2022-01-14 Memorial for Fe Han

Memorial for Fe Han

Participants: Jean-Jacques Isabella Shawna Zebastian Calla Lascaux Pris Olivia Myra Arash Clara Bernadette Mal Ghost Giancarlo Ingram Edith Patricia Bartok Fe

Storyteller: Jean-Jacques

Location: Back Alley Clinic - Sawtelle

Date and Time: January 14, 2022; 11:30PM

Summary: A memorial for Dr. Fe Han

Dr. Han's Clinic - The Westside

Entry from the building's side door leads into a large steel cage looking out over the loading bay that holds the downstairs phone shop's supplies. A few refrigerators of assorted brands hum in the corner, sucking up power.

Access through the airlock is controlled via buzzer. A flight of stairs leads up to a flimsy wooden door, labeled: "Dr. Han"

Through it is an open floor-plan nearly the length of the entire building. Hardwood flooring. Tin ceiling tiling. Raw brick walls. Air is freshly circulated with exposed duct-work. Warm halogen lights run on tracks parallel. There's bench seating and space for shoe storage by the foyer. Rolling floor dividers set up separation between several spaces:

A seating area with couches, chairs, a projector, and reading materials. A surgical station with an examination table, cabinets full of supplies, diagnostic tools, a retractable lighting arm, and a small rolling table.

A laboratory setup on the butcher block of what used to be a kitchen: centrifuge, agitator, vials, chilling unit, and a sterilizer.

The windows are barred on the outside and fitted with dark blackout curtains past stopgap plywood covering.

One door leads out to a bathroom. Another heads to a private study. A full length balcony is accessible through a fourth, furnished with cheap lawn furniture.

In front of the seating area, rests a framed print in a simple black and glass frame that is roughly 16"x20" in size. Large enough to be seen clearly for some distance away, but not so large as to be unsightly. Around the frame rests a wreath of green ivy women together with red, yellow, white and black roses.

This piece depicts a singular woman, drawn up in black and white charcoal in startling clarity. Her features are split across an androgynous face, with one half startlingly scarred and damaged, and the other pristine, beautiful even, save a single exit wound on her cheek. Flawless eyebrows frame a face that has seen far too much struggle, broken on the scarred half of her face by wounds long since healed. What remains of her ear is broken and cropped, ruined like the rest of the left side of her face, which has been surgically reconstructed. Flak wounds, at least an inch and a half, run the curve of her throat, and the reconstructed curve of her jaw meets a half Glasgow-smile from flesh sewn back together. Of her eyes, only one remains, and that one is drawn in as a black orb around a light iris. The other is simply a darkened replacement, speckled and streaked with light like the stars and galaxies in the night sky. Her hair on that side cuts off at her temple, while the rest of it flows back across her shoulders in black braids. Most of the rest of her is covered, concealed beneath mesh, spandex, but more than that, a white lab coat. Arms are crossed over her chest as she leans back against a counter, and in parhaps the most startling contrast, she's smiling. A large, toothy smile is firmly placed on her features, the sort one might give a friend at an unexpected but sincere and meaningful compliment. Apart from the subject, the remainder of the drawing is somewhat faded. Her background is clearly a kitchen counter, the detail vague and more implied than actually present. Objects and boxes sit on the counter that may be kitchen appliances, but could otherwise be anything. The subject stands apart from the background, more in focus, front and center, the only truly real thing in the frame.

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Seating in the main room has been arranged to generally face the tripod stand that bares an impressive drawing of Fe Han. The room is brightly lit and one of those portable speakers is set up in the back and playing soft music to provide white noise while those who have decided to attend filter in. Jean-Jacques is standing just to the left of the picture, with his hands clasped behind him while he waits for everyone to settle. <OOC> Jean-Jacques says, "Please look at the scene object for the picture that Mal was gracious enough to provide for the memorial."

It's a rainy night out, and Lascaux is among the first to arrive at the memorial. He's dressed all in black - not that that's an unusual occurrence for him - and carrying a bouquet of tiger lilies, which he lays at the foot of the portrait and then moves to lay a hand on JJ's shoulder for a brief moment, giving his fellow Westsider a small, if bittersweet smile. He takes a seat shortly after, leaning forward with elbows on knees and fingers steepled in front of his face.

Olivia Carmichael's wearing black. A black dress. Black heels. Black hosiery. There are splashes of subtle color here and there. A glint of gold jewelry. A splash of red across her lips and blue over her eyes. But it's all very understated and fitting of a rather somber affair. For the most part, the young ghoul will keep to herself. Aside from half-smiles and pleasantries exchanged for those who might approach her, she seems more than content to just pace around the kitchen of Dr. Han's Clinic. It's a strange place for her to stand, but here she is. She's uncharacteristically quiet, and if you catch her in the moment, you might see a bit of a shimmer in her somewhat bloodshot eyes. Most of the time, though, she'll just look like she's thinking about something. Somewhere far off, probably. A similar place, but a different time. Olivia seems to remember something, and drifts over towards the refrigerator to pry it open. Inside of it are a row of alkalized, mineralized artisanal waters that cost entirely too much per bottle. Her face falters a moment, but she reaches inside to pull one out. That's what finally makes her expression shatter and her fingertips lift up to quickly dab away tears before they fuck up her makeup.

Arash arrives dressed all in black for the memorial this evening. Another man in a black suit escorts him to the door before the pair part ways. Looking around the space as he enters his attention is first drawn to the large picture that he studies for a long moment before allowing his eyes to take in the rest of the space and the others arriving. Waiting for some of the others to take their seats first he moves to find his seat and settles in after unbuttoning the single button holding his black suit jacket closed.

