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In accordance with an ancient pact (going back almost a full year now), as the Six Flags north of Chicago begins to close its doors to the outside world, security guards all over the park begin opening side entrances and staff exits for the Lost. Their presence is ignored, their welcome intrusion forgotten almost immediately. The Changelings thus arrive in drips and drabs, entering the Haunted House piecemeal to join their brethren already in attendance. Many wield umbrellas or damp magazines held above their heads, for despite the forecast of a clear sky, a steady rain has begun to fall -- heavy but slow to dampen and mute The Windy City.
Unlike the previous court, the full compliment of higher-ups and well-appointed Lost are in attendance tonight, including Donald DuPree and Andrew McConnel, the latter attended by a handful of his 'Wrecking Crew.' The weaselly fairest and the large Ogre sit side by side at the table, hunkered together in a whispered conversation while the three Darkling members of Andrew's Crew go in a circle punching each other on the arm and snickering in an attempt to get the others to give in.
Meanwhile, Rook sits quiet and businesslike, a permanent frown set on his face as he eyes one of the back doors, and the Wizened Thomas pours through documents and ledgers as usual, patiently ignoring the room around him and all its occupants with a near perfect focus.
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Solomon is one of the ones wielding an umbrella; it's black, like his suit, with the only touches of color in his outfit being his pale, unsettling blue eyes and the golden scarab embroidered on his tie. He's brought his usual offering of snack foods - this time a few trays of caramel swirl brownies from one of the local bakeries. He carts these in on his shoulder, putting them on the table. The 'Wrecking Crew' is given a LOOK. "You _may_ try to allow others to have a bite before devouring them all," he says, a touch sourly. And snags a brownie for himself before his eyes scour the room. He's clearly looking for someone _particular_.
There's a shadow where there shouldn't be, and Ji-Ho's slouched low in a chair within it -- or perhaps _of_ it, wrapped in the places where the light fails to reach. He brought chips -- a variety pack! cheetos! flaming cheetos! other cheetos! -- that has a clearance sticker on the side of the box. NEVER MIND THAT. Only the finest for his fellow Lost!! He has a bag of flaming cheetos and he is pinching little bites of cheetos out using the slivers of night that pass for his fingers, long and reaching as he avoids the sides of the bag with their cheeto dust.
Razi arrives in a business suit, rather than an /occasion/ suit, which may suggest his approach to Court. And he arrives alongside Fiametta. He has an umbrella, simple and sturdy and black, and big enough for both of them if she needs it. His gaze scans those already in attendance and those arriving, offering an inclination of his chin to those he's particularly familiar with, such as Solomon and Ji-Ho, before taking a seat and setting his umbrella carefully away.
Miel's umbrella is cheap plastic and he struggles with it a little on coming in. He kind of shakes it out, trying to mash it into a better shape to actually close. He is wearing a tan sport jacket, black skinny jeans, and a bright fuschia T-shirt that has been worn to death, possibly not by him. Beneath the pop of color, his mien is all stone, light streaked with dark. Discreetly, he thwacks the cheap umbrella a couple of times against the wall by the door and manages to get it to fold up. There. Now, he approaches the tables with a small cardboard box full of blackberries, which he slides onto the surface of the table in some relief for having managed to bring something. SUCCESS.
As soon as Solomon picks Ji-Ho out of the shadows...or, well, picks out the shadows that are Ji-Ho...he stalks in that direction. His eyes narrow as he moves to sit rather firmly next to Ji-Ho and mutter to him in a low voice.
Rachel does not wield an umbrella. Rachel is rather soaked, in her breathable calf-length peasant skirt and her tank top and her bag and her jewelry and her sneakers. Was Rachel caught surprised by the rain? Yes. Was Rachel also out //playing// in the rain? Also yes. Rachel grew up in the Pacific Northwest. This rain is a god damn blessing.
But the rain hasn't stopped her from hauling in a plastic bag of something smelling good. Chinese food. A few boxes worth, which she deposits at the snack bar, giving a knowing look to the dark space beneath it. "Get it while it's hot folks. And before it's all gone." Eleanor will surely see to that. She pauses to wring her hair out a bit, and then scoops up a paper box for herself and a pair of chopsticks, and turning to look to see who made it to court tonight.
