[Changeling IC] Time's Wings: Dark Omens

[Thanqol]

The Flower Knight's Tale

"I'm in the middle of scoping the site out when I notice rubbish in the swamp. Kitchy love stuff, a whole lot of it - like a shop emptied its Valentines display into the lake. Hearts and bears and flowers in a sickly pink-white heap amidst the reeds. At the time I don't think too much of it as anything other than a landmark - though it did strike me as odd the way a rotten tree had formed almost an archway above it.

I put it to one side as I noticed a steep hill with a road running along it. The idea occurred to me that if a car were to be heading down that hill towards the lake, and were their brakes to be cut, and were the barrier to be removed - well, that person would be neck deep in swampy water. The process of arranging for Antony to be driving down that hill was rather a bit more involved. I made a few small bargains, arranged for the right kind of disturbance, caused an unrelated few accidents to close off alternate pathways, and soon enough he was rolling down the hill towards the silty mangroves and I was ready to make my play."

"Huh. That's weird. Mind if I take a look?" Aelas goes over to inspect the little pink bear card. Is it glamoured? If it's not, is there some sort of extra glamour on Abbey that ought not to be there?

Aelas, how could you possibly tell? Not only do you lack two dots of Intelligence to rub together you also lack any skill in Occult. You're not a Mage, you have absolutely zero way to gather information about potentially cursed greeting cards without doing the proper fairy tale thing in this situation: Taking it to a wizard.

The Pilgrim takes one $20 out of a wad of tightly-bound bills, and sets the plate down at his (presumably still extant) feet. He reaches up, takes his (long, slender, grey) finger between his teeth and bites down. I do not need to tell you how hard he bites down. You already know.

He takes the bill and smears his blood across Mary Reibey's face. (Please do not ask the Pilgrim who Mary Reibey is. He does not know. He does not know about her famously successful shipping ventures, or her conviction for horse theft as a teenage orphan. He does not know why she was chosen to be on the back of the lobster, or why there's a ship sticking out of her shoulder.) Once it is coated, grisly, wretched, he folds it once and presses it as carefully as a child saving a leaf in a scrapbook. This folded bill is returned to the plate as a new item, value added.

[Rolling Clarity: 2, 4]

Lily empties her wallet of cash for the collection, it's not a vast amount but there are a couple of sizable notes, crisp and brand new, folded exactly in the middle. She adds a photo of her old house, a little reluctantly, as well as a small note with her name and number neatly written in flawless cursive.

Not to be outdone by Lily, Jack mimics her gesture like a mirror. Not that he has anything more to give, but what he has, he dumps into the bowl without a twinge of hesitation ... he can steal more, in fact he probably stole everything he just gave in the first place, so in a way he's just giving it back.

Not that Jack is a kleptomaniac, mind you.

But yes, he does nick a thing of two, since you ask. That photo Lily put in, for one ... it mysteriously vanishes into one of his pockets. And if there's someone else who seems to be putting something in the bowl that they're really going to regret giving up, he nicks that too.

Jack, the only thing that you find yourself compelled to rescue from the plate is when April, the dancer you were speaking to, puts her solidity on the plate.

It's remarkably unflashy, dealing with conceptuals. The Market's strange logic smooths all barriers to trade, allowing people to offer memories or emotions up as currency - the thing just needs to be infused in a physical token and April is putting that part of herself into a big heavy brick on the plate. Immediately she becomes vaguer, more transparent - and while she seems relieved right now, you're fairly sure that's not the sort of thing one will regret in the long term.

Palming a brick is a little tricky but no one's looking for you specifically - so it just happens. Could put out a decent window with this.

The plate returns to the unshifting mass of Autumn, and the last one to place a screwdriver on the surface gives it to the Pilgrim as though he is expected to take it, count it, keep it safe. Some sort of veiled decision, or a test of some kind? Either way it feels light - it's heavy, but it doesn't feel quite heavy enough.

"Thank you for your contributions," rustles the voice that must be the King of Autumn. "The next order of business is the matter of human sacrifice."

The King of Summer was on his feet, and behind him was an army. A low steady drumbeat began as the temper of the army visibly rose with the King of Autumn's cool words.

"A simple vote," said the King. "Yes or no. Are the Courts open to the idea of killing in exchange for protection, in any form?"

Every eye in the hall turns to face Jack Gladwin - custom is in matters like these that the seasons vote in their cycles, and Winter shall be the first to raise its voice. You might be able to take a moment to confer if you want, but everyone waits breathlessly to see what you say.