Meeting William Holmes

Arianna

This place, their Chantry -- what passes for a Chantry -- what passes for a Chantry but does not have a Deacon, or even a governing council -- this...

Strike that.

The House (what we are not referring to as a Chantry) was a topic of discussion between the triad of The Silver Bough on her very first night in Denver.  And to everyone's surprise, there was no shrieking, no shattering of glass-dropped-in-surprise.  It went over well. So well. Smoooooooothly, even.

So when Penelope suggested that they head out to the House (what we are not referring to as a Chantry), Arianna agreed that they should, indeed, investigate.  She dressed nicely for the occasion, pressed slacks and boots that click on hard floors and loft her height just enough to come up even with Penelope's.  She swept her hair back into a pleasing arrangement, secured with the suggestion of haphazardness and a complete lack of commitment to that arrangement. She pulled on the deep purple of her coat, her instruments (such as can be so collected) into her pockets.

Laid plain: she readied for the most Hermetic sort of War.  She came armed with her letter of Introduction; with the infamy of her last names; with the sort of thing that no one in Denver would care about in the slightest.

And then they had the whole of the ride out to not discuss more pressing things, as the roar of the engine made interjection difficult.  So it is, finally, as they are coming up the walk together that Ari can regale Penelope with the clever things she has decided, long pondered over the roar of cylinders and the sway of the road.  To wit: "I have been thinking that we might, as Air is the seat and the sanctuary of the mind, and as it is still barely yet the edge of Winter passing, go up to the mountains to look for Essentia of a proper tone and value for the Talismans."

Penelope

Since meeting Annie and becoming acquainted with the Chantry House in Morrison (which is how Penelope might think of the Chantry House in Morrison whenever she has occasion to think of the Chantry House in Morrison, named by its purpose and by its location rather than for any grand future), Pen has spent a lot of time in the library. Learnéd books and ideas are a Hermetic's air, a Hermetic's moon and stars. Necessary, even for those of an experimental and creative bent - and Pen has been without for a while.

Today she is not come to the Chantry House in Morrison - and see how the field before it is flush gold with Spring, the grass no longer blanched or blighted by snow? See how the stone of the house settles in, as if it is Mountain-old, Mountain-somber, Mountain-guarded though it is only a house on a hill in the middle of a field with land stretching vast behind and into a forever distance? See the frost tracery, breathe the sharp ache of alpine air - feel how different it is in the lungs, how differently it inhabits one?

The house is stone. Ranch house. Two story addition. The cabal of keepers are probably not to be found, but Pen is correct and proper and let Annie know that she would be bringing her cabal mate (the Silver Bough) over. Correct and proper Pen, armed with gravity and earnestness of purpose and quiet watchfulness, and so it is. Pen brings Arianna up to the door and opens it, and there is a flourish as she does. The flourish is accompanied with a bow, matted red curls (she hasn't raked her fingers through them yet and they show the damage done by her motorcycle helmet) kinked hard against her skull against the nape of her neck like a Medusa headdress (she is ever like something else - something mythic, something belonging to an otherworld or enchantment), and then a gallant flick-up of her metal-gray eyes.

"Enter, Arianna! And be welcome to! The Chantry House."

Pen also texted William Holmes. William Shakespeare Sherlock Holmes (this is not his Name, precisely). And she asked him in that text to come to the Chantry House in Morrison, and meet her friend. They would be there around this time. Please come, I feel that I miss you! - because Pen is fond.

"And that sounds like a very good plan."

Arianna

In truth, this Chantry House (perhaps a designation she can live with [compromise]) is better than she has been expecting.  The sweep of the land echoes something familiar from a far off home, though the climate and topography are altogether wrong.  The weight of it, as it sinks into the earth, that is better, too, and the sharpness of her disdain is humbled, worn away a little, by the warmth that Penelope shows the structure, the gravity she gives it.

Some habits are hard to deny.

Like the way she pauses on the doorstep, waits because a Chantry House is a House and a House is a Home and -- waits until Penelope invites her in and Arianna's smile eases and the rhythm of things, the Echoes of old and sacred things, the pattern and power of such ancient things is appeased and she might enter.

"Well met and thank you, to you and the house," she says, there's a twist to it, playful, which obscures the meat of it as she crosses the threshold, so that any unwitting and unknowing ears might think it just a clever if anachronistic twist of phrase.  Hands into pockets, now, she wanders just past the doorway. Still in the sweep of the entry, but not barring Penelope's passage.

William

[So stealthy!]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (6, 7) ( success x 2 )

William

William has been texted, you see. He has been texted and invited to the wilderness house out in the middle of Somewhere with the beautiful layout and the acres of space and the hot spring but no puppy.

