A day at the Derby

[Kray]

The Ogre is having trouble keeping an eye on both the horses he now has an investment in. Needing four to lose and wanting six to win. ''Done. And done it is.'' It might not be one of his pledges but he expects agreements made in fun, goof faith or mutual need to be honoured none the less, and has no reason to think they won't be. The Wyrd is not ours alone, never know when it can snag or twist of something we say better to show such things the respect they deserve, or else find yourself in a situation of your own making.

A eyebrow raising contorts his horrid features. ''Uh. I can in one sitting easy, in one go ... now that might be beyond even my jaw.'' Large and powerful as it was, forced ever open by the chaotic amalgamation of oversized stony teeth. He takes half a step away at the mantle flair. The heat she gives of is impressive. ''Hm. Before we try that lets see how I do in come summer, I think me and Sonnie got a little something going on at your expense.'' The giant looms tall and menacing but seems to be excited by this prospect.

Turning then first to Anatole as he says something odd. Lost. The pupiless bulbous yellow orbs of his eyes follow the Harvest kings gaze until flinty iris settle on ... what might be a distant relative if lost could ever claim such things ... Well now. The newcomer might be smaller then the obese, barrel chested giant but that didn't always mean much. He takes his great grey hand away from between his horn nubbins, off his hat which he had yet to do since thinking Circe was after it again. What can be seen of his ashy skin looks diseased, scabbed and blotchy. ''And who might you be.'' The deep voice is neither harsh nor welcoming, only asking.

[Maggie Magpie]

The fire-veined ogress settled her gaze on the Smith as he spoke, taking the few steps necessary to properly join the group as she studied the Burned Dwarf just as he did the same with her. The twisting shadows, the heat, and the sound of distant, singing metal... it bore an image to Maggie's mind of the descent of Summer and the terrible rise of something new. With the distance closed, the heat of Maggie's own mantle could be felt, though it wasn't stifling at least, a symbol of the ogress' calm mind.

"Think we all are," she answered as he asked his question before her baleful eyes followed the pointed finger, "Nah. People in there are stuffy, s'why I decided to take my bottle for a stroll. 'sides, I'm mostly just here to look at the horses."

Looking back to the deep-voiced cousin among these strangers, Maggie's yellow eyes met his. She was far smaller than this man, but she didn't wilt, though her eyes eventually grew distracted, briefly staring off into space as she followed the illusory flames of the larger Ogre's Mantle.

"Maggie," she said as she refocused her gaze on the large, decayed husk, "and you?"

The feral Lost would briefly glance to the oblivious, exotic-looking businesswoman, not the dry heat emanating from her. Maggie then sniffs loudly, an effect of the plethora of smells around them, and reaches up with her free hand to wipe her nose as she somewhat absently considers affiliations of the assembled.

"Figured I'd run into others," she said, "but I didn't think it'd be so soon after I got into town. How's... things, I guess?"

Finally, the near-forgotten beer bottle finds its way to Maggie's lips once more, the ogress appreciative of the respite from her very stilted introduction.