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The Freehold maintains a Stable Trod which runs from Bethlehem in the Lehigh Valley down through Philadelphia to Cape May on the Jersey Shore. Each Court maintains a Hollow as well as a single old Hollow right off Independence Mall. There's a door that looks like it leads to the electric for a parking garage, and does, but if the correct knock is given - changed weekly by Winter - it opens to a homey little village in the Hedge. Small cottages, a small garden of extremely generic and tasteless Goblin Fruit which only restore glamour in their native state.
It's here that the Winter Regent sits in a chair fashioned for her diminutive frame, outside her small cottage, at a table with a pot of tea on it, absently shuffling cards. The hood on Marjorie's heavy robe is up, and she's shuffling a deck of Tarot cards, a small leather bag sitting on the table next to the pot of steeping tea and the mugs which match the delicate glass pot which allows the blossoming jasmine tea to be clearly seen.
Having arranged to meet the Winter Regent here, Ianthe is technically somewhat early. Then again, she lives by the philosophy that "on time" is "late", so. As befits someone meeting with a Crown, even one outside their Season, she's left her mail and most of her weapons at home, opting instead for a dressy blouse and slacks, a single knife tucked into a boot out of sight of non-Lost. Approaching from within Marjorie's sight line, she pauses near the table, bowing slightly and waiting to be addressed.
Spicy makes her, probably, first or second visit to the hollow at that time. Dark, erratic veins of black sinousouly snakes along her skin. Which glisten like a bank of untouched snow, her nails and teeth made of jagged ice, her hair frozen into place almost, yet a pleasant, refreshing breeze follows the tall woman, a scent of flowers and fruits. She carries a sports bag toward the small cottage, careful not to bang it anywhere on the way there. She observes the people there for a short moment, not daring to interrupt yet.
Sturm's heading back from a patrol, which means that she's currently wearing some comfortable-ish workout clothes - and carrying a bag that looks appropriately sized for the amount of bag that one would need to carry around a gambeson and a (disassembled) suit of plate armor. She's scowling, and holding an unlit cigarette between her lips in anticipation of exiting the Hollow and lighting it for the drive home.
She notices Marjorie, and bows her head ever-so-slightly in respect before lugging over her bag of gear. "Ma'am."
"Good evening," Marjorie offers, tipping her head towards Ianthe, and then gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the table. "You're slightly early." There's a note of approval in her tone, though her expression is difficult to read. Marjorie, despite her small size, seems to somehow take up an immense amount of emotional space in the area: her Mantle is subtle, but the rest of her is not, which may account for why she's shrouded like a tiny little Palpatine in her grey hooded robe. "Sturm. I hope your tasks go well." And then the shrouded head turns toward Spicy, who she has not met, but has clearly heard of from the Spring Monarch, who would have taken Spicy's Oath. "And the new girl. A pleasure."
Despite herself, Ianthe is still at least somewhat intimidated by the Winter Regent. Odd, for someone who risks her life on a regular basis, and knows Jackie reasonably well, but there you have it. She gives Sturm a brief nod before taking the indicated seat wordlessly, waiting for Marjorie to continue before speaking herself.
"Pleasure." The tall woman respond, a little surprise at the sight before her, she looks at the people nearby, as if looking for social cues of some kind for how to interact with people. "I'm Spicy." she repeats the slight bow she saw Ianthe do earlier.
"About as well as one could reasonably expect, considering the circumstances." There's another stiff little nod, and then the monsterously large Snowskin deposits her gear beside a chair before hovering there awkwardly. Though she's nearly 7' tall, Sturm is currently hunching her shoulders ever-so-slightly - as if to seem non-threatening. Unfortunately, on account of her surly disposition, enormous muscles, tusks, and crystaline ram horns, the few inches of difference doesn't do much. "Mind if I join you?"
"That, Sturm, is up to Ianthe, since she requested this meeting," the Regent answers, setting down the cards and putting her hands in her lap. "Spicy, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"I've no objection." Ianthe says, smiling slightly at the Winter in question. "Did you just come from patrol, Strum?" Spicy gets a glance. "As Regent Marjorie implied, I'm Ianthe. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Spicy."
Spicy blinks once at the mention of Regent, making the connection. She leans forward to pulls something out of her bag, she pulls what seems to be a mason jar with a black, sticky substance inside of it and offers it to the Winter Regent. "Freshly made from my personal garden, sorry for interrupting." She nods in greeting to Ianthe as well.
Sturm looks from the ground behind Marjorie (she never seems to actually look at the Winter Monarch, even when speaking to her) and redirects her gaze to Ianthe before nodding her thanks. She seats herself in the chair she'd been awkwardly standing beside - which creaks in protest when she sinks into it. "Yep. Wasn't particularly interesting, which is the ideal."
Once situated, she quirks an eyebrow at Spicy, and squints at the jar.
"Thank you for the gift," the Regent answers Spicy, nodding her hooded head toward her, and picking up the jar, setting it next to her chair on the ground so that it is not resting on the surface where the cards might, at some point in the near future, go. "Good. I am glad to hear that it was not particularly interesting. That is the best news." Her speech is precise and gentle at the same time, and she turns her hooded head back toward Ianthe. "So."
"I always wonder with those whether it's uninteresting because everything is running scared, or because they're plotting something." Ianthe muses rhetorically, before turning her attention to the Regent on being addressed directly. "I was wondering if there was any way to detect if a specific individual is in Arcadia without going there personally, Regent."