Shawna arrives with little fan-fare. No entourage of crows arrive before as a forewarning of her arrival. Not even Hanz, her prize crow ghoul sometimes referred as her 'second-in-command'. Instead, the Gangrel arrives alone clad in a simple denim on denim outfit paired with simple hiking boots.

The blonde tomboy arrives just in time to see that bittersweet exchange between Lascaux and Jean-Jacques and she eyes the pair with a sullen stare as she moves further in to the clinic.

Shawna notices Olivia a moment later and regards the ghoul with something a bit warmer than a sullen stare, though she doesn't greet the other woman outright.

Clara arrives, her hunched and withered form aided in it's journey with a cane in one hand and and the other resting on Calla's arm. Once inside the room, the old woman makes her way towards one of the seats, movements slow and rather deliberate. Once settled into her seat, Clara removes the hat from her head and rests it in her lap. Myra slips into the mix - clad all in black, though it's not fancy black. Not having know the deceased, she takes up a spot in the back and hunts for some wall to hold up.

Pris arrives quietly, and alone. Also wearing black, her variation is by Valentino. To the naked eye, she is lovely, quiet, stylishly-appointed and perfectly tailored. Her hair is gathered back with soft blonde curls at the sides, nails trim and polished. She is wearing minimal jewelry and a pair of perilously-high heels. The print catches her eye when she arrives. She pauses to consider it. Notes the lilies. And then moves toward the seating, settling next to Clara. "May I join you, Ms. Cadaver?"

Malachi is here already, although with the way he's positioned himself and the generally unmoving stance, he's easy to overlook. Near the back of the sitting room, Malachi is wearing a slim fit blazer cut from fine espresso-black Marino wool, which has a subtle silk sheen to notched lapels. The minimal smartly tailored aesthetic carries through with its single button left undone, exposing a black collarless shirt beneath; tucked into single-creased slacks of the same fine wool, which taper down rest at the cuff atop suede midnight Oxford shoes.

The ghoul has a neutral expression on his features as he watches people file into the space. His gaze travels, although it's caught as Shawna comes inside, earning a slight smile from his position of silent observer. He is, however, seemingly content to stand in watch for now, silent.

Isabella arrives, one hand holding her clutch purse the other supporting a bouquet of white lilies. She seems to steel herself for the walk up to the front, resting the flowers down with the others that have been dropped off before giving Jean-Jacques a polite dip of her head. Quicker steps than before carry her towards a seat in the back, her purse set down to save a seat next to her for a late arrival.

Is that Zebastian? In Westside?! Given the quota of 'tall, pale slips of wholly androgynous Norwegians with ludicrously long black hair' is in relative short supply: yes, that is Zebastian -- dressed in modest lux layers of black (https://bit.ly/3YV8s50) and shadowed by two Korean-American women - Mae and Edith - each carrying an armful of flowers; white lilies and purple thistle, festooned with olive fronds and eucalyptus.

Zebastian takes a moments pause, head tipped to the side as dreamy blues take in the scene: a low sound made, expression ... stoic? He's not smiling, at any rate; just studying the portrait of Fe over yonder. Gliding towards it, the image is considered in silence for a few moments, then a dips head towards Mae and Edith, looking to the latter with muted expectation. Will she follow after Mae, in laying flowers? Zebastian's leaving that to them -- stepping back, to give space around the portrait of the late Dr. Fe Han.

Looked at again at length, the portrait is considered as the Malkavian drifts further back -- in the direction of Shawna? Zebastian's not invading her personal space or nothin', but... He's not exactly looking where he's going, either.

Bernadette arrives as what was once her namesake, quietly, the woman with two of her own, a male and a female that flank her, Korean, all dressed in white with red piping, and socks.

She made everyone take off their shoes at the door.

She herself bears with her a small lacquered box held in front of her in her hands, plain and wooden, held gingerly of sorts in her fingers.

An expression that is serene and soft, and a gaze that lingers on the picture set on display for a long moment. Only after does she speak, in a voice that is soft and far to airy, quietly to her side.

"Hello Mal, anyone pull a gun yet?"

(now using the English language)

It's Westside, technically an Anarch holding, but that doesn't stop the Southside named Ghost from arriving as he does. The motorbikes revving and the dying down outside are enough to hail his presence and that of his crew, though the numbers of crew members has either diminished or he brought a condensed party. Either way, the man isn't really dressed different, black leather jacket, jeans and black shit kicker boots. He is, at least, wearing a black t-shirt. He and the two men that follow him in, a bigger black fellow and a smaller Hispanic man are all armed, and visibly so. Jackets open to show it. Maybe not what some might expect at a memorial, but it's rare for Ghost and crew to go anywhere these days not armed to the teeth. They file in quietly, however, gave going around to all those present. He wears a scowl as he scans over those faces. He doesn't step in far though, the three of them taking up residence on a wall near the door. Eyes flicker off the people and to the picture of Fe, which softens his features for the briefest of moment, and there's something of a nod given the picture. Nothing more. His gaze goes sidelong to his crew and something unsaid passes between them before Ghost shoves hands in his jacket pockets and settles. It's pretty clear he's only here to show his respects for Fe, and nothing more.

"I have no objections, Ms. Albert," Clara says, as she turns rheumy and pale blue eyes towards the other woman. "The hair is something of a give away, isn't it?" The old woman says, voice warbling a little in that way that old-lady voices do sometimes.

