[Changeling IC] Time's Wings: Dark Omens

[Raz_Fox]

[That’s a beautiful, beautiful 0 successes.]

The Pilgrim sets down his heavy burden between his knees, more of a wonder-trove that sack than Father Christmas’s bounty. “To lease,” he says. Obviously, what he’s looking for is where he can go to see to the proper oaths and bids and sundry.

Just as obvious is the fact that he is not cut out to wheel and deal. Zotzie, certainly, might step in if things get burn-the-tent-down bad, but let’s face it- we’re not getting out of here unscalped.

[stveje]

The Ringmaster stares from silence to silence, and then rallies as a showman and continues with the patter.

"If you're here, well, you either need something very, very specific, or you need to buy a surplus of hunger - and oh, isn't it satisfying, just the taste you just had? Or maybe - perhaps! - travellers, you require a guide! A middleman! Not someone to show you around the market, no - someone to show the market you and what you have to offer. A service. Just tell me what it is you're after and I'll provide the full suite of services that you require."

[There's a wits+empathy or subterfuge check to negotiate this without being scammed somehow, no penalty]

Jack looks at the Pilgrim and his terse "To lease". Very words, much inspiring. No showman he.

Jack is also aware that the sack could have been an eensy bit heavier than it is. Even if that wasn't the case, it definitely wouldn't hurt to add a little pizzazz to make their bid more attractive.

"Obviously we have the best bid," he says and gets up, seamlessly picking something from the sack and playing it between his fingers, making it vanish right before the eye like a stage magician. "And the best bid deserves," he says, circling the Ringmaster, "no demands the best show! A show to draw in the crowds and blow the competition away."

Jack knows what the Ringmaster craves, and he wants to take a firm hold of the lead in this dance.

[Wits+Subterfuge: 7, 1, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10, ten again 2, 5. Three successes.]

[Anarion]

Lily stood up, feeling quite good, like she'd achieved something. A productive morning.

"Feel free to stay, Aelas."

Please do.

"I'm going to see Mr Breton right now. Where might I find him?"

"Oh, no, I have to get going. I'm supposed to find somebody to figure out something about a magic love letter." She takes the offered scarf though, it looks fluffy and warm. "I mean, unless you need any help. Do you need any help Lily? Or Mrs. Height too, actually, I should thank you for this awesome breakfast! Is there anything I can help out with now?"

[Thanqol]

"Music," said Longarms.
"What?" said Mercia.
"Music," said Longarms more urgently and dived into a hay-bale for cover.

Lily stood up, feeling quite good, like she'd achieved something. A productive morning.

"Feel free to stay, Aelas."

Please do.

"I'm going to see Mr Breton right now. Where might I find him?"

"He works at the Resource Management Center," that's Australian for 'rubbish dump'. "Not especially glamorous work but I imagine he likes the furnaces."

"Oh, no, I have to get going. I'm supposed to find somebody to figure out something about a magic love letter." She takes the offered scarf though, it looks fluffy and warm. "I mean, unless you need any help. Do you need any help Lily? Or Mrs. Height too, actually, I should thank you for this awesome breakfast! Is there anything I can help out with now?"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself with me, dear," said Mrs. Height. "You just have a good day outside and don't get into any more trouble."

[That’s a beautiful, beautiful 0 successes.]

The Pilgrim sets down his heavy burden between his knees, more of a wonder-trove that sack than Father Christmas’s bounty. “To lease,” he says. Obviously, what he’s looking for is where he can go to see to the proper oaths and bids and sundry.

Just as obvious is the fact that he is not cut out to wheel and deal. Zotzie, certainly, might step in if things get burn-the-tent-down bad, but let’s face it- we’re not getting out of here unscalped.

Jack looks at the Pilgrim and his terse "To lease". Very words, much inspiring. No showman he.

Jack is also aware that the sack could have been an eensy bit heavier than it is. Even if that wasn't the case, it definitely wouldn't hurt to add a little pizzazz to make their bid more attractive.

"Obviously we have the best bid," he says and gets up, seamlessly picking something from the sack and playing it between his fingers, making it vanish right before the eye like a stage magician. "And the best bid deserves," he says, circling the Ringmaster, "no demands the best show! A show to draw in the crowds and blow the competition away."

Jack knows what the Ringmaster craves, and he wants to take a firm hold of the lead in this dance.

[Wits+Subterfuge: 7, 1, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10, ten again 2, 5. Three successes.]

"Tell me what you want, show me what you've got," said the Ringmaster, beginning to fall into a song. "If you really want your town this year then take me to the top.
The stage is dark, the stands are cold and no one's come to town..."

He clapped his hand and the tent's walls fell away, opening the room to the outside.

"Oh, it's time... oh, it's time! Oh it's time to ignite, time to churn, time to burn, time to take flight and bring the fight and show them for what we yearn! Take the stage!"

All around you, goblins are perking up and paying attention. They begin to drift towards the Ringmaster, dragging what paraphernalia of stagecraft they have along with them. Not drawn in yet, but being drawn.

Pilgrim, the makeup crew descends upon you. With eye-shadow and beard-curlers and horn-sharpeners and shoe-shiners and with new coats and teeth whitening, they seek to make you presentable, whatever that means. But they are make-up artists with an agenda, and they will render your appearance unsatisfying to you - perhaps you will be a little too pretty, or a little too brutal, or a little too simple. Describe the look that they give you and mark it as Unstriking Looks 1 - and take a -1 penalty to any social roll that would rely on those looks.

This will last a month, until the paint flakes away and the body returns to its familiar grotesquery. But this service is at least free. Fixing it may cost.

Jack, you have the attention of the market and avoid getting drawn into any backshow bargains. Make your show and make your pitch. You may also want to make a presence+expression roll.

[Raz_Fox]

Two words: Frosted. Tips.

Here’s a debutante hitting the Market for the first time! Oh, goodness, the physique! Let’s get a button-down shirt (and corset, get him to stand up straight, no hunching over and trying to hide your size, good sir) and, oh, it needs to accessorize with those fiery baby blues, so flames, blue and red and orange, all up and down the shirt! Short sleeves, of course, so everyone can see the inked tats, those unsightly burns filled in with glittering ink, shifting and roiling and bringing attention to those ripped biceps, bro.