His room mate has since left him to go to Los Angeles, has somehow found herself in the employ of a Euthanatos that Grace is now dating. They spend a lot of time on Skype, but now he needs something or someone to keep him company and he has found that company in his fellow traditionmates. He has found that company in Pen and he has found that company in Henry, though Henry has been rather busy doing what it is that diplomats do. Which, oddly enough, is what William has also been doing.

Ish. What he's been doing ish because he is still in school and doesn't quite have the freedom of mobility that he would like. He's almost done, with school that is. With an undergraduate degree that could turn into something else that could turn into yet another something else because he has the terrible desire to Know Everything. To seek knowledge because it is worth being sought, and that in and of itself was a worthy cause.

It's hard to be stealthy when you drive a motorcycle but he tries. The two women beat him to the chantry, but when he finally did park, he made his way up the steps and to the entryway about as quietly as he could.

Just stood there, being awkward with a stupid grin on his young, handsome face with his eyes bright and his hands in his pockets. Jeans, teeshirt- half a dozen bracelets and a necklace he can't get off because it's tied too tightly. Pocketwatch is in his jacket pocket this time.

Oh, don't mind me, that posture says, I'm just going to stand here being awkwardly adorable.

Arianna

[Okay, I'll bit. Perception check for Ari... since you were so successful at being sneaky.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Arianna

[Ack! I'll bite, even! It's too early for typos.]

Penelope

[Me too! Be alert, Pen! Back to the door, so no Acute Sight bonus.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )

Penelope

Pen does follow Ari in. There is a braided rug flung across the wooden floor in the foyer, and if it was not there yesterday then perhaps it is there today because Leah found it at a craft fair and bought it for a song. Pen points to one door which is further down the hall. "Through there, the living room." And then she points to another door, "Through there, the Dining Room, and beyond that the kitchen, which is where..."

Pen turns; it is a sharp turn, spare and sudden, because somebody has snuck and the snuck somebody is:

Her expression is clear; the smile bidden but ready to answer the call before she bids it come because it is easy to smile at William and it sifts through her eyes like smoke moving through a fall of light. "...and look here! A surprise. My surprise, for you, Arianna! And my surprise for you, William! Oh, but I didn't keep it as a surprise for you, I told you to come and meet my friend. Introduce yourselves! Fully, if you please."

She grins.

Arianna

She is not the first of them to notice, but Penelope's sharp turn brings the other woman's posture straight, brings her up to full height and ready to gather the warp strings of the loom of the world around her in the defense of this Not Chantry if needs be, in defense of her person and her friend at the very least, but a smile breaks across Pen's face and the readiness in Ari recants from stiffness to something akin to amused nonchalance.

Ari's smile is wicked; it is infectious; it is a clever, cunning, mischevious thing, and the full effect of it is turned on William who, for all his awkward adorableness, is entirely outmatched by the easy grace which has attached itself to Pen's coattails and followed her in.

"A pleasure to meet you," she says, as a beginning, because, as a friend of Penelope's, he is accorded that much. And then, because of the happenstance of location and the implications therein, she continues.  "Arianna Elisebetha Fioretta Giametti, Initiate Exemptus ordo Hermes, bani Bonisagus."

There is a curl to her mouth. Pleased. Perhaps a note of challenge to it, too. And there are histories in the names she offers -- perhaps he knows them; her mother's house (Bonisagus), her father's fame (Flambeau).  Like as not, they are empty echoes here.

William

He can't win, this one, because he is so easily noticed. He tries, though. That is what one can always say about William is that he does try and he does do the best that he can in most situations, and sometimes he does too much. Sometimes he bites off more than he can chew, but the people who have invited him here haven't known him to be a failure or a fuck up. No, on the contrary. The people who are there with him today and invited him out think of William as being a charming and competent creature.

"I was so close!" he laments.

No, William. You were not close. You were always noticable.

"Oh, ho I get to use the fancy title," he says, beamns, because he so rarely gets to do this.

Turns and looks at Arianna, smiles because when he smiles he is a sort that draws attention. The south creeps into his voice, always does but now when he speaks it is more of a hint of something romanticized. "William Charles Elijah Renee Poirot Faolan Holmes, Initiate Exemptus of the Order of Hermes, bani Jerbiton," he says, "and I would say the pleasure is all mine but I'm not one to deny another their experiences and the richness of finding another's company.

"I do not know what your future holds, dear lady, but I fear that making your acquaintance may have altered mine in the most damnably wonderful of ways."

Or he could just have said it's nice to meet you, but something about the words he chose and the intent on using them sounds less like flattery and more like deliberation. Each piece chosen for its own intent and there- right there- the introduction is treated like a movement in a symphony.

Arianna

On this introduction and this introduction alone, Ladies and Gentlemen, Attention Please, Arianna Fioretta Giametti may, just might, it's quite possible she will, decide that this House (what we are not referring to as a Chantry) may well be worth her time and attention after all.  That is how pleased, how preening pleased, how glint in her eye and teeth seen through smiles happy he has made her with him formalities and his clever speech and his overflowing abundance of names.

