Difference between revisions of "Log:An Utridge Morning"

26 April, 2018

Uncle and nephew have an early afternoon talk.

Red Clover Hotel

It's still morning and most of the Utridges (those that live at the Hotel) are already up and about. The younglings, at school and the adults, working at the Hotel and off of it the same way. Ben, though, recently named assistant manager of the family business is still in the family wing. He's wearing one of his tailored suits, but the top of it lies over one shoulder lazyly as he walks at the hall calmly. His eyes are marked with dark rings showing that he was up until very late in the night. At some point, he stops and leans against a wall and takes a deep breath as his free hands goes to his face to massage his tired eyes.

Unlike the elder Utridge, Weaver slept through the late night and the morning like a newborn babe. As he exits his room he's dressed in a plain, blue t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of sandals as he greets the morning sun. Ben nets a slow wave from Weaver as he yawns, and he asks, "I take it somebody was babysitting. Or skirt-chasing. Maybe even just getting drunk at this unconscionable hour." The last said with a wink as he lets out a slow chuckle. "Any fucking number of things, really."

"Hello, Weaver." Ben offers to the man with a tired voice."No. Neither of these options. I had to make a trip to the Market. Looking for a piece of information." He says as he blinks and looks the younger Utridge from top to bottom."You, though, slept all night long, hm? How are you doing?" He asks as he closes his arms arounds his chest and looks the younger Utridge from top to bottom. His mantle, lit candles in many sizes spreading the scent of burnt herbs and mystical signs carved on the ground are organized in a perfect circle around the man making the Witchtooth look ready to cast a spell. Or a curse.

Weaver sports a mocking frown when none of his guesses were right, and hooks his thumbs into his pockets as he leans against the wall. His mantle expresses itself in splotches of inky blackness that move to and fro on his clothing while his shadow sports some monstrous appearance behind him. "Doing as well as I'll ever be, although I'd fucking kill for some eggs benedict. Maybe even-" His voice cuts out, brow quirked as he looks over Ben. "What kinda information are you out there asking for? Trying to find the seventh son of the seventh son or some mojo like that?"

Ben takes the time Weaver is talking to look at the other Lost's mantle's manifestation with mild curiosity. When the question is made, though, his yellow eyes shift to meet Weaver's."No. Nothing as powerful as that. I was looking for a specific Hob. But discovered it is dead now. It costed my favorite watch." He answers looking a bit frustrated as he rises his shirt's sleeve to show a bare wrist with a light mark of a watch.

Weaver nods solemnly, but despite what looks like sympathy he shrugs. "Well, they're usually a dime a dozen. Maybe a baker's dozen, but I can never really tell completely. And that watch sounds like you can replace it. Probably with a better one too. Oh!" He's smiling wide now. "You can get one of them fancy as fuck pocket watches!"

"It must be pretty. It doesn't need to work. What kind of man do you think I am?" Ben asks giving the other Utridge a grimm smile with his joke. The, he ponders for a second, probably looking for something to say about the family ongoings."That'd be good to all of us. Our family is pretty stagnant right now, actually. I spent 16 years away while a Fetch was here in my place. So I have no clue on what had happened. But count on me to back you up on any plan you come with to put our name back on the light. No matter what."

"Oh yeah, that part I think you told me about. I had one myself, but I like mine alive. He proves very, /very useful for a few of my other problems down in NY." Weaver nods to that, smiling briefly. "But that's not too important, least of all to me. As for the shine we need on our name we gotta do it the way all these fuckers love nowadays. Philanthropy's the future of PR, and, of course, the right kind of bribing around town. If we can find the right kinda causes around town it'll be easy enough starting out. If I had my way, though, we'd get one of ours on the city council."

Ben arches a brow at the last phrase and ponders for a second."Is that your goal? Having a seat at the City's Council. You know everyone, including the Alexanders, our allies, like to make games to block us from that seat, right?" He asks looking a little bit cautionous as he stares at the young Utridge."But. If that's what you really want, we can go for it."

"My goal for the family, yes. I'd sooner rip out my fucking fangs before I even pretend to do that kinda shit." A shiver runs down Weaver's spine and he has to take a deep breath to continue. He lets it out with a tired sigh that quickly turns into a yawn. "What I fucking want for myself," he says as he jabs his thumb into his chest, "is every goddamned ounce of gold in this town, but I'd sooner find a flying pig than I get that."

"Money? Isn't this enough for you?" The elder Utridge asks gesturing with his black hand around to include the Hotel and, probably, the whole family property."We're not exactly the wealthier family in the city, but we do have a lot of money." He questions Weaver.

"It isn't about the wealth or the value," Weaver responds with a wry smile and a chuckle. "But I can live without it. For now, at least. Don't worry, though. I do love this place, and I can get all the gold in this town I'll stash some of it here. That reminds me. Maybe we should see about putting a vault here at some point. For reasons."

"You mean a huge vault? Like a bank's vault?" Ben asks arching a brow in a light arch to the other Utridge's idea."There is a basement. It's door was covered years ago when Eleanor decided to enlarge the kitchen in the ground floor. But it's big enough to hold a decent sized vault, I guess. We just need to convince her." He explains briefly."She prefers to keep the important stuff at the bank. She says it's safer if we keep it away from our own roof."

There's another shiver from Weaver as he admits, "I don't trust banks." Beat. "At least for the stuff I consider important enough that I'd kill for it." He stops for a moment to straighten out the hem of his shirt, the practice calming him some as smoke begins to leave his now flared nostrils. "But, it's something to run by her another day. Maybe in two weeks or say. At the most five."

Ben nods to Weavers statement sagely."I see your point. There is no banks in this world that can't keep things safe from people like us." He then looks at his black hand for a second."What are you trying to keep safe, Weaver? If you don't mind me asking."

"A few things, nothing of mortal value." He stops, dragging a claw against against his scaled cheek as he goes silent for a few seconds. "But, these are things very valuable to me, and I don't like to talk about them." A dragon and his treasure. "Anyway, I think I got us way sidetracked. I can see about getting another watch for you. You got a favorite kind of metal?"

Ben stares at the claw and the scales for a second before answering."Silver. It's related to the Moon and the night in the occultism." He offers and pauses for a second as something come to his mind resulting in a grimm smile."What would that cost me, Weaver? Is that what you want? A favor."

Weaver shakes his head, unfurling his arms fully and opens his hands to bare. "Nah, if I wanted something I'd fucking tell ya. Trust me." The last said with a wink as he brings his arms back to his chest. "This is a small favor, and we're family. It shouldn't be that hard to get what's needed, and I figured you might be a silver kinda guy. Either that or, maybe, Apache tears."

Ben sighs tiredly."I'm really sorry, Weaver. Sometimes it's hard to me to trust people. I spend too much time around the Market and dealing with the Hobs." He then offers the young Utridge a gentle smile."Yes. You're right. We're family. If you give me a new watch, I'll appreciate that. Just don't bring home a cursed item, please."

"We're Lost," Weaver notes with a wicked smile. "Almost everything we touch'll be cursed in due time. It's just a matter of who or what'll get cursed." To that he laughs, but admits, "I suppose you know more about true curses, tough. Anyway, I'll get it to you ASAP."

Ben grins at the curse comment."Thank you very much again. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know. Especially if its dangerous and illegal." He grins."You know the way to my room. Don't be shy, boy. I always hide a good bootle of scotch up there." He offers to the young Utridge as he stands up and yawns.