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[Stacia has most definitely accurately pegged Beatrice - letting her nerd explain at people is, in fact, soothing for her ego. She is somewhat mollified.]

Hrmph. You will find that my capacity for belief in nonsense is set rather high. Even just the cursed fax machine incident – anyhow, I can't use your comparison with true accuracy. There is, at least where I am, only one source that teaches blood sorcery with any thoroughness. I understand if the lack of competition does not fill you with confidence, but I rate by the only ones around who...are rating?

That didn't quite make sense. [Beatrice clears her throat and quickly moves on, like a cat pretending it meant to do that. She is also cheerfully oblivious to that the other lupine has already found her.]

My own work attempts to integrate the understanding of extramundane energy that various groups of my home have. Vampires, shapeshifters, spirits and the like. Others have mentioned those concepts are not alien to the people here. I can trade nonsense for nonsense, if you are game.

[Stacia listens with all signs of rapt attention, nodding along thoughtfully as Beatrice elaborates. She has trained herself to be an excellent audience.]

Ha, no, those concepts aren't alien here. Aliens aren't even alien here; though considering how different the supernatural is between the worlds we're all from, it's likely going to frustrate you more than anything. I'm not even going to have all that much to offer, since my interaction with supernatural creatures is less about how they do the things they do and more about why they're doing the things they do in ways that make me want to smack them until the stupid comes out.

[Garou are excruciatingly annoying, especially when you're responsible for their dumb asses. She hadn't earned the deed name "Stops-the-Stupid" for no reason.]

Sounds like a fun game to me, but unless yours involves angels, demons, and horrible things from beyond space and time, I'm gonna win.

Horrible things from beyond space and time, check, although we substituted the angels and demons for those trying to remake themselves in that mold instead. The apocalypse is a distinctly less fun game, however. I'd much rather hear about your success rate in smacking the stupid out of people.

[Beatrice snorts.] As for why idiocy is so endemic, it seems that humanity as a defining mold is inescapable – and humans are predictably venal creatures. Thus far, I've found some of the descriptions between worlds to be depressingly similar.

[And for the record, Susan Scolds-the-Wyrm absolutely feels you on that one, Stacia.]

Apoca--

[Stacia cuts herself off, frowning for a moment.]

Please tell me you know a good-natured, hapless dork named Kevin who runs really fast.

[That would go a long way toward soothing a few things, actually.]

[Beatrice is very silent and still for a long minute. When she speaks again, the snide seems to have dropped out of her voice.]

If you think he's fast on foot, you should have seen him on a skateboard.

I bet it's a sight to see for sure.

[Okay, an apocalypse previously-established as not being in her own world, and Beatrice is a friend of Kevin's, who has also been established as having friendly relations with Garou. That's reassuring.]

Sorry you missed him. He and I didn't socialize much, but we did establish the "everybody be cool" rule.

[A beat.]

Also, we fought a conference table.

[It makes it very difficult to be appropriately high handed when someone already knows you're friends with Kevin. She gives it up as a lost cause.]

Yes, I've already been informed that he was here, and that now he is – not. But Mr. Beckett seemed confident that those that disappear are not harmed, so I will be contented with that.

[ Beatrice glances away from the camera, mostly to hide the twist of her mouth. There's no grief or fondness to be found here at all.]

That does sound like Kevin, yes. I do so hope that between the two of you, the menacing table threat was ended once and for all.

[Stacia opens her mouth, but then remembers that this conversation is taking place where Jorgmund can theoretically see it and closes it.]

Worked out pretty well for us, yeah. He ran out to distract it, and kept out of its reach long enough for me to jump on top of it and start tearing it apart. It was still moving when we left it, but it was wedged in a stairwell and couldn't chase anyone else.

He's very consistent. I believe he once pulled a similar stunt with a large worm, but he had some flammable spray paint rather than a shifter prone to fistfighting tables. I do so hope you suffered no splinters, it'd be tragic if he had to do all the hard work.

[Beatrice leans back with an itty bitty smirk.]

Do not worry about me abiding by the rule, madam, I am always 'cool'. [Yes she is absolutely making a very bad vampire temperature joke and she is very pleased with herself.]

Hey, when you've got a strategy that works, you may as well keep using it.

[Have the eye-roll you were certainly seeking with that joke, Bea.]

You know, I was going to say we should meet up so I could regale you with the story in person, but maybe I should reconsider...

[Stacia sticks out her tongue, then smiles.]

Oh, I haven't actually introduced myself, have I? I'm Stacia Novik. How do you prefer to be addressed? You don't strike me as a nickname sort of person.

If you fear attack from any further wordplay, not to worry, Miss Novik. It happens only once a blue moon.

