2020-10-29 With Darkest Kin, Comes Brightest Light

With Darkest Kin, Comes Brightest Light

Participants: Thierry Caroline_F Soren Asher Vann Eamonn Bryn Niamh Old_Celeste Crow Nicki Fen Court of Land's End Naria

Storyteller: Thierry

Location: La Maison, Santa Monica

Date and Time: October 29th, 2020

Summary: Before the grand tourney at Land's End, Thierry invites many folks to visit his home. There, upon the beach, comes the lover of the deceased Duchess bearing tokens of his revenge. He was once mortal, now Keremet and has been invited to join Land's End

Mood Music: https://youtu.be/WR7fwMM5ccc

SCENESET: The evening had arrived! Everyone who wanted one had received a golden ticket, er golden invitation!, to the home of one Lord Thierry ap Fiona, in delightfully quirky Santa Monica. In the residential part of town, of course, where all the swanky old money and new money met and mixed it up on the beachside cliffs. Think Baz Luhrmann's Great Gatsby. Or ANYTHING by Baz Luhrmann, really. On the outside/mundane at least. Once inside? It'll be a whole different ballgame.

Oh Santa Monica. Down the 405, then down Santa Monica Boulevard. All the way down the boulevard is how Caroline and her retinue arrive. Caroline and Asher and Soren and probable others with only Soren looking positively fantastically attired. Purple velvet waistcoat is the focal point of his clothes for the evening, and really what else do you need? Caroline does indeed arrive accompanied by Soren and Asher, her hand tucked neatly into the arm of the former while she chatters away excitedly at the latter. Some sort of grand affair must be going on tonight, given that she's dressed herself in a very, very sparkly gold cocktail dress -- at least as far as mundane eyes are concerned. To the fae visiting Land's End, she's clad in glittering gold armor that reflects every pop of light and every sparkle, the sidhe plate almost as bright as the fiery-haired sidhe within it.

Is that /literally/ a red carpet leading up into La Maison? Oh, it most definitely is. Music can be heard, and the scent of various tasty foods from an assortment of international cuisines can be smelled drifting on this of that current outside the home. Outside, there will be a pair of nattily dressed boggans to greet the arrivals and usher them inside. A masquerade mask would be made available to any who wanted one. As would capes. Scarves. In an array of colors. Lord Thierry, he loved himself pops of color.

Asher is dressed for the evening in a black cocktail dress (not to outdo Caroline, you know?), floral leggings, sparkly silver doc martins, and a magenta jacket with silver detailing and epaulets. Also, glasses with enormous rose colored lenses and at least seven rings. If you are wondering if this look is Too Much you are one hundred percent correct. "Omigod, fabulous," he praises, and assures Caroline, "I am on my BEST behavior." It's a pooka assurance, though. He does want a masquerade mask, of course!

Heading in the direction of everyone's destination comes Nicki, with a bounce in her step as she goes. Bopping along makes her short pink hair shift about against her cheeks, which are currently dimpled from how wide her smile is as she chatters into her phone, saying, "I know I know, just.. just hurry up! Make it if you can!! There's," she pauses and sniffffffs at the air. "Good food! And uh.. Capes!! ... Yes, capes!" She cackles a bit, overly-thrilled, and she laughs into the phone. "Okay, just hurry!" and she ends the call, stuffing the phone into the back pocket on her overall shorts. A tie-dye tee is beneath the overalls, and her legs are covered with bright pink leggings that cover her legs from shorts to yellow boots.

Never one to make particularly grand gestures, Crows arrival could would be considered underwhelming by most. The sound of a Motorcycle engine builds in the distance before coming into a sight. Pulling up, there is a moment where the figure simply sits, elbows on the handlebars and observes the incoming pageantry through a tinted, opaque visor. Humming quietly to herself, a kickstand is deployed and the helmet is removed. Best go and find a spot to get changed into more appropriate attire. She makes her way into the area, clothes over one arm and a scroll case over one shoulder.

What an awkward way to meet new people. Everyone's dressed up all fancy, and there is a rather new face, Niamh, dressed a bit less flamboyantly. She has on a green leather-looking jacket, a black t-shirt with white text that reads 'Kiss Me I'm Irish', though the 'Kiss Me' has been crossed out and replaced with a 'Fuck You'. Jeans, boots. And the short redhead is doing her best to just stay off to the fringes for now.

A tall elegant looking mortal Englishwoman with red tresses in fairy-esque attire, barefoot, comes out exiting La Maison, arm in arm with Lord Tierry. She'll pause up on the steps, and lean over to give Thierry a peck on the cheek. "So sorry I can't stay, but I promise I'll make the next one, dear. You do get to keep my bandmates for the eve, though. I'm sure one of your guests will make good use of them..." She then blinks owlishly as guests arive, gives a cheeful laugh, sneaks in one last hug, and then rushes down teh steps past all the arriving ffolk.

Someone told Vann recently that he needs to make a greater effort in getting to know other Fae other than just being some random Troll that makes weapons. Truth be told, he's been doing his best to stay out of the way, alcimatize to LA in general and trying to find a suitable building for this shop in particular. So the fact that someone even bothered to hand him an invitation comes as a mild shock. What does he even wear? What *should* he even wear? Does it even matter what he wears? But eventually he arrives, wearing some kind of mixture of if someone took a Nedrobos and threw a Ragstock shop at it. His old dress pants from his dress uniform from the army. A pair of Union LA x Nike Jordan 1s, a simple black dress shirt, and....a black and red flannel shirt tied around his waist(it might get cold). That's the mundane get up. The non-mundane variant is set of scale mail armor and battle skirt, with a very large one-handed hammer chained to his waist.

Fen, young Pooka and technically still Chrysalid, turns up in a snug-fitting velvet jacket of dark patterned crimson, black feathered cuffs and collar over a mid-riff baring blacked cropped cami. Black leggings that end in chunky and lifted shitkicker boots. A wide studded belt slung over her hips that doesn't appear to serve any functional purpose. Pink hair has been styled into a cute and fanned updo, exposing the back of her neck and pinned in place with crossed lacquer chopsticks, sides freshedly buzzed down to natural black roots. A light touch of makeup, mascara. Pink lipgloss and a single black stripe down the middle of her lower lip. A black choker necklace. The usual eyepatch. A cigarette holder because /style/. Yes this is pretty much what Fen wore to Winnifred's wedding, but she doesn't have a big wardrobe! She's here by herself. Or, perhaps, just early, the Baron and his seneschal may just be stylishly late.

