text: (IC) New Orleans by Night CtL - Page 33
  2020-07-26, 10:03 PM (ISO 8601)
  With a heavy sigh of worry and anticipation, Emma (in her borrowed form) walks through the front gate. If watched, the precision and care she takes to avoid the iron may give something away to those in-the-know, but she otherwise forces her Maks's face and form to a mild, friendly appearance.
  She gives three knocks at the door.
  2020-07-27, 12:28 PM (ISO 8601)
  There seems to be no one out on the street, or at least not in this god-forsaken part of the city. The stairs up the porch moan and protest, despite Emma's svelt build. When she knocks on the door, there is no reply. She waits a moment and as far as the changeling can tell, there is absolutely no movement from inside.
  A quick check shows all the lights are out as well, making Emma fairly certain no one is home, and a quick test of the knob shows the door is locked, but probably not bolted, and could probably be picked fairly easily... if she felt like a bit of larceny.
  2020-07-31, 08:59 AM (ISO 8601)
  Emma pauses at the door for about a minute, contemplating her options. She did have her lockpicks in her purse, but the idea of breaking into a motley's home seemed... well, a violation. Even if in a good cause, such felt contrary to the social mores of changeling society and morality itself. She only had the word of a likely-trusted but certainly-not-trustworthy enforcer that something bad was going on.
  With a sigh, she decides to sit and rest for a bit. If nothing happens -- no calls back, nobody shows up -- for thirty minutes, she'll reconsider.
  But after a minute, she decides to try giving Reggie a call again.
  Spoiler: lockpicks
  At first I was going to say she had her lockpicks secreted in the folds of her stockings or something like that, to keep mundanes from finding it. But between her shifting-faces and lying-skills, that's not actually a big enough concern for such discomfort.
  I was going to justify it via this line: I'm pickturing lockpicks as relatively small, based on what I've seen in videogames, and as a guy I have no clue how uncomfortable what I'm suggesting would be. If that's unreasonable due to size or discomfort, them in the purse is fine. She's a good-enough liar that she's not too worried if the grandkids or a cop found them.
  Last edited by JeenLeen; 2020-07-31 at 08:59 AM.
  2020-07-31, 05:16 PM (ISO 8601)
  Emma takes a seat on the porch; the wood groaning under her shifting weight. She pulls out her phone, and to her surprise, a roll of thunder peals out, seemingly at the same time as a flash of lightning. Rain poured down hard on the crumpling house, though just a few blocks away the weather seemed perfectly pleasant.
  Emma's next attempt at calling Reggie is even stranger than the first. This time he picks up the phone, but his reply is even stranger... and strangely familiar. "Hey Emma, sorry I could not reach you dear," his voice is distant, but his accent and emphasis still terribly British, "it was good meeting you the other night. I was wondering if you would be willing to meet for lunch some time. I am working on a new fundraiser for Charity Hospital, and I thought I might benefit from your... refined taste." This was a voice message left by Reggie soon after the first time they had met! Emma was not even certain she still had the message in the memory of her current smart phone. When she tried to speak, it was as if Reggie could not hear her. More Hedge interference.
  Putting down the phone, the one other thought Emma had was that she could try contacting one of Reggie's motley members. If she remembered correctly, he had three other companions all of whom lived in the same house. It was awfully peculiar that not a single one of them was home.
  To see if Emma has contact info for any of Reggie's motley mates, give me Wits + Socialize + any city status she has.
  2020-08-01, 01:27 PM (ISO 8601)
  If Emma remembered correctly, Reggie's three housemates were all members of different Freeholds; just like Reggie to be so egalitarian. There was a big fellow who dressed in medieval black armor who went by Tom Mallory. He was also Kayoodle Krewe, though he was Summer Court and overall less involved in the Freehold politics. Emma didn't know him as well, but his sinister countenance and massive frame made him hard to forget.
