Matters of Rule (Summer Court Meeting)

[Richard Price]

Richard Price did not back down from what he had said would happen. While he had limited magical resources in the city of Sacramento he had more than enough other means to make sure that word got out.

The Summer Court of Sacramento is obliged to make themselves known on the first day of the third month, as the future of their court is at stake. Any who held respect for the Iron Spear would be there rather than simply allow their existence to exist in such a flux.

The Pagoda Events building on 429 J St was just a block down from the Golden 1 center, home of the cities own Sacramento Kings. The square white building was topped with the signature green flared roof from which it bore its name. The building hosted several floors that could accommodate many sorts of events, however they were all oddly empty. Mr. Price had taken the liberty of renting all the facilities in the building to ensure they could ensure a measure of privacy but still have class. The staff had been notified that they will be contacted should anything be needed and were otherwise to remain on the lower levels. A disclaimer and hefty tip ensured of that.

Realistically Rich also did not know how many Summer Courtiers there were, so having a small meeting hall wouldn’t hurt, he was used to the bustling meetings of Los Angeles where this arrangement would have barely covered the upper echelons of the Courts high ranking members. In reality from what whispers had suggested he should have more than enough fingers on his hands to do a head count.

The main meeting for the Iron Spear was on the sky level of the building, the upper most of the meeting rooms, and one capable of holding just shy of two hundred people with the lights dimmed. The round tables around the room were covered in deep red table clothes with gold napkins wrapping the silverware and set beside the plates. Off to one side there was a full buffet table set up, burners going to keep the food warm. It was a respectable spread, nothing purely gourmet but more than enough to want to go back for seconds.

As for the host? Rich was wearing a deep black jacket and matching slacks, the shirt beneath was a deep burgundy which matched with his shoes. He wore no tie, but had a kerchief in the pocket of his jacket with a slightly brighter red tone, trimmed with and with an ivy pattern in gold adorning it tucked neatly in. Between his shirt and jacket and just visible on the fringes of where his jacket sat one could see the blackened magma vest - which teased an eruption - was worn, but not yet flaunted. The accessories were scarce, a larger faced gold watch that lost itself on a man Rich’s size was the only true item of note.

Rich stood near the center of the room - his mantle exuding a powerful pressure reminiscent to the mouth of a volcano - where there was a single larger table, easily able to seat twelve. This table was not only set but had several carafes of water as well as selections of stationary trapped in leather folio’s with red and gold trimmed pens. Some people liked to write things down.

The ogre had a glass of water in one hand - deciding it best not to touch the open bar by the buffet - and his red iphone XR in his other hand as he waited for the others to begin to file in. It was ten minutes to noon after all.

[Circe]

A stoic faced woman dressed in a suit is first to arrive. The woman looked the part of a business professional with her attire, her chosen footwear even matching her tie. The black attache she was carrying reinforced the image of Circe pretending to be some kind of executive of business woman. The staff had not given her any strange looks so at least her attire seemed expected. Entering the room, the elven Fairest raised her right eyebrow and ear as she seemed to be the first guest to arrive for what she was quite certain was going to be Richard's coup.


And there was the man himself. Aside from the gold, it was almost as if they'd color coordinated. Purple and red, were colors associated with injuries so it made sense for those to be Summer's true colors. Black was just universal for any outfit. Circe walked up to the table, the desert heat of her own Mantle smothered by Richard's volcanic blast. Circe didn't dial it back though. Her feet stopped close to Richard, "Hmm," she noted how many spaces there were at the table, "Ya are definitely gonna have empty chairs, but I admire the optimism," her voice is level. She'd had time to vent plenty and was calmer then at the bonfire.

Albeit with less ammo .


Circe spun on her right heel to watch the door, leaving Richard to her left. "Before this starts," her voice is still flat, "I want it clear my offer ta arm ya still stands. Fer anybody in town if ya need a gun I can get it."