Maybe it was because her hosts worked just above poverty line or maybe because she just preferred simple. The Meat wore new jeans without any stains, a deep red blouse and a simple pair of red converse. Definitely not what one expects to be worn at a party of this type! In the Fae, she woree warrior leathers of a forgotten age and meant for far colder climes. She looked... very war hardend, like she could snap your neck and then sip tea afterwords.

	 She had gotten the invitation and figured she could learn more about the Kinain.

Lord Thierry seems QUITE put out that the tall barefoot red haired Englishwoman in fairy-esque attire is having to leave, but his mood brightens when he sees all the new faerie faces arriving upon his doorstep. He waves to the departing rockstar."I'll hold you to that, Flo. Mi casa es always su casa!" Then he primps and fluffs out hsi magnificent peacock's tail, the sunset oscillating off of the irridiscent feathers like something straight from heaven's grace. "HELLO! HELLO! EVERYONE! HELLO! I'LL SEE YOU ALL INSIDE I SHOULD HOPE!"

Asher starts off good behavior by just calling across everyone gathered, "HEY PUPPY!" in Fen's general direction, followed by running straight into Vann. Bonk. Oops. He blinks and looks up (up up) at the troll, then back at his shoes, then back up. Big grin. Big annoying pooka grin. "Like it," he greets, which might be the footwear, or... who knows, really, it can be hard to tell with Pooka. Shortly distracted, however, he spots Thierry, gasps, and pushes his glasses up on his head. "Omigod, catch me, I'm gonna pass out." That might be to Vann again.

(Eamonn) Pulling up in a Mazda Miata MX5 He gets out wearing a black suit with a royal purple vest and tie the Balor crest upon the left breast of his suit jacket. He moves to the other side and helps Celeste out and walks in. "You ready for this my love?" He asks with his arm offered to here. On the Autumn side of things, Bryn appears as underdressed as a number of the others. Parking their bike a little distance away, they head toward that glittering place still in the biker jacket, along with black leather pants and white tuxedo shirt. On the other side, there's dark splendor and full regalia, the shield's flat black emptiness slung at the knight's back.

Celeste comes with Eamonn, wearing a black dress that fits snugly around her form, flraing out a bit at the legs, and with gold trim and accents. She smiles and stands up, taking his hand, those emerald, cat-slitted eyes bright with happiness. "Are they ready for me, I wonder?" Her coppery red-gold hair is braided, falling down almost to her waist, as she makes her way to the house. Coming by Thierry, she gives a deep curtsey. "Good evening, and thank you for inviting us all, sir. I appreciate it."

As Asher stops short, so does Caroline -- though more because her conversation was suddenly ended and not so much because she slammed into the troll. She did not slam into the troll, but she did look up, up, up at him. And then at her brother, grinning. "I told you that you should come meet our host, and you haven't even seen the proverbial feather in his cap yet." A pause. "Or his literal ones, either, though I expect they're a show unto themselves, too."

Unsure as to who actually gave her an invitation, having found it resting on her one morning, Dolly wouldnt miss an event like this in a million years! Fun for everyone involved! Easily lost in the group of people, being one of the smallest things in the crowd. She isnt wearing anything different than what she normally appears in, for its already audacious enough to really stand out. Short in stature, high in trouble making. Staying low, bag in one hand, the small clown does her best to weave between folks, caaaarefully... putting things in their pockets, purses, and should someone find an item suddenly that wasnt there a moment ago, would find... individually wrapped snacks, all shapes and sizes from small candies to whole, but single, donuts in wax paper bags.... Lord Thierry gives Celeste a wink and a smile. "Oh my, so you're the beauty what's tamed the beast, eh? We've heard of you, we have." A longlook at Eamonn. "Mind the mome raths, please. They've a bit of a history with your brethren." Then Thierry is ushering everyone in, using his magnificent wingspan to great effect. "EVERYONE INSIDE! COCKTAILS AND CANAPES!" Phantasmavore arrives from Ocean Avenue. Naria looks around at the entrance in a a silent awe for the briefest of moments. Not being in her element was visibly obvious as she looked around. Sure she could peer into the future but that didn't help you figure out the social norms you found yourself in!

Caroline and Soren are the first pair to step into La Maison, and the man glances down to where the Italian Marble foyer floor winds into cursive letters the pair's names emblazoned upon it. "Soren Thorgaut and Dame Tanwen!" A chimerical voice rings down from the ceiling before the pair step off the stone and continue further into the building proper.

Inside? IT HAS BEEN DECKED /OUT/. The Machine, had indeed left behind by Florence, to provide music for the mundane part of the party. Waitstaff walk about providing libations and snacks to everyone. There are a few dreamers scattered about, engaged in some manner fo performamnce artistry, regulars at Thierry's soirees.

By the time Nicki has made it to the front of the home and inside, she's donned a magnificent cape, and has taken several scarves that she's tied together and tucked about her waist to create some sort of makeshift skirt. Lotsa people seem to be dressed nicer, so why not?! With her outfit all settled, she moves inside, smiling brightly as she peeks about the home.. and she is -not- expecting to suddenly hear her name: Nicki Anderson.. No notable rank. She turns, blinks, stares at it.. backs off of it, and steps on again to see if it'll call her name once more. Asher was asked by Vann if they have met (Or Vann asked Caroline and Soren, which, close enough), and gasps at him, staring, agog. "Omigod, yes, we've met!" he exclaims in distress. "How can you not remember me? Me, Asher? And them, Soren and Caroline-who-is-Tanwen?" There's not even an explanation for her name, Ash is just busy looking totally wounded. "I literally can't even with you right now, Big Blue. Now you have to buy me a drink." Even though they're free. The pooka grins again, maybe curious to see if this is going to work or if he's about to get decked.

