9777/Some angels brood, even when there is pizza!

Some angels brood, even when there is pizza!
Date of Scene:	26 October 2019
Location:	Pizza Joint - Salem Center
Synopsis:	Triage meets an angel while waiting for pizza, and hints that help might lie as near as a telephone.
Cast of Characters:	Triage, Angel

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Triage has posed:
The pizza shop is quiet at this time of day but the aroma of baking pies already fills the air. The employees are bracing for the regular invasion of youth full of adolescent angst and bottomless stomachs. Chris stands at the counter. "That's right," he tells the cashier. "Another deluxe." He looks as if he has pulled an all-nighter, with lines of weariness on his face and a long wooden staff leaning against the counter.

"Oh ... kay ..." the cashier acknowledges, punching buttons. "We have a drugstore nearby for when all of those catch up to you. My sister works there," she mentions. Chris nods and says, "Thanks. Call me when it's ready." His stomach gurgles.

Angel has posed:
Angel's mostly back from his trip. Admittedly, Fred being hurt sped up the process. Either way, it's drawn him here, to the pizza joint in Salem Center. Clad in is usual clothing, the broody vampire is sat in a chair at the table. The flickering candlelight's helping hide the pain in his eyes, as is looking to a menu. It's the sort of place he'd bring a date. Shaking his head angel studies the menu more. Duskk...has drawn Angel out of the Hyperion. And here. He inhales deeply, the scent of pizza surrounding him....as the Irish vampire. Looking around he's got a clear view of the counter. He's glancing up from the menu every so oftenn as he sits back, taking in the atmosphere of the place...and sets down the menu.

Triage has posed:
Chris hands the cashier a card. "Take your time on that second one. I'll want it to go, but the first ..." His stomach gurgles again. He sighs. "Call me when one is ready or send someone with it." She takes the card, swipes it, and nods, smiling. Then he grabs his quaterstaff and turns from the counter. Spotting the stranger, he glances at his watch. "I hope that you like noisy adolescents," he calls. "This place will be crawling with both soon. Saturday nights at the movies."

Angel has posed:
Angel looks up and then to the staff with a raised eyebrow. "I'm used to noisy adults and adolescents" he says with a nod as he looked to the menu again. He gestures wearily to the seat across the table. "Please. Sit" Angel adds with a wave. Waatching him, Angel looks to the counter then to Triage. "I saw you at the counter, you're ordering pizza?" he asks. Oh he heard everything but he's pretending to be human.

Triage has posed:
Chris strolls past the salad-bar island, already well stocked in preparation for the teeming and devouring horde. "Pizza for later," he answers, noticing the menu that Angel holds. "But don't be fooled. This isn't your typical shop for a mall." He nods past the counter to a door that leads to the kitchen. "The owner back there tosses incredible pies for the kids, but he retired from a fancy place in the city and moved here. If you ask, and if he has time, he'll whip up good pastas and even a Greek dish or two." He nods to the menu. "He doesn't bother to include that on the list. Pizza sells and it's quick and easy."

Angel has posed:
Angel raises his head and nodss looking around. He's taking it all in, watching it. "Ah" he says quietly with a nod, a silent nod and looks to the menu again before pushing it aside. So much for the good things, apparently, not being on the menu. Glancing to the door, then to his table again Angel doesn't smile. Instead he waits. he's pulled a chair out, he's invited the other man to sit. It's out of his hands now really.

Triage has posed:
Even a novice detective would recognize the signs - the man laying aside the menu and then glancing at the chair. This is more than pleasantry. Something serious lurks nearby. Chris glances at the door and then inclines his head. He circles the table, bends to lay the quarterstaff on the floor, and drops into the chair. He glances to the crew behind the counter, already aware that in minutes the hormone-fueled masses will descend. "You seem troubled," he observes. "I'm no expert but if you need to talk to someone, I might help. At least I might point you to someone more qualified. The pizza can wait. Safety and lives might not."

Angel has posed:
Angel cants his head and shrugs. Oh, there's a lot, a lot wrong. But he's not getting into it now or it'd take all night. Daylight is bad for vampires. "I came back here since, well, one of the people who works for me got hurt" he says. It's not a leap to connect the dots. Working for Angel. News. Fred. Besides, it's not a secret. She /does/ live around the Hyperion,n. "I'm worried about that. About the news" Angel mutters, He really, really isn't a fan of his employees or friends, few as they are getting torched. No. Just. no. Not a good time. But hey, the cat videos are doing fine, as he's noted.