Gold! The metal of a champion! Drape it about his shoulders, which are shaking in delight! Diamonds(tmtmtm)! Affix them to those glittering white teeth, with plenty of paste, and see that literally glittering smile! Ah, what a bodacious hunk!

And, of course, that unruly mane’s being shorn, falling away to soot as it falls, and hoarfrost and ginger is worked thoroughly into the tips of what remains, leaving them spiked and perpetually thawing. A light perspiration trickling down the brow at all times is in, darling, in.

Get in, bro. We’re going to Flavortown tonight.

[TheAmishPirate]

Totally scamming you. Bare faced bare bones bare knuckle scam direct to the solar plexus. Catch is that he can't pull the 'sentimental value' card on every store in town so if you shift your attention a bit and make it clear that the store doesn't have any sort of personal value to you he'll be caught.

Honest, Edmund hadn’t meant to bait him into overextending like that. He hadn’t even been making a play at all. Call it the worst sort of old habit; the one you don’t even realize you have.

For every arc before, whenever Edmund had pointed a map, spread out with company a-hunched around it, somebody would inevitably chime in with, “Why there?” Or, “Ahhh, of course.” Or one a dozen such phrases tailor-made to set him up to showcase the brilliance and right-ness of the Prince’s decision.

To get nearly conned instead? This...wow, this was new. This was a new feeling right here. He'd nearly made a mistake. An actual, real mistake with actual, real consequences that wouldn't magically go away when his back was turned.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

But of course, it wasn’t the building. It was the area, and this building was one of the better ones there. So Edmund shrugged, and moved his finger one spot over. And again, and again, and again, for as long as Gustav wanted to keep inventing sob stories to drive up the price.

(Though once it looked like Gustav was starting to flag, Edmund would point back to the original building. Just to see if he remembered.)

[stveje]

Presence+Expression: 8

What had Jack gotten himself into this time?

Jack was a fast thinker and knew how to go with a flow, even when everyone was looking to him to do something he'd no experience or natural talent at, but he really wished someone else could take his place right now. He may have avoided any number of bad bargains, but it still felt like he'd been had.

His only hope was that he already looked perfectly ridiculous in the sun-yellow dress, and calculated ridicule could cover for many a deficiency. Hamming up that sunny look was easy. Make them think it's all part of an act, and they'll laugh, but at least they won't laugh you off the stage.

And then there's Mr. Frosted Tips. A theme springs to mind, a near-perfectly ridiculous theme of inversion. Ladies and Gentlegobs, may I present: Jack the Winter Darkling as the bright and beautiful Queen of Sunny Summer, and Isaac the Autumn Summer Ogre as the Frosty Beast of Winter!

Why, the play practically writes itself.

If only the Pilgrim actually was Summer, but Jack knows how to fake it. Surely making a big scary ogre look more Summery and Wrathy under his new frosty spikes is a cakewalk*

When Jack and Isaac step out on scene, Jack already has a whole elaborately theatrical tale worked out about Summer and Winter, Gold and Silver, and it doesn't matter that it's ridiculous, and they're ridiculous ... somehow, miraculously, the market is eating it right up.


* In case a roll is needed: Wits+Subterfuge+Specialty+Mantle (because I'm obscuring the truth), to make Isaac look like Summer under his frosty spikes: 4, 9, 3, 7, 2, 8, 3, 5, 5, 7, 1. Unless there are some crazy penalties, that's two successes.

[Thanqol]

From their hiding place in the bushes, Mercia needs to half-strangle Longarms to stop him laughing and applauding Jack's show.


*


Lily and Aelas! You've headed out to the Mitchell Waste Management Centre. Out the front is the Trash and Treasure - stuff that you can buy for less than five dollars. Racks and racks of clothing, an embarrassing amount of sports and exercise equipment, a forest of skis, rolls of chicken wire, rickety furniture, pots, buddha statues, all kinds of stuff people buy and then never use.

Beyond that, though, is the tip itself - the big ol' landfill where all the garbage is moved around with huge bulldozers, and plumes of foul smelling smoke emerge from. This is fenced off and the gate is overseen by a heavyset guy in a bright neon yellow safety vest. The T&T is overseen by a changeling in the shape of an ancient hawk, vigilantly tracking the motion of everyone and every piece of scrap under her care. The Summer King presumably works further in, past the gate.

Firstly, tell me how you got out here - as a walk it's a few hours, and there aren't exactly bus routes going out this way. Then, how do you make your approach?

Get in, bro. We’re going to Flavortown tonight.

Why, the play practically writes itself.

If only the Pilgrim actually was Summer, but Jack knows how to fake it. Surely making a big scary ogre look more Summery and Wrathy under his new frosty spikes is a cakewalk*

When Jack and Isaac step out on scene, Jack already has a whole elaborately theatrical tale worked out about Summer and Winter, Gold and Silver, and it doesn't matter that it's ridiculous, and they're ridiculous ... somehow, miraculously, the market is eating it right up.

The goblins don't have a sophisticated sense of humour. They bark and howl and slap their knees - it turns out that making fun of the Changeling courts is exactly their jam, and before long you have the entire Market in stitches. The Ringmaster puffs and booms and he couldn't be prouder that he's just arranged for a show like this. His prestige has gone up meteorically and as a result he is very much in your debt right now.

The curtain comes down with a crash. You've paid your end of the bargain, what do you want to buy from the Ringmaster?

Honest, Edmund hadn’t meant to bait him into overextending like that. He hadn’t even been making a play at all. Call it the worst sort of old habit; the one you don’t even realize you have.

For every arc before, whenever Edmund had pointed a map, spread out with company a-hunched around it, somebody would inevitably chime in with, “Why there?” Or, “Ahhh, of course.” Or one a dozen such phrases tailor-made to set him up to showcase the brilliance and right-ness of the Prince’s decision.

To get nearly conned instead? This...wow, this was new. This was a new feeling right here. He'd nearly made a mistake. An actual, real mistake with actual, real consequences that wouldn't magically go away when his back was turned.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

But of course, it wasn’t the building. It was the area, and this building was one of the better ones there. So Edmund shrugged, and moved his finger one spot over. And again, and again, and again, for as long as Gustav wanted to keep inventing sob stories to drive up the price.

