Matters of Chance [Cobalt and Josh]

[Stephen Gage]

Of all the town's in all the Northeast, they had come into this one.

Tourists.

Cars were everywhere as families with accents most certainly not from Vermont stood on sidewalks and in cafés, pointing and staring with adoration at the trees. The trees. The bloody fucking trees that were doing nothing except displaying leaves close to dying. Yes, they were pretty colors, but did they truly have nothing better to do? Of course, nearly twenty years after arriving and living in Vermont, Stephen should have become accustomed to the presence of tourists in the fall. They came every single year to watch the trees change color, and every single year, they did naught but get in Stephen's way. He lived close enough to the downtown area to allow walking to be a viable option, but pushing past all of the tourists became bothersome after a short while. An especially short while when one was as hateful of moderate cold as Stephen Gage. He walked hunched over slightly, a black peacoat keeping him warm. Grey slacks covered his legs, his feet clad in he same black work boots he'd worn the day prior. He rarely won any points for style.

But the man liked crepes, and after far too long of a while without them, he had decided it was about time to treat himself. There was this lovely restaurant in the area, the Eiffel Lounge or some such thing, that had passable entrées, but desserts that could very well masquerade as heaven-sent. Given his euphoric encounter with a squirrel the previous day (It let him pet it!), Stephen was in a good enough mood to go out to eat, even if it would be just him alone. Dates these days were few and far between. Sometimes he'd be out of town for days at a time, and when he'd return simply be too busy or too tired to do much of anything. But his schedule had been mercifully light as of late, and even if was by himself and out of his own wallet, Stephen would get himself some crepes and love every minute of it.

"'Scuse me. Pardon me. Just moving through..." His words, polite and tinted with whatever hills of Scotland still existed in his voice, were apparently just enough to convince the tourists to move out of the way. Distant honks alerted him that the visitors were indeed all over town. Wonderful. The restaurants would be packed. For a brief moment, he considered turning around and heading home. Then he realized he was almost at the Lounge, and turning around meant spending unnecessarily more time in the cold. No, he was eating. He'd rather go through hell and high water than cold.

As Stephen's hand rested on the handle to the Lounge's front door, he could see within. Damn. It was indeed packed. The voices of the people indoors filtered through the glass, slightly blurred images shuffling and moving about. He'd have to wait, most likely, but Stephen Gage would get his hands on a crepe if he had to punch out some Southern grandmother for it. Not that he would have to. Hopefully.

The warmth of the Lounge was a blessing from above. The door shut behind Stephen and he let out a breath of relief, relaxing from his hunched over position and smiling at the slightly-frazzled waitress that greeted him. She was a pretty young thing, some combination of Far-Eastern and Caucasian descent, her straight hair tied up in a ponytail. "Just one?"

Stephen nodded, doing his best to be as polite he could. Tourist season was stressful, especially on the service industry. The waitress smiled her best, and looked at the seating chart on the table before her. The smile turned to a frown, and Stephen decided it might be best to take pity on her. "What's up, love?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip shortly, then putting the smile on again. "The wait will be about thirty minutes. Unless you wouldn't mind sharing a table?"

For a man like Stephen Gage, being forced to talk with strangers was much less an exercise in torture than it was a wonderful time. His stomach growled, cementing the deal. "Sounds fine to me."

The smile widened, and she picked up a menu, nodding with her head for him to follow. "Great. Follow me, then, and we'll see if I can find you a table."

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh had felt quite horrible for how poker night had ended -- and begun, for that matter, but especially for how it had ended -- and so he had insisted on inviting Cobalt out to dinner with him as an apology. As his skills in the kitchen were lacking, this meant going out somewhere, which had been tricky to negotiate, but in the end the promise of divine dessert had won the younger man over and they had headed out to the Eiffel Lounge, prepared for delicious food. Cobalt had even seemed relaxed about the prospect -- right up until they arrived at the restaurant and saw just how many tourists had chosen that particular time and place for dining.

"But we're here already!" He'd argued when his friend had mentioned not having to stay after all, "Let's at least see how long the wait is before making a decision." And the wait, it had turned out, hadn't been long at all. There was one table available, and while it seated more than two, Josh had assured the hostess that they wouldn't linger; he was sure this was true, as his friend looked ready to bolt at any moment. They would probably end up scarfing down their meal and leaving as quickly as the beleaguered staff would let them. Such a shame; a leisurely night with an interesting conversationalist had been appealing. Next time he would just pick up a baked chicken from the grocery store, then; that way there would be less social anxiety ruining his attempts to combine apologizing with bonding.

