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[Mage] Glass & Glory IC
Elldren
Is a woman dammitceterum censeoRegistered User regular
Is a woman dammitceterum censeoRegistered User regular
This is the in-character thread for the Mage: the Awakening game, Glass and Glory.
Roll using whatever. I trust you.
In-Character Versus Out-Of-Character Thread Content:
Roll using whatever. I trust you.
In-Character Versus Out-Of-Character Thread Content:
In general, this thread is dedicated to entirely in-character actions, dialogue, narrations, etc. Something that breaks the narrative should go in a spoiler tag, and generally that kind of content should be kept to rules details like actions taken, details on spells cast, etc.
Out of character conversations, questions, or comments go in the out-of-character thread. In general, if your entire post would go in a spoiler, it doesn't belong in this thread.
Out of character conversations, questions, or comments go in the out-of-character thread. In general, if your entire post would go in a spoiler, it doesn't belong in this thread.
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Rosalind Davies begins her day at 8 am, when she picks up her coffee and treats cart, shoves Subway order forms for lunch into the bag on the side, and puts on her bright clover green apron marked "Dorrall's Donuts." She serves the eleventh through thirteenth floors of DEM - generally, foreign exchange and internal insurance. She begins at the eleventh, and works her way up.
Rosalind began with Marty Schultz, like always. Marty was a busy man, but that suited Rosalind just fine. They didn't talk - by the time she got out of the elevator, she had a large coffee with two sugar and no milk mixed to his desires, and a napkin folded around an apple fritter. She'd hand them over to Marty, whistling all the way, and he'd wordlessly hand her back $4 - $2 for the coffee, $1 for the donut, $1 as a tip. Never changed.
In contrast, you had people like Philip Scobar, senior insurance advisor. Philip would always run up to Rosalind breathlessly, sweat streaming down his neck and making an awful mess on his shirt. He didn't have a standard order - he'd poke around the cart, darting for two or three or four sweet things that caught his eye. And one or two or three coffees - didn't even have a traditional way he liked them. And he'd always take an order form for lunch and hmm and haw and hmm again, debating before settling on the same thing every time: a foot-long turkey sub, salt and pepper and mayonnaise, american cheese, on plain bread. Rosalind just made small talk, kept him away from the special orders for people she saw after him, waited patiently while he debated the merits of meatballs.
Even with people like Philip, Rosalind liked her job. She got to see the sights - breath the big, high air of Wall Street, see the sun pouring in through glass like a million prisms, sunrise cutting across sculptures and executive weapons like mirrors. The people didn't change much, but it was still interesting to see them - men and women all alike in thousand-dollar suits. She took this job to put her boy Deron through college. She hoped he might join these people some day.
Sometimes things were odd, though. Like the man in 1173 - no nameplate on the door. He always keeps his door closed, blinds drawn, lights off. The one time Rosalind delivered to him, she entered and felt her throat go cold. She was scared - and the giant man, must have been eight feet, just strode across the room in huge strides, poured himself a coffee, took a donut. He didn't talk to her, didn't look at her, all the while she stood frozen, silent. He gave her $20, pushed her out the door, moved her cart out after her, closed the door. Her throat came back to life, and she began humming again, letting the fright wash away. But she never went back to room 1173.
Another odd thing happened today: August 4th, 2008. Twelfth floor - back in the old meeting rooms that were almost never busy any more, after the new meeting theaters were opened up in the twenties, full of projectors and computer connections. Or so Rosalind had heard. Rosalind cut through them - they weren't busy and it shaved a minute off getting to Allan Slater. But this time: there were people in there, six of them. Four men, two women. A motley crew at best - not all of them dressed in the Armani and Dior she was used to seeing here at DEM.
She wheeled her cart over to the door, and knocked quietly. The people, not animated in discussion, looking at each other nervously, except for the man in an old, ratty gray suit at the head of the table, turned to look at her.
The man in the old suit got up from the table, opened the door. Rosalind was taken aback, jumped a little in her skin. He wasn't right for this place, wasn't supposed to be here. He was weatherbeaten, deeply tanned, lines under his eyes, a few missing teeth, the others yellowed. He looked as if he was homeless, and she noticed his suit didn't fit, he moved it in like he was greatly uncomfortable.
"Yes?" he asked, in an old, worn voice that was smoothed off by the ages.
"I'm here with coffee and donuts should you or...your friends like, sir."
"Hmm." Longstrider turned, his gray eyes looking over the newly Awakened gathered at the table. "Do any of you want anything?"
"I will take a coffee, plain black please."
She then looks back to the other assembled members, a barely visible frown on her face.
He furrows his brow for a moment, then fishes two grimy quarters out of his pocket. "A cup of water, ma'am." Longstrider's hands are leathery, tanned and calloused - certainly unfitting DEM's workforce. He drops the coins into her hand as Rosalind visibly recoils, then accepts the coffee cup full of ice water. His fingers leave visible smudges on its sides.
"Thank you." Rosalind nods, ducks her head, and pulls her cart back out of the meeting room, closing the door after her. You hear her sing, quietly and slowly: "twinkle twinkle little star..."
Longstrider takes a swig of water, sloshing it around his mouth, lifting his head as it trickles down his throat. He sighs again, then puts his hands on the table.
"Now. I'm sure you all remember why you've been called here - as Awakened, citizens of the Consilium of New York City, and as employees of this -" he waves his hand around "-company known as DEM, you share some commonalities. You're also all unattached to a cabal, and the Consilium has an interest in how...unusual the flow of resonance and magic has been along Wall Street as of late. So, I'm here to help you form a cabal, a...spike in the map to guarantee our ownership of this area. Understood?"
"Yeah, I've heard about the oddities. First I've heard about someone looking into the cause." He sat back in his chair, regarding the man with a rhythmic tapping of fingers against the surface of the table. "So what, you want us to play the enforcing game, or be some kind of investigative council?"
Neither sounded very appealing, but at least he had experience in one of the two.
"So is this all just politics then, or is there something actually interesting going on?"
She looks between the people gathered at the table. Longstrider she'd heard of, one of the better-positioned members of her order, though this was the first time she'd met him. Davis she'd met at a couple mandatory shindigs in the past, though this was before... well, any of this, and it came as a surprise to see he was one of them... us too. Not that she showed it, her face was the usual mask of mild disdain she wore to ward off prying gossip.
The rest of the people gathered, she had no idea. Certainly none of her bosses were in this room (thank god) but nobody else she recognized.
"And maybe before we get really into this we should have some introductions?"
"And yes, I think that would be a very good idea."
He had an idea or two, sure; but nothing absolute. "So maybe you should be more specific for sake of the misinformed."
A glance to the girl requesting introductions. No harm in that, he supposed.
"Name's Jonathan; I go by Johnny sometimes. Either's cool." Free Council? That was his guess, going by Erin's appearance. Didn't seem like a Ladder, not with a disdain for politics like that.
"Well, I, I think it's a fantastic idea. Politics or not. It's, it's good to know who the players are.
Speaking of which, um, I'm Davis Dodsworth. Uh, the third. I work down in records."
Longstrider coughs, a loud harumph.
"The Seers are here with their...cult. The spirits are...restless, invading and pushing aside their surrounding brethren. And the ghosts are flickering...disappearing. Something is going on."
"Erin Hay. Nice to meet everyone."
A hint of her parents' Glaswegian seeps through her otherwise mild New England accent.
"So we're going to be researching this then? Are we going to be given any other resources for this, or are we on our own here?"
"Kierstyn Gates, nice to meet everyone."
She forces out a semi-convincing smile, and then shifts in her chair a little.