Rain or shine, Lyra is seldom seen without her ladybug umbrella. And for a good reason -- one can never tell when it may be necessary. That cheerful red and black bobs happily above her curly head, rabbit ears twitching this way and that as she heads toward Court. Today, she is dressed in an autumn hued jumper that falls just above the knee coupled with matching knee-high socks patterned with kittens playing amongst piles of leaves that terminate into that old pair of scuffed up black boots of hers.
The rabbit-eared Lost doesn't arrive alone; the offer to share her umbrella is always there for Maya as they walk alongside each other. "And that's why spoopy season is the /best/ season. Even with pumpkin spice everything under the sun mucking it up. It's all about the scary movies for me. The cooler weather." Her nose crinkles there; clearly not a fan of that part of the turn of the seasons. Sorry, not sorry Starbucks. The umbrella does get handled before arriving to Court properly, shaking it off and snapping it closed with a smile to Maya, "Pick a seat?"
Stirring with what sure looks like a guilty twitch, Ji-Ho answers Solomon with a pat-pat of his various pockets and equally quiet words.
Logan is alone this time as he wanders into court, no umbrella. His hair is damp and droplets run here and there but he doesn't seem to mind that or the fact that his light jacket is wet. He combs his fingers through his hair, gives his jacket a bit of a shake, and finds himself a place to sit. He's in his usual flannel and plain grey t-shirt beneath the jacket, jeans, boots. The canine beast settles in and gives a dip of his head to those he knows with a flash of a smile here or there.
Soaked to the bone, a rather sorry looking Delilah makes way in, pushing the hood of her hoodie back and tucking her skateboard under her arm. Sneakers are muddied, socks off-color from being soaked with it. Shorts leave her legs bare, also showing signs of streetmud from cruising through puddles. Her hair is bunched in tighter ringlets than usual and wet, even through the hood. Chilled and teeth chattery, the Fae-Touched hunts for familiar faces.
Swaggering in without an umbrella, a magazine, or any other form of sensible clothing, Andreia Lopes is clad in her nigh-typical oxblood leather pants and a ribbed white tank. She's showing through in places and generally looks her own kind of mess, half-soaked with rain and half-soaked with the day's unwashed sweat as she makes her way into the building a little later than most, having stood outside smoking for most of the setup. She's still exhaling the last hearty drag of her unfiltered roll-up as she slouches her way to a forgotten, turned-over stool in one corner, a short shout from the provided tables, flipping it aright with the tip of a motorcycle boot and slamming it down /hard/ before firmly taking a seat, smoldering in both mien and mask - the one from the dank heat of her potent mantle, the other as her tangled hair steams off the freshly-gathered rain.
Unlike Solomon, the Black Wolf of Summer has not brought an offering, because she's rude.
Fiametta's traded a sundress for a floral wrap mini-dress, a cheerful goldenrod yellow and daisy print in contrast to the monochromatic Razi, knee high backlaced leather boots adding a couple of inches to her height. Her firey hair is left to tumble where it may, though her stormy blue eyes might well reflect the rain. Apparently the flame-born Lost really doesn't like the downpour, as her characteristicly bubbly demeanor is decidedly a little on the grouchy side. Like she was doing her best frowny Razi impression. Embers still light in her eyes, little flashes here and there. She's got a large tote bag slung over her shoulder, which she sets in her lap as she takes a seat, and crosses her arms over it.
Her mood does brighten considerably, however, when she sees a summer wolf turning over and slamming one of the forgotten seats in the back. At that she does /actually/ smile, and waves cheerfully, seemingly forgetting to be grumpy for the moment.
Maya's laughing at Lyra's words, "Yeah, all right, fine, I give." She says. She's only partially under the protection of the umbrella - half of her is soaked through, and the other half only slightly damp. The dampness doesn't accompany her into the room: at the doorway it seems to collectively drain from her slacks and the silky red button-up shirt and into a little puddle, while she remains walking with both hands in her pockets. Looking around at the room, she grins, "Oh, yeah, I see Sol. You know him, right? Wanna go sit?" A hand rises, in greeting towards that direction. Her hair remains damp-- of course, to changeling eyes, it always is, and light gleams across her neck briefly as she gestures for Lyra to walk in the direction of Solomon's table.
