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Post by Aster Blau on Nov 18, 2021 6:30:18 GMT -8
As Aello slipped away and, with her, Cinder, the game seemed to wind down. The chance to integrate herself with younger members of the Spear pulled away by a fetching Fairest with a lion's mask and a mane to match. Aster frowned briefly, but the truth remained that she hadn't seized the opportunity earlier and, given how quickly Cinder had picked up and left, the Viper doubted it was a social call. Thus, Aster slipped out of the water and took some time to dry her scarred skin before again slipping on her more rugged attire of cargo pants, boots, leather jacket, a simple white t-shirt, and, of course, a mask in line with the expectations of the event. The leather mask was far more plain than that of some others, but well-made and practical enough. Aster particularly liked that the large openings for the eyes did little to impair her vision. Put back together well enough to move on, the Beast took a moment to look out at her choices before, ultimately, giving way to curiosity and choosing to move to the bar.
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Post by Bloody Mary on Nov 20, 2021 20:30:57 GMT -8
Bloody Mary had taken on a familiar tone that Wayland only heard when she came to the witch for occult wisdom. It was hard to picture Loki in the role of a student, let along being chided, but here was Mary talking to him like a mother or disgruntled nun catching mischief at the boarding school. The aging Ogre showed no fear towards the murderous Elemental, pinching his arm and causing him to yelp as she demanded he return his drunken attention.
Unlike what Wayland had come to expect, he didn't swing his clenched fist or drop an unnecessary threat to flex his power. Rather, his eyes were wide and exasperated, almost pleading as he softly told her he didn't know what to do. Mary didn't offer any comforting words, hissing that the Season had chosen to empower him, and it was his duty to his Court and the Freehold to step to those expectations and start behaving like a noble commander. That seemed to sting, Loki's jaw tightening as he looked down and away, and clearly biting his tongue with the obvious defense that he was, in fact, leading an entire Entitlement by his own founding. Mary actually grabbed his face to force him to look her in the eye, growling that if he should manifest the Crown before he was ready, she would personally make sure he would not bring this Freehold to ruin.
He didn't need to respond, his expression clearly aligned with the idea that he didn't want to.
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Post by Wayland on Nov 24, 2021 14:43:23 GMT -8
That budding confidence that the steady stream of potential clients is giving Wayland starts to wither. It's not enough that she has her own secret to keep, a Sword of Damocles hanging over her head b a thread. Now she has one of the Court's as well. She's suddenly thankful she hasn't been drinking, as the implications of Mary's words tumble through her imagination. It is said among Summer that anger is wrath undirected. But it's not just that; anger is also wrath misdirected. Would she trust Loki to direct her court's Wrath?
She doesn't know him well yet, but... no. Her first impression is that she wouldn't. Her first impression is that he's too hot-headed. And first impressions can be wrong, but they also matter. Mary is right to worry. The Maker sees chaos in the future if the Crown goes to him as he is now.
The drifts away from the pair. She'd been eavesdropping, they didn't ask for her opinion. And even if they had, she doesn't know what she'd say. Mary is her mentor, from whom she wants a great deal, and Loki is... an unknown she's been trying to figure out. But she doesn't dare interrupt this fight they're having. It's private, like watching Mum and Da argue. Not her business to stick her nose in.
Navigating the edges of the crowds, she decides to focus on something else: Looking for Sweeney. He's who Kai said she should speak to, about her hopes to build up the armory of the Freeholders. Make sure everyone has the tools they need for the challenges they face.
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Post by Sweeney on Nov 24, 2021 19:43:16 GMT -8
The Arrayer wasn't hard to find, laughing loudly with a few of the Autumn courtiers and chatting to Dame Scorpio in what was likely Creole, though he didn't seem as fast on the draw as his mind parsed the differences in dialect. Surrounded by cigar smoke, they were playing Blackjack; throwing down weird bits and baubles that were likely Tokens with mild effects for what served as the pot, while a blonde deer-like faun with a Spring Mantle played the role of dealer.
