perhaps you have learned it without a book - MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 1

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors galore!
What: The Story begins- and so do preparations for the Masquerade!
When: The three days prior to the Masquerade [ooc timeline: 1/23-2/5]
Where: The city of Montica
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers!

First Quarter Moon

Now that most of the Editors know what to expect, the draw into the Story is likely more obvious this time. There’s a subtle urge that encourages their feet to turn towards the Stacks; a slight shimmer in the air that thickens the closer they get to the book laying open on an innocuous library cart.

Those who resist the Story’s pull will be drawn in eventually. Whether the compulsion is successful, or whether the Librarian passes by to sweep them in - all Editors will enter, and all will experience the Story’s start together.

(Editors who have gained the skill Ex Media Res will be able to resist the Story’s pull and hang out in the Library. Drop us a note if they’re using this skill!)

Our Beginning

The Story begins as night makes its transition to morning. Montica is a city that never sleeps, and some Editors may find themselves taken aback at how the absence of sunlight has done nothing to deter the nightlife.

In particular, at the hour our Readers arrive, there is a clean-up going on at the centre of town. People are grumbling as they sweep debris from the streets, and those who are familiar with supernaturally-powered fights will recognise this scene for exactly what it is: the aftermath of some powerful entities having had at it. Hang around too long and you may find yourself with a broom or hammer thrust into your hands, the expectation that you’ll help having been made clear.

Those who leave the clean-up will find themselves welcome in the city’s inn, where visitors hover by the windows, chattering excitedly about the fight that had just broken up. Some people think they’re lucky to have seen it - others think they’ll be luckier if they go the next few days without seeing another one.

The inn is warm, full of gossip, and by some marvel still has private rooms available to rent. Readers will find themselves with enough coin in their pocket to afford quite a bit, this time around - but don’t go spending it all at once. Those who are astute will hear the talk of a masquerade going around, and if you want to attend, you’re going to have to dress appropriately.

Welcome to Montica

Montica itself is a city built from stone, with the buildings packed closely together along cobblestone streets. Flowering vines creep along trellises, their gentle fragrance perfuming the air. The sky is clear and smog-free, the water flows cleanly, and a sense of magic drifts comfortably in the breeze.

The city is almost evenly bisected by loyalties, a hard divide running clearly through the centre of the town. Only a small ring in the centre is considered to be neutral territory - though that’s becoming more and more disputed with each passing moon.

To the north, buildings seem to have a fondness for silver. It seems they’ll take any excuse to work the precious metal into everyday items, from cutlery to window fastenings; and some particularly zealous citizens proudly don silver jewellery and pins in their day-to-day wear. In this section of town you will find the dwellings of the old vampire clans, littered with antiquities and casual opulence.

To the south, the people are fond of spices. Garlic flowers pepper garden beds and the dried bulbs hang from doorframes, and there’s hardly a meal cooked without it. Some industrious workers are busy building small moats of flowing water through this half of the city – you’d better mind your step, lest you get in their way. Located amongst these homes are the dens of the werewolf packs, warmly furnished and brimming with life.

No matter where you are in town, whether you’re surrounded by silver or dodging moat diggers, whether it’s day or night or nebulous twilight, there’s one topic that’s on everyone’s lips: the Umbra Masquerade.

It’s a once in a human lifetime event, and the city is abuzz. Some of the elderly may have been once before, in their youth - but likely at an age where they were too young to remember. There are stories about these masquerades, of the favours that can be won and the deals that can be made. More than one wealthy family attributes their successes to parties of the past, and while the werewolves shouldn’t be there – who’s going to stop them?.

The Market

At the centre of the city are Montica’s most dreary buildings. Markets are held here during the day, bright banners and exuberant stallholders calling out their wares. People of all kinds shop here, and it’s the best place to find quality goods. Some patrons give each-other hearty side-eyes, some sneer and mutter insults under their breath - but by and large, this a neutral zone, and the regular citizens treat it as such.

Behind the fuss of the market, astute observers will note the broken and boarded-up windows hidden by the bold stalls. Some buildings are outright abandoned, damaged beyond repair. It becomes even more obvious as night falls and the number of stalls thins, the night vendors setting up with wary looks in their eyes.

Right now the market is bustling with vendors sending goods up to the Umbra Clan's mansion. There is a constant stream of traders passing back and forth, hurrying to get their contributions in place before the ball. Regular goods are still for sale, but the busiest stalls are those selling - of all things - masks with varying levels of decoration. They’ve cleverly set up outside of stores selling clothing; beautiful dresses and tailored suits visible through the cracked and dusty windows. Editors will find they have enough local currency to afford something modest. If their tastes skew toward the more extravagant then, well – they better get to work.

The Umbra Mansion

The sprawling building stands tall, overlooking the city of Montica. Vines budding with fragrant flowers grow up the sides of the building, curling around windowsills and balconies in a curated fashion. A large hedge maze sits at the rear of the mansion, behind the grand ballroom; and the gardeners are in top form today, brandishing tools at anyone who looks like they're about to enter it. It's one of many things being tidied up and decorated for the ball, so you'd better not get in their way.

The mansion's front doors open to a foyer that is connected to an upstairs level by two grand staircases. A gilded chandelier hangs down between them, casting rainbows across the wooden floors as the sunlight strikes its crystal ornaments.

Those wide, curved staircases lead to a mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom below. Doors to private rooms branch off from here; all of them locked.

During the daylight hours, the mansion sports large windows covered by thick curtains that are drawn firmly shut. Those who try to peer through them will find an additional layer of security in the form of tightly-fastened metal blinds that block any slivers of sunlight from eking through.

On all three days the mansion is crawling with people setting up for the masquerade. Over there, someone’s hanging strings of lights. Over here, a florist is carefully arranging flowers. The kitchen is busy, human cooks overseeing the production of hundreds of canapes – and on the third day, over in the ballroom, are a band of musicians getting prepared for the night.

Security is lax everywhere except the underground floors, where the clan sleeps. The doors that lead to the underground complex are barred from the inside, and human guards keep watch outside of them to redirect any wanderers.

[The info/plotting post can be found here!]

Comments

Kai | Actor (Vampire)

[bashasasdemon]

watchful eye

The city is abuzz with activity, and that just means Kai is all the more watchful of that small center ring in which he lives. Or, well, where he sometimes lives- he has a habit of wandering out of the city for long periods of time and then comes back like he's never been gone. But recently, he's been consistently around. His adopted 'packmate' is likely the reason for that.

Whatever his living status is, when he is in town, this is the area he calls home, despite the sharp fangs hidden behind his lips. And the residents know it, too; those who live there don't regard him with the same wary suspicion as his kin are likely to get, while said kin give him the cold shoulder more often than not. He's used to it; he made his choices, and he has no desire to take them back.

He's sitting on a newly repaired bench in the center of the district, watching with a frown as more and more people mill by. "Lots of people coming in for the Masquerade, it seems," he'll comment to anyone he recognizes, but his eyes stay on the newcomers, keeping an eye out for any trouble.

Said newcomers, however, might get the man coming up to them, looking a mix between wary and... well, not helpful exactly, but not hostile. "You lost?" Given that he had darker skin to begin with, it's harder to tell he's a vampire than most. Which... may or may not be helpful, since it's still not immediately clear how he'll respond to people being lost.

preparations

Kai really, really doesn't want to go to the party.

Unfortunately, Kai kind of has to go to the party.

It's not an actual written down obligation. But Kai is old enough and smart enough to know what the hidden politics of things are, and he knows just how badly his already thin relationship with most of the vampires in the city would fare if he skipped their Event of the Century. It's a relationship he doesn't necessarily want to keep up, but one he needs to, for the safety of others more than anything.

So he is, reluctantly, looking at masks at one of the many, many stalls that has popped up across the city. The one he's holding is more lace than mask, as he turns it over in his hands. "Well, it fits the goal, at least," he says dryly. And far more comfortable than putting something made of plaster over his face.

wildcard

[Hit me up, Kai is around, being a grumpy protector like he is!]

watchful eye

[ohaiyo_isekai]

A dazed, platinum blond man with rose-tinted glasses and a red mantle over his fine clothing stumbles forward, seemingly unused to the length of his limbs.

"I confess I might be, a little," he allows, running his tongue along his teeth, looking at the buildings with a sense of deja vu.

...Fangs. Ah.

"In fair Verona, where we lay our scene," he mutters to himself. "Of course. Fair Montica, rather."

He looks up. "Apologies. I am new to the city and would like to know a good place to stay the... day, I suppose. My habits tend to the nocturnal."

Nero (Nara'a) | Actor: Vampire Scion

[aetherweaver]

[[ooc; Nero (Nara'a) looks like this, minus the ears.]]

