High Striker Welcome Wagon

[Circe]

High Striker

After hours at the seat of Summer in Funderland, the High Striker. Organized is not quite the word for the plethora of plywood bunkers and inflatable obstacles that give cover, yet are mobile enough to mix it up so camping spots are never static. The safety net is down and a folding table has been added to the most well lit area. With a set of four chairs.


A not unfamiliar setup to the Lost that have had to meet Circe in her "domain" before. Lazy some might call it. Seraphina / Orianna has been invited to take part, with some extra instrutions in the form of a doodled map with colors. Just in case, it is curious as to what Circe would be sending Seraphina to grab as a precaution.


The Summer Queen herself is present and adorned, not in the regal finery of Hedgespun or the heavy duty protection of her mortal battle gear. But something else she made to keep her skin safe. And it is distracting to boot. She also brought scones. Also mad by her, in various fruit fillings.

And then this Withers / Stray would be introducing himself to the Summer Queen.

[Withers]

The unobtrusive Antiquarian arrives as he always did to any function, quietly and more or less unnoticed thanks to his forgettable presence. Nonetheless, as he slowly moved through the strikes of his cane announced his coming in the empty, closed attraction of Funderland.

Rounding a corner, the weathered Winter is finely seen.

As Abel Grimsby, Withers took the form of an old man of 75, bent and crippled with an old leg injury, standing a hair over 5 feet. However, as a fellow Lost, Circe would see Withers as he truly was. While his Mask looked old, Withers looked positively ancient in comparison. He seemed slightly shorter than Abel and frailer in appearance. His posture remained bent with the weight of ages and his old injury seemed quite real, as he walked with a pronounced limp, compensating for the ailment with the use of his cane.

His face possessed deep wrinkles, with prominent bags under his eyes, His ears were large and tapered, his nose long and hooked, and he looked upon Circe in her outfit with beady black eyes from behind his spectacles. His mustache was fuller and wilder than Abel's and his long-fingered hands seemed perpetually stained with black ink.

Stopping about two arm lengths away from, the Darkling lifted his eyes to meet the Fairest's own as the chill of his Mantle announced his Season. Resting on his cane, Withers would smile. He was dressed nicely enough, sporting a pair of twill trousers and a tweed jacket alongside brown loafers and his large glasses.

"Mary, I presume?" he asked, his voice a quiet and almost somber thing. He wasn't sure of course. This could be Sara for all he knew, as he had never met the Vernal Sovereign in the flesh. However, common courtesy often dictated the Host would arrive before their company.

[Seraphina]

Having gotten the map, not quite sure what it was for, but, it was Circe. So packed a battery operated warmer for the kettle and some of the seasonal blends for tea. There were also some more traditional ones in case they preferred the traditional flavors, which some did. There was also a travel carafe filled with Circe’s favorite coffee from the shop, as well as a small container with cream, sugar and all that.

One would tell the difference in the two woman as soon as Sera made her way into the…tent? Sera was dressed for summer, but in a spring way. Tank top and skirt, translucent lower legs not hidden. Translucent hands carried the carafe and electric tea kettle as she walks in. Long silver and green hair was in braid off to the side and draped over her shoulder, the delicate pearls catching the light here and there. It was certainly a difference from her gold and silver hair, the green bright and vibrant, reminiscent of the colors of the ocean. But the biggest difference was her eyes, no longer the color of the deepest ocean, they were now a rare greenish blue color of aquamarine. There is also a soft illumination from within, it’s a very gentle glow, but it’s there and it stands out. The gilded skin and scales of her face was broken up by cracks that one might see in a old porcelain doll.

“Sorry I’m late,” came the angelic voice, “but I come baring gifts! Coffee for Circe, and tea for our friend.” A nod to the new face. The items set on the table as she sets to getting the kettle turned on and the various teas she brought laid out. Her right hand did have what appeared to be an injury that was healing. “I’m Seraphina, but just Sera works.”

[Circe]

Red pupils move across black sclera whence Withers arrives. Circe raises her left, bone white eyebrow and left blue ear on getting a look at the new arrival. Odd to see someone else with black eyes. And also with pointed ears, causing the raised left ear to wiggle as she thinks about this. Dude even has a cane no less. Possibly a cane sword. His cold Mantle doesn't chill her for long as her own, dry heat of a desert Summer clashes right back with it. She puts a hand on her left hip, opposite the holster on the right.


The gives him a smile, though her eyes are weary and assessing.