Spicy smiles as she's thanked and takes a step back, sitting in a chair a bit further back, keeping a simple expression, though her attention wanders from Marjorie and Ianthe toward Sturm, gaze specifically drawn to the horns. Without a word, raise a hand and wiggle her fingers in a quiet greetings. A faint scent of flowers and fruit dances about her.
Sturm scowls in response. Or, wait, no. She never stopped scowling. She nods in response, though the scowl does not leave her carved, glacier-like features. "Just assume everything is always plotting, Ianthe - that way I'm never surprised when something starts to go tits up." She goes quiet when Ianthe asks her question. She's got nothing to say on that subject.
"Definitively, without a shadow of a doubt, without them standing here before us?" A small shake of her head. "No. There are ways in which we can enquire," Marjorie answers quietly, "But ... Nothing iron-clad. As ironic as that phrase is in context." Her voice trails off. "A very Winter philosophy," she murmurs toward Sturm.
"Even those ways would be a great help, Regent." Ianthe says. "Little is certain in our lives, I find."
Spicy listens, quiet and letting the conversation go on, listening to it. "That's a way to do it." she speak to herself, considering the wisdom from Sturm's word.
"Not that I'm implying that you'd ever do anything to endanger the Freehold," Sturm turns up her palms. "... but are the ways in which we can enquire such things... uhh, safe? Seems like any amount of poking must come with the risk of being caught."
A long, slow breath out from underneath that hood. "A fair question," first Marjorie directs to Sturm. "The ... only real means I have of investigating this -- the only real means anyone does -- is divination, short of just going around and looking. But if you don't know where to look, then... divination. We can ask the cards, the runes, we can dream... "
"How dangerous is that divination, Regent?" Ianthe asks. "I do have some idea of where they might be, if they are in Arcadia, but." If they're in Arcadia that presents obvious risks to anyone going looking.
Spicy, as quietly as she can, pick up her bag from the ground and set the bag ontop of her lap, slowly zipping it closed. A thin smile appear.
Sturm purses her lips at the conversation - though, whether the cause of her sour expression "risk," "cards," "runes," or "dreams" is probably unclear. She says nothing, though, simply watching Ianthe and Marjorie as they continue to converse.
"I will not perform divination on Arcadia itself or try to see if someone is ... in There. That, to me, is too risky." The Regent turns her head toward Sturm for a moment, considering, and then back to Ianthe. "Do you know their names? What am I looking for?"
"Sofia Metaxas and Xenia Marinos were the ones I remember them using, Regent, but I do not know if they still go by those." She takes a deep breath. "They were friends of mine, Over There. As best I remember, we escaped together, but I have not heard word of any Lost by that name since I made it out, or seen any photos of people who would resemble their likely Masks."
Her eyebrow quirks, surprise? Concern? as Ianthe speaks the names, but the hint of an expression disappear behind what seems to be a neutral facade.
"Not to, uhh. Be shitty, or anything, but... well." Sturm frowns as she considers this through the lens of her own experiences. Particularly in regards to her own recent discoveries. "Time is a fuck, and shit happens. It's possible they just got out in a very different place - or that they haven't gotten out yet..."
"For a simple question, a direct means of asking," the Winter Regent offers, and then reaches for the leather bag next to the pot of tea, which has been steeping all this time. She moves the bag slightly and then pours a mug of tea for Ianthe, and one for herself. It's a ritual that Sturm has seen more than once with Marjorie's readings. Once the tea is poured and passed to Ianthe, she shakes the bag slightly, opens the top, and sets that next to the mug. "One rune only, please."
Ianthe reaches into the bag, retrieving a single rune as requested and placing it in the middle of the table. Only then does she take a sip, waiting for Marjorie to interpret it for her.
Spicy glances at the runes, curious at the potential meaning or looks of it. No autumn, but given her new situation, curiosity has been a rewarding effort, on most days.
Sturm's lips are eternally pursed, and she watches quietly.
"Tiwaz, upright. The indication is positive. Whether or not you will find them... I do not know. But the indication is -- yes. They have gained freedom." Marjorie picks up her tea, cradling it in her tiny hands. "Tiwaz -- Tyr's rune -- is the rune of the warrior, representing justice, balance, and warrior strength. All of these will be required to find what you seek."
"Thank you, Regent." Ianthe says softly. "Is there anything you would ask of me, in return for this divination?"
Spicy seems content with the results of the divination, a smile touching her blue lips for a moment before fading back.
Sturm's just... doin' a frown the whole time. Y'know maybe something to do with her scars. She also pauses to send a quick text message. 'Cause she never seems to remember that she doesn't have a signal here.
"Only what I ask of everyone: continued and loyal service to the construct which keeps us all safe." There's a vague sigh from underneath her hood, and Marjorie leans to pick up the rune, setting it back in the bag. "I wish you all luck in finding your friends. Those who escape together often have an unbreakable bond." There's a sudden wash of cold through the Freehold Hollow, the scent of pine, and an intense feeling of longing for hearth and home during times of privation and sorrow and cold -- if someone could bottle the essence of feeling in the song 'I'll Be Home For Christmas', it would perfectly match the Regent's Mantle. "If you will excuse me -- I am well aware that my presence in a conversation is a little like setting a huge stone on a blanket. Everything rolls toward that, whether the rock likes it or not." She leaves the teapot, but gathers her bag of runes, tucking it into a pocket. As she steps toward her cottage, one hand pats Sturm on her massive shoulder.
The comment about "all" gets a blink out of Ianthe, but she doesn't press. If the Regent wanted her to know who that referred to, she'd have said. Instead, she just takes a sip of her tea, then glances at Sturm. "Mind if I ask what you've been up to beside patrolling?"
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