Triage has posed:
The allusions are vague but not beyond a thread of reason. "The media love to stir the pot," Chris admits. Then, taking a slow breath, he adds one word, his wild guess, in case he's wrong. "Fred?" He shakes his head. "It's short for something but ..." If he was right, he would know soon enough.

Angel has posed:
Angel shakes his head. "Nobody deserves that fate" Angel says with a quiet tone to his voice. Spreading his palms, Angel fixes his eyes on Triage. "You know about her how, from the news or?" he asks. He's in full on investigator mode, digging to find out what Triage knowss as Angel sits more upright, as if suddenly paying attention.

Triage has posed:
Chris checks the crew behind the counter again. They're tossing the first pies, organizing the array of toppings in their plastic bins, and prepping more sauce. Then he nods slightly to the stranger sitting across from him at the table. "They would have needed a parental warning if they'd seen the full picture," he admits.

Angel has posed:
Angel glances to the crew as wel. They would have needed more than a parental warning, indeed. It was, going by the news, brutal. Angel is worried about Fred, palms up on the table, Angel meets Triage's eyes. His own eyes are dark, full of pain. Angel is silently breathing, silently seeething and brooding. How could Fred get kidnapped from the hotel, anyhow? How exactly did they find Fred. And, more to the point. How much more secure did they need to make the Hyperion?

Finally looking past Triage, Angel looks to the table then back to Triage. Time for the big question. "How do you know of Fred?" Angel asks. It's not malice in his voice. There's no suspicion. Just brooding curisoity. He's genuinely curious how this guy knows about Fred, anyhow. Fred's his people. Anyone who hurts Fred goes through Angel. Or, in other words, he'll find and hurt each of the FoH psychos. First, they break into the Hyperion. Then kidnap Fred. Then set her aflame twice, too. Angel is not happy. Welll, brooding even more than usual, that is.

Triage has posed:
"I don't know much about what happened, aside from what the news reported," Chris answers, meeting the man's gaze. "I have a good friend who knows her. I've trusted this friend with my life and I'll trust her with it again if necessary. She saw the news. She asked if there was anything that we could do." He takes a slow breath and nods. "She knew the answer as well as I did. We ... know people. They helped us to get to your friend, to help her." Then he shakes his head. "I don't know where she is now, but we left her in much better shape than when we met."

Angel has posed:
Listening quietly, Angel seems to calm just a little knowing Fred's safer, or rather got help.That's sort of put his mind at ease, to a point as he stretches his legs out under the table. Good things. Fred's safe. Bad thing though was she got hurt in the first place. This one's on Angel. It is his business. His employees.^R
"Thank you" Angel says. See. He can be sociable too. He can be talkative, to a point. "So you are?" Angel asks, offering a hand. He can, indeed, talk when he wants. Now, now's a good time since he's digging for information. "So who is this friend that helped Fred?" Angel asks, watching Triage quietly

Triage has posed:
"I'm Chris," the young man answers, reaching across the table for the handshake. "My friend, Shannon, and I know a bit about healing. Fred knows Shannon." He sighs. "She was well when we left her, but she was worried about her safety. The doctors said that they could protect her. That seemed to satisfy her worries" He shakes his head. "I don't know more beyond that, but if she's in trouble ..." He removes a pen and pad from a pocket and scribbles a number on it. He tears the sheet from the pad and offers it to the man. " Call or text that number. If we can help, we will."

Angel has posed:
Angel nods. "Angel" he says, "As in, Angel Investigations"

It's ll coming together as Angel pockets the paper. And, goes right back to brooding, questioning about Fred's safety, all the while brooding more and more. Actually, more to the point blaming himself for it. If he'd been there, if he hadn't listtened to Cordie....if....if....

Angel though snaps his gaze to Chris. "You're a doctor and a healer of sorts?" he asks. His tone's quiet, bitter and angry all at once.

Triage has posed:
Chris nods. "Of sorts," he confirms. "As a friend is fond of reminding me, it's complicated." He pushes back the chair, stands, and snatches his quarterstaff from the floor. "Angel," he repeats. "I hope that you can rescue our mutual acquaintance but be wary of the risks. She made enemies who play for keeps." He heads to the counter. "Are those pizzas ready?" he asks just as the first adolescent shoves the door open and the attack begins. One of the employees hands the boxes to him, and he turns, heading toward the door against the onrush of chattering, giggling youth. Occasionally, his quarterstaff bumps one or another but they are too busy in their own world to protest. Carrying his cargo, he heads into the night. Soon, the sound of a motorbike revving in the parking lot signals his departure.