[Fawkes]

The metallic tang of blood and iron swirls around the hitman as Fawkes arrives exactly at noon, as the strength of the sun meets its zenith.

He enters quietly in the normal attire of a black turtleneck and jeans, contemplating the decor and reflecting on the strange emptiness of Sacramento's Vanguard. He was curious about how saturated the soil was in their sacrifice, pawing at one of the table settings distractedly.

The cobalt glass of his dead stare eventually trails back to the pair, and he closes the gap. The Elemental does not appear to notice Circe's unanswered question hanging in the air.

A quick salute.

"Sir. Ma'am." His tone is as placid as ever, with only his lips betraying his face was not sculpted.

[Richard Price]

The setting was formal for the most part, the tension was real. Rich knew that the building was going to remain for the most part empty but it was about discretion and lessons.

”Afternoon,” He said with a polite nod as he moved to the center table, the one clearly set up for the real meeting rather than the fluff that surrounded them. Rich’s large hand grabbed one of the seats and pulled it out for the young lady. Despite all their differences he harbored no ill will towards the womans, and she still deserved decency.

”I appreciate the offer, and I will keep that in mind. I have a tumultuous relationship those sort of wares, but I won’t bore you with personal stories, that is for another time.”

At this point, Fawkes entered and made his curt hello to which the ogre replied with a smile and nod.

”Fawkes, come on in, take a seat at the table. If you want food or drink, help yourself. You too Circe. May as well grab a plate if you would like one before we start.” There was still plenty of water on the table so that was good enough for Rich.

While the pair grabbed anything if they wanted, or just sat down, the elder courtier took a seat at the round table. Round for a reason, it wouldn’t have any hidden meanings, this was for the good of them all and not some blatant power play. Anything in that regard was based on answers to come.

”Now, before we get down to the details about what is going to need to be dealt with, Circe, I want to give you a forum.” He was giving her a lifeline

”You let a lot out at the bonfire, and that was a tumultuous time for everyone. Would you care to give us a record of the Summer Court's recent history? It may answer some of the questions that are bound to come up before we even get to them.”

This was her chance to give them history, something both had already given her thanks for for what she had done. If it was a compelling account it may even move the other two Iron Spears to change their position. If not, they were in for an afternoon.

[Circe]

Circe cracks a weak smile as Fawkes greets her, "Welcome aboard Fawkes," nodding her head rather then saluting. When Richard drew a chair for her, Circe decided to accept the chivalry, "Thanks but I'll grab food first," and does indeed grab some grub and coffee before taking the seat that Richard had offered to her. Chivalrous behavior with a round table. Did Richard think himself King Arthur? She was certainly not going to play Mordred or Guinevere.


Circe took a bite from of some baked banana fruit as Richard made an offer. Summer's history? It really didn't have much of one. She swallowed the fruit with a swig of water. "Guess Cole is runnin' late. Shame. But there ain't much of a history ta summarize. As I said, fer quite a while I WAS the Summer Court here." She takes in a deep breath and sighs, "I heard little about Summer from the King before me, and more what his plans were fer Summer in Funderland. But he left town a lil' bit after sharing those plans with me and a Elemental that was the only other Summer in town. Our Mantles were barely there. Plus back then the other crowns were ceding power ta the Director," she shakes her head with a weak laugh. Her tone is turning bitter, "They didn't want a Summer Monarch but a mouth piece ta say all the courts agreed ta hand over power. I think there was barely enough Lost fer a motley, let alone multiple Courts, in the Freehold back then. So we," she points at herself then over her shoulder, "Me and that Elemental, had a talk. That boy had trouble finding shoes his Mein didn't destroy so I was helpin' him find some good sandals and we got ta talking about the crown. Our Mantles were both weak and neither of us really wanted what'd be a hollow title. We didn't wanna hurt each other in a duel fer a crown we didn't want. So we'd leave it ta chance. But," she looks to Richard, "We figured a coin toss would be too disrespectful ta Summer. Some kinda duel was needed and we wanted it done quick. So yes, we rock paper scissored fer the job in a public place," Circe chuckles, "As fer that Elemental? He used those $200 sandals ta walk outta town about a week later."


