Dressed in a simple black pioneer style dress which reached to her calf, a simple black shoe and her hair in plaited pigtails, each is secured with a neat black bow, a Stetson with chin cord hangs from her neck and down her back. She uses a pair of simple wooden crutches to help herself along, only her slender right leg peeks out from the hem of her dress. Her calf muscles are strong, trim and obvious in her black stocking. She watched The Stairs carefully with wide eyes. Quietly she rested upon her crutches with minimal movement. Pale and small...her lavender scent strong.

The sound of cowboy boots on the stairs Martha is watching announce Dillon's arrival. He is still dressed in his western attire as well, looking somewhat marshal-ish in his simple cut and earthen colored three-piece. For whatever reason, he still hasn't come to expect the Herald to be right there waiting, and the pleasant surprise is evident when he looks up from his feet. A face splitting, slightly crooked smile ensues as Dillon switches a nondescript paper bag of books to his left hand and removes his hat.

"My lovely Herald Villiers, I hope I haven't kept you waiting long?" The gentle emphasis Dillon places on the words would point to a turn of phrase on the greeting Martha had given him on their last private meeting.

Martha is feeling far from lovely and very bashful. His words would make her blush, but she has let that disguise lapse since she returned from the Ember. Timidly she bobs as much of a curtsy to Dillon as her crutches allow and uses them to swing slightly closer in greeting as he removes his hat...a shy smile, almost blinking with each click of the crutches on the floor. "Thank you, Priscus! Any time waiting is not wasted for you, sir! Such a gentleman!" she enthuses, all wide eyed. "Might I get you some refershments, sir? A drink of Coke Cola...? Something else, perhaps?" a smile, her concern for refreshments seems genuine. "Would you care to sit?" she gestues with a gentle hand towards the couches...balancing steadily as she releases her grip to make the offer. All enthusiastic.

Dillon's blush has faded as well, leaving his Beast angered and hungry. The reluctance in his reply is obvious. "Sadly, I must decline refreshment, Madam Herald. I neglected to find a replacement for the blood I burned to come alive earlier. I shouldn't test my inner demon's temper any further." He had no intentions of allowing Martha to attempt waiting on him with her on crutches, either, but of course, he doesn't embarrass her by mentioning it. The smile returns in strength. "But I will sit, of course, if you will sit with me."

Smiling, she nods. Her plaits bob. "I understand, sir! I shall enjoying sitting, I think, sir! Thank you!" she begins to make her way over to the couches. Each step careful. She pauses to make sure she isn't getting ahead of Dillon, though that risk is low!

Dillon is feeling somewhat helpless that he can't aid Martha's course, but he finds a relief for this inner anxiety when they reach the couch. Resting the books on the couch arm, and his hat on them, he turns to the tiny Herald with his hands open before him. "Please, let me help." He knows the possibility for embarrassment is now high, but he also knows that there is not a graceful way to seat yourself while so supported. Rather than stand uselessly by and watch Martha flop to the upholstery, Dillon would take her hands, set the crutches aside, and ease her to a sitting position himself.

She smiles, but it's clear she's acutely embarrassed. She tries a smile. All wide eyed. Pigtails bob as she nods, nodding with obvious gratitude as she hands over her crutches and allows herself to be sat, almost like a small doll, upon the couch. Her single and slim leg is obvious now as the simple black dress falls flat around the shape of what remains of her thigh stump. To judge by the way the dress falls, it seems only about a quarter of her leg remains. She is bashful as she flattens out and smooths out her dress, looking meekly up to Dillon. "Thank you, sir...you are a gentleman." she offers, humbled. Wide eyes only emphasising her doll like delicacy. "You are kind to help me." she smiles meekly as she carefully pats the couch next to her, inviting Dillon to sit.

If his soul had still been fused with life, and his heart more than an undead husk, it would surely have broken for Martha's hardship. Even still, as hazel eyes look first to her face, then, briefly, the shortened thigh, and finally, the floor, Dillon recognizes that shadow of emotion in his spirit. Not pity, but compassion. He doesn't dwell on it long, looking back up an giving the Herald an encouraging smile. She had achieved much in spite of a physical disability. One thing among them: Dillon Connery's respect.

