Café de Nuit

"Torches and pitchforks?" Lia repeats behind Tomas. "My, you have been busy since last we met. Still, an upgrade from fangs and claws, which I seem to recall you complaining of at that occasion."

Nerit dismissed the perceived slight with a wave of her hand.
"De rien! But yes, I am from where you speak of." It was obvious Richard was very uncomfortable with the northern sect. She watched him carefully, but was soon distracted by Alice again.

She had, unfortunately, made a grave misjudgment in assuming that the two were gardeners. Really, a purple waistcoat on a servant? Good call. Seemed like two upstanding folks. Folks that volunteered at a hospice. Indeed.

Entry Hall, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:13 AM
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"Katja," Cyrus savored the word for a moment. He looked over her assortment of weapons and smiled again, and then patted the hilt of his greatsword. "A fan, you might say," he replied, "Or an appreciator of swordwork and a templar of the Lawgiver. Most of his clergy are trained in martial skill."

"A warrior priest." Katja said, nodding to herself as though this explained something. It was a statement with rather more finality than was customary in casual conversation, but then again that may have just been an illusion of the clipped Lamordian accent.

One small mystery solved, Katja began to divest herself of her small arsenal of weaponry, or at least the larger pieces thereof, leaning them in a discreet corner. Then, paying no further attention to Cyrus whatsoever, she went back outside, to return a minute later with a single travelling case.

Upstairs Hall, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:13 AM
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The Whistler wrote:“And my dear Mlle. Rondelet, already so well-versed in his exploits! We shall have to plumb the very depths of his experience to sate our curiosities, shall we not?”

Cerise gave a bell-like, almost shocked sounding laugh, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, yes, we shall!" she eagerly agreed, fixing Tomas with a grin that suddenly looked a little too cheerful.

DocBeard wrote:"But, sure, I'll sign!" Tomas grins a bit. "I'm not used to people without pitchforks or torches knowing my name, forgive the novelty."

Rock wrote:"Torches and pitchforks?" Lia repeats behind Tomas. "My, you have been busy since last we met. Still, an upgrade from fangs and claws, which I seem to recall you complaining of at that occasion."

"Thank you so much, good monsieur!" Cerise exclaimed, beaming. She clutched the periodical to her chest, looking extremely satisfied with herself. "So what room are you in, M. Eisenwald? I'm in room fourteen... of course, you know that already, since you're standing right next to it," she laughed, sticking out her tongue as she playfully bopped herself on the head.

"It's such a nice place, isn't it? Full of fascinating stories... and it's right by the University too. Did you just come to Dementlieu to look after the place for Mr. Devereux, or are you taking a break from your life of peril and adventure? There's no clawed and fanged monsters around these parts," Cerise said, sounding oddly disappointed about that.

"Torches and pitchforks, we have in abundance." Bereft of any form of attention, Thierri had returned to his dull-eyed look.

"Ignore him," Cerise told Tomas in a mock stage whisper. "He's just in a bad mood. I told him setting his chair inbetween his couch and desk like that formed the sign of Firahid, the abyssal lord of minor backaches, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"The positioning of my furniture had nothing to do with it," Thierri sharply dragged on his cigarette.

"...room, uh, ten, I think?" Tomas smiled uneasily, not used to positive attention from female sources at the best of times, and especially from girls way too young to be giggling at him. He gives Lia a quick 'what-have-i-got-myself-into?' look that would probably be heartwarming if Lia had a heart, and stepped back against the wall like a cornered muskrat.

"Well, I needed a place to stay, and Professor Devereux needed someone to keep the kids in the neighborhood from breaking the windows, so it just sort of worked out..." Tomas pulls on his collar, looking for avenues to take the spotlight off of him. This is what living on the road for a decade does to you. "...how about yourselves?" There, scattershot.

