Edge Town-City of Light

Jarl studied the woman for just a moment longer than was probably polite - maybe it was the extremely elfin face that made him just a little paranoid.

What? Him? Paranoid? Surely not. Definitely not when the Fair Folk could be involved. That said, it also wasn't polite to stare at people for long without doing something. He bowed his head to the woman and smiled a little, replying to her in French, albeit with a deliberate foreign twinge to his accent, just to make sure she knew he wasn't a native.

"Yes. Is he in? We were hoping for his assistance with a little problem that's brought me and my associates to the City of Lights."

The cropped-haired woman smiles at Jarl's accent, surprising a laugh. It is a very human looking smile. Cute, even. Nevertheless, Jarl gets the faint prickle of having met a fellow predator. She replies in French as you start to move inside.

"He is! He told me we'd have to cut the club meeting short for you. Nevertheless, it seems we've managed to run late. He's with a student, but you can come on in, and let him know you've arrived."

As you enter, the townhouse you feel the pressure of having passed through a threshold, a momentary ear-popping sensation. However, you're invited, thus, nothing more happens.

Inside, Rollo's house is warm and well-appointed, decorated in a classic style with aged wood paneling. It's clear the house of a wealthy man—over the door hangs a shield emblazoned with a family crest, and the narrow entrance hall is filled with the framed paintings. Most look old—Chaucer old, even. There's more pairs of shoes on the rack than a single occupant would account for—he still have guests over.

"Come along—he's in the basement. I'm Michele, by the way. Senior at Sorbonne. Anthropology."

She opens the door the basement, revealing a narrow but well-lit staircase. From below, you can hear the a rapid click-clack that Jarl and Leon would probably be able to recognize as practice swords.

edited 23rd Jan '17 4:30:39 PM by DrTentacles

Terry stayed quiet and let Alex handle things. He wasn't completely without tact or survival instinct, and a city where he had important business and didn't know the players seemed like an excellent place to exercise both.

Within Tim an inner fight raged. On the one hand, he wanted to be annoyed at another Wizard getting involved with whatever sort of being the woman was.

But on the other hand, he had do admit that doing that would be just a tad hypocritical.

Well. I am sure Wizard de Normandy has his reasons

"Doctor von Hochberg. Something of a scholastic peer of the Professor." He returned the introduction.

Terry and Alex

Django remained perfectly still. While his Hunger did somewhat recoil as the force of several vampires met his own, it didn't betray any hesitation or fear - the man was stone cold calm. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and folded his arms behind his back.

"Ah! But there's the rub. You may wish to be presentable when meeting with the Duchesse, but I assure you, she will not care as much for your obedience as she will for your punctuality. Perhaps we can make an arrangement, yes? Your conseiller and you-" he pointed at Lilaine "-come with me, while your youngest brother takes your sister to the hotel, yes? I assure you, it's to everyone's benefit - you would not wish to make a bad impression on the Duchesse, would you?"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Annette

Boy, that girl was fast. She ducked and weaved through the dense crowds almost as if they weren't there, gently swaying aside and dancing between people as she saw an opportunity. She briefly looked back to see if Annette was still following, and when realizing that yes, she was, she turned her head and picked up her pace -

- and smacked straight into an outstretched arm, falling on her face into a snowbank that cushioned her fall somewhat.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jarl

"Eriksson," Jarl echoed, introducing himself as Tim had. "Idiot savant in a similar field."

He heard the tell-tale clacking of practice swords. "Is the professor an avid fencer?"

edited 24th Jan '17 11:28:12 AM by math792d

"I really should have picked up a French phrase book or something before coming here."

Leon wasn't completely lost at the moment. He was pretty sure introductions were still being done. Even if he didn't quite understand everything being said. He perked up a bit at the sound of what he was pretty sure was sword sparring. He probably wasn't as quite familiar with that sound as Jarl was being a hand to hand specialist first and a swordsman a distant second.

"So uh, assuming this is introductions. I'm Leon."

Michele flushed slightly, realizing that Leon could make out a word of the preceding conversation, then switched to lightly-accented English with a soft laugh,

"Sorry, I should have realized you wouldn't all speak French. Does English work for you all, or do we have to play telephone?"

She grins as the four of you move farther down the stairs, turning the corner and emerging what could only be described as cross behind a basement tavern and training room. On the wall across from you is the nestled nook of a bar, expensive—looking drinks resting on hardwood shelves behind it. A set of matching stools sit in front, nicked and battered with age and use. Farther down the wall two booth-set tables, dimly lit for quiet conversation.

