Chapter Two

[West]

This Scene is by invitation only -- Currently, David Regan and Hildegarde Bingen . It will be a hodge-podge of Covenant and possibly Skeleton Keys, so it's in TDM & Stickied.

The address provided by the scruffy Hound of South Sacramento might surprise either of the invited -- that it is an actual building, rather than a kennel, copse of trees, or mound of dirt.

The large house stands dark, aside from a sole flickering light within. Even lit only by moonlight, it's easy to see that vegetation runs rampant -- signs of disrepair and neglect are everywhere. Still, these are mostly cosmetic. The walls stand tall and strong. The roof will still shelter any within. It may be forgotten, but it has good bones.

As it should. In years past and mostly forgotten, this was the seat of the Dragons of Sacramento.

Here, Sworn gathered.

Once, a Prince was raised.

[Hildegarde Bingen]

A lone figure makes its way towards the bulk of the house, carefully stepping over and around the riotous vegetation and crumbling decrepitude in her freshly polished, low, boots. Tonight, Hildegarde wares jeans and a hooded jumper (not something she would have purchased but on this occasion she is willing to follow Iago's advice).

The Lord makes little pretence of hiding, either because the idea has slipped her mind or because she is too curious about the location in general. There is a certain thrill to being invited to another's House - and for the moment she most certainly believes this to be Dog's haven - so she is taking the time to... appreciate the building as much as possible on her approach.

Every now and then, she stops and stiffens as her limbs scream to lock into place. The pull of that unspoken (and embarrassing) urge is lessening. Hildegarde is slowly mastering her body.

Only once does she turn to look furtively over her shoulder. Yes, the Spanish Lady is moving in the shadows: petticoats rustling, a hooded cloak with veil obscuring her face. Hildegarde can see her. Hildegarde knows she is being watched. As always.

[Dog]

The handle turns, and the door opens.

Dog's concession to the meeting is a pair of worn jeans. The rest of his squat, powerful frame is bare save the generous growth of body hair to which bits of grass cling here and there. Lips curl back slightly, revealing teeth as he studies the pair.

It's not Court. He doesn't have to make that concession. He let the rage within run it's course, exposing it, reveling in it. It could also be an intimidation tactic -- or fair warning.

"Bingen. Regan."

The words are harsh, but only in the sense that all of the sounds that come from him have that edge. His head leans out slightly, eyes moving around the expanse around the house.

Anticipation hung in the air, demanding words.

"Well. Get'cher asses in here."

He doesn't bother closing the door. Inside, the house reveals it's state. Musty odors hang thick in the air: dust, mildew, earthen scents. The light comes from a decades old Coleman lantern, with a pair of lit mantles pulsing. Leaves rustle across the floor. There is no furniture; nothing of note, save a pile of clothing in a corner.

"...And tell me why yer here."

[Hildegarde Bingen]

"Scribe Regan," Hildegarde replied formally. Given the shape of her mouth she was about to say something more, but at that point the door opened and the full force of Dog hit the Lord square in the face.

All the work on resisting her urge to pose melted away as she took two mincing steps backwards and froze in place. Limbs quivering (bizarrely, mirroring the shiver running through her Beast as its long fingers drummed fearfully on the inside of her skull).

"... Hound Dog..." she managed to mumble in a desperate attempt to maintain civility in face of the Beast. Hildegarde all but scurried inside before she regained her sense of self and poise. Her arm shivered again, so she clasped her hands together in front of her - a deferential pose and one that kept her errant limb under control.

"As to why I am here?" Hildegarde began, speaking rhetorically while she scanned the total desolation. "When you attended the funeral of our dear friend, Aileen... a valued member of the Order... you implied that there was something wrong. Something had not been done. Or a wrong left unpunished. I was hoping to learn more of this secret that Martha and some of the others seemed to be aware of and which I do not."

At last she managed to face Dog directly. "I was under the impression our Order was secure, stable and of one mind. You imply that it is not."

[Dog]

"I may have telled that slant-wise."

Dog moved closer in to the dark room, making a circuit before drifting into a corner. He squatted, as men had done for eons, cold dead fluid in his knees popping as he settled. Hairy, this forearms rested on his knees, hands hanging.

"It's been one moon shy of twenty since I went to that house."

A hand jerked, waving around them.

"This is the Chapter House. Sutterville's Dragons were led by three, since before Straiphen. Rashnu. Karsh. Shadow. Muir is our Kogaion." Golden eyes bored into the marionette. "From the Rampant Dragon Karsh's own mouth when I took the Crimson."

He paused to let that settle in -- not that he was Sworn, but there was a lot of shit they probably didn't know.

"Muir got hisself Torped, then Rose, then went to check on the Brood after Vash got herself ashed. 'Cept this time, Karsh and Veritas gave him a, fuck, I don't know. This big iron key, magic-like, to keep tabs on him." He exhaled, and shook his head. "Then Bethem ashed half the city, so I started keeping tabs. Well, Muir fucking vanished. Then I found him. You with me?"

The scruffy man paused to fish a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of a pocket. Eyes slid over to David, settling on him.

"I guess I never like to thought this were a second Chapter. Just me and then there the rest of you lot, too busy to give a shit. But I ken this is where you both decide if yer with me or them, and if it's them, get the fuck out."

[Hildegarde Bingen]

Hildegarde blinked. Once. A frown creased her mask-like face as she followed the Crimson's speech.

"If you are of the Crimson..." With a deliberate movement, the Lord curtsied as best she could. "Then it is our duty to render assistance. I do not know what assistance I can offer, but you shall have it all the same. That is all."

She straightened.

"So. What do you require of me?"

[Dog]

"It's not your duty."

The head tilted, looking at David for a moment before Hildegarde.

"Don't ever do something because I said it and I'm Sworn. Ever. Not my way of goin' about things."

Didn't preclude doing something because he said and he would beat a body into Torpor if they didn't. Not Dragons. Them, he just ignored.

"But know this, girl. I am Crimson. If yer here to listen an then go tell tales that put a body at risk -- I'll bury you. Nice like, perfectly safe. So we're square on that. Now." Attention swung back to the Shadow. "The first thing you can do? I figger I'd like to be told what the fuck's been goin' on for twenty moons in that house."