"I promise the dessert is worth this," He offered, trying to reassure the other man that the decision to accompany him had been the right one. "There aren't usually this many people here..." He had only moved to Pilot Ridge at the beginning of the summer, not long enough to be aware of things like tourist season. He'd heard stories from Sean, of course, but they hadn't really registered as reality yet. He tapped his menu against the table, looking to see if anyone remotely like a waitress would be coming over soon. "Do you know what you're getting? I can try and flag someone down if you do so we can be out of here quickly..."

He returned his attention to the menu, memorizing the item he intended to order as if he'd never had it before and was likely to forget the name in the time between deciding upon it and the waitress appearing to take their order. Of course, as busy as things were he very well might...he realized that the staff were swamped but that didn't make waiting more fun. It merely meant he wasn't going to complain about it.

"Excuse me?" A timid voice spoke at his shoulder, and Josh glanced up to see the hostess who had seated them hovering anxiously, another man behind her. "You wouldn't...you wouldn't mind sharing a table, would you?"

He took a quick look at Cobalt then at the rest of the restaurant -- every last table was full and there was a line out the door; The table they were at could comfortably seat at least four and it looked like she only had one person in tow, so denying him would be really very rude. "No, of course we don't mind!" He answered with alacrity before his companion could object. He knew that the other attorney wasn't comfortable with crowds -- which made this outing much more awkward than it was meant to be -- but one person couldn't be too much of a problem. He might not even want to talk to them! Not that Josh himself minded conversations with people he didn't know, but as he actually had someone to eat with for once he would leave the stranger alone should he choose to remain silent.

He gave the girl and the patron with her a smile. "It's not a problem at all, we can't use this much room by ourselves." He scooted his chair over, giving the new person room to sit beside him -- he wasn't confident that Cobalt wouldn't faint if the chair next to him was the one chosen, so it seemed best to make a point of offering the one that would cause the least amount of problems. "Awful busy in here today, isn't it?" He commented, "Wasn't expecting so many people to want crepes today."

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt was more than a little uncomfortable, and feeling the edges of a headache sink into his temples, but he bit down the majority of his irritation in favor of poking at the tablecloth in silence. Josh was trying to apologize, that much was obvious, and Josh was one of the few people who tolerated Cobalt despite his many (yes, he was mature enough to admit it of himself) foibles. Including his sarcasm and his anti-social tendencies. And it couldn’t be easy. So he decided to do Josh a good turn and not give him a hard time about the crowd. It wasn’t as though the other man expected this. No, this could maybe be a salvageable night. Of course, it didn’t stop him from immediately suggesting they go once they set eyes on the impossibly large crowd of people. A knee jerk reaction. But Josh was right—they were already here. So he sat down and tried not to look too tense.

He shrugged at Josh’s (millionth) attempt at apology. “I trust your dessert promises,” Then he leaned forward, a grin touching his face, “Besides, if you’ve been lying to me, I’ll just turn my intern on you. It’ll be horrifying. She’ll shove you into awkward social situations, and I will laugh and do nothing to stop her.” He laughed a little then, relaxing by increments. This wasn’t so bad. And it wasn’t as though he would have to talk to people he didn’t know—

“Excuse me?” A wide-eyed and nervous waitress stepped up to their table, biting her lip in clear anxiety. A strange, amiable-looking man stood behind her. Cobalt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How irony cut at its subjects… “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t mind sharing a table, would you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Josh glance over at him, apology and alarm written plainly on his features. As he quickly reassured the waitress that they wouldn’t mind, Cobalt kept his features blank. It made sense that they might ask patrons to share, and it would be rude to tell her no, especially since they were sitting at a four-person table. Under the table, he twisted his napkin in his hands. So much for talking to people he didn’t know. Still, he wasn’t really in the mood to let his social anxieties run the evening. Just as Josh seemed to want to apologize for the poker night, Cobalt kind of wanted to show Josh that he could function in general society without the other man looking out for him, as what usually happened.

