A day at the Derby

[Kray]

The Ogre dressed as the working man if it weren't for the seemingly moth eaten fedora, stands back in the shadows cast by building and structures as he watches the days events. He has no great aversion to the sun or people but he isn't here to mingle with them. Derby day meant fools and the desperate would find themselves in need, needs he could provide for and they in turn need give nothing, well nothing they knew about anyway. Among the crowds and those enjoying the food (he would before he left), festivities and atmosphere, those needy souls are the ones he watches for as the horses, jockeys and crowds repeat the same dance round and about and again, he watches from the side lines wondering if his number will come in today or not.

[Anatole]

Anatole moves through the crowd like an imperious boulder. He is waring one his older suits with a flash of jewellery to add a touch of class. So far he has dabbled in a little networking; enjoyed an alcoholic beverage from one of the tents; and now has a plate of food to try.

He is also trying to avoid slipping into bad Mortal habits and NOT go slip back to the more fashionable tents for more networking.

The Wizened spies Kray by the sidelines and heads on over, where he pauses to jostle his plate and the tickets in his waistcoat pocket while the horses for the next race are led out.

He lets out a grunt of recognition, then:

"Hello again my friend. Do you have a rider in the next race?"

Then he notices the hat.

[Kray]

Kray had been so focused on the crowds, unblinkingly so that he failed to notice the approach of his sovereign until the burned dwarf clears his throat. To which the ogre gives a small start and looks down quickly, looming over any but the tallest of mortals that dared to disturb him.

''OH.'' Relaxing. ''Hi Anatole.'' He reaches up and doffs his hat in respect to the harvest king. ''Nice suit.'' Appreciating the monarchs style.

''Hm?'' Looking back to the race. ''Oh no not me.'' He nods instead to the gathered crowd he had been observing. ''You see the guy, the one gripping the fence with both hands, looks agitated, nervous.'' The kind of person the ogre was here to ... assist. ''He does though. He's got a tidy sum riding on number four.'' The Ogre gives what can only be described as an evil grin to Anatole. ''So. really I got all the others running for me.'' Stacked odds indeed, if money wasn't his goal.

''Uh. And yourself, you got your eye on a winner you think?'' Unless he here doing the same thing I am.

[Anatole]

"Thanks."

He flashed a grand fatherly smile and turned to observe the crowd.

"Oh I see him. How precious..."

An edge entered the Wizened's voice as he understood exactly what the Ogre was on about. His smile remained on his voice but warped into something malicious. It was lingering when Anatole replied, looking upward:

"A man of culture, I see. Not that hungry today. I mean, I did snack a little earlier when I was in one of the marquee tents. Quite a collection of 'haves' and 'wannabes' over there today. It made for a heady brew. There were some people from interstate as well, one in particular who was all glitz and thunder but I saw right through him. Charlatan! He knew it. I... tasted it. He might do well if his nerve holds."

"Number 7 is mine. Gloriana's Torch. No idea who the horse or rider are. Just liked the name. If something comes of it, so much the sweeter."

[Kray]

A deep chuckle emanates from the depths of the ogres chest as his sovereign made it perfectly clear he understood what he Ogre was after, was an aficionado of finding it even, but perhaps not the method. ''Uh. I bet the false bravado over there is quiet something. The feeling of knowing you could lose it all if you went the wrong way while trying to seem confident must be ... a difficult sell'' But there was a reason Kray was here and not the tents. ''Ha. But him. When he loses, he will wallowing for a while in his despair.'' Looking down the grin is just as evil as it had been. ''Wondering how he will explain his losses, how he will pay his rent.'' The basic needs. ''Which is when a large hand, from a man he would never had dreamed of dealing with even this morning, will reach down with an offer to pull him from his plight. If he has the guts to shake on it.'' A song and dance It seems the Ogre was rather accustomed to, how he harvested what he was after.

Looking back to the race as it readied up. ''Huh. Sounds like you ate well today.'' It was the wonderful thing about fear, it could be found in all walks of life, every arena. The very present shadow of every hope, the very real voice that nibbled at every decision, the constant companion. Even if society wanted to do all it could to not acknowledge that.

The name, does it sound familiar? should it? or is it just some generic fantasy sounding thing? ''Uh. Why does that sound like I've heard it before?'' The Ogre tries to find the horse in its starting bay with bulbous yellow eyes wondering if for whatever reason he would be hit by a bolt of recognition. None comes. ''Hm. Well either way seven is good for us so, here's hoping.'' He still couldn't shake the feeling he should know that name and it was going to irk him all day now, be it real or imagined.

[Circe]

A glasses wearing brunette in a business suit is walking away from the betting area, heated words following her away from those she delivered something to. The response of the Summer Queen? A single, common gesture involving a raised fist with a single finger extended.


Circe hadn't expected to have to make a trip to the horse races. She didn't gamble. Well, not with money, though she did with her life. Summer. Nor did any Freeholders to her knowledge. Her fellow gun runners though? Turns out, some of them did.


And having them, literally, indebted to her could be useful. Well, except her boss beat her to it, hence she was playing courier. What'd he said? Right, this wasn't the first time with those idiots. What a lost chance.


