Log:The Beauty And The Beast

The Beauty And The Beast
Participants Logan Brenner, Seven	14 May, 2018 Seven breaks into the wrong - or the right? - house.
Location
==============-< << Phoibos House - Grounds >> >-=============== Up a winding, canyon-esque road stands Phoibos House, built on a rock ledge in the cliff at the foot of Mt. Salvation West. This three-level, classically-styled, stark white estate towers above sumptuously maintained grounds with stunning views of the surrounding hilltops and valleys. The Green Mountains unfurl gloriously to the south, and on a clear day one can even see mountains in New Hampshire. One can also spot Mt. Mischance across the river and spy the mist rising from the Tamarack Falls, where the river plunges over the cliff a few miles to the east. The sun shines off the white, light veined Vermont marble of the house’s outdoor surfaces, with its two many-windowed wings spreading out from a main area. The roof is comprised of reddish-brown, antique tiles, recycled from a hospital in Staten Island, NY. There is a wide, semi-circular driveway that cuts around the entire front of the house, leaving plenty of room for parked cars, and a three-car garage that opens on the west side of the house. This enduring and dramatic 18,000 square foot estate was created with a a commitment to using local and natural materials wherever possible, imparting a sense of durability and a unique beauty. Set on 15 acres, the grounds include several small, manmade waterfalls, miniature gardens, and hiking trails that lead through the woods, beyond the property. Sometimes heard (though not seen from the front of the house) is the state-of-the-art shooting range not far from the immediate backyard of the estate. Seven has watched the house from a distance for hours. He's watched for guards to this fortress - he doesn't see any. He sits crouched down in a shadow not far away, mouth open, dripping some saliva now and then from those big teeth - he's hungry. He rushes towards the back of the house, to find a window - whether it is high or low doesn't matter, he can get up there. But he doesn't complicate things overly much, he punches at the first best window to break it, not even bothering covering his clawed hand. No. Seven will see no guards. At least -- not visible ones. Because all of Logan's "guards" are technological: invisible fences. Cameras. Silent alarms. He punches a window on the first floor, where the shooting range is. It's not too hard to do, and it /seems/ like nothing happens. No sounds. No footsteps. No /anything/. Just broken glass, and an entryway into what appears to be some state of the art indoor shooting range (there's one outside, too). Seven's instincts are basic and animalistic for the most part, but when he jumps inside - he pauses. There's a gleam of something, a memory, seeing the shooting range. He lifts a hand slowly and forms his hand into a gun, pointing a finger at a target and silently going 'Bang'. That glimmer of intelligent thought goes away quickly and he sniffs the air; there has to be food somewhere. That wolfish nose lifts up and he inhales deeply. Food? Maybe somewhere, but there's also someone /here/. He whirls around and crouches, on guard - he growls menacingly while searching for the source of the scent. Yep. Seven smells something. And a few moments later, there's the sound of a rifle, locked and loaded. Should Seven look up, he'll find someone here, pointing said rifle at his head. On the other end of it is someone tall, blond, and very obviously Fairest. There is a corona of shadow all around him, though a tiny thread of light moves through it as well. "What are you doing in my house?" asks the Fairest. His voice is low, quiet, even, but with an air of contained menace that's nearly cheerful. Seven remembers that sound all too well - he's heard it many, many times before. Once more, that intelligent, human shine in his eyes comes forth as he looks up at the golden shadow. He might be tough, but a bullet in the brain isn't the best way to start the day. So, Seven freezes and just glares menacingly, growling still. But he was talked to, and not just outright killed. He struggles, clawed fingers flexing."....house?" His voice is a rasp. Quiet and oddly humble. And he sounds faintly incredulous, like he doesn't quite believe Logan about this being a house. The Golden Boy slowly lowers the gun, but he doesn't let go of it. He sheds a touch more light on the subject, literally: the brightness around him starts to grow, the darkness dimming in turn, as he steps forward. The light shines off his golden skin, creating quite a dazzling effect. "Hmm," he says, blue eyes wide and curious. "You're one of /us/, aren't you. Where did you come from?" He suddenly grins, tapping the rifle. He's got beautiful teeth. "One false move and I'll blow your brains out. I don't care how big your teeth are. I'm a good shot." Seven squints a little, the light blinding him; noticeably he shifts a little, edging closer to the window. The cunning in his eyes can't be hidden as he watches the golden boy with intent, predatory