"I mostly work at the Hospice of the White Dove in the Quartier Ouvrier. These days they need what help they can get," Alice said, more somberly. Richard made a slight noise in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

"I see. I suppose that is an adequate use of one's time." Mr. Agale commented with a look of disdain. Breaking into what was no doubt intended as a little cheerful smile, but which somehow ended up a tad sinister, he continued "But no matter, I'm sure a capable young woman such as yourself will have no trouble advancing yourself."

"De rien! But yes, I am from where you speak of." It was obvious Richard was very uncomfortable with the northern sect. She watched him carefully, but was soon distracted by Alice again.

He cocks an eye with interest toward Sister Nerit. "Yes, I had heard that there were a few offshoots of the Home Faith. If you would be so inclined, I would be interested in learning more on the subject

Lia aparently decides to have mercy on Tomas. Of a sort.

Moving forward quite casually, she snakes one elbow through his in a gesture that smacks more than a little of the possessive as she smiles sweetly at Cerise. "And of course," she says in a light tone of voice, "our heroic knight has friends living in this area, who are always happy to see him."

The look accompanying the smile continues perhaps a second longer than is completely comfortable, and then Lia shifts her smiling gaze to Tomas. "Why don't I help you with the luggage," she suggests, "and then treat you to some tea in my chamber? We have much to discuss after all this time, no?"

Cyrus curiously watched Katja go. She would be quite a challenge, but the Hazlani man enjoyed a good challenge. His victory in the end would be all the more worth it. And who knew -- maybe she'd put up a good spar, too.

Her clipped reply made him grin inwardly. (Insight 26) Apparently, she didn't like Hazlani -- or didn't like priests. If she actually was Lamordian, then it made sense that she disdained priesthood. All the better, then, to prove to her that the clergy wasn't a bad thing.

In fact, it could be very good.

When the woman left, Cyrus walked over and began surveying her equipment. He wondered if he recognized any of the craftsmanship, and where she got some of her arsenal. The assembly was nothing compared to Cyrus's collection back home, but it was impressive to see all on one person. (Perception 15)

As Katja returned, the Hazlani made a point to address her again. "Where did you learn to fight?" he asked.

Mlle. Mourneswaithe wrote:The look accompanying the smile continues perhaps a second longer than is completely comfortable, and then Lia shifts her smiling gaze to Tomas. "Why don't I help you with the luggage," she suggests, "and then treat you to some tea in my chamber? We have much to discuss after all this time, no?"

Celeste looked back and forth between Lia and Tomas for a second or two—one could almost see the wheels turning in her head—then, perceiving a not unwelcome shift in the prevailing social dynamic, broke into an accommodating smile.

“Oh, you certainly must! By no means allow us to detain you: I should not dream of imposing myself on the reminiscences of such dear friends. No—indeed, I must rightly insist upon your immediate tea-taking; I should enjoy nothing more!”

"I would be delighted to have a discussion about the faith, Monsieur Agale, but at the present I would like to continue the tour or put this bag away in my room." Nerit smiled and raised her eyebrows, but at Devereux. She adjusted her fingers over her luggage and wondered if he would catch the hint.

Tomas goes from looking mildly worried at Lia's strange actions to seeming outright disturbed. But what can he do? "I, um, wouldn't dare deny your insistence, then, miss." Tomas manages, giving Thierri an apologetic look. "Really, you don't have to help, it's my job. I'll be able to finish up after I have tea with Lia."

It occurs to Tomas that he should have used her last name, and then it occurs to Tomas that if he amends that, it'd look even more suspicious. Shrugging, Tomas berates himself for being stupid as he creeps away from the wall, following Lia's lead.

Common Room, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:09 AM
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Cronax wrote:"I see. I suppose that is an adequate use of one's time." Mr. Agale commented with a look of disdain. Breaking into what was no doubt intended as a little cheerful smile, but which somehow ended up a tad sinister, he continued "But no matter, I'm sure a capable young woman such as yourself will have no trouble advancing yourself."

