Log:Foggy Notions

Foggy Notions
If you would, please sit. I would like to speak with you.
Participants Franklyn & Nuit	7 May, 2018 Franklyn Garreau is out looking at dewdrops shine in the light of dawn -- but a fog rolls in, and brings a Nuit who's tracked the Mortal down to ask some questions...
Location Mrs. Evelyn Miller Memorial Gardens
Crisp, bright, clear: it may not be the hottest day in May, but at least the sun is shining. Not too long after dawn, and everything is illuminated with the rose-gold hues of the rising sun; there may be nebulous swathes of cotton-candy colours in the east, but the skies directly above are bright, crystalline blue. Along the garden paths of the Evelyn Miller Memorial Gardens, dewdrops have congregated on grass and flower buds, giving everything a jewel like appearance. Somewhere towards the back of the park, is Franklyn. She's wearing a gauzy white peasants dress with a voluminous skirt, and a bunch of scarves, shrugs, shawls in velvets and silk. Jewellery is plentiful. From her arm swings a big black bag. As she glides down the path, a heavy cloud follows her - smoke, from the cigarette in her mouth. She's not paying much attention to who's around her; something about the way she's zig-zagging makes it seem like she's watching light bounce off of the dew. Sure. It was bright and clear. And then, off the edges of the Gardens a fog begins to roll through. It is thick, a swirling mist that rises from the ground with a starling quickness. The fog billows about until the sun is obscured. "Franklyn," comes a whispered voice without source. "Please do not be surprised. I am about to visit you," The voice is clearly Nuits, but she is nowhere to be seen. For a moment at least, then the mists coalesce into her form, and she steps out of nowhere. With a gesture of her hand the misty fog is banished from around them, giving them a clear bubble within its murky depths. The sun doesn't quite reach them, but at least they are not starring through a pea soup of grayness. "Franklyn," the mostly whispered voice from somewhere in the vicinity of Nuit's face where her mouth would have been is calming. "Hello. Do you mind if we talk?" The light reflecting off the dewdrops darkens, as the fog rolls into the Garden. Franklyn bristles - the hair on her arms standing on end, as her posture stiffens and she stands up straight, her bag held closer to her body - hand moving as if to reach inside... And then she's whispered too. Franklyn frowns. The emotional resonance round her crackles, erratically. How is she feeling? A lot. By the time Nuit's form steps out of nowhere, the Mortal girl is only more uncertain - hand in her bag, bag held up close, expression doubting as she look over the strange mouthless face of a Wyrd Stranger. Stunned silence. She makes no reply either way, Franklyn just blinks slowly and stares. After taking a moment to make sure she wasn't about to be shot, Nuit steps backwards toward a bench that is blurred within the fog. She gestures with her hand again, and the mists dissapate slightly, letting the bench join their bubble. Settling in on one side, she pats the other quietly, then folds her hands into her lap, clenched together. "Hello Franklyn. My name is Nuit. I do not believe we were properly introduced the other night at Cat-22. If you would, please sit. I would like to speak with you." Her eyes are soft, though those eclipsed irises cast a strange look to the softeness. As she settles, three little orbs of pale blue light rise out of her cloak and circler her head, lazily wandering about. Yes. There is no quickdraw - although Franklyn doesn't remove her hand from her bag straight away either. Her eyes track the Darkling as she moves to sit on that fog-shrouded bench, but the Mortal woman doesn't move herself, no. She just eyes the bench as its patted, squinting at Nuit's hands -- so pale, so ephemeral -- before she finally looks back up at her face. No smiling as Franklyn listens, either -- just the guarded, uncertain expression remains as Nuit introduces herself, poses her reason for appearing before her. There is no immediate response, save a little readjustment of her bag on her arm - and a rather dry swallow. Perhaps she's thirsty? She does it again - then lifts her chin... Silent prompt for Nuit to continue, or what? Maybe Frank left her tongue at Cat-22... Those same odd looking irises of Nuit narrow, the ring of eclipsed fire contracting slightly. "Ah. Prudent." she says in her near whisper voice before nodding her head once. A glance is given to the three orbs, and they each dart off suddenly into the fog, dancing out to disappear. "They will make sure we are not disturbed. Now, let me see..." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "Franklyn, I have heard some about you. A mortal girl, and you have the eye of several powerful changelings. Changelings as powerful as myself. You can see and sense our reality. This is dangerous for you." Another pause, another moment to collect. "Yet, it might also be useful. I wish to ask you about Mr. Alexander. If you are pledged to speak not against or about, then I understand. Simply let me know that you are so, and I will let this line of conversation drop." Franklyn is quiet, and she is still -- but she is also smoking a cigarette. Ash tips off the end and falls down, leaving a dusty trail across her various scarves and shawls, yet Franklyn pays it no mind. She merely watches Nuit, while lifting a hand to take another drag then remove the cig from her lips. She squints through the smoke, the gathered fog, the misty facade of Nuit's whole demeanour. Taking her sweet time, she exhales cigarette smoke towards the heavens and tips ash off onto the garden path. Never does Franklyn look away from Nuit -- until she suddenly does, glancing back down towards the path side flowers. The dewdrops don't look so jewel like, what with the sunlight defused through all the fog - the flowers just look wet. "Are you familiar with the observer effect?" Another drag of her cigarette, and Franklyn is looking back up to Nuit; curious, but unsmiling. Dubious, to say the least. Nuit's head tilts to the side at a somewhat awkward angle, as she studies the young woman. "I believe