He seats himself where she patted, settling casually before he speaks. "I am a gentleman whenever I can be. As such, I'm exceedingly glad to be able to assist you in any way. Not just as a loyal subject to his Herald, but hopefully, as your friend. I hope that isn't too informal."

Tiny Martha nods, all wide eyed. She bites at her bottom lip and nods once more, pigtails wobble. "Thank you, sir....Mr Connery...Dillon. That would be an honour." she tries a bashful smile and sets her hands under her legs.

Dillon smiles warmly, it isn't his normal cheeky grin, but somehow just as pleasant. "The honor is mine, Martha." He lightly touches her shoulder in a reassuring way. "And thus, you have no need to feel any embarrassment to me regarding your difficulties." Casually drawing his hand back, Dillon tipped his brow slightly forward, and the grin returns to its usual mirth. "I'd happily carry you around if you decided it were more convenient."

Martha looked, wide eyed, to the hand resting on her shoulder. A Man was touching her. A Man was touching her who could see...

She risked a smile. A bashful one. His words were reassuring, his touch moreso. Martha giggled timidly at the image of being carried. "Goodness, sir! You conjure quite the image there! I was barely carried...even when a child; and more rarely since then! I daresay it would be a very thrilling experience!" a laugh. "What a gentleman you are to offer...and your strength, though I should be indecorous upon you, would be equal to the task!" she thinks how no one in England had offered the same when she...well...when she was out of the hospital. Few had even spoken to her. Seeking to lighten her mood, she makes a silly joke: "If you would find sport in doing so, I shall not object, sir!"

Her smile lingers freely. Her eyes wide for a moment as she thinks of home...hospitals and the Gent at her side. Suddenly, emboldened, she finds her Spirit again. "This is very genteel, sir!" she offers happily, looking with great admiration to Dillon. "I feel as though we ought to be taking tea on a lawn! Punting together along the Isis and reading Keats...or pondering Hegel! Oh! What larks that would be!" she laughs happily. Eyes brightening with optimism and glee. Her gaze upon Dillon, her hands, free now from under her thighs, flutter and dance as she talks...miming gestures to suit her words.

Dillon laughs aloud, but pleasantly so, at the word 'indecorous'. That's one he hadn't heard in a while. "Indecorous on me? Why, I think if any were to see us, it'd be more likely asked where you procured such a mule. But barely carried? That's no fun." The tone is kept carefully light, in case he is metaphorically sailing near the stormy waters. "We will have to rectify that, sometime."

"And Keats we might not have, but Yeats we do, at least," Dillon says, suddenly remembering his purpose (or maybe excuse) to see Martha privately. He slides the slim bag from under his hat nearby with a rattle of crisp paper, and removes it like a wrapper from around the small stack of books that had caught the Herald's interest. "I took the liberty of adding one that caught my eye to your selection. A small gift, as are the rest of these."

Of course, Dillon didn't mention that Yeats had caught his eye because he'd seen Sean Bean quoting it in an action movie once...

Martha clapped her hands in obvious glee, all wide eyed. Her thigh stump moved and wiggled under her neat gymslip in time with her clapping. "Goodness, sir! What a generous thing to do for me! How kind!" she enthuses...unsure of what to do by way of gratitude, she smiles and beams the happiest smile... "Yeats! How inspired! What a kindness, sir! We should read some!" she continues, the outline of her stump continues to wriggle as she shuffles closer to join Dillon in with the eager inspection of her gifts. Though she might have only the vaguest notion about Sean Bean, Martha had briefly known Yeats at one time, but...she hesitated to mention it for the moment. Her eyes wide and eager.

Dillon is not the least bit distracted by the movement, as he places the rest of the stack on his lap on the side that Martha is sitting and thumbs the thin book open with a smile. Clearly glad that his new friend approved, he quickly finds a page that had been dog-eared by the previous owner. "Apparently, the particular verse I heard before, the one that caused me to pick this up when I saw it, is quite popular. But it resonated with me." There is a meaningful look and a grin as he slides the fold open, imagining the person who had touched the paper last. "I know all of these are probably posted on the internet somewhere, but I love holding an actual book. Especially if it's belonged to someone else. The feeling of history, I suppose."