scrutiny. His teeth aren't beautiful at all - they're big and sharp and probably hard to keep clean. Up close, he doesn't smell all that good either. His clothes, which are mostly in tatters, are stained with many things - most of it seem to be blood. Probably not his blood, because he doesn't seem injured. The pants look like they could be fairly new, some sweatpants he stole from somewhere. He wears no shoes, his hairy feet just as clawed as his hands, just shorter and stockier sort of claws. The T-shirt was once grey, but is now mostly brown with old blood. The coat? The coat... it is the oldest item. It's an old leather jacket, so worn and broken it barely holds together - but if he knows the fashion of the ages, this one comes from the fourties. "Hey, are you hungry?" Logan keeps on smiling, the light getting brighter and brighter still, like the sun is rising early. And it /is/ rising, outside, but it's still faint, just strips of color on the horizon. "I've got plenty to eat here. If you come with me, I'll feed you. Just remember that it's my house, so if you attack me, you'll be sorry." How does he manage to make that sound so friendly and so menacing at the same time? Seven's interest is peeked - he gets that word, hungry. He rises to his full towering height and snorts at Logan, that cunning gaze remaining. Appraising. Sizing up. Like he's wondering if the man is worth the trouble, what sort of threat he is. He glances to the broken window - but his stomach makes a grumbling noise. In the end, it wins over the fight or flight-instinct. Food without fighting seems good; he looks suddenly tired, turning back to watch Logan with a confused expression. "Hungry," he hiss-whispers. "There you go," Logan says with a big smile. He doesn't put the rifle down, though -- just switches the safety on and slings it over his back, as there's a strap. It is a huge gun, to be sure. "Come with me, we'll see what we can dig up." Logan gestures for Seven to be /somewhere/ he can see him -- either in front of by his side -- and then he starts to move through the shooting range back into the house, whistling as he goes. The lights come on automatically as he moves through the rooms, but given how bright he's become, he doesn't really need them. =============-< << Phoibos House - Main Floor >> >-============= Enter this more than 18,000 square foot home through hand carved wood doors into the foyer, flooded by natural sunlight, bringing the outside into every day living. It opens into a dining gallery with marble floors and a cathedral skylight in shades of blue, gold and white, along with a half-spiral suspended staircase and a “Phantom” chandelier. The quiet elegance of the space is evident. Light pours in from all directions, creating the illusion of being aloft. Concentrating on anything but the vista is difficult. The main foyer, floors and walls are crafted from polished sandstone. Between the east and west wings sits the dining room and the great room -- a sunken affair shaped like the Steinway grand piano that graces one corner. Furniture tends towards white, wooden and classic, and there are multiple fireplaces. Several verandas outside offer further seating and lounging options, and the back door leads out to the shooting range just beyond. The commitment to natural materials throughout the interior combine with an expansive use of windows that form a series of frames to define the spectacular views of the Green and White mountain ranges of New England over the valleys below. Exquisite views from every perspective include nearby gardens and grounds, stone walls, all set atop dramatic ledge outcroppings. A small art gallery is hidden away in an open nook, full of neoclassical artists like David Ligare, along with neoclassical sculptures and other paintings, including several Hockneys. The dining area, situated under the Phantom chandelier, is located directly across from the front doors and includes an elegant marble-topped table with seating for ten and a pass-through area into the spacious kitchen, which features several quartz-topped islands and lower cabinets finished in iridescent glass. There are enough white wooden cabinets, pantry space, and hidden refrigerators here to feed an army, no doubt, along with additional table seating for six and many blue bar stools set near the islands. While the east wing is dedicated entirely to the master suite, the west wing has a more official look. It houses the black walnut-lined library, offices, a dark room for developing photographs, a spacious laundry room with dry cleaning station and other utilitarian areas including a fully finished and radiant heated 3-bay garage which features a full Gladiator wall system. Stairs and an elevator (see +views) in this wing lead down to the mezzanine floor. Seven moves in front of Logan, but a bit to the side - he likes to have the corner of his eye on the shining man. As they walk through the bright spaces, he's illuminated more and walks upright more than slouching like a beast, but his footsteps are quiet and practiced, as someone used to not making