Circe pauses to sip her water. Then she continues bitterly, "Of and on I've had one or two Summers stop in town ta join up. I show up around, try ta be their buddy, get ta know 'em, help 'em out with expenses. All of 'em bounced without sayin' a thing. Turns out we got a lot of transients passin' through our Freehold." She wasn't but she was often tempted be one. It would be so much easier to try to find her Rogues, but right now anyone hunting them would find no trails but to Circe.


"As fer my predecessors plans, good I'd say but we ain't had the numbas ta make do." Another sip, "High Striker is a laser tag stadium at Funderland. It is Summer's turf. The stadium has mobile and immobile structures that, in theory, make it a tough maze ta get through. Good fer ambushes if yer playin' the game and happen ta be the one that set it up. The plan was ta build Summer's Hollow opposite it. Hedge reflects the mundy side so a defensive maze here would make one there. Hmph," she shrugs, "But like I said. Summer has never had the numbas ta actually carve it out. So I focused my efforts on the mundane side of things. I deal in weapons and I am good at it. And now we're here. The last one on the ramparts with two soldiers walkin' inta the castle." She decided to echo the faint praise Richard had given her at the Winter party.

[Cole Volker]

Cole had indeed been running late- he had lost track of time while gathering raw materials for an upcoming smith-shop. He came in with loose clothes, carrying a fast-food burger in one hand and a backpack full of sketches and schematics in the other.

"sorry I'm late! Lost track of time in the thorns."
It seemed Cole had missed a history lesson. Which was somewhat unfortunate. Ah well- his eyes turned towards the future, and the literal mountains of armaments he could produce.

"Ah, did I miss anything important? Cole Volker. Metalflesh, and self-described Forge Master for the Summer Court."

[Fawkes]

Fawkes wordlessly stacks his plate before sitting down to properly listen to her. His theories started locking into place as the woman explained her predicament. He even takes on of the cards Price had set out and makes quick, sharp notes.

"You had a motley that was ground down by a jealous Queen. Then you were alone. And you continue to reach out and be left alone. Redundant, but this is how I convey my understanding. " The eternal frustration of his condition. "Your talent appears to be logistics and connecting with others. Did you want to continue that? Sun Tongue will place more pressure on hard negotiation: you need to know your Contracts, know when to smell weakness, know when to draw the line." he looks from Circe to Richard.

"The reaction to Mr. Pierce tells me the culture in Sacramento is used to hand-holding. It's a disservice to everyone's agency. Circe, did you want us to assert a new position for artillery and arming your comrades? We can set different expectations. Ones better suited for your valuable skillset."

At the arrival of Cole, Fawkes cocks his head between a mouthful of pecan pie. "What kept you, Private?" The only time he had seen his elusive metallic cousin was the night he nearly collapsed a woman's trachea at the smoker.

[Richard Price]

Fawkes had a special quality about him, and that was he gave it to you straight. Valuable at some points, dangerous at others, but he certainly had a read on the room - not that that was a hard things to have.


As the story continued about the origins of Circe and the recent events of the city and their Court were detailed the pressure in the room grew thick, pumping almost as if they were the palpitations of a heart. The source was no secret, as the straight faced larger gentleman seemed to be the epicenter of the seething and explosive rage, primed to explode and reshape the landscape of the Crimson Court. Each of the mantles below his existed, a dryer heat, and the scent of metal permeated throughout.

Another reason to book the whole building? Their combined powers were likely to cause mortals to have a bit of a violent fit, or at least have a very spirited argument.

Enter, Cole. The Ogre stands and smile, as if the enormous mantle, and large frame were not even there.