Richard blinked his pale grey eyes. "There is no better work than helping others," he stated simply, without reproach.

"Everyone at the hospice would have no trouble advancing themselves, Mr. Agale," Alice said, arching her eyebrows and faintly smiling back. "But then there would be no one to run the hospice."

Nerit wrote:"De rien! But yes, I am from where you speak of." It was obvious Richard was very uncomfortable with the northern sect. She watched him carefully, but was soon distracted by Alice again.

Cronax wrote:He cocks an eye with interest toward Sister Nerit. "Yes, I had heard that there were a few offshoots of the Home Faith. If you would be so inclined, I would be interested in learning more on the subject

"So would I." Richard said, a bit faster than seemed comfortable. Alice gave him a surprised look.

"We're from Grimshaw ourselves. Blackwood Estate is just north of the village." Alice said, favoring Richard with a fond smile, but only once he was looking in another direction. The tall, raven-haired woman did frown in annoyance though, as a memory rose to the surface. "We were supposed to be here yesterday, but the train was late. The Quicksilver didn't pull into Grand Central Station till two in the morning."

"We ended up having to take rooms in a nearby hostel, rather than risk wandering around Port-a-Lucine at night." Richard recalled, a faint smile on his face. He took their travel difficulties rather more philosophically than Alice. "And at least we arrived safely, thank the Lady."

Nerit wrote:"I would be delighted to have a discussion about the faith, Monsieur Agale, but at the present I would like to continue the tour or put this bag away in my room." Nerit smiled and raised her eyebrows, but at Devereux. She adjusted her fingers over her luggage and wondered if he would catch the hint.

Charles Devereux, for his part, had spent the last several minutes staring at a large painting that hung on the common room's wall. It was a hunting scene, of a green-coated huntsman riding on a horse, a pack of hounds before him chasing a brilliant, russet fox through the dark forest. Devereux seemed to be focused entirely on a patch of darkness just behind the huntsman's back, an amorphous blob of dark paint.

“Yes.. we should continue the tour...” Devereux said, pulling his attention way from the patch of darkness only with difficulty. “The baths are over there... the kitchens next, I think... yes, the kitchens certainly.”

“Well, I'll have to join you later, as there's still things to bring up.” Alice said, her gaze resting lightly on Nerit. “Richard, could you help me with these roses?”

“Of course, sis.” The younger Blackwood said, nodding politely in turn to Mr. Agale, Nerit, and Devereux. “It's been a pleasure meeting you.”

“The kitchens are... this way.” Devereux said, casting a parting glance at the painting.

Entry Hall, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:13 AM
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Kaitou Kage wrote:As Katja returned, the Hazlani made a point to address her again. "Where did you learn to fight?" he asked.

“Along the King's Highway, mostly.” Zweibach said, putting down the traveling case. She shrugged off the drab, olive-grey greatcoat and hung it up on a peg near the door, checking the pockets briefly to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything in them. Underneath that massive garment the Lamordian woman wore a long-sleeved, rose-colored riding shirt and a pair of tight-fitting tan breeches. No longer muffled by the coat, the dagger at her belt clinked against hand-axe. “I enlisted in the Nartok regiment under Baron Volker when I was eighteen.”

“Excuse me.” Divested of miscellaneous bits of armament and military paraphernalia, Katja walked towards the kitchen, nodding politely to Cyrus as she passed. “I need to get my key from Charles Devereux.”

Kitchens, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:09 AM
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The kitchens of the Chateau Malchance were relatively utilitarian compared to the rest of the house, though no less a work of art. Only now, it was the culinary art that was on display, not the painterly or sculptural disciplines. Rows upon rows of shelves lined each wall, covered with spices, condiments, and endless clay jars. One of the long walls of the room was occupied by a counter, while in the middle of the other stood a black, pot-bellied stove. A cauldron of water for dishes rested in a corner, next to an indoor pump, a late addition to the house judging by its shiny brass.

