Log:Second Court of Autumn

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Second Court of Autumn

"Happy Bonfire Night!"


Alistair, Rorschach, Kiril, Echo, Vorpal, Czcibor, November, Polk, Tom, Rozalia, Ziv, Cassian, Dielle, Byron, Ashe, Briefly-Appearing Mermaid


The Second Court of the Autumn Season happens.


The Broken Hearth H06

The Broken Hearth is slowly getting repaired. Duncan, the resident Bridgemason having been working on things slowly. Probably showing his apprentice the ropes. Much like the first Autumn gathering the Broken Hearth is decorated in the heraldic colors. Reds, oranges, browns, golden yellows and greys. There's also a table set up with food and drink on it. Refreshments were a good thing!

And the Monarch? Well, Ashe is standing at the front of the room straightening out a few chairs and talking with her husband. The Shadowsoul is dressed in a simple outfit tonight. Jeans, red t-shirt, grey sweater jacket and brown riding boots. Her stitched face seems...concerned as she settles the last chair down. "There. That's done." she smiles.

Meanwhile, there's a huge bat...dragon...something hanging from the roof of the Broken Hearth with it's wings wrapped about it and sleeping.

Byron? Yeah, its court. Byron does not exactly...dress up in his hedgespun finest. No, that's a set of M.I.T. Sweats clinging to the obsidian gargoyle, his axe strapped across his back. He even smiles a little in the back and forth with the Queen as the rest of the chairs are set out, then glances up at the bat and murmurs, "Can I tell someone that pisses me off that you forgot to feed him today?" Well, that thought brightened him up.

Dielle shows up wearing a black, shabby wool coat. She's got a look on her face like she's contemplating rather deeply, and that whatever she's contemplating isn't generally pleasant. She hails Ashe and Byron, before going to find a seat. When she takes off her coat, it shows that she's wearing a black t-shirt with a white unicorn on it. The unicorn has a rainbow mane and tail and a mean look on its face, with a razor taped to its horn. The caption reads "I Will Cut You." She finds a table and takes her place at it.

For once, Ziv is not late arriving to Court - fancy that. She's possibly a bit early, all told, trotting into the cavern dressed... nicely enough, maybe festively enough. Somewhere she's found a lightweight, gauzy dress with a heavier under layer - it drapes in asymmetrical tears in the skirt, wrapping around her body and leaving her fuzzy shoulders bare. Reds and oranges with a touch of gold against black, with a white shrug. She's not wearing shoes, but has decided to wrap her lower legs to match the dress. It looks very nice.

It doesn't really account for, though, that as she walks in she's looking up at the bat-dragon thing hanging from the ceiling in awe, her ears possibly having caught the sound of it. Which means she's not watching where she's going, and summarily trips and falls on her face.

When she does so the small, black and silver bat perched at the back of her neck chatters at her scoldingly.

Tony shows up just with everyone else. He's the odd duck out, looking human. He wanders over to the same place he was at last time. Standing off to the side of the table, he puts his back ot the wall so he can see everyone. Dressed casual in jeans and a Patriots jacket, he folds his hands in front of him and waits in silence.

Rorschach looked like he just stalked My Chemical Romance into a back alley and beat them to death and stole their clothes. Somethings was //off// with the Lieutanant/Watcher-Elect. The immediate area around him was blotted dark like a stain leaving that blood red coat of his standing out like a Sin City comic. Was... was it dripping!? Seriously the coat may be bleeding. Still the nightmare stalker was armed and armoured and keeping a close eye on- not the people but the spaces between them.

Kowal-- Rotmistrz, not Captain, when Byron is around-- arrives on Ziv's heels, dressed for hedge-spelunking in his battered remains of a Napoleonic army uniform, immense iron bastard sword strapped to his back. He stops before tripping over her, and offers a hand up; his face is expressionless, almost like he's an automaton, but his voice is kind. "All right?"

So, there's a newcomer - Kiril's here in a dark gray trench-style raincoat, though he's taking it off as he comes in, to drape it over one arm. He proves to be wearing a dark green shooting sweater beneath, and faded black fatigue pants. Someone does a lot of shopping in military surplus stores, evidently.