The Umbra Mansion

The young master is busy, because of course Nero is. It's expected of him to be busy, at this point. He's taken over a lot of the directing from his sire, because such petty things need not be under his direction. Yes, he's young at the tender age of 50, but he's been raised for this.

"Yes, that goes over there - no, a little to the right." He stands straight at attention and watches the servants place things for the masquerade. This has to be right. It must go correctly, for the sake of the clan. Why would they open their doors for anything less than perfection?

He can be found all over the manor at all hours excepting the very middle of the day. It's clear he is not sleeping properly, because all of this work has to get done. He's not going to let this be anything less than precisely as organized. He must show his worth to his sire.


The Market

But eventually someone shoves Nero (politely) out of the decorating and preparations. He dons a black cloak with a hood to browse the markets. Partly it's to make sure people are doing their jobs, but partly... well, as anxious as he is, he really needs to get some fresh air. Crypts are all well and good, but even vampires need to be outside sometimes.

He's pale, and there's no mistaking the fangs on him... but he's attempting to not show his regal bearing. For all most people know, he's just a random vampire. ... Or so he hopes, in any case.


Wildcard

[[ooc; Got another idea? Grab me on the Discord or on my plotting comment here!]]

The Market

[ohaiyo_isekai]

Hikaru is window-shopping for masks when he spies a familiar face.

Well dressed, but subtly so. No cat ears, but Hikaru's not four foot nothing with dragonfly wings, either. Nara'a? Or his Role?

"Hail and well met," he says, brightly. "You seem familiar - did we meet as editors in the great library, or have I mistaken you for someone else?"

The vampire saying this has smoked lens on his glasses, an earring with a curious white jewel hanging from it, a red mantle with a gold clasp, and a walking-stick. He has platinum blond hair and almond-shaped, dark eyes.

John Smith

[borntolove]

The Market

Perhaps you make your way into one of the little shops. This shop in particular is clock shop. John can be seen being spiffy with his clothes behind the counter focused on some clogs. However, he does hear the jingle of the bell.

"Can I help you?"

The Umbra Mansion

John only went because its something to do. He keeps to himself most of the time, outside of the music is playing he does seem to get the nerve to ask; "Care to dance?"

Wildcard
Have another idea? Let's do it!

To market to market to buy a fob watch

[lady_lichfield]

Harriet had sent Charlie off to market with a list. One of the things on it was a pair of small fob watches. Ones that could be put on a lady's chatelaine. Harriet wanted the two of them to have matching ones, for some reason. Charlie was quite amused by that. Imagine a fine proper lady wishing to have her watch match that of her maid! Still, for all Harriet was a bit eccentric, Charlie did love the kind woman.

So, dressed as a proper lady's maid, Charlie took herself into the small shop. When addressed she smiled and nodded. "Yes, please. My lady is looking to purchase a pair of small watches. Gold would be ideal or bronze or brass please. Absolutely no silver. Must be fine enough to hang on a lady's chatelaine, and small enough as well, if you do not mind, good sir."

Sanguinius/Sigwulf | ACTOR OTA

[angel_of_baal]

Beginning

Sigwulf had been in the observatory during the drama, his gaze set more to the heavens and the clashes in the sky rather than those below. Someone would have to speak to the town leaders about light pollution. But it is daylight now, and time for him to go home, and rest up before classes and hopefully dodge yet another of his father's lectures or disappointed sighs.

It's astronomy, dad, it's not a phase!

He's carrying a partly disassembled orrery with him, to hopefully do some painting on, which he struggles to figure out a place to put down, so he could help.

Did he have skill with a hammer? Not particularly, but he was tall and could carry heavy weights. Listen, toting vellum books makes one strong!

Market

He's browsing for books, of course. While he specializes in astronomy, any of the quadrivium is his interest, so you might find him flipping through titles, looking for books on music or mathematics--really, to him, the same thing.

Or there's a moment, because he knows this is too close to Umbra territory for him to be, that he whirls, hand going to his belt. "Hey!" Has someone...picked his pocket? It seems they have and he is off in hot pursuit. Well, not so hot that he changes form, but it's tempting.

wildcard
((you know how this works, he's around town during daylight hours, or at night up in the observatory tower, or taking a quick break to grab a snack. ))

Beginning

[birdchasingecho]

"Sigwulf. Well met." Mark her, there, the somewhat tall woman with the recently cold affect; who, in workmanlike fashion set to the direction of repairs and does repairs herself.

Normally, Amalia would smile when she asks, "Still watching the stars?" But today, she does not-- instead, carefully arranging the pile of parts she needs to replace.

"Thank you, for the moment."

curze - reader (nominal vampire)

[curzed]

Getting Bearings - Spoopy Sewercrypts

This time, the Story's chosen to leave him, on first glance, completely unchanged. Konrad Curze is still a giant at ten feet tall, ice-pale and black haired, dressed much the same as he usually is in the library with ragged dark pants and cloak, the only real difference the addition of an equally ragged and equally dark shirt.

He'd retreated immediately upon realizing dawn is approaching, the pallor of the sky telling him this story was going to be obnoxiously prone to sunlight. Curze doesn't have to be a vampire to loathe the light. With a glance telling him most inhabitants here are of normal mortal size, being out in the daylight would draw far too much attention, he'll wait.

And so he does, far beneath street level, in the network of catacombs, crypts and sewers, where the garish light of day can't reach him.

The lack of light there save for the rare scattered lamp isn't a problem for his senses. And it's quiet. Surely no-one else will be down there while he uses the peace and silence to attempt to sort through the impressions he's immediately gotten of this place, like his visions but not - simply because it wasn't blinding agony.

He moves disturbingly silently for something so large.

After Sunset, Hunting Allies - Day 1-3

Once it's actually dark, though very aware that a good half the city is only active at night, Curze sets out to catch any sign of anyone he recognizes. Scent, sight, sound - there would be other Readers, though they may be disguised. Actors are going to be much harder.

He's spent over sixteen decades being careful about not being spotted, and even in this place, full of the supernatural, he's incredibly elusive, avoiding notice with patient deliberation while working on finding those he knows. His brothers are here, somewhere. His one friend. The handful of people he might generously call acquaintances.

Ever get the feeling you're being watched?

Urbex, baby.

[noonlight]

After having settled on a suitable (run-down) storefront with a roughed in basement, Illumination moves in and begins to ward the boundaries of the building. Above ground is risky, but necessary, but below? Out through the sewers? That's comfortable. Homey, even. (A bit of a strong pong to it, but nothing that they can't deal with later.)

In the heavy dark of the sewers, Illumination doesn't need any light to see by; although, a stranger might spot faint colours and light shifting over any visible skin.

Illumination | Reader

[noonlight]

Arrival.
First things first - as repulsive as it is, Illumination needs to pass for human. They've arrived with some manner of charm that handles the physical appearance, so that's one problem contained. Scent and touch are another problem, and can be managed on a case by case basis.

A scout from the Get knows how to hide in a city. To burrow in, stay fed, stay safe, and protect themselves from those who don't follow The Star and its ways.

Too risky to stay at the inn; better to help out with the clean up and use that time to look for abandoned buildings unlikely to be in imminent collapse. If they can find something not too shabby, the worst can be strengthened and repaired, the rest charmed into a passable store front with a stronghold dug down into the basement. If they're here for a week, the city gets a repaired building; if they're here for longer, well...

The (Night) Market
There's no stall, but a shimmering pale fabric is draped over the doorway of one of the (formerly) empty storefronts. After a couple days of 'business', a charmed mask joins the fabric. Inside, Illumination can be found offering advice, simple charms, and enhancements for the masks and clothing bought through the more traditional market.

There is no clear sign as to what, exactly, Illumination does, but in their experience that tends to draw in the sort of people that are willing to take a risk on a stranger's business and discretion. (There's always a risk that someone asks for a service that they don't provide, but sending clientele on to others is a good way to build up a network.)

If and when they recognize someone else from the Library, they keep on a polite face, but ask gently: "Didn't we meet at the Library Book Club? Last week was 'Twilight' or Shakespeare, I think?"

Wildcard
Come at me, bro. Starter as you please, or hmu on plurk or discord to plan.

Night Market

[ohaiyo_isekai]

"Oh, thank Mutan."

The blond haired man in his glasses and red mantle laughs, fangs showing in his mouth.

"Indeed, I studied Shakespeare and the works of Meyer in those very stacks. Well met. You may call me Lucas Azuresky... or, once we return, Hikaru Aozora."

Crowley | actor (human, neutral)

[goodtobebad]

There's a man lurking about town - drives an old black saloon car, filled with gardening implements. His outfit is all black - maybe for fashion, maybe to hide the dirt - and he wears sunglasses even at night, though he's neither a vampire or a werewolf.