Solomon mutters something back to Ji-Ho, sighs, then extends a hand for the other man to shake. Or dismiss and make Sol just...hang there. Like a dweeb. Either way, Sol's using his other hand to take a bite of that brownie before they all get devoured. And now that whatever business he had with Ji-Ho is done, he takes a look around and nods at those he recognizes. And stares at those he doesn't, with faceted compound eyes.
As _hilarious_ as it would be to make Solomon look like a dweeb, Ji-Ho looks frankly relieved for the hand shake. Like maybe it could've been a knife!! You don't know!!
(He definitely leaves cheeto crumbs on his hand, though. Sorry, Solomon.)
There's probably something a little off about finding reassurance in fathomless inky darkness, but of them all, Ji-Ho represents the familiar for Miel, so he sidles over to him. He doesn't actually say anything, though. He just stands beside him like a -- possibly a dweeb.
It takes Andi a moment to even register that anyone in the room /wants/ to pay any kind of attention to her, her dark eyes sliding quite naturally to the ceiling, her arms resting in a careless half-guard before her taut abdominals, going into a half-doze as she waits for anything important to actually come up. Really, it should be a mystery why she's here at all - it's not her style, and it's highly doubtful her reputation makes her presence desirable. But there's a first time for everything.
That near-black stare /snaps/ to the motion in her direction, and her resting scowl eases in a way that's completely unbidden. As natural to the predatory Wolf as an angry snarl, the tilted grin and the single bared canine, a touch of something light and breezy through the forbidding depths of her eyes as she finds herself attracted to the stormy blues of Fiametta.
She leans forward, equally instinctively, and with an upflick of her chin mouths the word, 'Hey.' Before her glance flicks sideways, alighting on Razi, who gets a slight, approving nod - not so much for him, as for his presence.
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"Oh shit, brownies. I give." One of the Wrecking Crew is already begging out of their little game when Solomon gives his warning. "What?" the stocky, barrel-chested Darkling complains in a nasal and whining voice, "I didn't do nothin'!" Still, when he approaches the table, it's with a few quick looks over his shoulder to the insectoid Professor as he takes two and retreats to his still competing friends.
There's a quiet signal -- a knock perhaps -- that alerts Rook, Thomas, Andrew, and Donald to rise, the latter two cutting off their conversation with a sharp and sudden silence as Andrew smacks the two Darklings still punching each other in the arm upside the back of their heads. They too fall to silence, and as one the group faces the now open door.
For those who have witnessed Queen Marybelle at court before, but never seen her outside Summer and Spring, her appearance may seem... unusual. It's not that she's dressed differently or looks different -- as usual she's dressed immaculately in a stunning silver dress that looks like it'd be more at home attending a Ball than sitting in an abandoned Haunted House. No, the change is entirely in the way she holds herself upright and straight-backed, in the calculating look of her eyes as she swings them about the room, and the proud way she walks -- glides, really -- to the slightly more ornate seat at the head of the long table that takes up most of the room. Real, her mouse-eared assistant follows in her footsteps, usually the truly competent looking one of the pair, but now appearing almost cowed in the presence of her queen.
Marybelle pauses when she reaches her 'throne,' turning to look out over the assembled crowd of Lost with a regal and discerning gaze before she quietly settles into her chair, a motion that prompts Rook, Thomas, and the rest to follow suit. With a gentle wave towards Real, she indicates the start of the proceedings, and the mouse-eared woman steps forward with a nod before clearing her throat and speaking: "Welcome everyone. We are pleased to see you all here again, safe and sound. Before we begin, does anyone have anything of import they wish to bring to the attention of the Freehold?"
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Solomon takes his hand back and licks off the cheeto crumbs from each of his long, serrated fingertips, without hesitation. He says something quietly to Ji-Ho, but as people sit down nearby, he turns his attention to them. He murmurs to them until the Queen enters. He sits up straight - although spares a moment to give another LOOK to the Wrecking Crew who glances back at him - and watches the Queen with a guarded, thoughtful expression. Perhaps a hint of pleasure there, as well, although he doesn't say anything to indicate he has something to discuss. At least, not to the Court; he speaks quietly to the table he's at.