Clara shifts in her chair a little, as she forces her back to straighten and looks over in Bernadette's direction. "Well, lookie-there." [Public] Mike has connected. Calla arrives along with Clara while adorned in a dove grey dress and dove grey stockings. Her long brown hair is brushed out a silky sheen. She looks over to Clara, well looks up to her anyways, keeping her arm and giving her a faint somber smile. "Doctor Fe helped me out greatly in the past." She says softly to the Nossie. She then peeks over to Bernadette as well, giving her a nod.

From where Arash sits he can turn partially in his chair to watch the door and those that enter. Looking over those that arrive he smiles and offers a polite wave to those he's met before. Pris and Calla get waves along with a polite nod to others he's met in passing or met by name.

Lascaux simply raises his eyebrows at Shawna's scowl, but doesn't move, otherwise. It's neither the time nor the place for shenanigans, in his estimation, his otherwise carefully-neutral expression seems to say. He watches dispassionately as the rest of those gathered to pay their respects file in and take their places in the makeshift gathering, but sits quite still and entirely silently. Calla looks over to Arash, giving him a gentle smile of greeting. "Oh, hello.." She says toward him. "Do you know Miss Cadevar?" She asks. She keeps a hold of Clara's arm.

Olivia briefly glances towards Shawna. She shares a bit of that sad smile, but her attention won't linger. Instead, she'll stand off to the side of the primary gathering, arms across her chest and fancy artisanal water dangling from her black-painted fingertips.

When Clara notes their arrival, Pris' gaze shifts to Bernadette and the two Koreans. She tenses, her gaze quietly riveted on them --- it is perhaps that, in combination with the sound of bikes outside, that makes her quietly grip the back of the chair that she was about to take.

That it's Ghost and co. who arrive after seems little better than an army of Sword Dogs.

Calla's sweet words about Fe bring her back to Clara, and the immediate present. She smiles to the ghoul, her eyes warm --- giving one last look to the Koreans, and South LA crew, before she sits down. She smiles go Arash, and offers Olivia a sympathetic glance.

Edith does follow after Mae, and she does lay flowers with an efficient, gentle care for the delicacy of the blooms. When she stands up afterward, Edith folds her hands in front of her stomach, and silently gazes at the portrait of Fe for a handful of seconds. There's a thoughtful, faraway look on the ghoul's face, but it's a respectful expression in which her features are held.

Dressed in a black tweed sheath dress over a charcoal-grey satin blouse, Edith looks memorial-appropriate, but that's not unusual for her. There's a 90% chance that on any given day, she's attired in neat, dark clothing that would allow her to walk into a funeral without anyone batting an eyelid at her choice of clothes.

With the laying of flowers done, Edith tilts her head at Mae, as if to seek confirmation about their next move. She'll follow whatever instructions her fellow ghoul has to offer.

Clara looks over at Arash and smiles, teeth strained by years of tobacco use. She lifts up her cane a little, head giving a small bob in greeting.

Giancarlo has arrived.

"Oh you know, we did meet once I believe in passing." Arash stands to offer a polite nod to Calla and Clara both as they speak. Once the words are exchanged he retakes his seat and settles in to be out of the way of other discussions that may go on between the group.

Shawna, who did not in fact scowl at Lascaux, sweeps her gaze across the growing crowd before she steps up toward the framed 16x20 print. Her expression remains aloof as she studies the drawing, perhaps even confused in it's appearance to some. She'll regard the print for several long seconds before turning away and moving across the open floor plan toward a spot of wall near the laboratory setup and butcher block counters where she'll find a space to cozy in and lean, arms folded.

Patricia arrives shortly after the event starts. She doesn't like to be late but, unfortunately, traffic does tend to be a little annoying sometimes and Ubers do tend to go the long route sometimes. Whatever the case, she's here, dressed in her formal outfit that she normally wears to court since it's a memorial and Dr. Fe Han deserved a bit of dressing up. She has a small bouquet of flowers that she picked up - or rather had someone pick up for her - carried across her body and, when it's her time, she moves up to lay them where all the rest of the flowers are.

She straightens, just in time to catch Bernadette's arrival. Drawing in a breath she glances to all the people here and Bernadette's entourage. Here's hoping everyone is polite to the woman. She approaches the woman quietly, bobbing her head. "Bernadette. It's good to see you. I didn't know you knew Dr. Han, but it's not a surprise. She knew just about everyone."

Jean-Jacques returns Lascaux's gesture with a sad smile of his own and a nod of his head. The creole is, like almost everyone else present, wearing black as well. A black v-neck under a plaid black and charcoal top coat with a white shirt and black tie underneath, and black slacks. (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/59/3a/2b/593a2b0afb287ebf658bc7e3abc71631.png)

As it appears at least the majority of people who are going to be in attendance have arrived, there is a clearing of his throat then the man's Cajun accent sounds out over the soft background music playing. "I'd like to thank you all for coming this evening. We gather here tonight to remember the life and deeds of Dr. Fe Han, and to perhaps share a bit of our mourning of her loss. Regretably, I did not get the chance to know Dr. Han for long, and we only had a few occasions to cross paths in the brief time between my arrival in Santa Monica and her untimely passing. During that short time though, she showed herself to be a woman of integrity and considerable strength of personality. We would on occasion find ourselves crossing paths at various places across Santa Monica, and she seemed to enjoy discussing philosophy with me. At least, I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did anyway. Her absence has already been keenly felt, and she will be sorely missed." There's a pause then, and he looks around. "I know that most of you probably knew her much better then I did. I'd ask that any who wish to, to step forward and speak." (now using the English language)

"Not yet, Quiet." Malachi muses dryly towards Bernadette and the Sword Dogs, although he does silent afterward. He's happy to stand near the back, hands folded behind his back, while he watches and listens to JJ's words. he doesn't move forward to speak when invited, not yet at least, instead watching and waiting for others to step forward first. Perhaps he will, given time. Giancarlo arrives fashionably late, for once, in his entire existence, and judging by the apologetic look on his face he doesn't find it so fashionable. Regardless the well-dressed Italian gentleman arrived wearing a black suit with a white undershirt and for once he is wearing a black tie. Maybe that's what took him so long.