The centerpiece of the room, however, are the dojo-style training mats in the center of the room, and weapons hanging on the wall. They're everything from ancient-looking Gallic swords, pitted with rust mounted to display, to blunt-edged longswords, to quite-deadly looking rapiers. Ages of swordplay, on display. A poster on the wall below them demonstrates the eight cuts of English dueling, where others show off different schools, or basic weapon forms.

Upon the mat are two more people—one has the look of another college student, maybe even a relative of Michele—a young man with sandy blond hair. He has a padded glove on one hand, and wooded sword in the other.

Across from him is what has to be your wizard. He looks like a well-kept fifty, broad-shouldered, a little shorter than average, with shaggy, neat-cropped brown and grey hair and a short beard. Attractive, even, if you're into older men. He's casually—turtleneck and jeans, and holds a wooden sword as well, a thick glove over his other hand.

Michele grins, speaking loud enough to be heard over the clack of swords.

"A little—Quel est le mot?—nerdier? And full contact."

Moving into the room, she grabs a broom from under the stairs, and starts to sweep the mat.

"Historical European Swordmanship. Rollo hosts the college club—I'm president."

Rollo barks out a word, then looks up from the duel.

"Arrêtez!"

Both on the mat drop lower swords, and bow, walking forward to shake hands. Without glancing over, Rollo calls out to you.

"Vous devez venir du Conseil. Bienvenue."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Alexander couldn't bring himself to relax. Django seemed friendly enough, but he knew his kin. This could simply be a plot to separate his family.

Still, searching the man's face, he could find no sign of deception.

"I'd prefer to remain with my family right now. If we all accompanied you, would we have an promise of safe conduct?"

edited 24th Jan '17 5:50:51 PM by DrTentacles

I feel like I'm being put through some serious slapstick here.

Annette came to an awkward half-running halt behind the thief just as she got clothes-lined by somebody else. Had that been intentional? If not, good timing there. David bumped up against his mother's back to look at the woman on the ground. His voice was very quiet. "Did they get her?"

"Y-Yes. Um...pardon moi, Mademoiselle," Annette stepped forward, on hand on her hip, the other held out to the thief. Not to pull her up—oh no, her expression was too cool and irritated to indicate such a gesture. "My wallet please."

David looked up at the arm that had clothes-lined the thief, and the person it was attached to, before ducking back to behind his mother.

edited 24th Jan '17 5:58:02 PM by KeiranGold

"Bienvenue," Jarl called, waving a hand. "For the benefit of the bloody colonials in the audience," he continued, in English, "we might want to restrict ourselves to English."

"Also, those two are." He gestured back at Tim and Leon. "I'm a freelancer." He scratched Tjalfe behind the ears to keep the poor animal from walking up and trying to greet everyone in sight. Not everyone in the room might be comfortable with an apex predator acting like an oversized puppy.

"You teach swordsmanship? Were you a Warden?"

edited 25th Jan '17 10:23:43 AM by math792d

Rollo turns, taking his dueling partner's sword and walking over to put both wooden blades away, and it's at that moment that you realize that he's got some pretty serious scars. The right side of his face looks badly burned—knotted, grayish flesh, creeping up from his neck and twisting his lips until it meets his right eye, which is covered by a patch. He also walks with a pronounced limp.

Speaking again, he transitions to barely-accented English.

"That means you're the Hunter, then? Well met. Is that a wolf?"

Michele's eyes widen, and you see her suppress the urge to either ask questions, or attempt to pet Tjalf.

Meanwhile, Rollo places his and the other boy's swords on the rack, then strips off the padded gauntlet. Underneath, he's missing a hand—there's a smooth cap, carved of wood, the right side again. Picking up a cane, he finally limps over to the three of you. The sudden focus from him is almost palpable—it's as though you're being dissected.

After a minute of silence, he nods, responding to Jarl's initial question.

"I was. One of the few who didn't retire feet-first, like poor Morgan. Michele, Bruno—finish cleanup, please."

He limps over to the rail.

"Unload your bags, and then let's do the rest of this over a meal."

Tim was honestly impressed by the amount of scars. In his experience, you either needed to be very good or very very lucky to survive it.

"Something to eat sounds agreeable, yes." He nodded at the other Wizard and then gave a slight nod to the boy he had sparred with earlier. "Will your students join us?"

Translation: Are they in on who we are?

Alex and Terry

"Naturally. You have my promise, and that of my family. We've nothing to hide from you, young Thorne."

He clapped his hands together. "Now then, shall we? We have transportation available for you! Something suitable for guest of the Fleur Blanche. Come along now, everyone. There will be food waiting for you when we arrive!"