much noise. He sniffs the air often, taking in the scents of the building. Some noises, although faint, has him sharply looking in that direction. "Where is here." He asks this after some trouble formulating the words around those teeth. The house is huge, beautiful, and seems deserted. As the sun rises more and more, it becomes clear that the vistas outside are spectacular, all touched with pale pink and yellow at the moment. Glorious. Once the sun is fully up, it will be rather blinding, even. Rather like Logan himself. "This is my house in Fort Brunsett, in Vermont," Logan asks easily, glancing over at the beastman. "My name's Logan Brenner. Do you have a name?" He appears to be moving in the direction of the kitchen, towards the places /he/ knows houses the many refrigerators, all of them designed to blend in with the rest of the kitchen. Clearly no fan of all this brighness, Seven glares balefully at the Fairest as he joins him in the kitchen. He remains standing, moving to any spot that offers some relief from that blindning glare of sun, if there is one. Sniffing again, he can smell the food now - saliva drips and he growls hungrily. Scratching idly at his chest, he stares at Logan as if the question is totally alien; it's a deceptively calm gesture, because those eyes remain predatorily alert. "Seven." He hiss-rasps that word out. "Seven." He repeats it, more sure. It's weird, but a predator like Seven should be able to recognize that there's something rather predatory in Logan, too, though there is nothing at all bestial about him. "Seven," Logan repeats with a grin. "Like the number. Neat." He flings open one of the fridges, neatly organized and stocked to the brim with all sorts of goodies. Then he opens a cabinet -- this one is entirely stocked with junk food, everything from Twinkies to Cheetos and back again. "Knock yourself out, Seven. Just try not to make a mess." There's a teasing note there, like he expects a wolfman like Seven to do nothing more than make a mess. Seven sidles towards the cabinet, never turning his back on Logan. The Beast allows himself to look at the food though, reaching a hand out for one of the packaged junk foods; a Twinkie. He picks it up with surprising delicacy and once more, there's that recognition in his eyes. THere's a contemplative expression as he reads the word. The reaction is odd - pained almost - as he crushes the twinkie in his palm, eyes closing tightly. He forgets that Logan is there for now. But, he shudders and composes himself and chases away whatever he remembered - he tears the wrapping off and eats up the crushed food from his palm. He does make a bit of a mess, but it could be worse. He tears open random wrappings and opens bags of cheetos - but he eats everything and piles the wrappers behind himself in a pile. He glances often and warily at the Fairest meanwhile. Logan's just watching him, arms folded, eyes bright, a little smile on his face. But his expression's hard to crack. "You're new, huh?" His eyes get a little wider. "Fresh from the Hedge? Gosh, I haven't seen one quite like you in awhile. It's a good thing you broke into /my/ house." He laughs -- a musical, boyish thing. "You're lucky you did. I can help you out, Seven. Beyond the junk food, I mean, though that /is/ good." He grins again and moves around Seven to yet another fridge, this one stocked only with drinks, from which he retrieves a cold can of lemon La Croix. All that sugar, it has Seven twitching with energy. But he's satiated quickly - there's only so many twinkies and cheetos you can eat, even as hungry as he is. He gets frustrated about all the cheese dust on his fingers and growls, licking at them, then wipes it all off on his shirt instead. Not that it'll make it worse, after all. In the end, he leans against a counter and pokes at his teeth with a claw, eyeing Logan with more calm. The rifle might still be around, but he's not terribly alarmed and doesn't look at the Fairest with the same sort of balefulness any longer. He smacks his tongue and looks at this drink, holding a hand out with a glance - it's almost polite. "Help? Why." He's a bit suspicious. Logan seems vaguely amused that Seven wipes his fingers on his shirt, even. Like that's all part of the show. The Golden Boy's got his arms crossed and his ankles crossed, too, as he's leaned up against another counter. Incidentally, he's dressed in a pair of lightweight blue lounge pants and a blue and white striped t-shirts. His feet are bare. If these aren't pajamas, they're at least loungewear. Logan nods towards the fridge where he just retrieved the can from. "Help yourself. There's lots of other drinks in there." This one is his, apparently, because he sips from it after opening it. "Why? Because you just got out of There, and I bet you're awfully confused and don't have a place to stay or anything. Am I right?" Sidling again, perhaps wondering what deeper motive this man might have offering help like that, Seven opens the fridge - blinking heavily at the light streaming out of it. He grabs a can randomly, just a regular soft drink, orange