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Post by Wayland on Nov 27, 2021 20:05:13 GMT -8
Blackjack's a math game, right? Wayland's lived in Vegas for a while now but has somehow managed to avoid most forms of gambling. Still, she knows of blackjack. Peripherally at least. And she’s decent at math. She can figure these odds. She takes a closer look at the nicknacks and tchochkes being wagered, and sees nothing there that she couldn’t put up herself, nothing that she wouldn’t mind losing if it meant a successful conversation with Sweeney.
Thus calculated, she makes her first wager by pulling a chair out of the table and folding herself down into it. “This a private game, or can anybody play?” She asks, glancing from the dealer to the two players.
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Post by Scorpio on Nov 28, 2021 18:13:08 GMT -8
Scorpio grinned, gesturing to the collection of Seasonal favour where her and Sweeney were the only ones of higher standing. She was younger than the Summer Ogre, and a jarring addition to Baron Samedi's nobility when compared to the older witches and warlocks. "Play, or just hang around. I'm not as formal as my cohorts..." Her voice thrummed like it had been put through a voice modulator, mandibles vibrating around human lips. Her large, dark eyes rolled to the center of the table, wondering if Wayland was more bashful about contributions when an Autumn Knight was present.
"...We figured Tokens that we didn't really need was a fun pool, like a blindbox, but you can put down anything you think would make a good souvenir."
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Post by Wayland on Nov 29, 2021 20:24:03 GMT -8
When she speaks is the first time Wayland's paid more than a passing attention to Sweeney's gambling companion. A quick scan, yes, to make sure she wasn't going to make an ass of herself by intruding, or approaching the table of an enemy. But Dame Scorpio is anything but unapproachable. And though Wayland hasn’t had much cause to socialize with her before, it is not because she is at all put off. Indeed, one corner of her mind ponders over the honor she would feel if the Knight of Brambles wore or used one of her works in the act of some great monster slaying.
After pondering the Paladin’s words for a moment with a pensive expression, Wayland reaches one hand upward to her mask. Somehow her fingers immediately find the tiny knot of string from which she’s hung one of the baubles dangling from the driftwood and undo it with a simple motion, so that it falls into her palm. She performs the same procedure at several other points along her mask, lightening it as she picks her ante of Arcadian souvenirs until it fills her cupped, silver hand.
Her bank collected, she brings her hand over the table and upends it, a dozen tiny Tokens spilling out of her palm and falling to the felt table with a patter of muted thumps: A nail, shaped something like a railroad spike in miniature, but made of tin instead of iron. A dark, opalescent stone worn into a smooth, irregular shape that vibrates very slightly as if rattled by a localized earthquake. A purple feather tied to a knot of fine bones with a strip of some unidentifiable leather. A blown-glass vial no larger than a thimble containing what looks like thick, white fog, sealed with cork and wax. A thorn that, when dropped, immediately points to the nearest beverage like the magnetic needle of a compass.
All these things, and others besides, go into a small pile before her position at the table. Then she blinks and realizes she hasn’t said anything in what might be considered an unusual amount of time, after having been spoken to. Her gaze returns to Scorpio, “I don’t do much gambling, but that does sound pretty interesting. I think I’ll join you for a while,” she glances at Sweeney, including him in the collective ‘you.’
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Post by Sweeney on Nov 30, 2021 23:10:33 GMT -8
Sweeney whistles as the irregular trinkets plop on the table, clearly having fun with the new presence.
"We all gamble, cher. Every fucking day when we test the Wyrd," he laughed. Scorpio offered the Ogre one of the cigars and a whiskey, not overbearing or signaling disappointment if it wasn't Wayland's thing.
"You say you don't play, but you want to. So why did you really come over?"
The Torrent's question was sharp with its wording, but he didn't seem confrontational or agitated. The fact that he didn't push for her name could have been a statement or just as easily not seen as important when getting to know someone. The Seeming tended to be like that, and Sweeney wasn't doing much to hide his curiosity. Cards were dealt to include Wayland, and the ones fanned in front of the Blightbent started to curl and corrode with contact with his broad, blackened fingers.
