Nathania has heard rumors of new Winters in town, and also wanted to hang out with Darby. So the general Wintermeet announcement goes out in the usual way, through the grapevine and in Mourning Cant, even though it's incredibly last-minute.
The dolly, when people arrive, is settled in a chair knitting, naturally. A spread of nibbles is on a side table, and a whole pumpkin pie cut into pieces. She is dressed in black knee-high boots, dark wash blue jeans, and a black sweater--likely handknit, of course. She waits, patiently, working pink yarn into a soft, pretty cowl.
On time enough to not be considered fashionably late, Darby arrives. Scuffed black flats, matching ankle-pants and a black top, and a textured infinity scarf circling her neck a few times, a worn bag hanging across her chest to rest at one hip. Pinned to the base of one end of the purse strap is the token-leaf given when one pledges to the Freehold this season. Darby's hair escapes the casual pull-back in wisps around her face. She catches sight of Nathania knitting after passing through the door and heads directly over to her. "Mrs. Winters," she greets. "Thank you for the invitation. Our time was too short, before." She pulls a chair closer to Nathania and takes a sit, leaving her purse where it is. The knitting itself is regarded with more than passing interest. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/493073859191938640/
Ever hear a record skip and squeal, a sound that isn't loud, precisely, but nonetheless stabs good and cold right into you? That's the Wyrd that follows Echo around all the time like the shuddering shadows in her wake. It's less a visible thing than a vibration on her, more likely to be heard or sensed like the rumble of a truck with the radio turned up as it passes. You could even call her nondescript, if it weren't for that particular icepick of a manner. "Here?" she asks the dolly as she comes inside just shortly after Darby enters. "Here," she repeats herself once she looks over those who are already inside. The same word said two ways, once like a hand extended and once like a happy bell ringing. There's a second or two of checking over her own shoulder before Echo walks over to the deerlike girl and the ragdolly.
On the other hand, Cyril arrives precisely when he wants to. Ever one to push the boundaries, the walking advertisement for what's wrong with tourism steps into the room with a quiet, sullen appearance and a quick look of the room. There's a quiet nod at those gathered and a slight twitch of his right eye at the sound coming from Echo, but otherwise he simply moves to find a seat and sits down without trumpeting his arrival with words. He has no cane, but the cane might as well be there given how slow and precise the steps taken are. Finally, the words leave but they are slow and labored. "I received the notice."
Nathania smiles around. "Hello, Darby." She looks to Echo and Cyril. "It's nice... to meet.... you both. I'm... Nathania Winters; I've been here... a good few... months, and noticed... a new influx of Winters." High mantle probably, then. She shrugs. "I don't.. really have... an agenda. Just call me... the Welcome Wagon." She nods to Echo, high Wyrd to high Wyrd, and then looks to Cyril and Darby. "If you want... to ask me.. anything, please.... feel free." She smirks a bit then, though. "A lot's... going on, so it's hard... to keep up, but please know... that I am trying my.... hardest."
Echo's arrival snaps Darby's gaze from Nathania's knitting to the Wyrd-thrumming, shadowy arrival, the potential energy all bundled up in the persona du jour. And until she's closed the distance, Darby's evaluative gaze lingering and unapologetic. Compared to Nathania's mantle and the more newly arrived one, Darby's is almost non-existent, perhaps a fleeting scent of deep-forest pungent evergreen sap. As she would typically look back to Nathania as the tenured Winter begins to speak in her idiosyncratic, halting manner, Cyril arrives and requires his own visual inventory, everything from the no-nonsense silence, to the slow and careful movement across the room. "Darby Nash," she offers to the latter arrival and then the former. Finally back to Nathania, but with regular sweeping glances to the other two, Darby answers with the obvious, "What has been going on?"
