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The Sparrow’s Nest was a posh little tea shop, easily spotted by the sign that hung over the door. Upon the sign was the image of a rather rotund sparrow sitting in a teacup, it’s plumage spilling over the edges. Since the image had been painted in a rather cartoonish fashion, it was meant to be cute and inviting. Inside, the decor was simple and comfortable, the color scheme set in mossy green, clay, and creme white. The chairs that dotted the room were all overstuffed and meant to be lounged upon.
Perfuming the air was whimsical scents of orange blossom, rose, sweet peach, and tart apple. Hanging from the rafters were drying bundles of herbs and flowers, all in varying states of gentle decay. It was important after all that the plants died peacefully, otherwise, the tea they would become would be unservable and Lakryss held high standards in this little corner of the world that she’d carved out for herself.
Today the tea of choice was Liquid Springtime, it’s title was pronounced upon a blackboard with the following description elegantly scrawled out in a flawless script.
Wishing to escape from the dull grip of winter? Look no further. This green tea has everything you could ask for. Delicate notes from the tea are paired with touches of strawberry, citrus, and sprinklings of hibiscus. This tea is served both hot and over ice. Another great tea for the novice drinker but a true escape to paradise for those who know what they’re looking for. Tasting notes, you’ll notice sweet and zingy notes as the strawberry and citrus dance together, though the hibiscus will come in and mellow the tango into a waltz.
Within the shop, Lakryss stood behind the counter, enjoying a moment of peace while preparing individual vials of loose leaf tea, meant to be party favors or gifts.
Ash pushes open the door of the shop, letting a cold draft in behind him. Today, he looks like an older looking man with short brown hair accentuated by touches of gray at his temples, deep bags under his eyes, wearing a slightly worn charcoal suit and overcoat, and carrying a briefcase. He smiles tiredly at Lakryss as he approaches the counter at a dead amble.
"'lo Lak, got anything less... exuberant than that that'll help me relax?" He says, gesturing with his free hand towards the beautiful sign. "Something with mint maybe?"
D-Ding.
The sound of the chimes over the door were gentle and Lakryss couldn't help but look up, she ran the shop by herself most days, though the weekends were her's to do with as she pleased, and that usually meant running a muck somewhere around town.
"For you, I think that can be managed....one moment, I'll be right with you." The bell chimed so often after the flood gates opened.
"I think a mint and chamomile medley will be just the thing to calm your nerves, why don't you take a seat here at the counter or in one of those sinfully soft arm chairs and I'll bring it right out to you."
Those who were regulars at the shop would know the carmine cutie with her cream colored skin and almost electric green eyes. Her cheeks were always decorated with dimples from the smile that never seemed to fade from her rose shaded lips.
Immediately outside, a young man, maybe in his early 20's checks his wallet, counting his few remaining bills before entering the shop.
Unremarkable, he takes a few moments to remove his coat and hang it by the door before looking around. A well made emerald green sweater and slightly ripped jeans normally wouldn't draw the eye but to those who could pierce the mask, his soot black hands with faintly glowing veins certainly would. It was as if molten metal corsed through his skin and his flesh burnt to charcoal.
His hair was a shaggy mess up top, just as smoky black as his hands though pale gold can just barely be seen at the roots almost shimmering down there on his scalp. Regardless though, he casually steps up to the counter and forces a smile.
"Can I get a cup of the special and... What kind of scones do you...you.... Have?" He asks, becoming shocked midway through. He had not meant to see another Lost.
The door swung open and admitted a lanky, scarred fellow, unremarkable save for the artful, narrow scars themselves. At least to everyone but the Lost. To them, he is nowhere near as noteworthy as the suffusive sense of the Wyrd that follows him into the building, leaving all privy to such things immediately aware of the new arrival. If seeing another Lost was shocking, this? Might be frightening.
"Floral. Lave-no. Hibiscus. Orange... lemon... citrus blend... and what's that note, something dried... strawberry?"
Vorpal- publically known as Jack Drexel- holds his place just inside the doorway, musing over the bouquet of the daily special brewing, quietly deciphering it between short, rapid sniffs to refresh his olfactory palette. Then he's tossing a glance to the establishment's owner, brows raised, inquiring. A silent "how'd I do?".
Ash nods, then moves to the aforementioned sinfully soft arm chairs and settling down slowly with a sigh. He closes his eyes with a relaxed half-smile on his face, waiting for the tea.
He cracks an eye at Vorpal's entrance, fusses with his coat for a moment, then closes his eye again.
"Ah, Mr. Drexel....that nose of yours is one that I don't think I'll ever beat, please make yourself comfortable while I tend to these two..." She would first pour the pre made blend as it was the easiest to serve at the moment and plucked from behind a glass case a sinfully decadent scone. "Cardamom and vanilla with burnt orange glaze, it will pair perfectly with the tea, please make yourself comfortable //all are welcome here//."
She did not ask for money, rather she went to work on making the blend for dear Ash. It wouldn't take long at all before the tea titan made her way over with a paper and a fresh cup of steaming tea, cream and sugar on the side as a temptation, but not a requirement.
Making her way back behind the counter she leveled her gaze at Jack, as if they were about to engage in a duel at ten paces.
"And what can I do for you?"
Blinking a bit, pushing away the fluster, he pulls his order off the counter and takes note of all the sudden fae around him and finds a seat on a cushy loveseat and sets the food down in front of him. His hands retract and come together, one of his fingers drumming against a knuckle like a hammer rhythmically bouncing on an anvil.
"So many..." He whispers to himself.
