Logs:Meeting a Garm

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Meeting a Garm
Dramatis Personae

Althea, Desmond, Marjorie

05 Apr 2016


Two Storm Lords meet a Daughter of Garm

Location

Historical Waterfront


The night in Maine brings the expectant spring showers. And with it the cooler temperatures that keep most off the boardwalk, especially this late at night. Which makes Marjorie and Desmond, walking arm in arm along the waterfront that much more noticeable. While he might normally protest, the Iminir Rahu this night concedes to norms, holding a rather large and probably expensive umbrella over the pair. Their conversation isn't hushed - given the quiet night there's no call for it. And it's easier to hear him speak over the rain. "I think that happens more than it should. She wasn't wrong to make that assumption, Claudia I mean. But it comes up a lot, you know?" A small shrug lifts that umbrella slightly with the movement, while he continues speaking. "Not that the assumption bothered me. Only that's the third time we've been paired off in other people's minds."

Althea is out for a walk, too, exploring the area. She doesn't mind the cold, but she's still wearing a leather jacket, battered jeans, boots, and a faded grey t-shirt. The Ithaeur is humming to herself, off-key, as she walks. She does spot the pair ahead of her, though, head tilting. She picks up the pace a little to try to catch up.

She's tall and lithe, close to 5'11" and somewhere in the ballpark of 120. The blonde's hair is long in the front, long bangs frequently falling over her eyes, and buzzed short in the back. She has brown eyes, and full lips frequently tweaked into a vaguely predatory grin. Her upper left arm is covered in elaborate tattoos, and she has visible scars up and down both arms. She usually can be found in jeans and boots, t-shirts - simple, unexceptional clothing that doesn't inhibit movement. There's something damn scary about her - something in her eyes that's feral and dangerous, something with the way she carries herself like someone who's not only accustomed to violence, but actually -enjoys- it.

Jori, as always, is dressed as if she's expecting the fashion police to show up at any moment. Modest and age appropriate, the sapphire still though she's changed into boots that are waterproofed and more appropriate for the weather though they're still expensive and still match the dress. The safety of the umbrella has not spared her nturally curly hair which has begun to take on waves much to the socialites displeasure. Her expression remains stoic, pretty and cold as they walk along the waterfront. "Does it? Sera?" She wonders looking back towards Desmond, "But who's the other, I wonder? Ginger perhaps?"

Desmond turns his head at the sound of another moving on the boardwalk in the rain. A little once over of the approaching woman, before his attention turns back to Marjorie. While he speaks though, his advancing footsteps forward stop, to make it all the easier for the other to come close. "No, not Ginger. Your friend Free, remember?" After the clarification though, he looks back to Althea again, a sniff at the air bringing the scent of wet sand and something else to his lungs. A little instinctive measure comes as Desmond's free hand moves to Marjorie's front hips, pushing her slightly back behind him to put himself between the two females.

Althea stops just out of range of a good lunge, arms out, palms up, head tilted to one side. Her nostrils flare delicately, and she flashes a grin at both of them. "Hey there. Sorry to sneak up on you." Her body language is surprisingly relaxed. After a moment, she straightens. "Man. Cold out here, yeah?"

Jori does not turn, an incredible confidence it seems in the people around her to alert her of things. When Desmond looks so does she though she drops a hand into her coat to seek a cigarette. "I thought that was a warning more than a suggestion." She reminds him though there's a hint of laughter in her cultured tone that is cut off as she's moved. To the Iminir Blooded credit it was barely a touch at all that was needed for her feet to lift, and staccato side-step turning into the wall of Desmond at an angle. Her gaze still is over his shoulder though at the blonde woman and clinically curious. "Positively frigid."

"Isn't it though?" Desmond lets a small smile, just a fraction of a normal expression, come to his lips. He looks the woman over, bathed in the lights of the nearby but mostly dead carnival on the boardwalk. With Marjorie's words said over his shoulder, the Iminir turns ever so slightly to space out the stances better. "Ocean smells like wet dog, and the winds off the water make it better." There's a humor, but not quite a tease, in that statement. As he says dog though, his focus returns to Althea rather than the blooded over his shoulder. "You from here?"

Althea looks amused, anyway, lips quirking up into another, rather feral, grin. "Actually, no. Just got into town a couple days ago." She shrugs, looking the pair over, Desmond first, then Marjorie. "Evening, ma'am." She tips an imaginary cap, then looks back at Desmond. "Yeah, it's not the most pleasant smell in the world, right? Oh well. You one of the locals, yeah?" The Blood Talon's still grinning from ear to ear.

Marjorie's head tilts and she glances back at Desmond when he looks at her and she adjusts her purse strap idly and daintily takes the umbrella from Desmond's grip holding it over herself while lighting and taking a drag of her cigarette. "To you as well." Is returned to Althea. She hasn't moved from where she was put just stands straight backed and regrading the exchange with that terribly aloof expression.

