Here Goes Nothing (Open)

[Swami M]

Alex is not exactly a poster child for the Summer Court. He'd never been a jock, never been a fighter. And instead of returning from the Other Side as an Orc or a Viking he came back as some kind of alien flower wearing the body of an Asian underwear model... He was as surprised as anyone when he came into his Mantle. The Redding Summers may have been surprised, but they were far from impressed. Yet Anger was supposed to be Summer's passion, and Alex had that in abundance. Anger directed at Them, at a world that had proven more strange and broken than he would have ever previously imagined and, not least of all, at himself. The contempt of the same people... wearing different faces, but still the same people... who had haunted him in the playgrounds and locker rooms and taverns and offices of Texas only fueled that fire.
Alex could not clearly remember even a minute of his Durance, but on an instinctual level he knows that he had been Made for no good purpose. His new form was shaped so attractively to be better at luring and hunting and hurting. Because in that Place, the prettiest things were the most dangerous... Bob had explained that back Here, such power came with responsibility. That was the whole point of Summer. At least it was supposed to be... and could still be, in Freeholds inhabited by actual grownups. Sacramento was supposed to be far less dysfunctional than Redding. Green's explanation of their new government had certainly sounded encouraging. But at first glance, this Summer Court's headquarters did not suggest a group that was interested in overcoming stereotypes.

It was still late afternoon, and only a handful of patrons had so far trickled into the Forge. Most of these are still drinking quietly at the bar, but Alex could easily envision the bedlam to come in the next few hours. This place is exactly what it says on the tin... a night club that looks like it was grafted into a steel mill, with machinery everywhere and what appeared to be a fully functional blacksmith shop sitting right next to the dance floor. Techno and Heavy Metal, in the most literal sense. So this is the kind of crowd he'll need to impress...
He walks up to the bar. Ramona. That's who Green told him to look for. Maybe one of these bartenders knows if she's in. Here goes nothing...

[InvertedMonkey]

Word has sort of circulated around the Freehold that there are new Summers about. Some making their pledges at Freehold events, others spotted elsewhere. The Forge is the most recognizably Summer venue in the Freehold, and with new faces around, it seems like someone should sort of... man the fort, occasionally. Which is how the ogress General has come to be sitting at the bar on a slow, late-afternoon in the Forge, before the sun sets and brings on the rush of night time patrons eager to get their blood pumping. A sketch pad is on the bar in front of her, a stencil flickering across it, tracing articulated segments that slide over and across each other, curved surfaces that deny traction and grip, reinforced spurs and ridges that blunt a direct approach. Armor. It's mostly doodles, soft concepts, thinking about what she knows about the trade, about the history. Some of it's purely practical, imagining the best way to withstand an assault, but some is more stylistic. Almost decorative, even cosplay-ish. A thousand and one little thoughts on the subject, sketched out on the pages.

The sensation of another Summer mantle brushing up against her own makes her lift her head from the work, looking down the bar towards where Alex has bellied up to it. No Freehold Oath is upon him, that she's sure of. She's been running into that a lot, lately. Meeting strangers before they're sworn, if they intend to swear at all. It's mildly disconcerting, because it means the first impression she makes is colored by the fact that she's reasonably suspicious of them. There had been some flak for her in the past for that, but it hasn't changed her mind. An unsworn Changeling could be anyone; a privateer, a loyalist, simply insane... even a sworn Changeling could be those things, it's just a little less likely. And they all have plenty of reason to be paranoid. None the less, the bartender points out Ramona to Alex, seated as she is less then thirty feet away from him. It's reasonable, she gives out business cards listing this place as her location. Plenty of people come looking for her here.

[Swami M]

Before the bartender has finished her reply Alex can feel the tingle of a powerful Mantle. He looks down the bar towards its source... Now that's a face... and a body... from a Summer recruiting poster. The woman is built like a battleship... Alex is much stronger than he was Before. Bob had warned him many times not to be too confident in that newfound strength. There are many Changelings out there who are stronger still and wiser in the way of the Wyrd, people who could easily break him... in every sense of that word. He suspects that he's looking right now at somebody whose approach to that task would be all too literal...

He takes a deep breath and approaches her... "Hello. Ramona, right? I'm Alex Rivers. I just got into town, and I wanted to be sure and check in with our, uh, club chapter right away."