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anne

The woman muttered something in unintelligible French in protest before the wallet was snatched out of her hand by the same arm that had just finished decking her. It was a man, as it turns out. Tall, with strands of short black hair peeking out from under a black cloth cap. Between that and the 5 o'clock shadow, the cheekbones and the handsome face, he kinda looked like a rockstar.

Of course, the instrument case he carried over his shoulder probably did the exact same thing.

"Est-ce-que cela est a toi?" He handed the wallet to Anne. He was smiling and, upon closer inspection, his irises were flecked with hints of silver... _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jarl

"That he is." He scratched Tjalfe behind the ears again as the wolf sat down next to its hunting companion, tail wagging. "I helped his parents out of a bind, so I got stuck with him. And a meal sounds great."

Almost by reflex, he studied Rollo right back, like sizing up a fellow predator. A potential threat. While he liked Tim and Leon, he hadn't forgotten the last time he had to stand in front of a Warden.

edited 25th Jan '17 1:27:28 PM by math792d

It was interesting seeing a man that could very well be one of the better results of being a warden. Leon had a decent scar collection of his, but compared to Rollo, it was like he just had a paper cut or two. It was sobering to think that being permanently and significantly crippled would be one of the better end results of his choice in careers. Some small part of him might be regretting the route he had chosen, but he silenced those thoughts. He might still be somewhat new to being a warden but he was far enough down the road, he wasn't about to turn back.

"Food would be great. Thank you."

Annette blinked as another person snatched her wallet up for her from the thief and handed it to her. She hadn't even looked at the man who had stopped them, had she. Good going on that tunnel vision, Annie. This time she did look up, taking her wallet as she did so, and offering a small, nervous little smile—her default smile, really. "Yes. Er—oui. Merci," she mumbled, hoping she could speak at least two worst of French in the correct context without mispronouncing them somehow, before opening her wallet to make sure nothing had fallen out. Thankfully she only had a few things in there: ID, debit card, and some Euro that she'd transferred for the trip.

"Good, all accounted f-for. Th-tha—um, m-merci again. Sorry I d-don't speak f-French very well..."

Alexander

Aiden cleared his throat, voice quiet, and stepped up to flank Alexander.

"It's alright, Alex. I can handle Bet—"

It felt like a hand closing around Alexander's chest—the sudden spike of anger that flashed through him, boiling heat. His response was a harsh rasp, eyes flaring white.

"We'll stay together."

Aiden went pale, expression going blank as though Alexander had slapped him. Alexander's gut twisted, guilt rising instantly to meet the anger. He opened his mouth to explain—apologize,

Aiden stepped back, plugging his headphones back in.

Alexander looked down at Bethany, eyes fading back to blue as he smiled.

"Let's go get dinner, alright?"

____________________________________________________________________________

The Wizards

Rollo gave a tight-lipped grin.

"Michele will join us at some point. Bruno, on the other hand, has a paper due in three days, but he can show you the guest rooms, unless you'd rather stay at a hotel."

Limping with a bit more spirit, he made his way upstairs. Michele gives an exaggerated sigh, flashing the three of you a grin and a wave as she continued to sweep and wipe down the mats.

_____________________________________________________________________________

While Rollo cooks pasta, you have a chance to explore the house. The living room is small, but well furnished, bookshelves lining the wall—a wide selection of reading materials. It's a very living house—plants resting by the windows, a tuned piano against the wall. Pictures of students that look to go back at least thirty years dot the walls, group shots of the Historical Swordplay club through the ages. There's nothing innately magical on the lower levels, though.

The second floor of the house, accessible from the narrow, winding staircase, looks like it was originally designed for family living, and perhaps a small office. However, it's since been converted to dorm-style bedrooms.

Bruno gives you a faint grin—when he speaks, his voice is cheerful, but he seems to have a bit of trouble with English.

"Rooms are nice—though three will be tight. There's a pull-out couch in the solar, though. So...you guys are..."

He drops his voice, as though talking about a secret.

"Magic, right?"

edited 27th Jan '17 4:18:53 PM by DrTentacles

Terry kept up a poker face, but that little Hunger-flavored outburst had his hackles up. Alex's life was already set up to become a TV drama about overthrowing his evil father only to end up as bad as him and then get killed in the last episode, and the combo of vampire mojo and being controlling with his siblings wasn't going to help. First chance he got to do it without an audience, Terry was going to have to take Alex aside and see about un-hamartia-ing his shit.

Hey, this Django guy had very nearly called him a consigliere. Better live up to it.

Tim considered for a moment, but a strong Treshold was always preferable to none in his book. "I cannot speak for my compatriots but I thank you for your hospitality."

