07.13.3013: A Plea For Help
Summary: Rook visits Lyrienne at the Orelle Embassy in Landings, to give her a copy of the dreams database. In return, she asks for help.
Date: 13 July 2013
Related: None
Ithaca Lyrienne 

The Orelle Embassy — Embassy Tower, Landing
The Orelle Embassy celebrates the House's wealth and technocracy through an intricately designed embassy. The floors are an assembly of pressure-sensitive hexagonal tiles that illuminate in soft cyan in to being walked or stood upon. It fades out after a few seconds, though when someone walks across the sitting room, it creates a luminous trail behind their footfalls. The walls are dressed in simple sheets of brushed silver that have been softly etched with various tessellation patterns. There is a series of floor-to-ceiling holobook shelves on one wall that host volumes from various subject matter, most of which are scientific in nature. The rest of the sitting room is dominanted by simple couches and chairs that are all functional and basic in design. The ceiling mirrors the floors hexagognal patterning; light shines through the gaps of the tiles, dimming or brightening based on the time of day and the amount of natural light coming in through the large windows. There is a moderately-sized terrace attached to the sitting room that has been retrofitted with electrostatic shields that keeps the elements out of the sitting room and provides a protective dome over the terrace should it rain.

There is a series of small wings off the main sitting room that lead to the bedchambers. Each bedchamber is fairly standard in design and level of comfort.

13 July 3013

The Orelle embassy is a rather pristine place. Except that since it's become a primary residence for Lyrienne and her children, it's looking a little more…lived in. Toys are strewn across the floor, and little fingerprints mar the shiny finishes throughout the rooms. At the moment, though, none of the children are themselves in evidence. Instead, Lyrienne sits at a baby grand piano, working through a few bars of one of her latest pieces and singing along as she goes.

The woman called Rook is not terribly comfortable in Landings, but the Orelle embassy is another matter entirely. It is so very like the Ring, that she feels at home. However familiar the surroundings are, however, being in them with other people is alien to her. She's in her usual garb, which seems to be everything she owns piled on her person at once, with her hair spiked up in a fake Mohawk, black makeup on her eyes and lips, and many piercings to make her seem as unapproachable as possible. It's armor of sorts, when one lives in the bowels of the space station. She pokes her head in, looking for Lyrienne, and clears her throat.

Lyrienne looks up from the piano at the sound of an arrival, notes pausing as she leans forward to look toward the door. "Hello?" she calls over. "Come in!" She plays a few more notes, then slides down the bench to stand, walking toward the doorway with a curious expression. "Oh! It's Rook, isn't it?" Her smile is warm as she waves the other woman in. "Please, come in, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? I'm reasonably certain we have something more than juice packets."

So many words all at once. Rook blinks numbly at Lyrienne for a moment or two. Her eyes, at the edges, still have a little red in them from her last dose of the infamous drops. "Beer?" she blurts out. She digs in a pocket and comes up with a small datachip. "Information. Dreams," she explains, handing it over before sitting awkwardly on the nearest horizontal surface.

"You might have to settle for the latest craft beer Ric's decided he had to try," Lyrienne says with a rueful smile, disappearing for a moment before she returns with a bottle. "Here we are. What was that?" she asks, reaching for the data chip with a curious look. "Wait, dreams?" Both brows rise, and she steps away to get her data pad from the piano, popping in the chip. "Did you all finally convince some people to share their dreams?"

"No," is Rook's succinct reply. She opens the beer and sips it, making a face at the floofy specialized brew. She's used to drinking crap. "Infosphere. Tracked comments, tracked users, compiled." She shrugs. "Current to last week. Will update when more come in."

"You're…" Lyrienne pauses, head tilting. "You're tracking things said on the info sphere and compiling them into a sort of…constructing the dreams from comments?" She seems impressed, looking down at the pad. "That sounds more complicated than talking to people, but given the way people reacted to the idea of sharing information at the last meeting, I suppose it's more practical," she muses. "Have you spoken to anyone who dreamed of a knight and an executioner?"

"Program compares them, finds similar, matches them up with dates had. If more than two, likely Awakened," Rook explains. She shakes her head at that. "No. Explain?" Her conversation skills are clearly lacking. Can you imagine her trying to interview others about dreams, looking like the messenger of death?

Lyrienne settles down on the end of the couch, crossing her legs and tapping into the chip. "I dreamed that I was an executioner, and someone brought a knight to me. The knight knelt down, and I cut his head off. Later, I heard from another Awakened that he'd dreamed that he was both the knight and the executioner, and that he'd heard from someone else who'd dreamed he was the knight. But the real surprise was that apparently the knight had the sign of the chantry on his brow, like we all did in the last dream with the Hostiles digging around inside of us."

Rook cocks her head to one side, scowling. "Same dream, different eyes?" she asks, meaning the perspectives are off. She scrubs a hand across her mouth as she ponders that. "Not good. That sounds," she searches for what she's trying to say, "Intentional." Like someone sent it, specific to individuals, rather than some wavelength of prophecy the Awakened are tuned to.

"I know, right?" Lyrienne leans back a bit, frowning to herself. "The thing I couldn't figure out was why each person felt it each way. What do I and Sir Jeremy have in common with Taryn that we don't with each other? Is it something about perspective? About agency? But I'd think Sir Jeremy would be more likely to be executioner than executed. Unless it's something to do the Knight and Sage, maybe. I wouldn't identify with the Knight, I'm not much of a warrior. And Sir Jeremy, even though he's Awakened, would probably identify more strongly with the Knight. Taryn, being neither sage nor knight, might see both?"

Rook doesn't seem convinced at that. She has no belief in religion, just numbers. "Or someone is sending these. Maybe Hostiles?" She shrugs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, then spots the toys and puts them away again, with a bit of fidgeting. She looks down at the floor a moment, then back up at Lyrienne with sincere eyes. "Need help," she says. "Not used to," she gestures at the room. "People."

Now there's something that Lyrienne can't quite seem to parse. She pauses, twisting to look around the room for a moment before looking back to Rook with a slow arch of her brow. "I'm the only person in the room," she says slowly, then pauses, the other brow rising. "Right?"

Rook nods solemnly. "But the group," the Cabal of course. "Mostly ladies. Not me. Don't speak right. Don't dress right." She sighs and stands, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Sorry."

"Oh, that." Lyrienne smile faintly, shaking her head. "If they're holding it against you, then they don't act right either. A lady never makes someone else feel uncomfortable without very good reason. Though I don't entirely know who's involved," she adds. "I certainly hope Soleil isn't, after the way she and Nitrim were sniping at each other," she rolls her eyes.

"Can you help me? Learn?" Rook asks. "To be like them?" She grimaces. Asking for help is not in her nature. This is very hard for her and she looks embarassed and slightly angry about it.

Lyrienne's brows rise in a flicker of surprise, though she covers it well. "Of course," she answers, offering a small, reassuring smile to the other woman. "If that's what you want, that is. I can't promise it will make them treat you any differently," she cautions, raising a finger. "But if it's something you want to know, then I could teach you."

Rook nods her head, sharply, once. She hands the woman a scrap of paper with an email scribbled on it. "Contact when ok." She then turns on her heel and rapidly departs. She is a strange, strange creature, that one.

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