With him is another gentleman dressed in similar fashion and of the same build and stature, but he only looks to be in his thirties. He quietly follows behind Giancarlo while Gian looks about the crowd to identify familiar faces and find a place to rest. Calla peeks over to Olivia, sucking in a soft breath and giving her a somber smile. She looks to the potrait of Dr. Fe. She then notices Patty, giving her a nod. She has one for Giancarlo as well. Isabella is sitting near the back, keeping half an eye on the door as the services start. When she sees Giancarlo and his companion arrive she reaches to lift her hand up just enough to gather his attention, then picks her purse up to free the seat she'd saved. Lascaux, who was not, it is noted, scowled at by Shawna, turns to listen to JJ as the older gentleman speaks, nodding along to what he says. He stays seated, gaze sweeping around the room to see if anyone makes a move to step forward first and share their memories of Dr. Han. He gestures to an empty seat next to himself so that JJ can take a seat if he wishes, while the memorial continues.

Pris catches Giancarlo's arrival, and looks quietly over --- she offers him a gentle nod, from where she sits with Clara, Calla, and Arash.

"We are moving up then, I suspect she would be disappointed that her passing did not give rise to at least some gun-play."

Bernadette nods her head slowly to Mal, and one for Calla, before her gaze turns towards Patty and her head tilts.

"She spoke better Korean than me. But you will have to excuse me for a moment, there are things that must be done."

There she nods, and slips away from the grouping, to approach the drawing of Fe. She doesn't speak, not yet, nor does she get in the way of anyone doing so. Instead she sets down her box and opens it.

From inside, two bowls, one of rice, one of sand, two sticks of incense, taken and placed in the second bowl and lit under a cupped curl of her fingers. A bottle of plum wine and a cup, opened and poured. And finally a small statuette of the bodhisattva Guanyin, all set in front of the drawing.

Then she bows to the drawing, claps her hands once, bows to the statuette, claps again, bows to both, claps, and slowly then begins to lowly speak in words that do not carry with a downcast gaze.

(now using the English language)

Clara lifts her cane to catch Giancarlo's attention, before returning it to it's regular spot.

Ghost takes a moment to continue to survey the crowd, before leaning next to the Hispanic man at his side and saying something to him. With an up-nod, the man heads back outside for some reason. Then a nudge to the big black man and a nod in the direction of Shawna before he starts over towards her, they both do. As he approaches the Gangrel, there's an actual up-nod of greeting sent her way, and once more his features soften for just a moment before he falls in and leans next to her. Nothing is exchanged other than the look and the greeting from him. Before he turns back to the crowd and the scowl resumes. His eyes though, seem to attach to Bernadette and whatever she might be doing at Fe's picture. If nothing else, it's curious.

Ingram has arrived. Calla looks to Bernadette, giving her a nod of greeting as well. She seems to know her at least a bit bit. She waves to Edith, but gives Pris this curtsy that is all respectful like. It is followed by a faint dimpled and somber smile. She looks to Fe's picture once again.

Shawna settles in against the butcher block county in the laboratory that was a kitchen at some point. The Gangrel's gaze settles in on JJ's chest as the other speaks before asking for any volunteers. Attention then moves on toward Bernadette and there's a momentary scrunching of her nose before Shawna calls out, somewhat anxiously, "Nah. Not Fe. She would be disappointed if violence did break out, 'least among the Anarchs here. Or opportunistic politics. Or Tower games." The latter has her gaze swinging by Patricia, Pris, and the other kindred she may recognize as Camarilla.

When Ghost approaches, Shawna softens again and she returns his up-nod with one of her own before scooting an inch or two over to make room for the Southsider and his companion. Calla rose to her tip toes and whispered softly to Clara. She nods when the women answers back. A polite smile is offered to both Clara and Pris from the Italian gentleman and a hand is raised to give them a wave of his hand in return. He says nothing audibly though as to not disturb the service.

Instead Giancarlo diverts towards Isabella quickly unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat next to her, "Did you bring the flowers?" He asks in a low tone, settling into the seat more comfortably and putting an arm around Isabella. The younger Italian man simply goes to a back wall nearby the two and leans against it, casually watching.

Myra remains quiet, and in the back, arms folded across her middle as she watches.

When Giancarlo there is a wave in his direction along with a smile as the pair seem to be wearing a similar suit, much like the last time they crossed paths at the Elysium. With that greeting complete he looks back to those seated beside him and then to the others attending the memorial.

Isabella sits up a little straighter once Gian settles in, a little less trying to be ignored. She nods to his question, lifting a finger to lightly point towards one of the arrangements that now rest in front of the portrait. A small lean and she's settled comfortably into the crook of his arm to watch as people speak about the departed.

