A day at the Derby

[Kray]

The Ogre stares. Pupil less, Unblinking. ''Hm. It suits you.'' Is the conclusion he reaches regarding Circes hair choices.

''It won't'' He replies to the concept of learning from gambling. ''That's kind the beauty of it.'' The same fools never learning means I can fairly reliably find what I want. ''The spot is more about the waiting. My ...'''He had gone to mirror Anatole's parlance and say meal but that had very different connotations to him. ''Uh. mark.'' Not much better. ''Just needs to realise how truly bad things are first.'' Needs to fear going home, facing creditors or whoever else will bring this down on his head.

He snorts. ''Ah. No I'm not fool enough to bet when the odds are stacked against me.'' Debt is another chain someone can own you with. ''But I'm all for a little sportsman's wager.'' Lets see seven is good for all involved, but that's Anatole's, which would be no fun... ''If your both up for it?'' It boiled down to pure luck or at best educated guessing then.

[Circe]

"Thank you, I'd tip my hat off to your compliment," she taps the side of her head as the turns to Kray, "But my head is bare, and against yours any hat seeking to compete woudl despair."


"Ah," she nods in understanding, trying to spot the person Anatole means. She thinks she has, "Got 'em. Yeeesh. Tacky fella ain't he? And why would I leave after running into some friends and fun? Of course Anny, I shall staaaay, oh," she leans forward a little towards the enraged mortal pointed to by Anatole. "Okay. Wow. Better color coordination now. His face is starting to match his suit. Wow. Good set of lungs on the guy too, oh ho ho. I hope he doesn't try to strangle the horse."


Which wasn't a joke. That was a concern given how much rage the guy was showing. "Tempting, so tempting. Sure."


She'd give it a go, though it'd be hard without actually being near him.

failure

Date	Action	Roll	Result
2024-05-10 22:32:31	Circe rolls 4 to Emot Glamour Harvest Emp + Comp + Anger - distance (10 Again)	6, 4, 1, 1	failure

Too far, she scowls at the failure.


"Well, I wouldn't want you to get a stomach ache Anny," she nods at Anatole. "Ooooh,' she raises her hand with her fingers crossed, "Hope ya win my friend."


She then looks to Kray, curious was to what he means. They get to see her right ear and eyebrow raise to indicate curiosity, "Hmmm? Sportsmanship wager? Not money then what? Nums? Beer? Commissions?"

[Anatole]

Anatole remained silent. His eyes drifted in the direction of the marque, eyebrow raising when Circe points out the fellow was leaving... and such fury! The Wizened's beard creases into a cruel grin as the Harvest King enjoys the spectacle.

His attention, however, is drawn back to his two companions. Still silent, still smiling softly, his eyes bounce between the Ogre and the Fairest with anticipation.

[Kray]

He tilts his head the better to take in the smaller summer sovereign. ''Hm. I think you good make hats work.'' But he was hardly one to give fashion advice. ''Everyone I admired, you know.'' Tone fading off to something quiet, reminiscent. Way back when. ''Wore hats.'' It didn't explain where his came from but it was something.

He to watches the mortal blowing a gasket. A slight shake of his head. For him the display was to, dramatic. Anger could invoke fear in others, of course it could but less so when accompanied by the colour change. Still the mortal served the needs of others just fine the way he was.

''Uh. Oh. Sportsman wager is just you know a verbal one.'' That's all he had in mind. ''But if you want to offer stakes.'' Well I've got glamour ripening in that fool by the fence once providing he loses, why not try for something else. ''Dinner work for you? The winner gets to choose a meal the other has to buy.'' Simple, effective little room to go wrong, nothing I care about to lose. ''Unless you got a better idea?'' She might after all. ''What about you Boss, you getting in on this one?'' Including the burnt dwarf in the conversation inspite of his silence.

[Circe]

"Possibly a fedora," she nods in agreement when he says she could work a hat. Kray was right on that. And then he gets quiet. And lost in memory. Oh dear. Was he still there?


She looks to Anatole, but the burnt dwarf is quiet now. Or perhaps the overly enraged mortal was too distracting. Circe wished she'd gotten some Glamour out of it. Circe snorts in derision at the man's temper, shaking her head. Losing oneself to rage was something many Summers decided to do. She disdained the berserker in favor of the cold, controlled rage.