There's a little tug of shadow at Miel's elbow, darkening the polished stone, and then Ji-Ho melts away to pass from one seat to another as he settles in place next to Fiametta and Razi. He obviously has nothing to say. EVER.
Watching the brief interplay between Andreia and Fiametta, Razi actually goes so far as to subtly gesture to one of the empty chairs near them. Or, more precisely, near Fiametta. In case Andreia is interested. But then his attention shifts swiftly to fix upon the front of the room when that subtle signal seems to sound. He rises to his feet along with the others, watching Queen Marybelle's arrival with a close, attentive study.
Miel is less inobtrusive about moving through the assembled than someone who is made of shadow, but he follows him like a stone tugboat, bobbing attentively in his wake. He has no new business but does look alertly towards the Queen.
Apparently, Andi is enough to cheer up the fiery elemental enough that Fiametta stops crossing her arms and opens up her bag. She tosses a few things from it onto the table she and Razi share. They mostly seem to be bags of gummy candies. Peach rings, coke bottles, sour worms. She might have even started to open them--but when the Queen enters, her hands still so she doesn't make an obnoxious CRINKLE CRINKLE RIP sound at an inopportune time. Her gaze follows Marybelle with deep curiousity, not quite as familiar with the pagentry. But it has her full attention, now, though she remains silent when the call for new business is given.
Delilah spots Solomon's little whiskers mouth feelers at twenty paces and heads for where he and his have settled in. Sliding onto a spot, she tucks her skateboard under the table and rests her feet on it. A little huddled and miserable from the pure sogginess of her state. Digging a bag of skittles out of her pocket, she steathily opens it and slides one (1) purple one over to Sol.
When Andi makes a bit of a ruckus with her chair, Rachel glances sharply over. She archs a brow in question, and then, spotting a few more familiar faces, raises her chopsticks to wave them at first Solomon and then Delilah. As the Queen comes in, Rachel sets her food back down on the snack bar, drawing herself a little straighter to answer her inquiry. "I'm still taking volunteers for Hedge patrol. We've got people out there, and we owe it to them to keep looking. Plus, we owe it to ourselves to keep an eye on our own backyard. I've gone out there a couple times now, and things are not just sitting still and waiting for us to finish licking our wounds."
Ooooh, candy. Solomon hastily downs the rest of the brownie, then reaches out for the offered Skittle, because apparently, when it comes to sugar, he doesn't really have any restraint. There's a smile for Delilah, and a murmured thanks as he pops the treat in his mouth. How that tastes along with cheeto dust and caramel brownie? Only he can say.
This is only the second time that Logan has seen the Queen and she seems decidedly different than the first time. Both brows rise a little bit for a moment, but then his attention shifts once more to take in the room as a whole, those in it, and the way they shift about. His attention lands on Rachel when she begins to talk about the Hedge patrol, nodding slightly.
As cheering as her presence may be to the fire elemental, the Black Wolf is disinclined from taking the invitation, a faint grimace turning down her mouth as she glances around the assemblage and begs off with a single palm raised toward Razi and a single, emphatic shake of her head, dark fur shifting, locks bouncing off her shoulders. It's an unusually polite, unaggressive gesture considering her normal state of operation. She even looks a little guilty about it. A little.
Settling back onto her stool with a twitch of her lips, Andi kicks out her feet - criss-crossing her bulky boots at the ankles - and winds her wiry arms back over her midsection, letting some of the hair fall into her face as she glances toward the speaking Rachel. An eyebrow arches curiously, and she cants her head to one side, her watchful gaze intensifying, the heat of her mantle raising a notch.
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Real nods towards Rachel as the other woman speaks up, her hands folding over a clipboard she holds in front of her waist. She listens, then turns her gaze out towards the room and gestures towards Marybelle seated beside her, "Our Queen has given her approval of this venture and considered it carefully. All those who are willing to join Rachel on this quest -- including those who have already volunteered and those who still wish to -- will be rewarded for their efforts." She then turns towards Rachel, but Marybelle interrupts whatever she's about to say with a simple gesture before turning her gaze on the Summer Darkling. "We have a directive for you, Rachel. Please wait for us after Court, and we shall give you the details."