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Post by Wayland on Nov 30, 2021 23:19:53 GMT -8
It takes Wayland a moment to formulate a response. This sort of thing doesn’t come easy to her. Socializing in general, but making an approach, a cold-call, in particular. Being the one to reach out. She’d probably be even more socially dysfunctional than she is now if she hadn’t been adopted by an extrovert here and there along the way. She covers the delay by checking her cards and making a bet, pushing forward an irregular-shaped coin of stamped copper, half-covered in verdigris.
“Kai mentioned I should talk to you,” she settles on for a moment, eyes flicking to Sweeney so as to indicate him and not Scorpio or a collective ‘you’ that would include the both of them. “About making the most of my skills,” she clarifies after a moment.
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Post by Sweeney on Dec 2, 2021 9:23:55 GMT -8
"...You a smuggler?" Sweeney prodded after a stint of silence. Scorpio chuckled, flicking another Autumn's hand who was muttering under their breath, causing them to jump.
"No talking to them!"
It took another beat to realize that the drunk Changeling had been speaking directly to the cards themselves. Scorpio didn't seem upset by the cheating, more amused that they hadn't bothered to be subtle.
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Post by Wayland on Dec 2, 2021 10:02:29 GMT -8
Wayland can see how that would be a natural assumption. There's an amused quirk to her lips when she watches Scorpio... not quite chastise, but correct an impropriety. Talking to the cards, that's funny. Not 'ha ha' funny, but interesting.
"No, I make my own products," she explains. Word had gotten around, but not to Sweeney, she guesses. "I started out as a blacksmith, before I caught an allergy to iron. But I've broadened and deepened my skills since." She continues to play as she speaks, placing her bets, checking her cards, hitting or staying or splitting. Not caring so much about what she's winning or losing, she didn't put anything on the table she wasn't willing to give up.
"I can make damn near anything, but I'm talking to you because of your title. If the Freehold has anything like an armory, I can help you fill and maintain it. Weapons, tools, armor, Tokens... whatever's needful." A memory flashes by of Henley's helicopter spitting fire from a chaingun she'd helped affix, a glow of pride warring in her chest with a tinge of guilt from her ongoing circumstances with that particular Ogre.
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Post by Sweeney on Dec 2, 2021 21:33:04 GMT -8
"I mean, you got the talent. I'm fine if you wanna take over the Iron Concord- Indra's old armoury?" Sweeney sniffed, black ichor escaping from one of the edges of his eyes. "You can tinker a bit with what's there—I've got my hands full with the day-to-day needs of the Freehold."
Why he didn't seem concerned about checking Wayland's credentials, or checking the potential risk of giving a stranger access to the Summer Court's armour and weaponry stash earned more than one cocked brow. "We cycle things quiet-like, and conquesting hasn't happened in over a decade now unless Queen Uriel wants to try and take the Market. I'm sure the Order of the Gilded Thorn and Hedge Rangers would appreciate some tune-ups. What sort of boons are you asking for?"
He tilted his head at the pot, adding what appeared to be a petrified mouse inside a sandwich ziplock. "We're more like a heavily trained royal guard with a beginner rank of militia aid and volunteers over any sort of standing army. I'm guessing you're asking me for some direction with the Court, or else you would have commissioned yourself to giving some lucky Hedge Duelists the edge in the arena, or became a Hollow architect."
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Riley Sorsa
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Presence (3) Captivating | SL(1) Stylish Mantle (2)Spring | Status(1) Entertainment
Posts: 913
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Post by Riley Sorsa on Dec 7, 2021 12:59:39 GMT -8
Riley stepped back into the party, masqueraded both in mask and glamour. With a snap of their fingers, they activated their hedgespun gauntlet. The glamour flowed through the Illuminated moth's mantle, a touch of magic to make their words all the more potent. The tools were in place now to use their charms.
Tonight they were seeking others, those who could possibly be allies. Through conversation, flirtations, offered drinks, and subtle hints. Riley made their way through the event seeking out others who might have issues with the Winter king. Perhaps it was by the harm done or driven by fear, moral objection, or even political ambition. Whatever the case, Riley noted those who may be of use to them in the days to come.