“We have," Caroline responds quickly, with a sharp nod. "Once. At the Belasco--ooooh!," she trails off as her name is announced with Soren's. There's a pause where she turns to see who made the announcement, but there's no one there. Only the marble stone with 'Dame Tanwen' appearing momentarily on it, which she blinks at the ones, then smiles, clearly charmed by the stepping stone. Fen puts her cigarette lighter to use for extra style points (in her mind), practicing an Audrey Hepburn pose for a moment. Is she announced in? God she hopes not. Is this a nonsmoking function? She didn't check. Somethingsomething forgiveness. She'll then meander over to join Asher on his way into the function. The Proper thing to do would be to politely chill until her Official Party turns up, but Proper isn't really her thing and hanging out with the other Coyote Pooka seems like a better use of her time and energies. Like looking awesome and scoping the bar. "S'up," she will say, interjecting herself into Asher's sphere lest he not notice her. Thus she latches. "Buy me a drink too?" Who's buying who a drink? Who cares. She'd like a drink. Crow, as is her wont, gravitates towards the area which gives her the most commanding view of the rapidly commencing festivities. Shaking her head as one of the wait staff approaches her with a tray of drinks, she snags a glass of sparkling water for while she waits. There will be time enough later for libations proper. For now, she would rather keep a clear head. The scroll case remains easily slung over her shoulders, even when outside of the motorcycle leathers that she would have arrrived in. Much as outside, inside Niamh just kind of... skirts around the fringes. Yep. Fringe skirting. She pats at her pockets to make sure all her belongings are in order and she sets about the time honored tradition of wallflowering while trying to look like a cool, aloof loner. Arriving late is Dame Tyria Winter ni Leanhaun. She was of the local musical set, and dressed in stylish mundane garb. In the Dream? It was all exotic leathers in dark greens from this or that fantastic beast. Pops of red would serve as accents in silks woven from the fame worms of wundagore. Or some such. Lord Thierry vanishes, but then reappears at the top of the stairs. He's weepy /already/ because, well. That's just how THIS pooka rolls. "SO many new faces and friends," he mutters to himself before knocking back a generous gulp of cocktail. "I want to say I remember that, wait now I do. I think. Last couple of weeks...months? Kind of blurred together." Vann remarks, then blinking at the onslaught that Asher seems to be. "Uh," he starts, pausing. "Yeah, sure. I can spot you if your short." The announcement of names is noted, though it seems to be that it's not for everyone. "Seems like the important sounding people are anno-" he's cuttoff mid-statement as his foot steps on the stone, stating loudly "Sir Callan Vann." There's a glance up. "Ah. And there it is." Eamonn chuckles shaking his head. "Lord Thierry I have not been tamed. But Lady Celeste has indeed made her way into my heart." Laughing he makes his way in with Celeste. "Yes I'll be sure to keep that in mind." He looks around taking it all in. "This place is amazing, and I thought our home was nice." Asher didn't get decked by a Troll. Good start! The delighted Pooka grin gets ever broader, and now there are two of them. "This is Puppy," he introduces Fen to Vann. The stepping stone will call him Asher Evans, but he ignores it. "Puppy, this is Big Blue." Whose actual name was jut presented, of course, but such details are irrelevant. Both of his ringed hands lift in delight. "He's buying us drinks!" Which are, again, free. "Which of you all is going to introduce me to our host? Where's Caroline? Is there food?" More specifically to Vann, "You got a lot of shoes?" "Our home has you in it, and so is in every way superior," Celeste says with a light, teasing laugh to Eamonn. Thierry gets a grin, "I will be the first to say he is not tamed...and I like him that way, but I treasure him deeply." She smiles to him and continues into the room to see who and what is abuot. As she steps over the threshold and onto the stone, it begins to announce "Lord F-" before it is quelled with a glare. The stone squeaks in response before belting out "Dame Crow" in a hasty tone, to which she simply nods in acceptance before proceeding through. Bryn glances over one shoulder to Crow, and turns to sketch a small bow. "Lady of the blade," they say quietly. Likely the most serious at the party, at this rate. Nalio knows... no one. She is a very new face and aside from being at a very interesting wedding for strangers and being rushed to safety? She has not had much interaction. Though 2 faces stand out as familiar. Fen and Bryn, but for very different reasons. She offers a shy wave as she wonders deeper in. Soren stays at Caroline's elbow, or vice versa. He is intrigued by the appearance of Vann though because why wouldn't you be? Thats a big guy. "A pleasure to meet you, since I'm the odd one out. I'm Soren." He is seemingly trapped between offering his hand out to shake or snagging a glass of booze from a passing tray. He chooses booze quickly, and passes the first sideways to Caroline...then to Asher...then to Vann and finally himself. Nicki eventually backs away from the stone to where she can stands and watch others as they move into the home, and each time a name is given, she looks between name and face as if trying to make it stick in her memory. While watching, she can't help but catch sight of Fen, to whom she offers an excited wave. She wavvvves a good bit, but doesn't interrupt her, Asher and the others. No, instead she begins to peek around once more to see who else is there.

What would the stone call announce her as? Naria walks over it out of a curiosity. Outing herself was a possibilty but... she really wanted to see! 'Naria....' Was all it said. "Huh... interesting." She was surprised it didn't list things like the others. There was a silent sight of relief though! 
	 Seeing Fen she wanders over and with a smile, "Hello again Fen."

A flock of chimerical doves flit about the room, to and fro, generating various shapes as they make thier way all over the space. They'll partner with the earlier mentioned mome raths to begin ushering peole DEEPER into abode, where they can shed the trappings of banality for the delights of the Dream! Lord Thierry swoops down, sliding down teh stair bannister and landing at groudn level with a flourish as he dives in to rub elbows with all of his guests! He's handing out drinks and snacks and connecting people with each other even though he's the lord of the maison. But eventually he'll make his way towards Tanwen (Caroline) and Co. "Everyone into the GARDEN!" declares the peacock pooka. "I guarantee NO ONE will get lost." A grin and a wink at Tanwen and Soren and Asher. "Much," he offers quietly. "Mostly." A litle titter of a giggle. "Kinda sorta." And then he decides to be the one leading the procession. "MIND THE MOME RATHS!" Fen - or Puppy as she has just been introduced by Asher, as she seems to have avoided the stone announcement for now - will look up at Vann the big blue Troll because there's a lot up there. Christ Trolls are big. That ain't right. Oh and here's a tray with drinks. And they're not checking IDs. Faaantastic. That Nicki way over there will get a glass raised her way in greeting, and now we have a Naria also offering salutations. "Hey." She feels oddly popular. Weird. A sip of wine, to taste it. Mmm. Nice. She could get used to this sort of party and she's not even sure what sort of party this is supposed to be yet. Fighting later, of some sort. Hopefully not her. That wouldn't work out. No.