The cracked eye is one of the mildest reactions to his presence Vorpal could expect, and he takes it as a blessing that's about as severe as they get this day. The retreat, the nervous tapping- those are more familiar, though he's learned enough to avoid intentionally forcing his presence onto those exhibiting such symptoms. Though the words he murmurs- easy to pick up for the lanky Torrent, who has entirely too many shadows for a man off of a catwalk- draw attention, and he looks Arthur over, checking him against an internal registrar of familiar faces.
Then Lakryss drops her inquiry, and Jack turns to face her, beaming from the shadowed pits of his eyes, neither truly visible. "Truly? You've done it already. Conversation, delightful aromas- what more could one ask for?" For a paying customer, for one. Jack is, has, and has always been...
... flat broke.
"I think a cup of the daily special could find it's way into your hands Mr. Drexal, unofficially we have a game you and I, and today you won. So please make yourself comfortable and I'll have it out to you."
There was no charge really for the Lost, Lakryss turned a pretty penny with the mortals after all, so what was a few free drinks here and there for her cherished...wyrd....customers.
The bell by the door chimes as a slender woman enters, a somewhat shy expression on her youthful face. Glancing around nervously, she approaches the counter. "Hi, um, I'm new in town. Is this a good place to get my bearings?"
Ash picks up his cup of tea and inhales the vapors slowly. "Good tea as always Miss Lak," he sighs happily. "I dont know what I'd do without you or this shop."
With that, he drinks a few sips before pulling paperwork out of his briefcase to look over and make changes.
The chiming bell was always an inviting sound, and the soft voice brought a smile to Lakryss's face, the Chatelaine couldn't help but provide a comfortable and inviting space.
"I'd certainly say so. The Sparrow's Nest is welcoming to all, so please make yourself at home."
Ash's praise had Lakryss beaming. "Flattery will get you a refill when you're ready dearie."
Poor Anneliese. Here she is, new as the dickens, and her first stop in a new town has some jerk wandering over to take a seat and wait for his free tea like a Good Little Boy like he isn't radiating Wyrd throughout the establishment. He's not Gentry, that much is clear, but the skinny fellow with all the artful scarification has too many shadows by far, none of them obeying what he's doing as any real register for what THEY ought to be doing, and as if that wasn't enough, the shadows round his eyes are so deep, only faint gleams confirm there's actually eyes in there at all.
And he's waving at her. A delicate little finger wobble to greet the new comer from where he sits, perched in a comfy chair like a cat in cream, complete with welcoming smile.
He seems harmless.
Don't all the most dangerous things!?
"A game I am as pleased to win as lose, as it's never a disappointment to try a new blend, my good lady," Jack comments to Lakryss as he sits and waits patiently. "And a good place to get bearings, unless it's ball bearings you're after, in which case- well. Try the hardware store, I suppose," he quips to the newcomer.
Mr. Drexal would find a cup of Liquid Springtime before him, it was a soft pink tea in color, but it's gentle appearance would easily devastated by it's vivacious flavor. There was no need for sugar or cream, though it was a tea that could thrive even when served cold.
"Take your drink and don't tease the newbies...the shop is neutral ground and I'd hate to ask you to leave."
Though it was said with a smile, there was a tenor of utter dominion in Lakryss's words. She would have order, peace, and calm within her shop.
Taking a deep breath, Artie's hammering finger stops as he draws in a deep breath. The scents of. Decaying plants and brewing tea a calming one, he lets it out slow and indulges in another before picking up his cup. He takes a slow sip and sighs.
He hated meeting people, fae or otherwise, but he could do this. They seemed harmless and if they weren't... Well neither was he.
"So is this a bastion for the no longer Lost?" He asks towards the lady behind the counter.
A confused expression crosses Anneliese's face as Jack speaks, melting into gratitude at Lakryss' gentle chastisement. "Everything is so different now. I actually thought I'd wandered into a new section of the other side at first."
The door opens and another body enters. Dressed mostly in white, reflective and shining like the moon, Alain's countenance is ice-cold, impassive like a sphinx. Her Mien is the living visage of the Gentry, and the chill breath of an arctic frost follows her in the form of her mantle. The room practically becomes a degree or two colder. Her skin is porcelain white, and just as smooth, hair platinum grey and and eyes the same color, like dirty ice chips. They sweep across the room, taking in the scene and its patrons, as she moves, no, glides towards the counter. (Wyrd 3, Winter Mantle 3, Gentrified Bearing)
A wink was all Arthur would be offered. "Safety, tea, and neutral ground, that's what you'll find here..." And then the embodiment of light and the moon walked in...all the big names were making themselves known today. So much for keeping the newbies calm.
"What might I get for you today dearie?" Her eyes flicked to Alain, that smile still present.
"That's my fault, sorry," Jack owns in an apology to poor Anneliese as he cups the tea in his hands and takes a long, lovely breath in. "And if you insist, though I'll have you know that I'm passing up a truly lovely pun-punishment joke right now out of sheer courtesy." He rises, tea in hand, and drifts idly, wandering here and there, weaving inexorably closer to Arthur. The first chance he gets- once Arthur is distracted by conversation and paying less attention to his tea- Jack fully intends to swap his cup for the Summer's. Is his cup fuller? Yes. Hotter? Yes. Is this all around an absolute win for Arthur? It assuredly is, but nevertheless, that's precisely what he's going to do, as discretely as he can manage.
