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piper902020-10-21 06:04 pm
smallmediumwelldone) wrote in piper902020-10-21 06:04 pm
Entry tags:
[Video]
Good evening.
[There’s a woman speaking, tone clipped. The corporate jumpsuit hangs off her small frame, and her hair is swept up into an old-fashioned bun. Or so it seems - she’s standing a bit away from the screen, and it’s tilted at an odd angle.]
I am given to understand that this is how to contact my new coworkers? My name is Beatrice Brewer, at your service, and I assure you I am quite qualified. I am - was - an apprentice of the fifth circle in, ah, a collection of magi, have experience in a thrilling variety of crises, and am quite keen to get started on - [a heavy sigh, more notable for the fact that someone observant might catch that she doesn’t breathe] - this situation.
[There’s a long pause.]
Drat, is this bloody thing even on? Dreadful place, what sort of dog and pony show are they running, honestly. Stuff? Stuff? Of all the names?
[There’s a woman speaking, tone clipped. The corporate jumpsuit hangs off her small frame, and her hair is swept up into an old-fashioned bun. Or so it seems - she’s standing a bit away from the screen, and it’s tilted at an odd angle.]
I am given to understand that this is how to contact my new coworkers? My name is Beatrice Brewer, at your service, and I assure you I am quite qualified. I am - was - an apprentice of the fifth circle in, ah, a collection of magi, have experience in a thrilling variety of crises, and am quite keen to get started on - [a heavy sigh, more notable for the fact that someone observant might catch that she doesn’t breathe] - this situation.
[There’s a long pause.]
Drat, is this bloody thing even on? Dreadful place, what sort of dog and pony show are they running, honestly. Stuff? Stuff? Of all the names?
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?