The Soldier has a furry companion: a big white and gray spitz dog, with a curled tail and brown eyes. The dog's wearing a blue doggy raincoat, though Kiril kneels to take it off him, once they're in the confines of the cave. He tucks it into the corner of his arm along with his own coat, looking for somewhere to stand out of the way and observe. "I would like a cookie, please," the Dog requests softly, voice surprisingly mellow, as he looks up at the Wizened. "I'll find one for ya," Kiril tells him, equally quietly, before heading for the refreshments, the Dog heeling politely.

There's always something a bit jarring about seeing someone as transparently (har har) inhuman as November wearing something as mundane as human fabrics.

It's quite a bit MORE jarring when those fabrics consist of a stretchy, fiery tie-dyed scarlet/tangerine tube top, matching running shorts in a lighter fabric, and fluorescent pink and purple running shoes. A silver charm anklet and a cheap mood ring complete the outfit, such as it is, her efforts at mortal attire nonetheless the equivalent of giving an ice sculpture a scarf: it just looks -wrong-.

Quite possibly chosen to be as eye-searingly painful to look at as possible, the Ancient's overflowing colours for the evening shift through an ever-changing array of neon greens, yellows, fluorescent purples and blues, highlighted by what looks like a little array of tiny LED lights stuck to the insides of her tube top, shorts and sneakers. Who needs to be a Bright One to glow?

The Dawn takes a lean near the entrance, as usual, expression set in one of mild amusement. Naturally, positioned as she is, EVERYone who walks past her will have their Mantles mucked with...

Tom has gotten creative with duct tape. First, the jean jacket, liberally decorated with the silver tape, reading TEAM MOON in big awkward tape letters on the back. Then, his squashy duct tape origami flowers, held like a bouquet. There's also duct tape on his battered tennis shoes, but that seems less intentional than the "3M SQUAD" taped onto one of his sleeves. The campaign for next season has begun, and as far as Tom is concerned, he's already showing Moon Court pride. Happily, for all that Moon court pride, no one yet has been literally mooned...but anyone who will take a flower can cheerfully get one from the fuzzy cat man. He lumbers in, and alongside brandishing the fake roses, looks for his best chosen seat.

Cassian had been thankful for the damage to Stoneheart, as the natural outcroppings and crystalwork gave him easy access as long as he was close. It wasn't as nice for Rozalia, but, just as he slips from one of the crystals he manages to snake out a hand and prevent her from tumbling too violently. Cassian hangs for a moment on one of the outcroppings, before dropping delicately to the floor with Roz in his arms. Was everyone already there? Cassian gives a glance around for a moment, before rubbing at his chin. "Here we are..." he offers to the beauty he's arrived with.

Ariving with the fanfaire that is himself, Alistair enters with the flourish of a cloak and the flash of steel.. at least that shimmering from the polish of his hilt. Bearing it drawn would be gauche. Rather, that which is drawn is a smile of bright teeth and a pleasant nod to all present. Slung over his shoulder but beneath the cloak is a long leathern case which flares at one end. There's a glance to the bastard sword bearing fellow and he looks the blade over briefly before walking to the fore of the room. It would seem he is not one to be a wallflower. As he passes, the power of his mantle and the hope is bears is palpable. His is a demeanor that is indefatigable.

Echo is not far behind Kiril and his doggy companion, and is herself a new face; a vibrating chill in her presence that announces her as a Winter courtier. It seems she means to be quiet, up until Beren the dog speaks up for a cookie, at which point she makes a squeaking "oooooh!" sound of delight. The voice really brings her into focus; she's an overlook-able Darkling, even with powerful Wyrd, up until she talks. It just sounds delightful, because she is delighted. One of those types, it seems. She doesn't follow the other Winter and his pup to the refreshments; instead, she pauses to look around. There's a lot of faces and behaviors to take in. Shadowsoul, most comfortable in the shadows, even when likely here to pledge.

"Y-yeah," grumbles Ziv, voice having grown somewhat more squeaky in embarrassment. She takes hold of Czcibor's hand when it's offered to her, keeping weight off her wings (which are useful sometimes - but not always) as she gets up to her feet and then retracts the wing to readjust her dress and shrug. "Sorry if I um, tripped you up there," she offers to the tin soldier, clearly abashed, then reaches back to poke the silver and black bat on her shoulders with an upper knuckle as he continues to chitter. Falling to silence, the hedgebeast crawls to the other shoulder to sulk.

