Awkward silence dominates the living room. At least, it's awkward for everyone but the fellow in the corner. He seems to be perfectly, delightfully comfortable, slouched in the seat, humming off-key to himself as his fingers tap on the arm of the loveseat he's dominating. That one corner of the room is drowning in shadows, but... he's being polite, and keeping them to himself. In fact, he -appears- to be napping. The humming puts the lie to that, though. The room is soaked in the sensation of something like November and Calm's gothic lovechild- the Snowskin's sense of ancient divinity, the Telluric's Sublimely Wyrd presence, and a sense of... well. He doesn't have any of the inherently benign sense to him that the other two do, what with his eyes lost in darkness, his hands flickering in the light to expose prehensile knives, and the odd, curling scars coating the rest of his lightshy body- not that much is visible beneath jeans, boots and a ratty hoody.
Ashe had seen Selina off from Whelan and headed straight for the Wayhouse. It’s probably why the woman steps in with her umbrella and shakes it off outside so November doesn’t teleport out of some dimensional crack and knife her in her spleen. It’s then settled against the corner so it doesn’t drag water in with her. There’s a bag over her shoulder, because the office is portable and she can work here just as easily as well. Once she starts for the hall Uvall flops onto her head, "You shouldn't suggest people break other peoples legs." the vampire bat tells her.
There's never awkward silence when Gisa has a book that she can reach for, and so she just does that. The golem has apparently been cooking and baking today: there's vegetarian lasagna out on the kitchen counter, with some taken from it, and there are fresh cookies in the cookie jar and other casseroles in the fridge and freezer for people to easily eat. If it isn't obvious what's in a particular dish, the golem has labeled the ends with white tape on which is written either an M or an F. Is she gendering the dishes? Who can say. Also, to the left of where she sits there is a gift box resting on top of silver and blue wrapping paper -- the box itself is quite large big enough to fit a large overcoat in, but is currently closed. Gisa flips rapidly through the pages of the book she's 'reading,' too fast for anyone but a true speed reader. "Your Majesty," the Pilgrim greets.
"Now that's simply unfair," protests Vorpal from beneath his hood and his apparent quasi-nap. He sits up then, pushing his hood back- which does absolutely nothing to pull the darkness away from the top of his head. No eyes to be seen in those shadows. "There are plenty of situations in which suggesting legs get broken is the objectively intelligent decision. A doctor consulting another doc about how to fix a badly set limb- a mob boss looking to make a point without killing a cop- an amoral psychologist trying to advise a patient how to deal with their addiction to breaking legs now that all of their own are broken." The man presents every one of these options with equal enthusiasm. "But! I digress."
'Your Majesty', is it? Yes, so it seems, what with the crown and all! The man draws himself up and sweeps a bow, his shadows spilling outward a foot or two before drawing back in as he straightens, smiling wide. "Good day, your Majesty! I'd hoped to run into you, though I admit I wasn't so fortunate as to remain here on -purpose.-"
He thinks for a moment, then turns towards Gisa all at once with impossible grace. "Miss Cohen, you may well be aware I intend to pledge, but you truly ought to be more cautious who you address the Crown before. I DID read the laws Nathania shared, you know, and you're -really- not supposed to tell anyone who isn't pledged who the Crown is. I -suppose- you're probably fine, seeing as how she DID walk in here with the crown and all, but. Death oaths are nothing to take lightly!" Pause. "Speaking of which."
He whirls to face the Queen with another broad smile. "I'd like to take that death oath, if you don't mind."
Ashe notices the humming, but she’s not a busy body when it comes to people lounging in the Wayhouse. That and she needed the board to post something. There it is! A thumbtack is taken and the piece of paper tacked up. She gives a stitched smile to Gisa when she hears her and turns that way, “Hello!” she waves. Then she looks to Nemo as he moves and speaks and there’s a look to Gisa and then back to him, “Can I have your name before you go pledging to death?” she asks him.
With the utter implacable patience of a die-hard golem faced with a capricious person who insists he's a god (it's a very specific, quite-exhausted sort of patience), Gisa answers Vorpal in a total deadpan, "The Crown does tend to obviate any words on my part." The concept of the Dawn Martyr taking oaths lightly at all is enough to make her shake her head just a bit, then look back at her book.
"Yes, well. Good fortune, that," allows the fellow, turning back from Gisa to Ashe. She poses her question, and he stops dead for a second. "Ah! Yes. That would come first, I suppose! I'll spare you the formalities of a second fancy bow, and simply head right into the introduction."
"Vorpal's my name, God Of The Hunt and standing member of both November an Nua's Court and Pantheon, slayer of the Beast That Walks and very newly of your fine town." He snaps his arm to the side, wiggles his hand a moment to convince it to stay solid, and offers it to Ashe in fine, elegant fashion. "A pleasure. May I ask the same of Your Majesty?"
Ashe listens to the conversations and there’s a look to Vorpal as he introduces himself. She gives a dip of her head to him and she reaches out to shake the hand that is offered, “It’s nice to meet you, Vorpal. I’m Ashe Whelan. Legate of the Legacy of the Black Apple.” she offers. “I’ve not killed any Gentry. It’s a bucket list thing though.” she admits with a chuckle though. “And more Dawn’s in town is nice. We’ve had a few more come in town the last few weeks.” she nods to that.