[InvertedMonkey]

The bar stool squeaks as she turns to look at the pair of them, one boot still up on the foot rail, the other resting on the floor. Her eyes are a rather dull blue, but the look she gives them each is piercing. One sworn, one unsworn. Interesting. The combination of their mantles feels like a sweltering East Coast airport in the summer, with the air so thick you could cut it with a knife, and an undertone of that baking asphalt just under the metal and gas airplane smell. There are worse combinations. There's a moment of silence as she takes their measure, just long enough to perhaps be disconcerting. "You're correct," she finally replies to Charles. "I heard there might be some new faces," her eyes flick first to Charles, then to Alex, face stony and tone utterly reserved. Without looking, she reaches out to the bar and flips her sketchbook closed, then scoops it up, pushing herself off the bar stool. "C'mon, I'll show you 'round the place," she continues, turning away from them and walking deeper into The Forge.

They pass the actual forge it's self on their way, and Ramona glaces inside, habitually making sure nothing is out of place, without breaking stride for the the stairs up to the mezzanine above it. The stairs are blocked by a simple gate that Ramona holds open while the others proceed up, and then follows. The mezzanine is certainly more comfortable than the rest of the club. There's a pool table, a self-service bar, couches and other furniture. "This is the VIP lounge. Freeholders and approved guests only. We can talk with more privacy here," she explains, moving to stand by the pool table. "I'm Ramona," she introduces herself, for Charles' benefit. "Sentry of Summer's Vigil," giving out that title is grating, because of what it means. What it implies. She tries not to let it show. "And elected General of the Freehold." That's one to be more proud of. She watches Alex closely as she says it. That's information that makes her a target, and for all she knows, he could've been looking for her because he's an assassin. If he moves, she's ready. There's a pause after those words, as she waits for them to introduce themselves.

[Daniel Leto]

It always felt a little strange to enter the Forge. Not just because he didn't feel he entirely belonged at the center of Summer's stronghold but because he used to. Sneaking into places like this had used to be his life, back before so much death had infused it. It always brought back those memories and they made Daniel uncomfortable thinking about that time before regret. How stupid he had been. At least now his fake ID didn't need to lie about his age to get him in.

That wasn't why he was here, though. Though it was why he had come at what he knew would be a quieter time.

The Gravewight stepped inside and did a quick glance around before seeing Ramona wasn't at her station at the Forge's forge. Instead it looked like she was talking to a couple other Changelings. He slipped past the gate with an easy practiced confidence that said he was supposed to be there. Old habits died hard. And it might even have worked on mortals. The cool fog drifting around him was kind of a dead give away to his fellow Lost that the Darkling belonged to Winter.

He stopped and waved to the General and the dead guy from the Formal. The green Asian wasn't someone Daniel was familiar with. A couple steps were left so that he didn't immediately intrude on their conversation. Even from that distance though, the smell of hot cement and iron drifted between them.

"Hey, if this is a bad time I can come back later," he offered happily. Daniel hadn't seen any news of a Summer meeting but maybe he'd missed something.

[Swami M]

Alex tries not to stare as the zombie walks in. At least that's what the guy looks like... He's heard the joke several times, about the Fae version of Rule 34. "If it exists, there's a Keeper for it." Undoubtedly there are poor wretches somewhere Out There living through twisted versions of Star Wars, the Marvel Universe, Harry Potter... and, so it seems, The Walking Dead. Not that any of this should be too strange for someone who had apparently played a bit role in Prince of Persia vs. Day of the Triffids...

Ramona's expectant silence brings him back to the present. He introduces himself again for Charles and the continues... "I've only been Back for a little over a year. I've been staying in Union City. That's, uh, just outside of Redding... I was staying with the... with the people that rescued me from the Hedge. But they're loners. Hunters. Rugged, self reliant, sort of "Jeremiah Johnson, mountain man" types. So it was time for me to leave their nest. And Redding is kind of a mess. I've heard that Sacramento has a much bigger Freehold. One that actually works. And being in a real city would be nice for a change..."

Alex pauses as he hears footsteps on the stairs and watches as the ghostly young man approaches. He hopes this isn't turning into a group interview. That was one of his least pleasant memories from after he got fired and before he got Hired by the Worst Boss Ever. Group interviews are the worst...

[Swami M]

Bump?

[InvertedMonkey]

Charles Goldwat AwakeOrangutang