This is for adding a Search Category to the thread.
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It is early on the summer morning as Mrs. Rosemary waits outside the Four Seasons dressed in what can only be described as safari attire. Khaki shorts that hang around her thick legs, a blouse in sandy brown which is the size of a tent, a wide brimmed hat and big hiking boots. She may look ridiculous but Mrs. Rosemary cares not a jot as she waits beside a large coach with Mr. Bates sitting in the driver's seat. It would seem they will not be going through the Hedge from here.
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Rick arrives at the appointed hour, also dressed for the outdoors. His shirt was worn, but sturdy enough to turn grasping thorns one might brush against in the wilderness. Mundane ones at least, the Hedge always had its surprises. He also wore jeans, despite the summer heat. Standard practice for when he expected he might have to wade through plants that rose past his feet and ankles. If he got too warm he could always just cut them down anyways, one never entered the Hedge unprepared for a fight if they were wise. And the light pack on his back lightly contained a few survival implements that might come in handy.
He glanced at the coach as he came up to the other two fae. It was unusual to see one of those nowadays, but he could guess its purpose. "We're taking that in, I assume?" Which also begged the question, just how deep into the Hedge was Miss Rosemary planning to venture?
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Enzo arrives wearing his usual garb for hunting or trekking through the Hedge. Black cargopants, steel-toe black boots, and a tightly fitting leather jacket, black in color. He has a pair of sunglasses on as well, obscuring his different colored eyes. A strap hangs from his shoulder to a cue-case hanging at his lower back, filled with arrows. Cupid's Lament rests dormant in his pockets, nothing more than a small tree barely visible now.
With a nod to Rick, he smiles at the man, it had been a long while since he had seen the Autumn Courtier, and he had changed much since then, scarred and now Summer, Enzo was very different from who Rick had seen last. "Legate, its been a while."
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Mrs Rosemary shakes her head to Rick's question.
"Oh no, Mr. Legate, I don't know a gate big enough. From my recent journeys into the Hedge, I've found it acting slightly awry, and felt that perhaps we should try somewhere just outside of the Freehold, see if we fare any better from there."
There is a tone of truth in her voice and rumours have indeed been circulating about the weird nature of the Hedge around Sacramento.....well, weirder than normal.
Someone had geared up. The Molly Molotov had gotten her dark hair up in a ponytail, wore a long sleeved heavy metal t-shirt and a pair of jeans. A knife in its sheet was fastened to her thigh with duck tape. She walk with a comfortable stagger that could puck Jack Sparrow to shame and the dancing cracks of red hot glow on her skin shifted excitedly.
A small rugged backpack rang the the sound of full glass bottles at the bottom. Might just be beer, right? Not at all her namesake... An XXXL can of hair spray was stuffed into to holder for water bottles on the outside the backpack. You never been the curious type of kid of college kid if you don't know what sore of awesome thing you can a do with a lighter and hairspray. From the top of the bag the handle of a baseball bat stuck out.
Seeing the others she proudly grabbed the handle and proudly produce the meanest looking baseball bat ever.
It have obviously been modified with the principle that the more the better. She had wrapped the top third of it with an rags and shoelaces, pored gasoline and candle wax onto it. Then she driven a thirty rusty nails into the wood creating a mean looking and gasoline smelling homemade morning star.
And she was beaming. Happy like a kid. Guess who want hoping for just a peaceful walk in the green?
Hi guys!
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Barkley pulls his truck into the parking lot of the hotel, its engine complaining and sputtering all the way. He'd really have to get under that damn hood one of these days, but Sam had a feelin' the ol' gal was a bit like warm silly putty under there. Once you start messin' with it, yeh'd never be able to stop. He takes his staff out from its place behind his seat, pats the water bottle in his pocket, and makes his way toward the gatherin'.