that is the concept that simply observing something changes it." She shrugs slightly. "A useless concept. You cannot experience something without observing it, so while it may be changed, we will never know the original. The changed version is all that matters." Pause. She takes a moment, then mentally steps herself back. "Apologies. Please, elaborate." Franklyn takes another drag of her cigarette -- this time the ember is a little too close to her fingers, causing her to startle a bit. It's dropped to the ground, and crushed under the heel of her wooden soled clogs; all the while, she remains watching Nuit, her hands fluttering about her as she adjusts a shawl, her bag, the angle of a ludicrously oversized chunk of yellow topaz on her middle finger. Such rings! They don't glint much, though, not with the fog around them. Still, the fidgeting gives Frank some time to consider the Darkling's answer, before she pipes up again: "Why did you come here to talk to me?" Franklyn's head dips to the side, necklaces jingling as she moves. Silvery sounds - but not too much animation. All that energy and focus seems to be on Nuit, at least in this moment. Nuit's head tilts the other way. Studying. She seems a bit confused, but doesn't let that slow her down. "I told you already, Franklyn. You are becoming well known to powerful Changelings. Very powerful ones. And I wish to know more about Mr. Alexander. I have duties to that which I am sworn to that I must undertake. I need information in order to carry out those duties effectively." One of the little orbs comes buzzing back into the cleared area of fog. It buzzes around Nuit for a moment in what sounds ... almost... like French? then heads back out into the foggy area. Nuit barely acknowledges its presence, instead concentrating on Franklyn. "I will not hurt you. If you wish, I will craft a pledge to enforce that for the day." Franklyn does not smile - she continues watching Nuit with the same uncertain, guarded kind of way. Uncomfortable. The Mortal girl is uncomfortable --- but she has been uncomfortable since the moment she felt the whisper of Wyrd pass through the gardens and solidify into mist, into Nuit. She does not interrupt, but she does shift her head to the side; blinking slowly as she listens. Can a Mortal girl like her have a strong sense of what sworn duties might mean, for a changeling like Nuit? Possibly. But then again, possibly not. Her fingers twitch in the air -- like she was playing an invisible piano, while her mouth twitches as if speaking, but no words come out. Curious girl. Only the return of the little orb has Franklyn's attention moving away. She studies it for a moment, eyes trying to track it's wispy movements, as Nuit puts forth her offer. When the orb buzzes off, Franklyn remains looking out at the fog; taking in a deeeep breath, then an airy, distant sigh. "...You know, they say Evelyn Miller was an exceptional beauty, and a real bon vivant. Everywhere she went, she would bring laughter and joy - encouraging those around her to indulge in the pleasures of life, and to appreciate that which grew around them, you know? When she moved to the area, she must've been very lonely." For the first time this morning, Franklyn smiles -- it's wan and weary, but still a smile that holds some sweetness as she stoops low to cradle the dew covered blossom of the flower she had been examining earlier. "I imagine she put in a lot of hard work, to cultivate the relationships she had with the people she admired and appreciated, so she could indulge in the full beauty of their character. That dedication - the patience and care that takes must be as arduous as cultivating a garden this lovely." This said, Franklyn stands up again - letting the dew drip off her fingers as she turns and looks out at the fog that covers the landscape around them. "Of course we can't see it now, but I know it's there..." Nuit listens to the words, then her eyes crackle with what might be a smile, had she lips to give it. "Ah," She says then tips her head forward. "Thank you Franklyn. You have told me all I need to know and more." She stands slowly, and reaches out a hand. The three little orbs of light come rocketing back to her, then twist about her fingers as she displays them. She walks slowly away from the bench, a gesture of her hand behind her has the mist envelope it again. "Listen to November. She will never lie to you. Not directly at least. Ask questions and if she answers, you can know it at least as true, if not necessarily all the truth. You can reach me through her, if you think you have need but..." She shrugs. "I do not think you will. I will say to walk your path carefully, but I already see you have your eyes open for the stones." She turns toward the fog, begining to walk into it. Franklyn looks back away from the fog, over to Nuit as the Darkling's eyes crackle, and those words manifest without any need for a mouth to form them. As she listens, the Mortal girl clasps her hands together in front of her -- head tilted, eyes tracking Nuit as she starts to gather up her orbs, move away from the dew covered bench. While Franklyn does have a mouth, her expression is guarded - but slowly, ever-so-slowly, something almost like a smile creeps across her features. Whisper soft, like the fog around them. There is no wave, no nod, no confirmation of agreement or sweet words of goodbye - Franklyn just watches Nuit fade out, as beautifully and strangely as she arrived: stepping through the fog, leaving the Mortal girl to stand there alone on a shrouded pathway. Franklyn doesn't move. Not for a long while. Is she just going to stay there all morning? In a short while, she looks down to admire the damp flowers -- but eventually she looks up, right up, at the sky above; trying to get a clear view of the crystalline blue of dawn's light. The only sound she makes is a silvery jingle-jangle, as her hand reaches up and tugs on a necklace adorned with crumpled brass charms. Nuit disappears into the fog, and it rolls away with her. She doesn't dissolve into its mists, just fades away as she walks, and the fog moves with her. The sun comes out shortly, and there are even more dew drops than before on the newly revealed plants.