  Reggie also lived with a nervous frizzy haired wreck named Sebastian Rivers. He was a member of the Lagniappe Tribune, though why they had accepted him Emma would never know. Sebastian was a Wizened who seemed to suffer from significant social anxiety, and spent most of his time (so Emma had heard) wrapped up in his puzzles.
  But try as she might, Emma could not recall who Reggie's third housemate was. If Emma remembered correctly, the last one was not a member of any Freehold, which was probably why Emma couldn't seem to remember her.
  As it just so happened, Emma had both Tom and Sebastian's contact information, though she couldn't for the life of her remember how she got either of their numbers.
  2020-08-01, 02:32 PM (ISO 8601)
  Emma will try to call Tom. As intimidating as his appearance is, at least he is of the same Freehold. If that fails to connect (or only 'connects' in some Hedge-warped fashion), she'll try Sebastian.
  2020-08-03, 02:22 PM (ISO 8601)
  The reply from Tom's phone was much the same, though slightly more disturbing as the only noises coming from the other side were the clanging of metal with grunts of exertion, as if Emma were listening in on some epic sword fight between Tom and an unknown foe.
  However, to Emma's relief, Sebastian picked up when he was called. "Hello, this is Sebastian Rivers," the changeling said in a slightly nasal voice that was tinged with a stuffy British accent, and who spoke as if he was uncertain as to who was calling him and why. As if to confirm this, Sebastian follows with, "may I ask who is calling?"
  2020-08-04, 06:47 AM (ISO 8601)
  Lily on the other hand headed out to the French Market. On this side of The Hedge, The French Market was a collinade of shops and stands off of the Mississipi river; mostly selling trinkets, mementos and cheap clothing. Once the market had been a Native American trading post, but now was little more than a glorified tourist trap.
  Of course, there were several doors and access points that led off of the Market into the Hedge where the true Goblin Market could be found. The Tumbledown Market was a sprawling cacophonous expanse of stalls and small shops that wound out for miles and miles into The Hedge. It was rumored that The Tumbledown Market was the largest goblin market anywhere in the world, and was so vast that corners of the market could be used to escape into other towns across America. Smells of exotic Fae spices, smokey grilled sweet meats, and floral goblin fruit assaulted the senses, just as the call of hawkers and performers filled the ears. One could easily get lost in the market, and it was often best to know what you were looking for. Members of the Freehold of Fair Coin, as well as the plentiful goblins were merciless and could find many ways to part an unprepared Changeling from his wallet.
  (OOC: Again, sorry for the delays)
  Calliope kept her focus and cool on her objective, remainging as center-road as possible as she walked through The Tumbledown Market, showing no direct interest to any booth, stall or peddled ware.
  Rather than looking like she was seeking something, she remained passively curious to everything, and thus also nothing in particular, just keeping her eyes and ears open for any potential and valid information brokers.
  She'd pocketed the signed contractual paper piece from Emma, along with having one of those little telephone things with her as well, in case she needed to call Emma to confirm what the price would be for the information needed.
  With her being in a very, shall we say, non-mortal place, everyone else would of course clearly be able to see her Mein (since she wasn't actively trying to hide it from non-mortals). Her somewhat sadness touched, somber expression that she usually had was much more powerful when seen on her Mein, rather than her Mask, along with the effect of her Winter Mantle leaving her hair sparkling as if studded with small gemstones, the icey motes of frost sprinkling in the air around her, a trail of chilled air following in her wake.
  2020-08-04, 08:21 AM (ISO 8601)
  With an audible sigh of relief, Emma says in a slightly rushed tone with just the right bit of panick ('tis chosen for effect, but rather sincere, too, as she is quite concerned for her friend): "This is Emma, of the Krew. I've been trying to reach Reggie regarding something... unsettling... I heard, but when I tried to call him, it sounded like he's in some sort of trouble in the Hedge. I got a similar thing when I tried to call Tom. And you're the last one of his motley whose number I know. Can we talk in person? I'm concerned about them."