"Hi... again... we've met, right?" she asks Czcibor, dark brown eyes narrowing into something of a squint and her ears flicking backwards.

In Rorschach's wake comes someone dressed in increasingly ratty and worn clothing, the top half of their face eaten by a shadow that just won't quit. Beneath is an idle Cheshire grin, heedless of the darkness that tries to occlude it time and again as they drift across the fellow's form. Where darkness doesn't swallow him, light passes through, exposing bone, or the prehensile blades where his phalanges should be. His scars, though- his extensive, artful, swirling, whorling scars care naught for shade or fade, remaining in place regardless. And as if all that wasn't strange enough, all it takes is one look, and the sheer Wyrdness of him is immediately, sublimely evident.

He doesn't look safe at all. But he -does- look calm and- if one can trust the unvanishing smile- happy. So that's probably good.

As Rorschach slips into the room, Vorpal does as well, the background din of knives working change drowned in November's own Mantle as he pauses where she stands to sweep an inhumanly elegant bow, addressing her momentarily with a simple, warm "Dearest November," before straightening and turning in the same motion, sweeping over to where Ziv and the Captain are extricating the bat from her own feet.

"Nono, Neville, you're quite right to chide her, don't let her tell you different. -Had- she been paying attention to the most impressive bat in the room, she wouldn't have been staring upwards and tripped. Just so." Does he know what Neville's saying? Nope. Not a clue. But it's what HE would have said, so obviously it's Neville's line, too. Vorpal comes to a stop on the shoulder where Neville rests, offering a brighter smile to the pair. "Ziv. Captain. A fine evening. May I join you?"

Rozalia's followed Cassian into more dangerous situations. The Lady Sage allows her other half to catch her and there's a smile to him, "I think we're right on time." she tells him in that heavily accented tone. "Better go find a seat." she nudges him.

As people begin to trail in and settle into the cavern, Byron takes his cue to settle back further against the wall and hunker down on the floor, resting on his haunches and wrapping his arms around his knees. He seems quite happy to fold his wings in close and sit where he can watch the Queen...and the entire rest of the chamber. Dielle and Tom and the bug even get the faintest hint of a smile from him as his attention wanders to each face.

As Cassian takes a look about the room, a sneer crosses his lips. "All these weapons, and not a one risen against a bunch of tanks at our door," He says, smartly. Then, he notices Byron, "Okay, maybe one." In a moment, he's following along after Roz nudges him. He keeps a distance from others, clearly displeased with the lot, but he does fall quiet, some would be thankful for.

"Well, looks like we've got a lot of people this evening." Ashe states as she gives a wave to everyone. "Please get something to drink and eat if you would like and then find a seat." she calls out over the crowd." she tells them. "If anyone has any emergency business that we need to hear, please come and join me, otherwise I'd like to go over a few things and then we'll go to Courts and things of that nature." she explains.

"You didn't trip me up. That would have been very loud. But-- yes, we've met briefly, in the Cat-22 Collective," Czcibor answers pleasantly, straightening up and keeping his head turned in Ziv's direction for a moment longer before he turns his face to scan the room. Then it's back to Ziv. His accent is mostly Polish, though tinged with Austrian. "Captain Kowal der Landeswehr. I'm the one who protested the eating of cats." There's humor in his voice there, though his face still doesn't change at all. He gestures. "I am going to--"

--and then there's Vorpal, and the toy soldier's voice goes even more amused, even as resonant and hollow as it is. "Vorpal," he greets, doing the man the favor of not calling him Dingleheimer. "That's fine with me; I'd been planning to sit by Dielle. But I do need to sit." As good as his word, he heads for her table, unslinging his great big heavy black sword from his back.

Polk watches Byron move over to the wall and take a seat. Unwilling to leave the guy to sit alone, Tony moves over to stand beside him. Nothing said, no reach out. Just some quiet solidarity. His eyes continues to look over the group. When the crown speaks, his eyes move away from her and around the crowd. There's no attempt to hide it, he just does his jo

Dielle shoves a chair out for Tom, then another one out for Czcibor. She looks around. Anyone else? Plenty of table.