(Though once it looked like Gustav was starting to flag, Edmund would point back to the original building. Just to see if he remembered.)

"You can't have that one, that's my great nephew's house and I couldn't ask him to move..." said Gustav. Then he looks at you, makes eye contact, and with the relentless confidence of a man who has just realized he's been caught in a lie but admitting it would literally kill him. He walks it back with grace. "... and it's also Edgar's former emporium. Which I want to remain closed for sentimental reasons. But tell you what, my nephew is a scumbag and he's ruining the dilapidation of the emporium, I'll kick him out for you. What do you say?"

[Elanorin]

Lily and Aelas! You've headed out to the Mitchell Waste Management Centre. Out the front is the Trash and Treasure - stuff that you can buy for less than five dollars. Racks and racks of clothing, an embarrassing amount of sports and exercise equipment, a forest of skis, rolls of chicken wire, rickety furniture, pots, buddha statues, all kinds of stuff people buy and then never use.

Beyond that, though, is the tip itself - the big ol' landfill where all the garbage is moved around with huge bulldozers, and plumes of foul smelling smoke emerge from. This is fenced off and the gate is overseen by a heavyset guy in a bright neon yellow safety vest. The T&T is overseen by a changeling in the shape of an ancient hawk, vigilantly tracking the motion of everyone and every piece of scrap under her care. The Summer King presumably works further in, past the gate.

Firstly, tell me how you got out here - as a walk it's a few hours, and there aren't exactly bus routes going out this way. Then, how do you make your approach?

Taxi. With Aelas in tow it may well have ended up being by stolen car. As much as Lily was hoping she would not come along on this particular visit (how she's going to keep the King from eating Aelas alive here and now is a plan that has yet to form in her mind), she have proven useful when it comes to acquiring transport. But Lily really frowns on crime and would much rather just pay a person to drive them and not lie awake worrying about potentially getting arrested.

Lily asked the driver to drop them off right at whatever poses as the main entrance of this... place. And then walks in in search of some kind of cabin-like structure that might be the site office, presumably in the vicinity of the, uhm, '$5 sales department'.

[Raz_Fox]

Here's a thing: the Pilgrim is not a good actor. Don't get me wrong, he's been witness to dozens upon dozens of dramatic and sonorous recitations of holy writ, the words of the judged and the damned, the careful pantomime of actors stuck on a stage until the unseen director deems them worthy of redemption. He's had to let the words come out of him, even when he didn't understand the archaic and convoluted structure of the poems, even when the words tangled up like thorned vines in his throat and he knew, he knew they weren't as important as the violence that was about to occur, for all that they were hallowed sacraments offered up before an uncaring deity.

He's just, you know, not good at conveying things like emotion convincingly. Particularly when he looks like a mid-2000s pop star post-Vegas-wedding, and he's just been thrust into a story without so much as a script and a conversation about his motivations. The hoary beast of winter, wearing an X-TREME FLAMEEEEEEEE XLLLLLLL, stumbling this way and that without so much as a tail to counterbalance the shaking, precarious motion.

Do you think that stops him from throwing himself into Jack's play?

Brother, if you answered 'yes,' I don't know what thread you've been following. If there's one thing that Isaac is very, very good at (besides carrying around the capability to fly into an infernal rage around with him all the time and yet not using it to solve his problems like the world's largest hammer), it's being ride-or-die, especially if it lets him forget about his own needs and troubles for a little bit. You think the Pilgrim's going to have too much self-esteem to ham it up like an eighth-grader doing Shakespeare, standing there in his awful and invasive new wardrobe, fully aware of how his body and his appearance have been decided for him again- you think that he's not going to set all that down and give his all to Jack's satire?

The mental image I want you to sear into your thinkpan is the bit where the Beast of Winter thinks he sees one of the Huntsmen and tries to hide behind the Summery Summer Queen, and the Pilgrim shaking and chewing his black nails as Jack looks down at the Pilgrim's shadow and then looks back up at the audience and goes, is this a Huntsman? (YEAH!) I think this is a Huntsman! (YEAH IT IS!!) I'm gonna fight it!! (YEAH FIGHT THE "HUNTSMAN"!) And then starts viciously tap-dancing on the shadow while the Pilgrim yelps like a dog with its tail stepped on, and howls that the Huntsman just caught his shadow!!!

The Beast of Winter then tries to hide under a cardboard box, but gets it stuck on his horns.

And here's the thing: the Pilgrim is still a bad actor. Like, no line is delivered well at all. It's all gravel and long, awkward pauses and stumbling over his own lines, but that's exactly what the goblins want to see, you know? Because he's the big dumb Beast of Winter, and that just makes the joke funnier.

So now it's here and now, and the show's over, the curtains are drawn, and Zotzie's selling forged autographs of the actors at the side of the stage. The Pilgrim sags, his ropes of duty cut, and bends over as far as the corset will allow him, thaw trickling from his cheeks. He turns and looks at the Ringmaster, but he's really addressing Jack when he says: "I think we won the lease, didn't we?" Because if anyone's going to talk the Ringmaster into stacking the deck for them- he's no fool, he still needs to auction- but if anyone's going to wheel and deal, it's going to be Jack here.

(Or he could ask Zotzie, but

"And here, shot on location, was the Tragic Comedy of Summer and Winter! For just one- yes, one- talking fishhead, you too can..."

Never mind.)

[Anarion]

Taxi. With Aelas in tow it may well have ended up being by stolen car. As much as Lily was hoping she would not come along on this particular visit (how she's going to keep the King from eating Aelas alive here and now is a plan that has yet to form in her mind), she have proven useful when it comes to acquiring transport. But Lily really frowns on crime and would much rather just pay a person to drive them and not lie awake worrying about potentially getting arrested.

Lily asked the driver to drop them off right at whatever poses as the main entrance of this... place. And then walks in in search of some kind of cabin-like structure that might be the site office, presumably in the vicinity of the, uhm, '$5 sales department'.

Why would Aelas use a stolen car? She has a super fast car-horse and she's chock full of glamour? I mean, granted, the two of us are the ones that actually have some spending money, so there's nothing wrong with taking a taxi and she'd go along with it. But your presumptions are quite ridiculous and if that's how Lily is staring at Aelas the whole ride, she will be quite self-righteously huffy by the time they arrive.