Real hovers in silence for a moment, hesitating to speak until she's sure Marybelle is finished. Then, with a slight clearing of her throat and a bowing nod to the Queen, the mouse-eared Lost turns her attention back to the room at large and asks again: "Any other business?"
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A directive? From the queen? Rachel's never had a directive from the queen before. Back at the zoo freehold there were far too many rungs on the ladder between her and the queen for that sort of thing. And since... well the queen was not doing a lot of directing, the last few times Rachel's seen her. She nods at the instruction, folding her arms over her chest, her food abandoned.
Solomon looks up from his quiet conversation at the table, and says, "Perhaps we'd ought to speak of the matter of the southern Freehold? Officially reaching out to them and smoothing things over, I mean. Getting an accounting of who joined will help us know who's still missing." A glance at Rachel.
Behind Rachel's attempt at composure, her shadow writhes with limbs that shouldn't be there, tentacle-like shapes lifting and curling about her dark profile.
Delilah considers something said and slides off her seat to sneak up on Maya and wrap her up in a great big bear hug - far bigger of a hug than there is Deli.
Maya chuckles a little as she's suddenly bearhugged, and pats Delilah's back, returning the hug -- while her attention wanders to Solomon, attention piqued. Careful eyes might start to notice the water running up Maya's arms and Delilah's rapidly drying state - if anyone is even paying attention to them. There are Very Important Freehold Matters being discussed, after all. And even Maya adds in, "Yeah, anything about that music guy from before and the stuff he was saying?"
Razi has drawn out his notebook from the start of the meeting to take his own notes as matters proceed. His gaze shifts up to mark Solomon for his suggestion, then draws subtly back to the Queen and her Court to listen for their response.
Whatever intrigued the Black Wolf, she's lost interest when Solomon starts talking about 'reaching out' and 'smoothing things over'. With her cheeks puffed out, she stares up at the ceiling, drumming on the puffed-out flesh for a few seconds before she realizes this is also boring, and heaves a sigh, settling a little deeper against the wobbly foundation of the stool and just letting her gaze idle across to Fiametta. Oh. That's not boring.
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At the mention of the Southern Freehold, every member of the upper ranks of the Freehold reacts. Thomas' head dips low as he focuses on scratching out a few more words on the paperwork set before him, Real and Rook share a quick glance, and Andrew and Donald both frown as they look to the Queen. Even the wide-eyed shadow beneath the food table lets out a low, rumbling growl. In fact, it's only Marybelle herself who manages to maintain a composed and unbothered expression.
"Yes, the Southern Freehold... Once again it dominates the itinerary for the evening," Real announces after a moment, looking to Solomon with a nod and a somewhat flinty look. With one last glance around the room to confirm that no one else has anything to bring forth, she lifts her clipboard and scans the top page quickly before refocusing on the room. "After the skillful apprehension of Barnabas by Rook, Solomon, and Elias, and his subsequent interrogation, it has been determined that the Southern Freehold has sent him to destabilize us and spread paranoia among our ranks with false rumors of a traitor in our midst." She looks about the room, a hard edge to her gaze as she attempts to meet the eyes of any Lost that look her way, "We do not know why the Southern Freehold has elected to take a hostile stance, but it can not be tolerated. We will soon be assembling teams to investigate them and..." She glances back towards the Queen, suddenly looking unsure. Marybelle slowly slides her own eyes away from the gathered Lost to meet Real's look and give her a slow nod. The mouse-eared courtier takes a breath, then nods in return before turning back to face the room and continue: "And prepare for a potential war."
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"Who conducted the interrogation?" Razi asks in a mild voice. As if it is just a minor curiosity. A simple matter of bookkeeping. "I would be curious about the details of such a revelation. It seems such a needless hostility from them."
Oh, a stare-down? The Black Wolf of Summer is more than happy to oblige, once she feels that gaze alight upon her, diverting her own from Fiametta to stare rapiers at Real. That's like daggers, but better. The blood-rimmed eyes of her mien are even more a challenge than the fiery Brazilian can mount in her mundane form, the set of her jaw and natural scowling line of her mouth doing nothing to either suggest or /refute/ that the infamously bloodthirsty Arcadian escapee might be the bad egg. It's already getting more interesting than it was, and then...