[A beat, before she hastily adds,]

That wasn't a werewolf moon joke, for your information. I am not opposed to meeting up, should we be abiding by the "be cool" rule. Especially as your manners in asking speak well for you, but I have learned to not be overly fussy in how the young address me. Ms. Brewer, Beatrice, it is fine so long as it is actually my name.

[If you call her Betty she just instantly frenzies and tries to attack you on the spot. Very sad.]

[Stacia huffs at the "blue moon" comment, but lets it go when Beatrice hurries to explain that it was unintentional. Moon jokes just happen sometimes.]

Since I'm the one always introducing the "be cool" rule to new arrivals, I intend to be following it. Blatant hypocrisy is so tacky. Would you like me to come find you, or would you prefer to start building your own mental map of the Rig?

[She grins, and it's a tad toothy, but more in a broad smile sort of way than a hidden threat. Names do fall within her sphere of influence as a Ragabash, after all.]

I usually prefer to address people as they prefer, Ms. Brewer. If only because I will have to fight them if they insist on addressing me as "Stacy".

Heavens forfend we ever risk being tacky.

I shall find you, others have been gracious enough to offer tours and it's best to - [she sighs] - acclimate. For however long this takes.

[There's a blur of movement and the sound of steps. Evidently Beatrice is already on her feet.]

Outside of an inexplicable desire to commit to a duel, there is little fear of that from my end, Ms. Novik. I admit, even if it's only out of self-interest, you're a far cry more polite than I have learned to expect from your kind, as opposed to those that insist on calling me only "wyrmish girl." Perhaps Falcon's clutch are simply more charming than the rest.

[Mumble grumble. >:,| damn fangs]

I'm in the lounge nearest the bedrooms they've set aside for our use, where the couches are ugly but at least they don't feel like they've been laminated.

[The image on screen blurs so that Stacia can show Beatrice one of the ugly couches in question. Then she puts her face back on screen; upon which is an amused expression.]

As to that, I'll just say that there were several barriers to my joining Falcon's "clutch", and my disinterest in the traditional social scripts was only one of them. Besides, I can be polite now and rude later if need be, it's far more difficult to go the other way.

Hrm. Yes, you've yet to make yourself obnoxious enough to have fit in. [Beatrice eyes the screen warily. She doesn't trust an amused face from anyone, let alone a werewolf. Even if they're not a dang Fang.] Although you have the capacity to make yourself as such, I have no doubt.

[It's not quite a smooth transition, because Beatrice quite obviously takes a few wrong turns along the way. There's definitely at one point the distant sounds of some cursing - in french? - and the brief glimpse of a bathroom before Bea huffily cuts the comm. She shows up several minutes after that, a not-quite five foot vampire whose massive amounts of hair and fierce scowl only spiritually adds a few inches.]

The couch is even uglier in person.

I do pride myself on my ability to become immensely irritating when the mood strikes, it's true.

[Stacia waits patiently for Beatrice to arrive, adjusting her position on the couch according to the rules of etiquette that she'd learned from...well, some Silver Fangs. Sure the manners are more continental than English, but Beatrice would probably still rate above the Seattle Freeze Stacia grew up with.

When Beatrice does arrive, Stacia only manages to muffle her delight over being taller than someone who isn't an actual child by sternly reminding herself that the shorter person in a given situation has a straighter line to the throat.]

Aren't they just hideous? But at least they're textured enough that they don't stick to me when I sit on them, so I've resigned myself to averting my eyes.

[She makes a show of turning off her comm and setting it aside to indicate that this conversation is a private one.]

So. How would you like to handle the more formal introductions?

[Beatrice shoots Stacia a suspicious look, as if sensing the height triumph delight – but the attention paid to etiquette appears to mollify her enough that she steps proper into the room, giving Stacia a nod. Deep enough to be a proper greeting, shallow enough that no respect is indicated. Womp womp.]

This isn't Court, no matter how much the atrocious taste in furniture may be reminiscent. Needs more tacky gilding, though.

I scarcely care, we've established the important information – namely names. And a lack of head-ripping-off. Although I wasn't aware your kind went in for more formal introductions, either.. The Gaian Theurge just was vague at us, Rhya Bitter-Harvest was – [she makes a small cranky noise, same as she did went complaining about the Fangs. Likely the culprit.]

And the were-pigs were just downright rude.

I doubt many Courts would tolerate this furniture, even with enough tacky gilding to cover it entirely. Who needs easy-clean cushions when you could show off that you have servants to take care of the chores instead?

[The Bone Gnawers might take the couches, but Stacia doubts that they would call any of their own gatherings "Court" unless they took over a tennis club. She puts a pin in that thought (it would be hilarious) and gestures for Beatrice to take her choice of seats.]

