(1902) Fireside Marshmallows

[Circe]

Circe swallows the bite, "Reliable. Sporting good store fer the first, easy enough ta just make the second," was her response to Sasha's martial preferences. "Hm?" Was her inquiry as Rhodes arrived.

And her ears bounced at the sight of the two men arriving. "Rhodes! Good ta see ya and he's a totally a Summer," acknowledging that they had met before with a nod of her head. She looked to Richard, "Oh ho ho ho, I like that but I fear I've been more sour then sweet," she finishes off her s'more cookie. Then gives Richard a two finger salute, "Clarity ya can get. Sovereigns are here, we number three, Summer's crown belongs ta me," she points to herself with both fingers as she smiles.

Circe kept rolling with the rhyming, "Both literally the one I made with my own tool, and the title itself that I won in a duel. Oh ho ho ho," Circe was easily amused by her own rhyming, "So yeah I'm yer monarch unless someone wants ta duel me fer the title," her tone implied that she had few fucks to give about losing the title. "This is less public a place then when we first met Rich so as a Summer I hafta ask ya somethin'. What do ya prefer fer weapons? Or do ya go fer fists? Contracts?"

And then Max arrived. Good thing he'd not been here a few minutes ago. Circe turns to Sasha as Max whispers something to her. The elven ears were not that sharp but she addresses the Winter Queen none the less, "I'm chill with what we was talkin' about if ya need ta bounce with yer bro," she points to Maxwell with her thumb.

[Fawkes]

"M'am. The subjects of the Iron Spear aren't prizes to be won in a game."

The smell of thick ozone before a lightning strike adds to the heat and pressure of the other two Crimson soldiers as the dispassionate mannequin rounds from the other side of the bonfire.

He bows mechanically to Sasha again, and takes the time to extend similar formalities to Rhodes. He offers a proper military salute to Richard Price. Finally a nod to Maxwell Pierce, almost forgetting him as bright cobalt eyes click to each member.

"Sir, I'd be happy for you to call a muster. I've confirmed there's one other soldier," the doll says quick as he regards the others, the social ques finally settling in the force of nature's swirling thoughts, "But I'm interrupting. Just excited to see there isn't just two of us, and two of the Antler Crown have spoken on martial ability."

Was he...excited?

[Rhodes]

"Well. I'll just leave you to it," The Dread Lord says with a smile, slipping back off towards the edge.

Rhodes heads back to the main thread.

[Circe]

Circe nods her head slowly to Fawkes then shakes it, "True Fawkes but fer two thinks. First," 1 finger goes up, "I like ta think I won the crown in a very unique way. Second is that even if we're fighters I never said I'd accept the duel," Circe puts a hand on her hip as she uses her free hand for talking, "I mean yeah we're the most fightin' court but that don't me we hafta be barbarians about leadership. Yay democracy, even if I've never been big on responsibility. Or decorum," she smiles and gives a one armed shrug, "Or behavin' like royalty. Uh," the smile fades as her ears droop, "This talk is runnin' away from way ain't it? Meh," white locks bounce as she shakes her head, "Whatever. Question fer ya though Fawkes. I am also happy we got more fighters," and she sounded it, "but what's a musta?"

The closet thing she knew like that was mustard. Was it some kind of joke Fawkes was making?

[Richard Price]

The mockery was not appreciated as the woman tried to play clown rather than monarch. Rich’s smile drifted away as she spoke, and his lip arched in a clear sign of the mood that was beginning to take over. In his mind he gave a thank you to Queen Sasha, and King Rhodes for respecting the quickly escalating nature of the Crimson Court.

It was lucky that a moment was given for Rich to let wiser words prevail, though the force of his mantle was hiding nothing. The temperature was hot, and the heat was pushing outward, consuming the other sources. The area was filled with the tense sense of an erupting volcano mixed with the mannequins distinct, sharp, and rousing scent of ozone.