Alain drops a meticulously manicured hand on the counter, and passes her chilled gaze from the posted menu over to the proprietor. Her features do bend, just barely, in the gracious ghost of what could be a smile, if only she leaned into it more, but she doesn't, and the shade of warmth will have to be enough. "I heard," she begins, voice as patrician as the rest of her, eyes absorbing the truths behind the Masks in a slow, considerate fashion. "That you had an unmissable marshmallow root tea here. Are the rumors true?"
The door sounds again, the Fox slipping inside and pausing as he registers rich scents of tea, plants and herbs, as well as a mash of mantles and Lost. Many he knew to a degree, but this was.. hm.. His tail twitches, curling around his waist as he absently pats at it, adjusting to the vibrancy of the room before he pads further in, heading for the counter himself. Dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt, he wears a pair of supple gloves, skin and fur tucked away below them. As it happens, he reaches the counter just as Alain expresses her interest and beams. "Now that sounds a tempation. How can I choose between that and everything else that can be found here?" Both Alain and Lakryss get a wide smile.
"Oh that sweet rumor mill always brings in those with an adventurous desire, I do happen to have a marshmallow root tea, I have a straight blend that is strong, herbal, and good for the body, or I have a blend that I particularly enjoy that has spiced chai and smoked paprika for a special kick, which sounds better to you?"
Behind the carmine haired tea maven was a collection of tea that would have made anyone dizzy with ideas of the limitless combinations that could be made.
"You don't have to pick just one, you could spend eternity here drinking tea if you wanted to try everything."
Perhaps a bad joke considering the clientele, but she meant no harm.
Nodding in kind his understanding, Arthur returns to his thoughts. Well this was nice... But what exactly was he gonna do now. What was he "supposed" to do.
Networking wasn't in his wheelhouse. And apparently some knew each other already. A Freehold then?
He picked up the cup again and stopped halfway to his mouth. This was a different cup. It simply felt different to his wizened fingers. Subtle changes no one with any sanity would notice but to a meticulous craftsman it whispered in a different voice.
Casting a confused glance towards the nearest peraon he realized the scarred man was near enough almost to touch. "Excuse me... What happened to my cup?" He asked with a slightly furrowed brow.
Alain draws in a short breath, exhaling it in a barely-audible sigh of contemplation intended more for the affectation of consideration than an actual representative of it. "Who can resist a special kick?" she intones, a barely-palpable amusement creasing her eyes. She flicks her colorless gaze over to Lakryss at the mention of 'an eternity' but brooks no reaction other than to graciously curl the corners of her mouth, and then only just.
A man in his late teens, early twenties enters the tea shop, closing an umbrella but leaving on designer sunglasses that match his smart black ensemble. He looks to the counter, almost stumbling to a chair. "Ma'am...that heavenly sounding tea on the sign...may I have a pot?"
"You should be careful." Michael warns Lakryss impishly. "That sort of talk could take it hard for you to be rid of me. And, why come to find something new and stick to the old? Tch. A waste of chances that." He flashes a wide grin. "I'd agree. Spiced chai and smoked paprika. That's a flavour well worth exploring." He nods keenly to both Lakyrss and Alain. "Michael. And while I'd love to spend too much time here, alas, duties bind me elsewhere too."
"Please make yourselves at home, there are plenty of comfortable chairs and I'll have that tea out to you in no time at all." The marshmallow root tea would be noticeable as it perfumed the hair, the hints of smoked paprika tickled the nose mercilessly. At the newest soul to enter the shop, Lakryss turned and kept a straight face, decorated still with that smile.
MORTAL IN THE SHOP!
People knew to behave, she hoped at least.
In a flurry of motions there was a cup of spiced tea for Alain, a spiced tea in a to go cup for the dear Fox, and then a pot of the spring special for the mortal.
"Order up my dearies!"
"Alain," she intones minimally back to Michael, sizing him up with her impassive, frosty gaze, though it's not necessarily ill-intentioned. Just distant, and observative. "A pleasure, Michael," she offers, reaching for the proffered tea as it's brought to bear.
"Hm?" Vorpal feigned surprise, clearly holding Arthur's cup. "I freshened it up for you. With mine. Fresh from the lovely mademoiselle. Undoctored, you have my word." Vorpal eyes Arthur's cup a moment, then offers it back. "You can have it back if you like, but you might need to find someone to drink the other cup. It's perfectly delicious, I'd just prefer yours if it's all the same." Pause. "Sorry."
To his credit, he does seem a touch abashed. At least at having been caught.
He turns his eyes front again, catching first Alain- familiar strains in her appearance drawing a grin from his lips- and then Michael, widening the grin- and then Devan.
He sighs.
Discretely.
Time to behave.
He nods back to them both, glancing at Devan as he enters and then back to Lakryss and Alain. "I hope so. Some find me otherwise." He winks, hiding his mouth behind cup as he takes a sip and then an inhale of the scent, eyes half closing in delight. "And maybe I can mix this with my duties, which is a fanciful word for job. I report on lifestyle events, parties and such, fun times. But we all need escape to somewhere nice and quiet and peaceful at times, yes?"
Devan makes his way to the counter, picking up his pot and cup. "You are a goddess, Proprietress." He shuffles to a seat and pours a cup before sinking back into the chair with a sigh.
"Oh now that is the kind of flattery that makes a tip jar obsolete, you better come back for more." Lakryss was possibly shameless, but it was in her nature to soak up praise like a plant drinks in sunshine. She rolled her shoulders and took measure of the room and it's occupants, everyone seemed to be in good order and content.
