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One of the perks of her years abroad doing badass journalist (the other guy) and producer (her more important role) on the front lines type of s**t was that Penny Figgins was no longer relegated to the the graveyard shifts at the DCNN station. The downside to this being, of course, that Penny loved the graveyard shift. The middle of the night was when she got her best work done and having more respectable working hours now made her feel, well... ******** old. She had cracked 30 just as loveless, childless, and unmarried as her nagging aunts had assured her she would be -- and so what? Her baby was news, and her baby was ******** booming, okay?

Even without it technically on her roster, Penny found ways to weasel herself into the workplace in the wee hours just to take care of a few things, Christ. Unfortunately, a nasty lawsuit about unpaid overtime from some whiny asshats meant that the top brass was watching the comings and goings of their staff a bit more closely. And no matter how many times or ways Penny announced, For ******** sake, Jeremy, do I look like the kind of wet-diaper-millenial-crybaby-aching-for-his-vape-and-soy-something-bullshit-charcoal-latte that would sue you for letting me do my goddamn job properly? there was no budging. She had been forcibly removed by security twice -- well, at least, they tried to remove her. But skating just around five foot nothing, Penny was very good at evading -- and evade she had. At least until they changed the code on her security pass to deactivate it after hours.

Half a pack of cigarettes had disappeared as she fumed outside, nobody puts baby in a corner, and then the rest of them in rapid succession. Even for a marathon smoker like Penny, her throat was sore and her nerves even worse. With a cloud of cursing, she stamped out the last stub and marched into the nearest corner store, grabbing a beer and a fresh pack. She strolled through the business section for a bit and then, finding a good enough alley, popped into her skin as the Cimmerian Squire.

"Arrest me now, asshats," she muttered to herself, cracking the beer in the middle of the street and taking a long swig. "Good luck making an ID."

Seemingly forgetting that her throat already hurt and her stomach was a little queasy from what may be the smackings of nicotine poison. Meri, thudded the pack against the flat of her palm, tamping down the tobacco until it was as packed as she knew she liked. She had just begun to peel back the foil when she became dimly aware of an aura somewhere in her vicinity. The petite Pluto squire took a few long strides, scanning the area before shouting, "HEY! I feel you out there! Why not stop being Batman for a sec and come have a ******** chat?"

If she wasn't going to be allowed to do her real job tonight, maybe she could make some headway on the other one.

Cimmerian had waited, tapping a foot and flicking her cigarette out of habit repeatedly, even when there was no ash to spill. She could wait; there was beer left. She took another couple swigs, and then, at last, the sound of footsteps and a voice. She snorted at his line, turning slowly to face him and then -- "Good GOD, look at you," she said, taking a step back abruptly and spilling a slosh of beer. The knight in front of her was bone-clad and scary-mouthed. "You're like Jack Skellington's Victorian cousin or some s**t. Be honest: do half the new senshi you meet try to attack? They do, don't they?"

As she spoke, she switched the beer to her hand that held her own cigarette and extended the pack, Camel Silvers because she was a lady, and passed it over to him with a lighter. She hooked a thumb at herself after and said, "Cimmerian," and then in a lofty accent, "of Pluto, something, something. Lovely place, only time I've been there I was the only one of my kind and space is already depressing soooo... haven't been back."

Her cigarette went back to her lips and she frowned on the inhale, remembering again that it didn't feel good on her throat at this point.

"I have a lot more respect for the senshi who attacks first and questions later than the ones who banter with the bad ******** like it's a goddamn blind date because they're one of the good ones who can be saved," Cimmerian said, toasting the air with her beer and snorting for good measure. "Too many romantic comedies boiling teenage brains like eggs, creating an army of sensitive bleeding hearts ready to polish a turd." Were the Negaverse bad? Meh, bad was relative. Meri had seen enough s**t to know that, long before she went to a warzone, and her penchant for pessimism didn't help that outlook. However, it didn't matter. Negas were the Enemy, and her squire a** was seated on the other side of the aisle. It was enough of a reason.

Scholomance was a bit of a mouthful, even if it was less of a mouthful than her own name, but there was a reason she mostly went by Meri. In her head, she dubbed the boneclad knight before her Schols, like the shoe inserts or whatever.

Her mind had drifted a bit, nasty nicotine headache coming on, but she refocused back on the first one like her she'd seen in years. Really, one of the only she'd ever met. Cimmerian didn't play nice as a human or a squire. How far back was it? She had to think.