He is Tony Crowley - formerly the head gardener at the Umbra Mansion, now a lowly local landscaping guru. At least, by day that's what he is. He drives around in his saloon car, weeding, mowing, pruning for the locals. Occasionally picking up work for the municipal government, trimming hedges in the public parks.

At night, he helps people get out of town, people who've gotten in too deep with either the vampire or werewolf clans.

And when he's not doing that, he's drowning his sorrows in a local pub.

Find him in any of these places, but probably not the Umbra Mansion. He's kind of persona non grata around there.

Re: Crowley | actor (human, neutral)

[birdchasingecho]

"Crowley. What news, then?" Amalia has happened upon Crowley more than once, in her twenty-six years, but they have never been particularly good friends. After all, before her allowance into human society, she was a member of the leading pack. After, she was still a werewolf who extended her care and money where she pleased, her thoughts bent on revenge.

Regardless, she tried to maintain an acquaintance with Tony, as she tried to maintain acquaintance with many on both sides of the slowly boiling skirmish war, without fear, favor, or expectation of profit.

Claire Ryland > The Luna Purpure, Claire Ryefield - Actor, and Actor

[keytarheroine]

The Market
[Set up near some public benches is a horse-drawn wagon that, curiously, bears a name illuminated on it in gold: John Haycart. Pinned to it is a prop, a paper woman-in-the moon, in red limned with silver; and before it are a pair of jugglers, perhaps with too-long canines in their grins. One has hair of an azure tincture, in two pigtails; the other long and straight to her shoulders, emblazoned in purpure.

They are juggling, and laughing, and busking, these sisters of the stage, and they speak to each other with voices that sing soprano and contralto respectively, projected effortlessly across an improvised stage.

The blue-haired one speaks:] What! Ho! Why feign surprise, when my cruel parents spent their lives entire teaching me meekness?

[The purple one scoffs:] Thy parents would make thee feel you were without worth, push you past breaking, then scold you for what you break, then, my dear Nova?

I was always the kind who would, rabbitlike, flee in my terror, Claire. [the Luna Azure named Nova responded] Well mannered till I'm not so, a most kindly child...

[They are advertising, it seems, for...]

The Roseland Theatre, Near The Market
[Come nightfall, this cozy place, around the central stage, puts on a play by the Red Moon Troupe called Alike In Dignity, Or, The Comedy of the Duelists. It is the tale of two vampiresses, skilled with rapier and misericorde, who are clearly in love - but at the outset, they can only express their love through dueling.

(And while the battles are daring and some others get hurt, that it is named a comedy is an assurance to the audience that in the end, these two will learn healthier means of expressing their love, and ultimately wed each other.)

A woman with long green hair in a ponytail to her hips, in a military jacket, named Hannah River is perfect as the heroine Rachel Pohl, as she duels the leader of the troupe Sara Iscandar's role of Teresa Cantor, with her short-cropped fiery red hair supplemented by a clip-on pair of truly ridiculous, drill-like princess curls to fit her more sheltered and spoiled nature.

Claire, from her seat in the audience as a plant, munches a sausage on a roll and watches on with delight as Hannah, the Luna Verdant, delivers a soliliquy she wrote:]

I see it very well, thy meteoric wake in that azure sky,
The torch thou bearest, burning behind thy gaze;
Has it truly been so long since we crossed paths and blades,
A full lifetime ago? Have all our ill thought wishes soured,
Curdled like milk in sunlight? Have our callouses gone soft,
Out of disuse? I suppose I have been seldom lover or fighter,
But still I have a misericorde prepared to pierce my heart,
Should thou ever think to claim it, drive it deep, and drink of me!

[Claire joins the others in applause, clearly delighted.]

The Laurelthirst Public House
[The wolves may have their Den on Turnip Street; the vampires their Starlight Lounge down Hextos Avenue; the wealthy MacMenanins At The Marches outside of town proper. But the truly interesting gossip and parties happen at the Laurelthirst, in the center of the city, where the Blood Moon troupe go to celebrate and feast after a grueling five fucking acts of physically demanding slapstick comedy and emotionally demanding soliliquies.

So in come a whole gaggle of werewolf women with intensely tinted hair - the Luna's Guiles, Purpure, Azure, and Vert - to the table they customarily go to, nor does this cause alarm in any of the vampires... save for a few who like to mesmerize and sup on innocent maids, who on seeing these terrors quickly remember appointments elsewhere in the city, marked well by the sneering gaze of the Luna Guiles, Sara Iscandar. With those leeches out of the way, they sit, and hail the barmaid, and Claire, head cocked flirtatiously, presses a purse into her hand:]

There, all debts are paid and more for thy kindest service, thy most lovely thing; keep the ale flowing and we players well supplied in meat, bread, pickles and potage, and we will tip thee handsomely, and if thou likest also sing to thee beautifully.

[Anywhere else, that would be shocking. But, Harold, it's the Laurelthirst, and here such queer behavior is not remarked on.]

A BITTER LITTLE BRUISED REMINDER

[birdchasingecho]

[And here, two bear much the same face, and both are much changed by it. One arranges things behind the scenes, helping the others into costumes, her joy surprising for the work of it, and herself in a suit of argent. Her part is not for a while yet, and so she turns her hand for the others.]

[She's the newest of the Blood Moon Troupe, the Lily, Luna Argent-- only here these past few weeks-- since the new moon before last-- but she can recite the lines as if she knew many by heart, from many, many visits, a past beloved patron, perhaps, fallen on hard times.]

[In the crowd, another wears her face. Mark her; in a theater suit, with hair like sand or barley seed, staring apparently all impassive, as she listens to the play.]

[And yet, as the one in the audience joins in applause at the speech, almost perfunctory, the other suppresses her laughter in the wings-- and cannot hide the peculiar flush upon her face... and despite this, her brow knots yet, in confusion.]

Laina Guthart - Actor (Vampire)

[terraboo]

The Market, Early Evening

Armin The Fool has a fastidious policy of waking up while there's still something resembling light out - after the sun has set, but before the day has truly slept. It's a great time to slip out, well before she has to get to her work being at the very bottom of the social pecking order, beneath the notice of all and thus able to poke at basically anyone, nyohohoho.

Right now, though? Montica has less need for her jibes, so she's got time to vibe.

This does not mean she is not wearing her (look tentative) full work uniform, and even has a couple balls she juggles off and on while she looks around from stall to stall, seemingly at random - and also watching the kind of people who properly invest in their wear for the ball.

Perhaps she runs into you? Or maybe she's juggling some more normal food, taking bites as a pork bun flies through the air. It's a cool party trick, and those are like, a tenth of her job, okay?

Around The Mansion

Armin does have a very, very specific order during preparation for the ball. Stay out of anyone building or preparing anything's way. Also, no approaching the kitchen, lest she think to recreate the Fizz Incident.

Also also, save her best japes for the actual party. Strictly B-tier material right now. The boring stuff, mostly.

This does leave her wandering around at random, sometimes doing a few tumbles, a light juggle, or occasionally being told to hold something up for a moment while it's set into place.

And, still experiencing boredom, if she were honest. Sometimes she's even pulled a book out, writing notes with a pen.

Oh, how hard it is to be a fool!

[keytarheroine]

There are two other jugglers - well known as werewolves, and career spinsters and - shame - rude mechanicals at that, advertising for a show at the Roseland Theatre out of the back of a wagon with the legend "John Haycart" painted on it, along with their sigil of a Blood Moon.

..."Ah, but as a blank page you were perfect, dearest Nova!" says the Luna Purpure, Claire Ryefield.

"Of such abuse, most undeserving!" the Luna Azure, Nova Stellare, singsongs back.

"Then I need preserve thee, and serve the blind one with her blade and scales, now, if but once..." Claire responds.

They see Armin passing, smile brightly at her - they've swapped jokes before - and change up their patter.

"But, soft, what shade through yonder alleys strolls?" Nova asks.

"Is it our sweet and scathing friend among the midnight crewe?" Claire says, corpsing, her peals of laughter merry. "Good morrow, Armin!"

Jadis (Hisako) | Human Mystic

[steelfeathered]

Mystic Matters (Guildulf household members, any werewolves who might be permitted there)

Jadis Akabane, the premier Mystic of Montica, spends most of her time in a large converted stillroom in the basement of the Guildulf den. Barred windows high in the wall at ground level admit plenty of light during the day, oil lamps and gleaming crystal orbs provide at night. The walls are lined with deep shelves loaded with leatherbound books, odd implements, and chests of drawers. Surrounded by a reverse grassland of hanging herb bundles and charms made from wire and feathers, a badly-taxidermied crocodile is suspended from the ceiling, glass eyes bulging. The stone floor is heavily marked with painted symbols and sigils which are covered in places by rugs. Patchwork pelts hang on hooks besides a great chalkboard covered in a conspiracy board's level attempt to make sense of... something. The obligatory cauldron is in the hearth, though Jadis prefers standing braziers, surrounded by enough shelves to give the alchemical specialty apparati almost their own closed space - especially the few, required silver implements, tucked away in a magically insulated compartment.