Well, isn't that convenient? "I can introduce the pair of you, Ash, if you'd like," Caroline says, slender fingers curling around the glass which Soren has held out for her. And really, it's just when she's about to lead (drag, really) the lot of them over towards Thierry, the peacock pooka slides down the bannister of his grand staircase and is right there, at their feet. "Lord Chevalier," she says, dipping into an elegant and, frankly, somewhat ostentatious bow. There's a flourish and everything, which makes it all the more impressive that neither Asher nor Vann end up covered in the contents of her cocktail.

"Mind the mome...roths." Soren repeats Thierry's loud call and it worries him so. He leans sideways towards Caroline, "Whats a mome...Oh! Lord Chevalier! Hello again!" The Kinain slips his arm free from Carolines to follow along with the bow to the Baron and host of the party. "You've worried me, baron. For Mome Roths. I'll have to stay close to the Dame to ensure I'm safe."

"But the stone just said..." the Troll starts, but then just shrugs. "Vann. Or Callan. But I prefer Vann. Only my mom really calls me Callan." Vann notes to Asher, perhaps not really troubled by the nickname he's just found himself bestowed with. Soren is given a nod. "Hey. And I guess I'm there too. Being odd man out." There's a general wave in noting of 'all this'. And for a moment, Asher grabs his attention with the remark about shoes. "More than I care to admit. Everyone needs a hobby I guess." With so many people talking at once, he barely notes the arrival of the Bannister Lord. "Sir." he politely greets in whatever knightly way he can muster, bowing. Really, it sounds more soliderly than anything else.