Anyway, this is great. Hopefully Static is here and no longer on paralyze on sight duty so that Aelas can apologize properly. Aelas will immediately seize on something in the $5 sales department and give a little friendly wave to the Hawk guy. I dunno what they've got, maybe, like, one of those little plastic cactuses that are actually toothpick holders? Do they have those in Australia? That sounds like a worthwhile use of $5 to Aelas, and she can start up a conversation with the Hawk while buying it. "So, uh, hey. How's your day going?" she asks him.

[Thanqol]

"Okay," said Longarms, finally recovering slightly from the show. "Okay, that's why we do this thing. They're entertainers."
"They weren't that good," said Mercia, a little unsure.
"Yes they were! That was the greatest act I've ever seen in my life!" said Longarms. "And that's important to know, because entertainers are dangerous. One moment you're parading them around town in chains and the next minute they're using their last words to incite a riot and the next thing you know you're locked in Versailles and it stinks there."
"I think the bit where Jack did that appearance change is a bigger deal," said Mercia. "I think that might have been a Contract."
"This kind of short sighted thinking is what leads to Republicanism," said Longarms resentfully.

Taxi. With Aelas in tow it may well have ended up being by stolen car. As much as Lily was hoping she would not come along on this particular visit (how she's going to keep the King from eating Aelas alive here and now is a plan that has yet to form in her mind), she have proven useful when it comes to acquiring transport. But Lily really frowns on crime and would much rather just pay a person to drive them and not lie awake worrying about potentially getting arrested.

Lily asked the driver to drop them off right at whatever poses as the main entrance of this... place. And then walks in in search of some kind of cabin-like structure that might be the site office, presumably in the vicinity of the, uhm, '$5 sales department'.

Why would Aelas use a stolen car? She has a super fast car-horse and she's chock full of glamour? I mean, granted, the two of us are the ones that actually have some spending money, so there's nothing wrong with taking a taxi and she'd go along with it. But your presumptions are quite ridiculous and if that's how Lily is staring at Aelas the whole ride, she will be quite self-righteously huffy by the time they arrive.

Anyway, this is great. Hopefully Static is here and no longer on paralyze on sight duty so that Aelas can apologize properly. Aelas will immediately seize on something in the $5 sales department and give a little friendly wave to the Hawk guy. I dunno what they've got, maybe, like, one of those little plastic cactuses that are actually toothpick holders? Do they have those in Australia? That sounds like a worthwhile use of $5 to Aelas, and she can start up a conversation with the Hawk while buying it. "So, uh, hey. How's your day going?" she asks him.

The old lady is dressed in a thick handknit sweater vest, and hundreds of small strips of brightly coloured cloth are wrapped around her wings and feathers at various points. The ribbons often have strange drawings or writing in sanskrit, and similar complex imagery wraps around her beak.

Upon seeing you, she stands up, slaps you in the face, and begins rapidly and dramatically cursing you out in Russian. What do you do?

So now it's here and now, and the show's over, the curtains are drawn, and Zotzie's selling forged autographs of the actors at the side of the stage. The Pilgrim sags, his ropes of duty cut, and bends over as far as the corset will allow him, thaw trickling from his cheeks. He turns and looks at the Ringmaster, but he's really addressing Jack when he says: "I think we won the lease, didn't we?" Because if anyone's going to talk the Ringmaster into stacking the deck for them- he's no fool, he still needs to auction- but if anyone's going to wheel and deal, it's going to be Jack here.

(Or he could ask Zotzie, but

"And here, shot on location, was the Tragic Comedy of Summer and Winter! For just one- yes, one- talking fishhead, you too can..."

Never mind.)

The Ringmaster is already swollen, bloated with the satisfaction that comes with a new show - along with the oatmeal that he's shovelling into his mouth with the desperation of a starving man. His gaunt cheeks are flushed and his top hat sags and his clothes adjust so his mass remains constant even as the distribution between waistcoat and waist is rationalized. The makeup crew is descending on him, too, with white powder and black ink so that the impression of the skull will not pass from his face just because it is now covered with flesh.

The world twists somewhat. Invigorated goblins are cleaning and more briskly talking. New material entering the Market instantly revitalizes it from its stagnancy and everyone wants to trade in the new thing.

[stveje]

He turns and looks at the Ringmaster, but he's really addressing Jack when he says: "I think we won the lease, didn't we?" Because if anyone's going to talk the Ringmaster into stacking the deck for them- he's no fool, he still needs to auction- but if anyone's going to wheel and deal, it's going to be Jack here.

The curtain comes down with a crash. You've paid your end of the bargain, what do you want to buy from the Ringmaster?

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to know the competition. Who to look out for," Jack says, looking at the Ringmaster to see if he has some juicy details of what they can expect to be up against. "But what we're really here for -" what he's really here for, anyway "- is the Summer King's child, and the Will-o'-the-wisp who took him."

[Thanqol]

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to know the competition. Who to look out for," Jack says, looking at the Ringmaster to see if he has some juicy details of what they can expect to be up against. "But what we're really here for -" what he's really here for, anyway "- is the Summer King's child, and the Will-o'-the-wisp who took him."

"Ahh, yes," said the Ringmaster as white powder falls from his jowls. "Of Young Richard and the Wisp, is it? I offer you six potential answers - I can tell you of Richard's past, his present, or his future. Or I can tell you the Wisp's past, its present, or its future. One answer for each performer, one answer each. Six doors but you can only take two. Roll up."

[stveje]

"Ahh, yes," said the Ringmaster as white powder falls from his jowls. "Of Young Richard and the Wisp, is it? I offer you six potential answers - I can tell you of Richard's past, his present, or his future. Or I can tell you the Wisp's past, its present, or its future. One answer for each performer, one answer each. Six doors but you can only take two. Roll up."

"The Wisp's present interests me most," Jack says. He'll wait to see what the Pilgrim asks, and what their answers are, before making any other decisions.

[Anarion]

The old lady is dressed in a thick handknit sweater vest, and hundreds of small strips of brightly coloured cloth are wrapped around her wings and feathers at various points. The ribbons often have strange drawings or writing in sanskrit, and similar complex imagery wraps around her beak.