Echo presses both hands' fingertips over her lips, a gesture that speaks of thinking before she speaks and also a little surprise of some flavor, pushed back into place after a second. "I won't shake unless you favor contact. I go by Echo Madrigal." Which is very different from that being her name, really. Every word carefully chosen, though not quite with Nathania's pauses in effect. She leans over the pie with a manner that might be a little impolite -- sniffing it as if she might sense whether it's poisoned or not by hovering, almost as if she expects no one will notice a little gesture like that before she sits. She gives Cyril a shyer smile. "Also not here long? Though I hear that's common for most here. Not here long."
Cyril seems to take a long time to consider the potential responses to each of the presented pieces of information, but the response comes finally, though slowly. "Cyril Fournier," and then it's as if he has fallen back into a trap of considering once more a topic of importance to the conversation and place before continuing the answer, "my role here," having apparently decided this was the real question, "is that of observation. I've been here. My role here is also that of stagnancy." This seems to cause him to pause as he considers the three people in the room, "Yes, Winters, Nathania. Madrigal, Echo. Nash, Darby. Perhaps, perhaps not, but maybe so, maybe not, your roles will be grand. There have been many new roles. New organization." Another pause and this one is not followed with more words, apparently he is done. Or so you thought, because no, he's up again, "I was here before the new organization."
Nathania smiles to Darby and shrugs. "Too broad. Narrow.. that down, please. So much to cover." And then she looks to Echo. "I am... a hugger. However, I understand... not everyone... appreciates contact, so I offer, and don't demand... physical closeness." Rag dolly. She glances to Cyril next, startled. "Mr. Fournier," she says. "How long... have you lived here?" Surprised, a little wary.
"Listening, observing, evaluating. Darby is Winter for good reason. "Echo Madrigal," she ... echoes. And the particularly intriguing motion of holding fingertips over the lips to listen and whatever else, holds her attention. "Cyril Fournier," the same almost liturgical sort of call-and-response with the full name; his mention of being around for quite some time spurs a glance from Darby, all measuring silence and why might be an uncomfortable pause to some. Finally Cyril: "What have you observed, aside from comings, goings, and our fickle representation?" She dips her chin with a wry spark in her dark brown gaze at the prediction of nearly all possible outcomes from Cyril. To Nathania, "How about most important or most interesting first?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Fournier. I am new here," Echo clarifies. "I must have misread the cues, a little, to assume." She finishes her funny little sniff-test of the pie, only to pick up a menu and...well. Wave it aroud, toy with it, poke her own arm with its corner, anything but read it like a normal person, and this action suggests it's not something she's even thinking about, this physical testing of the landscape. "My questions are...coming," she tells Nathania. "I always have them. But I'm curious what you say is happening. Most interesting first sounds right."'
Darby asides to Nathania, "Not that you are in any way deserving of the title 'fickle', Mrs. Winters."
Cyril considers the question from Nathania the longest before answering, "That depends on which role. In my role as a doctor, forty one years. In my role as observer and stagnancy, eleven years." It's not a big leap to say he's probably talking about when he was and was not what he is now, "The role of fear is lessening. I still also have a role of confusion attached to myself." This guy has this thing about roles. "I have only been assigned the role of winter courtier, of pledge to Fate's Harvest, for a little under a year. The dominant roles were, before now, fear, suspicion and hiding. These seem to be waining."
He turns to consider Echo for a long time before finally offering, "My role is still new, as you say. Both new. Jockeying for seniority seems ill advised given our equality in naivety of our roles."
His head slowly turns back to Darby and Nathania, "I am confused, though, about the role of fickle representation. My role is one of seclusion, so admittedly I do not play into much of the activities of this new organization. My primary roles assigned by these organizations," he offers no explanation, "are that of healer and guardian. Maybe guardian is the wrong role. Protector? Transporter? I lead new escapees to safety."
Nathania grins to Darby. "No offense... taken. I'm not... ashamed of my... occasional fickleness. I'm as human as... anyone in my position can... be," the Bishop answers, button eyes sparkling a little. She nods to Echo, then. "Okay." Then, to Cyril: "Do you have.. an Entitlement, then?"
