Recruitment: Ratnapriya Choudhry

The dish washer at the restaurant was an utter gossip, and odd as hell to boot. She had a raccoon she fed off the back stoop when the boss wasn't looking, and friends just everywhere in the city, and there was this kid who'd run by and chitter nonsense and she'd pass her food, just like the raccoon. She was round and cheery and got the work done fast and well, so she just never really got fired, no matter how many canollis disappeared out the back door.

She'd been sick the last week, though, and a friend of hers came in to do her job so she wouldn't lose her job. An older man, and cranky, and he'd kept an odd eye on Ratnapriya this week. He was leatherfaced, ancient and Scotish, and he went by Dougal and nothing more.

When she went out back on one of her breaks, he followed, and packed his pipe from the stoop. "Ye got a light, lass?"

FINALLY. Moved, so let's get moving!

Hokay, so.

Finally I am moved, settled, and have the time to work on this shizzle.

1) What weekend is LARP for some folks? Like, give me the next couple of dates.
2) Whatever weekend it is, we'll get the game started on opposing weekends.
3) This means you have either two or three weeks to get your character done, and your intro started.

Intros so far:
Cardiff Team
Annelie Liljedahl (in progress)
Lyssa (done)
Tara McLeod (done)
Terry Barth (in progress)

Edinburgh Team
Isabeau d'Orleans (done?)
Sebastien d'Orleans (in progress)
Kostandin Livadaki (done)
Ratnapriya Choudhry (in progress)
Maria Brandi (done)

If your name isn't there, you must ping me sometime before the end of the month -- February 28 -- or I'm going to assume that you're not going to make it for the first couple sessions. Which is cool, it's fine! But.

And, um, when I was uber tired the other day someone told me they were switching nights... and... who was it? Hehe.

So, yes. Hurray!

Recruitment: Annelie Liljedahl

It's four-forty-five in the morning. The main adjectives here are dark and cold, with a side order of damp. The night's been particularly heavy this winter -- they've just felt longer than most years. An odd tension in the air. It's enough to make an excitable person wonder what's coming.

There's a scratching at Annelie's door, a very soft sound, like mice. Except the pattern keeps changing, and anyone focusing would slowly start to recognize the different patterns. Giddyup, giddyup, giddyup let's go... then shave and a hair cut... and then tea, for two, and two, for tea...

Recruitment: Lyssa

One of the nice things about the Caern of Lost Sight was the bawn -- the sacred space around the source itself -- abutted against the back of an ancient pub. The Skirrid Mountain Inn had been put up hundreds of years ago by a few enterprising Fianna, and it'd been run by the same families ever since.

The crowd alternates, night by night -- most Fridays are full of tourists and musicians. Saturdays are a mixed crowd, but by Sunday it's all locals again, humans with the stones to make it their local, kinfolk and of course most members of the sept. Even Wednesday and Thursday, there's plenty of locals about, drawn in by a couple of specials and some live music.

But Mondays, Tuesdays, the locals know enough to stay away. Even the drunks find an excuse to drink at home. The Garou socialize those days, and they're free to talk as they like. There are all sorts of little added security added those days -- mirrors are covered, even the glasses are frosted. The shutters are closed.

This Tuesday was just like any other, to start. There was a small group of elders in one corner, shooing off anyone who got too close and talking in low voices. Tables had been pushed out of the way away from the bar, and a group of cubs -- none older than sixteen -- had a little music turned up and were sitting on the floor, playing cards and occasionally getting into fights. In between, garou were socializing, gossip was being passed, all the rest. ANd Lyssa... Lyssa was?

A few numbers.

Hey, y'all!

We're getting close to gearing things up. Many of y'all are intro'ed or darn close to being there. Those who still need intros, please to be pestering me!

I start my new job tomorrow (EEE!) and after a day or two I'll know if we can start as soon as everyone is introed, or if we'll need to wait until I move (which one be more than a week or two).

Since I didn't have the numbers for beginning Willpower, Reknown, Gnosis and Rage when I helped some of you make characters, I've typed them up and put them below.

The NumbersCollapse )

Recruitment: Isabeau d'Orleans

The manor house was easy to find, and so that's where she was found; Gillian carefully came in the late-afternoon, when there was no possibility of her getting caught out on the manor after sunset.

She was wearing her Sunday best, as if that were important; an odd dress of pale peach, marked with details in vivid green, a belt like vines and tight tight cuffs at the wrists, her hair done up in lovely if elaborate braids. She even found a hat to match, a small pillbox that perches up among the braids like a bird in a nest.

Well, she tried.

There's a canvas backpack over one shoulder, spoiling the effect a bit as well, and her shoes while neat are showing signs of wear from all the walking. She rings the bell and waits patiently, rehearsing a sentence in awkward French that she'd learned by the syllable.

Recruitment: Sébastien d'Orléans

She found him at the County freehold; the local court was held once a month, and it was small. Usually the same people, over and over again. Usually, it was a dull affair, which suited the Count of the area quite well.

Strangers still caused gossip, and this one was no exception. She was a slight girl, too old to be a wilder and yet a wilder she was. A troll, built just a bit large than any of the other women here, and speaking not a lick of French. Word reached Sebastien's ears that she was looking for him, and that the boggans had bustled her off to a corner with a cup of tea.

Recruitment: Maria Brandi

The day at the museum went as it usually does -- quietly, easily. For one reason or another, Maria's the last to leave; she's got keys to lock up and the code to the alarm, after all, so whatever projects she gets interested in she can see through to the end.

When she turns around, there's a raccoon on the sidewalk. It's holding up a little sign written on an index card.

Come with Me
I have Candy

Recruitment: Kostandin Livadaki

All's quiet in Maine. For once, nothing's risen up out of the deep to drown the fair holdings of Drowned Mountain -- a satyr remarked they should have a sign, 'proudly X days since the last citizen eaten' -- and people are settling into a routine.

The winter's even been mild, and all seems well, which should have been Kos's first sign.

"Kostandin!" No one's yet figured out how the good Baron Marcus has rigged it, but somehow he can stick his head out of the library and roar a name loud enough to echo right out to the shore. "Now!"

Let us translate from Marcus's personal language to English: Pardon, Kos, may I have the pleasure of your company? I have something important to tell you.

Recruitment: Tara McLeod

When Tara gets home -- from wherever, from whatever, no matter how early or late -- there's a man sitting on the porch of her apartment building. He's one of those people who must be younger than they seem -- his face says forty but his body says twenty. Not uncommon among wolves, really.

There are two unique things about him. One, to say he reeked of breeding, one way or another, would be an understatement. Something about the way he moves radiates his heritage. Two, though he's neatly blindfolded he seems to be able to see without trouble -- at the very least, he pricks up as she approaches and stands steadily. Perhaps he's merely used to being blind.

"I hope," he says, "that you had no plans tonight."