Alain clocks a few of the prolonged glances sent her way - nothing new. "Lifestyle events," to Michael, she repeats to the phrase in clarification, seeking further information, but yet does not inflect it like a question; even that would give too much. She sips from the tea, and whether she finds it delectable or not is a mystery to which few hold the key, because her affectation betrays nothing. The only indication that she finds it more than tolerable is that she soon sips from it again. "That sounds like you get into many interesting places," she supposes in Michael's direction.
Squinting suspiciously, Arthur considers the deal. Tea for tea... Seemed mundane enough. Were there any contracts he's be loopholing himself into with this?
Wait!
Was... He being flirted with? Was this a uh seduction tactic? But... Why him? He wasn't particularly cute... Despite his best attempts. But also... Really. Was this a thing people did to hit on folks?
Arthur blushed at the idea, his cheeks literally glowing like hot embers beneath his pale cheeks, the forge of his blood rushing to the surface.
"Uh... Ok. I guess. I'm Arthur by the way. Please don't try and... Betray me or anything." He muttered to the stranger. @Vorpal (He/Him)
Ah. A challenge. For someone desiring to read someone's, well, desires, and help them achieve them from time to time, a Winter courtier presents an interesting interaction. His lips twitch, eyes bright and content. More tea is sipped as he works on reading Alain, so far as that's possible. Responding to the question he nods keenly. "Clubs, raves, parties, tea shops, perhaps, I'm certainly inclined to add a little on that, subject to our hostess' approval. I'm a reporter, you see. A dirty job, but someone needs to do it." He winks at the end. "I sometimes end up in remarkable spots, yes. And don't always know how I got there... You savour a bit of exploration yourself?"
Although more than a little on edge with the sudden influx of people - most especially Alain, with her bearing resembling that of the Gentry - Anneliese manages to control her nerves enough to sit quietly near the counter, watching the crowd and slowly readjusting to the company of actual people.
Lakryss could see that everyone was well into their tea and conversation, so she decided to take care of the mundane tasks, like paying the bills and running to the bank. In her place would be the charming Karen (NPC) who could make passable tea and would make sure everyone got what they needed. ((Player needs to sleep, so please enjoy~ I'm glad y'all wandered into the shop. Feel free to keep the scene going, just don't wreck the shop of I will find you and Lakryss will not be thrilled :heart: ))
Jack beams at the permission to keep the tea and pats the man on the back. "No such concerns, friend. You've done me a favor. A- teacup sized favor, but it's appreciated, truly." And he seems quite pleased, as he seems completely free to drink the tea now. "Do enjoy, the tea here is astronomically delightful." Which it must be, because he sips and is clearly enjoying himself.
"Mm," she allows, if it can even be called an allowance. "You may be good to know." She stands there like a living photograph, her presence overwhelming and yet her features frozen in an unshared thought. "Oh," she reacts minimally to the question posed, and permits a considering expression to cross her face, glancing up and to the side; it's a perfect mimic of what someone looks like when they're considering something. It could even be the real thing. "I suppose that I do, yes," she replies. "I look for new experiences. How else can you get those?" she wonders outloud, rounding her pale grey eyes at him in the question, covering the lower half of her face as she sips from her marshmallow root tea again.
Glancing at Anneliese as she settles near the counter, Michael offers her a light smile and a slight wave with one gloved hand before considering Alain again. He chuckles quietly with a nod, putting a hand to his heart. "I do love flattery." He advises Alain wryly, gesturing at a nearby table. "Somewhere to continue this conversation? We seem to settled in it for now. As for new experiences. Sometimes they find you. For good or bad. After all, you weren't looking for me, were you?" A little vain? Quite possibly!
He sips at his tea, quietly taking in the room, listening to the interesting conversation around him. He watches the way people move, the way they chat to each other. He occasionally fiddles with a large gold ring on his right hand.
Well, still confused by this exchange, Arthur sipped his new cup of tea. This was still far from the strangest interactions he'd ever had so really what was the problem.
He fought the urge to read into the back pat and ate some of his scone instead. "Mmm.... This is scrumptious." He said to no one in particular, unsure why he was surprised after tasting the tea.
He looked over Jack again, trying to understand him before moving on to ea h person in turn. He frowned when he got to the mortal and tried to figure out why he stood out. Even as humans went he was... Somehow different.
"If I was, you wouldn't know," Alain offers with a gentle, demure shrug of one shoulder, but she lifts her teacup off the counter's surface in an indication of her intent to follow. As she takes that first step, she scans her her genteel gaze across the confined expanse of the tea house, absorbing the Miens of some and the mortal faces of others, taking silent stock. "Tell me, Michael," she summons in that crystalline voice as they find their way to a table. "What have you seen that has shocked you? As a lifestyle reporter. What's been the biggest story?"
Jack catches Alain's scanning glance and beams her way- she might not carry the clout of Wyrd he does, but she's got Something, and he appreciates it making him seem ever so slightly less exceptional. A wink, and she's moved on and he's glancing back at Arthur. "It IS scrumptious. Lakryss would never tolerate it otherwise." He sips his tea again, eyeing Devan faintly. Ironically, that's easier for Devan to pick up than anyone else- to the others here, his eyes are lost in shadows. Sip.
That comment results in an even wider grin, the Fox displaying his own emotions as much as Alain holds hers in reserve. "Whether or not you were, and I'm intrigued now, congratulations, I would be at your service if desired." He dips his head in what's almost a small bow. Settling into a chair, he reclines, the picture of undignified sprawling. "Ah." He raises a single finger. "Are you sure, it might not be for the faint of heart? Not everything makes it to printed words."