"There's... a lot of weirdness going on... I don't have full answers to," she admits next, frowning. "Dreams are being.. tampered with; there are rumors... of weird briarwolves in the Hedge." A lip-twitch to the side. "Some Privateers... tried to kidnap me in... retaliation from... my husband's... Kindly Keeper, but... that's something we're dealing... with. Have a crew and... everything." Her eyes have darkened, though, from slate to near-black.
Darby's body language, her posture, after she's folded her hands loosely together atop her lap, have gone largely still as Nathania speaks. "Not good news, then," she eventually replies after exhaling with a slow, slight lowering of her shoulders. "Moreso than is typical? Or are such events the median for this 'hold and its typical issues to address?" Echo's response is directly followed by an uptipping at the corners of Darby's lips, though the expression does not linger long. To Cyril, "Pardon, Mr. Fournier. I did not intend to ascribe 'fickle' to you either. Both Winter and the 'hold at large are fortunate to have a Healer, a Guardian, and -- perhaps the most important of roles along with canny regent -- emissary and savior to Those Newly Escaped." Back to Nathania, "Do you have thoughts on the matter of what Winter can provide in the way of assistance in any of these causes?" Followed up with, "Are you safe now, or do you expect further attempts on your liberty?"
Echo eventually seems to give up the fidgeting with the menu, or at least slow it down to slowly spinning it between fingers, as if that vibration she produces keeps it turning in her hands. She ends up giving Cyril a warm enough smile at his explanation, but does inquire of Darby: "Where does 'fickle' enter in? I fear I've lost that part of it." When Nathania starts to share, what smile rested on her face starts fading away until the shadows around her have erased it so completely. The menu rests between her palms, clutched there. "Are there any places where help with these things most needs to happen? Things standing in the way of solving any of these problems?"
Cyril adjusts the position in his seat before opening his mouth to speak only to consider for a long time what he would say next. Finally, "You misunderstand. I do not think it strictly wrong to attribute the role of fickle to myself. You should attribute whatever roles you feel I deserve to myself." He turns to consider Nathania now at the report of the problems, "My role is not one of tracker, not in this world, but my role in this world is one of healer. I can protect their dreams from the poisoning, but I cannot find your poisoner." There's another long pause, "If your poisoner's role is to be of the hedge, then I can find your poisoner. I have many roles in that world which afford me more usefulness." He considers again, "My role in terms of this entitlement organization is a Knight of Silence. In terms of further roles, do you require temporary shelter? My role as facilitator can be useful here."
Nathania shakes her head, almost vehement. "I am... as safe as any... of us can be," she insists. "Your concern.. is very touching--Darby, you barely.. know me, and you, Echo and Cyril, don't.. know me at all--but really. I'm safe." A bright smile, then, brittle and -sharp- as only a stitched smile can be. "Believe me. Safe... as houses." Which may not be all that reassuring, when you think about it. She then shrugs. "I would talk... to Ashe, current Monarch." Then she facepalms. "I forgot. They've been, well. Soundless. for a while. But there's a rival.... freehold a good few... miles away. Trying to warn... us off. Call themselves... the Soundless."
Darby glances belatedly to the clutched menu between Echo's hands, "Mrs. Winters mentioned the comings-and-goings of those of our court's persuasion. Add to that the quality of many of us to hoard caution, to take our time, to 'observe' if you will," A dip of her chin in Cyril's direction. "A Court built on shifting sands is rarely the most stable of places to hide secrets and build secret onclaves, refuges, slowly-burning, indirect plans of attack." Enough of the descripton, Darby continues: "Your reputation precedes you, Mrs. Winters. No one even partly informed could, with evidence to bear, accuse you of not putting forth the best of efforts. Then another counter from the stubborn Runnerswift, to Nathania. "I know what I need to know of you to place my support and respect."