”First and foremost, a Crown is not a trinket likened to a prize from a Christmas cracker. If you are wearing costume jewellery remember that Summer does not find you worthy to bestow its blessings.” Rich’s voice held no sweetness, but was a symphony of anger mixed with that of an elder admonishing a child.

”Furthermore, I do NOT take kindly to disrespect as I expect a true Monarch to carry their title with pride. The act of Ruling is to serve a court, not choose when it is convenient. Waving your hands around like a clucking chicken does not help repair your poor first impression.” His voice was calm, but had a seething edge to it.

Speaking about duels, and trying to then turn it back on whether she would accept, and then babble about democracy as she spoke with Fawkes, it was almost too much. ”Now if this is a joke to you, please, please, say so now. You are prattling like a child about matters that concern the lives of others. My court is the vanguard against monsters that play games, and barter lives as jokes. Just how I see the fate of my Court being mocked and treated like marbles on the playground”

Her comments on responsibility and playing her role settled the debate.

”A muster, for those unaware,” He would let her play the card of ignorance rather than continue to assume ineptitude ”Is where we gather the troops and prepare ourselves. I think Fawkes here has a wonderful idea when it comes to that.” Rich’s voice had less of an edge when it came to complimenting the elemental, he was a Spear.

”The first of the month, noon, Pagoda event hall. I will book the venue. Any and all Summer Courtiers are invited and heavily encouraged to attend. This is a chance for apologies to be made and for the Crimson Court to be put on a proper path to complete our duties."

[Fawkes]

"Yessir," Fawkes acknowledged with another salute to Richard Price. "I'll inform any others if I see them. I'm not sure if there's more than two others, the population is transient without the safety of a Freehold Oath." The mannequin is formal, speech pattern smoothly adopting the familiar beats of the army when offering the report to a superior officer.

He looks to Circe as her body language changes, out of her element with the unexpected professionalism of the new Iron Spears. "What he said, M'am. To answer your question."

As the Fairest mutters about the conversation getting away on her, Fawkes takes a step forward, cocking his head with interest, "No disrespect, m'am. You mentioned 'winning' the 'title' in a duel? I've never heard of such a practice for earning military rank. Was the last squadron understaffed to properly differ to a qualified officer? What kind of duel was it? Did you kill for it?" his questions are in rapid succession, almost as if the Lost was manic despite the monotone.

He blinks, thoughts running racing as he thinks out loud, "Are you familiar with the civilized structure of the Iron Spear? Were you left on your own to make it up as you went along?" That made more sense than anything else.

[Circe]

Circe scowled back at Richard, "I am insulted ya'd think I'd wear a piece of plastic. I made one outta metal AFTER the Wyrd gave me the title. I wasn't gonna wear somethin' the Wyrd decided ta give me and wanted it ta be solid enough to hurt anything I hit it with" then on the part of her hands, "When did I wave my hands?!" She was Italian so she never noticed. "A joke? The joke is how I got the crown. Do ya know how many Summers there were when I got the crown? Two! Then one. I've been the only Summer here fer months at ah time. I find a new Summer ta recruit, welcome 'em, and whoops! They fanculo skip town without a word," Circe's own mantle has flared as her rant picked up speed. It seemed some damn had finally burst, "And the Oath didn't stop 'em from leaving. Just fucked over us that stayed," she growls to Fawkes. Her Mantle is weaker then Richard's by the desert air mixes oddly with the ozone. "So no Fawkes there wasn't anybody here ta talk about structure. And I rarely had anybody around ta build one up with. And I sure as Hell wasn't going ta base it off the shit from the Bay cause ta me Summers is about protecting the other Courts not stabbin' 'em in the back fer the fun of it," her tone forceful, "So I decided ta be me. Not ta be what the Wyrd or the Bay or anybody else thought. I decided ta stay Circe."


