Information for Thomas (Alias 'Ray'):
Thomas is connected.
Location: Regan Hope Project(#3662RAJ)
Other Name(s): Ray Ashburne, Thomas Mendip, True Thomas, Tom O'Bedlam...
Race: Mage Sex: male
Tradition: Verbena
Essence: Dynamic Arete: 3
Position: Father? Mage? Kinfolk? Writer? Homeless vagabond? Thomas Mendip is still living at the Project, but the poet Ray Ashburne is teaching at SCCU, wondering if the rumors of his spectacular departure from Princeton University, more than eight years ago, have finally begun to die down.
Regan Hope Project(#3662RAJ)
This barn of a room with eggshell blue walls has been divided up into several different areas. In the east end are several apartments formed by carpeted walls, similar to those found in office buildings. In the centre is a day care/play area walled off by a two-foot fence. Off to the west are apartments similar to the ones in the east, but much larger. A prominently placed sign reads "Guns Will Be Checked. No Kidding. No Exceptions." in red felt tip. There is a large painting on the floor, an intricately-painted magpie.
There are large double doors set in the south wall to allow access to Regan Avenue. There is a smaller door off to the left of them.(+view alert)
Contents:
Thomas
OOC Note!!
Emrys
Whitey
Obvious exits:
Regan Avenue Buick's Office
With a short quiff of wheat-colored hair and bright blue eyes, a small nose, fair skin, and a very stubborn jaw, this four-year-old child regards the world cautiously but without innate suspicion. He is wearing a dark green turtleneck and denim 'engineer overalls,' and is rarely out of arm's reach of Thomas.
Emrys is owned by Thomas
Long, black, almost ebony hair drapes down over her face, hiding bits of it. But fiery dark eyes below are continuously watchful. Most everything about her, in fact, is dark --black T-shirt, battered denim trousers and jacket, olive skin -- except for her spotless bright white Converse High Tops.
Whitey is owned by Buick
If anything happens here (you move in, the place catches fire, we run out of peanut butter...) oh please please won't you send +mail to Buick, Thomas and/or Xandra? Please?
OOC Note!! is owned by Jenny
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 22 mph, with gusts up to 31 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.47 and steady, and the relative humidity is 96 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
Thomas pages: What's bedtime for a four year old, anyhow?
You paged Thomas with 'It was 8, for me. I think parents just do that so they can have private time though. ;)'.
Glissa opens the front door warily, cloak dripping water on the mat. "Hello?"
From afar, Thomas laughs. That late? I thought I remembered having a 9 bedtime when I was 9 years old - just assumed it kept pace, somehow. All right, in that case, Emrys is still up. :)
Thomas is lying on his back in the play area, propped up on both elbows and observing placidly as two small children - a tow-headed four-year-old boy, and a chunky hispanic girl perhaps a little older - try to balance large blocks on his legs.
Buick has connected.
Buick walks through a small door.
Buick has left.
Glissa gets a look of profound relief and shuts the door behind her, fumbling with her cloak clasp. "Good evening,everyone."
Thomas looks over at the door, and a wince of embarassment crimps his expression for a moment. He waits for a moment, on the off chance that by 'everyone,' Glissa means someone else entirely.
Whitey looks up from her desk and smiles politely. "Good evening," she calls out.
Glissa takes several tries to get the cloak off and then stands there holding it, casting around furtively for a place to hang it. "Um. Pardon the intrusion. But I was thinking to myself, you know? Someone said Mr. Ashburne worked here, and he's a university professor during the day, so it must be that he comes here after hours. And I needed to talk to him. So I stopped by. But it looks like you're busy?"
Thomas sighs noiselessly, and begins extricating himself. The girl accepts the end of the game with relative equanimity, but the small boy clings to the older man, until Thomas consents to pick him up and bring him along.
Glissa beams amiably at the youngsters and at the lady behind the desk, although her smile seems a bit forced. There are shadows under her eyes.
Whitey glances toward Thomas, smiling as he begins to roust himself, and goes back to her paperwork.
Thomas releases himself from the play area, and comes across the room to Glissa. "Hello again. Is there something I can do for you, Ms.--I'm terribly sorry. I don't recall your last name at all."
