Chapter 1: A call for help

[InvertedMonkey]

Rain isn't something new to Ramona. Even the "torrential downpour" as some Sacramento locals called it didn't impress her. But with it's cessation, she's taken the opportunity to take a stroll away from the shop on her lunch hour, to find somewhere to eat. The bread of her sub sandwich is fluffy and chewy, but there's a good balance of roast beef and horseradish. She tears another hunk off with her teeth as she sits on a bench outside a local deli she's pleased to have found. She leans back on the damp bench, pulling her paper cup of soda forward for a quick sip as she watches people and cars go by.

Its on a telephone pole. The poster that says two things at once. She recognizes the tradecraft, or wyrdcraft if you'd rather. The way it was arranged on the pole, the other posters it partially overlaps. But the running ink, that's interesting. She stands up, soda still in hand, and steps closer to the pole. Urgent help, she ponders, and looks down the street absently. Hmm. After a moment, she returns to her bench, scooping up the debris of her lunch. It all goes into a public trash bin, as she walks off down the sidewalk again, hands comfortably in the pockets of her leather jacket.

She breezes back into the shop, hanging up her jacket and grabbing the heavy blacksmith apron that her leather chaps compliment, protecting her from heat and sparks and brushes with hot metal. She drapes the apron over herself as she moves out onto into the work area, where her employer is already setting out bar-stock of metal for their upcoming project. "Hey Rick," she greets the bearded, pot-bellied man as she opens up the propane valves on one of the forges, and the steady rumble of the fires grows. "You ever hear of The Quicksilver Gate?"

---

Work happened to be light that day, which means Rick let her out early. She could've used the hours, what with the expense of moving, but today at least she's got somewhere else to be. Maybe even another source of income. She pulls into a parking spot outside the address Rick gave her. Its not like its hard to miss the building, what with those lovely silver arches out front. She steps out of her plain, silver Honda Civic, Doc Martens slapping the wet asphalt. She smells like smoke, and fire, and sweat, and hot metal, and she's still wearing her blacksmithing chaps over her regular blue jeans. Urgent help the poster said. Better to come straight here than stop home for a change and a shower. Ash lightly dusts her nose and cheeks. She closes and locks her car, then tucks her hands into the pockets of her black leather jacket. It's unzipped, showing the black fabric and red FF logo of her t-shirt.

She strides towards the silver arches, glancing left and right, making sure she's not run over and keeping an eye out for any thing that might suggest urgent help being necessary. When she reaches the arches though, she stops, looking up and to the sides. That is damn lovely work, she admires, stepping to the left to more closely examine the intricate weave of silver vines and thorns. It's resemblance to the Hedge is not lost on her, giving her a moment's pause, but then she is again lost in the artistry of it. She plays out an imagined forging process in her head, thinking of the work that must have gone into this beautiful piece, the hours of design and laboriously bending each strand in the weave of metal until it was just right. She rests a hand on the silver for a moment, looking up at the beautiful silver, and a small smile quirks up one corner of her mouth.

Equipment

Ramona wears Reinforced Clothing (Armor 1/0) in the form of her leather jacket and leather blacksmithing chaps. In her pockets she has a cheap prepaid cellphone, a tiny LED penlight, a wallet with a the typical contents, some lip balm, a tiny little bottle of moisturizing lotion, etc. She wears an iron ring on the middle finger of her right hand, which she hand-forged herself, simple, unadorned, and kind of uneven. She drove a silver Honda Civic here, which, in addition to having typical car stuff in it, sports a First Aid Kit and an Urban Survival Kit ("go bag") in the trunk.

[Dominyk Prise]

Dominyk took the day off of writing, which meant that Leash would likely chew him out later for being a slouch and not, at the very least, doing something productive with his life. But then Leash was always like that, it was why he liked her, even if she tried really hard to keep tabs on him, there were times when he suspected she had planted some sort of chip in him just so she would know.

He hadn’t found anything yet, so he figured it was just the paranoia that seemed to affect him at times.

Instead he decided to wander around sacramento, sunglasses on and a hoodie to at least seem like he wasn’t trying to get all of the looks that he managed to get anyway. there was a specific downside to being him at times, and it was that the glances never really stopped.

At least he had learned to avoid dark alleyways... or alleyways in general, particularly if there were people around.

It was during this walk that he noticed the running sign and not more than a few blocks away from his house. That gave at least some sort of validity to it, or at least made it more interesting. And he knew the Quicksilver Gate was one of theirs...it was wort the look.

***

Later on that day, after a significant nudge to Leash he managed to get her to drive him to the local artist bazar. If this whole thing that required Urgent Help at lest he could poke around in Mr. Tickle’s shop and see if there was anything there that he was interested in.

He was dressed this time in a falsely studded leather jacket over a white T-shirt and blue jeans, across one shoulder was slung a worn leather bag.

“Hey, I think I saw you at the Blue Note.” he said as he walked up to the ogre that reminded him of his past. He flashed her a smile, “I’m Dominyk Prise, you here for the...thing?” he asked as he held up a sheet of brightly colored rolled paper, the very same that he had pulled off of the pole he had found it on.

Equipment

Dominyk is wearing Reinforced Clothing (Armor 0/1) in the form of his leather jacket, in his bag he carries about three notebooks and a handful of pencils, a pocket knife, his tablet and a book. He is wearing a gold wedding band and engagement ring around his neck on a silver chain. He also has his smartphone and wallet with the usual wallet things, including one of those “Light Cards” and a “screwdriver card” from Think Geek.

[InvertedMonkey]

The thing? Ramona's smile takes on a more amused bent as she turns to face Dominyk. Are we planning a heist? She ponders with amusement. Thus distracted, it takes her a moment to recognize him. After all, the last time she saw him, his attire was very distracting. After about half a beat of silence, she places where she saw him last. Pink. The coronation. Hard to say if that was a better look for him than the studded leather jacket and jeans. Certainly made more of a statement. Hmm, another thought gives her pause. The Lost tend to have physical characteristics that distinguish them from the general population, to those that can detect them. This man... doesn't had horns and flowers growing in his hair. Ensorcelled? She wonders inside her head. Her nostrils flare as she takes in the scent of chocolate. Either way, he was at the coronation, so clearly he's plugged-in to the Freehold, and can see the deeper message in the flyer. An internal nod.

The internal conversation means that Ramona is quiet for a second and a half before she answers Dominyk, "Yeah. Ramona Bohannon," she replies, introducing herself. "Nice suit," she compliments, clearly referencing the night at the Blue Note, and confirming his memory of her presence there. Her attention darts away from him to the guitarist as he walks by playing, then back to Dominyk. "Do you know Katie?" She asks him, a small movement of her chin indicating the poster he holds. But before he can answer, she notices the music abruptly stopping, and then instrumentalist turning towards Dominyk. Her eyes flick to his', and then down to his long, slender fingers, and the general pallor of his skin. This one wasn't at the coronation.

[Dominyk Prise]

The Horned Flowering brushed a hand through his hair, knocking off the looser petals of the snow drops growing there, and carefully avoiding the sharp pints of the horns that moved over his hair. He gave Ramona a starling white grin full of points and sharpness.

"No, she wasn't around during my time." he said before looking at the sudden appearance of the kid he had seen standing on Al-Adin's head.

The stiff gesture was odd enough, almost as if it was extra-childish in nature, but Dominyk complied and returned the hand shake. "Thank you, Peter." he said as he accepted the fruit as well before pocketing it.

"If we're all supposed to be here, then I suppose we should not be standing outside like a drug deal." there was a joke there but it wasn't something he could actually articulate at the point in time. "Do you want to join us, Peter?"