You're familiar enough with Falcon's children to have a specific opinion of them and you don't think we have formal introductions? I've met those whose full list of names and titles could take a whole five minutes to recite. But if you don't care to find out what spirit claims me or whether or not I'm a Theurge, we can skip right to what I know about the Rig and our situation here.

["Rhya Bitter-Harvest"? Stacia's going to have to dig into that at some point, because she doesn't quite know what that says about Beatrice's relationship with the Nation but she knows it says something interesting.]

"Were-pigs", huh? I'll want that story, we don't have those in my universe.

[Not currently, at least. They're working on it.]

Edited (oops, forgot the piggies) 2020-11-12 19:01 (UTC)

[There's no court like a Bone Gnawer court, 'cuz Bone Gnawer court has the rite of the pizza. Beatrice eyes up the rather worrying collection of couches, and perches herself carefully on the edge of one overstuffed cushion that looks rather like a bowling alley threw up after going on a three day binger. She looks faintly like she expects it to attack her, but that could also be the presence of a werewolf in the same room. Who knows.]

It was just the one woman, and she was rather to the point. Her sanctimonious point. Also, she was technically dead. Or the ideal of being dead, however that goes. [The whole wraiths vs ancestor spirit thing is a bit confusing to Beatrice. She does look more interested as she leans forward from her terrible, terrible cushion.] Are you a theurge? The one I knew attempted to give me the crash-course as it were, given that I can talk to spirits, but we really had little time. The Rig is not going anywhere – although I think we can afford to skip the five minutes of full titles, please and thank you. But by all means, who are you claimed by? How does one of the Nation introduce themselves, define themselves? Am I supposed to also tell you the one that claimed me in turn?

[She gets progressively more interested as she asks questions, the light of curiosity growing in her eyes. It's time to try and shake anyone that will talk to her upside down until lore, no matter how insignificant, falls out of their pockets.]

I will give you this – it's already off to a better start than the pigs. If you don't have them, you aren't missing out on much. Well, not pigs technically – boards? Were-boards? They were called the Grondr, apparently. Nasty vicious creatures. Apparently they are "fallen to the Wyrm" [yes, she does the airquotes] but Kindred are also claimed to be wyrmish, and we don't wallow in our own - ahem.

[Stacia folds her hands politely in her lap as Beatrice talks, speedily sorting the information she's gathering as she listens. The Silver Fang being dead explains at least some of why she was willing to talk to Beatrice rather than take her head off on sight, and the introductions from a Theurge explains why she knows so much about the Totem spirits. What's truly interesting is the Beatrice has apparently been claimed by a spirit as well -- the same Cockroach that bit Kevin maybe? Stacia decides to venture further information on herself in order to gain further information on what she's talking about.]

I'm not a Theurge, no, which is a bit of a shame. I can think of a few off the top of my head who'd give a limb for the opportunity to study what the Go-Away bombs did to this place, and I'd enjoy hearing their findings even if I didn't understand half of what they said.

[Stacia sighs and rubs her temple with her fingertips.]

Oh, the Grondr. Yes, we had those. To give them some credit, one could argue that they were driven to the Wyrm as much as they fell to it. It was, and still is, a tragedy.

[Stacia has Opinions about the Wars of Rage and most of them are...not favorably inclined to the Garou of the time. She shakes off the moment of contemplation and redirects back to Beatrice's questions.]

Generally when we introduce ourselves, we declare our names, the spirit that claims us, our societal role, our rank in the Nation, and perhaps one or two other identifiers. It helps everyone take an educated guess as to what kind of pain in the ass they're dealing with, if you'll pardon my French. So: my name is Stacia, I am a grandchild of Thunder, I am a Ragabash, and my rank is...not really that relevant, unless you consider yourself part of the Nation.

[What? Surely Beatrice doesn't think a girl would give all of her secrets up at once! And Stacia doesn't plan on spreading information about the shapes Garou can be born in unless it becomes relevant.]

So, what does that tell you about me?

Oh yes, I haven't yet had the luck – or perhaps misfortune – to be able to examine the residue or witness Stuff myself yet but it's absolutely fascinating, isn't it? Just based on the descriptions alone. What I wouldn't give for more sets of eyes that were familiar with – ahem. [There may have been more than one reason that she got the baby-Theurge crash-course training. Nerd.

It's not as if Beatrice really knows anything about Garou ranks anyway (let alone cares) – the information was more focused on the immediately relevant, and the Nation is dead after all. Still, she files away her best guess as to this girl either being of no note and attempting to play up the mystery in order to seem more in charge than she is – or someone who does have rank worth noting and prefers to play that close to her chest.