It's a very well-supplied setup for a practitioner of the mystic arts, all told, and the one place in the world where Jadis feels most in control of her senses and certain of the present.

One corner has a curtained alcove where she's got a bed, but it seems she didn't get there in time tonight? Today? Spread across a workstation is a pelt made of many scraps, stitched together with an eye to keeping the grain of the fur aligned but not to color matching. Seated at the station, half lying across the seal-skin patchwork she'd been adding to, Jadis is fast asleep in the middle of the day.

out and about (more open)
Openly, Jadis is known as a healer and a provider of medicinal aids and potions, including ones that prevent becoming a werewolf. Her other skills are more rumors - flying through the night sky, controlling lightning, transforming into a huge cat, and of course telling the future. Ordinary townsfolk have mixed feelings about her. Suspicion, for her close involvement with the current head werewolf faction, which causes her to be gently rebuffed when she ventures too far north. A limited amount of welcome, because of how often she forgets (or 'forgets') to ask payment for her services. Pity and a bit of contempt, because by this point no one thinks her condition is faked; she struggles with her surroundings and keeps getting lost, genuinely not seeming to notice if she's surrounded by silver ornamentation.

She's not in for much hatred or fear, at least. Whatever rumors exist about her benign stated intentions concealing any more dangerous powers, the fact is she's frowning in confusion much of the time, running her fingers over her bracelet continually, and often appears to be staring at things no one else can see. She does better with a guide, but gets where she has to go on her own... usually... at some point. Would-be thieves come away feeling she had nothing of value on her, which is a much quieter and more difficult form of defensive spellwork than one that draws more attention.

Things have started by now, she knows. The outsiders have appeared. Things will change. She's got to find some of them. And try to get some medicine to her drop point in the neutral zone, for that matter, she's hanging on to this being a day for that.

[Jadis does not look exactly like a human Hisako, but could easily be a half-sibling or cousin. Paler, longer-faced, fully dressed in white undershirt and a long green dress whose hem is irreparably stained, she has feathers braided into her hair, feather-shaped charms on a bracelet, and a ceramic flute around her neck which is almost the same.]

Mystic Matters

[birdchasingecho]

Ostensibly, Jadis should be 'at home', which is to say, available. In point of fact, it was always a toss-up, and much as she might want to speak with her about her problem, well...

It also doesn't do to piss off your chemist, either. "Jadis? Are you in...?"

Best to stay quiet, especially if Jadis was getting rest; someone so valued for her mind needed her best judgement-- or so she tells herself. (in truth, Lily could tell you-- should she be found-- that she finds disturbing sleeping people distasteful; many of them are beautiful in that moment.)

As such, noting the resting form of Jadis, she nods, and moves back to close the door behind her as she leaves...

Though, of course, it's not easy to catch someone who reads the future like a skein unawares.

Mei | Actor (Werewolf Rival, Amalia)

[birdchasingecho]

A Prologue

Once, there lived upon this stage a woman,
who loved, dearly, the City and people;
A streak across a moonless night, who shone.
She lived among them, and thought to dissolve
blood of blood's oath with sharpness of fang
to yet make regret those fouler intents.
Held by chains unseen herself, she yet sought
bind even her shade and her love's true word.
And unhappy to start, she knows:
She does not profit by't.

Our Beginning
And indeed, you may see her! Mark her-- She is there, amidst the crowds, helping to repair the damage, to replace what windows she may. Mark her well, in the clothes well-appointed, but of no noble ambition, in fur-lined cape against the cold, in rich color, bearing twigs of rowan sown with flowers on a bonnet that hides in good portion her face; with hair not unlike the sandy stone one may pull from the ground. Her eyes are green and hazel, and while her teeth may be sharp, the tongue they guard is soft-spoken.

That, then, the creature of the moon, known as Amalia; and yet her face and tone both are uncommon cold, as if forged from iron, even as she will hand you hammer, bid you go this place or that to repair, or hears a report from you on the matter of the previous night. "What news, then? Come, I will know it all, as best I can."

And if the reports of the injured and dead set her fists to tighten, she makes no other outward sign.

Welcome to Montica
But there is another face, or rather, the same face, that bears a different woman, who greets all as warmly as the dire situation allows, who reaches hands to help, hands to hold.

She flits from north to south without a care; a joyous gambol. For though she cannot hide her sorrow, nor yet can she hide her joy. This, then, her city, the City, Montica, where claw and fang meet and etch themselves strange upon the city's face. She is welcoming everywhere, and welcome everywhere, one of the rare who are, for she offers help without fear, favor, or regards to territory.

Even here she may yet offer you her time, should you dare approach.

The Market
Here, the news of the masquerade has not escaped her, and she has plans of her own; and yet, despite this, she is among those seeking masks, talking-- if not gaily, then at least brightly-- to others of the coming party.

For despite the fact that all doors are yet open to her, one yet, of course, remains closed, and that, ostensibly, is the Umbra Manor itself. For this is Amalia, whose family once ran the packs, and the Master of that place has a long memory, indeed.

"And what of you, then? Have you been offered place to help make the masque a success?"

Welcome to Montica

[fellfurthest]

Lucifer is grumpy. He can smell something afoot, but knows not what, and ever since his more investigatory brother sought to move away, Lucifer can't adjust to the idea of adding things to his pace that would previously overlapped.

Not taking it out on Mei, he just looks up from his work he's doing outside in the bitter cold, hoping to figure out what's wrong in his mind with fresh air, even if it does not help his hands by any stretch.

"What now? Why so gay, Mei? Some good fortune struck your doorstep?"

Loic (Link) | Werewolf actor

[newmemorywhodis]

i. Quest: clean up the town square
In the early hours of the morning, a wolf appears at the destroyed town square. With his dark grey fur mixed with a white underbelly and muzzle, he might be a little familiar to those who watched the fight; he was one of the participants.

(To those who know the werewolves of Montica, he might be known to them as Loic, loyal guard to the Guildulf family. He's full-moon born, and having come into the world as a wolf he never seems to have become comfortable with human form. Not once has anyone ever heard him speak.)

Despite being part of the cause for the carnage, though, Loic appears to be here to help with the clean up. His strong jaws clamp around pieces of debris, as he drags them off for disposal.

ii. Quest: A mask from the market
At one of the stalls in the market, a wolf is perusing the wares. It's a mask stall; filled to the brim with an array beautiful masks, of every shape and colour one could desire.

Loic is looking for something specific, however. There's an intensity to his wolfish body language, as he looks through the masks.

There! That's the one he needs - the silver one, decorated with delicate stars. He nudges the mask with his nose. That one.

Alas, when it comes time to pay for the mask, he has to shift. Now instead of a dark, silent wolf, he becomes a blonde-haired silent young man. Without a word, Link hands over the coin and takes possession of the mask.

This will do.

iii. Quest complete [locked to anyone in the Guildulf household]
A few hours later, he's at the Guildulf residence. They know him well, here; his family having long been allies. And its his job to help protect them. It's a role he takes seriously.

And, of course, he's Sigrid's friend. So there's that too.

He's still in human form, so he gives a nod and a wave to anyone he sees. Eventually, he ends up at Sigrid's door.

Knock knock.

i

[birdchasingecho]

"Loic, well met." Amalia's relationship with Loic is as strained as any relationship with Loic can be; with him being the Guildulf's guard, and her family position being known to many.

"Here, I have a sledge, if you are willing to wait while I stack the debris." But here, they have a commonality: a willingness to help, without fear or favor.

Murderbot | Reader

[ugh_emotions]

i. Bathroom hiding time done, now for abandoned building hiding time
When the Story started, SecUnit was still hiding in the bathroom.

Which, of course, it had absolutely no intention of leaving. Fuck the Story; it lives here now.

Except it didn't have any way to resist being pulled in, so eventually it ends up in the Story anyway. At which point it finds itself in the middle of a crowded market.

For a moment it stands there, utterly still, and absolutely full of panic. There's so many humans, and they're fucking everywhere, and at this rate it's only a matter of time until one of them touches it...

Shit. Okay, new goal: find somewhere else to be. It's accompanying drone spots a nearby abandoned building, and it moves towards it in a way that it hopes is casual and not at all likely to attracted attention.

Down the alley round the side. There's a few boards on a window; easy enough to yank them off, and climb inside.

