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The Winter Hollow is cold all year-round, the size of a small village. There are small cottages made by the Court members, and every Winter can claim a cottage if they like. A few are larger, where motleys have merged their cottages together to make slightly larger spaces for themselves. A Winter Garden sits off to one side of the Town Square in the center of the Hollow, and in the Town Square is a huge old tree, into which has been carved a phone booth. The Queen's cottage sits right next to the phone booth, a petite and welcoming little cottage like something out of a Christmas card. She's worked very hard to make it so.
Having set up a meeting with Izzy through Marjorie, Lucia is directed out towards a cottage whose door is marked by a splash of black ink. Outside, sitting in a chair and reading a graphic novel -- with a beautiful painted art style -- called Kabuki, is Izzy. The Right Hand - their features lined by thick ink-strokes, and little blots of color bleed - is wearing paint-stained denim, work boots, and a baggy, green Eagles hoodie that hangs loosely from their frame.
Lucia has been into the Winter Hollow quite a few times since she arrived and seems to know her way. She moves like someone who has places to be and is ready to go right over someone if they get in her way, which leaves the armored duster she's wearing billowing out slightly behind her. Very slightly, since it's also armored. There's a whip in a holster on one hip and knives in sheathes on her belt, but she came in from the Trod, and going armed in the Hedge is a good idea.
As she approaches Izzy her demeanor changes and her pace slows down as her gaze lowers. She comes to a stop a few feet away and pauses there, waiting and looking at the ground with her neon-green gaze. Silent.
"Sup?" When Izzy speaks, words seem to bleed into their mien around their mouth in an blocky script - like a speech bubble on a comic page - before soaking into their parchment skin and disappearing entirely. Very rarely do the words stay visible for longer than a second, but in this moment, the word "Sup" is legible for enough time that it can be easily discerned. "So you're gunning to be our new Steward, huh?" Their voice is quiet and dry - like pages turning in an old book. "Not to be confused with gunning for our Steward - as the case was a week or so ago."
They close the graphic novel, placing it on the table, and heading over to the door to the cottage. "Let's talk in private, though."
"Hello", Lucia responds in a soft voice. The glow that leaks out from beneath the seams of the panels in their body shows faintly through their tank top, but not through the thicker material of either their jeans or the duster they're wearing. "I heard that someone is needed for the job. I can do it." She makes it sound less like she's confident in her abilities and more like she feels obligated. She can do the work, therefore she must do the work.
When Izzy heads for the door Lucia falls into step just to the side and behind and seems to visibly restrain herself from moving ahead to open the door for Izzy.
The inside of Izzy's cottage is like an artist's dream. On practically every flat surface, there're containers and various artistic implements, and materials for for future projects. There're paintings - both complete, and in-progress - stacked up against the walls and on easels, a potter's wheel here, a crate of interesting-looking scrap there, cups full of various types of brushes, and tubes of paint in semi-coherent rows on a rack.
"I know how that goes," they nod sympathetically before continuing. "Don't be shy about shoving shit on the floor - just please don't mess up my brushes - if you want a particular chair." Despite the clutter, it seems cozy - and they step off to the side to fetch a cup from a cabinet for coffee. "You want a drink? The coffee's..." Their face sours as they take a sip from their mug - which reads NOT PAINT WATER. "Probably only four hours old?"
Lucia shifts to a spot where she feels like she'll be out of the way and then stands, hands clasped in front of her and her eyes still lowered. "I'm fine, thank you," she says quietly. Loud enough to be heard easily, but unobtrusive. It's all a distinct shift from the way that she was moving when she was approaching, up until she started to get close to Izzy. "I imagine that you have questions for me?"
"A couple," Izzy nods - leaning up against the kitchen counter, warming both hands on the coffee mug. "I figured I'd be a good host first, but if you want me to put the screws to you already, I can do that." Their tone may be deadpan, but there's a wry smirk on their face for just a moment before it disappears behind the rim of their cup. "I did a little cursory digging before this meeting, and the level of control you have over your personal information is pretty impressive." Beat. "... but you got here just in time for shit to hit the fan, so I imagine you know why that makes me wary."
"Yes, I understand." Lucia responds with just the briefest lifting of their gaze, showing the neon green glow of their eyes through their lashes. The lashes, unlike the eyes, seem to be real, and not mechanical. The eyes whir as their focus shifts, like a camera adjusting. There's a brief pause like she's preparing herself for something difficult and almost forces out, "I'm wary too."
"That's a good thing to be, I think." There's a shrug from Izzy, and then they continue. "It'll help make sure this kind of bullshit doesn't happen again." There's a brief moment where their inkblot pupils seem to coalesce into exclamation points -- a possible sign of frustration? -- before melting back into their amorphous natural state. "I am very aware that you walked in on Winter with it's pants down - and it isn't exactly a good look for someone newly initiated - but I assure you there were very complicated, extenuating circumstances surrounding Robin's betrayal that are unlikely to happen a second time."
They take a sip of coffee.
"What makes you think you can take over her gig?" Beat. "Y'know, without fucking us in the process."
There seems to be some barely concealed inner turmoil within Lucia before she responds, which delays the initial answer by a few seconds. When it does some it's only after she lifts her face up to look at Izzy directly. "What kinds of circumstances?" she asks with a little bit more challenge. Less challenge that what comes a half second behind, on the heels of those words. "Weren't you her supervisor?"
There's a deep sign as their more important question goes unanswered. "Yes - but also no." Beat. "There were a lot of crossed wires. Robin's function within the chain of command was complicated. There were exploited oaths, broken promises - and she put in years upon years of devoted service to the court." When they place emphasis on the word years, it displays visibly in their mien's little word bubble in a flowing script.
Lucia processes. There's a faint whir of the mechanisms in her eyes, the only part of her that moves, as her focus drifts and she tumbles the answer over in her mind. "That explains a lot," she says. "Thank you." She does answer the question then. "I maintain my own supply of hedge fruits. Under normal circumstances. I'm working on helping to resolve the current unusual ones, though." She looks down again. "I can set up identities. I did for my own. I can find people places to live temporarily when they need. I can help arm and armor people." With only another brief pause she adds, "I also encourage someone else to be double checking my work. I keep effective records. Whoever does this shouldn't be allowed to be in a position where they can readily fuck everyone."
Izzy nods along as Lucia speaks - their ink-stained hands leaving behind multi-colored paint marking on their coffee cup (that dissipate moments later) as they shift positions. "Okay," they pause. "It sounds like you already meet most of the minimum requirements for the gig, but -- and no offense here -- I'm not going to just hand you the keys to the kingdom. I want you to get into contact with Wren - she's working on cleaning up the last vestiges of Robin's schemes from a Legal perspective. It's not your mess, I know - but then again most of the shit you'll have to clean up in this gig won't be."
Izzy fishes their phone out of the front pocket of their hoodie. "Any other questions?"
"Of course," Lucia says. "I didn't expect any different. You don't know me. I assumed you would want me to prove myself, to the degree any of us can really prove ourselves." She glances up again, her glowing gaze never blinking. "It's all our mess," she says. "I'll talk to Wren." Since she doesn't ask any other questions, that probably implies she doesn't have them.
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