Still. That didn’t mean he was going to be inclined to be talkative. He leaned back in his chair and watched Josh attempt to chat up the other man.

[Stephen Gage]

The place was packed; that much was certain. Though he far from feared that the waitress might be stringing him along, putting him with other people in hopes of reserving a full table for a larger group and thus bigger bill, Stephen saw quite plainly that the stressed look on her face was rather well-earned. Unfamiliar voices filled the air, something of a rare occurrence in the small town of Pilot Ridge. Accents from states far and away from Vermont reminded the recruiter of his trips abroad, bringing people like himself to what he hoped would be their second home. The grin that seemed to be perpetually borne on his face was cast at anyone who looked up at him as he passed, offering the tourists a warm "Hello" as he and the waitress snaked their way through the crowd. People with more familiar words, Northerners, rarely returned the gesture. Those from the South, however, smiled and offered him the same niceties. Stephen figured it probably had something to do with their home climate. Frigid temperatures half the year couldn't possibly make anyone a terribly nice person.

Caught in an attempt to to identify a vaguely familiar face on the other side of the restaurant, Stephen only heard the waitress speak to what would hopefully be his new tablemates. The recruiter was craning his neck, attempting to get a better look, and after a few moments of failing, gave up and turned to face his hosts.

Oh holy Jesus and all the little orphans.

Men. With glasses. Two of them. Something up above must have certainly liked Stephen, for yea, he certainly liked what he saw. He had never been entirely sure where his fascination with bespectacled men began, but Mr. Gage would go to his grave without having complained a bit about it. Self-control was a quality his own ability had taught him well, and so while his heart was aflutter with excitement, the Stephen Gage displayed to the world merely smiled in thanks as the men accepted his visit. The waitress stepped aside and gestured to the seat. Oh, she'd be getting a fantastic tip. "Thanks very much, love. same to you guys. Much obliged."

Stephen took the seat, waving a small goodbye to the waitress as she went off, assuring him that their server would arrive shortly. Silence reigned briefly at the table. For even someone as self-controlled as Stephen could give way a bit to their own excitement. Glasses or not, these men were at the very least perchance friends that he'd not yet met. That would have to be fixed posthaste. Stephen chuckled, pulling a menu out from behind the sugar container and flipping it open. He spoke casually, only vage hints of Scotland still in his voice. "Ever year, it gets like this, and every year, I forget. One of these days, I'll remember when tourist season comes 'round."

[Cobalt Weaver]

The man who took the seat across from him (he hadn’t given his name) was a younger man, with a confident air and a genial smile. He had a slight accent—Scottish or Irish, Cobalt didn’t exactly know—and was relatively good-looking.

He traced the patterns of wood on the table and stared the silverware, wrapped in the white paper napkin. Maybe he could stand to be a little more social. At any case, this’ll get Leila to stop bothering him about getting out more. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. What the hell was he supposed to do? Well, he could always introduce himself. That would work. Duh.

“Er. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Cobalt. Weaver. And this is Josh Bernstein.” He nodded towards Josh. He hoped Josh didn’t mind that he was doing the introductions for him. He just didn’t know what else to talk about. Cobalt sighed, casting around for another topic of conversation. “So. Have you ever been here before? I haven’t. Josh has, he basically bribed me here with the promise of great desserts. I hope he hasn’t been lying.” He shot a grin at Josh, half teasing, half inviting (begging) him to join in this conversation because he had promptly run out of things to say. He wondered if the man was familiar with Hammel (which was actually a fair bet, seeing as Pilot Ridge was so small and meta-friendly). That would always be a good topic of conversation. It worked for him and Josh. He waited for Josh to make that judgment call, however.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"Tourist season! Is that what this is." Josh mused, gazing about at the crowd speculatively. That certainly explained things; he wasn't sure this many people resided in Pilot's Ridge normally. "I only moved here earlier in the year," He explained, unrolling his flatware and placing his napkin in his lap, "So I'm not quite familiar with what counts as tourist season here." He eyed Cobalt, "Actually, I suppose we're both new to the area. In a way. Cobalt....is technically moving back, I suppose, and I have a friend here I've visited often, but I admit I never paid much attention to when tourists were around."

