Then she silently reaches for a chestnut without taking her eyes off of his or saying a word. She could be silently judging. Or thinking he's crazy. Or emo, as he said.

But after she eats the chestnut, what she says isn't harsh, or teasing, or judgemental. In what sounds like pure awe, she says, "Wow...that's...actually pretty amazing of you." And she's blushing a bit from the intimate sharing he just did. "You sounded down-right heroic." And yes, she's still awed by his heroicness. So she tries to cover up and not seem so hero-struck by sipping her cider. Which is still way too hot by the way she winces and suddenly pulls her mouth away from the cup with a flinch. Real smooth, Gabrielle.

It is now Malcolm's turn to blush. His cheeks flush a little bit at the awed response and praise he receives. Malcolm makes a vague gesture with his unoccupied hand and he glances off toward the Moto-Drome as one of its sides pops open, metal *KRRRRRANNNNNNNNG*ing as it hits the pavement. It promptly starts disgorging motorcycles and bikers alike.

"I just do what I can, Gabrielle."

Malcolm sounds genuinely dismissive of his track record. He's still distinctly flush in the cheeks as he gestures off in another direction. Smiling gently, Malcolm inquires, "You want to go explore the carnival some more? Maybe you can find something to make me fit in with your costume a little better?"

Grimm jumps a little at the loud metal on pavement sound, managing just barely keep from spilling her cider. It definitely distracts her from the gushing over Malcolm's reasons for helping, and then his question gets her mind moving again. "Well, not many will even do anything to help. Still sounds pretty amazing to me. And sure, let's see what else the carnival has in store."

With an appraising eye, she looks over Malcolm. In her mind's eye, she's swapping different outfit overlays. "Hmm. When in doubt, you can always go with a top hat and the right coat to add some of the right flavor."

"What's wrong with my jacket?" inquires Malcolm, twisting and turning to inspect his leather jacket appraisingly. He looks back at Grimm, smiling quizzically as he awaits a response.

"It's an awesome jacket. Just not very Dickensy," Grimm says with a bashful grin. "I mean, how often do you hear tails of Scrooge in his badass leather jacket?"