Everywhere in the kitchen, there were the marks of a dinner in progress. Vegetables had been neatly sliced on the counter, and several of the clay jars were open, the scent of spices weaving through the air. A duck lay on another table in the process of being prepared for roasting, while most enticingly, a saucepan on the black stove emitted smells that were a delight to the senses. Curiously, no one seemed to actually be doing any of the cooking.

There was, however, someone overseeing this operation. Seated in a rocking chair by the stove was a large, fat man in a tweed jacket, the elbows patched with tan leather, probably in his mid-sixties. His face could be most charitably described as 'engagingly ugly', a whiskery, rounded face with a neat pair of spectacles perched atop a ruddy nose. No one could call it a handsome face, but it was animated and welcoming, a favorite uncle's face after he had a few too many glasses of wine. This impression was strengthened by the glass of wine in the older man's hand.

He was humming to himself in time to the piano music from the nearby room, but at the arrival of the little party, he heaved himself up out of the rocking chair and favored Nerit and Mr. Agale with a deep bow. It was like being bowed to by a whiskery pear.

“Why Sister, M. Agale, what a delight to meet you.” The old man's voice was confident and pleasant to the ear. “Professor Evariste Lemercier, at your service.”

Suddenly, without any outside prompting, the lid of the saucepan lifted up and one of the jars floated over to it upon a wisp of smoke. A few careful pinches of spice floated up and into the saucepan, and then the wisp of smoke returned the jar to its place.

“My dear Favonius is at your service as well.” Prof. Lemercier said expansively. “Don't mind him, he is silent, but quite friendly.”

The small length of dark-grey vapor swirled in a faintly circular pattern. At the same time, a dark-haired woman with a rose cloth tied around her head entered the kitchen, looking at the scene of self-animated cooking before her with a small frown.



Upstairs Hall, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:13 AM
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DocBeard wrote:Tomas pulls on his collar, looking for avenues to take the spotlight off of him. This is what living on the road for a decade does to you. "...how about yourselves?" There, scattershot.

Understanding flickered in Cerise's eyes, and then something in the young woman's smile seemed to soften as Tomas began to back away. "Like I said, I'm here because it's right by the university. I'm a student there," she explained, rather amicably. "Thierri here is apparently a-"

"Magician Extraordinaire," the man himself interrupted. Somewhere in the two minutes no one had been directly addressing him, Thierri had gotten bored and produced a deck of cards from somewhere, which he was now shuffling with one hand.

"Quod Erat Demonstrum," Cerise grinned. A realization seemed to strike her a moment later. "Ooh, but not for Mlle. Viardot, she missed it! Thierri, you have to show her that trick you did before. You used her luggage for your last one, it's only fair you get the rest of it."

"Your logic remains as consistent as ever, mademoiselle," Thierri deadpanned. Still, he bowed to Celeste, presenting the cards before him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the cards streaming through the air and neatly into his other hand. He repeated this a few times, arcing the cards over his head, around his back, and in other impossible ways, before apparently deciding it wasn't flashy enough. Miniature hoops of fire began to spring up in the air, and Thierri sent the cards leaping through them like tiny circus tigers.

"Mademoiselle Viardot," he said with a sly grin, "follow me, and allow me to transform the mundanity of moving into the entertainment of kings."

Rock wrote:Moving forward quite casually, she snakes one elbow through his in a gesture that smacks more than a little of the possessive as she smiles sweetly at Cerise. "And of course," she says in a light tone of voice, "our heroic knight has friends living in this area, who are always happy to see him."

DocBeard wrote:"Really, you don't have to help, it's my job. I'll be able to finish up after I have tea with Lia."

"I think not," Thierri replied to Tomas, a bit of a smug smile on his face. "Monsieur, you shall not rob me of my audience."

"Just say so if we're keeping you," Cerise added, cheerfully. "We don't mind."