You say "Nicholson," she says warmly, taking the cloak in one hand to extend the other (her left). "Glissa Nicholson," she adds, losing hold of the garment so that it slides to the floor over the small puddle that it was creating. "There wasn't much time for introductions in the party the other night. In fact, there wasn't much of an opportunity to talk. And I _did_ so want to ask you more about--some mutual acquaintences, you know? Sometime.""
Thomas, with Emrys supported mostly by his right arm, shakes Glissa's left hand awkwardly, ignoring the cloak for the moment, since there's nothing he can do about it without falling over. "Ah," he says, as her comment sinks in. "Ah, yes. Of course." He pauses for a moment, and then says to Whitey, "Do you suppose Buick would mind...?" and he tips his head in the direction of the office which provides a good deal more privacy than cubicles do.
Whitey looks up from where she has studiously not been listening, and shakes her head. "Nah. Just lock the outside door if you don't want him walking in on you." She reaches a hand up to brush her hair back. "Okay?"
Glissa stoops stiffly with an embarrassed smile to gather up her belongings. "Thank you. I hate to be a trouble..."
Whitey shakes her head again, bright smile creeping across her features. "No trouble, ma'am. Just excuse our mess if you would."
Glissa chuckles faintly at that. "I'm a single mother with two children. I'm used to it." She follows Thomas meekly.
Thomas nods to Whitey with murmured thanks, and says, "Not at all," to Glissa. "I'll just be a moment." And he takes the small child back to the play area. There is a low-voiced discussion, and then Emrys consents to be deposited back within the fence, and Thomas, unencumbered, leads Glissa to the office. "He's just at the age to start repeating things," he says, holding the door open.
Whitey waggles her fingers at Emrys. "Be over in a minute, if you want."
Glissa smiles wistfully at that, muttering, "I know the problem," and disappears into the back room.
Regan Hope Project(#3662RAJ)
This barn of a room with eggshell blue walls has been divided up into several different areas. In the east end are several apartments formed by carpeted walls, similar to those found in office buildings. In the centre is a day care/play area walled off by a two-foot fence. Off to the west are apartments similar to the ones in the east, but much larger. A prominently placed sign reads "Guns Will Be Checked. No Kidding. No Exceptions." in red felt tip. There is a large painting on the floor, an intricately-painted magpie.
There are large double doors set in the south wall to allow access to Regan Avenue. There is a smaller door off to the left of them.(+view alert)
Contents:
Thomas
OOC Note!!
Emrys
Whitey
Obvious exits:
Regan Avenue Buick's Office
You push open the door.
Buick's Office
This is a small room with a window onto Regan Street. In the middle of the room is a beaten desk, drawers lolling open, top scratched. The scratched top is hidden by the papers strewn across it. Spider-esque cracks run along the wall behind the desk. In the corner, away from the window, is a futon. A man's clothing is strewn across the futon in disarray. Several astrological symbols appear to be charted across the wall to the left of the desk. They are written in red ink, which seems to have smeared a little. This is probably because the concrete wall has been sweating. The city creeps in through the unfettered window.
A nondescript door sits in the wall in front of the desk.
Obvious exits:
Back Door Main Room
Thomas comes in from the main room.
Thomas has arrived.
Thomas locks the door carefully, and lets Glissa take first, dubious shot at whatever seating she may be able to find.
Glissa is momentarily distracted and intrigued by the astrological symbols, the scholar's penchant for the obscure temporarily driving current concerns from her mind. After a few moment she perches uneasily on the corner of the futon, looking uncertain how to begin.
Thomas takes off his glasses and polishes them on the hem of his shirt. Putting them on again, he says, "That was a rather adventurous night we had on Thursday."
Glissa exhales. "It was. I wanted to say thank you, first of all. That--that was a frightening group of people. Not just the girl."
Thomas sniffs reflectively. "It's never pleasant when one's host gets extremely drunk, and one's fellow guest becomes exceptionally rude. But why frightening?"