Okay. Guess it lives here now.

ii. Drone surveillance go
Until now, SecUnit had been careful to never be seen operating more than two drones at a time. Augmented humans couldn't handle more than that (and really, even two was a stretching it.)

But fuck it. It couldn't pretend to be human anymore. So it might as well get use of all of its drones back.

Having given one each to Curze and Sanguinius, it has ten working drones left. Half of those it keeps with it at the abandoned building it's holed up in, keeping sight-lines on all potential approach points.

The other half it sends out into the settlement. They're small, and quiet. Hard to spot, especially if you're not looking for them. And SecUnit makes sure to keep them out of sight as much as possible.

They all find suitable vantage points to observe what's going on in this place.

WILDCARD - This Is A Sneaking Mission - around II

[ohaiyo_isekai]

There is a ping from the Feed.

Rin, I hope you can hear this, because Siobhan and Laina have gone dark.

Hikaru, and he sounds incredibly frustrated.

Iren Suto | Reader and confused

[ordainedbarkeep]

Just as she had started to feel like she had her bearings down in the Stacks, Iren found herself lost somewhere NEW and had to start all over. Without the Laughing Toadstool to anchor her, she was starting to lose her cool.

She needed a base. She needed a place for her stuff. She didn't HAVE much stuff on her right now, but having a place for it would immediately make her feel better.

At the VERY least she'd take a familiar face right now...

-1: Our Beginning-

Eventually, Iren found her way into an inn where she could just sit down in the common room and take stock. Though this city was unfamiliar, she recalled warnings of "entering stories", and figured that was what this was. So she simply had to...

To what? Finish the story? What even was the story about? It seemed she had just missed some kind of battle but no one was giving any handy exposition about why people were so excited about fighting in the streets.

Eventually she sighed and resigned herself to appearing as an outsider. She waved at the first person she could find who was talking about the recent events, getting their attention.

"Terribly sorry, but I'm a visitor and there's a lot of conversations going on right now that I have no context for. Apparently there was some kind of fight I missed? Was it a sporting event?"

-2: The Umbra Mansion-

Iren had the look of a working woman. She had been wearing an apron this whole time without really thinking about it. Looking at the mansion, which seemed to be the center of current events, she finally realized that her current look wouldn't be terribly welcome here.

She ducked out of the way for a moment and ditched the apron somewhere she could find it later. The dress she had on under it was of surprisingly high quality, and it only took a few minutes to rearrange it into something that looked less working class. She even did something that made it fluff out like she had a ball gown.

The woman who rejoined the people headed towards the mansion was barely recognizable as the one who had ducked aside. Her wardrobe alterations aside, Iren walked with the unassailable confidence of an aristocrat who had every right to be here. She walked like a baroness, sweeping past servants and guards without giving them a second glance until she was inside.

Arrogant confidence could get you surprisingly far in life, she had found. Now she just had to...what? Sweeping into the center of the city's hustle and bustle was one thing, but she was still acting largely without a plan beyond "Find someone who knows what's going on."

Our Beginning

[keytarheroine]

Tomfoolery stops

Two jugglers with hair that has to be dyed - one with a very familiar shade of crushed amythest purple - exchange glances as they juggle seven clubs between them, then the one with purple hair turns to Iren.

"Aye, there was sport, of a kind. Silversmiths hunting wolves. Or wolves hunting bats. Either way, mayhem and ruin most avoidable," says the purple-haired one in the voice of Claire Ryland.

"And you must be new to Montica, if you didn't know about the feuds - gods!" the one with blue twintails turns to the other. "Claire, she's merely human, I can smell it on her!"

Claire leans in, to sniff Iren. "...zo- ah, oh my stars and garters, she is. You chose a poor time to visit our cursed city."

Kiran (Charles) | Actor (Werewolf)

[hellandbackpack]

Common Ground

Kiran didn't mean for this to become as much as it was. He'd retreated from the pack after having his fill of seeing the people in the neutral district suffering for the conflict between clan and pack. Werewolves and Vampires vied for dominance, and it was these people who suffered. So he set down roots, intending to at the least be around to help chase off threats, to help the people rebuild after conflicts.

He'd found a derelict storage warehouse in the area, and holed up there. Mostly because he wouldn't be too close to others, wouldn't make them uncomfortable with his presence when he wasn't needed. But eventually, his reputation for being protective, for wanting to help? That spread. One person's quiet request for assistance in patching their windows after a fight turned to another, and another. If it had just been him, Kiran would have been overwhelmed with it in short order. But those he helped? Were more than willing to pitch their own skills in to paying it forward in turn. So after about a year, the young werewolf found himself at the heart of a bustling little underground operation that focused on gathering supplies for needy families, for organizing materials and repairs after incidents, on making sure those who were sick or injured got what help he could find them.

The warehouse became a bit more lively- it looked just as run-down on the outside as it ever did, but they'd been quietly patching things up inside. Cordoning off space for storage, building out clinic space, rooms of bunks and hammocks for those who were displaced or needed a place to take shelter. A little ramshackle kitchen so they could make sure everyone had a meal. They'd even managed to clean up the inner courtyard some, to grow some medicinal herbs and food, as well as to give the children that passed through somewhere safe to play. He didn't care where a person came from, so long as they were willing to leave fights and feuds outside? Everyone was welcome, no matter their allegiances. Which also made this a pitstop for those looking to escape from either the vampire clans or werewolf packs, not that anyone ever admitted as much. But word got around. Kiran had never actually named the place, but upon finding out that others had dubbed it Common Ground? He was far too chuffed to fight the idea.

If he wasn't out in the city proper either touching base with others, taking on whatever odd jobs were needed, or just making sure everything was calm? He could be found somewhere in the place, whether going over what needed to be done, or up to his elbows in some task or another. There was a small room that the others had set up for him, closed off and private, but he was only rarely in there. But anyone that didn't want to be seen in the place for deniability or safety would typically have been told where the door from the outside was, given free pass to wait for him there. (And he'd honestly only accepted the room so long as the few others who made their permanent home in Common Ground also had their own rooms set up.)


The Market

Masquerades? Not Kiran's thing. Too fancy, too stuffy, and he was entirely aware that he was absolutely not the sort they'd want there. That much went without saying, even if he'd not been a werewolf. Though if he went, he might get a chance to see his brother. It wasn't like the other was locked up, but Kiran missed him all the same. Any chance to spend a bit of time with him? Well he's definitely not the sort to turn it down.

However, if he was going to do that? He'd need some sort of outfit that wouldn't get him turfed at the gate. Not that this was his only reason for coming to the market- it was a good place to pick up news, to learn of others needing assistance or willing to help. So it wouldn't be hard to find the teen ambling his way along the row, hands idly tucked into the pockets of his scuffed overcoat, gaze skipping over the various stalls and window displays.


Wildcard

(Want something else with him? Feel free to drop a starter, or hit me up at atomic_kiwi,  Atomic_Kiwi, or PM me so we can plot something out!)

Common Ground

[keytarheroine]

Claire Ryeland, the Blood Moon Troupe's Luna Purpure - an adopted urchin by allegiance with her foundling sister Nova - had always admired the silk purses Kiran sewed from hogs ears. Little wonder, then, that she thought there might be something she could do for them.

At some point when she is not needed in the troupe, someone - with sandy blonde hair, not with purple - steps up onto an improvised stage in the back of what appears on the outside to be a disused warehouse. She bows, takes up her harp, and begins to sing.

"Tonight I hang by a thread,
Tonight tis emotion that I seek;
In dismay, I know not what to do,
My boiling brain cannot thus continue..."

Charlie | Actor - human, works for a werewolf | OTA

[lady_lichfield]

The Market - Day

Charlie was dressed as a proper lady's maid as she walked through town, woven basket hanging from one arm. Her chatelaine made a lovely soft clinking sound against the rustle of her skirts and underskirts. Her hair was done up a bit more nicely than a maid's usually would be and was tucked under a neat hat.

Still, she held herself as a maid and saw herself as a maid. Even if Harriet did like to dress her up like a doll. Charlie simply took it as the woman practicing for having a daughter.

So the young woman was out at the market going from stall to stall. She had lists. One of things Harriet wished her to purchase. One of things she was to investigate and report back on so Harriet could make choices. And a much smaller list of her own. Things like some new books, some new stockings, and perhaps a new candleholder.

Of course, most of Harriet's lists were a mix of things for the masquerade and for the baby she was due to have soon.

Charlie smiled as she shopped, whistling a happy tune to herself and nodding politely at people as she passed. She made sure to come across as friendly and approachable. And some might remember her from when she used to give blood on the regular for three years. But two years ago she had just stopped. She had vanished a while then showed up back at the markets, seeming much happier and healthier.