He had to try very hard not to turn around and look for their waitress; the place was packed and she had only just seated new person at their table, but he was so hungry. "I take it you've lived in the area awhile, then?" He remarked, attempting to ignore his stomach's vocal attempts to get his attention. Shut up, stomach! I know you're hungry. Can't do anything about that yet.

He nodded his acknowledgment when Cobalt introduced him. "Pleasure to meet you. And I wasn't lying," He added, addressing this comment toward his fellow attorney, "the desserts here are well worth the wait. Assuming they have any left by the time we get to that part of the meal..." That would make him very unhappy, seeing as dessert had been the main reason for choosing this particular dining establishment. "Perhaps we should order dessert first." Or perhaps their waitress would hold some aside for them. Whenever she came to take their order. Please, please let that be soon; he was famished and his stomach's growling wouldn't let him forget it.

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen hadn't yet given his menu so much as a glance, despite having opened it and set it before himself. His eyes remained quite happily on the men on the other side of the table. One of them, looking to be the younger of the two, made good use of his invitation to conversation. A flare of excitement shot up again in Stephen. So far, so good. Idle chit chat, to be sure, but battles were won in small skirmishes, not in a single move. Precisely what he was battling, of course, remained to be seen. Silence, maybe. A night alone, possibly. Or just the rumbling in his stomach that could be quelled so much easier with both food and conversation.

Ah, introductions! The older-looking of the two gentleman introduced himself. Cobalt. Curious name, though Stephen had heard worse. And the other, younger man was Joshua. Somehow, in his veiled joy, the recruiter had forgotten to offer his own name. Terribly manners, really. Mrs. Gage would be rather upset with him for that. Stephen chuckled at the thought, grinning unabashedly at it. "Ah, right, forgot that bit. My mum would have a fit if she knew. Stephen. Stephen Gage. Always a pleasure."


And he shared his distaste of tourists! That was certainly a plus, even more so than the glasses. And he was new. What karmic debt had Stephen finally paid off? "Ugh, every year! Autumn, they all show up. Right when the leaves start changing."

His eyebrows shot up when he heard Joshua's polite question, falling back down into a smile as Stephen nodded. "Oh yeah, I've been here since I was fourteen or so. Usually not this bad, but it's been getting worse over the last... oh, ten years? Maybe less."

Stephen smiled congenially at the pleasantries offered him, leaning back in his seat as Joshua shared a quip with Cobalt. His eyes fell down to his own menu, picking back up again when the word "dessert" piqued his curiosity. Could it be?

"Perhaps we should order dessert first."

Oh dear God, it was. What cosmic lottery had Stephen won to be seated at a table with two bespectacled men who had their minds on that most enjoyable part of dinner? Stephen's grin widened into a full-blown smile at the idea, and voiced his opinion as politely as he could. "I'm all for that notion. I have to admit I'm here for the crepes, myself. They're wonderful here."

[Cobalt Weaver]

Stephen was awfully… cheery about all this. Which baffled Cobalt just a bit. He never could understand the type of people who enjoyed talking to anyone in any situation. How would you know what to say? It didn’t make any sense to him. He leaned forward, deciding to keep the conversation safely on the other man. “You have an accent,” He observed, “It sounds… Irish or Scottish. I can’t really tell. Where are you from?”

At Josh’s suggestion they order dessert first, Cobalt nodded, “I’m good for that. That’s really why I’m here as well. That, and I prefer dessert to most other meals.” Well, he should say all other meals. Because sweets trumped every other food in Cobalt’s book. “And I’d rather not wait around too long for anything. It is awfully crowded around here.” Cobalt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. All things considered, he thought he was handling this whole thing rather well. Leila would be proud of him. Maybe he’d even tell her about this to get her to be quiet. Maybe. He glanced over at Josh, “By the way, Josh. One of you two is going to have to tell me what to get, because I’ve never been here before and I don’t know what’s good.”

Deciding that awkward silence was worse than stilted conversation, Cobalt cleared his throat and continued. “So… what do you do, Stephen? If I were to hazard a guess, I would say Hammel.” He smirked, glancing sidelong at Josh, “Mostly because everyone and their brother works at that school these days.” He leaned back in his chair, wondering if he was fishing for arguments. It was entirely possible; arguments were much easier for him to handle than polite conversation. And besides, he made friends with Josh through debate, it wasn’t a totally inelegant way to get to know another person. And Stephen seemed a laid-back sort of fellow, it would take a lot to offend him which (contrary to what people believed) was never really Cobalt’s aim. He just liked to argue.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh nodded in sympathy at Stephen's rant against tourists, "Tourists do tend to get in the way of business as usual. On the plus side, they're good for the economy." And since the economy was currently in a bit of a slump, it had to be a good thing that this many tourists were still willing to travel up this way and spend their money eating out.