Martha nods in full agreement. "Quite so, sir! History! It must be touched and encountrred when it can be!" she smiles...happily gesturing to their costumes with a smile. "The Internet is splendid...yet...it barely compares to what you say, sir!" more agreement. "Of course...with our powers, we may...sometimes...be afforded the image of the person who did touch it last. Quite a privilege...an insight like that." she nods, humbled at the thought. Her hands and fingers play about as she speaks, expansive gestures. "But...I am rambling, sir: please tell me which verse you found!" she playfully tries to sneak a peek, then equally playfully, resists the temptation. Her own mind rehearsing the gesture.

The restraint she shows now, she wished she had shown several days earlier.

Dillon nods a knowing nod, both glad that she understood, and in understanding of her mention of Auspex. Though he hadn't been taught that gift, he'd experienced some of its powers. Then, chuckling a little, he looks back to the page. "It took me a few readings to get the cadence of this one right. The rhythm felt awkward to me at first, until I realized it's simply not to be rushed." There is a pause just before Dillon begins reciting, in a patiently thoughtful pace, He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven.

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams"

There is a small nod and smile from the Gangrel at the end, as if in approval to the poem and author itself. True, it was a very popular one, but for good reason.

Martha listened and sat quite still. Nodding as the poem ends and cheerfully applauds the recital. "Goodness, sir! Thank you! You read that so well! Such an honest verse...such a comment upon the fragility of Hope and Dreams...and the carelessness with which they can be treated." she looks to Dillon with wide eyes. One hand rubs briefly at the cloth folded about her thigh stump. Nodding she soon sits on her hands, a meek smile. "You read that so beautifully, sir."

Dillon smiles down to the book, averting his eyes in his own version of being bashful. "Well thank you. I sometimes feel like I have the voice of a hoarse frog, but I'm glad that doesn't get in the way of my, eh... oratory." By the end of his sentence, Dillon is looking at Martha again with that friendly jester expression of his. His tone remains quite honest, though. "And that is an excellent summary. The trust that we place in each other for all manners of relationships can make us feel fragile, but it is key to keeping your humanity, I think. Especially important for Kindred, who seem more often than not suspicious and paranoid by nature."

Martha nods, all wide eyed, her glee and joy unabated. Twin tails bob in agreement. "Oh...most certainly, sir! Trust is vital!" she shudders inwardly at the thought that Alice and herself would no longer enjoy such trust...she wondered at what corrective she might try...her thoughts soon came back to Dillon. She smiled while rubbing timidly at the cloth around her stump. Anxious, for the moment, to avoid talk of Humanity, she chirps; "I should very much wish to hear another one, sir! Or is it my turn to recite for you?" she smiles, all playful again.

"Oh, by all means, ma'am," Dillon says, leaning in toward Martha enough for his arm to touch her shoulder as he holds the slim book up for her to inspect for herself. He's genuinely glad she's enjoying her gift thus far. "Please grace me with your own sweet narration once again." At this proximity, he can sense the lavender fragrance on the little Herald well. It keeps him smiling, even as he self-consciously prays that he doesn't smell awful while she smells so pleasant. But he figures, if anything, he probably just smelled like dusty old clothing.

Her fragrances are vivid at this distance...mint...lavender...the clean linen aroma of her clothes. The small lady, so excited at her gift, nods. Twin tails bob. Smiling she gently accepts the offered book and carefully turns the pages. She loiters over several.

Fearing they may seem too sombre...or ill judged...or she may dislike them for other reasons, she finally selects Sailing to Byzantium. "Ah! There are so many fine verses, sir!" she smiles, looking eagerly to Dillon, "Some talk of love...some of youth...some of the mysteries of the Good Folk! But...but of course! Here we have a meditation upon immortality...and a spiritual quest to attain it! A man seeking Divine and Ecstatic Peace late. Late and after he has had to live in the World that has compromised him...tainted him! Such audacity to attempt such a theme...but..." and with that, she begins a careful narration. Her pristine English accent is put to work, her educated diction is exercised. Her reading is full of gesture from her free hand.