Upon seeing you, she stands up, slaps you in the face, and begins rapidly and dramatically cursing you out in Russian. What do you do?

I er...what? Aelas is certainly taken aback at this. Very confusing. She doesn't really want a fight though. Instead she just steps back so she's out of slap range, rubs her cheek (the nearby hair is flashing in sympathy, cycling from neon blue to a deep plum), and gives the woman a what the heck look? "Uh, do you speak English? Uh, parlo Anglesse? American?"

[Elanorin]

"I- we-" Lily tries her best to dodge the slaps, gasping at every time she fails to and stepping back a little, "-here to see Mr Breton. Mis-ter Bre-ton. Is he here? Mister Breton?" she tried, being unable to speak any language that sounded remotely like... that.

[Thanqol]

Longarms produces a telescope from his satchel and starts attempting to lip-read the Ringmaster. He mutters curses when it turns out to be more difficult than he expected.

"The Wisp's present interests me most," Jack says. He'll wait to see what the Pilgrim asks, and what their answers are, before making any other decisions.

"Her sin is vanity," said the Ringmaster, and the muscles of his face moved out of sync with the ink of his makeup. Like two heads were speaking using the same face. "Her sin is vanity, the curse of beauty. Cursed with beauty and wielder of beauty's curse - she blinds and binds everyone who looks at her. So she Privateers - loyal in service to the wise and kindly master who recognizes and praises her beauty in a way she can't bear to be without. The bobbing lure on the anglerfish's mouth. Snatch it, stab it, perhaps - but be wary because when you approach the bait you are also approaching the teeth. She doesn't understand, ah, but she does not understand what it is she does! She comes smiling and offering turkish delight and thinking that all the clever children will find the grinding happiness she has found! 'ware the Wisp, because in stupidity she's found kinship with her Noble Master."

I er...what? Aelas is certainly taken aback at this. Very confusing. She doesn't really want a fight though. Instead she just steps back so she's out of slap range, rubs her cheek (the nearby hair is flashing in sympathy, cycling from neon blue to a deep plum), and gives the woman a what the heck look? "Uh, do you speak English? Uh, parlo Anglesse? American?"

"She is mad at you," said Static from immediately behind you.

Right behind you, holy crap. That girl needs a bell or something.

"She is mad at many things," Static went on in that strange, unpracticed monotone of hers. "I am mad, also."

"I- we-" Lily tries her best to dodge the slaps, gasping at every time she fails to and stepping back a little, "-here to see Mr Breton. Mis-ter Bre-ton. Is he here? Mister Breton?" she tried, being unable to speak any language that sounded remotely like... that.

"You got babushka'd," said a thick, rolly-polly, dusty voice - like a hot dog run over by a four wheel drive.
"Don't take it personally," said another voice, that was like the first but more in every respect.
"Everyone gets babushka'd," said a third voice, which was like the first two but it was putting on airs.

A big heavyset garbageman stepped past you, picked up Aelas' cactus, and wrapped it up in a trashbag. It deftly wrapped the yellow draw-cord into a big bow, handed it to you, and took the five dollars. The garbageman had three faces and his head rotated on his neck like a slowly winding carousel. We shall call the faces Less, More and Fancy.

The old lady lowers her voice to an enraged muttering but she draws her thumb across her neck while making fierce eye contact. It's extremely threatening.

"You'll be able to see Mister Breton," said Less.
"You did a good thing in saying his name when you did," said More.
"Mr. Breton's name carries weight round here," said Fancy.

The garbageman walked over to a forklift and clambered on top. It was an ugly and dusty thing, trash and scrap having worked its way into any crevasse where it could have made its way. He pats the side of the panel, gesturing for the two of you to clamber up alongside him.

"Mr. Breton's going to rule until pigs fly," said Less.
"Awful inflammable town you got here," said More.
"Mr. Breton's going to rule until pigs land on his head," said Fancy.

[Elanorin]

"You got babushka'd," said a thick, rolly-polly, dusty voice - like a hot dog run over by a four wheel drive.
"Don't take it personally," said another voice, that was like the first but more in every respect.
"Everyone gets babushka'd," said a third voice, which was like the first two but it was putting on airs.

A big heavyset garbageman stepped past you, picked up Aelas' cactus, and wrapped it up in a trashbag. It deftly wrapped the yellow draw-cord into a big bow, handed it to you, and took the five dollars. The garbageman had three faces and his head rotated on his neck like a slowly winding carousel. We shall call the faces Less, More and Fancy.

The old lady lowers her voice to an enraged muttering but she draws her thumb across her neck while making fierce eye contact. It's extremely threatening.

Lily rubbed a sore spot a little and watched the woman stand down with wary eyes. Being suddenly attacked was rarely pleasant but it made her particularly jumpy. It also made her immediately grateful to the three-headed man for appearing and intervening.

"I see," she said, trying not to leap to any emotional judgments.

"You'll be able to see Mister Breton," said Less.
"You did a good thing in saying his name when you did," said More.
"Mr. Breton's name carries weight round here," said Fancy.

The garbageman walked over to a forklift and clambered on top. It was an ugly and dusty thing, trash and scrap having worked its way into any crevasse where it could have made its way. He pats the side of the panel, gesturing for the two of you to clamber up alongside him.

Lily didn't hang around to be slapped again and quickly hopped up and tucked herself in to whatever corner was large enough to house her in the little cab of the forklift. She wasn't too fussed with comfort, she was much too used to being without.

"Thank you, sir."

"Mr. Breton's going to rule until pigs fly," said Less.
"Awful inflammable town you got here," said More.
"Mr. Breton's going to rule until pigs land on his head," said Fancy.

"Mr Breton certainly strikes me as formidable," Lily commented diplomatically. "I'm afraid I do not know the town very well myself yet, being new. I am Lily," she offered a small smile without eyecontact, "were you at the meeting last night, Mister...?"

[Raz_Fox]

Never ask for the future. That sets it. Makes it hard and fast and bound all about your throat; ask Odin, if you don’t believe me, somewhere down in the gullet of the wolf.

“Her past.”

From the past can be made a lure for the lure, a net that cannot be slipped.

[Anarion]

"She is mad at you," said Static from immediately behind you.

Right behind you, holy crap. That girl needs a bell or something.