”Afternoon, I don’t believe he have had the chance to meet. Richard Price, Summer Courtier. You are have arrived just before we have gotten into the most serious matters.” He motioned to the buffet and bar, ”Help yourself, share your voice. We have all afternoon and into the night if necessary.”

The ogre sat back down, and let people collect themselves food and drink if that is what they wanted. He took the moment to refill his empty glass with water, right near to the rim before lifting it carefully and emptying it to a respectful level. Was it half empty, or half full...We will see how the meeting carries on.

”Fawkes is a little forward, but he isn’t wrong. Our Court has failed to establish itself while while I see both Spring and Winter flourishing, which brings us questions of leadership, structure, and accountability. I have already stated my disappointment in needing so many hoops being needed to eventually learn who the claimed Crimson monarch is. It took the King of Fall reaching out to me before you Circe.

I understand that you don’t like conformity, and you want to be a wild maverick with your own identity, but you are also clearly wounded and still trying to work on yourself emotionally. If you expect to wear the crown, grow the Court, and have the respect of the other Monarchs - which I currently find to me no more than a courtesy - this project has to end. You carry the crown at all times, twenty-four seven. You come second to each and every one of your sworn.

Your personal views on a new Freehold Oath is also troubling. It is not a cage, it does not trap people here. It grants us a haven, a bastion to find protection from the Fae. It allows Courts to mix their magics and create wards more power than any outside of an oath, it grants us rights gifted by the Wyrd to empower ourselves further. It is the core agreement that grants the blessing of a manifested crown, and not trinkets and made up titles. If the city had such a small population there was nothing wrong with consolidating, but if you do no like the idea, and you want to foster the true power of the seasons, than the oath is non-negotiable.

Furthermore I will personally not tolerate thuggery. You have several times brought up beatings, and shootings, and other forms of overt force. We are the Iron Spear, the most martial of courts, and as such we must understand and respect the application of force. I have lived far too long in two lives dealing with abstract violence to tolerate it from someone who is supposed to be a figurehead. I would not be surprised to find out that we are seen as a collection of goons by the other courts based on what I have heard.

I will be clear here, these are charges levied against the Circe trying to rule, not against Circe the Courtier. I have no doubt of your ability to procure and arm others, even if my personal philosophies do not tend to mesh with the act I understand the role it plays. Nor will I chastise the last remaining Iron Spear to stand their ground, because it is braver to stay than it is to leave. These reasons do not excuse the actions I have witnessed as one who wishes to claim the crown.

Summer will always need a quartermaster, and you seem like the type fit for the position. You will have the protections and blessings of the court, and you can serve to your fullest ability. You will free of the scrutiny that comes with the burden of rule, you can continue to find yourself and mature, seek the help you need, and offer help to those who need it most around you. The crown is not an accessory, and you must represent it not the other way around.

You are not alone, you have help, you can step away and rest without all eyes being on you. You have weathered the storm, and the thundering hooves of cavalry are here. We are but four now, but with strength and stability we are so much more.”

The speech went on for several minutes, the pace changed to match a narrative of scrutiny, appreciation, and sympathy. Rich was speaking to two people, a ruler and a girl. The ruler had to answer for their behavior, his pride would not allow his sworn Court to remain in the shape it was now. The girl he wanted to help, she had suffered, she had struggled, and here she was forced to be the figurehead when her own journey was nowhere near complete and she had so much more to do, she deserved better and he wanted to help her be free of the weight that came with her assigned station.

While at the end of his speech his eyes held a deep sympathy for Circe, his Mantle was alive. The volcanic eruption it normally warned off seemed to be on the verge of a destructive explosion. Much as with a real volcano changed the very face of the earth, there would be change one way or another. No one would walk out of this room the same way they entered.

[Circe]

"Hiya Cole. Just a history lesson of when Summer happened ta number just me," she greets the blacksmith Elemental with false cheer. Shrugging, "Its all about me, so kinda borin'. I can tell ya later if ya want."