Glissa looks down at her hands. "When I first married into the family, I was told the others would kill me if they ever found out I knew of them. A kin was shot dead for knowing too much, a few years ago. I've kept the secret a long time. Habit, you know. Then I'm told there's others like me. And I've lived alone with Garou howling on my doorstep so long. They don't let me do anything; they pretend I don't exist. So I thought perhaps I could find some friends who cared about Gaia, who might be activists, who might be doing things worthwhile. Instead I find a bunch of ignorant and foolish people. If the Garou can't even educate or help their own kin, what do they think they're doing trying to save the world?"
Thomas clears his throat. "Yes, well," he says. "There are a few schools of thought about that. And yes, I was given similar instructions." He hesitates for a split moment, eyeing Glissa with a somewhat more penetrating curiosity than usual, but decides to omit whatever is on his mind. "I think there are several people there who are making worthwhile efforts, either helping garou, or independently. But...well, yes." He sighs.
Glissa crosses her arms and clasps opposite shoulders, hugging herself. "How? And...the Garou. I trusted my husband. But all I've seen since...I don't know. They come into my yard without a by your leave, and they glare at me when I bring them food and supplies for their children. One of them accosted me last night when I went to get my mail. I told him I was afraid--he's one of the two who acts kind to me, or so I thought, although he's wolf--and he almost wouldn't let me go inside. He sat on my doorstep after I shut the door and howled threats at me all night. I thought he was calling in the sept to kill me."
"God," Thomas mutters. He rakes a hand through his hair. "I think...I mean, I've met some real bastards, but it hasn't been like that. Who--may I ask who that was?"
Glissa chews her lip. "Daniel calls him Stormcloud." She looks uneasy. "I remember when it thrilled me to hear them calling in the night. Now I have to wear earplugs. I'm not scared of them like that poor drunk, but... still."
Thomas shrugs. "I don't know that him. I don't know. As for Kin who are helpful...Have you met Frances Mountgarret? Or Janet Evason?"
Glissa shakes her head. "No. I've been alone on Garou land. I don't get into town except to teach, nowadays."
"Now, /that/ sounds frightening." Thomas sighs, and hitches himself halfway onto the corner of Buick's desk. "Ms. Nicholson, I'll tell you what I think. I think that when everything's working the way it's supposed to, the garou know what to do with kinfolk. They're clear on what kinfolk are allowed to know, and what they aren't. They know what help the kinfolk can offer them, and what protection it's appropriate to offer them in return. I think it's a part of the culture that gets handed down, taught from one generation of garou to another. But here..." He shrugs. "I think it's broken down. Garou die, often before they can teach anybody anything. Almost every garou I've ever met has been horrifyingly young. I think their structure's broken down to a few rudimentary shards, and knowing how to deal with kinfolk isn't one of them. And as a result, not one of us in this city, with the exception of the two I named and possibly a few others who were well-informed before they ever arrived in St Claire, has the faintest idea how to fit in with garou, and they don't know either."
Glissa runs a hand through her hair scatteredly. "That's the impression I was getting." She sighs. "I think what I mean to say is this. I used to want to serve the Garou. Now I just want to move before some accident of theirs drops a bane on my house. But I have enough respect for them not to put my house up for sale. I thought I should find kinfolk they trust, and I trust, to take charge of the place."
Thomas says, "You're moving?" sounding suddenly rather flat.
Glissa shakes her head. "I don't know. I was thinking about it. I don't have any friends tying me here anymore. I have some back east."
Thomas's mouth tightens slightly, and he shrugs. "Well, I don't know of any garou realtors, but if I hear anything, I'll let you know." He hesitates, then says, "You know, I used to want to 'serve' the garou, also. They....well, they saved my life. A few times. And I liked the idea of saving the world. But...they don't have the answers. And there's a word for pepole who think they're acting on revealed truth, and that's fanatics. And a lot of them are crazy, and most of them are dangerous, and they kill people, even when they don't have to, and I hate the kind of fear they use. But I'm not sure I could walk away and try to pretend I'd never heard of any of it, either. I just...try to work with them. As an ally. Not a servant. And it's scary, but there are good bits, too."
From afar, Thomas is speechmaking, today. Sorry.