Nalio continues to wonder about and avoid bumping into anyone, the Pooka getting her attention with the announcement. Shrugging her head as she follows to join and enjoy the group gathering and looking around "Wow..." The "house" band left behind by Flo, suddenly launches into a rendition of "Breath Me" by Sia, and suddenly the peacock pooka host of the bash/wake/festival goes statue still, tail feathers spreading out magnificently behind him. His lip quivers, and his eyes moisten, but then he's taking a breath and downing a very large cocktail for some liquid fortification. Soren? Soren gets to provide him moral support. And be a leaning post for a bit while the lord regains composure. Asher shakes his head at Soren's offer of a drink; he's decided Vann is getting drinks and is apparently committed to this bit now, happy to be patient and see if it plays out. "Friends of yours?" he wonders at Fen for those that seem to know her, but then, he is utterly and completely distracted by the arrival of their host. His glasses fall off his head and back down over his eyes, he pushes them back up again. "I can't breathe and I love you," he greets Thierry, overawed by the himness of him. Lord Chevalier and his party are clearly amazing. After a pause too long to not be awkward, he remembers to bow. And just like that? Lord Thierry wings Asher into the side opposite Soren, so that now he has two shoulders to lean/cry on. "Oh dear, my lord. We should continue into the Maze with everyone else." Soren grabs at Thierry's wing or arm to leverage him upright. Perhaps himself and Asher will be the two to guide the Baron into his own garden. Away from the dulcet and woe-invoking tones of Sia. It really is odd to smile at the sight of the pooka lord crying, and yet smile Caroline does, her expression so warm and so bright that it could make the sun jealous. "I knew that the pair of you would become the very dearest of friends. I was absolutely convinced of it. Lord Chevalier, may I present my brother, Mister Asher Evans?" Barely a heartbeat passes before she adds, "Ash, you have the honor of being wept on by Lord Thierry Chevalier ap Fiona, Baron of Land's End, and lord of resplendence and general fabulousness." Is that a word? It's a word. She sounds very confident, in that way that sidhe so often are, that reality will simply bend to her whim. It is definitely a word. Fen's a bit relieved that Lord Thierry didn't do the 'leaning on' thing on her because that /never/ gets old for the tiny person what gets leaned on. But she'll raise her glass at her host in greeting, because... well... uh. That seems the thing to do? There's not a lot going on here in the way of readable social queues and she's okay with faking it. Beheadings don't seem a thing, after all. And she's still got her cigarette holder in her other hand, thinking about putting it to use. "Occasionally," she'll answer Asher's question. Which isn't really an answer. But hard to include the scope of several different details in a single response so this'll do. Is this function a little puzzling? Yes. But she's cool with that, she's got some wine. And a Baron to watch. When the outdoors are mentioned and everyone is ushered that way, Nicki swipes a drink and a snack and heads on out. Drink is held in her right hand and the snack is stuffed into the front pocket on her overalls, and with that settled she begins to head towards the maze. "Wow.. Such a tall one.. Gee.." She mutters to herself as she moves along, stopping once to sniff the flowers and examine a few of the pebbles below. She can't help but pluck one and add it to her pocket, and she keeps heading towards the maze. The firey eyes of the Seeress Naria watches and waits for... something to happen. There has been lots of greetings and hooplah but nothing substantial, at least to her. She had taken to keeping Fen in roughly arm's length. Mostly because she was the only aquaintance-like person here. A version of Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" rings out through the air, sung by a satyr and accompanied by a trio of eshu on instruments. The hedge maze makes it seem liek the music comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once, adding to the mild disorientation. As the Shield bows to the Blade, a small smile graces her features, and she sketches her own slight Bow. "Bryn. A pleasure to see you again. Sorry to have missed you for so long." she straightens up as the rest of the party moves towards the Garden Maze, and falls into stop with her fellow Knight. "How have things been treating you of late?" There is little regard paid to the swirling mass of Faelings around them as they progress. "How have you been finding the Domain so far? To your liking?" Lord Thierry gives Lady Tanwen a smile, then eyes Asher. "What a perfectly predictable pairing," offers the pooka baron before knocking back more booze. As the autumn world fully fades behind them, the emotions of the lord color more and more of the atmosphere. He'll look over shoulder and tailfeathers to make sure no one's been unduly bothered by the aforementioned but as yet unseen MOME RATHS. Sadly, modern music is beyond Vann's grip of understanding. It's like, oh yeah, he's heard of Adele, but probably wouldn't know that this is one of her songs. And also sadly, the glass is comically small in the Troll's hand, having to hold it with his thumb and forefinger as otherwise, he might break it accidentally. Images of Andre of the Giant holding a beer can comes to mind. But for the most part, he's content to watch on, even as they arrive into the garden. "All right," Bryn says, gesturing in the direction of the garden. There's a moment where they consider offering an arm to Dame Crow, but... no. Instead, Bryn pauses to let her move first. "Job in the Autumn is kinda dodgy, sometimes." Heading out Nalio is still in awe of everyone and everything. There is so much going on she starts to feel a bit panicked but takes a deep breath and wonders to the side muttering under her breath for a few moments. 'The ants in france dont wear pants, the ants in france dont wear pants the ants...' After a moment she feels better but is content to just watch. Lord Thierry takes a deep breath, waiting for the song to conclude, (or at least diminuendo!) and then he hoists himself up on Asher and Soren's shoulders, fluttering up with the assistance of his wings. "Thank you all and one, one and all. I know everyone is probably DYING to see some SMASHY SMASHY SWORD AND LANCE!" A pause, "But that's a little later yet. For now, let's go and see where all the SMASHY SMASH will take place - THE BEACH!" He gestures with a drooping wing for Soren and Asher to carry them onwards out of the maze. "I OF COURSE DO NOT KNOW THE WAY, BUT THE FATES SHALL GUIDE US!" Crow nods sagely at the Shields words as they walk. "What is it you're working as?" there's a look of polite curiosity on her features. "I admit, it's been a long time since I have had to work at a job that I did not thoroughly enjoy. Thank the gods for small mercies. The years would have eben far less pleasant otherwise." Asher's response to Caroline's introduction is another "Like it," the words as always drawn out. Lie-kit. So long as Thierry wants to lean, he is available to be leaned upon, though he is not particularly tall, and his general sturdiness could probably be in question either. "It's absolutely without disorder or difficulty, too. Dame Tanwen is often bored," Ash beams, though... calling her Tanwen... there's a smidge of something there, some note of some emotion that isn't true mirth and merriment. Quickly swept aside so that he can beam at Fen, "Puppy, let me bum a cigarette? Big Blue," Vann, "I thought you were buying me a drink! Don't make me sad or I'll write an amazing" ah-may-zing "poem about it, and then what will you do?" He is down to aid with Thierry-hoisting, but it's a good thing the man's got wings, because Ash kinda sucks at it. He's shorter than Soren and only semi-competent at lifting things heavier than a water pipe. Naria was now looking at Fen directly for a few long moments before touching her shoulder lightly with a smile. "I am glad that I see one person I have met before here. This place is... unusual." While lingering near the maze, Nicki has been watching a bit of this and that, and when Lord Thierry speaks in her fantastical way, she can't help but start to giggle. She looks as amused as can be; that's for certain. When the beach is mentioned, she turns, taking a step into the max to see what path will open. There's a sidelong glance downward at Asher, Vann having been lost in thought for a moment, perhaps contemplating the structure of the maze. "Hm? oh." Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, he peers about, looking at one of the passing by servers, taking some random drink, and then offering it to the Pooka, much akin to the Hulk gives Ant-Man tacos. "Not really sure what it is, but booze is booze, right?" "Bar, right now," Bryn says to Crow in that quiet Southern accent. "It ain't bad, the boss lady thinks I got some kinda allergy, lets me go outside when *they* come in." As the mob moves beach-wards through the maze, the eshu trio launches into a rendition of "Live Your Life" by T.I. Lord Thierry certainly had eclectic tastes in the mundane musics! Fen gives Naria a bit of a sheepish grin because if the Seerer is looking to HER for some sort of insight into how to behave in this party oh she is looking at the wrong Pooka. Because Fen is trying to get that sort of informatio out of Asher and Asher looks to be have been hijacked by a Baron. "JESus," the younger Coyote Pooka glares at the elder. Because she does not like people taking her cigarettes. But she'll surrender one anyway. Because it's Asher. She'll take one too, load up her supercool cigarette holder. Soren lowers himself a touch as a hollow-boned Pooka vaults up onto his and Asher's shoulder. Apparently he is playing either platform or base cheerleader because he wobbles a few moments while Thierry starts shouting at people. He is polite enough /not/ to sigh about the exuberance of the baron. He'll reach to snag Asher's elbow so the pair can keep carrying the Peacock into the maze. Asher arrives from La Maison de Sable et de Ciel - Garden Maze. Crow nods slowly "They?" she asks, a look of puzzlement on her features. "Or are we talking a more general they for the more... boring... of the Autumn Worlders?" she shakes her head, "I'm glad you've managed to get something in place, at least. Steady work is hard to come by, given our proclivities." she snorts "Most employers tend to look askance at 'By the by, I may disappear for days or weeks at a time without so much as a by your leave'. However, I hope you'll pardon my saying so, but I hope you manage to find something a bit more to your tastes." The party is suddenly on the move again and she rolls her eyes. "After all, we can always strive for 'better'." Victory, Asher's stupid insistence at making Vann get him a drink has worked, and now he is delighted. Probably partly delighted with the drink and mostly delighted with the fact that the game worked; Fen's cigarette is in the same category. TWO games that have worked, and something to smoke and something to drink, and The True And Absolute Lord Proprietor of All Things Fabulous on one shoulder. "Best day ever in the entire recorded or unrecorded history of days ever since there have been days... best day," he decides, and it seems likely that he deadass would have gone the wrong way and dropped Thierry if Soren wasn't steering him. It's a good thing Soren is here. "Puppy, Big Blue, you're alright I guess," he praises the givers of gifts with Pooka adoration. Eamonn follows into the maze with Celeste upon his arm. Hes looking around as he listens to what Lord Thierry as said he looks to Celeste and smiles brightly. "I'm excited for the next part are you?" Naria definitely /wasn't/ in her element as the small pooka didn't help her with figuring out what to do. There /was/ one things she did know though! That whole fighting thing that was promised. Herself a warrior was always interested in other forms of fighting. Celeste shrugs a bit. "It's beautiful, it's wonderful. I just..." She trails off and leans against Eamonn a bit. Like some fantastic winged pied piper, Lord Tierry leads the procession of guests and regulars down onto the sands of the beaches. SO. MANY. SANDS. Of all colors. And so many performers. Its like Burning Man meets Electric Daisy Carnival meets PennSic! An area has been demaracted for the revelers and the revelry on the srange shores of this fantastical beach, as made clear by pikes and torches stuck into the sand. More chimerical fantastical booze and snacks await! When Nicki makes her way out of the maze and to the path leading the group towards the beach, she has to stop for a moment to take in the beauty of the sand. Alll the sand. The colors and.. Eek! Her smile goes wide as ever and she quickly finishes her drink so she can free her hands up by putting her glass carefully in the sand and to the side. She pauses where she stands and reaches down to unlace her boots, and with one kick followed by another, she ditches the boots and promptly runs off down to the beach. Kinda in slow motions, because running on sand sucks. Fen is feeling particularly elegant here, smoking her cigarette through a long-stem holder with a wine glass in hand, all dolled up. "You owe me a pack," is what she states at Asher. She's less impressed with his declarations of her all-rightness. But then she's also a Pooka, isn't she. Nalio takes her shoes off and is happy to play toes through sand, she may not be talking to many... it any at all but she is having fun on her own. Catching those that come out and wonder about, the host all aflutter and oh so high up. "One hundred percent," Asher agrees with Fen, making promises he super definitely intends to keep. Eamonn keeping Leste close as they get onto the beach. He speaks softly to her and moves closer to where Fen is. "Hey Fen how ya doin?" Looking around taking it all in. Naria wandered further. Seeing the snacks and the like got her three firey eyes to light a bit. Food was always a good tension breaker! Its time to put Thierry down right? Soren glances to Asher to ascertain /his/ decision about the matter...except more commands given. To carry him from the maze down and down and down onto the sands themselves. Aha! The good command! Asher and Soren move to place Thierry upon his sandbox. A gentle pat to the Baron's elbow as he chokes up before Soren gets out of the way for exuberant gestures for his speech. Caroline trails after her assembled party, given that they seem to have all clustered around their host, leading the lot of fae out to the shores of a great, chimerical ocean like the pied piper of fairy tales. As Thierry is deposited atop the soapbox and she's summoned with a simple declaration of 'Falcon!', she follows where beckoned, posting herself at the Fiona's side for... guarding? guiding? possibly just leaning on, given his current state. A gauntleted hand tucks into the crook of his elbow, as though he were her escort for the evening, but it also acts a subtly steadying presence should his wave of sorrow overtake him. A hedge was tall, but if Vann were to stand on his toes, he's able to see over the edge, giving him an easy view of the way out. Granted, all one has to do is follow the black horns and they'll probably find their way out too. But reaching the beach is something he certainly was not expecting. So while other fae may be more used to and perhaps even more included to these kind of things, the Troll watches on, like some very large and blue barnacle. "...I'm not high enough for this." he decides after a moment of watching. At the periphery of the group? Dame Tyria Winter of the house of teh black rose keeps an eye on the baron, and on Tanwen of Gwydion. She'll hop up onto one of the smaller stages to get a better vantage point. Bryn looks over toward the deep voice of the troll, and gives Vann a hint of a smile, one corner of their mouth tugging upward. "No shit." Fen gives Asher gets a Look best described as 'no you actually are,' because she knows exactly how this thing works. It's what she does to other people all day, unintentionally or otherwise. Anyway. She'll sip from her wine, because there's a lot more of it over there looks like and no need to nurse the thing. A greeting for Eamonn, calm moment of interaction after whatever it is Asher and the Baron have been getting up to. "Terrible," notes the Pooka dryly, finishing her wine. "This is poison and the only cure is more. Yourself?" Nicki eventually finds herself a place to plop down in the sand, and as she pushes her stocking-covered toes down into the sand she glances up