But a different chance comes up as she sees a familiar hat. On a rather tall figure. Getting closer, she sees a burnt man in a good suit. What an interesting turn of events. As she approaches, the two Lost will note that the Summer Queen's normally bone white hair is brown. Hair dye, washable, but still affects the Mein as much as the Mask.


"Hay guys? Are you fellas horsing around?" She greets them as she walks up. "I won't neigh say the hobby," she shrugs with a shake of her head, "But I did just had to help a coworker whose hobby got them unstable, he was shouting about the problem getting him a little horse." Circe laughs, "Oh ho ho ho! I can keep going, believe me," she gives them two thumbs up.


Her smiles widen as a few bystanders react to her puns with groans or laughs. It isn't clear, even to Circe, if the pain or amusement she caused is what makes her happier.

[Anatole]

Anatole looked up at the Ogre with a smile just as malicious.

"Oh you are a poet. You must tell me how it goes."

The Wizened did enjoy hearing how twists of fate forced the most diabolical of situations upon the desperate.

"Thank you. I hope your mark is to your taste as well...."

Eyes narrowing, his head snapped in the direction of Circe as the blue Fairest approached. Just an instant. Then his face registered surprise and transformed into a smug, grandfatherly, glow.

"No. Well. Actually, yes. You seem quite the business woman today..."

The burned dwarf's appraising eye flowed over the business suit.

"You should try the marquee tent. I'm sure you'll find a worthy challenge in there. Dapper guy in the red suit, styled hair. I'm sure you could draw him out."

So smooth.

Now Anatole was handing out mortals fit for feasting. Oh this Harvest King.

[Kray]

With the height difference between the two it was neigh imposable to not look down when talking to the burnt dwarf but Kray does make an extra effort to advert his habit of looming as the best show of his respect he can manage in mundane company. ''Ah. Thanks. This tongue of mine will do itself proud before the day is done.'' The tongue hidden behind the teeth and brutish appearance was easily the most powerful tool in his arsenal and to it proved so regularly as he harvested glamour with his pledge craft, even if it did require as much care as his appetites to not slip and seal something foolish. ''I will do just so.'' It would likely be another day after all wallowing took time to get just right ... like cooking. There would be a moment that it would be just so.

Eyes trail over more slowly then the Autumn sovereigns snap to look, the Ogre is slower still enjoying the insidious mood. Does Circe have a sister? Is the first thought that goes through his mind before she speaks and cottons on. Fingers go the rim of his hat in a quick motion of respect for the queen of summer. ''Ah. Good day to you. Felt like changing things up?'' The puns take a moment to parse out the wordplay, check it over, before getting a small if deep chuckle, seems they were either of the variety he that appealed to him or he is on better form then the danger meeting when their respective attempts at humour had missed the mark a little. ''Uh. Something like that.'' The horses did matter after all just different stakes. ''Apparently I missed the memo this was suit kind of event.'' He had one, he had worn it to the winter solstice, it just had not occurred to him to wear it today. ''Hm. Your co-worker shouldn't gamble what he can't afford to lose.'' Otherwise folks like us start to circle. Or much worse. ''What of you got a horse in this race?'' Fear of losing, anger when do you, joy when you win. This is actually a good place for us.

That Anatole was plating up mortals like packed lunches was of no concern. The lost kept the others at bay, kept the mortals safe from them as best they could. That the lost snacked on mortals emotions as often as needs must was just the price paid for service and safety.

[Circe]

Circe thinks for a moment on the person he meant. No, the idiot had a green suit instead of red. Red was a winner, not the loser she'd run into. "Made a bad impression there already my friend," she assures Anatole. "Dropping off a bailout for a rather agitated loser from my work, yay," Circe waves her hands in faux cheer. Then points the way she came, "That's the marked tent right?" It was not.

Thought, it'd be a scene if she went back to rib the woman again. Wait, she tilts her head in thought. Why would she not do that? She smiles evilly, "Snacks and a show, thank you for the suggestion Anny," she gives Anatole a nod i thanks.


"Well, sometimes ya just hafta do something different with your hair, ya know?" She smiles at Kray. She listens and nods in agreement. The idiot shouldn't have bet too much. "And as for that poor gambler? She owes the boss overtime," she nods more, "Maybe the extra work will learn her a thing or six."


"Not any horse I'd put money on," she shakes her head in the negative. She prefers to work for her funds. Or make her funds work. "I'm guessing you boys have already staked out a few spots for, uh," how to phrase it, "Watching the bipedal drama? Might not be as entertaining as the horses to most, but the variety of it could have a glamourous style all its own."


That was a good way to put it. Not subtle, but at least it shouldn't be too obscure either.

[Anatole]

"Ah no. The other one. With the que because our mundie friends are all about status. Craving particularly hard today."

Anatole gestured with his fork before digging back into his meal.

"I've eaten. Having a second course here. Not quite as... filling."

He smiled.

"As for drama? No. I've actually got some skin in this next race. No 7. Having a little flutter and enjoying the pre-race uncertainty."

He nodded to where the horses and their riders were gathering.

"And now your task is done. Do you plan on staying a while? Kray found this rather well placed spot."

He paused, shovelling food into his mouth. Squinting slightly into the furnace of the blue Larcenist's mantle.