'War'.
"Huh."
Andreia /immediately/ straightens on hearing that word, her stool shrieking a little as her supernatural bulk drags against it. She goes from spread out, relaxed, careless, to leaning forward, elbows crooked against her knees, shoulders up and hackles raised. The intensity of excitement has her mantle practically exploding, waves of humidity pouring from her body as steam coils listlessly through black fur. Like a faithful hound, ready to hunt, she's on her marks.
"War." Solomon isn't as good at staying mild and noncommital as Razi is. His lips - already thin - press together into a tight line. "I'm not certain I would characterize them as hostile...unless there have been injuries that we're not aware of?" He levels a stare at Real.
"They can't think that's a good idea," Rachel says firmly, voice skeptical, and with no hesitation to meet Real's eyes. "What the fuck could they want a war for? We didn't lose //enough// friends, comrades already? They want to weaken us, and //themselves// a bit more so the Gentry can finish us off?"
"Seems awful counterproductive," is Logan's comment on the topic of war. "I mean, not to say that folks don't shoot themselves in the foot all the time for no good reason but did Barnabas give any indication as to what the end game there is?" he asks in his easy Kentucky drawl.
"Maybe, yes," Ted says, who was here the whole time don't ask questions. "If they've gotten *themselves* infiltrated, what better way to cast off doubt than for the infiltrator to point fingers at us?" He shrugs his shoulders, "Apologies for speakin' out of turn, but it does seem a bit... short-sighted. We can't assume they're actually that stupid."
"Sometimes the point's just to have a war," growls Andreia, her chest rumbling, "Ain't always a crusade."
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"I did," Rook replies to Razi, still wearing a heavy frown, arms crossed over his obsidian chest. "He was as nonsensical as ever, but he let slip that he planned his rumor mongering with the current leaders of the Southern Court." His gaze flicks to Solomon, then Real who gives him a small nod of encouragement. His scowl grows, but eventually he slips his gaze back to Razi again. "He's deranged, but he seemed to be telling the truth."
As talk of war seems to cause a noticeably negative reaction amongst the rest of the Lost, Real holds up a hand -- not necessarily for silence, but just so she can try to interrupt and retake control of the discussion. "We do not want war with our brothers and sisters in the South anymore than you do. Hopefully there will be a /reasonable/ explanation for what's going on, and a chance for peaceful discussion." She pauses, glancing around seriously to the assembled group, "However, we /must/ prepare for the worst. If the Southern Freehold is attempting to destabilize us with false rumors, there has to be a reason. We can't be caught unawares and unprepared just because we dislike the idea of a conflict with them."
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"Not to sound like a negative Nancy," Ted pipes up again, "But are we *sure* that's what they're doin'? Not just some last-ditch attempt at messin' with us from this prisoner y'all caught? If his goal's to destabilise us, then... tellin' us the south is preppin' for war would do that just as much as rumours of traitors."
"The price I pay for a college education." Maya mutters, shaking her head. Clearing her throat, in a more 'meant for the room' voice, she says, "Figuring out why they want us destabilized's a good start. Convincing them not to fuck with us is a better one. War's probably a good last bet." She agrees. "We learn anything about how the Southern Freehold's set up or anything? Anything Barnie said that points out /any/ other information about the South so far?"
Fiametta continues to listen quietly, though the bright corona of light that surrounds her flickers now and then like the corona of the sun, little flames of light leaping and fizzing out into nothing now and then. She is uncharacteristically still, though her eyes are narrowed--either in thought or contemplation, as her gaze moves from one speaker to the other. It lingers on the summer wolf, though, and that brings back a ghost of a smile.
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With a growling rumble, Rook grunts out a sound of disagreement and speaks up again as he looks between Logan and Ted. "He didn't say they were preparing for war. It's called deductive reasoning. If they're looking to spread disagreement and paranoia among us with false rumors," he grumbles, "It stands to reason they're doing it to soften us up. We don't know why yet."
Real listens to Rook for a moment, looking a little dissatisfied with his tone but otherwise in agreement with his words. She's about to speak up and answer a few more of the questions being called out, when Andrew suddenly interrupts with a bark of harsh, unamused laughter. "It's all a crock o' shite," he drawls, staring daggers at Rook and Real as they in turn look annoyed. "They're probably just confused is all. No reason to start reachin' for the pitchforks and torches." Donald doesn't speak, but there's clear agreement in his gaze a he shifts in his seat.
