riverviewlogs | [CLOSED] Oh Glory, I think I see you 'round the bend

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[CLOSED] Oh Glory, I think I see you 'round the bend

who: Jamie ~~Dodger~~ Kingsley and ~~Widowmaker~~ Amelie Lacroix
what: More of Jamie's rounds to meet the people he knew as Dodger.
when: During the Butterfly Event, let's say the 14th.
where: Floor 12
warnings: TBA

--

So, Jamie's been feeling rather down. From the confusion of switching places with a life he could have had, to meeting people he had memories of and meeting all of their teasing and bemusement, to the total humiliation of tripping over himself to please Gabriel Reyes... it's been a busy two days. Even when he isn't out and about, he's left either obsessively cleaning the room Dodger had been given, or avoiding it so he wouldn't see the filthy habits Dodger had that had apparently not stayed constant in his own reality.

He has enough memory to keep up with under-the-table jobs and feed the fireflies, things he feels he shouldn't mess with. But then he runs across a note to himself, for a reservation at... some decently expensive french restaurant, as he discovers from some brief research. The note lists a time he'd planned to meet up with 'Widowmaker'. Well, lucky for him he vaguely remembers where she's staying, but with everyone changing so much he might not recognize her.

So, as he takes the elevator to the 12th floor, he pulls out his phone to send her an audio message. "Widowmaker, this is Jamie Dodger. In one form or another. Meet me on the balcony of your floor, will you? It would serve us both well to... discuss our standing."

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She has to admit, when she gets the message it's bewildering. It's to Widowmaker, a ridiculous name — it must be a wrong number. She's about to call back and inform him of this, but then the name he'd given sinks in. Dodger. Doesn't she know that? Know him?

Then she's too curious to turn down this strange meeting, and so she heads for the balcony, as requested. It's Amélie that stands on it, her skin pale if perfectly human in hue, her hair swept back but not quite so long, her eyes a warm brown. She's dressed fashionably, complete with sunglasses perched atop her head, and she waits for Jaime Dodger with a high curiosity.

There's something about mines at the very tip of her memory, which is odd... maybe Jamie is a work friend of her husband's. She supposes she'll see soon enough.

His nerves are a little shot by the time he makes it to the 12th floor... eight floors give a lot of time to overthink the whole issue. Dodger had a date lined up with this woman, one decidedly out of his pay grade... and yet he can't remember very clearly what their relationship was. Whatever it was, it was a brief spark - nothing like the budding obsession over Reaper or thought-plaguing hatred of Ivar. And like any version of Dodger, Jamie is curious to a fault. He needs answers as if they're some form of drug.

What he doesn't expect is the woman waiting for him, but.. a lot of people have changed. Her physique is the same, her general facial features. She looks very different, but still startlingly attractive. He can see what had Dodger interested.

"O- Officer Jamison Kingsley." He holds out a hand neatly, not to shake but to kiss her hand in a gentlemanly fashion. "I'm sorry- I assume Widowmaker isn't the name you're currently using, but I have nothing in my notes about your real name."

His facial features strongly resemble Dodger, but... he's free of scruff and scarring, his skin looks younger and more vibrant, and he's wearing a sweatervest and slacks. Not to mention the nervous, open expression on his face and the fact that his slick, vaguely Bostonian accent has been replaced with a smooth London one. If it weren't for the fact that they share genetic makeup, one might think he's an entirely separate person.

Her eyes are on this new version of a man she's pretty sure she knew as soon as he's in sight. Her gaze is still keen, observant, but with none of the cold cruelty it'd had previously. And as for her company... does she know him? She decides he looks as familiar as he sounds, which is to say: probably, yes. The details are frustratingly vague.

She sticks out a hand to match his, subtly guiding it to a handshake instead of a kiss, grip as firm as needed to make that happen.

"You're right, it is not." Her French accent is as thick as ever, but there's more life to her tone. She wrinkles her nose at the name. It's not the name she's using, and as far as she's concerned, never will be. "Amélie will do very well, Officer Kingsley, thank you."

That's a pretty far cry from the man she's inching toward remembering. She recalls... scruff. Scars, tattoos. None of this clean-cut business.

"Now, if you will, what is it we're here for, exactly?"

It takes him a moment to realize she's forcing a handshake, and she'll find it actually takes some force to move him - but as soon as he catches on he quickly corrects himself with an apologetic smile.

"Please, Jamie will do just fine. It's a pleasure, Ms. Amelie."

She seems very much like he remembers... nowhere near as dramatic a shift as Jamie himself had, instead she sees every bit the woman of action that he'd met nearly a month ago.

"I seem to have found myself in the life of an... alternate version of myself. I'm sure from the look of you you're familiar with the feeling. Point being- in my notes, I found plans for us to go on a dinner date. I figured I should explain the situation I'm in, but... it seems we're both a bit preoccupied with- recent events." He hesitates for a second, scratching the back of his neck nervously, "I mean - I wouldn't mind buying you a drink, but I'm sure you have a bit too much on your mind and... well, given the circumstances we know each other even less than our counterparts did, don't we."