"Well met!  A gilded tongue you have, good sir," she says, and there, her hands come (empty) out of her pockets and then the slightest inclination of her head which reads quite regally of the tiniest bow.  "Pen, for shame, you did not say you invited us a bard for company!  You honor me, William Charles Elijah Renee Poirot, of House Jerbiton, with your fine greetings.  I hope that my humble own might do you the same."

It is good, also, that they do not have an audience of other Houses and Traditions, for the snickering behind hands and mockery and such forth would be almost insufferable to bear.  It's possible, to, that there is truth to William's estimation of her -- that she might alter his fate simply by standing in the path of his progress.  There is a sense of that about her, dimly though, obscured as she has no active Workings or magics wreathed around her to call out the sense of constellations; of the fickle fleeting light of dancing stars.

William

[Willpower: do not make a D&D joke]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )

William

It's strange for him to talk about the alteration of fate, about paths and what-have-you when he feels like such a disaster, like so much upheaval and the efforts of a revolution. He is change, he is a disaster, he is the dissatisfaction in one's heart before the world shatters into pieces and is swept away with the tides.

And while Arianna may be several years his senior, and certainly more well versed than he is but she compliments him and his brows flick upward and the left corner of his mouth turns upward a little more than the right and he has to stop himself from being too forward or too flirtatious but there is that second where is seems clear that he thought about it, that he wouldn't be too shy to not go there were it not for the fact that, well, he thought better of it.

"And I hope I am continually given the opportunity to honor you, dear lady," looks like someone went to Cotillion at one point. Or traded phone numbers with some fae creature he oughtn't consorted with.

Penelope

One cannot be for shamed when one is doing one's level best to keep one's smug satisfaction sheathed. Smug because she thought that Ari would like William and you see she was right and perhaps one day Pen will be arrogant enough to presume she will always be right and that will be a most unfortunate day indeed. The gray-eyed witch-eyed Beguiler, having demanded full introductions, having grinned as she did so and let the grin dissipate into a more comfortable expression of good will (she is brightened by William, you see, she likes the charming young Hermetic so). By which we mean there is a curve to her mouth a fine and clear quality to her skin an openness to her lake-silver and unshadowed eyes but she is not grinning like a fool. Pen is reserved (ardent), cool and collected. Her hands have found one another behind her back. She clasps her wrist loosely in one hand and her spine is straight, her shoulders unbowed, her smugness assured.

"Eh, Ari, a bard is its own best promoter; I would have done Will a disservice; besides, I cannot quote him with accuracy yet. What do you want to speak about? Denver? Magick?"

Yes, let's jump right into it, guys!

"I met William in a wardrobe," anecdotal information, offered with an air of helpfulness. It is not strictly accurate, but the stories!

"Arianna is part of a cabal called the Silver Bough," for William's benefit, naturally.

Arianna

Arianna was raised within the Order; this much has not been revealed to William, but it is notable for how it shapes her reactions to him, shapes her smile and the faint touch of crows feet beside her eyes; in how easily the pleasantries and rituals of polite society spin off of her, like stealing glints of starlight.  She has more than attended Cotillion; she might have been his toughest test there.  And were this conclave, where the credentials of everyone in attendance had been vetted, and weighed, and all but pinned across their chests in bric-a-brac of glorious titles, she would not have been so warm, or so pleased.  If he had met her in conclave, then, she might have been aloof and indifferent, but here, where expectations are so dreadfully different, she is all but sparkling with the joy of it.

And to that point, Arianna steps forward -- for as much as she is a creature of rules and order she so delights in the breaking of them -- and threads and arm through Pen's, and the other through William's.

"Come," she says, with the slightest pull of her arms against theirs, leveraging her position as their middle point.  "I met you in an entryway and that will not ever live up to wardrobe so I demand adventure, or at least mystery and cleverness, to go along with the talk of Denver and its magics."

Poor William.  He might be utterly undone by her. So is the force of the mischeif in her smile. Wicked treacherous Lorelai of starstuff.  One day she will lead them all astray; dash ships against the rocks; sail them into whirlpools; but today is not that day.  Penelope is, no doubt, immune to this by now. To the green flash of Ari's eyes, to the ready welcome of her smile.  And if not immune then perhaps inoculated, resistant in some slight way or another.

"Unless, of course," she says, pulling just enough away from him to eye him with mock (nay, true) scrutiny, "You are adept at the hunting of Essentia; for Penelope has set to me a project and I have no Tass for it at the ready; and so there must be a hunt.  Tell me, young bard, are you also a Hunter?"

And so it begins...

William

A project, a task! A quest you say! And he seems delighted, grins bright and finally replies with.

"Well, let's find out if I'm any good at it."

Down for anything, this one.