Someone from the front rooms pushes into the back area. "Is there a Darby Nash here? Someone is -- on the phone for you out front?" Why they wouldn't simply call Darby on a cell phone seems to baffle the messenger. Darby makes her apologies and stands to follow after the man to take the call.
"Ahhhh...I didn't read Winter's caution or tendency to duck to groud as 'fickle'," Echo says with a smile. "But you're not wrong. It's a better foundation with...well... those who stay--" She's interrupted by the phone call, with visible surprise. "Oh." And when Darby's called away, she looks back at the others, especially Nathania, a smooth enough transition. "I believe you when you say you're safe. But would you call your fellows, new as some of us are in our ways, if you didn't need...something more? It sounds like we have threats and not enough information about many of them. Information to be gotten in manners both official and not, so as to find solutions?" she prompts. "Or am I in the weeds?" This feels like a long speech for the reverberating Darkling, and it almost suffices to really put her into focus.
"I have not yet had to discuss the soundless. They appear to be relegated to the paranoid role. In any case, You could assign either role to me and I could look at either problem, though I suppose one in the hedge is more suitable. I will consider which one better suits my roles and placements." He says nothing as Darby leaves and continues to glance towards Nathania and Echo. "There are always those to play the role of loyalists. Recapture is an ever present role reversal."
Nathania nods after watching Darby leave, startled, but settling soon enough. "Echo, that sounds... ideal. Get information. Yes. Speak.... to Cassian about the briarwolves, and Lulu about the dream issue, now that... I think about it. Ashe will.. point you in the right direction... for the Soundless," she adds. "Forgive... me; I'm not... all here, right now. The attack was.. weeks ago, but... I still have more nightmares.... than usual." A shrug, apologetic. Then she glances to Cyril. "You need... a role specifically given? Ok. I'll.... take Dreams; you ... take Briarwolves; and Echo, can you take... the Soundless? I'm afraid I burned... that bridge... a while ago." She frowns.
"I do admit one thing, Nathania -- I'm at a small disadvantage when it comes to helping. I haven't met many people here," Echo admits. "When you say Cassian or Lulu or Ashe? I don't know who any of those people are. I haven't joined your freehold yet -- I'm still getting my bearings. This is not to say I need handholding, just a little more push in the right direction, maybe some context. Where do I find this Ashe to ask those questions about the rival freehold? I can put it under guise of a newcomer, I don't mind playing innocent." The more she talks, the easier Echo is to comprehend, the more natural she is as something like a person rather than a lurking presence. "Do you have confidence in how things are being handled here?" she asks at last of the ragdolly. In contrast to Cyril, there's a sense that she doesn't think twice about whether she's filling a particular role; there's something formless and shifty to her instead.
You can almost tell that Cyril is beginning to form words, but muddling over what exactly those words should be as Echo begins to ask the questions. Finally though, once Echo finishes, Cyril begins with "Ashe is the Autumn Monarch. Presumably, in relation to you, she would fulfill two roles: That of inductor and validity." There's a long pause before he slowly leaves the chair and nods, "Roles are important. They are why society works. What am I but a collection of roles? I must fulfill my roles. I shall assist Cassian. I bid you both a good day." Though at the rate he leaves, you could probably have two more conversations.
Nathania waves to Cyril, and doesn't stare at his slow meander out the door. Instead, she turns to Echo. "Ashe is, indeed, the Autumn... Monarch. She spends time... at the Wayhouse." She gives that address. "If... she isn't... there, she's at the.... Whelan.... Chronicle--" address given for that, too-- "or Stoneheart, in... the Near Hedge." She nods, and gives directions to there, too. "Pledge, if you want. I think we... should have... some more... of us in the Freehold, personally, but I'm... not one to take away... free will." A wry grin. "It's up to... you, ultimately, if... you Pledge."
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