Summer had gone.
The weather had changed, turning cooler. The clear skies seemed to be under threat too: clouds had been gathering throughout the day, promising rain in the night and on the morrow. So far the clouds had not burst but the day - and by extension the evening - had taken on an increasingly liminal feel, as though the city was being shunted sideways into a new time.
For the Lost, this is exactly the cue that the Coronation is nigh. Tonight Summer ends and the the Ashen Court rises.
Funderland is quiet and empty. A few limpid posters suggest that the evening has been given over to a private function. The lights of Edna's boarding house are on. All of them. Light spills from the hoary old building, rendered neutered and mute in this happy place; it is still Autumn's place - as it had been since the time when the Ogre Edna ruled the house with cruel dignity, a time now long passed and almost lost to memory.
For this Coronation, no screams, shadows, or witch lights lead the Lost to feast. This time, only the warm scent of bread and the heady aroma of mead guide the little company to Edna's door.
The kitchen, a homely room ill at ease with the hidden fears the house represents, has been fully opened by Anatole this year. It is not a large chamber but it is big enough for their needs. The table - indeed the whole room - has been laid out with a gorgeous spread. Here is a celebration of the Harvest, another aspect of the Autumn Court. Greenery has been bought in; baskets of breads, preserves, butters; bowls of harvest time fruits: apples and pears and succulent plums; huge berries of every stripe; jugs of milk, mead, rich wines, ales; for the non alcoholic, fruit juices and punches and sweet, sweet waters; meats and pate; poultry and pies.
Anatole waits at the centre of it all, wrapped in his shadowy coat with its trails dripping to the floor (teasing his pooling, mysterious, mantle). His Crown represents his humble station: his is no ornate confusion of shade; or hoary fires; or horns; or wreaths of renown; no - his Crown is but a thick band of tooled leather. This Autumnal Sovereign knows few mysteries and the Wyrd knows. The Wyrd knows but does not humiliate for their is strength and nobility in humility as well. And even the wise and the brave can be humbled by Fear, whereas the weak and powerless can grow strong.
Anatole has 4 Resources. He has burned a months supply of Resources to make this rich phantasmagoria of food, wine, and setting today
Saber Sloth