"Dessert first, then. Or just dessert and we can get food somewhere else. Maybe pizza, pizza delivery shouldn't be too affected by tourist season." He mused, running a finger down the list of desserts, "The crepes are definitely the best option from what I've found, that's what they're known for. The tiramisu isn't too shabby, either, though, if you like that." He hadn't known Cobalt long enough to know which desserts to recommend to the younger man. "We could both get something different and split." He didn't include Stephen in that offer; sharing dessert with someone he'd only just met five minutes ago seemed a bit odd. "I'll get the tiramisu, you get crepes, and we'll rub it in Leila's face that she didn't come with us." He decided.

"Neither myself nor my brother works at Hammel." Josh pointed out, "And neither do you or Leila. Just because they're the only major institution in town doesn't mean everyone works there." There was a small part of him, however, that thought Cobalt was perfectly correct: it seemed as if most of the people he'd met since moving to Pilot Ridge worked for Hammel, or were at least associated with it in some way. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least to find out that Stephen at least attended Hammel -- he had moved here at just about the right age.

"I've met a few people who don't work there since moving here. Granted, every last one of them attended school there...It's like they have some sort of mystical powers over their alumni. You can try and leave but you'll always find your way back again. I don't understand it, how do they inspire that amount of school spirit?" He shook his head, still unable to believe the devotion of Hammel's alumni and faculty.

Their harried waitress returned -- about time, said his stomach -- and he handed her the menu almost before the words Are you gentlemen ready to order fell from her lips.

"I believe so!" He spared a quick glance at the other two, "We're forgoing the meal. Dessert is much more important. I'll have the tiramisu..." He ordered, not waiting to see if the other's were ready. It was just dessert, it couldn't take that long for them to make up their minds.

[Stephen Gage]

The two men seemed to have a bit of a rapport with one another. Stephen had assumed as much, given that they were sitting right next to one another at a table clearly meant for at least a small group of people. Friends, lovers, something in the middle, Stephen had no idea, but it was easy to see the enjoyment in the other's company, even allowing for (or perhaps because of) the words and spat they shared. And evidently they shared a mutual friend, somebody named Leila. Pilot Ridge was a small place. If she lived here, and Stephen didn't yet know her, he soon would.

The subject of dessert arose: one of Stephen's favorite topics. "You can't go wrong with a crepe. Ever." Stephen's two cents, as brief as they were wise, were all he needed to let out before he satisfied himself with simply sitting back and watching. Cobalt asked him a question, though Joshua responded before the puppeteer could manage a word. Cobalt's guess was entirely correct, of course. Stephen did indeed work at Hammel, and his association with the institution went back nearly two decades. Josh finished his bit, and Stephen made note of the fact that he mentioned a brother. Potentially worth looking into if this fledgling relationship sours.

Stephen let out a chuckle at Joshua's suggestion. Well, there wasn't a mystical influence, but something close enough to it. He raised his hands in an imitation of guilt, nodding. "You got me, you got me. I work up at the Institute. I'm a recruiter. No magic involved," he said, laughing slightly as he did. "Just a good family feeling. Place is more home to me than... well, home."

The waitress came back, likely by some divine machination of what was apparently a kind God, and Joshua jumped at the opportunity. Tiramisu. Nice. Not a crepe, but still good. Stephen waited for the girl to take down the order, tossing his own into the fray when she was done. "Just a crepe, please. Lemon juice and sugar?" He held up the menu for her to take, smiling, and looking somewhat expectantly upon Cobalt. "Going to make this Leila person jealous or no?"