Market - night

Charlie at night seemed almost a different person. Her hair was tucked not nearly under a prim hat, but tightly and roughly under the hood of her coat. She wore boys' clothes and slipped about in shadows, trying to pass unseen. It might be enough to fool humans, maybe. But not weres and vampires she knew. Her best defense there was to look unimportant. To not matter.

She should be back in the house preparing tea for Harriet and drawing her a bath. Not skulking around like this! But Harriet had gone missing again. She kept doing it, about once or twice a week since she became pregnant. The woman was certain if she spent time running the streets as a wolf it would make her child stronger. That had been scary enough in the first weeks, but now so near her time it was terrifying. Especially with the tensions in the town, and the fact that she never told anyone where she was going.

Charlie had to find her, convince her to come back before her husband knew she was gone. Finding her got easier as moving got harder for Harriet. But the further along in her pregnancy she got, the harder it was to convince her to take human form and come home.

"Harriet!" she hissed, looking for her and trying not to be noticed by anyone other than her boss.

Charlie winced as her foot hit a moat and twisted under her. She tried to lift it free and wound up with her face in the dirt. On the plus side she looked more like a boy this way. On the negative side however... this was hardly a proper sort of mud face mask. And also she wasn't sure she could stand...

market

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf was also at the market, because there's always a chance for rare books, and his father (UGH) tasked him with getting the household knives sharpened, and a cooking pot repaired.

He was a grown man, and having to do chores. It was a little embarrassing, but he bore it with good enough grace, because he didn't mind the task, as much as the 'someone telling him what to do' thing. Because he's in a crowd, he's careful to have the knives carefully wrapped in heavy leather, which, unfortunately, makes a bulky roll, so as he bends over to inspect some used books, the heavy roll sticks out, probably smacking the young woman or her basket. He doesn't know which, he just feels the bump of it against someone, straightening up, quickly. "I'm so sorry!"

Demiel (Demure) | Actor (Vampire)

[silkwaltz]

The Mansion

Demiel was almost at a loss for what to do with himself. The preparations for the Masquerade were going on at breakneck speed- while no one was outright running, the pace everything was happening at was positively dizzying. Even during the evening, there seemed no end to the tasks. For him, the hubbub was a bit overwhelming. Crowds always seemed to be for him- his mother had waved it off as simply a delicate constitution and thought nothing more of it, and he'd learned to cope by burying himself in hobbies, or in studies. People weren't quite so overwhelming when there was a harp between he and them after all.

But he wasn't one of the ones playing for the Masquerade. So he'd have to actually be engaged with the other guests. He'd been a vampire for a couple years now, but to such long-lived creatures that was hardly any time at all, so he still had to work to keep building a good reputation amongst them.

And with the gardeners fending off any and all who might have taken refuge in the hedge maze, Demiel was forced to turn his attention back into the Mansion for something to take his mind off of his nerves. There were a couple places one might find him in this case.

Careful observation led him to find a small alcove where the servants seemed finished arranging and he could keep from being underfoot- he perched at a small table there, and as often was the case when he was unsettled, he wound up shuffling a familiar deck of cards. He'd gotten a bit of a reputation- he'd been willing enough to do tarot readings for those who wanted them, and while he always assured his 'patrons' that it was simply a bit of fun, it had become known that those gilded cards held truths and insights he couldn't have known. And while it had been here and there, considered a fluke at first? The rate of 'true' readings had been slowly but steadily growing in number. Not that Demiel seemed to realize that, glancing up if someone slowed or lingered near him, offering a shy smile. "Evening. Care for a draw?"

Otherwise he'd be found in one of the salons off the ballroom proper. Not a new thing, the young vampire could often be found in here on his free time. The reason being the tall harp he was settled behind, focus entirely on the strings and teasing a pensive sort of melody from them. And as anyone who knew him would be aware? There was no way he'd realize should someone else come into the room. It would be easy to startle him, if someone wasn't of a mind to announce their presence!


The Market

The market? Not a place one found Demiel often, if at all. He tended to steer clear of the neutral zone- not out of any sort of dislike of it, or of the people, but the conflict was...

He couldn't be dragged into turf wars if he wasn't there when they sparked could he? And if he wasn't there, and didn't hesitate to fight, then he clearly couldn't be a disappointment that would reflect poorly on the family that had raised him. Not that most of the other vampires expected him to fight, he clearly didn't have the temperament, and aside from the general vampiric skills, didn't seem to be developing any powers that would lend well to such endeavors.

But he'd been busy in the alchemy lab, practicing blending a poultice that Viktor had set him to perfecting, and upon discovering that their stores of globeblossom was empty? Well, the servants were far too busy to bother with a thing like that. And it was night regardless. So Demiel thought little of jotting a quick note of where he'd gone should Viktor come looking for him, plucked down a light cloak, and headed out.

The blossom was easy enough to get enough of, and the herbalist wasn't crowded this evening which meant that the errand was finished quickly enough, leaving Demiel free to observe the market at large. He kept his cloak tucked around him, not out of any chill, but rather to make it not quite so obvious what he was- he didn't want to spark an incident. And he likely should just go straight back to the mansion, and get back to his studies, but... surely looking wouldn't hurt? Especially not if his meandering eventually ended up back home.

Decided, he seemed to settle somewhat, curious gaze sliding over the various stalls, taking in the medley of masks on offer, the bright displays of dresses and suits in the windows.

"...I hadn't realized just how much preparation goes into a single night," Demiel wasn't really speaking to anyone in particular, clear enough in the softer murmur of his tone, but he seemed friendly enough all the same. "It's all a bit overwhelming."


Wildcard

(Want something else with him? Feel free to drop a starter, or hit me up at atomic_kiwi,  Atomic_Kiwi, or PM me so we can plot something out!

NOTE FOR THE TAROT PROMPT: I am absolutely here for doing actual spreads for characters- if you want something specific to come up let me know, or I'll just wing it! I might cap this if I get a lot of takers, just fyi.)

The Market

[birdchasingecho]

There is someone else at the herbalist, securing ingredients... fairly common, but strange. A few grasses, a single plum-blossom which she ties into her hair as she speaks her order. Then-- "'Tis always so. Ideally, of course, the guest should not see any of the work-- the better to make it all seem effortlessly generous."

She examines each of the packets in turn-- one might determine the missing active ingredient from the filler of luneflower, ardor-root, the strange, nearly translucent blades of soulgrass.

She fair to pulses with brilliant life. This, then, Amalia, of the previous top pack. "And you seem to be getting used to your new life. Demiel, wasn't it?"

Nyla | Reader | Eventual Vampire | Wandering Musician?

[not_scrap]

Market
Her disguise is flawless, obviously. But it's...a dress. A fucking DRESS?! At first she hated it because seriously, how are you supposed to keep a spaceship running in a fancy dress with like six layers of underskirt?

On the plus, it has POCKETs, (however, they're an entirely separate item tied under the big skirt) and she can hide so much other shit under the volume. You know she's going to take advantage of that.

First order of business, though, as usual, is gathering information. That's her job: nosy bitch. The best way to do that is to be in a real public place with a reason to be there.

Hence, the corner she's set up, with a small lute, that she's taught herself four whole chords on (good enough, that's a chord per finger!), strumming it softly and singing. "I had a bad habit, of missing lovers past...." *strum strum* "My brothers used to call it, eating out the trash" *strum strum* "Hey who can relate to that, am I right?"

She'll nudge one foot toward the fancy hat on the ground. HEY this kind of talent ain't free! Pay up!

Our Beginning
The OTHER best place for gathering intel is, of course, ye olde taverne type situation(e?). At least that's what the old holovids say. She's found out two things: everyone thinks she's a vampire (listen, she's just pale, okay?), and there's some big fancy party going on.

"Hey, stranger, can I buy you a drink?" And then grill you like a cheese sandwich for deets about this fancy party? Inquiring minds want to know!

other option: snoop for hire!
Do you need someone to ferret out secrets? Prank your neighbors? Plant 150 gnome statues on your enemy's lawn overnight? She's your gal! Hire her!

Play that funky music, white girl

[ohaiyo_isekai]

Here is one of those pale bastards, stopped to listen, one eyebrow raised at Nyla’s performance: some rich asshole in a red cloak with a gold clasp, an earring with a dangling jewel, hell, a walking stick with a red gem on top.

He finally decides to approach.

“Roan. The hits of the Screaming Twenties, hmn?” the stranger mutters so that only she can hear. “Playing an anachronism to attract the attention of the library literary club, then?”

Sigrid Guildulf (Siobhan Greenwood) | Lead Actor: Werewolf Scion

[codeswitchcraft]

Homeward Bound

There's a young woman in a hooded cloak amongst the clean-up crew, her clothing simple and easy to move in, but well-made. She moves as if somewhat sore--it's likely she was hurt in the fight--and indeed, she ends up going home somewhat earlier than some of the others involved in the clean-up. When she leaves, it's heading towards the south and the Guildulf Den.