to begin listening to what Thierry has to say. As she listens and he gets to the bit where the choking up starts, Nicki's little smile softens into a faint frown, but only for a second. Concern fills her gaze as she watches curiously. Asher manages to not make a complete disaster of setting Thierry down, with Soren's aid, upon the box. He probably wasn't worrying about doing it badly, because he has only two brain cells that bounce around his empty skull like the DVD hold screen. Uncharacteristically not making tons of noise and chatter as Lord Chevalier continues, he smokes his cigarette and drinks his drink, one ear flicking uncertainly backwards at the tone of their host. Sadness, weariness? Lord Thierry takes a deep trembling breath, grateful to have Lady Tanwen at his side. "Ever have the Lion and the Falcon found solace and succor within each other," he murmurs. Then he loosk out at all the faces, old and new. "I was granted this barony by Her Grace, the departed ...." his voice will crack a bit. "We helped make peace she and I, after the terrible times, darker times, of which I certainly need not elaborate on. And it seemed like a thousand thousand eras of peace and prosperity were guaranteed us all. It seemed like the sun would never set on Caer Angeles." A pause, "Unless we needed it dark for some smoochy smooch with our lovers, but..." The peacock pooka grump's face will crumple now, the mask of fop and buffoon vanishing entirely, if but for a brief moment. And then he'll take strength from Lady Tanwen as best he can. "I ... I ... I'd like us to all do something special for my friend. The music here, it NEVER stops. The lights, the sounds, the party, it always goes on, but for one moment, I'd liek you all to join me in making it QUIET. For her. My friend. The deprted. Her Grace, Duchess Dulcinea ap Fiona, a truer, more noble, more perfect friend, I have never seen jor will I ever." Thierry lowers his head, doing his best to constain his sobs. He mutters something in French, then goes quiet, clasping his hands and leaning against Tanwen. Bryn drops to one knee without a sound, helm under one arm, head bowed. Nicki watches Thierry and keeps quiet in a respectful way, though when he mentions 'smoochy smooch', she starts to giggle faintly and ends up gently biting into her lower lip to keep quiet. Her hands sink into the sand behind her and she leans back somewhat, relaxing as she listens. When she hears continues to soften her expression, until those sobs trying to be contained make her own eyes become glassy. She pushes up a faint smile and gives a slight nod, still listening. Tanwen, for her part, falls silent. And stays silent, save for the soft sound of metal chain brushing against metal plate as she shifts her weight to support the Baron. Cobalt blue eyes sweep over the crowd, then lower to the sands in a show of respect for the departed, unfamiliar though she may have been. Which, really, is a remarkable display of restraint given the way the corners of her lips had been twitching at the mention of 'smoochy smooch'. Crow lets out a long breath through her nose as the flamboyant pooka speaks. She simply nods silently to the man in his moment of grief and is content to pay her respects to the departed. A moment of silence is a such a small thing to commemmorate a life passed, after all. Gathering that someone must have died Nalio goes quiet and closes her eyes and just sits on the sand until its safe to do something else. Eamonn bows his head and keeps quiet a show of respect for the dead. He just holds Celeste close and keeps a solemn and stoic expression on his face. The pikes leading up to the soapbox, bearing torches and pennons, flutter and flicker in the wind. AND THEN ... Suddenly, coming down the beach path? A pale white nightmare steed. Atop the nightmare steed? A man in black, whose flesh was a deathly pallor. Three wet rough hewn sacks hang on either side of the nightmare, leaking, staining the sand crimson black. Lord Thierry looks up and gasps, muttering to himself in an anguished whisper, "And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." The man in black appears mortal, or mortal-ish, but is clearly a creature of the Dreaming now, for better or for worse. The rider?s possessed of a haunted and unnatural gaunt quality, and his skin appears an ashen graven gray. In such a state, he may, or may not, pass for a living human on casual inspection ? but most assuredly seems dreamed to evoke disquiet in those who see him. His eyes shrink back into his skull and gleam an unnatural blue. Dismounting from the nightmare, the spurs of his boots make no sound when his feet hit the sand. He unwraps the burlap-looking sacks one by one, and reveals? A head in each makeshift sack. Each one will go up to adorn a pike stuck in the sand as the rider walks the path forward towards the baron. An ogre?s head, missing its eyes, A sevartal?s head, missing its tongue. A bogie?s head, missing its ears. And then finally, the heads of a ghast, and two nasties. By then end, the rider has almost made his way up to Lord Thierry, whereupon a smaller bag is unfastened from his belt. "At first? They wouldn't talk." A pause. "But by the end? They wished they could stop screaming," he whispers, dropping the bag at the pooka baron?s feet. Inside, is a mess of eyes, ears, and tongues. "For your sorcerers. I am no closer to ascertaining the motive nor the driving force behind my love?s murder than when I started." He leans up and in, to whisper to Thierry, "-----" The rider stands impassive, stone faced for a few long moments but then? All of the sudden? Glamour surges in and around his person - it tastes of blood and of gunsmoke, of passion and of vengeance, of hate and of love. And when all is said and done? The wight that had stood before the crowd is gone, replaced by an all too mortal man, a man who had dared to love one of the Shining Host and who had the misfortune of not being with her at the end. Overcome with emotion, the transformed rider in black falls to the ground and crumples into a pile of rage and sorrow, silent in his agony, wracked by sobs. Dame Tyria Winter's unmistakable voice will suddenly ring out in the cavernous and deafening silence that follows the keremet's display. While she was not a particularly close friend or associate of the departed duchess, she was a fellow patron of the arts, and she held a grudging respect for the elder stateswoman who up until very recently had been successfully holding the domain of Caer Angeles together through many crises. Seeing Dulcinea's paramour in such pain in such a public view, she does the only thing she can think of to do at the moment to try and lend a moment?s grace to the proceedings and to buy time for others to tend to the denizen - she sings. In this case? She chooses to cover a song of a fellow artist, but giving it her very own unique and signature "California sadcore" spin. The song in question? No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine. The Unseelie Leanhaun sidhe will put as much of her own immortal soul into the song as she dares, dancing up to the very precipice where she herself might become lost, utterly consumed by her attempt to give voice and honor and recognition to the ecstasy and pain of the duchess' keremet lover. The song's final lyrics resound across the space of the beach: And I'd do anything to make you stay No light, no light Tell me what you want me to say You want a revelation You want to get it right But, it's a conversation I just can't have tonight You want a revelation Some kind of resolution You want a revelation You want a revelation You want to get it right But, it's a conversation I just can't have tonight You want a revelation Some kind of resolution Tell me what you want me to say Naria doesn't fall silent for the reason requested. More so there isn't anything to say on a subject she doesn't know about. Revelations? Really? Thats what gets quoted? Perhaps as a well-read young man and mostly university-educated, Soren would give him a better quote to use next time. Its too apt though to interfere at the moment. Soren leaves Thierry to be kept hoisted by Caroline, Dame Tanwen, and instead clasps his hands behind his back. A very fitting memorial to the Duchess, enemies brought low and music from her friends. Bryn actually rises to pace toward the keremet, maybe seeing it as a potential threat. And then