Though she's looking, Jack's wink melts against the impassivity of her expression, and she tilts her chin back towards the Fox. The Mien and Mask both curve slightly at the corners of her mouth, sharing her amusement. "Then we shall hope I am not faint of heart. But I'm afraid there's no turning back now."
Devan notices the looks thrown his way, and sighs under his breath after taking a sip. "Is it something I'm wearing?" he mutters under his breath.
Glancing at Jack, Michael raises a hand to wave with fingers, even if there's the appearance of his tail moving to partly shield him from the sheer Wrydness of the other Changeling. Regarding Alain once more, he takes another sip of his tea, savouring the flavours with delight before speaking up. "Raves are where people let themselves go, restraints slipped and loose. Often not a bad thing, people need that release, but it can get, hm.." He taps the table, humming. "I can't say the place, or when, but it was one time, when I was much more new to calling writing about going to parties a job. A big rave. Legal. Mostly." He gestures with both hands as if showing something expansive. "In this case, well." He does lean in, lowering his voice slightly to not disturb the peacefulness of the tea shop. "I learned that you should check if a room's occupied before you go inside. Turns out four enterprising individuals wanted to pretend to be vampires. Not gonna give you the graphic details, but suffice to say, it wasn't a good scene. Hindsight though, good thing I did go in. I got them an ambulance in time. I suspect drinks and drugs and shed inhibitions, played a role in -that- whole mess."
Another tiny jingle, the door opening and closing, heralding the arrival of another. A heavy dark green and grey hoodie, skinny jeans with artful rips, the tiniest frame: it's like a porcelain doll fell into a pile of clothing at the Goodwill and then got dumped into the teahouse. Even with her face shrouded by the hood, kept out of sight, Marjorie radiates the kind of presence that draws eyes, which probably explains why she doesn't come into public much.
Her Mantle is subtle, as all Winter is, but ever-present, riming the windows with illusory frost, sending a shiver up spines - yes, including you, mortal - but also exuding that ineffable sense of hygge that's found in communion with family and dear friends in the deepest hearts of winter.
Marjorie heads to the counter, there to order a pot of jasmine tea and an ounce of same to take away, as well as a scone.
Corners of her mouth upturned in this permissive slip of amusement, Alain tilts her head back and smirks up at the ceiling in what is surely her version of a laugh. "Pretend to be vampires," she repeats, sopping up the implied details with the sponge of her imagination. "I don't envy you that one. I don't think such a scene would be compatible with my disposition," which seems to be longhand for 'that sickens me'. At that particular moment, the energy in the room oscillates for a fraction of a moment, and it catches Alain's attention; she lifts her head to see another Winter courtier enter, one as possessed of the likeness of the Gentry as she is, but with a more vibratory presence emanating off of her.
"I'm a very gentle soul." Michael tells her, deadpan. "I was shocked, shocked, I tell you. I'm all for new things, but.. egh." He sticks out his tongue as if having tasted something unpleasant. "But here I am, my dear Alain, talking and talking at you and not being polite and taking enough interest. What is it you find yourself doing on the fair streets of Philly?" And then Marjorie enters and he blinks, tail fluffing up defensively and ears going flat as he seems to shrink a little in his chair, instinct to be less visible. It's like Vorpal, all over again.
"And don't you just seem it," she rejoins to Michael's claim of being a gentle soul. But Alain's attention is distracted as much by Marjorie's entrance as by Michael's tail-fluffing and ear-flattening, and she does no more than to rest her hand on the table by her tea cup. It is a minute gesture of consolation, to say the least, but legible.
Like the others, Arthjr's head turns as the hoodied girl enters the shop. His head tilts as he takes her in. It was kind of rare to find soneone with more wyrd than him. Mostly because it let him feel like he fit in.
"Who's that?" He asked the closest changeling.
He pauses, then carefully slides off his left glove, carefully resting his hand on hers with a grateful nod, taking a moment to centre himself and regain a sense of balance. A light smile shows, head ducking in faint embarrassment.
Devan sits up in his seat as the small Changeling enters, and glances around to see everyone doing more or less the same thing. "Uh, guys? I can't sense power levels, and I felt that. What does that mean?" He murmurs the reference to himself, before taking a long drink.
The sheer presence of the new arrival steals Jack's attention, and he glances Marjorie's way, recognizing the illusory shiver down his spine and smiling faintly. It really IS like him, all over again, except Marjorie is even more so like Them, as if someone mashed together himself and Alain all at once. Arthur asks his question, and he pats at the man's shoulder. "That, friend, is Marjorie. I can't promise she's feeling up to introductions, but if she is, she's very worth knowing." He keeps a measure of respect in his tone. He could say more, but in mixed company? Not precisely wise.
Alain runs the blade of her thumb along Michael's hand/paw in a barely-there, comforting affectation, detecting but failing or refusing to react to Devan and Jack's back-and-forth commentary, though she follows it.
It is like Vorpal all over again, though Marjorie also has the sort of being that kind of fills up a room. She seems to compensate for it somehow by trying to make herself even smaller than her 4'11" frame, and drowning herself in XXL sweatshirts that hang to her knees, like a kid swiping Dad's clothes. Order placed, she pads over to an empty table in the corner, settles on the bench, and pulls her feet up onto the bench next to her. The sweatshirt gets pulled down over her legs, leaving her looking slightly more ridiculous, because that's an Eagles sweatshirt and not the robe she normally wears in the Winter Hollow.
