Bonfire Night 2014

[CyledyrWyllt]

Those who have attended the past two Fallen Fairs will recognize the large tent erected in the back yard of Edna's Boarding House as well as the blightbent wearing the multicolored hedgespun scarf who sits at the entrance. However, since it has been taken down and erected just inches from it's previous location, the key for the gate is slightly different as well. As she fusses with the golden leaves and luscious fruit growing from her scarf, Emma informs attendees of the Self Defense Symposium that they must close their eyes and recite "a desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy" when they walk through this time. Once they repeat the words and step between the tent flaps into the garden hollow of the Autumn Court, they will notice that a pavilion of dulled steel poles and stitched leather has been erected next to the stone slab table and an eccentric study area has sprung up beneath the balcony. The familiar assortment of baked goods and fresh goblin fruit have been laid out on the table, however the punch bowl appears to be absent at this seasonal event and a large bonfire burns in the center of the hollow. The walled hedge garden is still ripe with abundant goblin fruit and the bright torches ensconced upon the walls add their light to the bonfire in order to illuminate the exotic hues of the hedge bounty as well as the many colored leaves that carpet the ground. The Autumn Queen sits on a stump next to the fire and turns a spit with some unidentified haunch of meat slowly revolving over the flames. Every once in a while, the ogress adjusts the shawl around her shoulders as she tears a morsel from the bone with her hooked fingers to taste whether the meat is done.

Welcome to Bonfire Night. Be prepared to defend yourself.

[Whisper]

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy..." Those words trailed off of his lips multiple times as he helped with event preparations. The light from the torches and bonfire were obnoxious to his eyes. To him, light was always a symbol of danger instilled upon him through his durance. He had about as much control over that feeling as he did about getting dragged into Arcadia and hunted.

Part of him wanted a cigarette, but he wouldn't even dare ask for permission to smoke in the hallow. He could quell the sensation for the time being and suffer. It sure as hell didn't help that he dreamweaved the field of combat for the Oneiromancy session in a half-smoked pack of Marlboro Reds.

With everything said and done, he moved over towards the Autumn Queen giving a nod of confirmation. He squinted at the haunch of meat over the brightly burning fire, trying to discern what part of the body it came from. For all he knew it was a thorax...

[Cabochard]

Samuel entered the gate, after acquiring the proper pass phrase from the woman manning the entrance, once again. The second time in a short while that he was stepping through a hedge gate. It set him a touch on edge again. He still didn't know that, on the other side, there wasn't going to be something horrible. The bonfire might be for the corpses of the stupid Lost who walked in. And 'Self-Defense Symposium'? Nothing said self-defense like having to protect yourself from a bunch of loyalists! But, on the chance that it wasn't a horrible, horrible trap, and because he knew that was just him being paranoid, Samuel had come anyway. As always, he was dressed classily, though he had opted for more casual attire tonight. After all, he was likely to get dirty.

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy." The phrase was a little strange, but it was fitting, if the disease was your enemy, and the remedy was fighting. The bonfire and torches stung his eyes a little, and he blinked until the spots were gone. The Gremlin then stepped off to the side, away from the entrance, so as not to get in anyone else's way. He watched the Ogress rotating the slab of meat and shivered a little, thoughts he didn't need to think popping into his head. He forced himself to stop shivering, bowing slightly to the woman. Spotting the other man who had arrived before him, he offered Maredrauga a nod. Have I met him before? Ah, yes, at the Fair. They'd only spoken a few words to each other, but Samuel liked to remember names and faces.

[Daniel Leto]

Daniel approached the tent with a large Tupperware container without a lid full of haystack desserts. He had made an assortment of flavors, some with peanut butter, some butterscotch, and some with chocolate. He had considered bringing something like puppy chow but decided this was more seasonal and showed he had put at least some effort in. Besides, his grandmother had made them for him every year around Halloween.

When Emma told him the key he thought for a moment that she might have gotten it backwards. How could an illness be desperate? And even if it was, why would its cure need be dangerous? He didn’t question her but the illogic of it was disquieting.

”A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.“ came the words and he stepped into Autumn’s garden. He first made his way to the table and set his contribution down in an available spot near other things that looked like desserts. Then he walked to the bonfire. Between the torches and the blaze, he was seeing white ghosts whenever he blinked.

“Hello Ms. Jasons,” he greeted the candle-lit Queen with a nod.

“Maredrauga, it’s good to see you. And… I don’t think we’ve met,” he said to Samuel “I’m Daniel Leto.”

[Gregory]

Tipping his hat to the Blightbent, Gregory strolls up to the tent behind Edna's Boarding House, wearing his usual disheveled brown suit. He carries in one arm a large full paper bag, and in his other hand he grips a bottle of vodka. He grins as the woman confirms what he has heard regarding the self-defense symposium. Following her instructions, he repeats the key phrase, "A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy," while closing his eyes and walking into the tent.