He's dressed the same way you've always seen him, possibly more stained than before, but seein' as how his heavy courdoroy jacket an' jeans, an' his thick brown boots, were already deeply covered in mud and blood and sap and guts, its hard to tell, and raises doubts as to whether the Wizened has ever even taken 'em to the river an' scrubbed 'em at all, let alone heard of this new-fangled 'washing machine' that all the kids are on about these days.
He don't know Ms. Rosemary or Mr. Bates at all, but with the size of the party venturin' in, based on the sign-up sheet, he knew they'd need his help, even if they never said so, outright told him they didn't, or even yelled at him to go away, so here he was, and would be. He walks up to his friend Rick, who he hears has been busy as hell these days, greets him with a grin an' a hearty "How the hell are yeh?" He nods cordially to the Great Enzini, one a'those who thought they might catch 'im back at Harry's grave back when, the same for Ms. Rosemary and Mr. Bates, except with a wave an' a "'ullo," tossed in.
Then there's this fiery new gal he ain't met before, smellin' like gasoline, an don't that just beat all. He didn't want to be anywhere near that perfectly nice young lady when she ultimately combusted, thank yeh all the same, but he introduces himself nonetheless. "'ullo, lady," he says, a stubby, gnarly thumb pointed towards his chest. "Sam."
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Xerxia strides up alongside the coach dressed as she usually did for Freehold-based business: red slitted-dress, black pants, and leather gloves, bodice, and heeled boots with her knives in their usual concealed sheathes. She was also carrying a leather satchel to help carry fruits and various tools to help with gathering. And the other assorted items on this list Xian He gave me... she mentally amends.
Seeing the group gathering, she looks each over to assess their apparent usefulness for the trip before approaching them, the summer's heat augmenting her shimmering Mantle.
"Hello, Mrs. Rosemary. Mr. Bates. Legate," the Fairest nods to each in turn with a smile. With a more neutral expression, she nods to Sam, her former King, and says, "Long time no see, Sam."
To the others gathered so far, she says after a slight bow, "I'm not sure we have met before. I'm Xerxia, the Sun's Tongue. It is a pleasure to meet you."
She totally isn't flaunting her new title she hasn't had a chance to use conversationally since she received it, noooo.
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Most of the Lost present will recognize the Summer Contable's Jeep as it pulls up next to the hotel. Marcus gets out and walks over toward the coach... or bus, as the colonists call it. The Metalflesh is dressed for a hike in the Woods, wearing a pair of broken-in hiking boots, cut-off camo shorts, a grey henley with rolled-up sleeves, and a green Sac State ballcap. A wooden handle protrudes from the flap of his well-worn rucksack. He gives Rick, Sam, and Xerxia a friendly nod as he approaches. Upon seeing Mrs. Rosemary, Marcus raises a hand in greeting and gives her a winning smile. He secretly hopes that she brought a few treats for the journey. Hedge trips are hungry business, after all. Upon seeing Enzo, the Metalflesh notices a few changes about the Fairest, but having never really gotten to know him, simply gives him a neutral greeting.
"Alright?"
However, looking at the unfamiliar Lost with the ghetto-club, Marcus forces a smile.
"Hello, I'm Marcus."
Her real name had been lost somewhere in the hedge, or stolen from her lips in Arcadia but who cares about that. Choosing who to be is so much better.
Sam, Xertia, Macus., Got it. I'm Molotov. She says, cocking her head and sounding amused. Curiously eying the others. It was oo much to take in in at the moment to judge them and so on, more then someone needed to get the party started. Field trips was suppose to be fun. 'And educational' some half forgotten echo of a schoolteacher voice echoed in the back of her mind. She rolled her shoulder.
Can someone explain how we're going to do this shit? Please? She added politely. She seems content even if all she got forced smiles at best. Fuck she chosen to be a what she was, not win popularity contests. It wasn't like she was aiming to become president. With a thump she let the club rest against the ground. This was going to be fun one way or another.
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"Why not wait fer everyone to show...Molotov?" Well, that explains a few things, Sam thinks. "No one likes to repeat themselves," he says, nodding towards Miss Rosemary.
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