One hand digs in her oversized pockets and brings out a tarot deck, much bigger than her little hands, but she handles the cards with ease, starting a shuffle. If she hears Devan ask, she gives no sign.
"So." He turns his paw over, content in the feeling of Alain offer that light comfort. "What is it you do, Miss Alain? This soul finds himself curious." He relaxes again, tail and ears settling as he leans slightly towards her, regarding her more closely now.
"I work at a non-profit," she offers, a Herculean undersell, and if looks are to be believed, she seems to get on with somewhat more than your typical non-profit employee might. "A foundation fund," she further allows. "Directing endowment investments so that the earnings can be re-directed into charities, grants, and the like. It is not so interesting, mm, or potentially debauched as lifestyle reporting, but, it does pass the time."
His lips quirk slowly, head canting. "I like to think I'm only a little debauched. Jussst enough to have fun, yes? Interesting though, could be that way, though it sounds like lots and lots of paperwork and being in an office." He muses. "But it sounds like good work, better for this tangled world of ours? As long as you're able to have fun every so often, mm?"
The smith squints at The would be mortal's words. He'd heard Jack's answer to his query but hearing a mortal comment on the wyrd and mantles... Needled at his paranoia.
Was he just a normal guy? Was Marjorie just so... Foreign to reality she rippled things that much? Was that a thing? Not that he'd ever heard. So it seemed he needed to live up to his mantle and be brave for a minute.
Rising he picked up his snack and moved to sit across from Devan. "Hi there. What'd you ask there?"
"Ah," Alain buzzes softly. "I don't do so much of the paperwork myself. Though I do find myself in a terrible number of meetings. But, it's not for me to complain. It's for the good." Notably, she does not reply to how much fun she does or doesn't have.
Yet another figure pushes his way inside. Head ducked, hands in pockets, hidden in an oversized black hoodie and matching hues all the way down, he shuffles around the perimeter of the room in a highly unsubtle way. He circles around towards Marjorie and the other Lost, and slides his hands from his pockets, showing them to be empty...and to those who see past the mask, pixellated, broken up into a myriad of tiny fleshtoned squares.
"I was making a comment about how while you all are shimmering with your own essences, she felt like a whole other biome. You should be more careful, it's really hard not to notice this many of you in a relatively small space."
At the... 'Suggestion', Arthur's demeanor darkens a bit, the wa ering heat of his mantle intensifying and becoming more of an intense, imposing sort of scorch than before.
"I see... And who would you be,sir?"
Jack looks up as Glitch enters and tips a grin towards the other Sprite, before looking towards Marjorie for a long moment, then to Devan, crossing the room to speak to him in a slightly more private proximity, alongside Arthur. "If I could make a comment, without being... tremendously impolite." The Autumn rests his hands, one on Arthur's shoulder, meant to be reassuring, relaxing, and the other on the counter before Devan. "I'm not one to tell people how to go about their business, but. If I were to be in a situation where I felt that- for instance- the sentence you just spoke was accurate, I would likely also feel it impolite to voice the statement. See," he states, bringing a fingertip to swirl a circle on the countertop in front of himself. "If. I were standing someplace where I felt there were a number of individuals present for whom I was tempted to start referring to- what were the terms you used? Essences, and power levels, and biomes-" And here, Jack taps his finger on the table, isolating his point. "I might also gather that in such a place that might or mightn't be someplace where curious individuals gather, and feel comfortable enough to be 'not careful' for a little while... it might come off as awfully rude and presumptuous to say such things aloud, objective accuracy aside." He glances to Devan directly finally here, and offered the hand he'd been gesturing with. "Hi. I'm Jack."
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Marjorie begins laying out the cards, her hood still shading her face. Apparently her preferred layout takes the form of a wheel, and her cards are soft pastel, watercolor.
The Empress, the Magician, the Hanged Man.
Her tea is brought out, and she pours, then sips. Glitch noodles around near her, and she gestures to the seat across from her in silent invitation. The jasmine tea she's selected blossoms in the glass teapot, unfurling its fragrant leaves.
"Devan Orsey," he replies to Arthur. "Pleasure to meet you all. I have to admit that..the opportunity is quite exciting, I don't get out as much as I'd like." When Jack so politely threatens him, he smiles, revealing very white teeth. "If I was being rude, I apologize, though presumptuous may not be the right word, seeing as how I'm clearly making jokes about you fine folk, and not meaning any harm to any of you, right?"
Glitch pauses before Marjorie. He's distracted by the interaction between Vorpal and Devan, craning his head over to try and stare. He can't quite make out what's being said, however. Trusting Jack to handle it, and somewhat stunned by the immediate beckoning of the potently imposing young woman, he turns away from them to take a seat, attention dropping to the cards.
When Glitch sits down in front of her, Marjorie's hands pause, and then she reaches into her other pocket, bringing out a card bag made of pleather with neon pink piping. Unzipping it, she shakes out a neon tarot deck and hands it over to Glitch silently. Cleaning up the spread she'd started, she tucks that first deck away. A single word in a sweet, melodious voice, pitched quiet so that it barely carries past their table.
"Shuffle."