Zebastian's head tips, surprised almost as he recognizes he's drifted Shawna's way - eyebrows up for a moment as he considers her with dreamy moonbeam eyes -- then glances to the side; clocking Ghost n' Co., and then-- is that Bernadette with her comrades? Pris - Clara - Calla -- oh, an Arash, and an Olivia over there -- a Lascaux and Jean-Jacques, who is considered with dreamy mystification before the Malkavian glance back to Shawna like: surprise, in finding anyone here at all? Yet there Shawna goes, to go fold her arms over yonder.

The Malkavian's attentions omit Edith and Mae, alas -- the latter moving away from the portrait once the floral arrangement of thistle and lily are adjusted //just so// -- freeing Mae up to fetch a vape pen from her pocket as she drifts - with Edith, in all likelihood, into the general vicinity of Olivia. Zebastian makes a low sound, and considers the portrait of Fe for another moment.

"..." Zebastian's mouth opens, only to close as Jean-Jacques speaks; his head tipped -- look of hazy contemplation. Puzzlement? There's a slow blink, fingers combing through the ends of his hair in repeated gesture of three -- before he turns to consider the crowd, speaking softly; "...Of all the qualities Dr. Han possessed? What will be missed the most, perhaps, was her thoroughness -- she had a very specific kind of mind, the sort to withstand black mold; such capability for perspective, and /courage/ - the capability to do things, approach whatever challenge? With patience, curiosity and commitment -- a rare quality, no? An enviable one..."

A brief pause, where Zebastian makes a low sound -- glancing towards Bernadette as she goes about her complicated ritual -- then with a tip of his head, adds in that melodic chime; "...The sacrifice Fe made resonates, ripples - echoes - and the loss experienced, now? Unquantifiable, no?..."

Calla looks to Zeb, she nods to him, she listens to his words. She nods along with them. She seems to have positive regard for the late Dr. Fe.

"She was annoying. She'd never stop lecturing me about basically everything I did. Now that I think about, I think it's because she actually cared. She cooked food for me, and took me out to sushi. Always kept... this stupid fucking water in her fridge for me," Olivia says. She hasn't stepped forward, but has remained on the periphery of the gathering. She glances down at the bottle of water in her hand and swallows the taste of salt in her mouth. Olivia takes a slow look around those that have gathered in the memory of Dr. Han. Her head tips delicately to the side, and her pale blue eyes track Bernadette all the way up to the portrait, where they'll fix on it for a few long moments. It isn't until Zebastian starts to speak that Olivia's attention turns away from it. Her words have a curious effect on the ghoul. She frowns first, and then... her expression blanks. Olivia lets a slow breath out through her lips. The ghoul turns towards the exit, slips her high heels on, and lets herself out of Dr. Fe Han's clinic one last time.

A man slips in and hovers near the back -- dressed in black, fittingly enough, though that might just be how he dresses. Ingram immediately takes up a piece of wall and folds his arms, putting his booted foot up against it. His wavy black hair settles in a cloud around his face as he observes the memorial area, brow furrowing as he stares at the drawing. He didn't know Fe. He keeps himself to himself, simply watching. Although his expression seems to be something between confused and disheartened. "I didn't know Dr. Han well," Lascaux says, eventually, unfolding his hands and sitting back in his seat. "I wish I'd known her better, but it didn't happen that way. Anyway, I first met her after I'd got my ass handed to me - verbally, I mean - for tryin' to. Uh, well, anyway. She didn't hold it against me, at the time; she just asked me if I could help her with something. And I could - I did. Supplies for the clinic. I woulda been happy to keep helping her out, too. Olivia's right, she cared. She didn't have any of the ennui that comes with this life, she just watched and figured out what she could do, and she did it." He shrugs. "And I hope in her absence that we'll be able to keep helpin' people out, somehow, over here. Even if it ain't in quite the same way Dr. Han did." <OOC> Olivia says, "Oh, my pose didn't say 'I'm going to miss her a lot.' I meant it to!!!"

With Bernadette performing her ritual....and then Zebastian speaking up, Jean-Jacques lowers his head and makes his way over to sit near Lascaux, his attention first on Bernadette and the items she's arranging. Curiosity the most prevalent in his eyes for that, then a nod given to Zeb's words as he speaks of Fe.

Of course there is more to do. This is one of the places where Tower and Anarch put aside their differences and honor the memory of one that just passed, one that was honored by those that knew her. Patricia steps aside as Bernadette goes to the altar to do her thing, waiting for Zebastian to finish before speaking herself.

"Dr. Fe was one of the first kindred I met after coming to the city. My friend spoke of her as a skilled fighter and me, being the new girl in town, wanted to try my best." She rubs one arm with the other hand, reaching across her chest, almost sheepish as she talks. "She put me on my ass almost immediately with a sweep, and kept me there. She taught me so much about what not to do that it couldn't help but make me a better person. And our discussions afterwards, about politics, about what she wanted to happen, really made me think in was I hadn't before. She..." Patricia chuckles. "She had a mouth like a treasure chest and was half blind, but she could hit like a truck and had the most wonderful way of looking at things. I'm going to miss her."

Her piece said, Patricia moves towards the only recognizable folks she's spent more than a few moments with - Shawna. Calla gets up to speak, maybe Clara goes with her and maybe not, but Calla will keep her arm if the tall woman wants. Again, Edith does indeed follow Mae, selecting a seat that's near enough to Olivia to at least be able to offer a gentle, sympathetic smile to her blonde friend. Calla also gets a small wave of recognition when Edith catches sight of her out of the corner of her eye.

Edith listens to Zebastian in silence, hands folded on her lap, attentive. Her expression is calm and thoughtful as she absorbs the Malkavian's words... and then, she looks sideways as Olivia leaves.

