A Gathering of the Circle

[Yumyumcrow]

This scene takes place on the night of the 27th July

DIRGE

GUNNAR

Tonight is a time for celebration and brotherhood. Tonight is a time for feasting and dancing. Tonight is for fellowship. The flyers said and so, and what was said was true.

A call had gone out, and they had come: pagans, folk artists, goths, nature lovers. They danced and they sang around the campfires that dotted the property. The party had begun earlier in the day and spilled relentlessly into the night. Music and laughter spilled from the property as the Kindred arrived; fire's burned, illuminating the balmy summer night: the owners of the farm had turned off their electric lights and the land was a seething pool of shadows - a bastion of a long lost world daring to challenge the modernity of the city for one night.

Behind the farm house, screened by the untidy wall of caravans, vehicles, outbuildings and greenhouses, another fire had been lit. It was a small, controlled affair and its meagre light would have been obscured from the revellers out the front. This gathering was private. Only those who read the signs in the secret places would have known of its existence. Only those who received the guarded look, the hidden hand-signs and the subtle movement of eyes and head would have known where to go.

The eclectic neo-pagan and environmentalist collective that had taken over the Farm knew how to guard their secrets well... If an unlucky explorer slipped past their watch... well, they were food. Gunnar and Dirge would make certain of that. Right now, Daeva and Haunt waited by their little fire.

Gunnar wore his crown this night: leather, wood, semi-precious stones, like a prop from A Conan movie (given this was California, it very well be a prop from a Conan movie). He sat on his haunches, an arm slung around his sword (scabbard bound in glyph wrought cloth and cunningly crafted bark paper). A dark cloak, thick with embroidery, draped over him almost like a shroud. Without blush his vividly pale skin and blue eyes seemed almost otherworldly.

Dirge sat also: skirts fanning out around her. An embroidered red cloak she wore, contrasting with the black cloth that wrapped around her head. Not that the cloth could be seen: the Haunt knew how to play to the flickering shadows and her hair hung heavy, tumbling about her in a deliberately contrived pile that only added to her mystery. Charms jangled from her hands and feet when she moved. Off to her right, but within reach, her fearsome dogs played dominance games with each other as they settled to eat: bones and glistening red meat. She sang to them and to the Grove King - an aching, beautiful sound of soft melody.

There was but one chair: a director's stool, home-made and bedecked with ribbons, streamers, and fresh cut growth. The drought was harsh and the green spangled chair showed the success of the Farm's efforts more than words could tell.

Over to you Forn Clakes C_Lloyd Djinn Jason

[Djinn]

There were a good many things that Sinead was looking forward to learning about the city, but there was one thing she was set on more than anything else. And so the expression she wore as she approached the farm was one of wistful excitement, though the suggestion of what, precisely, this external celebration was about made the Irishwoman a little bit amused.

Stepping out of the car, Sinead carefully adjusted her dress a little bit before tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Her feet, as usual, were bare to the ground as she stepped onto the farmland, her toes curling a little in the dirt and leaving her to sigh comfortably. The bonfire, however...

... that was an entirely different thing. Her Beast wanted none of that. Her mind wanted none of that. She kept more than a wary distance from the flames, her hands curling tightly into her skirts as she tried to keep images out of her head that she distinctly didn't want. The outside layer of the skirts seemed to dance and float when the wind caught it, semi-sheer and flowing absently in whatever direction in deemed fit aside from where she held it. Surely this was the place she was meant to be in, based on the information she'd seen, and yet she didn't know precisely what this was all about.

It was almost a dance through the crowd that Sinead participated in before finding her way more appropriately, though even as she approached she watched the dogs and the duo carefully. Hadn't she seen the man before, once? On that nightmare-ish first Court gathering...? She put that notion out of her head as well, offering a low curtsy to the pair.

Magna Mater, I am where you sent me. A place that is home to us. Please allow me to present myself well to my new family, that they may become as my old family was. The prayer was granted before she raised her eyes to look at the duo who were present. "... Good evening," she greeted, softly.

[Yumyumcrow]

Gunnar, like Dirge and Sinead, emitted no Beast. There was a pause - a cord of tension! - before he gestured with his free hand.

"I caught a glimpse of you at the Court of the Prince, did I not? Be welcome to our hearth then, Acolyte. I am Gunnar Haroldson, of the Daeva; King of the Grove, some call me still. This is Dirge, of the Nosferatu, who has worn many masks in her time. Come. Sit. Tell us who you are."

He attempted a smile. Given his appearance and carefully choreographed gestures, it made him appear almost like a statue.

[Djinn]

"Only briefly, I'm afraid, but I do believe so, Rex Nemorensis," she responded in a reverent tone, lowering into another curtsy, and offering one to Dirge in turn before taking a seat on the earth, though she edged uneasily away from the small fire they had. It was less disconcerting than the one she'd just bypassed, but the memory burned just as brightly as the small flames did.