Either way, she doesn't like what she hears. It's obvious in the minute ways Beatrice's expression closes up, her enthusiasm walled behind a wary and bland politeness. She folds her hands in her lap as well, mirroring Stacia.]

I know some of those terms, yes. The Shadow Lords. It tells me enough – you're a spy's spy, essentially. A shadow that in turn serves those in the Nation most dedicated to wheeling and dealing in secrets. The Garou I was acquainted with considered them a brand of pain in the rear akin to that of a Court crammed of Vampiric Elders. Was very emphatic on it, even. My own dealings with Stormcrow did not do much to cast doubt on his assertions.

[She half-shrugs, her tone wry and only a little bitter, as she answers the unspoken question of 'why would you tell someone like that you know what they are if that's what you think'. Although not the question of how she has ended up dealing with Stormcrow or ol' Granddaddy Thunder – or what spirits claimed her.]

I can't stop you from being what you are, and you'll do whatever is cooking up in your head regardless of my knowledge. But I can and will warn you, here and now, that I haven't the patience to play whatever little games you might be hoping for. As a courtesy.

Speaking of courtesies, you're already rather familiar with the basics from my end. There is not much more to tell there. Brewer, of the clan Tremere – clan being what we call our own tribes, essentially. My own rank beyond the circles is likewise not relevant, no matter how much a corporation may feel like a collection of Kindred.

[Stacia...giggles. Which probably isn't reassuring, all things considered, but there's a reason that introductions only allow a person to make educated guesses rather than strictly accurate ones.]

I'll take that under advisement, but I don't actually care much for games myself -- unless someone decides to try and make me a piece in theirs. Which is to say that the only game I'm playing here is "everyone pull it together so that we can go home and wreck Jorgmund's shit for enslaving us". Hence the original establishment of the "be cool" rule by me and Kevin. [She flashes Beatrice a grin.] If it helps, I almost became a Child of Gaia, but I concluded that I just wasn't nice enough to do things their way.

[She leans back in her seat.]

I'm also not a spy. Which is, I suppose, exactly what a spy would say, but I really don't have the temperament for it. Too opinionated by half. I'm more of a coordinator and trouble-shooter who regularly gets mistaken for a personal assistant.

I don't expect you to believe me right off the bat, but I'm willing to put in the time and energy to prove it. Which doesn't include not asking oodles of questions, but I'll accept being rebuffed.

[oops you had a double post there and i almost responded to the wrong one the other day, but i cleaned it up. hope it's all good now!

Oddly enough, the information about almost becoming a Child of Gaia elicits a tired sigh from Beatrice.]

It doesn't particularly help, no. What that combination of clans warns me of is that you may be overly fond of interfering with people for their own good. I consider the treaty null and void, for the record, if you at any point consider it appropriate to appoint yourself some sort of – meddler. The current situation renders any fixation on sentiment you may have rather a waste of time, anyhow.

[Yes, that's definitely a different brand of suspicion that Stacia is being hit with now under the side-eye. There's disgruntlement there and - sort of a bruised pride. Beatrice has not forgotten the Child of Gaia attempting valiantly to corner her for some verapy (vampire therapy). Nor has she forgiven.]

You already certainly don't seem to lack for ambition...or optimism. That's quite a lofty goal, only game or no. The best of luck to you, Madam.

[It's not doubt, precisely. More resignation. The situation itself is all too familiar to Beatrice, and the familiarity makes it seem all the more insurmountable just as much as it fills her with thwarted fury.]

Questions are more than acceptable, even, ah - 'oodles' of them. Believe me, I have my fair share of them as well. But I grant that the level of knowledge I have is unusual for my kind, so by rights, I'll hand you the first barrage.

[If Beatrice hopes to elicit a reaction other than giggles with that sigh and side-eye combo, she will be sadly disappointed. Stacia would never go so far as to say that she isn't a self-appointed meddler on a regular basis, but "sentiment"? Oh no, that's not her area of interest.]

Very well, I'll stay out of your love life, unless your love life somehow becomes vital to group cohesion. Which I'm sure it won't.

[Stacia sits back in her seat with a shrug.]

I never said that the tasks I set myself were going to be easy, but most people here chafe under the...restrictions we've been put under, and seem to be reasonably competent in a variety of skills. It may take some time, but fighting it suits me better than accepting this as my new lot in life. [She cocks her head to the side.] Surely you don't believe Jorgmund's line that they're the ones who brought us here?

[Ah, but now is the time for questions. Stacia leans forward again.]

You mentioned that you had ties to a spirit. May I ask which one, and how that came about?

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