Circe snorts, "Contracts. If I need 'em ta be a Sun's Tongue," she looks to Fawkes, "I'd do poorly. I favor good old mundane tools over Contracts." She then listens to Richard's speech. He had a lot to say. And knew how to say it, so maybe he did study rhetoric.


A smarmy grin grows on Circe's face, "Yer better with rhetoric then me Richard. But I will object ta a few things. It is hard ta grow a Court when ya numba 1. And yes the numbas were tiny. Second, the oath is up ta the Monarchs ta decide if it comes back. I'm all for the benefits that comes with it so long as it makes sure ta only fuck over then one that breaks it." She then folds her arms, "I am a thug. Ya and Fawkes," she nods to the doll man, "Learned ta fight as soldiers. I learned from the cosa nostra. I am used ta using threats of overt force ta get things done," she holds up her right hand with the index finger raised, "Threats mind ya. The way it worked is if ya do it right ya never hafta go beyond threats. And no, they don't see us as goons. There was just me and they saw me as a friend that'll rain Hell upon any that'd harm them," her grin widens, "Which is absolutely true."


"Lastly," she widens her arms, "I never, ever claimed ta want the crown. I have been the default Queen 'cause there wasn't anybody else ta take the job," her arms rest back on the table, hands folded in front of her face. "I would however agree that I'd be a better quartermaster then any of ya boys," she looks to Cole, "No offense Cole but I think armorer is different then quartermasta," then back to Richard, "Call me cynical but I didn't approach ya cause before makin' sure that, after the fifth time, a new Summer actually stuck around a'fore I made with the meet and greet. If yer lookin' ta take the reigns I hafta tell ya Richard it ain't gonna be a coup." Circe leans back and places her hands on the table, "Coup would mean I want the crown. What have I called myself? Queen by default. Actin' Monarch. Ya comin' in on a white horse like King Arthur and I ain't gonna be Mordred," she chuckles, "Nor yer Guinevere."


Circe's ears bent downwards as her eyes did so too. After a pause she continued, "Aside from the bint in the lake I don't know who gave Arthur his kit. So I ask ya, do ya wish ta be Good King Richard," she then looks to the others, "Does anybody object ta changin' the crown?"

[Fawkes]

The mannequin's eyes are bright during Richard's speech on leadership, forgetting his plate.

"Nothing wrong with that," Fawkes said to Circe's comment on matters of the Wyrd, "I meant it's an asset in Freehold negotiations. The knowledge of the occult, and ability to guard against the wiles of the other Courts and Arcadian nightmares." He had never completely scrubbed the tarnish of Lead from his approach to matters of the Lost.

"For a Freehold Pledge. We add a clause that those who leave the border of Sacramento's wards for more than a Season are released from the protections of the Oath. We don't need to punish anybody." Fawkes blinks,

Just kill them before they leave if they're a threat." He drops the option of execution as casually as the rest of his dialogue.

The man's ball-jointed knuckles pop as he writes down a few things in rapid succession—clearly enjoying the simple tool the Ogre had provided to organize his thoughts. Gaze remained on the paper as he spoke, "Uh- I know I'm not the host. The points I was interested in was:

Sovreign—what we expect from each other,
Our roles in the Court—strengths and limits,
a Summer Pledge—what kind of benefits we want to pull from the Wyrd,
Plans for Our time...

I think Circe would appreciate a contingency plan about the transient nature of the population?" he doesn't look up as he makes the statement, locked in with his train of thought. Perhaps overdoing it.

"Oh. Titles. Private, I don't think anyone of your rank can hold the position of a 'master' without it being the butt of a joke. Our devotion to Summer demands respect and you've just started that journey," he jots something down, the paper an absolute mess at this point. It was probably the most animated anyone's ever seen him,

"M'am, did you want something simple like 'Iron Quartermaster' or did you want a title with weight, like 'The Hand of Sigyn'?" he opens his mouth to continue, but likely at this point someone cuts him off.