"She is mad at many things," Static went on in that strange, unpracticed monotone of hers. "I am mad, also."

"Static!" Aelas turns around and gives the Gargirl a big hug, while also talking excitedly. "Oh, I'm really glad you're okay. I'm sorry about leaving you the other day. I wanted to stay and talk things out, but then I had to leave really fast because of...um...I'm not sure exactly, actually, I think it might have been Huntsmen or something, but anyway I had to leave. But I felt really, really bad about it! So, um, well first of all, the next time you need to get someone, just let me know and I'll take you lickety-split, okay? Also, I figured I'd get you a free meal since you had to waste so much time, so whenever you'd like to go out to lunch or dinner, I'll take you, okay? Please accept my apologies" Aelas gives Static imploring puppy-dog eyes. Her hair shimmers a timid light yellow.

[Thanqol]

"Mr Breton certainly strikes me as formidable," Lily commented diplomatically. "I'm afraid I do not know the town very well myself yet, being new. I am Lily," she offered a small smile without eyecontact, "were you at the meeting last night, Mister...?"

"The name is Ross Hekate," said Less.
"Play the drums for the King," said More.
"It's one of them ironic coincidence names," said Fancy.

The forklift began to grumblingly roll out away from the relative quiet of the Trash & Treasure and towards the dump proper. This place gets some excess from Brisbane, which is a major city nearby, and it's one of the town's few year-round industries. You're heading into The Stink, where garbage bags are moved around with bulldozers, and columns of greasy smoke arise from the incinerator plant.

"Static!" Aelas turns around and gives the Gargirl a big hug, while also talking excitedly. "Oh, I'm really glad you're okay. I'm sorry about leaving you the other day. I wanted to stay and talk things out, but then I had to leave really fast because of...um...I'm not sure exactly, actually, I think it might have been Huntsmen or something, but anyway I had to leave. But I felt really, really bad about it! So, um, well first of all, the next time you need to get someone, just let me know and I'll take you lickety-split, okay? Also, I figured I'd get you a free meal since you had to waste so much time, so whenever you'd like to go out to lunch or dinner, I'll take you, okay? Please accept my apologies" Aelas gives Static imploring puppy-dog eyes. Her hair shimmers a timid light yellow.

[Roll a Presence+Persuasion, no penalty - let's see exactly how lethal those puppy dog eyes are.]

Never ask for the future. That sets it. Makes it hard and fast and bound all about your throat; ask Odin, if you don’t believe me, somewhere down in the gullet of the wolf.

“Her past.”

From the past can be made a lure for the lure, a net that cannot be slipped.

"Harriette Kush. Never a nice one," said the Ringmaster (and for what it's worth, that's a class-mate of Aelas' - they're about the same age). "Pretty and pretty mean. A little princess born in a little town. Made the world respect her through guile and money and pressure but only because it wasn't given to her on a velvet cushion. Enjoyed photography. Terrible singer. Daddy's girl with daddy's credit card. Posted Deltora Quest fanfiction on the internet under the screen ID 'seven jewels'. Replaced with sticks and spiders and spider-webs."

"You may ask a follow up question or two on these topic," said the Ringmaster expansively. "I don't know what you believe is relevant."

That in itself is information to him. It adds to his wealth by betraying your purpose.

*

"Stupid two faced goon," muttered Longarms.
"Don't stress about it," said Mercia.
"Hey, can't we just put our expenses on the tab of the Lords and Ladies?" said Longarms suddenly.
Mercia looked horrified.
"C'mon, what's the worst they can do to us?" said Longarms, putting the telescope back to his face. "Rip our hearts out?"

[Elanorin]

"The name is Ross Hekate," said Less.
"Play the drums for the King," said More.
"It's one of them ironic coincidence names," said Fancy.

The forklift began to grumblingly roll out away from the relative quiet of the Trash & Treasure and towards the dump proper. This place gets some excess from Brisbane, which is a major city nearby, and it's one of the town's few year-round industries. You're heading into The Stink, where garbage bags are moved around with bulldozers, and columns of greasy smoke arise from the incinerator plant.

Good gracious, the smell here was becoming something else. Lily tried to be graceful about it but the odd cough escaped her and then she just had to put a handkerchief over her nose and mouth or surely her head would start spinning.

"I see," she tried. Perhaps it was the fumes, or maybe she was just simply missing some in-joke, but she was not present enough to appreciate whatever irony Fancy referred to. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Hekate. Well I shall be sure to make an appointment next time so as not to, ehm, startle your friend at the gate."

Mercy, let there not be a next time. Ever.

[stveje]

"Her sin is vanity," said the Ringmaster, and the muscles of his face moved out of sync with the ink of his makeup. Like two heads were speaking using the same face. "Her sin is vanity, the curse of beauty. Cursed with beauty and wielder of beauty's curse - she blinds and binds everyone who looks at her. So she Privateers - loyal in service to the wise and kindly master who recognizes and praises her beauty in a way she can't bear to be without. The bobbing lure on the anglerfish's mouth. Snatch it, stab it, perhaps - but be wary because when you approach the bait you are also approaching the teeth. She doesn't understand, ah, but she does not understand what it is she does! She comes smiling and offering turkish delight and thinking that all the clever children will find the grinding happiness she has found! 'ware the Wisp, because in stupidity she's found kinship with her Noble Master."

"Harriette Kush. Never a nice one," said the Ringmaster (and for what it's worth, that's a class-mate of Aelas' - they're about the same age). "Pretty and pretty mean. A little princess born in a little town. Made the world respect her through guile and money and pressure but only because it wasn't given to her on a velvet cushion. Enjoyed photography. Terrible singer. Daddy's girl with daddy's credit card. Posted Deltora Quest fanfiction on the internet under the screen ID 'seven jewels'. Replaced with sticks and spiders and spider-webs."

"You may ask a follow up question or two on these topic," said the Ringmaster expansively. "I don't know what you believe is relevant."

That in itself is information to him. It adds to his wealth by betraying your purpose.

Jack knew a woman of Beauty once, only Veronica was different ... wasn't she? She wasn't mean and vain. He remembers her smile and her beauty, the love they shared ... but he can't feel it any more. It was taken, and now it's gone, a hollow in his heart that he cannot fill. Only the memory of it.