Surprise lights her face at this news — a dinner date, she could laugh. In fact, she does laugh. The surprise filters into a bright and earnest laugh, which takes a good few seconds to run its course. She lifts a hand to cover the tail of it, and speaks through fingers still held at her chin and lips.

"I'm sorry, Jamie, it is only — well, why shouldn't I have a dinner date with a man I barely recognize, in a place like this?" Her hand drops, but her smile doesn't. "Dinner will be the least of my worries, I promise you. I am sure my husband Gerard would send his apologies for being unable to make it, as he is a dimension away, if he could."

The last part, of course, just so he knows exactly where they stand. Amélie may be a dimension away from home and her husband, but some things don't change.

A flash of nervous energy crosses his face when she laughs, but it doesn't come with anywhere near the crushing feeling he'd gotten when Gabe laughed at him. If anything, he seems to have just cheered her up.

"You're... married. Right." Maybe she wasn't in the form Dodger met her... or maybe she was, he can't really judge what Dodger and Widowmaker were up to. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't impose on another man's wife, so I can't in good conscience pursue what my.. alternate self was after with that date. But, seeing as I remember your alternate self having some stake in it, I suppose we should just take a rain check... for now."

He's still tripping over himself quite a bit... some part of him is sort of hoping she'll explicitly ask for dinner with him anyway, but he doubts he could handle the pressure of impressing her.

"Oui, I am very married." She says it with a smile, though. "But this other man's wife is perfectly capable of deciding to have dinner with whomever she likes. And it is about dinnertime now, no?"

She sticks out an elbow, intending that he take her arm. She has no interest in a raincheck — why bother? She's here now, not whatever Widowmaker may have initially made these plans.

"Oh. Gosh."

He should stop wishing for things, this is way over his head. Jamie's face is bright red as he easily takes her arm and let her drag him along. It seems this moon is has no limit for surprises.. and the newest surprise is a scandalously attractive woman insisting on a date with him. Wonderful.

With a shaky motion he pulls out his phone to check it - tipping it away from her to hide that it's still Dodger's phone and has a decidedly raunchy photo as the background - before glancing at her, "Are you in the mood for French? If we're- doing this... I'd hate for the reservation to go to waste."

How did his life get like this.

"Your Dodger made reservations at a French restaurant?" Her eyebrows arch as she starts them forward, toward the door. "I do not know if I should consider this thoughtful or thoughtless. But in any case, oui, that will do."

"I'm sure the intention was a playful nod at your... heritage." And the general femme fatale attitude she has... but boy, he's sure this is going to be a decent jab into his wallet. He really hopes Dodger knew what he was doing.

The elevator is slow, and they have half of the building to move through, so after a few floors he glances down at her curiously. "So... what sort of profession did you have, before coming here?"

Really, Jamie, small talk? Ugh, this is the plague of conversation. But he's stopping his curious mind from letting out more invasive questions.

She's content with their little moment of silence, but she frankly doesn't mind the small talk. It's how polite society does it, after all.

"I dance." She says it with full authority, like of course she'll continue to do so here. "Ballet. If you would like to speak of French heritage, then I hope you will enjoy that." She's a walking stereotype and she knows it, okay.

He lets out a small chuckle at that; of course she does. She has the perfect posture and build for it, so it doesn't surprise him to hear. "You must be rather flexible, then." A moment later he lets out a little huff of laughter and scratches the back of his neck nervously, "I'm sorry, I know the implications of that are... not what I meant. It's... been a while since I've been around someone as alluring as you, I must be making a fool of myself." At least he's honest.

Her eyebrows arch incredulously, and her gaze doesn't shy away from his. Frankly, as ever she's been, she says, "You are." It sounds dry, perhaps passively amused, but not scolding. She's no stranger to fumbling, apologetic men in her presence.

"Perhaps your first mistake is the innuendo — but your larger mistake is the confession. I do know how I look, monsieur, we have no need to discuss it." She lifts her left hand, nodding to the glint of a gold ring at her wedding finger with a small smile. "Remember, very married; you have no cause to fuss about."

"Right... right. I'm sorry."

God, he really is the worst at all of this. It makes him sort of wish he had the callous charm that Dodger seemed to have. Honestly, god knows how Dodger landed a date plan with this woman but Jamie can clearly see he wouldn't be able to manage on his own.

"So- your- your husband, what does he do for work?" Concentrate on the husband, maybe he can actually keep that in his focus and stop getting swept up in his infatuation.

She shrugs his apology off easily. If she were angry for his transgressions, he would know about it. The elevator doors ding open and Amélie strides out, heels clicking.

"Gerard is a military man," she says, tone gone back again to a easy openness. "He works with Overwatch — I'm sure you don't know it, but it's a worldwide organization in our world. He initially tried to impress me with the prestige of it all." Her tone dips to the same wry mockery she's used on Jamie a few times so far. It's nothing personal, apparently; everyone in her life is subject to it.

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[CLOSED] Oh Glory, I think I see you 'round the bend

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