After a brief moment, Gregory opens his eyes and looks around him. The fire catches his attention first, the flicker of light casting shadows all about the tented area. Next his attention falls to the stone table where food is laid out. Gregory heads there first, setting down the large paper bag and vodka. Clumsily the bag topples over, spilling out a few chunks of slightly stale french bread loaves onto the stone surface. Beneath those morsels rests a handful of butter and jam condiments. All he could afford on a beggar's salary.

Share and share alike.

Instead of gorging himself, as he is prone to do when in the presence of free food, he makes his way to the Autumn Queen and pays his respects with a deep and humble bow before raising his head and meeting her gaze if but for an instant. He has no intention of making conversation just yet unless she found reason to address him.

Gregory spies a familiar face, most noticeable among the Lost, of L'aire , dressed for mobility it seems. He makes his way over, his hands clasped behind him, his hunched posture making him gaze upwards at her from beneath his brow. "Good tidings to you, L'aire. Might you remember me? The name I bear is Gregory."

[Morgan Bellanar]

With a thank you to Emma, the Twilit Page arrives ready to perform her duties. She'd created the archive after all, so she should be able to do something, "A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy..." Morgan's outfit is a dark one: black running shoes, deep blue cargo pants with a small carry case strapped to one leg. The black t-shirt has a single breast pocket, a college team baseball cap, a backpack, and her ever present, scuffed, riding jacket finishes her ensemble. She also appears to be in a good mood, probably because she isn't supposed to teach but assist.

Mogran's backpack has an odd cargo: catalogs. Catalogs for hardware tools, sports equipment, plus lawn and garden. There was method to the raccoon's madness. When she looked in the first two she saw things that could double as weapons or protection without a background check. The third...well that depended on whether or not the "wrought iron" products were legit. She'd have to buy some and ask Marcus if they were later.

The packets of pens and two dozen small notebooks were more practical cargo. Morgan doubted many Lost would think to take notes or have the tools to do so. She was the Twilit Page, deliverer of messages for the Lady Scrivner and helper of newbies. Making sure they could take notes seemed to fit into the job description.

After entering the Hollow she took in her surroundings, easily spotting her Queen. She briefly stared at the old desk and let out an exasperated sigh. The pens she'd left had disappeared again, but the quill hadn't. The Beast's eyes moved on, taking note of who was present. She recognized them and gave a general wave hello to all, "Sssalutations folks, heh, bonus to see folks agian." A friendly smile was sent to Maredrauga whom she walked towards the bonfire, "Heh-hi dood. T-thank you a-again for t-the ribbon. Heh-hope t-this class is beneficial f-for all, heh...Imma go-gotta work, uh, sp-speak with Queen now, heh-heh." She emphasized by pointing towards Betony Rue Jasons with both hands.

The raccoon turned to said Queen. She stopped a respectful distance from the queen and bowed, "Queen Jasons. T-the Twit--erk, Twilit--Twilit P-page izzz reporting f-for doing duties heh-here. I-I wish t-to know...izzz t-there stuff-things I can-can aid w-with afore the classes begin?"

[Cabochard]

Samuel nodded at the man introducing himself to the Wizened. Who was this guy? Clearly, he didn't know him, but others knew him, so it must mean he was an established citizen. Sam hesitated for a moment, his hands immediately flitting to adjust his cuffs nervously once more, then nodded again. "Ah, hello Mister Leto. I am, ah, Samuel Gorgeo." He offered him a hesitant, toothy smile, his hands still touching his clothing and possessions nervously. He noted the food the man had put on the table. "Ah, that looks, ehm, tasty. Did you make it yourself?"

[Lesingnon]

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy."

Rick entered the commons in clothing that he often wore whilst traipsing hidden corners of the hedge; durable, comfortable, and generally earth-toned. The kind of gear you'd expect to see an outdoorsman wearing out in the wilderness. He also came equipped; staff in hand, pistol and bowie knife at his hip, and the faint lines of a kevlar vest perhaps visible beneath his clothing to those paying particularly close attention. The purpose of the event aside, he had the duties of his position to fulfill now. And this was an Autumn event, so he'd come prepared. The openly worn weaponry could potentially unnerve some, he supposed. But a Paladin of Shadows was not exactly meant to be a comforting figure.

He also had his contribution to the potluck under one arm, having been thinking of Marcus as he'd picked it out. The case of hard cider was seasonal, and the Metalflesh had seemed disappointed that there'd been no alcohol at the Fallen Fair. Something that wouldn't be an issue this time.

After dropping that off he drifted over towards Maredrauga, a wry smile on his lips as he noted how closely his fellow Paladin was examining the roast. "Don't worry, it probably won't bite back."