"To those mundies seeking my wares and skill, yes. Though to those in our particular club who can see I'm always blue? I answer, well, reply to Circe." She really doesn't answer to folks unless she is trying to by vexing. "You would be the Abel that I spoke with?"


And the golden Siren arrives with the blessed ambrosia. Withers will see the guarded stance from the Summer Queen not quite disappear. But the smile? It goes from something a little hollow to quite genuine as it reaches her eyes upon Seraphina's voice reaching them.


Circe spins towards Seraphina, taking a step away from Withers in the process, "Always a pleasure to sample your craft Sera! Though I much prefer drinking the coffee with my mouth, I'll stick to using eyes with your superior fashion," she giggles out the last bit. Her left eye never lost sight of Withers though. She turns her head back to him and waves to the table, "Shall we take a seat for this? If you prefer to stand, you can try to have coffee or tea with it. But might be heard to have the scones too," she eyes the cane. Did he need that or was it a hidden weapon?


Circe was curious as to what this noob had to say. New arrivals could be a hit, a miss, or a bag of broken glass causing disaster. No, she certainly wasn't still bitter about those coup committing Summers all those years ago. Circe prefers bitter coffee with sweet added, thank you very much.

[Withers]

The angelic voice causes the ancient Darkling's ears to perk, with his bespectacled gaze seeking the source. And what a source it was. There was a pause as Seraphina introduced herself. It was apparent now why the Brute had warned him, it would be easy to let one's guard down around the Vernal Sovereign. And the Summer Queen was an eye turner herself.

Nonetheless, Withers beared no carnal thoughts. He had known a love he had no desire to forget in the face of these Fair Folk. As such, the Winter bent his form into a bow, his grip tightening on the cane to compensate for the maneuver before righting himself with a grunt of effort.

The Darkling offered the fiery sovereign a nod to her question.

"I am, among mixed company," he offered, "However, among our kin I bear the name of Withers."

Looking between the pair the gentle, somber smile remained.

"It is a pleasure to meet you both in the flesh," he said, before looking to the table, "Sitting would be lovely, although I would love a cup of tea first. As for the scones, I am not one to offend a Host. The table is close by, I can manage without my cane for a few moments when the time comes."

The maneuver would be uncomfortable, but it would also prove to solidfy Withers did indeed require his cane. The old Lost knew he had to establish a sense of trust early on. Thus, Withers waited until the water was heated before leaning his cane against his chosen chair. Hobbling over to the table, the Darkling's expression winced in discomfort as he made a selection of black tea and picked an apple scone.

Turning back he would hobble to his seat and gently seat himself with a sigh of relief. Placing the scone in his lap, the old Winter would rub the crippled leg a bit as he eyed the extra chair. In his cup, the tea bag remained, with the Darkling having left it to steep.

"Are we expecting another?" he asked.

[Seraphina]

Laughing, “Well, I prefer you drink the coffee Circe, but, who am I to judge.” A hand waving off the superior fashion comment, “I would hardly call it superior, clearly I came underdressed tonight.” Though what the Summer Queen wore wasn’t something the Spring would wear.

“I brought the tea specifically for our guest, he had said he preferred tea.” A nod to the new face. Who actually, now that she looked at him, was quite…frail. Though as any Lost who had been around a while will tell you, looks were, in fact, deceiving. And she would venture a guess he had plenty of tricks up his sleeve as any Lost did.

"Pleased to meet you Withers."

As he made his tea selection, “I must express my apologies for the black tea, it isn’t one of my own blends. I haven’t mastered growing it yet, I can’t seem to get the conditions just right. Though it will happen at some point, I will not be defeated by it.” She jokes.

When he mentions someone else joining, she just shrugs, “I don’t know, that would be something only Circe would know. It’s her meeting.”

[Circe]

Circe joins Seraphina in laughter, "I dress for when we must protect this house Sera oh ho ho ho," she gleefully mentions the motto of UnderArmor brand. She could wear the skin suit underneath a regular business suit. "This is an updated of my old super villainess model too." It was better against guns than what she got mauled in by the wood deer.


The elderly looking, because Meins could be like that, seemed to be having some restraint to dealing with two Fairests. Her opinion improves of him. "Well met then Withers. If you've concern over the Courts, do not. Our Freehold you will find has the seasons freely mix without reprimands. Unlike other 'holds, WE prefer to lean on each other." There is no hiding the pride in that statement.