"That is no country for old men.

The young: in one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.

Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul claps its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school - but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And, therefore, I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O, sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the Holy Fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my Soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
and fastened to a dying animal,
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of Eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a Golden Bough to sing
To Lords and Ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past...or passing...or to come."

The sound of Hope and Promise is pure in her voice as the final stanza rises. This is, to her, no melancholy reflection upon the paradox of sage wisdom found only in frail old age. No. Her wide eyed reading and impressions are one that; "...when one is Sailing to Byzantium, a good chart is vital. A chart poor Mr Yeats found far too late, it seems...for all his one time arcane and Gnostic understandings! It seems he forgot what he once knew. Or squandered the lessons along the way. One need not wait for decreptitude to be guided by the remote, almost abstract, Fire Dwelling Magi alluded to here! No. Not when their works and studies line the libraries, inform the minds of those we may consult and may yet reveal wisdom to the young!" a smile. A smile she is keen, in her proximity and joy, to share with Dillon. It seemed a lesson equally valid for Dragon and Sanctified alike. She hoped she had not offended. Her free hand, no longer in gesture, returns to rubbing the gymslip about her stump as she studies Dillon, suddenly worried her enthusiasms may have alarmed.

But offended, Dillon is certainly not. He instead let's out a low whistle that show's he is impressed, and to stall for the proper words. Finding none, he fixes Martha momentarily with a bright smile of admiration. Her swelling joy was infectious, and Dillon relished that she would choose to share it with him. "Your insight far outstrips my own. There is nothing I can add to that, I can only agree." He inclines his head very close to hers briefly, in a playful way, almost tapping her noggin with his. "I see that I made the right friend with whom to share my attraction to musty old texts. It's true, there's enough education to be had even in that one little store we visited to last us much of our Requiem, and it is a small drop in a very fascinating bucket."

Martha seemed delighted at all this. Wide eyed, she listened and nodded. "Ohh!" she coos, "Indeed, sir! That bookstore is a treasure trove! Do let us return there soon, sir, please!" she asks, all girlish and eager. her hands freely dance as she asks the question.

Dillon is thoroughly enjoying Martha's gestures and mannerisms, but doesn't want to embarrass her by pointing it out, so he watches serenely. "We're of the same mind about it, then. Once I have procured a Haven of my own, I'd like to transplant much of that building's contents to it." A faint chuckle. "I've always wanted one of those great old studies that you see of the classic wizened adventurer. I'm sure you can picture what I mean - A moderately sized room stuffed to bursting with volumes of text, maps, artifacts, and the like, as cozy and eccentric as I can get it. Unfortunately, as much as I've moved around over the last century, maintaining a space like that would've been impractical."

There is a modest, one-sided shrug. "Not that I fancy myself a wizened adventurer or anything, but it would be a nice fantasy to indulge, wouldn't it?"

Martha felt well acquainted with wizended adventurer types and the image he was conjuring. She'd made a habit of frequenting a comic and games shop when she first arrived in Sacramento: the images abounded and were comforting. She smiled merrily, nodding freely and was clearly amused by the whole idea. "Oh, indeed, sir! I can fully picture the scene! You in the role of Dr Jones! Striding out to perform bold deeds one day; lingering over dusty manuscripts the next!" she chuckled happily. Again, wide eyed, her gentle hands are active in miming cracking a bullwhip...then leafing through a magical tome.

Dillon laughs a single note, rather like a bark, but not as loud. "You paint a vivid picture yourself." He then rubs his chin in thought, with a humorous air of playful consideration in his voice. "I did have a nice fedora at one time... never quite got good with a whip, though. But then, back in the days when they were regularly used, whenever I needed to communicate with or command horses and cattle, I could just talk to them."

"Ohhhh" she coos. It's Martha's turn to be impressed and she makes no effort to conceal her positive impression at all this. Wide eyed, she sits in an admiring silence now. Watching Dillon happily and closely. Hands fold into her lap.

