The last place in the world you'd expect to find the diminutive Hunterheart that served as the Summer Court's Iron Adjutant, with her sensitive ears and her sensitive nose, her intolerance and general hatred of things commonly considered 'fun'.
Nevertheless, one night a week - (a weeknight, of course, duty only went so far...) Malory Grey, would plant herself on a stool at the end of the bar, order up a whiskey, don a pair of chunky, industrial grade ear defenders, and try to block out the distractions enough to get some reading done.
While their monarch holed himself up in some Church, Spartan's legacy of making this shit-hole the heart of the Summer Court lived on. So it was her duty as Iron Adjutant to at least try and make herself available for Court Business...
Another Summer Courtier soon walked the floors of the Forge, a Wizened who had heard through the grapevine that the Forge was an old Summer hangout that he ought to check out. Maybe he'd meet other members of the Court, which he understood by Terri Nutkins' explanation to be a rather small one indeed.
That was fine. It was something to build from. This city had been punched in the nuts by the Other, and now it needed to take its pain and stoke it into a hot, burning Rage that would burn that humanityless bastard to ash. It started here, at a dive like this place. The Forge? It was aptly named.
Wexler moved through the crowd, one corner of his mouth turned just slightly upward as he was jostled and bumped. People didn't really notice him much, didn't apologize, and he didn't expect it. This was a metal joint. The jostling just stoked the fires of anger.
To the bar he went, and then, out of the corner of his eye...
My. What big teeth you have.
Those were quite the ear defenders. Wex raised a hand in a half-wave, half-salute to
Malory Grey
. No point in trying to talk through those things. Greebs
Now that she was looking for Court related places, Tessa could easily see the hidden signs, visible only to the Lost, that pointed The Forge out as the summer stronghold. Made since. They did go here for the Freehold funeral, hosted by the Summer King, Brother Lucas. Seeing as she was now looking for a Court to call her own, she figured there wasn't anywhere better to go than the hotspot of the hottest season.
The place was very different this time around, without the trappings of trying to appeal to everyone. Everything was concrete and metal, hard corners and enduring surfaces. Her Fae side was entirely at odds at with the place. Crowded, surrounded by unnatural materials, loud music pumping through the room. Should she choose this as her court, she doubted she would frequent this place.
And of the people here, only two registered as Changelings. One was an elfin-y guy with grey skin crossed by scars and tattoos drawn in strange patterns. She didn't know him. However, who should she meet here than little miss Malory Grey. Wonderful. They didn't get along too well, not if their previous encounters were anything to go by, and she looked even more pissed then possible. Did she even have a different expression than intense frown? Still, they did know each other after a fashion, both being friends with Ava and Morgan. Hopefully that would garner enough credentials with her to learn about the Summer Court.
She ran a hand through her hair before approaching Ava and pulling a stool up next to her. She offered a wordless wave and put on a smile to be friendly. No sense saying anything at the moment, not with those steel drums over her ears, but being friendly was better than just giving her an intent stare in her mind.
Duncan exited the office on the mezzanine and took a look down towards the bar, the noise of the music pounding in his chest. Spotting the Iron Adjutant present, he nodded. It was good to see her hanging around more and more, even if she did wear those ludicrous ear-guards. Still, each to their own. He wasn't about to rile the little Beast.
Walking down the stairs, Duncan headed behind the bar and handed an envelope to the member of staff on tonight, of which there was only one. "Go and have an early night, it's dead in here anyway. You'll be paid for the whole shift," Duncan told her with a wink before taking over duties as server. He gave Wexler a wave as well as Tessa a smile as she entered.
Mal licked a thumb and turned the page. The place was quiet enough tonight personal-bubble maintenance was on the down-lo. However the faint wisps of smoke peeling from the intensifying glow of the veins beneath her skin was hard to miss, with her hands arms eighteen inches from the end of her nose.
Calmly slipping a bookmark out from the back cover and tucking it between the pages, she laid the book on her lap before reaching up and tugging the ear defenders back to lie around her neck. Her naturally sour expression twisting even further downwards as once again, her eardrums were subject to aural assault.
"Tessa," she acknowledged, with a sort of forced indifference.
Remember. We are trying to be nice-Mal today. With Tessa here, Ava will hear if there is a kerfuffle...
It was with this grimace of astounding depth and complexity that she turned her attention to the stranger who had got her Mantle all fired up. She studied him carefully before warily asking, "Can I... help you?"
Yeah... the closest thing she had to manners was resorting to work-reflex...
The signs, such as they were, had made it clear what the next stop on her whirlwind tour of Sacramento should be. The Forge had actually showed up on her radar because of some Yelp reviews. It had seemed like a decent enough to check out. But then, as she looked into it, she started seeing the little signs. Lost Souls Apply Within. Nothing overt, nothing dramatic, but enough to pique her interest. So she made her way to the night club.
She slipped into the back and took a look around. Apparently the signs were right. There was a collection of Lost inside. She kept to the back of the room, scanning the crowd and taking everything in. She would wait until a better time to introduce herself.
Wex raised a hand in a wave to Duncan as Malory Grey greeted someone - and then the Hunterheart made her way around to him. He gave her a chinjut of greeting. "Yes, ma'am. Name's Wexler." He offered her a handshake, a firm-gripped thing from a hand with a knife-cut scar running along the back of it. "I heard this was a good club for meeting some very angry folks. You happen to know any?" A slight half-smile tugged at one corner of his lips, like he was completely aware that the in-public double speak was pretty fucking ridiculous but absolutely necessary.
After a moment's consideration, Mal took the offered hand. Her skin was fever-hot to the touch, and while the Iron Adjutant did not resort to petty knuckle-grinding dominance games, there wasn't that much in it.
"Some. Not enough." she said, doubling-down on letting too much information slip out. There were very people in the world Mal considered it remotely wise to enlighten as to the perilous state of the Iron Spear. "What brings you to town?"
Tessa was about to speak up but hesitated and ended up in a line. Then again, she had asked Wexler a question first, it would've been rude to interrupt. Still, she listened closely to the conversation. If she was thinking correctly, it might end up the same place she was aiming for.
Morgan was glad the client agreed to pay her in this part of town. The Forge may be a Summer haunt, but she liked the loud place. Plus she was carrying an envelope full of money to spend, stuffed into her riding jacket's inner pocket. It wouldn't fit in the camo pants securely and navy blue t-shirt certainly wouldn't hold it. More rewarding, she'd seen Tessa enter just before her, so there was at least a friend inside. Though taking the back to avoid the mundane crowd slowed her arrival, she got a treat upon entering the loud club: her favorite grumpy wolf was here too!
The sight of her friends made her almost miss the fiery skinned woman in front of her. Morgan was about to apologize before noticing the skin coloring. Her, Autumn, Mantle flared at the surprise, a few leaves catching in the woman's own heated Mantle, "Um, heh-heh, zzzorry scuse me, nada see you at-at first. A-a-and salutations too I g-g-give to you, heh. Imma Morgan," A nervous hand is offered to the Andrea.
Draft this Post