"Since I went to space? A bit over seven years." She paused and then cursed. "********, I feel old. If I'm being honest, it never felt like the life for me. Other things going on. I checked out of that life for awhile, stopped getting the newsletter, I guess. Being away from the city helps." It felt a little honest and open, but Meri had a headache and, though she would never EVER admit it, had not been able to unload any of the complexities of what she was to anyone in a very long time, not since Ghen.

"It was less than a week after I learned I was a knight at all, which is a whole lot of ******** information to take in." And then she met Esabel, the waters of time, the loneliness of Pluto. Only it didn't feel so lonely to her, not as lonely as it should have, which bothered Cimmerian more than anything Esabel had said. If you ever feel overwhelmed, come here. Come to the waters of time and allow yourself to just breathe. It had been good advice, and like most good advice, Meri had not taken it. But the b***h had made her cry, which was something Meri hated more than most things.

Thinking back to that time also made her think of Kurma, and like all times when she thought of the floaty starkeeper, her chest constricted with anger and another emotion she was far less comfortable expressing.

Because she knew better than some eons old ghost, am I right? Damn, this was one hell of a reverie.

Cimmerian cleared her throat loudly. "So yeah, not running into me... there is a large number of people who fall into that category. Could fill stadiums. I never campaigned for Miss Congeniality, and I don't much like having my hand forced to do anything." Even if it was something good.

Twice as long? Damn, Meri was feeling older and older by the minute. "Still waiting on my trophy," she mused lightly. Her normal ambition in the workplace did not seem to pass over to her life as a squire. A comment about someone else advancing faster than her at DCNN would have her blood boiling, her nights sleepless, and her determination nothing short of manic. But with Schols impressive resume, she just shrugged, finished her beer, and chucked it at the nearest can. Good shot too, so she gave a little fist pump and then followed him over to where he took a seat, leaning against a wall.

The conversation was easy, and Cimmerian did nothing to correct his loss of her name. Her job had made her a master of details so she remembered his, but the Squire of Pluto was more interested in a bit of an update than making a friend. "If you've been in the game, Sir Knight," a tilt of playful sarcasm, "maybe you can update me. Is there anything to know? My normal source of knowledge is Ghen -- Gehenna -- and he's been out of commission too. Good to know what fresh hell might be awaiting me every time I slip into the gear, aside from the normal s**t." Cimmerian had been around long enough to know that any surprise in her magical field of work tended to be a bad surprise.

Cimmerian listened dutifully to Scholomance, only occasionally glancing down as if to take another sip (only to realize her beer was gone) or to tap a cigarette (though she was holding none). When he finally finished, she laughed. "Yep, definitely sounds like the same old s**t. Makes sense." Meri had no idea about Caedus, had never gone to the Rift, never contemplated Mirrorspace, she barely was aware of the Code -- she was a pretty s**t squire, all things considered. It should have bothered her more.

But mostly she found herself wondering if she should have stayed in the civilian war zone, as opposed to this magical one.

"DC never fails to be predictable in its unpredictability. I could die and come back a hundred times, and this would still be going on. Makes effort feel ******** futile -- though, yeah, I'll take a signet ring upgrade, if you're offering." Her ring was not something she had really ever used, and Penny the civilian was the kind of person to still use an iPhone 4 -- why would I get a new ******** phone when this one works fine? -- but she knew better than to look a gift-knight in the mouth.

Small hands extended the signet ring toward him, unsure of what the tune up would entail. "So, what are you, like Head Knight, or something? You certainly look the part." Of nightmares, at least. The kind of masked-teeth-grin-face for a front line to intimidate, but maybe not on the PR poster.

An upgrade? Cool. Maybe she'd use it, probably if it benefited her civilian life. Cimmerian would probably forever prioritize the "wrong" things. The part in her that lived to chase a story had been conscious far longer than the magical part of her that carried a bow and wore a crop top. "How useful of you," she said, by way of thanks as she made short work applying the mystical thing.

The Camelot name felt of some future use -- had she met him before? She wasn't certain, but filed it away in her mental rolodex regardless. As for her future plans? Well... "My only plan now is to find a bar and a corner store for more cigarettes. The magical s**t tends to find me, even if I don't want to be involved. The only thing that solved it was going abroad, but my life is here. So... I'll enjoy the life that I can and deal with the other garbage when it takes a steamy s**t on my front porch. Again." Penny had an apartment, not a porch, but whatever.

"So, do you have more magical cartwheels to do tonight, or you want to hit a bar? Flannigan's is near here. It's s**t; it's perfect." It was unclear whether she planned to go as Squire Cimmerian or reveal her civilian self.