  2020-08-04, 08:26 PM (ISO 8601)
  As Calliope moves with purpose through the crowded market, her eyes fall upon a small wooden sign that hangs over the gnarled brown door of a twisted wooden structure that looks like the cross of an old camping outhouse, and a fabled Witche's Hut. Painted on the sign is the image of a crystal ball with three stars inside it. A smokey incense can be picked up from outside of the shack, perhaps the smell of baking cookies? Gingerbread? If Calliope remembered correctly, this was the hut of the fabled elderly storyteller Wren Lamontaigne. Rumor had it that her captor had made her tell stories until she was hoarse, then tell more. The way heard it, she knew every story there was to tell and Changelings who needed information would often come to her with offerings of honey and tea to sooth her ragged throat in exchange for vital information.
  Farther down the alleyway was a large makeshift stall painted with a sign reading "The Best Goblin Fruit Punch!" painted in bright red childish letters. The stall was absolutely surrounded by hobgoblins and Changelings alike. Some were perched around the bar drinking brightly colored beverages out of pint glasses, while others walked away from the bar; their drinks in red plastic go cups. Manning the bar was a giant and rotund blue skinned hobgoblin with bright yellow eyes and a Cheshire cat's grin. His finely tailored pink button down shirt was tucked into well used and severely stained white apron and three pairs of meaty arms worked steadily; dicing up goblin fruit, mixing cocktails in tall bronze shakers, and passing out drinks to the eager customers. Perhaps in his busy day, the bartender might be willing to make some extra coin by sharing all the gossip he heard from the massive throng of drunk customers.
  Even farther down the road, a wiry figure stood in the entrance of a side alley. She had mottled yellow scaly skin and three almond colored eyes that crowded around a long pointed nose. Could this be the famous Changeling Fuxi, seller of illicit tokens and lost belongings? She casts furtive knowing glances to shoppers who passed by, every once in a while stepping out from the alley to whisper after a potential customer. Most pedestrians seemed to try to avoid this woman, though perhaps she had what Calliope was looking for.
  "What? Oh!" Sebastian starts with nervous surprise. "Well, I believe Reggie and Tom are very busy at the moment," he replies, but then seeming to think on it he adds, "You know something unsettling you say? Well... I guess... if it's important you could come meet me at Idlewild. It's a small bar off of Bourbon street. I don't suspect you will get a hold of Tom or Reggie any time soon, and I did promise them I'd meet them here. I can give you directions if you want."
  Yesterday, 03:07 PM (ISO 8601)
  Well, at least it seems likely Reggie has told his motley something. Guess shoulda realized that, if Tom is also in the Hedge.
  Returning a touch of the nervousness, she says, "Y-yes. That sounds good. I think I've seen the Idlewild before. I'll head there now."
  Giving a look over the house for no real reason, as if half-expecting some ghost of shadow of Tom or Reggie to appear, she leaves and heads toward Bourbon Street.
  A public place, but meeting the entire motley. Not very safe if they turn out to be a threat, but there's not too much they can do amongst so many mortals. At least, she hopes so.
  Yesterday, 08:53 PM (ISO 8601)
  A single small thunderclap acknowledges Emma's departure. Within less than two blocks the skies have cleared, and Emma is again walking in the cool evening October breeze.
  Fortunately, Reggie's house is just south of St. Charles Circle, making it a relatively quick and relatively safe walk up to Bourbon Street and Idlewild. Bourbon is relatively busy for a week night, though it's mostly drunk out of town college kids. Music plays from nearly every bar; some buildings tickle Emma with live jazz, others scream at her the bass pulse of house music. Despite the lack of street lights, the road is well lit by the glow of neon street signs and the yellow glow of second floor apartments shining out over bead festooned balconies. Emma catches a few glances, but is mostly left to herself on her way to the bar.
  When Emma gets to Idlewild, she finds Sebastian waiting outside. He's framed by the round arched wooden door, painted a faded crimson. The Wizened has a weary but impish face, his face framed by a wild mess of ashy curls, and his Mein shows exaggerated features; elongated nose, bat like ears, and doll like orbs for eyes. "Emma?" he asks curiously, offering a hand to shake.