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]

Come back to the Gallows on one of the later ferries, Petrana is still outfitted for Hightown's winter entertainments; heavy pale blue skirts flashing panels of gold and cream lace where her furs are pushed aside enough to warm hands nearer his staff, wearing gloves designed for parties and not for chilly air. Vysvolod, a wolfhound of elder years and thick grey coat, at some angles may blend in with those furs until he heaves great sighs and rearranges himself in prime heat-seeking position.

“It is a well-chosen group as it is,” she says, primly, in similar humor and similar understatement. “Truthfully, it is rare I venture farther than Hightown; I expect the experience to be most useful. And I have missed traveling, some. I fear my first adventure, with the Inquisition, rather soured them on sending me anywhere.”

It's been long enough now that she can laugh at it, and herself.

I'm taking my shot

[windyvoice]

Soooo, normally a really formal and pro looking group of adults is like a big old Caution sign for her. Especially when some of the participants are absolutely brain meltingly gorgeous ladies (and she's already been weird and awkward around Miss Derrica enough, thanks). Jenny Lou is all set to give them and what sounds like a Very Serious Discussion a wide berth when she sees him.

Absolutely the biggest of boys. A very good boy.

And she's weak, okay. She's getting over this grip shit and feels generally gross and sad and kinda lonely, but whatever, she's coping. She would cope way better if dog though. She waits on the fringes of the group until there's enough of a lull in the conversation that she can address the woman who seems to be the dog's mom.

"Um... Hi. Can I pet your dog?"

later.

[ipseite]

As late as the hour had been when they'd met in the courtyard garden, and as the chill in the air deepened, they couldn't linger indefinitely; it is both natural (it seems perfectly so) and by design (the tilt of her head and expectant raise of her eyebrows) that Marcus join Petrana and Julius on the stairs up through the tower that most live in, and carry on all the way to their shared room.

(Vysvolod, who is a shit, trots gamely ahead of them at her merest whistle.)

When the door has closed behind them and they are getting themselves situated—Vysvolod up, at once, onto the end of the bed, Petrana removing her earrings and setting down her gloves—she says, “Were either of you aware of Speaker Fabria's particular support for the Van Markham king?” which might not have been what either of them were expecting her to ask, having danced lightly around the content of what conversation she had or had not with Flint earlier in the night.