Cookies for Winter and dog, cups of water for the both. Though in this case, Beren gets a water bowl of his own, some folding thing taken from one of Kiril's pockets. Then seats by the wall, for now - reluctant to even be seen to align himself with a group, for now. Beren slurps noisily from the water dish, and then sitsdown.

Neville, the silver-haired hedgebat sitting on Ziv's shoulder, looks completely smug with what Vorpal says. Did it think the shadowy entity's words were about it? Who knows, but it doesn't seem to be telling at the moment. There's a flutter of wings, and Neville leaves Ziv for the sake of Vorpal's shadows, crawling into them. She's been abandoned! By her own Hedgebeast!

"...Oh," Ziv doesn't comment on where her tiny, flighty companion has gone to, seeming preoccupied with the Tin Captain for the moment. "I... remember now. Ziv Allendale," she introduces herself, pushing her tongue into the interior of her cheek with that, and giving a small nod of her head. "Thanks for... helping me up," she finishes.

Then she looks up and over at Vorpal, studying his face (or perhaps the shadows), and giving another dip of her head accompanied by the sliver of a smile. "Yeah, you can. I'm glad to see you... going to go get something to eat first, though, before I go sit. Do you want anything? Other than the mini-nuisance."

Rorschach turned his inky gaze up to Byron. Empty hand closed over fist, the gesture shoved scantly towards his Captain. The roach was uncommonly focused. He stopped by where he could find the rainbow and handed her one playing card(?) with an eypward flick of his eyebrows in mute greeting, presumably still Vorpal in tow perhaps? He wasn't sweating the hunter of hunters behind him. His destination was, however, across from Dielle and next to Tom.

Tom drapes into his seat at Dielle's table and, after some kind of opening remark, flings one of his blossoms at Czcibor, probably by way of greeting. When the soldier catches it, he grins, but his posture is turning cat-boneless once he has his seat. The kind of pose that suggests he might go in for napping rather than paying close attention.

Czcibor's metal body is apparently fast enough. To catch a rose, at least. He otherwise sits uncannily still, face never changing expression from the bland and pleasant one he walked in with.

Dielle holds her hand out at Tom, eyebrows raised, although Rorschach gets a smile. She says something quietly to the table.

Echo seems to consider wallflowering, briefly; she does so while taking the time to watch a number of faces. But as much as she's built for it, she's also not built for it in the long run. She picks a seat that's a bit far back, out of the way of most business, carefully chosen to people-watch yet seem inviting enough for fellow almost-wallflowers or seatless to park near.

Alistair notes the presence of November with a smile and a bow of his chin. It is a familiar gesture and he indicates a place at his right in invitation to where he's come to stand in the space between the green and yellow tables. It would seem he is loathe to sit.. perhaps on account of his package. In either case, his attention comes to rest upon the fire at the center of the room and then begins to sweep the interior, taking in those gathered.

Vorpal glances Dielle's way, nodding a greeting, as the Captain draws his attention that way. Byron and Polk, too, are greeted wordlessly, a hand lifted to wave their way in idle salute. "Excellent. Then I'll join your table, Captain." He smiles back at Ziv- or smiles wider, at least- at least until he catches her question. -That- wilts the smile for a heartbeat, before it's reinforced and he shakes his head. "I appreciate you asking, but no, I don't think I'll be having anything just now. But thank you, Ziv." Neville's betrayal is rewarded with a particularly dense patch of shadow on his shoulder for the bat to gloat within. "Go get your snacks. I'll be at the table." He follows the Captain to Dielle's table and offers both her and Tom a grin as he pulls his own chair out on the other side of the Captain. "Lieutenant. Rookie." He drops into the seat with languid ease, perched with ineffable ease, his hand on the free seat beside him and waiting for Ziv to return, at which point it'll be dragged out for her to settle.

At Dielle's table, Czcibor meticulously and carefully and precisely entwines Tom's duct tape rose in his wiry hair, above his ear. So pretty.