With a light raise of eyebrows, features taking on a sadness for a moment or two, Edith makes no attempt to stop Olivia from departing. Instead, she lets her features fall calm again, and turns her head to listen to the other tributes that follow.

Clara gives Calla's arm a little pat before releasing it, so the Ghoul can step forward and say what she wants.

As the words start to flow, Malachi tilts his head. Dark eyes take in the proceedings, the people who've shown up, and the various states of grief or remorse. Slowly, the ghoul moves from his position, stepping across the back of the room in that dark clothing until he comes to a stop near Shawna. He doesn't intrude directly, but he does offer the woman a warm smile, and stops within arm's reach for the time being. He's not got much to say, not here, but his interest in the memorial can't be understated. There's a certain energy about him, a bit of an edge, but he keeps his posture reserved, if not relaxed. Calla looks over to Olivia, sucking a soft breath. She sighs softly and then she speaks. "Dr Fe didn't even know me, but when someone tried to poison me, she told me, don't drink that and she might have saved me. She was like a true doctor who knew a lot and saved people, including little ghouls she didn't even know. I wasn't in her faction and was in disfavor at the time, hence the poisoning, but she still saved me." Giancarlo is now completely settled in, eyes going back and forth as each of them speak about the good Doctor, maintaining that ever sympathetic look in his eyes with each of their stories about her. In between periods of this though he can't help but peer at Bernadette and the ritual she is performing, and he will lean over and mutter something into Isabella's ear. Calla adds. "She helped investigate the whole situation and everything." Seh then steps down.

Clara blinks, straightening up in her seat as Calla speaks. Watery blue eyes tracking the Nosferatu Ghoul as she returns to her seat. Leaning over, she says something quietly to the other woman.

Shawna exchanges a glance with Ghost along with a strange little shrug as more individuals come over to join the spot where she is leaning. Patricia first, the Camarilla deputy receiving a curt little chin nod. Malachi next, who draws a not-quite-smile-but-almost from the usually somber blonde.

Calla's words have Shawna glancing over toward her with a look of remembrance at the event. Isabella looks towards Bernadette and the ritual taking place in front of the portrait, her head tilted with interest. She nods to what Giancarlo murmurs to her, eyes flickering from one bowl to the other with curiosity. Calla heads over to Clara going to take the seat near the boney women. She leans toward her, whispering back softly.

Ghost returns Shawna's glance at the shrug. Patricia known or not known is simply given his glare, as is most people that come close, the only ones benefited with more than that are Zebastian and Malachi. Zebastian gets an up-nod, but he's doing his own thing. So Malachi gets the same as he comes over, before he turns back to listen to the speakers, and once more than unapproachable mask falls in place. Though his lips press together tightly as if he's considering something thoughtfully.

Jean-Jacques is listening intently to everyone that speaks, remaining silent and resting his hands on his lap. Calla's story though, causes his brow to arch and he leans over towards Lascaux and whispers softly to him.

Ingram continues to listen quietly from the back. Every once in awhile, his eyes take in a face. Calla, for a moment, and Shawna and Malachi, who get a longer stare. He's not rude, exactly, but it's maybe not that polite either. Eventually, though, his eyes simply drop to the floor again, frown deepening.

Whatever it is that Bernadette has been doing, wraps up with a "Om Mani Padme Hum". It is only after that, that she bows one final time to the portrait, then the statuette, then to both. Then she turns softly towards the assembly. Speaking again in her soft voice.

"I have many names, and none of them matter. Names are not important. To speak is to name names, but to speak is not important. A thing happens once that has never happened before. Seeing it, a man looks upon reality. He cannot tell others what he has seen. Others wish to know, however, so the question him saying, 'What is it like, this thing you have seen?' So he tries to tell them. How am I to tell you of Fe Han? Of who she was, rather than as a comparison to something else that is not her? Fe Han has returned to the wheel, and there can be no explaining her, only what she tried to teach us while she graced our travels along the Samsara."

A pause in Quiet's speaking, her hands moving, the left up near her head, palm outwards, the right in front of her, palm up and fingers slightly curled.

"Fe Han believed. In a life full of suffering, she believed. And though she may have at times failed, she did something remarkable. She turned her failures into lessons, to guide her upon the proper path. Her failures as are ours are not only inevitable, but needed. But it all began with her first step, the choice to stand for what she believed in, otherwise she would still be at home, wondering what could have been. Some of you would perhaps think that that would have been a better outcome..."

"But Fe Han knew that her greatest lessons laid within her own fear, so she should embrace it, and mold it, until she had nothing to be afraid of, welcoming the greatest of challenges. To Fe Han, the greatest fear was not what could happen, but what will happen should she not rise to the challenge. Fe Han took joy that she roared against the dying of the light, that she did not go quietly into the night. Fe Han knew that within each of us is an impenetrable darkness, but also the bright light of hope. Fe Han made her choice, and she chose to believe. You are the master of your destiny, as was Fe Han. You are what you say you are, are you lost?"

"Or are you simply on the path to something greater?"

"Because what Fe Han believed in, was you." (now using the English language)

Calla murmurs softly to Clara. She then looks to Bernadetta as she speaks, taking in her words with solemn attention. She rests her small pale hands against her dove grey mourning dress. She wore the same dress to other wakes. One has to a funeral dress around Cali.

Zebastian remains standing, fingers combing through the ends of his hair as he considers the departing Olivia in muted contemplation -- head tipped, low-key out of sync with the proceedings. Still; he glances towards Ghost briefly, hand lifted to smooth hair out of his face for a moment-- before turning to look over to Patricia midway through her speaking, that same expression of hazy mystification remaining. Another low sound, looking to Calla with a slow nod.