Jack raps his knuckles on the counter, visibly pleased. He'd be less so if he knew that Devan thought he'd been attempting to threaten him- he's good at threats, and has put a lot of work into being more gentle with his verbal approaches. He thought he did well! "Quite so, Mister Orsey, quite so! Apology accepted, inasmuch as I'm in a position to accept such. Jokes are lovely, to be sure- why," he admits in an almost comical aside, "I myself was warned I was going to be shown the door for the day if I didn't stop making them earlier-" And he straightens, making eye contact again. "-but no harm meant isn't the same as no harm done." He gestures back towards the shop at large. "A fine establishment like this is a delightful place to relax, drink a little tea, socialize in peace- and harmless as your intentions might be, it's hard to feel relaxed and at peace with a metaphorical spotlight shined down upon oneself. So. Perhaps such incisive observations as yours could be kept to private conversations, instead of directed to the room at large, mm? To preserve that fragile and elusive sense of belonging that this wonderful place offers all comers, mm?"
Arthur's lips pull into a tight sort of forced grin, agreeing with what Jack proposed.
"He's quite right. It's a very nice place where anyone is welcome. A "safe place" if you will and I think everyone wants to keep it that way. A nice hiddwn gem of sorts in this big city. So we have your word that you'll keep things a secret yes? Just say... Between us?" He offers.
Glitch turns his head away a moment, staring after Vorpal. It's been a while since he's seen him work, and he can hear the "mm"s from over here. When he looks back, however, the choice of cards makes his rasterized eyes widen. He lifts his gaze to Marjorie with reverent sincerity and reaches up to remove his hood, then takes up the deck carefully in his dextrous fingers. With a twitch of his knuckles, he deftly cuts the cards and gently riffles them together, careful not to bend them very far, and sets them back down in front of Marjorie. His eyes stay on hers from start to finish.
The fact that Glitch can actually see her face from this perspective gives him a little inside info. First of all, she's not just pretty, she's scary pretty. Like he would likely expect her to appear to a blaze of trumpets and say FEAR NOT!
Perfect little doll with pale skin and crystalline green eyes. Underneath her skin float glowing letters, barely visible, as if she's lit from within. They're formatted like legal texts, with annotations and footnotes, and the words slowly float and scroll, drifting across her far-too-perfect features.
Her gaze flicks over to Arthur when he speaks, the tiniest gesture, and she sighs, but then starts flipping cards out in a more traditional layout.
"The querent: The Tower. You have undergone a recent destruction of something you felt had value. A place, a relationship, a part of yourself. From that, we see the potential for new growth, if you do not get mired in the loss."
"Ah, yes, an ignore and be ignored kind of situation. That is probably a good idea. Perhaps I got carried away, it is quite exciting to be out and seeing the roses, you might say. I get a little weary when the sun's out and shining so brightly."
Glitch stares straight back, matching Marjorie's imposing beauty with his own stark presence, even if it can't hope to compare. He manages to look intense and serious, which does a decent job of masking the fact that he's simply transfixed and rolling with it. She can see his eyes lift past hers to focus on the text scrolling across her skin, and his mouth parts in silent surprise, as the fragmented remains of blocky letters and numbers scramble along the edges of his forehead in curious fae symmetry.
It's in this state, fascinated, guard lowered, that he looks down at the Tower, and Marjorie's words nearly knock him from his chair. His mouth hangs open, and when he finally looks back up at her, barely collected, he dips his chin rapidly in an almost helpless nod. " ...yes. Yes," he repeats, trying to solidify himself back into determination, but shocked.
"The Cross," and her melodious voice carries enough to be heard at other tables, though she keeps it low. She's clearly paying attention to what's happening across the room, though she's carrying on in setting out the gorgeous neon-and-black cards in front of the pixellated Lost. "Positive forces or assets in the querent's favor."
"Strength. The power and courage that you have is greater than you realize. Learn to live easily with these gifts, and use them when appropriate."
One slow blink, and she draws another card. "Beneath. The message from the higher self. Seven of Vials." She slides the card beneath The Tower. "You are faced with choices: a multitude of aspirations, opportunities, dreams. If they take you from the path you have chosen for yourself, acknowledge them for the distractions they could become."
"Believe me, my friend, I can understand the sentiment. Good king Sol is a diligent fellow and responsible for much good, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't prefer the company of Lady Lune," assures the Shadow Elemental, though he isn't himself privvy to just why Devan prefers such. "I much appreciate your cooperation in keeping this place a pleasant environment for all. Do enjoy the tea and scones, Mister Orsey." A companionable pat to the table, and Jack straightens up, turning back towards the room full of Changelings who... don't have any reason to realize how big an accomplishment him having a perfectly calm, nonthreatening conversation with an outsider is for him. He looks around, hunting for Glitch- he'd get it!- and... he's... distracted by a reading. Entirely understandable, but it doesn't stop a look- akin to that which must cross the face of a comedian perfectly delivering a joke to an audience he only just now finds out doesn't speak his language- rolling across his face.
Absolutely nobody who gets it watched him be super cool and sociable and shit?! Oh, the humanity.
He turns a glance to Marjorie and tips a discrete nod her way- much of that was an effort to keep her from feeling spotlit, after all- and then he shotguns "his" tea, shoves his hands in his pockets and pouts his way right out the door, pausing just for a moment to glance back at Arthur, upnodding his way. "Thanks for the tea. Enjoy yours."
And then he's out the door.
Glitch's brows furrow as the cards are laid out in front of him. He leans forward to stare at them on the table, seeming at first to be skeptical. As if perhaps he's being set up, that there's a trick. As his expression softens further, it's clear that he's simply giving the portents before him the respect they deserve. He spends a moment longer in silent consideration, then looks back up to the Queen and nods firmly. Ready to continue. Eager to hear more.