November obliges Alistair's offer with boneless grace (does ice even have bones?), easing up from her position by the entrance to sidestep along the endless space of the ever-perfectly sized room. There are always enough seats, always enough tables, and, for her purposes, enough floor space to drift to a halt on and murmur a light, "First Court?"

Neville is content to join Vorpal to the table. Is it gloating? It may very well be, who knows with bats... Other than Ashe or Ziv, anyway.

Ziv herself, the very chiropteran Changeling, heads over to the table before piling a plate up with snacks laid out on it, of various types - but for whatever reason she mostly abstains from meat. It's along the lines of fruit, vegetables, and sweets. Thus supplied, she heads over to the table with that various others, settling into the chair Vorpal's pulled out for her. Dark eyes landing on Tom with some recognition, she cocks a smile his way and says, "Oh, hey."

At Ashe's mention of business, Cassian defers to Byron or Dielle to brief the others. He was content to hold them all in disdain, which was a bit of a stereotypical thing for him to do anyway. Maybe Cassian was becoming predictable. He shuffles along with Roz, finding a seat where he could sit beside her.

Kiril is contenting himself with feeding tidbits to Beren, who happily wolfs them down. The Wizened's used to waiting - that's the old joke about life in the army, 90 percent boredom, ten percent sheer terror. There's no impatience in his face, no much of anything, save for the roving observation of his glance. Beren sighs and rests his head on his Changeling's knee.

Alistair chuckles at November's inquiry. "First? No. Here? Naturally." He looks to the scintillating woman at his side and smiles. "I merely am not one to entertain the sidelines. I am here. For better or for worse, I am who I am and always shall be. If the court is displeased..." There's a shrug as if to suggest he doesn't much care if they do." There's a mention of drink and he looks about again. "Care for a glass?"

Ashe looks around the room. No one seems to have emergency business. So she continues on. "The Soundless seem to be remaining soundless for the moment. Samantha and Marty have not contacted me. If they do. I will let everyone know." she states.

She then goes on, "Second, the recent murder that happened on the Stagbridge was one of our own. A woman by the name of Anne Marie Tennyson. She was a member of this Freehold in the Spring with her husband. They left in the Summer for their own reasons. We're going to look into this more. If you make frequent trips into Fort Brunsett, be a bit more careful. Just in case." she states.

She takes a breath, "We have one of those enhanced Briarwolves that needs cut open and autopsied. Cyril wants to lead the autopsy. If anyone else wants to help. Please let us know." she tells them. Then there's a look about, "Any other Dream weirdness?" she asks.

Byron glances up to look at Polk when the man approaches, flashing another faint smile and a nod of his head. When Ashe mentions emergency business, the gargoyle does slowly lumber back to his feet, "My Queen, you are already aware, but it is important to warn the rest of the freehold, and I or one of the Lieutenants can post a notice on our way out. If anyone has themselves, or heard of someone...buying items from a Lost named Thudlump, it is critically important that you let us know and have the item looked at. The items were willingly given to Thudlump by one of Them, and tasked with a pledge to sell them to a hundred Lost. Even if you were not the fated last purchaser, understand you own an item a Gentry handed out on purpose. I would recommend getting rid of it. Quickly." With that said, he shoots a curious look at Rorschach to make sure he didnt miss anything, then offers a tightlipped smile back to Ashe, offering a bow of his head, "That is all."

Dielle takes a duct tape rose from Tom, with a big grin. She takes her hat off and puts it in the hatband, next to the peacock feather, but she listens pretty closely to what's being said. She looks /entirely/ unsurprised at most of what was said, but she doesn't look real happy about it.

Rorschach stood and turned to the room signing to them. Reaching up he drew shadows down overhead like skywriting subtitles. <<If you have questions you can find me, Dielle, Byron.>> The bugman's jaw tightened when Byron mentioned hte Hundreth, but kept signing <<Remember, the Goblins and those in the market have no loyalty to us. That is not our market nor our hedge. Be cautious, remain suspiscious. It keeps you and the colony, our freehold, safe. Nothing is free but our undivided attention if you have need of it.>>

Vorpal straightens, holding one of those duct-tape roses out towards Ziv as Byron, Ashe and Rorschach share their words for the Court. He's paying attention- insofar as you can tell when you can't see a fellow's eyes for the shadows over them- and as of yet seems roughly in agreement with everything said.

