- IC Time: Sun Mar 03 20:14:19 2019 ***
- OOC Time: Sun Mar 03 20:14:19 2019 ***
Whiskey is working quietly but diligently fixing some of the broken bookshelves. The four foot tall combination of treat and tin-man is making shelves even better than they were originally, and humming Greensleeves. A backpack with a set of paintbrushes and a artist' pad sticking out of it sits within arms' reach. Next the that backpack is a bow made of some black wood and covered in Arcadian runes.
There's the click of heels against the cavern floor that's quickly revealed to be a somewhat tall figure in a pair of black, knee-high leather boots with stiletto heels; the siren is dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and layered t-shirts, the top red and decorated with spindly figures; closer inspection reveals them to be an interpretation of the seven deadly sins. Her seaweed-streaked blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and her thumbs are tucked into the beltloops on her jeans; a grey messenger bag embroidered with silver fish is worn crosswise from shoulder to hip. As she spies Whiskey, she arches an eyebrow, then grins cheerfully if sharply. "Evening," she offers, the harmonics of her voice twisting the word into a series of musical chords.
Whiskey's mantle is Autumn and strong (Mantle 4), as well as steeped in the Wyrd (Wyrd 7). Fall leaves in origami shapes seem to cascade about his feet, and a bitter November wind swirls them in tight dust devils that break the leaves apart. Amongst the leaves are tiny rusted mechanical figures, metal and twig toy soldiers with miniature pumpkin heads. When he hears a voice he turns, and smiles. "Greetings and Merry Met. How fair you this evening?" His accent is hard to place, and worn thin from living in many places. A slight Cockney accent might be heard.
Poppy arches an eyebrow at the greeting. "Well, that's not something you hear every fucking day," she says cheerfully, grinning sharply before she adds, "I'm all right. My name's Poppy Devereux. And you are...?" She tilts her head inquisitively, opalescent eyes bright.
Whiskey chuckles, "Well, I am not someone you meet every day. Since you have told me your name, I shall tell you mine. I am known in the mortal world as William Fry, Whiskey to my friends. Amongst our kind I am known as Whiskey Tango Foxtrot." He grins at this. Raising the eyebrow above an all black eye. Small black shadow continually shift around the eye socket the eye is in. "I am newly returned from work for the Custodians, of which I am one. I am as well a Vizier. Poppy..I think I may have seen your name in the rolls of the Custodians here, yes?"
The siren gives Whiskey an amused look at that introduction. "I'll fucking bet," she replies with another grin, then arches an eyebrow again. "Newly returned? How long have you been gone? Seems somehow we never fucking crossed paths. And I'm one of the newer recruits," Poppy adds, expression slightly amused for whatever reason, eyes glinting with humor. "I think Aaron was planning on introducing me at this week's meeting."
-> >> Whiskey to Here << <-===========================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 7 8 10 >
===============================-> >> Wyrd + 2 + 1 - 1 No Flags << <-
Whiskey nods, grinning even wider. "I returned a year ago or so, and almost immediately went off on a mission. I returned from that a couple weeks ago. I was away a couple centuries before that. Introducing you at the meeting seems a good idea. I suspect there are a number of introductions that will be made. Pull up a ...", he looks around with a frown. "We need to get this into a better state, while still in keeping with Autumn. Well, pull up whatever you can find, or better yet, one moment. " He concentrates on the floor, absentmindedly continuing with "I'm interested to hear how your experience with the Freehold and the Custodians have been so far. If I may ask, how long have you been back from your durance?" The Hedge reshapes itself in a minor way, with two stone benches rising from the ground where they weren't there before. "There, that works.", he says as he takes a seat on one bench and looks expectantly at Poppy.
Poppy nods. "I've been living in the area for about a year and half," she says. "Probably a little fucking overdue to join, but shit happens." A philosophical shrug greets that statement, then she mms. "I think the Court was spend more time out at the goddamn Caretaker's house than they were here, to be completely fucking honest; this place has always seemed like a little bit of an afterthought." A general gesture around the room. At the offer of the bench, she makes her way over towards it, heels clicking on the floor before settling onto the surface. "Freehold's a Freehold. I can't say jack or shit about Custodians at this point. And I've been back about eight years or so. Yourself?" She gives him an inquisitive look.
Whiskey sighs, "Seen too many freeholds an courts descend into apathy, disharmony, or both. Mark this..we are in many ways our own worst enemy, much more so than the Gentry, not that any of those are our friends. I've been a member of the freehold for a bit over a year, but back in truth for only a couple weeks, so I don't have much to add about the freehold. I've been back from my durance for over a century. I will say our freehold has more threats than most, less than some though. The vampires worry me. I have seen first hand how dangerous they can be, though there is at least one of their kind I can call friend." His thoughts seem to flitter from topic to topic, but his gaze is keen and his wits otherwise seem sharp.
The siren arches an eyebrow at that remark from the other Lost. "I honestly am not an expert at all when it comes to Freeholds," she says frankly. "I didn't really belong to one until this one, and like I said, I've only been around for about a year and a half. It's only been about a year since I fucking joined, so. It's relatively intact, is all I can say." Poppy crosses her legs, flexing the resting foot idly, the wicked heel slides slightly against the floor as she does so. "The vampires could be a pretty big fucking problem," she agrees.