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt nodded with Josh’s alternative food suggestion. “I like pizza. Pizza’s a good idea.” It wasn’t as though Cobalt was an incredibly picky eater anyways, so he was amendable to anything that was food. “Also, there’s a Chinese place somewhere where I usually get dinner. Old habits die very hard.” He blinked at Josh’s suggestion at tiramisu. “I’ve never tried tiramisu.” He leaned over Josh’s shoulder to squint at the other man’s menu; he couldn’t really find it on his own. He nodded at Josh’s suggestion to share. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll get a crepe then.” Stephen’s recommendation of the crepes backed up the decision. These must be some pretty darn good crepes, the way the other two were going on about them. He grinned at Josh’s mention of Leila, “Anything to make her jealous, the brat. Though I think she’s learned her lesson about trying to improve my social life.” He rolled his eyes wryly at Josh.

He laughed and put his hands up in mock surrender at Josh’s remarks about Hammel and his brother. “Forgive me, you are absolutely correct. I shouldn’t make generalizations about brothers. Or occupations.” He snorted, “Devotion? Hell, I just needed a job somewhere that wasn’t as fast paced as Chicago. Moving back here was Leila’s idea. She wants to be a meta human rights specialist and Pilot Ridge seemed the best place to do that.” He gave Josh a grumpy face, “It’s not so much magic as it is a curse.” He muttered, then chuckled again, “Excuse me, Mr. Bernstein, are you accusing me of having school spirit? I’m certain I’ve never had an inch of school spirit in my life. Even when I actually went to the school.”

At Stephen’s “confession” about Hammel, Cobalt smirked at Josh, “You see? I was right.” He listened to Stephen’s explanation and nodded, choosing not to argue the point unless either man brought it up. As much as he liked talking about Hammel and its flaws, he could respect how the other man called it home. That was something Cobalt would have liked to have.

When the waitress came, Josh practically jumped for joy, which was amusing. This wasn’t turning out as badly ass it could have. And Stephen seemed like an agreeable person. This could go well. So he smiled at Stephen’s comment, “Yeah, I couldn’t turn down a chance to mock the intern. Though I have to say, I don’t think saying ‘ha ha, I was social and got really good crepes’ will make her jealous. It might just encourage her.” He gave Josh a look before turning to the waitress, “I think I’ll get a chocolate crepe please.” Chocolate was always a safe, tasty decision.

He turned to the other two men, “I wonder how long crepes take to make. Also,” He turned to Josh, “What the heck is actually in tiramisu?”

[Joshua Bernstein]

More home than home. That was a familiar sentiment, one he'd heard often enough from Sean. One he would never fully understand, being from a close-knit and loving family himself. "I've heard that one before..." He shook his head with an exasperated sigh. This was why arguing against Hammel's policies was so difficult: the loyalty was born from genuine affection. He couldn't deny that the school had a positive influence in some people's lives; it simply needed to fix certain policies.

"Apologies, I never meant to imply that you moved back to Pilot Ridge out of school spirit. I know very well your opinions on that matter." It wasn't as if they didn't discuss the Hammel problem ad naseum. "And I admit it, I was wrong, you were right. He works for your alma mater. As a recruiter?" He repeated at Stephen. So he was one of the people in charge of the actual, government sanctioned kidnappings. How....unfortunate. He seemed like such a nice guy, too. "Interesting." That seemed a safe reaction; he didn't want to start an argument during what was supposed to be a nice evening out with a friend.

He cringed at the other attorney's assertion that Leila might find this outing encouraging. He liked the young woman, but he definitely did not want a repeat of the poker gathering. He hoped she wouldn't attempt any such subterfuge again, not after how spectacularly that party had failed. "That is an excellent point." He conceded, covering his mouth with one hand in consternation.

"Ummm. What's in a tiramisu? Ladyfingers, don't ask me what those are. And espresso and rum and....some....other....ingredients. I don't know. It's just tasty." Remembering what ingredients made up any given recipe was not his strong point; he would perhaps have been slightly better at cooking, otherwise. As it was, he simply knew that he liked tiramisu; partially due to the inclusion of the rum, a fact he was not inclined to bring up after getting thoroughly drunk in Cobalt's presence not so long ago.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to Stephen and his job, because that was an easier topic of conversation than ingredients. "So how long have you worked for Hammel, then? I have a good friend who works there, Sean Neville. Perhaps you know him?" That was always the first thing he felt necessary to mention when someone brought up working at Hammel; Sean was a less controversial topic than Hammel's monopoly on meta-human education and ability to hold people by force.