And the cane wasn't an act? Hmm. She looks at the head of the can when he leans it against the chair. Seeing if the head was built for caning someone. Was the head solid or not? "You want help with the chair? Respect to elders is a thing I recall."


If Withers accedes, she will help him sit down. Circe does know to respect elders from her cosanostra memories. Old men in professions where many die young are to be feared respected.


"Thank you Seraphina. I'll take the coffee, please and thank you," she nods at Seraphina respectfully. Friendship and coffee bringing, that makes her polite.


As for the question on numbers, Circe smirks, "Ah yes. There was another new arrival. My phones are buzzing this month. Could probably make a massage chair if I set them all to vibrate, oh ho ho." She will accept and begin mixing her coffee. She will also pull paper plates out from under the scone platter, offering it to both Withers and Seraphina.


"The other newbie should be arriving. I think," she shrugs, "I gave him the time."

[Svelte Sven]

As if on cue, there is an audible knocking on the building's metal exterior before an out-of-breath Darkling stumbles into the building, dragging luggage behind him. Svelte Sven stumbles slightly before ineffectually wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead and doubling over to catch his breath. "I... I... sincerely apologize for my tardiness." Managing to hold himself upright, the Changeling takes another few seconds to slow his breathing before clearing his throat.

"My name is Sven, Svelte Sven." He doubles over again, this time in an intentional bow. "Amongst mortals I go by 'Devon Edwards' and I have just arrived from the nearby freehold of Los Angeles." Again he raises a hand to his brow to wipe away perspiration, though his other hand works to smooth any wrinkles in his attire. Despite apparently sprinting here, Sven is in formalwear. A grimace forms on his face as he notices the conversation already in-progress.

"I see that I am later than I had thought. Again, I apologize." Another bow, it seems to be a natural response from him. His eyes dart between the Withers, Circe, and Seraphina. "I can only say that I have heard the Summer Queen's voice, beyond that I am at a disadvantage." He stood stock-still at attention, as if expecting reprimand. His nose wrinkles briefly as the aroma of warm beverages wafted his way, though he betrayed no further reaction.

And so he stood staring at the horizon, hands folded behind his back and chest heaving with effort to regulate his rapid heartbeat. Having rapidly intruded into this meeting and hoping against hope that he has not disrupted protocol, seemingly unable to make eye contact with any of those present, Sven has made an impromptu interruption in the proceedings.

[Withers]

A gentle smile is offered to Seraphina.

"I am certain it will suffice. Thank you," he says.

There is a nod as Circe explains the Courts intermingle.

"This is good to hear... so many forget that each Season makes up a greater whole. I will be more than happy to contribute."

As Circe looks at the cane it becomes apparent it is... just a cane. The Onyx Court may be known for their subterfuge, but it seems the cane and his limp are genuine aspects of Withers. He truly is crippled in one leg and indeed does need the cane to move around for any significant amount of time, as movement without it clear gives him a great deal of discomfort.

Withers accepts Circe's assistance offering his thanks as he sits back down.

Another voice speaks, prompting the frail looking Darkling to look for the source, with his black eyes falling upon Svelte Sven.

"Hello," he offers, "Among mixed company, my name is Abel Grimsby, but here among our own, my name is Withers. I am of the Onyx Court."

[Circe]

Circe's proud smirk at the lack of prideful infighting between courts remains. "I could make a speech about how we have all got this far by leaning on each other," she shrugs with a shake of her head. Then points at Seraphina, "But Seraphina here? She is familiar with Robert Clotworthy's speech from StarCraft. And would point out I am just quoting it. I would do so with out shame mind you. It is a good speech."


She is disappointed teh cane isn't more, martial. Winters she guesses, not thinking ahead. He could at least get a cudgel like cane head. But at least the elder isn't offended by getting help.


And almost sits at the table, to enjoy coffee and a multi-berry scone, but the other arrives. Circe stays standing, eyeballing him for paranoid, um, security reasons. A skeleton of darkness? Most likely a Darkling she assumes. And fellow pointed ears. Seems Circe isn't the only one in town with that feature now.


"Oh, there he is," she points as Svelte enters with a flight's worth of luggage. She's a her left hand down by the obvious holster though. "And yes, I am the angriest, heated blueberry here. Contrary to my Mary name, I am Circe." She nods at Svelte. "Welcome aboard. Please, feel free to join at the table. Coffee, tea, fruity scones. We've victuals for the meeting."