"Regardless," Real continues, dropping the word like a judge's mallet as she stares right back at Andrew, "We must be prepared. Rook will be taking volunteers for investigatory teams in order to learn what we can about the Southern Freehold." She breaks her gaze from the Ogre to look around the room again and continue in a more measured tone, "While we don't know who their present Monarch is, we /do/ know that they're being nominally lead by an Elemental named Hubert who was a respected member of the original united Freehold before the attack on the Zoo. Any further information will be greatly appreciated."
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Razi's gaze shifts to linger on Solomon, as if waiting to see if the more volatile of the two will end up replying before he does. But then he asks, "You said Barnabas seemed to be telling the truth. Or, at the very least, believed what he said. But does he believe the rumors he is spreading? That is: if he arranged with the leadership of the Southern Freehold to come here and speak these words, did he have enough sense left that it was clear they believed the rumors to be false?"
Solomon has been in faculty meetings before. He keeps his mouth shut, although he glances at Andrew and Donald, then at Real and Rook, as if trying to see where the faction lines are drawn. He crosses his arms over his chest, his serrated fingertips tapping on his arms as he listens.
Logan studies Rook for a moment or two and though his lips twitch into a small smile, he chooses not to say anything further. Instead, his attention shifts over to Razi then back to Rook, clearly curious as to what the answer to that question might be.
While he may not have been in faculty meetings before, Ted's used to being surrounded by many strong personalities with firm views. So he, like Solomon, keeps silent - though he does offer a brief nod to Razi when they make a most excellent point. He even allows his mind to wander a little... he did turn the oven off this morning, right?
From the look on her face, Rachel is definitely feeling some empathy with what Andrew is saying, and even nods when he finishes saying it. Yet, Real's caution also makes sense too. Her shadow writhes and her mantle simmers as she stays where she is by the snack bar.
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"Most of what he said was nonsense," Rook replies to Maya, his already potent frown descending into a true scowl, "He seems obsessed with the sort of bed I sleep in." That last he mutters off to the side, clear frustration and annoyance still lingering after a previous encounter with the much-discussed prisoner. "In any case. Not much else was useable or pertinent."
But then his gaze shifts to Razi, and that scowl lightens back into the far more personable and friendly frown that had been previous gracing his craggy face. "It's difficult to tell," he remarks, flicking a glance to Real and Marybelle. Real seems very pointedly intent on his response, but the Queen looks almost detached from the proceedings as she continues to scan the room with an aloof bearing. "Personally? I think they confused him. Messed with his head. Exploited his condition. Then they wound him up and sent him here like their personal toy soldier to cause havoc."
Real nods once with approval, then turns back to face the crowd, seemingly waiting to hear and counter any remaining protests before she says: "If that is all, there is a lot of work to be done. Any who wish to volunteer to help Rook with his investigation into the Southern Freehold, give your name to Thomas after court."
- ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It's all just a lot of back-and-forth, to Andreia, none of it important until such time as there's the business of actual fighting to discuss. She's still hunkered forward, but her feet have started dancing against the floor, the insistent semi-rythmic tap-taptap of someone who needs to be moving and doing, not listening and certainly not talking. The Wolf has even started picking at the tangles in her (mortal) hair, distractedly returning Fiametta's smile as she works on a particularly profound one, then flicks the resulting hairball carelessly onto the floor.
Her wolf ears shift and twitch as they pick up the rest of the conversation, but it all gets filed under SEP; Somebody Else's Problem. She doesn't contribute anything more, and when the close of court begins to be called, she starts to rise up out of her chair, casually touching two fingers to her lips and flicking them out to the fire elemental, before making a beeline for Rachel - attempting to intercept her before she makes it to her post-meeting meeting.
Razi's gaze draws slowly between Rook and Real, watching the interplay between them, and then shifts to Marybelle for a moment to note her reaction -- or lack thereof -- as well. "Of course," he finally says, inclining his chin, and falls silent for the moment as Court draws to a close.
