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In the dim, early morning quiet just before dawn, the Lost gather at the Vietnam Memorial in Capitol Park for the annual Ash Run. This year, the target is the mastermind behind the increasingly aggressive Hedge, the infamous Mr. Tickle. Marcus Evan leans against the wall of the monument as the others arrive. While he is anxious to begin, the metal-skinned Hedge Warden is only too aware of the unknown nature of their quarry. But, the insanity of the local Hedge must be halted.
Spartan crests a small hill and makes his way over to the Metal Man. As he does it can be seen that Spartan's Mantle had again grown. Showing the magnatude of his wrath. The Smell of blood and Battle permiate from the Quiet Defender. The Glyphs on his Gauntlets and Bracers now instead of glowing with a bright orange now glow with a eary blood red. Spartan gives the Metalflesh a nod as a greeting.
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Rust walks behind his brother. His Mantle pulsing like a falling thunderhead. Light spills wrong across his face.
Rust, for the first time since his coronation, looks livid. He chain tail snaps hard, as if counting every wrong the lion has had to endure. His gaze is dangerously close to cutting skin.
That gaze fall on Marcus and hardens further.
"Evans. Merry Fucking Christmas, and Happy Fucking New Year. I hope your day has been better?" His tone could boil eggs.
It seemed like as good a place as any to get into trouble. And no one did wrath like a cornered baddie. Lashing out blindly, cursing as you hound their footsteps to the brink of their den, and swearing on their dead ancestors to haunt your every waking moment once their gone. Luckily it hadn't ever taken hold so far, and Brock felt like testing his luck one more time.
So when an official hunt n' hound came up, he was in with both feet. Nearly cheerful, he strides up the hill like the cavalry itself, ready to sniff out this...come to think of it, he didn't know much at all about the target.
"So who's the mark, and what's he like?"
His immediate thoughts spill out before his better judgment kicks in. He nods respectfully to the others, each one lower and more gracious as moves up the totem pole, until he's nearly bowing before the blazing Summer King. And he doesn't miss a beat, absorbing the raw anger the monarch gives off like fresh-pressed wine.
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Marcus nods first to Spartan, then to his King. His features remain impassive despite the metal lion's abrasive greeting. He also nods to the Ogre he had just met at the supposed Winter Festival.
"Not sure. The Legate of Mists should know more about our quarry."
A short distance from the small group, Bert Godwinn sits on a bench just close enough to overhear snatches of the conversation, but makes no attempt to join the Summer Courtiers. The big, blue Winter Courtier simply watches and waits.
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Kaito arrives and sits down next to Bert. "Why were we not called when he was questioned and why were we not given the results?"
She pauses and lowers her voice so that only Bert can hear "I am starting to think that it was not harvey. I don't like how we are being pushed out of our own courts affairs. Its as if someone does not want us to get involved and I would say that someone is responsible for the queen going missing. There is something dodgy going on."
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"Our quarry is Tickle, Wizened, formerly of the Freehold of Sacramento, currently a Bridge Burner, and almost certainly the reason the Hedge has been acting up recently." The words are heard slightly before the speaker is seen, walking into view with the petite form of his fiance. He does roll his shoulders slightly as he approaches the rest of the Lost, he never had worn that Kevlar vest currently under his clothes enough to get used to its weight.
Also present, somewhat surprisingly, is an older wild-haired man who doesn't appear to have any fae mein. "This is Edward." A small figurine, reminiscent of a toy soldier, is held out by the Legate. "Over a year ago someone gave him this token which he unwittingly activated. Afterwords, it brought him into the Hedge in an attempt to get back to its maker. With it, and Edward's help, we can find Tickle."
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Walking into view came Terri wearing an orange hoody and black combat pants, a far view from the types of clothes she is usually seen out and about in. Her feet however, are covered in delicately thin pumps, easy to slip on and off. She has a small backback secured over her shoulders and seems to also be rolling her shoulders, getting used to the vest her fiancee had given her. Terri had refused at first but after some thought and gentle persuasion, she'd resigned to wear the armor, which had come to surprise her. It wasn't as cumbersome as she'd first feared.
With a friendly smile, she waved to all, even those she didn't know as closely. "Hey guys."
Patrick had slipped into the area without attempting to alert either the group of Summers or Winters to his presence, in fact he gave no notice of either group as he focused his attentions on the Vietnam Memorial itself. He was not being rude, just merely lost in his own distant thoughts as he said a silent prayer in honor of all the names the Bean Sidhe had called out for during the war. He is thankful that he holds the long gym bag containing the rapier in his hand, the weight of the hidden sword provides a comfort to his mind that allows him to forget the names, the sheer number of names, that same hand had written during that conflict. He remembers the dark night when his Keeper had called out to mark the death of his own nephew, well William's nephew, and how close he had come to breaking when that happened. A shiver runs down his spin as he can almost hear her voice crying out and carried by the January wind.
He moves the bag to the front of his body and his hands grip it tight. With every inch of pressure her voice decreases until finally he can breathe normally again and the internal shivers stop. Upon hearing the Legate's voice he turns his attention to the larger group, knowing that the best thing about being as pale as the grave was when your knuckles went white, nobody would notice.
If you're going on an Ash Run you might as well look good
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Presence
Striking Looks
GoodwillA mime comes spinning over the crest of a hill, a silent impersonation of Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music. The black and white figure soon resolves itself into the former Fairest of Winter, spinning a cane and rolling a hat up and down an arm.
As he gets closer to the other, his movements become stiff and mechanical; the 'Robot', learned from watching Shields and Shields endlessly. The Robot sketches a comedic bow to everyone, before becoming the liquid form of Nightfall again sliding over to nod at Bert.
What a silly Fairest.
A woman, some legerdemain, and a robot, so silly.
[banner]nf[/banner]
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