Antique Fair

[Gregory]

Standing amongst the dusty furniture, vendor booths, and tables lined with assortments of nick-knacks might appear an aged Gargoyle clad in a dirty old suit. It is the time of the year when those among the Sacramento residents dig through their attics and basements and discover things from their pasts they'd must rather be without. Each item tells a different story, some of neglect, others of misplaced pride as the vendors talk up their wares in hopes of gaining an extra measly dollar or two.

It's the Sacramento Antique Fair, of course. And being a homeless Lost on the city streets, Gregory cannot help but notice the gathering beneath the Golden Street Highway. Grandfather clocks, armoires, credenzas, girandoles, some gilded, others cracked with stains. Even a davenport and a bergere. Gregory neither knows nor cares much for the classic styles of junk, but he is content to observe the exchange of goods and the enthusiasm of commerce and history.

Perhaps he takes his interest from the recent Fallen Fair that concluded at the start of Autumn. Regardless, he has no cash to spend, nor a place to put the curious clutter.

[Cabochard]

Sam liked things. It was a fact, a law of nature, as indisputable as the presence of the moon, or the effect of gravity. He liked things that were real, solid, that he could touch, smell, even taste if he so chose. Each one was a little symbol of his freedom, an island of calm, a reminder that yes, he had escaped, and this world was still real and not a dream. He especially liked things with words on them, due to an old, possibly-true allegation that one was incapable of reading in a dream, but really anything would work for him, so long as he could hold it. And the older, the better. An old item spoke even more to reality, stating that it had existed for years, decades, possibly even centuries, and it was still there, to be poked and prodded and examined.

And so Sam found himself at an Antique Fair, the only event the Wizened could honestly say he loved. He didn't even mind the number of people present, as the sheer amount of age and reality placed a delicious weight on his shoulders, freeing him from constant paranoia and wonder. The magic of things. He walked through the crowd, for the first time in forever not playing with his cuffs or checking his pocket-watch. In fact, he was even sporting a happy smile, and walking taller and straighter than ever before, adding several inches to his usual height. He wandered the crowd, stopping here to play with an old watch, and there to take a poke at a rusted, useless old revolution-era pistol.

Straightening up after chatting with the owner of the pistol for a moment, he looked around to spot where he should make his next stop. And there, in the distance, another Lost. For a strange reason, the goblin felt more inclined to be friendly today more than any other day. The magic of things. He wandered over to the gargoyle, keeping his happy smile glued on, and gave him a nod, adjusting his tie and jacket. "Hello there. Have we, eh, met before?"

[Gregory]

Gregory turns at the arrival of the stranger, his neck twisting as he alters his perspective to view the man with a careful scrutiny. "I would remember such a meeting, surely," he says in a rasp of a voice as his grey eyes, like smooth marble, search for traces of familiarity. "Ah, of course. I saw you at another fair. The gathering, the start of Autumn. No words did we share, nor names, but that be then and this be now. I be Gregory, recent arrival to this city. By what name might I call thee?"

He speaks with calm and curiosity, without sign of fear of his fellow Lost. But it may simply be an act to guise anxiety. With the mundane all around there is little they can reveal between them of their nature.

[Cabochard]

The twisted little Gremlin extends his hand in friendship, offering a shaky handshake. He didn't often like to touch people, but he was more comfortable here. "Melvyn Cy. A pleasure to meet you, Gregory." Using his false identity didn't sit well with Samuel, especially in conversation with a fellow Lost, but they were in public. He couldn't use his real name here, since his false name was how every human knew him. He flashed the Gargoyle a smile, looking around for a moment, before returning his look to the stone-thing. "What brings you here?"

[Gregory]

Gregory regards the hand warily, more expressive in his features for the discomfort the gesture instills in him. Finally he reaches out and places his hand in Melvyn's for a brief shake. "For me as well, Melvyn Cy," he says politely before answering the man's question. "I come to observe the commerce, the exchange of goods. It is beyond me, such plentiful possessions, such pitiful property."

His hand sweeps over the fair as he speaks, a simple gesture. "I have little experience with material possessions, but I take joy in seeing its acquisition. See how they lament in parting with their treasure, and how the buyer rejoices in their purchase. All with the exchange of paper and coin. Not that, I'm that fresh off the boat, mind you. I know the trade and its meaning," he clarifies quickly with another dismissive wave of his hand. "But there it is. And you, Melvyn Cy? Have you come to find your own treasure?"

[Cabochard]

Samuel wades through the sea of complicated, archaic language the man is using, until he reaches the shore of understanding. Why did he talk like that? Maybe he was from an older time, and he'd just spent longer than should be in Arcadia. Or maybe it was something done to his brain in there. Or just something to do with habits. Who knew? Maybe he should ask. "Ah, I came because I, eh, I have a particular enjoyment of old things. They have a lot of history behind them, many stories to tell." He pauses, trying to figure out how to properly formulate his next question. "If you, ahem, don't mind me asking, why do you talk like that?"

[Gregory]

Gregory nods to the man's answer, putting a finger to his chin as he considers the pursuit of history. "Indeed," he comments. Certainly there were many stories behind the items. Attachments behind the emotions of give and take. Why each item held value to its possessor was what made it special. But perhaps he is over-thinking this. A second glance it is just junk. But the mundane people remain dynamic and more interesting.

At the bold question, Gregory's brows perk up with some surprise. "Hmm? Talk like what?" he asks, unaware of the Lost's meaning.

[Malcolm Green]

A giant looms above the madding crowd; a mountain of a man in a military surplus greatcoat with a sling bag hanging from his shoulder. He walks slowly, taking his time. He appreciates the items he sees while at the same time, carefully moving his bulky form through the throng. A pall of silence hangs over him, almost as surely as the bubble of cool air that enfolds him.With his intimidating height there are few willing to engage him unless he speaks first.

The mountain likes it that way.

His lazy eyes fall on the other Lost but once. His mouth opens and his brow ridges rise, but he does not come over. Not obviously, at any rate. His course alters is all, a movement that will bring him close by. If they wish to engage him, it is they who must move.

Green's eyes are for the antiques. Antiques are buried secrets; they should stay buried. Never know what will happen when a buried secret surfaces. Could be trouble...

  

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2014-11-08 07:12:42		Green uses Kenning rolls 7 to do something insignificant (10 Again)		2, 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 3		1 success

The Kenning roll is for the STs if they want Green to notice something.

[Cabochard]

Samuel frowned at Gregory. He really didn't notice how he spoke? But, it was so obvious. Any interactions with not-Lost would show it to him in an instant...or so he should think. "Like, uh, like...never mind." Samuel looked around, trying to find something to distract them from this conversation which might end up in strange places. He notes the giant among them with a slight tremble of fear; who knew what a man that large might do? Instead of drawing his attention, he keeps looking around. There must be something he could use, right?

Spotting Catherine in the crowd, Samuel's eyes light up slightly. A person he actually knew! Maybe he could use her as a distraction, since introducing someone to someone new could always come in handy in a pinch. He extended his arm upwards, waving at the woman. "Hello, ehm...Catherine! Yes. Hello!" He tried to wave her over, doing his best to make sure she noticed him.