That's enough for Desmond to lean back from the protective stance, at least a little. The boardwalk's nearby rail is prop enough for him to press a hip against, his arms brought and folded over his chest. Half under the umbrella still, raindrop patters softly against his uncovered shoulder, wetting down the comfortable tee-shirt he's wearing. "One of them, I guess. Now at least, right?" He grins fuller at that statement, looking to Marjorie even as he begins his own introduction. "I'm Desmond Greene. This is a friend of mine, who probably has a second cigarette in that jacket pocket, right?"

"Althea. Fletcher. Nice to meet you, Desmond, and Desmond's friend." The blonde laughs warmly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes absently. She takes a step closer but still keeps a respectful distance, not invading anyone's personal space bubble. "Do you know Melissa? She's my new bestie. Or, uh, Elon? Her boy. Jeremiah. Those are the only ones I've met so far."

Marjorie inclines her head, "Marjorie Cavanaugh." She has no reason to hide it. Desmond's question though brings a look and a lofted brow but she reaches into her pocket to pull out her fancy carved ebony cigarette case and offers it to the Iminir since she's only got the one hand. "Would you like one as well, Miss.. Fletcher?" She provides after Althea's introduction. "All names I've heard before." She looks towards Desmond, "Mister Greene might be more familiar."

Nodding, Desmond takes a cigarette from Marjorie as that fancy case is produced. He lights it with his own cheap bic-lighter. With a hand cupping his cigarette rather than cradling it between two fingers, the Iminir takes a few drags off of it before continuing the conversation. "Elon and the others. Right. Not too far from here, actually, with their shop. I hope they're well, though I haven't seen them since I passed on their less than fully formed plan."

"Althea. Miss Fletcher's my...Well, probably not my mom. Grandma, maybe? Shit, I don't know. Anyway. Althea." Althea nods at Marjorie with a bright smile. "I'm good. Don't smoke. Thanks, though. But yeah. They're the only ones I've met so far." She looks back at Desmond. "Yeah, not too far. But...Wait. What plan?" She looks confused.

Marjorie shuts the case and tucks it away before finally taking her cigarette from her lips and exhaling. "Althea then." The middle aged woman replies in an exhale of smoke. After a moment she steps to the side taking up a spot just to the side and behind Desmond. "Have you heard about the Crosscut? It's a good neutral place to go meet people."

A flick of his free wrist scatters a few rain drops from his wet skin. It seems to service as a shrug, given Desmond's voiced response soon after. "It is not my place to say but theirs. If they still aim to go forward with it, I mean. Though since you say all three of them together, I would assume they do." Another inhale, and another exhale. He's starting to get wetter without the shade of the umbrella, but still the Iminir doesn't mind. "Marjorie's right though. The Crosscut is a good place to meet others. And with it, more options for your future. You passing through the city or looking to put down roots?"

Althea nods at Marjorie with a smile. "Yeah, I went there the other night. Met Mel and them there. Seems like a cool joint. Thank you." She looks Marjorie over briefly, then looks back over at Desmond. "Oh, I'm gonna stay. I think it's a good time for people like me, right? Skills like mine." A shrug. "I'm all about options, though. Meeting others like us is cool."

Marjorie gives Desmond a sidelong look, thoughtful, before she takes a drag from her cigarette. "Indeed, it takes all kinds and naturally you'll be proactive about letting people know about those skills?" She does lean in towards Desmond, "Perhaps a quieter place to have this conversation? Somewhere dry?"

"What skills might that be?" Desmond's inquiry comes with a quiet questioning, more given to the air rather than the woman. He doesn't look at her while he asks it, as his attention goes between that cupped cigarette bleeding smoke into the rain and Marjorie. It's only then that he seems to realize she made the same inquiry he did, and her remark of dry land has the Iminir looking over the boardwalk. "Think your little cafe shop is open this late? Or at least, the patio?"

"Yeah, probably somewhere more quiet so I'm not bellowing, y'know? Girl's gotta advertise her business." Althea nods at Marjorie with a warm smile, then looks between her and Desmond. "Yeah, wherever's good for me." Marjorie's eyes shine in the dim light making just the softened dark chocolate appear in the dark iris. She quirks a smile that does not threaten the smooth perfection of her RBF. "Taki never sleeps." She offers Desmond the umbrella so that she can take his arm again. "Now should be fine. I wouldn't mind a Greek Coffee." She inclines her head to Althea but appears to wait for Desmond to take the lead.

Umbrella, check. Marjorie at his side, check. And even though it's been a few weeks since he went to the cafe, Desmond seems to recall precisely where to head. Ash is tapped off the cigarette, left held at his side, as he holds the umbrella over the Wolf-Blooded woman beside him. "Did Jeremiah and that group tell you anything when they met? Or did they just welcome you to town and give you a map?" There's no criticism in Desmond's voice, just casual curiosity as he asks Althea.

Marjorie's brows lift, "May I ask what the 'current political situation was in their eyes?" She waits for the door to be held but has finished her cigarette and so it able to take the umbrella, shake it and fold it before stepping inside setting the umbrella to the side. The little seaside cafe min crisp white and blue lines is open but empty. The bell rings though when the door is opened and a smiling greek man with one blind eye comes out from the kitchen where it sounds like someone's watching reruns. "Ms. Cavanaugh! Welcome, and you brought your fine gentleman friend! Oh, and hello to you." He greets Althea, "Welcome welcome, I imagin at this hour you will want coffee, Ms. Cavanaugh?"