<Pose Order> Gisa has skipped Gisa.
Nemo shakes Ashe's hand gently, lest- apparently- his barely-there flesh flicker and fade around those knives. "Nice all around, to be sure. And a Legate, nonetheless! Diplomacy has its place, to be sure. When it's time to scratch that off your list, though. Actually, that's what I'm hoping to share-" And here Vorpal's smile sharpens -wicked.- "-to teach the foxes to Hunt the Hunters." It lasts only a moment, divested the instant he leaves the topic of the Hunt. "Only those interested, though. I'm not here to conscript. Just educate. And as those of my rather intense ilk tend to be mistrusted without some measure of enforced trust?" He spreads his hands helplessly. "It seems easiest to pledge and set the minds of all at ease."
“When diplomacy fails I’m one of the first ones to tell you to either run or shoot or throw knives. Whatever it is people like to do to get the job done. Gentry, while rare, can be killed. It just usually takes some casualties to do it.” Ashe explains with a bit of a frown. Then she nods to that. “No problem on that.” she tells him. “And it sounds like Nathania and November have went over the laws with you.” she looks to him to confirm.
The mostly-trained Waykeeper is more than content to keep her mouth shut and listen. Occasionally her eyeflames flick from one person to the other, but for the most part she seems content to read -- very quickly -- her book. Today Gisa's on 'The Second Mango,' because not everything she reads is Talmudic interpretations or Communist treatises. Just most of it.
"Nathania has. My Trickster has more important things to do than spend her time trying to explain clearly written laws to me. Like rub my face in every time she's gotten the upper hand. Which- is- all of them," remarks Vorpal drily. "I might have spoken up to capitalize on the humor of casually asking to take a death pledge seconds after telling someone who isn't taking it lightly to NOT take it lightly, but I don't take swearing to the death casually either. I've no qualms with the statutes laid down, nor with the pledge itself. In fact, I've bigger beef with Gisa's insistence I am not what I am than with the pledge and laws. But that's for another debate."
Ashe gives a curious look as he talks about November, but, she doesn’t say anything. There’s just a smile. She gives a soft nod to him as Uvall, her bat, lays himself over her head like a headband. “If you’re ready, repeat after me.” she tells him.
“I pledge my time, my talents and my fealty to Fate's Harvest.
I swear that I no longer serve the Fae, nor will I while this promise stands; that while I am under its protection I will obey the principles and bylaws of the Fate's Harvest Freehold as ratified by Monarch and Council, in return for the support and safety they provide.
May I perish in exile, should I be forsworn.”
One of the few Religious Changelings to exist answers only mildly: "Your insistence versus a nearly-six-thousand-year-old statement that's survived the Shoah, Intifada, and the Roman Empire, I know which side I come down on." Flip, flip, flip, and Gisa turns page after page. But then she hushes up when the pledge is being spoken. Argue later, golem.
Nemo gives Uvall a grin as he lifts a hand and spins every drop of his shadows up into a ball beneath his hand as he pledges.
"I pledge my time, my talents, and my fealty to Fate's Harvest," he begins, his tone earnest and enthusiastic.
"I swear that I no longer serve the -Fae-," he snarls the one word, "Nor WILL I while this promise stands. That while I am under its protection, I will obey the principles and bylaws of the Fate's Harvest Freehold as ratified by Monarch and Council, in return for the Support and Safety they provide."
He clasps his free hand over his heart on the last line. "May I perish in exile, should I be. For. Sworn."
What a ham.
Ashe gives a look over to Gisa and there’s a look to Nemo that states he’s clearly in trouble if he’s going to argue with the Golem. But, he’s going to find that out on his own. She watches the theatrics of the pledge and there’s a nod to him once he’s done. Her fellow Shadowsoul can feel the weight of the Wyrd settle over his shoulders. Ashe pulls a pin from her pocket and hands it to him, “This is just a small token of my appreciation for those that have pledged during Autumn.” she tells him. "Welcome to Fate's Harvest, Vorpal." she states with a smile.
"Ahh. Been some time since I felt that," muses Vorpal as the pledge settles over him. He takes the pin and sticks it proudly to the breast of his ratty sweatshirt. "How kind of you! I appreciate the sentiment- and the welcome. Thank you for having me- I do hope I shall leave it in even better form than I found it."
The golem just sort of vaaaaguely smiles at that glance from Her Majesty. Once upon a time, there was a Spaniard who tried to argue his way out of marrying a golem.
There's a chuppah in the box to her left, so how well did that work out?
Metatext aside, Gisa keeps reading and listening.
Ashe gives a smile to that and she then a nod, “I’ll add you to the list of new members before I leave this evening.” she tells him. “And thank you.” she adds. “If you are interested in joining any of the Freehold subgroups please let us know and we can get you in contact with their leaders or seconds.” she states. “For now. I’m going to go find dinner and get some work done with Maxwell before I need to meet with someone at eight.” she tells them. “You two have a good evening.” she tells them with a bow of her head.
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