flavored. He can't figure out how to open it, so he punches two claws on the top to make a hole and then tips his head back, pouring it down. He makes a funny sound and snorts, the bubbles surprising him momentarily. But he's thirsty, and it tastes good - he drinks it all. The can is then tossed on top of those wrappers. He, at least, keeps all the junk in one pile. "What do you want from me?" A whole sentence now - and his accent isn't American. It's British. Still rasped out coarsely though. "Guard the house? You have no guards." Although Logan sounds as American as they come, he also doesn't sound like a New Englander. His vowels are too flat and tangy and nasal. Logan watches Seven puncture the can and down it, amusement dancing in his sparkling blue eyes. Yes, they literally sparkle and glow, like someone took a light and turned it on from the other side. "Who said I want something from you? I'm offering you help. People like you and me, here in this town, we formed a club. And that club has a house where you can go and be safe. It has people, like me, who can teach you what you are and what to do with what you have. Like I said, you're lucky you found me." He gives a little toss of his blond head. "Once you're all full up and take a shower and get a change of clothes, I'll take you there. I have clothes you can have." Have. Not borrow. Set. "I know what I am," Seven says, a hint of anger in his voice. He keeps his calm though; despite that lurking violence beneath everything, he seems to be able to control himself quite well. "I am... I was..." He puts his palms to his temples suddenly, as if he's getting a headache; he snarls and turns away, starting to pace about. "I want to sleep," he says finally, tired. He's moving out of the kitchen, looking around - like he's trying to find somewhere to sleep. "Too much light," he mutters. This might mean he's taking Logan's offer - least he seems to have decided to stay. Logan watches him move, and then vaults himself off the counter, springing into action again. "If you want to stay here, you can do that. Tonight, anyway. Come on, follow me." He starts out of the kitchen and up the gorgeous winding staircase that leads to the second floor, glancing behind him to see if the wolfman is following. Seven just wants to get away from all this brightness and find a quiet, dark corner somewhere. He follows Logan - he's crashing from all the sugar, perhaps. Or he's not slept for a long time. Even so, his steps are light and quiet behind the Fairest as the two make their way up. "Where is everyone," he asks - he can't figure out why this 'fortress' has no other people. ============-< << Phoibos House - Second Floor >> >-============ The second level of the house is occupied by two bedroom/guest suites with terraces facing the south -- on a clear day one can see distant mountain ridges in New Hampshire. There is one dominantly white bedroom and one that is primarily blue, each very spacious and furnished in a similar classical style to the rest of the house, with plenty of built-in furniture (bookcases, dressers, and window seats), a fireplace, and more comfortable seating, along with sumptuous queen-sized beds. The chandeliered bathrooms are very large, evoking Roman baths with their blue and white tile mosaics. Also here is a door to a separate apartment with its own bed, bath, kitchen and sitting room, though this door is usually locked. Further down the hallway is an elevator that can take you down to the lower two levels. Logan prudently leads Seven into the blue bedroom, which has plenty of white in it -- but is not as white as the other bedroom. "Oh, they're asleep," comes his chipper reply. "My staff isn't live-in, and Dross, well. Who knows what he's doing." Funny note to his voice, there. And who is Dross? Grin shining out, he gestures to the plush bed. "Here you go. There's towels in the bathroom. I'll find some clothes for you." He narrows his eyes and looks Seven over, like he's eyeballing his size. "Anything else you need, Seven?" Set. Seven stops in the middle of the room and looks around it. Trying to familiarise himself with things like beds. Bathtubs. Running water. Having a bath /is/ appealing and he's all about taking the pleasures he can, when he can get them. He grunts something to Logan and shakes his head, moving to fiddle with the tap. He sorts it out - some things don't change, and he remembers this. He shrugs off that jacket and with utmost care, he lays it down on a chair. Like a treasured thing. "Thank you." He remembers that too, somewhere back there in that beast brain of his - watching Logan with a widening, toothy grin. The bathroom is the size of some people's entire bedrooms. Plenty of room to stretch out and get comfy. It even has furniture to sit on. When Seven thanks him, and then grins, a slow grin of delight spreads over Logan's own face. Then again, he doesn't much seem to stop smiling, does he? "You're quite welcome," he chirps, turning to go. "I'll be back. Sleep well!" The Golden Boy closes the door behind him, his whistle heard as he wanders down the hall again.