the knight pauses to watch, going still as death. When that mortal collapses... Bryn paces across to him, moving with more ease than they ought to in the shifting sand. Tanwen-who-is-also-Caroline sucks in a breath at the display of severed heads, and severed parts, mounted as warnings and given as gifts. No doubt the knight has seen gore before, and plenty of it, but this is not the valor and glory of songs and of myths. No, this is something else entirely. And yet. And yet after a moment of shock, and then another, her jaw sets. The hand by which she's holding Lord Thierry's arm remains to see him steady on his feet, and her sure of it, and then she's crouching low over the weeping man, one golden-gloved hand hestitating over him before she rests it as lightly as can be on the sobbing shoulder. "Procopio," she murmurs very, very softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Nicki's eyes widen when she sees the rider making his way down the beach, and her hands lift from the sand as she sits up rather quickly, alarmed by the sudden sight. She doesn't move from her spot, however, and watches as the rider dismounts and gets the bags.. and when she sees what was in them she looks away, closing her eyes until she hears the sounds that come with sorrow and rage. She slowly looks up and over to the man who has crumpled, and it makes her frown deeply. Heartbreaking. The gathered crowd will gather various impressions from the sudden turn of events and the being at the center of them. I mean, once they get past the scene of heads on pikes. That part? Was quite an eye opener and attention gatherer! To most with Kenning it was clear the man in black was not kithain. To some? It was evident that he carried within him Glamour all his own. A few would taste the Glamour as being deliciously foreign and rarefied - as if it was mainlined from the wellspring of dreams itself. To those with any amount of Gremayre? Some few would recognize the Denizen before them. Even fewer would might even know such was a former dreamer, a woebegotten mortal in way over his head, having left mortality behind long ago. To dare to love a Fiona on top of all that? Well. This is where it all led. Heads on pikes! Thallain, granted, but still. Heads. On. Pikes. Thierry looks like he might faint! Then he's motioning to Tanwen and Soren to collect the man in black. "Well," he says, turning to the others assembeled. "And here I thought there wouldn't be any excitement until the actual sword and lance and archery later!" He looks to the various troubadours and gestures for music to swell while trying to ... well, whatever one might do with the current situation. Asher did not know the deceased but for once in his life has enough decorum not to make a hash of it. Tanwen's turn to be the shoulder upon which Theirry leans; Ash is just gonna stand here and smoke and be good, empty glass now perched in the sand. Then... there is the vision, the wight, a whole bevy of Assorted Severed Parts, weeping and shock. He's so shook his cigarette tumbles to the sand while he gapes, ears flat back against his head and tail none too happy either. His mouth opens and shuts a few times like a dying carp, then he shudders and looks quickly to Fen, as though to see how she's doing with the whole heads on pikes thing. Crow watches dispassionately as the Keremet displays his grisly trophies. Well. At least that went some way towards explaining the recent disappearances among the Thallain's forces. She had to give the man credit. He worked quickly. As he collapses, she moves forward alongside Bryn, taking only a moment to cover over the small mound of offal once more. She'd have to see them delivered to Trevor later. She shakes her head, resting a single hand on the mans shoulder. Nalio opens her eyes and really wishes she had'nt. She stiffles a scream and gets up and takes a few steps back and away, heart racing nothing about this is alright and she nopes right out of what ever this display is. The little Pooka did not sign up for this, time for a long soak in a hot tub and a mental scrub. A lone figure moves among the water's edge where she walks a distance away from the crowd. Clairine Archambeau arrived earlier before moving off and away from the crowd and toward the water. High heels were lost along the way and now the siren walks in the ankle deep surf, hardly caring when the occasional wave comes in and gets the bottom of her silver dress wet. She manages to snag a drinking glass at some point but now the contents are almost gone… Naria would just walk closer to the Keremet with a smile on her face. "A fair few trophies. It is good to know there are Friends out here." Soren moves slow from Thierry's soapbox, to make his way across the sands towards the now thoroughly doomed mortal who has already begun extracting vengeance via the trods. "Baron Thierry would welcome your presence in his home." Fen has had no life experience with heads on pikes, nor with this level of demonstrable violence. Yes yes inferances could be made about the hardships she did have go through but they weren't /medieval/ and this is just outside her scope. So Fen's going to do the sensible thing. She's going to turn pale, turn away. And shakily light herself another cigarette. And haul on it pretty hard. We are not going to be dealing with this, no. Niamh is still here! Really. She's just on the edges, somewhere. Lurking. Wallflowering. Silently avoiding the worst of the madness by just positioning herself behind taller folk. Procopio, the man in black, looks up to Tanwen, Soren, and Thierry. His face has some color, stained with tears and sand and blood. "I should have been there for her. I should have..." The way Vann that eyes the Death-like figure reads more like someone taking a threat assessment and how exactly that threat should be neutralized. This is punctuated in how the Troll moves slowly on the periphery, not quite stalking, but also wary. When those heads are produced, he makes a sour face, and 'hmph' sound. Then again, he did spend far too much time over in the middle east during his military years, so it's likely, read probable, that this isn't the first time he's seen grisly displays like this. Eamonn walking passed those heads on pikes he squeezes Leste's hand a bit. He keeps her close to his side, eyes ever alert. Asher's ears perk towards Thierry, Tanwen, Soren. Eavesdropping?! Rude! They flick back again shortly after, frowning, and then he turns to chase a few steps after Fen, drawing closer toward her to speak quietly to the younger of the coyote pooka pair. Naria just nodded to the Keremet as she watched him shift. No reason to say anything since she hasn't seemed to be noticed. Bryn turns to Caroline. "Milady, if you or another can send him to sleep... maybe I can offer him comfort." "You were," Caroline-who-is-also-Tanwen says in that same low, low voice, the hand that was resting on his shoulder tightening. "In the moments when you loved her, and she loved you, you were there in a way that no one else could have been." Flame-red brows furrow together, etching lines in the sidhe's delicately freckled face. "You can be here for her now, by helping us keep her promise." What promise? She doesn't say. At least not loud enough for others to hear, her already whispered words becoming almost entirely inaudible as she bends closer to his ear. That she's trying to convince the now-mortal -- or "mortal", maybe? -- man to rise to his feet, to take shelter in the house, is clear. Her eyes snap up to Bryn, considering. A nod. If she can figure out how to get the man to a bed, to rest. The threat seems to of subsided, but as for right now, Vann has had enough excitement for one day. He turns and trundles away, back from where they all arrived, likely looking to head home. Wherever home might be for him. The keremet looks up at Crow, and then .. Bryn? A familiar face, and a new one. But then Tanwen's voice catches his attention. "I'm so tired," he murmurs. "But I cant rest. Not until ... there's just too many of them. Too many." He rises, and in doing so? An object of Glamour is revealed. To call it a knife would be a disservice. Its more of a short sword, really. And it rings with the unmistakeable sound of a legendary Treasure. You can taste the tang of copper from it, feel the wet warmth it hungers, craves. "I'm just so lost," he murmurs, seeking whatever shelter is on offer.