A subtle gesture of one hand toward Arthur, perhaps an invitation, though she's rather focused on the reading at the moment (as one has to be). Marjorie shifts her weight subtly, then lays out two more cards, one sideways above the central card, and one to the left of the central card. "The Crown. Supervisor of Vials. Past events influencing and coloring and giving rise to the current situation. Your passion has been contained, ready to burst out at any moment, and you needed an outlet for your energy. A new project of your own, or helping someone with an existing undertaking. You love activity for its own sake, but the lack of direction in your prior moments may have given rise to tension or frustration as you had no focus for your energy."
"Behind. The preoccupation of the subconscious filtering into waking, affecting moods and outlook. The underlying theme of the emotional state of the querent's life. Three of Vials." Here she stops to sip some of her fragrant tea.
"You are surrounded by those who give you happiness. Acknowledge and appreciate the gifts of time, love and energy they give to you. Take time to celebrate with others the simple joy of being alive. Together. Free."
Glitch's shock and suspicion has given way to intensity, an eager yearning to see himself reflected in the cards. To receive their wisdom. He centers himself and takes a breath, so he can truly listen. He nods along, agreeing to each line, eyes closing occasionally. His mouth moves faintly as he chews the advice, digests it...embrace strength and courage, use it when appropriate, find direction and an outlet, focus on...
The sip of tea brings him back to earth and into his chair. He nods, sucks in a breath, and centers himself. He's glad he did, because the Three of Vials may have otherwise brought him to tears. One finger reaches out to rest on the card itself, sliding down it as he studies its art. Three figures in bed, carefree, intimate. Withdrawing his finger, he politely asks the Queen: "Is there...more?"
"There is more," agrees the Queen, and Marjorie pauses, watching Glitch for a moment. "Before. The status of the querent's personal relationships with others. Ten of Vials." Here she places the card on the table with a satisfying snap, then sips her tea again. "You have created for yourself a happy home which is full of joy and comfort. This moment you have come to now is the epitome of domestic bliss. Enjoy it."
Then she moves on, laying out another card. "The Self. The querent's psychological state and attitudes, greatly affecting the outcome of the matter. In this case it is a general reading, for your current position within Philadelphia and what is soon to come." More tea, because she doesn't usually talk this much all at one go. "Eight of Wires. You are waiting for an outcome. You won't wait long -- events have already been set in motion and are moving speedily to their inevitable conclusion. You will find your place in the city sooner rather than later."
Glitch watches the Ten of Vials hit the table. He stares at that one a while, at the smiling faces of people content in each others arms, and he reaches out to touch it. This time his finger rests on it for a long while, and he actually scoots the card slightly towards himself before lifting his hand and withdrawing it, as if coveting it. As if resisting the urge to take it right off the table and huddle it away as a token of proof that something went right after all. He looks from the wild art of the Eight of Wires over to Marjorie and arches a brow. "...it sure seems like it," he hisses out in static, relaxing just a bit as he's able to still manage some dry wit. "I'm...not used to good news," he admits, still looking like he's waiting for the twist, for the fine print catch that this will all come at the cost of.
And here it is: the next card. "The House. The querent's environment and unseen forces influencing the situation. The Five of Arms." Here Marjorie pauses, letting him look at the card and pouring herself a little more tea. She calls for another cup, and pours a bit of the fragrant liquid for Glitch, too, scooting it toward him. Tea fixes everything.
"When fighting demons, one may become a demon as well. What you strike at may destroy you, but worse, you might incinerate yourself along with your opponents if you allow your fury to overwhelm you. A pyrrhic victory is not a victory for those who love you." Those crystalline eyes stare at Glitch for a moment; Marjorie has known enough Summers to know to pause right here.
"Hopes. The hopes and fears of the querent. Six of Vials, Reversed." She blinks, twice. "Do not let the past, or what you think happened in the past, control you. What we remember is not always how it was, and in any case, what we control is the present, so that we may affect the future."
One more card. "The Outcome. Judgement."
"The message of Judgement is clear. You are being called, Glitch." Of course she knows his name. No Lost sets foot in Philadelphia but that Marjorie somehow hears their name. "You may not wish to hear the call, you may actively drown out the call with the noise of your daily life. You might be afraid of the call, and the changes that it will bring. Listen to it, and face it with courage and action. Only then can you fulfill the potential within you."
Glitch stares a long time at the cards, refusing to take his eyes off them, practically staring down the sleek pieces of paper and color. It's hard to do, not because of fate or magic or powerful forces, but because in the cards he sees the Truth. He takes a while. There's some nods, and what sounds suspiciously like a sniffle, but his expression is no longer shocked or surprised or confused. It's determined. "I've had my head down for too long," he says, in agreement. "I...had a false start. I thought it was proof I was wrong. About everything. But it was just a mistake. It was a stupid, preventable, easy mistake, that I made because I was letting myself slide." He swallows and looks down. "I built the bliss. You're right. I'm...I'm gonna enjoy it. But I'm not just going to sit there rolling in love like...an infant. I'm not going to ask my family to hide me from what's out there. I'm gonna..." He pauses, slowing himself before he spirals up too much, gripping the arms of his seat.
"I'm gonna be smart about it," he says, his vision drifting back to the Five of Arms. And back to the cup of tea she poured him, so distracted by Fate being laid out before him that he forgot the beverage. Plucking it up, he eyes Marjorie across the rim of the cup. "But I'm going to find a time, and a place...to stop holding myself back. Because that's the only thing that really can hold me back. For better or for worse."
He takes a long, slow sip of tea with his eyes closed, savoring the taste and gently swallowing. Lowering the cup back down to the table, he meets Marjorie's gaze again.
"Have you ever heard of a game called Earthbound?"
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