Ashe looks to Byron and there's a nod, "And that, yes." she nods. "Also, Etsy sent word that she, Lulu and Dielle are coordinating about the Dream Sickness so if anyone is needing to look into that." she points out. She gives Dielle a look, to make sure that's a correct message. "I think most cases are cleared up by now. But we might have a few stragglers." she states.

Dielle is eyeing some of her tablemates with a look of impatience. "Etsy and Lulu have done a lot more than me, but yeah." She holds her hand out to Vorpal, who's holding a duct tape rose out towards Ziv.

Alistair was paying attention, if quietly, to the reports of the various goings on. As inconspicuous, or lack thereof, as he was, he stepped aside to pour himself a glass of wine and one for November before returning to her side and continuing to watch the affairs of state. Politics was always better with a drink in hand.

Ashe gives a look around, noting a few new faces that she's not met, "Is there anyone here that wishes to pledge to the Freehold?" she asks. "Or anyone that's pledged that wishes to introduce themselves in a more public manner." she offers. "Autumns updates are that the Ashen Hunt will be at the end of this month. Our prey will be announced the week before." she tells the gathered.

Echo pushes herself to her feet, up from the table she's at, where she's been taking everything in. A lot of mental notes. She doesn't speak to volunteer herself, coming up slowly, one glance behind her at the other Winter in Kiril and his dog-like companion before proceeding forward to pledge. Again, it's really not until she speaks that she seems to really ink herself into notice: "Thank you, Majesty." So solemn, the Winter with the torc; it's clear she takes this with deepest seriousness, in three little words.

Finally, the Winter and his dog get up from their seats to pace forward to whatever proper space is, the better to be seen. "Yes, ma'am," Kiril says, to be echoed in a deeper, thicker voice by the dog. They end up a little to the side and left of Echo. There's a distinct sheen of sweat on the Soldier's brow, his throat working nervously. To be the center of attention, it's almost literally painful.

Alistair gives a look left down the circle of tables. Looks to the right down the circle. His expression is bemused and so he steps forward. "Good gentlefolk." He speaks with a voice that is heard. The room brightened by his mere presence. Indeed, he wears the mantle of spring as naturally as any leaf upon a tree. "I am Alistair Griffin." He lifts two palms as if to greet them all. "I have come from France but recently and pledged to your hold as a matter of personal interest. Should any of you bear woes. Feel a heavy burden. Or merely need a steady hand beside you in any onerous task? I beseech thee to seek me out. If I can offer naught but words, I will give them with a forthright cast." He smiles broadly. "Meanwhile, I invite you to come be entertained at the Rising Sun tourney. It is where I can be found most days." He gives a sweeping bow then steps back to offer his full attention upon those about to give oaths.

At Dielle's blue table, the tin man in the red Napoleonic army jacket stares at Alistaire for a long moment, then stands up and lifts a hand. "I'm Captain Czcibor Kowal der Landeswehr, but as the Harvestmen already have a awesome Captain and I've only just joined, call me Kowal." He says it like 'KO-val'; his accent's clearly Polish. He's also equally clearly a hell of a lot of spring; there are roses and morning glory vines creeping around all near him except when they come in contact with Dielle's mantle. "I'm the guy who got unintentionally completely shitfaced at November's party my first day here, and also the guy with the hot air balloon. Uh, and if you need healed at three in the morning because of doing something stupid in the hedge and getting gored by a polka-dotted lion-boar, that's fine because I don't sleep and my oathmate's a Darkling. I'll tack my cellphone number up at the Wayhouse later." A pause. "Thanks. Sorry. Carry on." And then he definitely sits down again.

"Thank you, Alistair and Czcibor." the Monarch states with a smile. Then Ashe gives a smile to Echo and Kiril when they approach, "Good evening." she tells them. "What are your names?" she asks them.

Kiril mutters something under his breath about wondering if his mother knows he's wearing the drapes. Beren gives his Changeling a very stern look and checks him gently with a shoulder against Kiril's leg. No offending people at his first big event, New Yorker or no. The Wizened coughs, straightens a fraction, and then bows. The dog inclines his head, as well. When he straightens, he says, "I'm Kiril Morozov, lately of the Freehold of Cyclone's Landing," A beat, and he adds, "AKA Brooklyn, and this is my companion, Beren the malamute." Beren wags his tail and sits up as if to beg, offering a forepaw in greeting. C'mon, Your Majesty, shake.