"The accommodations should be fine. Thank you. And yes I am magic."

Leon glances at Tim and his excessive height before turning to Jarl. "Rock Paper scissors for who gets stuck with the sleeper couch?"

"Council Seniority shall suffice." Tim countered calm before turning to their guide. "Normally it is considered good form to show before you ask."

Jarl

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You White Council types are too pampered for a couch. I've got it." He scratched Tjalfe behind the ears again and studied Bruno for a second, sizing him up. So he knew. It wasn't unreasonable, given his professor's nature, but it was still unexpected. He'd have to keep an eye on him. And the girl.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alex

Django remained outwardly calm at Alexander's outburst, his hands behind his back, tapping his expensive Italian shoes against the floor of the airport terminal like he was just waiting for Alex to make up his mind and get on with it.

"Has a decision been made, monsieur? Our driver is waiting."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anne

"It's quite alright." The man waved a dismissive hand. "I am pleased to hear you were not harmed. Unfortunately-" he gestured to the thief, still lying on the snowy ground and probably seeing stars, "some people are determined to give Paris a bad name."

"My family owns a restaurant in town. If you'd like, you could tell them I sent you. Should net you and the boy a free meal. I assure you, it's exquisite." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card, extending it to Anne.

Oh thank God, English.

Annette placed her wallet back into her pocket, making sure it was buried deep enough to not fall out or be easily pinched again. David stayed tucked up against her back, holding the hem of her shirt. "Ahah...d-don't worry, we've been having fun. Really! This was j-just a little, uh, e-extra thrill?"

She blinked at the card offered to her. A free meal at a restaurant? In exchange for him helping her out? Felt a bit backwards. But would turning it down be just as bad? "Oh, I, um," she gulped, "I f-f-feel like I should be offering something t-to you, not, um, the other w-way around. But. I. Um."

"It sounds nice," David mumbled softly.

Annette paused, then gave a soft sigh and took the card.

"Th-thank you very much. I'm sure it's w-wonderful," she pushed another smile to her lips, still a little anxious, but trying to seem friendly. To some extent. "And, um, if I s-see you there, I owe you one Mr..."

Bruno's eyes widen, and his face splits into an excited smile before he can control himself. The next couple words from him are almost a garble, his brain clearly moving faster than his command of English can translate.

"Incroyable! And you are from the Council? The Professor's Council. Which means you are les enchanteurs."

He stops, focusing.

"Pardon. I am...not making much sense. I have been told, and I have been shown, but I have not met? See?"

A faint flush rising on his cheeks, he looks down the hall, feeling like he's overlooked something.

"Your room! Yes!"

He takes you down the hall, and throws open one of the three doors on this level. Within is clearly a recently-vacated dorm room, completely with a mini-fridge. It's spartan, but oddly homey—mosiac glass casting colors from the windowsill, the two twin beds freshly made up with patterned sheets and comforters, and a closet and a writing desk. Clothes are shoved into a suitcase under one of the beds, and there are posters of philosophers with inspirational memes over them on the walls.

"This one was mine, but if you're staying, I'll be across the hall. The door at the end is the downstairs bathroom."

____________________________________________________________________________

Lilaine reaches over, prodding Alexander in the side to ease the sudden tension.

"I don't think our dear Bethany is the only one who is hungry. It was a long flight."

Alexander smiled, tamping down the surge of Hunger. He'd have to apologize later. And thank his sister.

"Indeed. Let's go eat."

edited 30th Jan '17 1:38:01 PM by DrTentacles

"Magicien" Tim corrected absently. "Well and one Sorcier." Tim stepped up to the bed next to the window and set down his bag and hat upon the comforter. The place would suffice for now.

Well. Assuming Leon does not snore.

"So you and your sister are live-in students? That seems unusual."

Bruno shrugs.

"Michele talked about Sorbonne so very much. Rollo offers lower rent to club members, and the house is a little big for just one person. It was a blessing to get the offer—rent in Paris is terrifying."

Leon gently placed his duffle bag on the bed that Tim didn't claim since Jarl was apparently content to give up bed privileges without a fight. He resisted the urge to pop it open and check over his gear, since he figured Bruno might change tune rather quickly if he saw the various weapons Leon was lugging around.

Instead he pulled off his heavy grey cloak and tossed it over top the duffle bag. Seeing as how they were now in a warm house he didn't really need the extra insulation it was provided and hopefully being inside a wizard's home he wouldn't need the bullet resistance it provided either. That and Bruno and his sister might be fae related and it would be crass to be wearing a cloak with iron woven through it around well, any more then he already had that is.