He asks the only question he can think to ask.

"Who does she love?" He doesn't think it's her Keeper; that sounds like the kind of replacement he's tried himself, a false love to replace the True Love that you cannot have. For him, it's never worked. He may be able to forget for a night, in their arms, but then the hole only feels that much deeper in the morning.

[Anarion]

[Roll a Presence+Persuasion, no penalty - let's see exactly how lethal those puppy dog eyes are.]

[7d10=8, 5, 7, 4, 5, 2, 9. Two successes.] Truly, Aelas' puppy-dog eyes cannot be resisted.

[Thanqol]

Good gracious, the smell here was becoming something else. Lily tried to be graceful about it but the odd cough escaped her and then she just had to put a handkerchief over her nose and mouth or surely her head would start spinning.

"I see," she tried. Perhaps it was the fumes, or maybe she was just simply missing some in-joke, but she was not present enough to appreciate whatever irony Fancy referred to. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Hekate. Well I shall be sure to make an appointment next time so as not to, ehm, startle your friend at the gate."

Mercy, let there not be a next time. Ever.

The area near the furnace is hot. It's a thick heat, like the air is full of boiling mud. It's soaking into the fabric of your clothes, into your hair - like the exact opposite of a proper bath.

The King of Summer, Mr. Breton, is here. He is working, and he works like a man possessed. His strong and slender and beautiful body is doing a task it is entirely unaccustomed to - instead of the perfectly aimed strike of a sword he is breaking apart trash bags with a jagged shovel and rifling through the filth with reinforced plastic gloves. The only mercy is that he is not wearing that iron monocle - the jagged red scar around his eye demonstrates that even a man of his formidable willpower can't endure pain like that for long.

Sweating, still beautiful despite the ruin all about him, he drags a trolley full of garbage down to the fires and casts it in. He stands aloft as the heat burps and roars and you can see in the fires not the crude red flames of mortal industry but the gleaming gold-white light of the Summer sun. This burning pit is deeply magical, attuned to the mortal enemy of Winter.

And when the King draws close to the pit, that crown ignites upon his head - bold and clear, tearing away all the filth that touches him. In the moments when he stands next to it he is purified - the cleanest thing here, the perfect vessel for Summer.

He turns. His eyes find yours.

[7d10=8, 5, 7, 4, 5, 2, 9. Two successes.] Truly, Aelas' puppy-dog eyes cannot be resisted.

"Fine," said Static, looking away to try and conceal her embarrassment.

The hawk babushka goes on a particularly venomous rant in Russian, shaking her fist from behind the counter.

"I admit," said Static, "I think you are very brave. To come here."

Jack knew a woman of Beauty once, only Veronica was different ... wasn't she? She wasn't mean and vain. He remembers her smile and her beauty, the love they shared ... but he can't feel it any more. It was taken, and now it's gone, a hollow in his heart that he cannot fill. Only the memory of it.

He asks the only question he can think to ask.

"Who does she love?" He doesn't think it's her Keeper; that sounds like the kind of replacement he's tried himself, a false love to replace the True Love that you cannot have. For him, it's never worked. He may be able to forget for a night, in their arms, but then the hole only feels that much deeper in the morning.

"Romantically, her heart is unclaimed," said the Ringmaster. "Practically, though, she has left three dogs behind her, and only the most broken, evil souls can fail to love a dog."

He stands up, smiles with his two faces, and begins to step back into his tent, seemingly regarding the contract as complete.

*

"I'll go in after him," said Longarms. "Cut a deal. Find out what they're after. You stay on the targets."

[Elanorin]

The area near the furnace is hot. It's a thick heat, like the air is full of boiling mud. It's soaking into the fabric of your clothes, into your hair - like the exact opposite of a proper bath.

The King of Summer, Mr. Breton, is here. He is working, and he works like a man possessed. His strong and slender and beautiful body is doing a task it is entirely unaccustomed to - instead of the perfectly aimed strike of a sword he is breaking apart trash bags with a jagged shovel and rifling through the filth with reinforced plastic gloves. The only mercy is that he is not wearing that iron monocle - the jagged red scar around his eye demonstrates that even a man of his formidable willpower can't endure pain like that for long.

Sweating, still beautiful despite the ruin all about him, he drags a trolley full of garbage down to the fires and casts it in. He stands aloft as the heat burps and roars and you can see in the fires not the crude red flames of mortal industry but the gleaming gold-white light of the Summer sun. This burning pit is deeply magical, attuned to the mortal enemy of Winter.

And when the King draws close to the pit, that crown ignites upon his head - bold and clear, tearing away all the filth that touches him. In the moments when he stands next to it he is purified - the cleanest thing here, the perfect vessel for Summer.

He turns. His eyes find yours.

The handkerchief fell to the baking ground and as she took a step forwards she stumbled a little as the toe of her foot caught on it while the other stood on it but she barely noticed.

What are you doing meeting his gaze? Of all the eyes of all the people in the world, his are not the ones to meet.

Absolutely everything about this moment felt dangerous. Few terrified her more than the Summer King and yet here she was, the girl that bowed to everyone, unable to look away from this recognised lunatic who had a pride the size of a small moon. No, a sun. A blazing hot fiery inferno of a sun.

She was keenly aware of how her clothes suddenly clung and stuck to her, how her plume of feathery hair was rapidly losing its volume and quickly coming to hang limp and damp, clinging to her neck and shoulders uncomfortably. Drops of sweat were trickling down her face, dripping from the tip of her nose.

"H-hi." Did you seriously just say 'hi'?! Sweat dripped through her eyelashes, stinging her eyes, and the pain mercifully broke the gaze and let her return it once more to the ground and with it came a sliver of common sense.

"I-I mean, good morning. Your Grace." She made a weak curtsy and her hands were shaking so she clasped them behind her back.

[Anarion]

"Fine," said Static, looking away to try and conceal her embarrassment.

The hawk babushka goes on a particularly venomous rant in Russian, shaking her fist from behind the counter.

"I admit," said Static, "I think you are very brave. To come here."

"Yay, friends!" Aelas gives Static a last squeeze and lets the hug go. "I guess it is kinda brave, but I really didn't kidnap anyone and I don't want everyone in Summer to be mad at me. Also Lily needs to talk to some people, so here we are." Aelas gives a slight shrug. "How come the Russian one keeps shouting at us?"