Tomas might have seen Cerise give him a concerned glance, but she was watching the show of lights, so it was hard to say.

"I work nearby..so it's kind of convenient for me here." Kerrian said after the rather..enthusiastic..handshake from Celeste, his focus seeming to drift for a moment, before finally turning to Cerise.

"Excuse me...but what's an abyssal lord?" One of those questions where once you ask, you really wish you didn't, but it appeared he didn't seem to know better.

What had seconds before been an attempt to bustle a potential happy couple off into potential-enhancing privacy was brought up short by Thierri’s performance: there were flashing lights and shiny objects to be looked at, after all. Celeste watched the demonstration with enraptured attention, and broke into enthusiastic applause at its completion.

“Bravo, M. Boucher, bravo! How utterly magnificent the display! The very adroitness of your magecraft…I fear to admit, I once attempted a study of the Art in my seventeenth year, and I should have been hard pressed to have lit a taper with my meager talents. To see a true practitioner at his work…why, it warms my very heart to know that such entrancing visions may yet be plucked from the air!”

M. Boucher wrote:"Mademoiselle Viardot," he said with a sly grin, "follow me, and allow me to transform the mundanity of moving into the entertainment of kings."

Celeste looked as if she’d just been given a pony.

“Oh my…yes! Wait but a moment—I shall return presently!”

She scurried down the stairs, returning mere seconds later with…something, on a handcart. (Seated Xochiquetzal, Bernardino de Alcazar y Ixlilxochitl, Valacan, 530? B.C.) It was definitely a statue, though the best that could be said for it was that it was a good deal smaller than the Fimbria—the rough-hewn stone image of a kneeling woman, somewhere around two feet high. Mists knew how she’d managed to get it up the stairs that fast.

“My dear flower goddess…ever so outré to see in our fair city, or so I am told, but I adore her just the same.” She patted the statue admiringly on its stone head, then wheeled it a few yards closer to the magician, stepping back and fixing him with an expectant grin. “I hereby entrust her to your care—and eagerly anticipate the manner in which she is to be transported to my rooms!”

The other of the matched set of Hazlani warrior-priests emerges from his room in time to catch M. Boucher's little performance.

"No wonder no-one takes magic seriously in this country," he says, just loudly enough to ensure that the magician hears him. Having unburdened himself of this critique, he returns to his room.

Lia leads Tomas to room number thirteen and ushers him in.

"Unlucky for some, hm?" she quips with a brief gesture at the door number before closing and locking it behind them. "But I have good space, and a window to see out of."

The Mage sets her pack down on a table and quickly divests it of its contents: a couple of changes of clothing, a thick book bound in brown leather, a slightly thinner but larger book bound in black leather with a number of brightly coloured bookmarks, and ... stuff. Little jars of stuff that rattles and smells oddly. A ceremonial rattle with beads and tufts of feathers attached. A compass, a set of geometric equipment, a pack of chalks, an astrological almanac ... Odd things.

"Ritual supplies," Lia shrugs if she sees Tomas looking at the odd bric-à-brac. "The most appalling nonsense is needed for these things, but it's better to have them than not, I suppose, in case of emergency. Oh, yes."

Lia takes one of the little jars, opens it and sniffs the contents. "Right. Tea," she announces. "Good for more than performing protective rituals. I don't have any sugar on me just now, though, pardon the crudeness."

The next moment, Lia crosses over to the window and draws the curtains closed. A snap of her fingers and a muttered "Te illumine" to an innocuous lampstand causes it to flare with bright, white light. Smiling openly now, Lia actually pulls off her veil and drapes it across her shoulders. "It is good to see you again, Tomas," she announces. "So, what kinds of adventures have you been having, apart from what's in those books of yours? And being half-molested by one of your fans."

The wizard pulls off one of her gloves and offers her hand for shaking, an - for anyone who knew her in the Amber Wastes - unusually merry grin on her face.