"Excuse me, pardon me," she murmurs, dodging her way through the crowd. The hood of her cloak falls back, revealing golden hair, sapphire eyes, and oddly lupine ears before she pulls it back forward.

Market/Theatre

It's well into the subsequent afternoon that Sigrid Guildulf, daughter of Master Roberte, pulls herself out of bed once more, the extended sleep having done much to heal the wounds she took in last night's fight, which had unfortunately ended in a draw. Still, it's not so late that the market isn't still open and it is to the market that Sigrid hies to, dressed somewhat less simply than earlier. She wears the hood of her cloak down now and unlike this morning, her ears look like any human's might--though to those who can sense such things, it is clear that she is a werewolf.

(To any readers, especially those who were there for the first Story, she'll be easily recognizable as a taller, wingless version of Siobhan Greenwood.)

The first stop is to the dressmaker, for the final fitting of her gown for the masquerade. Oh, she will not own to the fact that it is for the masquerade--she's not yet sure if her father plans to crash the party himself or if he'll forbid her and her brother from even going near it--but coincidentally she is treating herself to a new formal gown to be completed the day before the Umbra Masquerade, one with a star motif in silvery-grey, white, and gold. Sigrid is smiling and humming to herself as she exits the shop, on her way to her equally important second stop.

At the Roseland Theater she takes her usual seat in the gallery, scanning the crowd and then the stage, once the play starts, looking for one person in particular. When she doesn't see her, she sighs and sits back in her seat, slightly disappointed, but soon all that melacholy is forgotten, for the play tonight truly is diverting--and quite funny too in places. When the actors pause for a short intermission, Sigrid turns to whoever is nearby and says, very brightly, "Mistress River and Mistress Iscandar are very fine swordswomen, don't you think? But I am glad this is meant to be a comedy."

Wildcard!

[Got another idea? Hit me up!]

The play's the thing

[ohaiyo_isekai]

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck.

Hikaru gulps, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose in order to better conceal his shock of recognition. "I... would not wish to see them endure a tragedy, no," he allows. "Lake - that is, Pohl and Cantor are diverting characters."

He knows the answer already. He knows he'll be answered in the negative. But he has to hope, he has to ask.

So this tall, pale, platinum blond stranger in his crimson mantle, his black vest, his gold earring and jewelery, stares at her for a second, before asking:

"Apologies, but have I met you somewhere before, perhaps reading and editing scripts at the grand library?"

Hikaru Aozora > Lucas Azuresky Du'Tremere, Reader. Will match format.

[ohaiyo_isekai]

I: The Market
[Well. After meeting with Kai, and having a minor panic attack about the implications, Hikaru now has an alias - Lucas Azuresky, and the transparency there was in fact the point - and some missions:

- Find Siobhan, Laina, the Harkers, Shadow, Charles and Howard Carter.
- Secure an invitation and costume to the Umbral Masquerade.
- Find what he had a sinking feeling was the Romeo, the Juliet, and the Tybalt of this sorry pastiche.

And he is not yet allowing himself to think about the possibility that his first objective and his last one was one in the same.

For now, he is trying to look for a suitable mask and costume - he won't fight the urge to get a kitsune or at least vulpine mask in honor of her best friend from home, and if there's something yukata-like on sale that's just gravy - and make discreet inquiries into the state of the occult, here, to get an educated guess about how much of his pneumatic magic he can risk using in public.

If the answer is 'enough to seek employment with the Umbras as a warmage' or even 'as a thaumaturge,' he'll add 'of Clan Tremere' to his alias. As it stands, he has no idea how easy and flashy magic is, and he doesn't want to draw attention by flinging fireballs, chain lightning, frost lances and elfshot barrages, so he's staying the hell away from what he's calling 'the spice-grower's districts,' and sticking to neutral ground or the 'finesmithing districts.']

II: The Inn; The Blood Is The Life
[...Hikaru is hungry.

He can eat normal food, he finds. He enjoys coffee and wine, still. But he can't digest much of it and it doesn't sate. He knows what he needs. He just...

Fucking On The Thirsts of the Damned and it's alternative universe counterpart Vampire the Masquerade probably had the right of it. The easiest and best way of doing this with a minimum of moral hazard was... seducing some pretty boy or girl who was into that shit.

And so he makes sure his inn room has a large bed, and runs his hand down his face and groans - he is already so tired of this Story - and puts on his most dazzling smile, and goes downstairs the tavern to drink... wine, and nibble on rare venison, and compliment innocent bystanders he wouldn't feel terrible about nibbling on in the morning on their mode of dress or their hair or their singing voices.]

III: The Play's The Thing
[Why was Hikaru not surprised that there was a theatre here. Why was he not surprised that the play was called Alike in Dignity.

...The toxic yuri vampire plotline was kind of novel.

The color coordinated hair makes him think it's some kind of magical girl team, as themselves, and he's racking his brain trying to figure out who. Did they have a Princess Orihime, or any of her Zodiac Maidens, or a Seoul Saver in the Stacks? There's something about the dialogue that bugs him.

Until the soliliqy hits and he swears, muttering under his breath:]

"Square up, god, I'm tired of waiting, why don't you tell me something that I don't already know?" - Mutans' waning cock!

[Hopefully no one noticed his outburst, what with the hooting and hollering in the stands, right?]

II

[thickasacastlewall]

This particular innocent bystander is a big, strapping young lad--and when we say big, we mean that he's an inch short of seven foot tall. He's already being flirted with, it seems, by a local, but when Hikaru descends into the tavern, he suddenly stands up from his stool and walks over towards him.

"I saw you the other day," he says, "over by the man who fainted. And those girls. Only... you were shorter before," he finishes lamely.

"Roberte Guildulf" | Actor: The Werewolf Master | OTA

[guilliman]

Let the undead plan their masquerade. Let them sink their time and energy into frivolities to distract themselves from their empty unlives. Lord Guildulf cares not. If la Lune shines kindly on him, he will be able to exploit their preoccupation. Life, for the living, must go on.

A Lord of Montica is no man of leisure. A leader of men and wolves, who must care for those under him, and secure their future at all costs.


i. the den. Those of his household or his territory who seek audience with him may seek him out. He will see all comers, if only long enough to snarl a rebuke and an order.

And members of his immediate household, including his closest servants, seem to be welcome to come visit him at basically any time.

ii. the city. Though the furor of the coming masquerade puts him in a poor mood, Lord Guildulf does not allow himself to be deterred from his routines. He goes to the market, as he always does, to hear the latest rumours and peruse the wares of the newest merchants in town -- at least, those selling useful goods. Maybe he'll even stop by the tavern for an ale and an afternoon snack.

If anyone is foolish enough to start trouble with him, he'll assuredly be the one ending it.

iii. wild(card). There is always the possibility of meeting the Lord of Wolves him somewhere else in Montica. Go on. Say hello.

i but also wildcardy your nerdy awkward son

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf wasn't trying to avoid his father, he says, lying to himself. Of course he was. He had heard the rumors of the masquerade, and he did not want to be ordered to stay home that night--there was plenty going on in the heavens that he could not miss! He had to be at his observatory, with his volvelle and astrolabe.

He'd thought he could sneak in and swipe some breakfast (well, dinner to him) in the dining room, presuming, or hoping, that his father had already eaten and left. By the time he realizes his error, it's...a little too late, and freezing like prey doesn't help. "Good daylight, father."

Rakia | Reader | Will Match Format

[flantastic]

[Cleanup Crew]
Rakia's not exactly thrilled with the Story starts, but at least he is himself. His favored floppy black hat remains the same, but he's also dressed in black robes and a long black coat that bring his brief time working for the Stomach family unpleasantly to mind. The silver piercings in his ears remain in place, and he has no idea how this combination might make him come off in this universe. He's got more important things to worry about now; he's being presented with the obvious aftermath of some sort of superpowered battle. He is familiar with such things, but nothing appears to have exploded and nothing looks candy-sticky, and...oh. That is a broom being thrust into his face. "This sucks."

Despite the complaint, he sticks around to help. The broom gets cast aside, true, but that is because Rakia prefers to make himself more useful moving bigger, heavier pieces of debris aside or hoisting large pieces of building material for repair work. As he works, it's extremely obvious he's not human; no human has strength like that. But he doesn't say anything about it, and no one has yet commented upon it. Fine with him.

[The Market]
This is a city full of people with unique nutritional needs, Rakia's figuring out, but he is fairly certain his dietary preferences are going to be unique even among this populace. Sure, he can subsist on human foods, but they're often weird in ways he just does not want to deal with. He does not have faith in his ability to find a decent pudding here.