[Raz_Fox]

In the bad old days, it would be easy enough to do. To simply demand she arrive when the stars align and descend. To hold her fast no matter what fires consume her. (But, of course, that it was a crime to waylay the opponent. To break, to dismay, to shatter, certainly- but never to seize and bind to the wagon-wheels.) Now, there is, perhaps...

Fetters and song. That will do. The song to bring her out and set her to singing. The fetters to hold her tight. (But that no fetter can hold one of the Freed.) Some way that she can be held and brought to Summer's door, offered up as a virgin deer, and one with innocent murder in her eyes.

The Pilgrim heaves the sack over his shoulder, and stands with all the aggrieved patience of a longsuffering man who is rocking the ice-cool stylings of Flavortown. "Thank you." And already he is moving on, ready to offer up the treasures of the Freehold at the auction.

[Thanqol]

The handkerchief fell to the baking ground and as she took a step forwards she stumbled a little as the toe of her foot caught on it while the other stood on it but she barely noticed.

What are you doing meeting his gaze? Of all the eyes of all the people in the world, his are not the ones to meet.

Absolutely everything about this moment felt dangerous. Few terrified her more than the Summer King and yet here she was, the girl that bowed to everyone, unable to look away from this recognised lunatic who had a pride the size of a small moon. No, a sun. A blazing hot fiery inferno of a sun.

She was keenly aware of how her clothes suddenly clung and stuck to her, how her plume of feathery hair was rapidly losing its volume and quickly coming to hang limp and damp, clinging to her neck and shoulders uncomfortably. Drops of sweat were trickling down her face, dripping from the tip of her nose.

"H-hi." Did you seriously just say 'hi'?! Sweat dripped through her eyelashes, stinging her eyes, and the pain mercifully broke the gaze and let her return it once more to the ground and with it came a sliver of common sense.

"I-I mean, good morning. Your Grace." She made a weak curtsy and her hands were shaking so she clasped them behind her back.

The King of Summer walked towards you. "Did you know," he said, voice low and dark, "there is no Faerie magic that can compel the truth? Maybe it's opposed to their very nature. Maybe if they had to tell the truth they'd cease to exist. So, how can I trust you? How can I trust any of you?"

It wasn't clear if he was talking to himself or not.

"Well, the way I see it, there's a simple solution that cuts through all of that. See, the Kindly Folk -" he uses that name for them, still. Even this man, as deeply possessed of rage as any soul on this earth, still fears to address them insultingly. "they know pain, they teach their servants to know pain. They can inflict every kind of suffering or deprivation imaginable, every emotional and physical agony. But." He picked up a small coin in gloved hands.

You know instinctively that's iron. And you know that it hates you.

"They don't know the pain of iron," said the King.

He held it out.

"Take this. Hold onto it. And then tell me why I should trust you."

"Yay, friends!" Aelas gives Static a last squeeze and lets the hug go. "I guess it is kinda brave, but I really didn't kidnap anyone and I don't want everyone in Summer to be mad at me. Also Lily needs to talk to some people, so here we are." Aelas gives a slight shrug. "How come the Russian one keeps shouting at us?"

"I don't know," said Static. "Nobody knows. Nobody here speaks Russian. Don't know where she is from. Or what she wants. I think she is trying to tell us something."

The gargoyle looks a bit uncomfortable saying that many words all at once. "Did you want to see the king?"

In the bad old days, it would be easy enough to do. To simply demand she arrive when the stars align and descend. To hold her fast no matter what fires consume her. (But, of course, that it was a crime to waylay the opponent. To break, to dismay, to shatter, certainly- but never to seize and bind to the wagon-wheels.) Now, there is, perhaps...

Fetters and song. That will do. The song to bring her out and set her to singing. The fetters to hold her tight. (But that no fetter can hold one of the Freed.) Some way that she can be held and brought to Summer's door, offered up as a virgin deer, and one with innocent murder in her eyes.

The Pilgrim heaves the sack over his shoulder, and stands with all the aggrieved patience of a longsuffering man who is rocking the ice-cool stylings of Flavortown. "Thank you." And already he is moving on, ready to offer up the treasures of the Freehold at the auction.

Auctioning in the goblin market was, for a time, a complicated thing.

There is no single currency in the Market, nor can there be. Not because there's a law against it, but because if every single goblin is an inveterate counterfeit and will flood the market with anything that is commonly accepted as valuable. So everything is a barter economy, but running any sort of auction when one guy is putting up half a dozen dreams about missing sailboats verses whatever crap the town of Prosperpine threw into a sack one day gets into conversion arguments.

I mean, every goblin has a sense about what things are worth, but damned if a single one of them will admit it to any of the others.

So, in the usual way these profoundly untrustworthy creatures have for creating trust: they bring in an outside contractor. In this case it's a dog - big and happy and friendly and with a wagging tail and slobbery tongue and neon green-pink highlights and police dog jacket. They stole it from the border security team down at the docks and retrained it from sniffing out cocaine and into sniffing out value. None of the goblins have yet twigged to the idea that they could rig the auction by stuffing their bags with cocaine which the dog is still trained to respond to. Hopefully they don't because then that poor doggo will be out of a job.

The other facet of this auction is that if the goblins ever combined their resources they could beat the town of Prosperpine easily. But if they could do that then they wouldn't be goblins.

So you dump the sack alongside all the other sacks and the dog is sniffing around diligently, brow creased with doggy determination. But there's a bit of a problem - the dog is confused, and his decision doesn't seem to be obvious. The crowd of goblins looks on in increasing tension.

And at this point one of those spindly american spider-businessmen with the waxed moustache and the broad oil-drilling texan accent puts his hand on your shoulder. "My friend," he says. "It's never too late to slip in one last deal. Tell you what. Ever heard of time shares? I want," he pulls out a wad of cash. "One - that's right, just one - one room in Prosperpine, for just one night. My choice, called in when I need. Deal me that and I'll slip a little doggy treat in your bag. Do we have a deal?"

*

Mercia took a seat in the crowd. She felt obvious and out of place here. This place was cruel and ugly, and she regretted that this was the side most people of the town associated with Faerie.