Long distance to the room: Glissa always does with Glissa. :)
Glissa smiles wistfully. "I remember a few. So... if you work with them, what do you do?"
Thomas nods at the door to the outer room. "I try to keep an ear to the ground. A lot of the time, new cubs in the city drift over here first, so I keep an eye out for them, and try to let asomeone know about them before they Change and reak havoc." He shrugs. "The Project is my first concern, but that intersects. And they'll tell me about things that are going around, sometimes, so that I can do better at protecting this place." He smiles thinly. "I secured my reputation as an eccentric a year or two ago when I took away all the new toys and replaced them with antiques, because I'd been told that there were toys being manufactured and put on the market that were tainted."
Glissa smiles. "Probably more interesting for the children anyhow. And what do...Frances and Ms. Evanston do?"
Thomas rubs his face. "Evason. Janet Evason, although--well, nevermind. I think she performs courier services. And...er....Ms. Mountgarret...Well, to be honest, I'm not entirely certain. Except that originally the idea of regular kin meetings was hers, I think because she had some hope of organizing the kinfolk into a useful and mutually supportive group. Unfortunately, I believe she has been...unavailable...for a while."
Glissa nods. "All right. Well, maybe I could help out here once a week or something, if it's all right for me to bring my own kids here? I might as well babysit ten as two. And perhaps I can pitch in, and meet some of the others, that way."
Thomas gives Glissa a thin, tired smile. "You will always be welcome. I should say that I have...a few advantages that I am not at liberty to discuss. But if I can be of assistance, please do let me know."
Glissa nods a little curiously at that, but says fervently, "Having someone sane to talk to would perhaps do me the most good of all. Thank you, Mr. Ashburne."
"Ah," Thomas says, standing up. "Er. I...ah...I go by Thomas, here at the Project. It might save some confusion."
Glissa smiles. "Ah. I wondered about that." She gets to her feet. "Oh, one other question. Do you still speak to Mr. Feinan? I heard the bookstore was under new management."
Thomas's mouth tightens again, and his eyes drop. "Mr. Feinan's dead," he says, a little abruptly. Something there still hurts, or he might have broken the news more gently. "I'm sorry."
Glissa's smile skitters away, although the sag of her shoulders suggests she isn't entirely shocked by the news. "I'm sorry too." She swallows and looks over at the astrological signs on the wall. "Seems like everyone involved with them goes sooner or later. Well, I shall leave a candle for him tonight." She gives her head a melecholy shake. "I shouldn't keep you any longer, Professor. May I just say how grateful I am that there's someone I don't have to lie to or fear. It makes a pleasant change."
"It does, doesn't it?" Thomas says quietly, and he holds the door open for his fellow teacher. "Have a good evening."
From afar, Thomas grins. While each of them keeps back one very important secret. But at this point, anyhow, I think Thomas has a faint suspicion of Glissa's more than she does of his.
From afar, Thomas would love to have an ONS in which Thomas was able to assist Glissa only by the aid of some vulgar magick. :)
You paged Thomas with 'Heh. Yeah.'.
Long distance to Thomas: Glissa hugs and heads out.
Thomas pages: Night.
Thomas goes home.
Thomas has left.
You say "Good evening, professor. Goddess bless."
There's no place like home....
Nicholson Hall(#3015RAJ)
A polished ash floor forms the foundation for this spacious room, with heavy fieldstone making up three walls and the enormous hearth that dominates the fourth. Stout cedar posts and beams support the back wall and roof. The hall is open to the roof, with spiral stairs leading up to the second floor library, which you can glimpse through the railings to either side of the chimney. Light pours in through the dormer windows as well as the windows at this level. Additional light is provided by two heavy oak and wrought iron chandeliers, hanging from beams over the dining and common areas. Set into the walls flanking the hearth are a pair of swinging doors, through which glimpses - and scents - of kitchen can be caught as people pass through. Heavy wool rugs, sand trays, movable iron brackets, and short benches have been placed just inside the main door for the convenience of wet arrivals.
Contents:
Ophelia(#3263DIp)
Obvious exits:
Front Door