It is with this in mind that he'll approach someone, not thinking at all about how he just might come off as some sort of weirdass vampire with the cloak and floppy hat and silver earrings, and ask, "Excuse me, have you seen any stalls selling...mineral specimens?" Yeah, sure, he can probably find someone selling that and work his way towards decent rocks from there. Worst case scenario, he could probably eat pieces of buildings, but he is a civilized Granute, thank you very much.

Market

[ordainedbarkeep]

"Mineral specimens?" Iren asked, uncertainly. She had little interest in geology, and was not sure why someone would be asking her about such things, but she was also helpful by nature.

"I think I saw a table with some decorative crystals on it earlier? Shoot, where was that..."

Sumire Yoshizawa (Reader)

[shakenit]

arrival

Well. This is - certainly a thing.

Sumire doesn't protest when a broom is thrust into her hands, not when there's an obvious problem to be cleaned up. It's also a good opportunity to learn more about what she's been thrust into, as much as she can from eavesdropping. And if, after the cleanup is done, she's gently herded southward, she thinks nothing of it - why would she?

(Oh gods, a masked ball, of all things? Now she really wishes Akechi-san or Akira-senpai or Futaba-senpai were here - but with her luck, none of them would be themselves at the moment if they were. At least, from the sound of things, she can provide her own mask.)

market

The masks are lovely, she can grant that much, and choosing one decorated with a blue-violet spray of flowers is the easy part. Then she has to figure out what to wear with it - and of course, she doesn't have Ann-senpai's fashion cheat sheet with her.

She's still learning how to do this. Help. Before she gets swarmed by a shopkeeper who can smell blood in the water and bury her in clashing animal prints.

mansion

Sooner or later, someone's going to ask what a werewolf is doing here, and Sumire will be genuinely confused. She's not? a werewolf???? Where would anyone even get that idea? She's just here because she heard they needed cooks for the refreshments, and she can absolutely do that.

Market

[codeswitchcraft]

"Are you looking for a dress?" the young woman who just finished her fitting asks. She looks an awful lot like a taller, wingless Siobhan. "I don't think there's time for the shop to make anything too elaborate for you, but there might be just enough time to get you fitted."

Cipher Nine → Sylviane Maurice (Human Actor | Neutral)

[stabgremlin]

i.) the inn

If there was someone who wasn't partaking in the gossip about the fight it was one Mrs. Sylviane Maurice. In fact, she was making an effort of sending gossipers on their way to the other side of the room with a well-placed glare that was equally as icy as being caught in the grip of the undead or pinned beneath a wolf's gaze.

Though it wasn't completely effective on everyone, she was aided not only by the chill of her stare but also the fact that she was old enough to have been around when many patrons and workers alike had been in diapers (and that she had a reputation for exceptional aim with the cane that stood leaned against the table and no fear for using it to go for toes and knees alike if irritated enough).

"You'd think all other topics for conversation have gone and vanished," She commented as she sipped at a cup of tea, even as she knew very well that the conversations were born from apprehension as much as the desire to gossip.

She just wished they could take the topic somewhere far away from her grandchild who was weaving from table to table with food and drink alike. Had it not been for the fact that she had family here she would likely be at home with a book rather than here with poorly brewed tea.

Should she spot someone lingering nearby though— especially anyone looking nervous or not participating in the gossip— her gaze softens slightly and the stern look gives way to a smile much more reminiscent of the grandmother that she is.

"Won't you come keep an old lady company, dear?" She invited, "With all this hubbub I fear that you might get knocked about if you don't find yourself a seat."

ii.) the market (daytime)

Try as she might there was no way to fully avoid the hustle and bustle.

But grandmama! The market! Can't we go look? Grandmama!

Sylviane thought that she must have gone quite soft over the years given that when her daughter was the age her youngest grandchild was now she had kept a firm hand on her to keep her curiosity reigned in to acceptable and safe levels. And back then the market hadn't been like this either— her own mother had told her that once when she was an infant there had been a commotion that had to have been similar to this one, but her mother had long since passed and though Sylviane thought of herself as having a good memory, even hers did not extend back that far.

"Don't get too far ahead now, dear!" She called after her grandchild as she weaved through the crowd as best she could, using a cane to support herself as she moved. She had been able to keep up with her grandchildren once not so long ago, but for mere mortals time moved ever forward and she was no longer a young woman with all the energy in the world.

By the time that her grandchild had found a vendor selling trinkets and stopped to see whether their allowance was enough to get something, she had the need to sit down— approaching a nearby bench to sit and watch the youngest member of her family much like how a hawk watched their prey.

Though should she find the bench occupied, she offered a smile and gestured with a gloved hand to the available part of the bench, "May I?"

iii.) the market (night)

"Sylviane Maurice, you truly have lost your mind," The elderly woman mumbled to herself as she wandered the streets far past even her own bedtime.

Even her daughter had told her as much after finally coaxing her child to sleep after the trinket that had been bought earlier in the day had gone and disappeared sometime on their way home resulting in wails that had lasted for hours before their energy had run out. Sylviane would much rather chaperone her oldest grandchild to and from their job at the inn, but had been told rather emphatically that grandmother, I promise to be careful and with friends both ways.

And so Sylviane had once again gotten dressed to go outside to walk them at least half-way to their job and then gone on her way to the market at night in search of the lost trinket that her youngest had managed to lose on the way home.

Truly she had lost her strict touch and she wondered if that was a result of her age or as a result of having lost her husband (and her dearest love Rolande though she couldn't be as open about that grief) and the house that had been in her family for generations to move in with her daughter and her husband as well as their children. But she supposed it was nothing she had the time to ponder now.

Given that she no longer needed to match the pace of someone many years her junior, this outing was a little easier on her old bones even though she still needed the support of her cane as she walked— though less easy on her poor eyes given that she was looking around for something very small as she retraced the steps from earlier in the day.

"Excuse me," She called, to someone passing her by, "You haven't seen a mask decorated with small pink beads have you?"

iv.) wildcard!

Want to run into Cipher Nine-as-Sylviane somewhere else? Go for it! Watching over her oldest grandchild like a hawk while they work at the inn would be her usual haunt, but you can also find her sweeping outside her daughter's house or tending to their garden, taking walks when things seem calm enough, and generally grandma-ing at anyone who seems on the young side and/or lost. Adults will be met with a frostier attitude but she is a (presumably) polite elderly lady so try your luck!

The Market, Night

[birdchasingecho]

She pauses, hums. Mark her there, nearly six feet tall, in traveling gear over a theater gown. In her hair is a glint of metal in the moonlight, and while she does look a bit tired, she surveys the district, and takes a deep breath.

"I have not seen, no, madam, but... Tell me, who last held it, and where?" Oh, her servants and parents would likely be most wroth, but Amalia has it on grand authority that her father took such troubles before he took his wife.

Ser Duncan the Tall | Reader | OTA

[thickasacastlewall]

Clean-Up

Dunk is... confused. Very much so, in fact. He'd followed the strange urge to touch the book lying open in the library cart and now he's... here. In the middle of some strange city.

Well, not as strange as it might be, he thinks. Not as strange as the city from the talking, moving pictures on the wall of that one room--America? Manhattan? no, that was the name of the island the city was on--but unfamiliar, at least. He glances around, unsure how of he'd gone from the library to here and someone shoves a broom into his hand.

"Right," says Dunk. "Better get to work." And he starts sweeping, though throughout the work and even after, when he's drinking a pint of ale at the inn, he'll periodically turn to people he thinks he might recognize and asks, "Do you know where we are?"

Market

At least he's got some idea of what he'll be doing here until they get back to the library. Running into Lord Azuresky at the inn had been a stroke of luck indeed--he's got work to do here now and an excuse to go all over the city on his lordship's request, if anyone should question him, and to follow the man around the rest of the time, so that Dunk could fall back on the sorcerer's better understanding of the situation.

Firstly, however, he's going to need to make sure he's carrying his new lord's heraldry. "Excuse me," he addresses the closest person. "Do you know where there's anyone who paints shields? I just got hired as a bodyguard, you see, and milord wants me to carry his own arms."

(He's not sure why a man named Azuresky has heraldry with neither blue nor anything of the sky in it, but he's not going to question a sorcerer. He might be thick, but not that thick.)

Wildcard

[Hit me up if you've got another idea!]

Clean-up

[telecosmetic]

Eliza looks just as confused as Dunk, honestly. But she throws herself into sweeping and cleaning as energetically as she can, even humming a bit of a tune as she does so. She frowns a bit when he asks her, trying to remember who was there when she touched the book...

"Did you also touch that book before this?" she asks. Well, might as well be direct about it.