"I am Sinead Lovekin," the soft Irish-accented voice introduced herself, "an Acolyte Mother of Clan Nosferatu, as well, recently of Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Magna Mater directed me to this city, though I haven't entirely puzzled out the reasoning as of yet." Perhaps it was the presence of the Rex that had Cybele guide her here? There were a good many things that she could learn from such an esteemed individual, she was certain, and perhaps with that knowledge would come the answers she sought so desperately.

The reds and yellows of the flames danced in her eyes as blue eyes carefully took in both of her companions, thoughtfully. Had she thought she'd meet another Haunt here? Hardly. But she wouldn't deny that she was grateful for that notion, after two cities of Ventrue-predominant Acolytes, and that one gathering she'd attended where she and a poxmarked Mekhet were the only non-Gangrel Acolytes present.

[Edwin Bridges]

Edwin's arrival had caused the Lord to grin from ear to ear. In truth, the smile hadn't vanished ever since he read the invite around the Domain. The Crone was back and about to talk the shit outta this Convenant. He hadn't been this excited since the time he met Slash back during one of the rocker's binges. Edwin had even gone out a brought top hat for the guitarist to sign.

That's right, Edwin is a closet geek. Even those destined for Hel needed a hobby.

making his way through the Farm, Edwin wanted to join the kine in the swing of the pagan goodness, to join in with songs that he would learn and tales that he would tell but deep down, the Lord knew he needed to meet others like himself, and he then wondered if any would be followers of the Second Descent.

If not, this would be so entertaining.

Wearing a black wifebeater so that all his tattoos on his arms and neck were on show, faded jeans and dark boots, Edwin entered the secret gathering, his hazel eyes briefly turning to the fire nearby with some fear. Finally, he turned to the trio present and was smiling quite broadly.

"Evening all, Edwin Bridges," he announced, fingers tracing the tattoos on his hands, his husky voice quite endearing, "Thanks for the invite. I was starting to worry I was the only believer in the city."

[Yumyumcrow]

Dirge might be a mannikin for the amount of movement she makes, but Gunnar acknowledges Sinead with the inclination of his head - a not quite subtle movement that speaks volumes.

The choreographed movements tumble into natural mirth as Edwin makes his introductions. "Fear not, friend. You are not alone. Join our hearth and bring us your cheer!" Leaning to one side, the blonde Deava noted the arrival of another. "Come in peace, then. Join our hearth!"

He waited for the newcomers to draw near. "I am Gunnar Haroldson, Grove King of the Daeva. This here is Dirge, a Nosferatu; and Sinead, also of that Blood." He shifted his weight. His right hand crawled expressively up the blade of his sword, wrapping around the hilt: habit, rather than threat; his hand stayed there, fingers flexing contemplatively. "It has been a time since a Circle could gather and sit as on in this Domain. The Temple has stood empty and the Farm was left fallow. Then did Dirge come from the lightless caves and lent me assistance in my time of need. Since then we have tended a garden on this land. It is your land, also. You are welcome here and my people will see to your needs as best they can... so long as you respect the balance and do not take too much from those who give us drink and shelter."

[Djinn]

Blue eyes gaze up as she settles on each of the newcomers with a degree of curiousity. Were their numbers in this city so few? Where was this Dr. French that the Seneschal had mentioned? Still, without a word she turns her eyes once again to the Rex, looking curiously at him as he spoke before smiling a little to herself.

Balance.

Kindred, Kine and Earth all in balance.

Now that was a beautiful notion, one she could understand quite thoroughly as she thought back on her lost family. They were not all the same, indeed all families had differences, at times very obscure ones, but they were family nevertheless. Balance.

"Good evening," the blonde woman finally offered, her voice still quiet though it was a smile that was turned on both of the newcomers. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

[Edwin Bridges]

"Thanks," Edwin grinned at the welcome from Gunnar, moving closer to the pair who seemed to be chairing this gathering. His hazel eyes took in the others present. It was all he could do to keep the screeching in his ears from letting lose. Notaku was a fucking lump of a man, and seemed to be there. In his space.

It was annoying.

Although, the young girl, whose name he caught as Sinead, was just plain eerie. Sure, she was certainly striking but seriously, she was already creeping Edwin out. Her accent was pretty hot, however.

"Well, may Hel thank you both for allowing us to gather here at this blessed site," Edwin smiled, sincerely, honestly, his husky voice carrying his words across the flames. "It is an honour to once again be able to pay homage to the Crone with other like-minded souls."

[Djinn]

Bumping this cuz it's been a little bit. C_Lloyd Yumyumcrow

Sinead rose to her feet to offer her hand to each of the newcomers politely, smiling gently. "Please, do come sit... there is plenty of seating, and thus far it seems the dogs do not bite." A small part of her wanted to approach the dogs and ruffle their heads, but she had already decided against that.

"If I may, whence do you hail?" she inquired delicately, offering the answer to her own question of her own accord as a token of good will. "I am recently from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, in Canada," a pretty smile settled on her face at that. "This has been my first adventure into the United States, so I do hope my manners still come across in a way that is appropriate for the area and time period."