Welcome to Gaia! ::

If she'd been just a few years older, Ever thought as he waited outside the library with an unlit cigarette tapping against his scarred palm, then they could have met in a bar. It seemed to him that much -- or perhaps even most -- of the Negaverse fell frustratingly into the 'underaged' category, and the result was that he was frequently left feeling old. Twenty-two, now, it was strange to him that he was frequently the eldest person in a room full of Officers, and it grated sometimes having under-eighteens tell him what to do.

Mostly he smothered the urge as well as his concerns. He shouldn't worry about taking them to a bar, or about small dangers like drinking or cigarettes. If he took the time to ponder it, they did much worse to themselves than most teenagers did, and these minor vices were nothing in the face of putting their lives on the line.

On the other hand, however, they were still teenagers. Let them be.

So. Meeting at the library, then, and he hadn't been bright enough to say meet around the corner so that he could light up without Tony seeing. The librarian had never objected outwardly to Ever's smoking, but it made him self-conscious all the same. He spun the cigarette around his finger and finally gave up, settling it against the corner of his mouth and reaching for his lighter.

Her voice made him blink, eyes lifting from the struggle of getting a plastic dollar-store lighter to actually catch. Ever might not have been what she was expecting but, in all honesty, she was about what he'd been thinking of: young, yes, with a bit of attitude in her style of dress, and that edge of confusion that marked her clearly in his mind as 'newbie'. Even if she wasn't.

He made a noise, gestured, got the cigarette to catch, pushing away from the wall as he tucked the lighter down into his pocket. He moved carefully, a hint of scab on mostly-healed knee showing through the tears in battered pants and a trail of smoke following him as he held out a hand toward her.

"You're Talim?" There was a hesitation just before the name, like he couldn't remember which was which and had to check in his mind. Either, to him, sounded like a possible mineral, and he hoped he hadn't messed it up. "I'm Ever, we should go before I get scolded over the smoke."

"We're going to get away from my place of work so that no one suspects secret identities." He said it with a quirk of a smile, looking back to her and hesitating just a little. After a breath, he offered out the pack of cigarettes so that she could take one if she wanted. It was clear from his posture that he expected her to turn them down, his head cocked and an eyebrow raised, but it was rude not to share if she wanted it.

"Then we're going to change into uniform and do a little roof-walking, because I want to make sure someone gave you a lesson in that." Where 'lesson', naturally, meant running and having her follow. That was how Faya had taught him, wasn't it? "And then we'll find a good place to gather up some energy."

Ever made a faint noise, not exactly thrilled with her teaching so far [or maybe it had to do with her taking a cigarette, hard to tell], as he tucked the box back into his pocket. He shot one last brief look toward the library and then they rounded the corner, the building vanishing out of sight.

His eyes resettled on her as he tapped off his cigarette. He, at least, thought he was doing pretty well. Not the picture she might have imagined, as worn out as he looked, pale and skinny, but at least he was holding an attitude that sufficed. Talim didn't have to know that it was put on.

"Um. You give it to your Captain." But he paused, suddenly uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. "You have a Captain, right?"

"Not until you have a Captain." His tone was dry, not quite rolling his eyes at her -- but despite the protest, he caught her elbow to pull her out of sight down an alley way, where they could change without being viewed. Ever hauled one last time on his cigarette before stomping it out, still hissing out smoke as he changed: the somewhat-ratty clothing replaced by his uniform, green plaid, duct tape at the elbows.

Ilmenite was a captain, but he didn't seem eager to leap into the leading role. Or, at least, not to leap into it with her. "If you need somewhere to bring the energy, bring it to me, and I can pass it on to Zink. He's General now, and he's my general, so that works out. If you find another Captain, that's fine, just let me know."

He raised one hand as he shrugged and leaned back, waiting for her to join him in uniform.

She tensed enough to leave Ilmenite rolling his eyes, tugging the hem of his jacket into place and rolling his shoulders in a quick shrug. He barely waited for her agreement before he grabbed hold of the bottom of a fire escape to haul himself up, just assuming that she could -- and would -- trail along behind him. He'd done this enough, now, that he was getting fast. Not graceful, but he knew how to drag himself from one place to another easily enough...

"I think it's late enough for the alcoholics to kick in, so we'll start there." His tone was dry, not entirely serious -- and yet. He flicked a look down to make sure she was at his heels once he'd made it to the top of the building, paused a moment to give her a chance to catch his breath, and then took off across the rooftops.

He knew this area. He worked here, lived not too far away, at this point. More importantly, though, he knew the bars: in uniform, out of uniform. He knew the fun ones, and he knew the ones where people showed up too early in the evening and were drunk already.

"You lure them out." Called back over his shoulder, tone gone dry. "Or wait, if you can be patient. Ask them for something. Ask for a light, directions, make sure they're alone. Make contact, then you just pull."

A part of him twitched at the question, and he had to bite down on a comment, an 'oh for Christ's sake...' Instead he just nodded, even if the gesture was a bit curt, and tried to play good teacher instead of short-tempered Captain. It wasn't, in fact, like he had better things to do.

"Just wait here. Don't do anything stupid." Okay, maybe not that great of a teacher; he gestured for her to sit near the edge of a roof and, for his part, started down the fire escape. Ilmenite was getting the hang of this, able now to mostly muffle the clatter of soles against metal, making his way down carefully to settle in the alley way. Bar around the corner: Trona would be able to track his movements as he straightened his jacket and tugged at his belt, putting himself in order.

And then she could watch as he played a trick he'd played a hundred times before: asking for a light for his cigarette from a lone smoker, leaning in to cup it and grimacing as it mysteriously kept going out. A lure into the alley way, a nod of his head, his mouth forming words she couldn't hear [out of the wind maybe?] and the man followed him.

He paused to let the man light it for him in earnest, and then blocked to chat him up. Ilmenite didn't have to touch to draw the energy, but perhaps Trona would get a feel for it: the draw and the shift, the cluster of energy. It wasn't much to look at, but other senses might fill in the details, if she was sharp.

A two minute conversation and the man was slumped at his feet. Ilmenite took a moment to steal his lighter [it had been nice] before levering his way back up the fire escape.