The Malkavian pauses - stops himself from saying something? Brushes at his hair, fingers moving to briefly tap at his mouth three times before cuffs are smoothed and gold nail-shaped bracelets adjusted; hands fluttering like a bird on the wire. It takes a moment, but Zebastian glance over to Edith - Mae - Edith, considers her for a moment, then chimes; "...Echo..."

Back to muteness, as Zebastian turns with a head-tips and considers Bernadette with the familiar dreamy mystification; no interruptions - just hazy contemplation and a low sound.

Ingram lifts his head when Bernadette begins speaking, although the angry, puzzled look doesn't really leave his face. His hazel eyes drift once again to Fe's portrait and stay there for awhile. Lascaux leans to listen to what JJ's saying, with a small shake of his head, his hand resting against the back of JJ's chair as he answers equally softly. He politely returns his attention to the speakers after that, exhaling a sigh without any accompanying movement or change in the entirely-neutral expression he's wearing.

Isabella watches the woman move from the ritual to speaking, her head lightly tilted to the side as she listens. Her hands come to rest in her lap, and there are glances around to see how what she says is received before she murmurs quietly back to Gian.

With the end of her ritual, and Bernadette's speech starting, Jean-Jacques returns his focus to the front of the room. His expression becoming that of practiced neutrality, the kind that only politicians and lawyers can normally pull off, before a solemn nod is given at her last sentence. Giancarlo raises his brows momentarily at something said, and then gives a light smile towards Isabella mumbling back before returning back to watching the memorial and ritual.

"But very few believed in her." Shawna offers after a moment, clear-blue eyes settling somewhere below Bernadette's own if she looks back toward her. "She would've been what Cruce promised to be. Who Cheyenne couldn't quite be. S'why I followed her instead of anyone else. Yet everyone else either didn't see her value or just chose to see it as an obstacle to their own agenda."

The leggy blonde's shyness and social anxiety seem to be winning out over her already sub-par ability to speak to a crowd. She just shrugs her shoulders to signal that she's finished, then leans back in against the counter between Ghost and Ghost's companion.

Malachi gives Ghost and his ally a nod in return, as well as a slight smile. Reaching out, Malachi gives Shawna's shoulder a brief rub, then steps forward himself. He takes his time to step around her Fe's portrait, which he doesn't exactly glance at, but instead turns around near after examining Bernadette's preparations.

"I drew this the very night before Doctor Han died." he begins, "It was meant to be a gift for her. When I asked to draw her, she asked if I wanted her good side. I was shocked-" Raising a hand, Mal continues, "-And I told her, Fe, Doctor Han, I wouldn't change a single thing. You're beautiful just as you are. And she was, a beautiful person with beautiful goals and ideals. But death has nothing to do with going away. The sun sets. The moon sets. They're not gone. Fe isn't gone either."

Inhaling, the ghoul hums, "If anyone would like a portrait to remember Doctor Han, please feel free to contact me. I've got several printed up and framed in her memory to give out." With that, Malachi leaves the front as quickly as he came, heading back towards that knot of Shawna, Ghost, and Patricia near the back. Isabella lowers her head to look at her hands, nodding slightly to whatever was said to her. She takes a moment to gather herself before looking back up again, going back to listening to the memorial.

Ingram turns to watch Shawna as she speaks out. Something in his severe expression softens somewhat, remaining that way as Mal adds to Shawna's sentiment. He quickly looks away again, though. Crashing someone else's post-death funeral bears its own sort of awkward social consequences.

Maybe it's what Bernadette says, or maybe it's Shawna's sudden words, but if Ghost was deciding whether to say something, it seems this pushes him one way. And leave it to the Southsider to push a political agenda at a wake. He shrugs once Shawna is done speaking, and pushes off his lean to stand up straight. "Didn't know Fe well, but I can sure as fuck tell you, I didn't need to. There's something lacking in certain parts of Los Angeles, and that's action. Fe acted and it told me all I needed, she died for something more than herself." His eyes sweep the room, and for whatever reason, land on Jean-Jacques and Lascaux. His features as hard as they have been since he entered. "Fe was the first Westsider worth any respect in a long while. And if you're here to respect her, and follow in her footsteps, those coming after her would do fuckin' well to remember that. That's how you respect her." It's not the most touching of words, but that's Ghost for you. With that he leans back and falls silent, arms crossing over his chest.

Bernadette's hands move out of mudra as she slips back towards her white clad companions, but they do not stop moving, even as she listens to Mal, they slide into soft and well practiced motions where Shawna can see them. When she finally stills, it is with a small apologetic shrug to the gangrel, her attention shifting over to Ghost's speaking serenely, and still in silence. "-- ------ ----- ----- ----- --- ----- ----- ------ ---- --------- -- ----- -----, - ----- -- ---- -- ------ -- ---. ------------, ----- ---- -- -------- --------- ------- --- ----------." (Unknown Language)

By now, Lascaux has heard this line of diatribe, or something similar, from Ghost several times. His expression remains blank as he returns Ghost's look unflinchingly, his hand remains on the back of JJ's chair, and he says absolutely nothing. After all, Ghost's opinion speaks for itself.

Edith's features become even more calm, hands folding once again on her lap. Apparently she did notice something Zebastian just chimed. Regardless, she listens to the rest of the tributes with an air of respectful composure -- even managing not to eyebrow lift in surprise at Ghost's rather straightforward words.