Plus the whole, no Glamour thing. It was rare for her to get access to that level of rage safely. Only time she recalled involved two rival gangs being scheduled to buy at the same time because idiot coworker was a massive idiot.


And then Kray was back. "Hm?" She tilts her head as he explains. "Intriguing thing to wager. Other options? Hmm," she rubs her chin. Circe couldn't think of something. Not that all 3 of them could readily provide if they lost. Circe had money, workshops, smithy, and weapons access a plenty. The Summer Queen could easily wager things that Kray and Anatole would be harder pressed to provide. "Nothing comes to mind that is fair for everyone to give. Like a used car salesman wagering a car against a doctor and a pilot."


Circe didn't say who was what. "So, uh yeah, food sounds fair. A meal," she points an accusing finger at Kray, "I KNOW how easily you can crush a pizza. Muscled Man, you a rather Savage. Yeah," she says the last word with a particular emphasis those familiar with the 1980s would recognize.

[Anatole]

The Wizened's bushy eyebrow raises once again, this time focussing on the big Ogre as he drops a hint, a clue, about his past. For a moment, the burned dwarf attempted to calculate just how long the Ashen Courtier had been lost to Arcadia; Anatole's own Durance had felt like a life-age but had been closer to a decade. If that.

"A meal? Sounds fair. I am the Harvest King, am I not?"

Anatole was in.

[Kray]

People have been wearing hats for a long long time, as parts of uniforms, for fashion or practicality. That the mask of Kray's hedgespun hat is a fedora (Moth eaten and ragged) might be a clue for the Harvest king to the kind of culture and society the Ogre knew before being whisked away to his durance. And that he protects it shows it has meaning of some form or another. As he does now when Circe mentions she might make a fedora work. A great grey hand goes up to check it is still on his head and holds it down for a few beats.

''Hm. Three of us it is.'' These two should be careful. ''A meal the losers have to buy.'' He confirms. Otherwise what stops me demanding an arm or leg for my meal? Wording matters. The prospect of free dinner is however pleasing. ''In that case.'' He hadn't bothered to look at the horses he hadn't actually come for them. Should I just declare every horse bar one my bet, we did not stipulate after all? ''I'll back number six.'' Deciding to play nice in the spirit of the friendly game. ''Hm. Two different horses running with two different prizes online seems a good way to come out with something.'' After all he was a glutton, but not greedy no he wasn't an all or nothing kind of gambler. ''Uh. And why would I crus ha pizza Circe? do they taste better pre mangled?'' Not exactly a food you ned to tenderise.

[Maggie Magpie]

Maggie could still here the words of Aunt Penelope ring in her mind "Go out! You used to love horse races when you were younger!" she had said, hoping beyond hope that something remained of the bright, talented niece she once possessed. It was for naught, but Maggie caved, promising to go to Derby Day at Penelope's insistence if for no other reason to satisfy the aging socialite she had left out East... and to abate her own boredom.

Maggie had paid very little attention to the races themselves, possessing little interest in gambling. Luckily there was booze. And food.

For the occasion, Maggie had dressed for the event well enough to appease the advertisement, wearing a large, straw derby hat alongside a simple, loose fitting cream-colored sundress (it has pockets!) and brown leather sandals. She bore no jewelry or accessories beyond a clutch and cellphone secreted away in the dress itself. Her lack of finery and makeup made her a step apart from many who had attended the event, but the Ogre showed little signs of caring instead wandering the premises with a beer bottle lazily held in one of her hands.

Rounding a corner, Maggie would be revealed to the assembled lost to be more than a bored looking spectator.

To them, Maggie's Mien was on full display. Long hair hung past her shoulders, slightly obscuring Maggie's baleful, yellow eyes, feral visage, and tusked mouth. Her gray skin was crisscrossed with scars and the tips of elfin ears peaked out just past her hair. The most inhuman aspect of this creature was likely her arms, covered as they were in thick, avian scales and ending in wicked talons. This new Lost was also not without a Mantle, with red-hot veins glowing beneath the skin of her extremities and a similar "core" in her chest betraying her favor with Summer.

The sight of other Lost seemed to catch Maggie off-guard, with the feral-looking ogress stopping in place and looking upon them as she weighed how she should proceed.