Whiskey looks off in the distance. "One of many, I suppose.", he says nervously. He reaches in a pocket of his jacket to take out a small block of Black Walnut wood and a whittling knife. Having those in his hands seems to calm him, and he whittles away, seeming without thought and definitely without looking at the carving. "So..what about the town, any interesting places you'd recommend to try? How are you set for a place and profession by the way? Or are you like me, using pledges to provide, as needed?" He chuckles, "Though I am presently between pledges in that regard."
"Depends on what the hell you're looking for, when you say 'interesting.' This place is still bumblefuck, for all that Fort Brunsett is at least a little better than Tamarack Falls." Poppy's expression is amused at that. "And it was work that brought me to the area, so I'm all fucking set when it comes to that. I work at Alchemy - it's a theme bar in Fort Brunsett. Assistant Manager, which means I wear a few fucking hats, and I still sometimes perform."
GAME: Whiskey spends 1 Glamour with reason: Artist's active kith blessing (/rote on roll to whittle a piece of art while they talk)
GAME: Whiskey spends 1 Willpower
-> >> Whiskey to Here << <-===========================================
Rolled 11 Successes for an exceptional success.
< 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 3 3 3 3 4 4 5 5 5 5 6 6 7 7 8 8 8 8 9 9 9 9 10 10 10 >
=============-> >> Dexterity + Crafts + 1 + 3 8-Again and Rote << <-
Whiskey continues to whittle, and a figure takes shape. A beautiful dancer, shaped like Poppy, posed in a graceful dance spin. The figure is dressed to the nines, including beautiful high stilettos. She appears to be dancing on sea foam. The work is of very high quality (11 successes). He finishes it, and hands it to Poppy. "Here, in return for an...interesting...and fun conversation." He smiles kindly as he offers it. "Alchemy..sounds like a fun place to spend an evening when I next get back to town. Any recommendations on a good night to go?", he says.
The siren gives the whittled piece an interested look, then blinks as it's offered to her. "Well...thanks. That's goddamn impressive," Poppy says as she accepts the piece, turning it over in her hands, examining with interest before shifting her attention back to the Artist. "There's usually kinsomed of fucking performance. More often than not it's singers, but we've had magicians and other shit. Did an eighties karaoke night a few weeks ago; people seemed to like that shit. We might be having a trivia night at some point. Do you do the fucking internet at all? There's usually a calendar there, so you can see if there's something coming up you might like."
Whiskey looks a bit embarrassed. "Sadly, I procrastinate. I attended the unveiling of the Apple Lisa by Steve Jobs and I've meant to learn about the Internet for the decades since, but never really got around to it more than the bare basics. I would appreciate someone showing me the intricacies, and I am sure a deal could be arranged, especially if a pledge could be made." He looks a bit hopeful.
Poppy gives a thoughtful hum. "I'm sure someone around here does fucking tech shit, although I haven't really seen some of the super fucking tech people around lately. I can manage a basic laptop and phone, if you can't find anybody else. It might be worth asking the Queen if she knows of anybody, though; she knows more people than I do." Her expression turns wry.
Whiskey looks thoughtful. "I wonder, learning much skills is something many of us could profit by. Perhaps a study group is warranted, a hobbyist clique if you will. I'll seek the queen's advice tomorrow at her office hours. It might be educational to attend her office hours and observe, if you are interested in such. I may take you up on some basic internet skills though, as a group thing will take time. Perhaps for a season? That should be long enough to get a group together, and long enough to give me some aptitude with computers, as well as enough skill to computerize my mechanic contracting and inventions, which would improve my finances. I can in return find a temporary token that could boost your business as well, and maybe a hedgespun artwork to instill peace or some other emotion in your mortal clientele, if you wish, or some other favor that does not compromise my other oaths. Would this be acceptable?"
"Well, I've noticed that most people that are fairly fucking contemporary have a certain amount of 'white noise knowledge,' so to speak, when it comes to cellphones and laptops and shit like that. Maybe not fucking programming level ability, but." The siren shrugs sinuously. "Talking with the Queen will certainly clarify if it's actually fucking worth making a group, anyways." At that offer, she tilts her head, expression thoughtful. "Let me think about it; I've got a few things demanding my goddamn time right now and I don't want to not be able to uphold my end of shit. What's the best way to get ahold of you?" Poppy gives him an inquiring look.
Whiskey nods, in approval. "A message to reach you can be left with the Waykeepers, or at the Dare Ice Cream shop, and it will reach me. I also have a phone number", he holds up a flip phone that looks ancient and then he rips a sheet out of the pad in his backpack and writes a number down. "Can I get your number as well in return?", he says as he holds the paper out.
Poppy nods at the options for messages, then grins at the appearance of the phone. "That works," she says, accepting the number and pocketing it. When it's clear he's ready to take down hers as well, the siren rattles off her cell number in return, slowly enough for easy notes. "Texting is the easiest; are you familiar with that shit?" Another inquiring look.
Whiskey nods, writing down the number. "Yes, though I was using kthxbye for a few years before I found out it wasn't simply a quick way to sign off a conversation." He sighs.
A rather musical snort greets that response. "Something like that," she agrees, getting to her feet. "Anyways, I have some shit I need to take care of; nice to meet you, thank you /very/ much for this piece of art, and maybe I'll see your ass tomorrow." Tossing a cheerful salute to the Artist, Poppy heads back towards the door, those stilettos clicking against the floor as she goes, marking her exit.
Whiskey stands and bows as she leaves, then turns back to his work.
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