Ingram watches Ghost as he speaks out. And his eyes move to Jean-Jacques and Lascaux, too, when Ghost looks at them so pointedly. He tucks a long lock of hair behind his ear and goes back to holding up the wall, though he looks deep in thought. Not that anyone would particularly notice this newcomer who appears to be keeping to himself.

Zebastian drifts -- presumably he is listening to the speakers, right? There's a head tip - twice - don't call it a twitch - hand brushing his hair, fidgeting, tapping his mouth-- looking about, another head tip in the other direction -- don't worry about it -- and the drifting, it has him looming over where Mae and Edith sit, tilting downwards; hair falling like a veil as he shares a word with Edith, don't twitch - he's fixing his hair, cuffs - brushing hair from his face--- listening, presumably, as he stands upright again.

Fingers combing through the ends of his hair, Zebastian makes a low sound as he looks to the portrait of Dr. Fe Han over there. The sound persists -- does he recognize he's making it? Presumably he's listening to Shawna, Malachi and Ghost - but is he replying? There's only a hum. Is Zebastian even making it? It's like a high-frequency hum of a resonating wire, caught on loop -- continuing as he zoinks out into the middle distance.

Shawna's gaze follows Malachi after the man releases her shoulder and steps forward to speak. She listens with a less-than-vacant expression, upper teeth trapping her lower lip in a light bit. Then Ghost steps forward and a strange smirk passes over the Gangrel's expression before she wipes it away. Perhaps she agrees.

When Bernadette speaks, Shawna's gaze hardens slightly and she steps two feet out from that butcher block cabinet before lifting her hands up. Both her hands are used to perform a set of crude, yet accurate signals in what looks like American Sign Language.

"--- -- --- --- ----. ----." (Unknown Language)

Jean-Jacques stands up from his seat and turns around to face the majority of the assembled, clasping his hands before him for lack of anything else to do with them. "I believe that all who wish to volunteer to speak of Fe Han have, but was there anyone else still desiring to do so?" (now using the English language) Bernadette tilts her head over to Shawna for a moment, and softly she nods, before her attention flits back to the speaking JJ. Then her gaze travels back across the room, seeming simply to observe the others for now.

Pris looks quietly to Ghost, considering him acutely, and from what he says, seems left with a solemn sense of loss more than anything. The Ventrue from South Bay stands and, regarding Jean-Jacques quietly, she speaks, her voice tinged with a timorous aspect, as one who doesn't often speak in public.

"It is clear, to me, looking around this room that Dr. Han was able to find commonality with so many different kinds of people." She inclines her head quietly to Ghost. "A person of action." She looks to Bernadette. "A teacher." To Calla, she offers, "A healer."

She pauses, then offers a bit more. "When I first met Dr. Han, it was obvious to me that she was a kindred of unrelenting integrity and purpose. The likes of which would have stood well next to some of the pioneers of the Free States. So many of whom, like Dr. Han, are gone, and lost to history." r "This is a memorial that I didn't anticipate attending."

"I wanted to know Dr. Han better."

She stops there, and quietly sits back down.

Giancarlo continues to watch about each speaker intently, slowly nodding his head with each of their statements and assessments. He remains the quiet and calm professional leaving it to those that knew her best to do the talking. Calla lifts her delicate chin, looking to Pris and listing to her words. She gives her a solemn smile. She still sits there quietly near Clara.

Clara leans over and gives Calla's cheek a quick kiss, before leaning heavily on her cane and slowly starting to rise from her seat. "Well said, Ms. Albert," she says, reedy voice whisper soft. "I'll be taking myself home now. Do you want a ride, Calla-Dear?" It's not a twitch that crinkles Edith's nose momentarily. It's just a sniff, bunny-like, and it's certainly not a contagious tic that's been fired off by Zebastian's head tipping. But whatever -- as soon as the sniff-not-twitch comes, it's gone again, with Edith looking up at Zeb with a slight lowering of brows as she listens to those words that Malkavian wants to share. Once he's finished speaking, Edith nods twice, thoughtful and calm of face.

By this point, Zebastian's looming again, but Edith's still looking up at him. She gives him a small touch over the aura of his dark-clothed arm; a tiny, almost imperceptible brush as if to gently make him aware of the sound he's making.

Mae meanwhile gets a composed, questioning look, but Edith's fellow ghoul is not giving her anything back in return. What else to do now? Edith elects to turn her eyes back to the front to turn her attention to Pris.

Calla leans into the kiss instead of away as many might. Maybe she is used to the hidden clan? She smiles gently. "Oh, take care. I can get myself home, but thank you."

"Well, call if you need anything Darling," Clara says, before giving the smaller woman's shoulder a pat and walking out of the room with the aid of her cane.

"I don't think any of us did." Patricia responds to Pris, clasping her hands behind her back, watching the gathered throngs of mourners, a standard 'at ease' position that doesn't look out of place from where she stands. She does not comment on the political ramblings going on, nor Shawna's response even though she can't understand ASL, but whatever she said it was emphatic. It earns a small frown - not Shawna's actions, but Bernadette's - her position is known, but a thinly veiled rapier does no-one any good.

A nod is given to Pris as she speaks, and that soft smile spreads across Jean-Jacques's lips. "I believe all of us would have gained much from knowing her better." He responds to the South Bay Ventrue's last statement before turning back towards the crowd. "I believe that will bring a close to the services then. I want to thank everyone for attending, and for those that shared for volunteering some of your memories of the late Dr. Han with the rest of us. I wish you all a good evening, and uneventful travel back to your respective destinations." (now using the English language)