Dillon shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. He liked that Martha was impressed and all, and certainly that she seemed to be enjoying herself, but a gloating man he isn't. In fact, the quiet attention sort of makes him nervous. Changing the subject, he launches into an introduction to a proposal he'd been thinking about for a while. "But anyway, speaking of adventurous Havens, I had an idea the other day that I wanted to run by you..." The Gangrel's charming features shift a bit guiltily. "I should have mentioned this first, actually. I don't want you to think I'm trying to use your friendship as leverage. I'm not. I promise that you're unbiased judgement will only improve my already high opinion of you." He ends the statement with an encouraging smile, waiting for Martha's urging one way or the other on whether or not he should continue.

It is unclear if Martha is swayed by the flattery, but she makes a happy smile and a gentle hand gesture...as if encouraging more talk. "Goodness me, sir! Well...I daresay I shall do my very best to be fair minded and listen carefully to your plan! Please continue, sir..." a happy smile, hands return to her lap. Her attention fully on Dillon.

Nodding, Dillon continues. "Well, sometime in the near future, when I can liquidate the proper assets, I'd like to purchase a place in the Communal zone and offer it as your temporary Haven for the newly arrived and displaced Kindred of Sacramento. I've been looking at some places, but haven't settled on anything because I'd like your opinion first, of course.

"It's my hope that you would grant me the Tenancy required to manage the operation and security of that Communal Haven and the surrounding area. I know it's a big step, but I'm also putting myself in a position of great accountability to you and Alder Prince Clarke, so abusing this opportunity would be unwise. More than just a matter of tenancy, I like the idea of helping others get acquainted to the city and her Officials, and I think I'm a good choice to do it; I've been to a lot of domains, and been through the acclimation process more times than I could count. I know how busy you can be sometimes, and though you deputized Miss Sage as your Bailiff, I would also like to assist you in organizing and protecting our, eh, fresher faces." Dillon says that last bit with the sense of knowing irony. He wasn't exactly a long standing citizen himself, but he intended to change that.

Again, the Gangrel shrugs lightly, in an inviting way. A way that suggests he's perfectly fine with whatever Martha had to say about it. He only hoped he hadn't forgotten to mention something important. "That is my most recent scheme. What do you think?"

Sitting quietly and attentive, Martha smiles. It all seems to make sense. "That sounds splendid. An idea I have nurtured too. Be certain that I shall mention it to the Alder Prince, sir! The Tenancy matter, while I may hold private views about that: I cannot comment upon at present and will consult upon that too. The Alder Prince is wise to guard the Right of Tenancy with care. However, your idea is sound, practical and humane. The capitialisation is an interesting question. Though, in the currently depressed property market, one can imagine a bargain may be had!" She nods to reassure. It was an idea she was fully behind.

Dillon meets the nod with a thankful smile. "I am glad to have your support. I would understand if His Majesty were unwilling to place such faith in me yet, but without sounding too much like a spy, at least I will be where you both can keep a watchful eye on me." He adds a little wink. It was a valid consideration, but he didn't want to sow any mistrust. It was natural to be suspicious of newcomers that asserted themselves quickly, and Dillon just wanted to put his superiors at ease.

Martha giggles cheerily at the wink. She finds a quiet reason to let both her hands play with one of her plaited twin tails.

"We don't employ spies, sir. Spies are the wicked tool of the Enemy!" she gently teases in tone, even if...in her view...she feels her words carry truth.

"Why don't we exlpore some properties, sir? We could gather together a portfolio of options, sir. That way we can present the Alder Prince with an idea that has been tested in the field, so to speak. Options he can assess. Presenting him with an abstract notion is an inferior approach to presenting him with something of substance!" she smiles, keen to explore this idea, it seems. "We might also be able to identify other and additional investment opportunities en passant with which to present to the Alder Prince!" a happier smile, she keeps playing with her twin tail. Her thigh stump briefly wriggles under her dress. Her gaze attentive upon Dillon.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Dillon says with agreement. "And cataloging other potential venues for future reference is a great idea. Very shrewd of you. Between the coming real estate investigations, and frequent raids to the local bookstores, I suppose we will be spending a good deal of time in each others company." He smiles sweetly. "I hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am."

"Oh! I absolutely hope so, sir!" she replies with sincere enthusiasm.