Tonight others might remember them, but Riley would remember. The first steps were to change were always subtle.
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Post by Wayland on Dec 7, 2021 20:29:21 GMT -8
She’s playing looser at the table now, more focused on the conversation than the betting and the cards. “We had all those people join up after the Revenant Crisis. I’m not going to say I understand everybody’s reason, but a lot of those people were looking to fight.” She holds up her hand, turning it over and watching the light play across the flexing silver, “Some of us come out of the Hedge changed in a way that makes fighting easier, that makes weapons pointless. Some of us don’t. Some of us need training, and some of us need tools.” She lowers her hand, turning her attention back to Sweeney, “I heard that Kai was going to provide training, and I offered to provide tools. You’re who she said to talk to.”
She adds her shaking stone to a bet, splitting her hand either confidently or carelessly depending on your point of view. “Militia aids and volunteers,” she deliberately borrows his phrase, “Are being sent into some some pretty fucking dangerous situations these days. Some of them are getting hurt. Some of them are dying. All of them could benefit from being better equipped. That’s what I’m after. Not boons, not authority, not payment… Though I’d never say no to more supplies for my workshop.” And truthfully, a part of her likes secrets. A part of her wants to know things. She’s content to study under Mary for now, but there will come a day when Mary won’t tell her something, and she’ll have to look elsewhere.
“This community, as fucked up as it is, kept me safe for three years while I put myself back together. I’m together now,” a tiny lie, there’s a crack at the core of her confidence and ethics, threatening to grow wider each day until she frees herself from Isla’s oath, “And I want to start… contributing.” This Freehold isn’t the community she’d hoped it would be. But maybe it can change. Maybe making blades and guns and bulletproof vests isn’t the best way to change a draconian culture of hypervigilance and suspicion, but at least she can keep people safer from harm, give them an edge against the Freehold’s enemies.
“So unless you think there’s a Hedge Duelist particularly deserving of an edge, or that a Hollow architect would serve the Freehold’s needs better right now, I’d like to hear more about this ‘Iron Concord’, and about those groups you mentioned.”
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Post by Sweeney on Dec 8, 2021 22:40:14 GMT -8
"Kai doesn't know about the Concord," Sweeney sniffed, glancing back at the dealer as he tapped for another card.
"Those volunteers never came to me to ask for none. But I guess that's what happens when you're hit with a year of Bull. Shit!" he shrugged as his hand went bust, blinking as his attention fully shifted to the reserved Ogre, expression softening as he searched for a way to give her something. "Can't fix stupid. But yeah, I'd like you to be able to make sure people aren't running around completely naked. I can get you whatever you want on the market, and the Other Market—business for days. That's the lagniappe."
His tongue clicked as he glanced back at the regal form of Eurydice with the mention of Hedge Duelist, and affording the song and dance of nodding to Scorpio...just to be polite. Tucking a stray lock behind his ear, he nodded for Wayland to follow away from the game. Whether she won the round or not he wasn't paying much attention to at this point. Gavin Graves rolled up, the intimidating Razorhand clearly looking to ask for something from his Knight.
"Cher, we got a full armoury. But like I said, you can do a tune-up; I haven't touched it. Shit's full of bad vibes and Freehold blood...you mention the population but you weren't here for the Civil War back in O'Nine," he hissed, "Everyone didn't know what they were getting into, other than wanting to live with the Hunt rolling through. Got a Spring God without a soul no-more and the Summer God refusing to pass to 'the unworthy.' Samedi and Nohoilpi had fucked off, trying to fix what their motleymate had pulled, so it fell to the rest of the congregation to inherit this mess." He sucked on the cigar, jaw rolling as he mulled past ghosts. The smoke that he exhaled sparked and held an orange hue that peeled some of the threads of his shirt.
"Gilded Thorn is some Indiana Jones shit—tomb raiding and treasure hunting in the Hedge. Rangers is just how it sounds; pulling rescue missions when people go missing."
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