Echo maybe catches Kiril's mutter, because there's a brief moment where she laughs. It's a contagious sound, but she bottles it fast to give the man and his dog first dibs at introductions. The Darkling falls into her own shortly after. "Isabel Madrigal, but Echo to most friends and acquaintances," she says. "Previously at the Glasshouse Freehold in Missouri, and before that hailing from the Mistake on the Lake." From Cleveland to here. Is that a step up or down?

November, being the discreet and kind and polite and lovely creature that she is, only blinks slowly at Czcibor's description of himself. And smiles. ...and leans in toward Alistair to murmur a mild, "Chu chu culm. Does it every time."

Ashe gives a smile to Kiril and Echo, "It is nice to meet you both." she tells them. "One moment." the Queen states. Then she takes a knee in front of Beren and the Shadowsoul smiles widely, "Hello, Beren." she states as she reaches out to shake his forepaw. "Such a good boy." she tells him. Then she stands back up.

She looks between the two Winters, "It's my understanding that you've read the Laws. So if you'll repeat after me." she tells them.

"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."

Beren is absolutely agog, his mask lighting up with canine pleasure. He can't even speak, as he settles back to his haunches, but looks up at Kiril. Did you see that? Did you? I'm a good dog! Kiril ruffles the Malamute's head, and recites the oath back to the Queen, carefully. Then Beren licks his whiskers and echoes it, managing not to stumble over it; he sounds like nothing so much as a Cub Scout signing on to his first pack. There's another bow from the Wizened, and once he has permission to withdraw, he backs them towards the seats along the wall he'd originally claimed. "Do I get more than one cookie? I'm a good dog!" Beren asserts in a stage whisper that could be heard in Topeka, as they find their seats again.

Echo is one of those who recites a pledge, repeating after Ashe, with real weight behind her words. At least, she seems like that's the case, but it might be a trick of that pretty voice and its flexibility. Really feeling those words, even as she goes quickly quiet and sketches a kind of bow to the Queen as soon as she's done talking.

Cassian had expected discussion of a more ... martial nature, and it wasn't addressed. As the others begin to pledge, he turns his attentions instead to the gathered crowd quietly. Fathomless orbs peer over each of them in turn, though the Darkling is quick to look elsewhere when the glance crosses November--Goddamn that's bright. Cassian didn't notice any other Dusk, besides Rozalia at his size, and so his business was seemingly concluded.

When the others begin pledging, Byron seems to finally decide to move again, even groaning a little as he slowly rises back up to his feet and gives his wings a little stretch, almost bopping Polk with one, which elicits a soft, "Sorry, man." Rolling his shoulders, the gargoyle takes in a deep breath and waits, watching the Queen and the people pledging to her.

Look, sometimes a floof appears late. This is sort of Etsy's rite and custom. The mermaid floofs gently in and flops gently down near enough to Cassian that her sprawling, overwhelming Spring Mantle is dampened somewhat. The blue-grey-furred otter following at her feet mutters, "... think you'd let me buy you an alarm clock, you ridiculous creature... "

Ashe just gives a smile to Beren and there's a bit of a grin over to Byron and a mouthed 'can we have one?' to her husband. There's probably going to be a big old nope. Once the Winters have been pledged in, she hands each of them a pin, "Just a token of my appreciation to you." she tells them. Then she allows everyone to retake their seats. "Is there any other business that needs to be brought up before we close court?" she asks the crowd.

Once the two newer-than-him freehold members are sworn in, Czcibor carefully picks himself back up from his seat and slings his bastard sword back around his back and shoulder as quietly and quickly as possible. He leans in and says something quietly to the people at his table, and briefly puts a hand very lightly on Ziv's shoulder in passing; he slips out the back before the traffic starts.

Dielle bids Czcibor a farewell, but aside from keeping half an ear on the table, she's mostly watching the new people introduce themselves. Cassian's getting some curious looks from her, as well. A lot of them.