Late! Or planned on time. Whatever, Steve arrives at the meeting and slides into the back where he can listen. He raises his hands when volunteers are asked for. "That's not something I'm good at." He lowers his hand. "But I have a hollow that I have been spending a lot of time building. One that I open up for use if it can help. There is plenty of space even if much of it is not very finished. I also wish to organize training sessions. Both for individual and group combat."
Rachel wastes no time in walking directly up towards where the Important People have gathered. Naimly the queen, Real, and Rook. Her arms remain crossed as she looks between them, a frown furrowing her brow, and both shadow and mantle continuing to make themselves felt.
- ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Real's gaze slants towards Steve when he speaks up, and after a moment of consideration, she looks back towards Marybelle who nods slowly and silently in return. "Very well," Real calls out as she turns back around, "If there is anything the Court can do to help, let us know. The Queen finds this to be a worthy endeavor." With one final glance about the room to see if there's anything else, she finally straightens and shifts her clipboard back down to hold in front of her waist. A formal note bleeds its way into her voice as she announces: "Then this concludes Court for the evening. Be safe, and be vigilant."
With that, Queen Marybelle rises from her 'throne,' an act repeated by the rest of the Freehold leadership -- with Donald and Andrew rising perhaps a few seconds slower than Rook, Real, and Thomas. Without a word, the Queen turns and once more glides from the room, Real following quickly behind.
- ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Well, that complicates things. Or maybe not.
Andreia's not shy in her approach, one hand jammed into her pocket, the other swinging loosely with the vigorous motions of her hips. She's essentially accosting Rachel from all the way across the room, approaching her like a particularly keen mugger who probably isn't going to stop and ask any questions - but rather than bodily tackle the other woman into next week, she slides around her, pulling the hand out of her pocket baring a slightly soggy cardboard rectangle.
"I'm in," she mutters, forcefully, and then flicks the item into the other woman's generous chest. It would be charitable to call it a 'business card', but it /does/ have her phone number written on it. In what seems to be red crayon. "Call me."
Interaction over, apparently. She spins on her boots with a creak of protesting leather and starts to strut away toward the exit.
Sidling slightly energetically towards Steve, Ted raises a hand in greeting, "Howdy. I'm Ted," he says, for that is his name, "I'd be interested in takin' you up on that trainin' offer." He hooks his thumbs into his gunbelt and grins rather sheepishly, "I'm a pretty good shot and I've been practicin' my knife work. But workin' in a team ain't somethin' I've done in a long while. Figure I need to brush up before, you know, all hell breaks loose."
Steve nods at Ted with a bright smile. "As long as you don't ask me how to be better with a gun. I know the dangerous end. Little else. But how to implement one as part of a group?" He wobbles a hand. "Oversight and support from a gun should work just the same as a bow. It should be easy enough to work with. Maybe easier because it takes less space." He slides his hands into his pockets. "I'm not an expert at everything. Just need to get some other people willing to teach things within their skillsets. But I can bring it all together. Everyone in a group has their roles. Each role supported by others and with other being able to also fill that role. Learning how to predict what your allies will do so you can act with less worry of injuring them or knowing where their support will come from. How to travel in groups to be the most secure. Covering all angles at all times." He rolls his shoulders. "Or, just people letting lose with some full contact sparring with blunted weapons."
Letting out a dry chuckle at Steve's remarks, Ted nods, "I'd be happy to lend a hand, then. I ain't much of a teacher but they say teachin' is the best way to learn, and I could always be better." He shrugs his broad shoulders again, "An' if you ever need fresh fish for your hollow, I'm your guy."
"If it's fresh, I will take all you got. Or at least all I can eat." Says Steve with a wide bright smile and a pat on his stomach. "As we get more people there we'll need more food."
"Fresh out of the lake," Ted says with a sharp nod, "I ain't the best fisherman, but I like it. So it'd be handy to sorta... combine my hobby with helpin' out, you know?" He reaches a large hand up to scratch at his stubbly cheek, "I try not t'be the type that sits around and waits for shit to be handed out."
Steve gives Ted a thumbs up and heads for the door. "I'm not the best cook but I still like to do it. Fresh fish over a camp fire. hard to beat." He winks with a smile and waves as he heads out.
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