Eyes narrow to slits as her ears go flush with her skull, "And I don't think our court is a game or a joke. Ya ain't seen me serious Richard because when have ya seen me?" It was a brief pause as she let the question sink in. She didn't wait long, "Ya seen me at a party and at a bar. Not places ta be serious. Ya ain't seen me networking ta make sure my Summer have access ta a fucking armory." She folds her arms, "Not swords or Hedge shit, but real weapons. Guns. If I wasn't so friendly one of those mundies I trade with would'a blow my brains out by now. And I sure as Hell wasn't making jokes when I blasted that cannibal livin' in Funderland's thorny side." She leans forward and looks up at Richard, "Yes, I choose ta enjoy what I fight fer. I use that ta make myself ready fer a fight and ta know why I fight. Do ya really want ta see me serious?" she raises her right eyebrow as she speaks, "We can go fer a walk in the park, maybe track down a nasty ta kill. I can loan ya a gun. Ya need a pistol, shotgun, rifle?"


Because Circe was a supplier of death more then anything else. If Richard expected a general he would be sorely surprised to find that her a underhanded quartermaster instead. Circe was probably more suited to be Sun's Tongue then Queen.


She then looks to Fawkes, "No I didn't kill fer it. Crown's were all talkin' and setting up Funderland at the time, but needed a Summer ta seal the talks. Neither of us wanted the job nor did either have a stronger Mantle," she snorts, "And the dude bounced about a week later anyway. The other Courts wanted somebody in charge ta talk with so we played rock, paper, scissors fer picking who got ta negotiate with 'em." After a moment she tilts her head to the side, "And I ended up bein' the voice of reason and peace fer several meetings. Also I am pretty damn certain that whatever ya might call Summer's structure in San Francisco, ya wouldn't use civilized. I took their examples and filed it under shit not ta do. If I hadn't I would have killed my two best friends instead of helping them getta outta town." And there was no disguising the pride in her voice at her decision. Not even the heavy breathing from finally finishing her long rant.

The Queen of Summer had been bottling things up for a while.

[Richard Price]

Rich had never had children, but he was inclined to believe this is what disciplining a teenager as akin to. She clearly had issues, a trend he noticed in the Crimson Court since he had arrived, and was regretting not bringing a Bishop in his suitcase to sit down and let them all work it out in a circle. That was all personal though, Rich wasn’t angry about personal issues or challenges, if it was just that he would be more than happy to offer a shoulder. This was about professional failings of the highest office, regardless of the circumstance.


”Let me be clear, you are not being chastised for being the last guard on the rampart. That is commendable. Secondly let there be no confusion that you are an Iron Spear, just as Fawkes or I are. No one can take that part away from you.”

he made sure to start with the good, a popular management tactic.

”You have chosen to wear a crown at convenience. No matter where a monarch is they serve, it is not a discretion they get to make. You chose to ignore your title when we first met, not even an attempt to purvey such through code, I had to wait to be introduced by a monarch of another Court. You have shown no oneness to the title claimed. Neither should you think a Freehold Oath is a cage or should act as such.”

Complete paranoia, drifting dangerously towards a line of thought that would trouble some of the Lost. It may have been a hint towards poor pledge craft, or low clarity. Maybe both?

She also incessantly returned to violence, exercising force, hunting. It was a series of red flags of a poor grasp on real power, or any form or desire for structure. She was damaged soldier much in the way it appeared Fawkes was, and in a way he had been after his sworn service to a monarch.

There were wounds, and either she would accept the terms and have a chance at coming out of this for the better, or burdens would be lifted and work could start on healing the mind and soul.

He had sympathy for the person, disappointment for the title claimant. Hence why both of the Mantles were still swallowed by the swelling rage the pushed off of the elder courtier, the sympathy did not compromise the rage.

In fact...Rock, paper, . . .scissors.

She mocks us all

”You have had your peace, Circe.” Name, no title, just as the mannequin. ”First of the month, noon, Pagoda events. Any and all Summer Courtiers are invited and heavily encouraged to attend. This is a chance for apologies to be made and for the Crimson Court to be put on a proper path to complete our duties.

Repetition to make a point.

"Now, let us respect our host and join the ceremony."

Rich leaves to join the main events Sasha called attention too.