open.

[luaithre]

WHO: Marcus Rowntree, Petrana de Coudoux, others TBA!
WHAT: A late night cabal of the magic kind.
WHEN: Late Guardian
WHERE: The gardens
NOTES: Early and accidental beginnings of mage cabal. Feel free to wander in and talk politics. Of most interest to mages and mage-identifying Rifters, but no one's counting.

It'll be some weeks before the grip of winter loosens its hold of the Gallows, and so many have done the sensible thing and retreated indoors. Near constant rain has ceased for the time being, which only means that puddles from earlier showers are likely to freeze by the morning.

And yet, two people and one dog are outside in the gardens.

There's an iron brazier currently crackling with flame which offers them both a source of light, and technically warmth as well, but it's not alone. Leaning against one of the stone benches is a bladed mage staff of dark wood and silver metal, with runic etchings currently glowing a deep volcanic red. It emanates heat in a peculiar way -- less the radial concentration of an open flame, but an even distribution of dry warmth that encompasses the immediate area by almost thirty feet. It still necessitates a cloak or a coat to totally defy the winter chill, but the temperature is much improved, and pleasant for those who prefer cooler climates.

Marcus (wearing a scarf and everything, although it now hangs loose) occasionally tends to the fire with a wave of his hand, dispersing smoke and letting fire run off magic rather than just the wood that it gnaws at. "I'd offer to accompany you if I didn't think my presence would cast some doubt as to Riftwatch's good intentions," is more good humoured than dour, leaning back then to search his coat pockets for something -- a pipe, and a small leather satchel.

There are more stone benches circled around. Don't mind the very big dog currently lounging nearest the fire.

Comments

[ipseite]

Jenny Lou is not yet a familiar face to Petrana, and so the sight of her approach doesn't immediately draw her eye—there are enough of them now gathered about the warmth in the garden that she might be drawn to speak with anyone, or perhaps simply to see why they've congregated, but the particular question does draw her out of her half-formed thought on some other topic of conversation—

“Oh, my dear, of course,” she says, surprised, pleased. “Vysvolod, up.”

Not all the way; he presents Petrana with a baleful look that is probably mostly feigned, heaving himself over to sit sentinel rather than sprawled out on his side, bringing his enormous head conveniently higher.

“Hold your hand out to him,” she instructs, “and let him know you.”

[windyvoice]

It feels kinda special to be called "my dear" by someone as pretty as this lady is, but thankfully, Jenny Lou has an excuse to focus her attention somewhere else entierly. Like the dog. Who is amazing. She doesn't try to the huge, dumb grin stretching across her face. You're allowed to look stupid when it comes to dogs, everybody knows that.

"Vysvolod," she repeats, tripping a little over the pronunciation, "That's a cool name." She holds out her hand dutifully for a sniff.

[ipseite]

Enthusiasm for Petrana's dog is a quick way to earning some indulgence from her, and she says, “It means lord of all he surveys in an old language of my birthplace that his sire's master studied. I wished to name him for the man who gifted him to me, you see,” in a light tone of confidence. “He called me pert for the doing.”

Suffice to say, the late prince's name had not been Vysvolod.

[luaithre]

The approach of the Rifter girl had been enough to snare Marcus's attention, but only in the form of an understated observation that permits Petrana to respond without interruption. He is slouched forwards with his elbows to his knees, and the pipe he's been maintaining emanates a thin ribbon of smoke where it's negligently caught in his fingers.

As Petra says this thing, he remarks, "Is that how he came around to his airs and graces?"

[ipseite]

In a way that might be reasonably described as pert, Petrana says, “That's so,” at once.

[windyvoice]

"Aww, he doesn't have airs," Jenny Lou pipes up from where she is almost entierly absorbed with the dog. Any previous shyness has vanished entierly, "He's very lordly and shit. Super majestic, huh Vysvolod."

She does a better job saying it this time and that just makes her dopey grin wider, before she applies herself to thoroughly and carefully finding his lordship Vysvolod's preferred spots for pats and scratches.

[luaithre]

"I only think that had I named my horse the Black Divine, I'd have a harder time corralling him to my bidding," is the case Marcus makes. "You've ruined him."

He sounds so understated and dry as to be mistaken for serious, but Petrana knows better.

[ipseite]

“Mssr Rowntree, you are a gift,” she informs him, “I have long wondered what I shall name my own horse, when I have the occasion to make such a purchase. What do you think, my dear? Shall majestic Vysvolod be companion to the Black Divine?”

[windyvoice]

"Hell yeah," Jenny Lou says, instantly, having moved on in her relationship with Vysvold to mutual leaning against and further spot scritching, "The Black Divine would be an awesome name for a horse, it'd totally match His Lordship Vysvolod."

Because this dog has a title now, Marcus, please address him appropriately.