"A water for me is fine." Desmond holds the door open for both women, before shaking out the umbrella and closing it with a snap of the clasp. He flicks what's left of his cigarette out the door, into the street, before joining them on the interior of the building. "Political situation, eh?" Desmond moves to clarify the remark from Althea, as he runs hands through his hair. Damp strands are slightly wrung-out from the pressure, dripping a few beads of rain water onto Taki's nice clean floor. "What did you learn?"

"The usual. Conflicts with our wayward siblings. No big shit. It's like that everywhere you go, right?" Althea shrugs, flipping her bangs out of her eyes again, tossing a little bit of water as she goes. She looks the man coming out of the kitchen over, then shakes her head. "I'm good. Thanks, though." The man bobs his head and makes Jori's coffee bringing a small plate of baklava with a few forks as well. "I'll be in the back, just shout if you change your minds." Water is palced on the table for all three, with lemon, and then Taki is off to watch his stories. "And that's all they told you? Is that our difficulties are with our wayward siblings?" She wonders flatly.

"A touch more complicated than that, but I suppose that's the gist of it." Desmond shrugs and settles into a seat. The cold water in front of him handles a thirst that apparently lingered, as by the time the glass is returned to the table it is half empty. "And those skills we were talking of?" While he speaks, he looks back to Marjorie, a hint of a question lingering in his eyes though the Iminir does not bring it to full voice. "Eh. More or less. They don't know me real well or anything, so to be fair I don't blame them for not sharing it all up front. I don't have any real details yet. I will, though." Althea salutes the man as he heads off into the back again, then looks over at Desmond. "Oh. I'm a shadow-binder. Fetish crafter. Not a master, yet, but good enough at it. Good at dealing with spirits." She pauses, and once she feels pretty sure there are no unwelcome ears, she continues. "To be formal? Althea Fletcher. Daughter of Destroyer Wolf, born under the crescent moon, adopted daughter of Garm."

Marjorie reaches to the glass in front of her and one finger pushes it over in front of Desmond before taking up her coffee and blowing across it daintily. Whether purposefully misinterpreting that look or not Desmond gets a hooded smirk, "I've no considerable skills to speak of." She blinks at him slowly before turning her attention towards Althea. "Iminir Blooded." No real secret so she doesn't seem concerned with sharing it. "Now we both know that's not true," Desmond starts his reply by addressing Marjorie. He leans the still wet umbrella by the handle against the edge of the table, letting a few round droplets of water bleed off the fabric and onto the floor. "I am not positive, Althea, but I would not be surprised if there were one or two of your lodge-sisters in this city. Ever popular, your like are." He settles both forearms on the table, the tattooed skin creasing as he leans forward. "But a crafter can help. Undoubtedly there are those in the city looking to tool up, as it were. For whatever comes."

"We all have something we're good at, right?" Althea gives Marjorie another grin. "Always. N matter how it seems." She looks back at Desmond. "A couple more of us? Awesome." She perks up at that. "Means a good fight's coming. We always seem drawn to it, y'know? Practice for Ragnarok. But yeah. I'm all about helping. What I'm good at, y'know? Mother's gift to me."

Jori's brows lift and she manages to looks almost innocent. "Well, there's an uncomfortable thought." She wrinkles her nose and then looks towards the windows and the sea outside. Despite the mild worry in her tone her expression remains unchanged. She's actively listening though engaging the conversation tough she goes quiet. There's only so much the Blooded can add to the state of Forsaken affairs.

Another sip from that water, and Desmond's pour is gone. He sets the glass back down with a satisfied sigh, looking back to Marjorie, even though his words are for Althea. "There's a little adjusting to be done, but the city is probably better off for your company at least." His fingertips drum against the table for a moment's pause in his words. And with the returned speech, this time he clears who he speaks of first. "Marjorie was one of the first I met when I came to the city, as well. A few months back now I guess. But she's done a good job of making sure I meet the right people. Having a friend like her can make your transition easier, Althea."

"Hey, adjusting is what makes the world fun, right? Learning how people do their own shit. All the different cultures. I loved travelling for that reason, y'know?" Althea nods, looking over at Marjorie. "So what are the right people? Just out of curiosity."

Marjorie remains seated, back straight and chin up with a self assured posture that does not for a second falter. "I'd be delighted to help you get settled if you desire, Althea. I wouldn't call this particular band of hoodlums and heathens the right people but certainly connected people. A mix of people that have their fingers in various pies. I suggest Kharn though, if you haven't met him already. But in no particular order, "Seraphine, Ginger, Morana, Levi, Free and.." She sips her tea for a moment. "Well Desmond you've just met. There are others but with the correct meetings from these people you will likely quickly be able to meet everyone else or at least know of them swiftly and with relative neutrality of opinion."

"Haven't met him. Any of 'em." Althea nods, taking in those names. "Yeah. I will try to meet them." She hops up. "Thanks for your hospitality. Desmond. Ma'am. Got some shit to do before I turn in, though, so..." She offers them both a quick, two fingered salute. "Later, folks."