12.03.3013: Storm and the Black Wolf
Summary: Lady Cyrielle keeps her promise to Klaudea to help in her absence
Date: 26 October, 2013
Related: None
Cyrielle Morrigan 


Smog Alley
The part of Obsidia that Obsidians don't want you to see
3 December, 3013

Klaudea told Cyrielle where the bar was, and asked her to request Karcher. The place isn't in the worst part of the Alley, and it actually looks like there is some order kept there. There's an extra heaviness to the smog this evening that hints at possible rain later. Cyrielle also has a list of names for Phelan and Bertram to check in on or deliver to. "Please reassure them that I am fine, but let Bertram know I might not be free to see him again until I have my spurs. He'll understand." She bit her lip and turned back to hastily writing names down on the list which she handed over after a deep breath. "Thank you, Lady Cyrielle. But remember, the best defense is to run away. If anything at all happens, just leave."

The mention of running initially draws a twitch of Cyrielle's lips. Bemusement. "I will be fine. I'll find Karcher and get the messages delivered." There's even an offer of a hand lightly gripping Klaudea's shoulder beore the noblewoman departs. While the stealth of the forest is not the same as the stealth of the city, she's been learning.

In her guise as Storm, the woman wears fitted leather pants and a jacket made of various bands of fabric with a voluminous hood and sleeves that fall over gloved hands. She wears a filtration mask over the lower half of her face. When she steps into the bar, she taps into her Awakened abilities just enough to dull the pain of her ankle, enabling her to walk more normally. Stepping up to the bar, without lowering the mask, she inquires once she has the barman's attention: "I seek Karcher."

The Barman looks at Storm for a moment then nods towards a man in the corner. The man indicated could be a really spry 80, or a badly maintained 60. it was hard to tell. Long wispy white hair stirs in the slight breeze flowing through the place and the Worker's uniform he wears is stained black with years of Steel and Coal dust accumulation. Sitting with a man in a black cloak, Karcher looks up and gathers a thick walking stick as the barman shouts. "Oi. Karcher!"

White eyes shift around to seek out the man nodded to. When he responds to the call, Storm tilts her head in sharp thanks to the barman. She crosses the distance at a slow pace. Her abilities can keep the pain down, but she's not going to push it or herself. "Karcher?" she inquires for confirmation once they're within a distance of one another to speak quietly.

Nodding quietly, Karcher pushes a third chair out for Storm with his walkingstick before settling into his own once more. "Indeed. Join us if you would. we just finished a game of Dice." Looking from Storm to the man in black, then back again, he adds. "and you can speak freely around the boy. He's as dumb and deaf as I ask him to be."

Those white eyes drift to the boy and an eyebrow rises, though it's lost in the shadow of the hood. Storm does take a seat and she is quiet a moment. A deep breath is taken and she speaks: "I bring a message for the Black Wolf… Sapphire is well, but restricted from returning to the Alley." The words are kept low and there is still an eye on the boy. Curiousity mingling with uncertainty.
Considering this for a moment, Karcher Looks from Storm to the Man in black once more. Considering something for a long moment, he leans forward and speaks softly to his companion. "I told you…Too much black. I understand boy, it's a good color. Practically a family Color. But Black Wolf? It's like callin' yerself Duke, or Captain. makes ye sound like a twat."
The man shrugs slightly leaning forward a bit before he replies. "How do you know she's referring to me? and I haven' been calling myself the Black Wolf. I haven't been calling myself anything." After a moment, he adds. "And really? a twat?" It would sem that Storm was forgotten for the moment before the Black hood turns towards her, the face underneat obscured by Shadows in the dimly lit place. "Thank you for letting me know. I will admit, I've been worried."
Karcher lets out a laugh at this and slaps the table. "Worried? ye've been bloody pining boy! and yes. A twat!"

The door opens a crack, but that's all it takes to admit the slip of a boy who looks around, and then sights the woman talking to Karcher. His feet make little sound as he weaves quickly across the room, skidding to a stop, his hands bracing on the edge of the table. "Hey, yer Mistress Storm, right?" he asks breathlessly. "I thought I saw ya heading in here. Is Blue Sister with you?" He cranes his neck to look around again, and then looks up to the black hooded man. "Hey, aren't you that guy that gave me the coin last time she was here? What's a twat?"

Eyebrows rise once more beneath the hood Storm wears and the mask over her face shifts a bit as she smiles. Family banter. She recognizes that well. "Well, that clears that. I bring messages for some of those she's been watching over and those she hopes to see checked in on from time to time." The woman has a noble's bearing and yet… There's a nod to the boy as he comes over and she looks — despite the white eyes — a bit sad. "I'm afraid she's not. She won't be able to return for a bit."

Looking at the boy, The man in black replies quietly. "It's a word that you shouldn't repeat. Basically it means Dipshit." Reaching into the folds of his cloak, he removes a coin and flips it lightly to the kid. "And yes I did. kind of like that one." Looking back to Storm, He nods once more. "Would it be alright if I joined you then?"

It's obvious that the boy is about to ask about 'dipshit', but the coin distracts him. He catches it, and gives a beaming smile. "Thanks, Mister," he says pocketing it. "Did you carry her basket for her? Maybe she's not coming back because you didn't carry her basket and you made her mad. I hear girls can be like that." He leans closer, "you should tell her you're sorry, and it's all your fault," he stage whispers. Settling back on his feet, Phelan looks back to Storm. "Old Man Simmons is running low on his medicine, what are we going to do without Blue Sister? Can I come, too?"

Nodding to the Little boy, Morrigan chuckles. "I did carry her basket, though she may be a little upset with me for getting skewered on a Hostile Spear and not letting her know I was still alive. I do regret that."

Whited-over eyes track between the trio before her and Storm's eyebrows furrow together slightly. The mask covers any movement of her mouth and muffles her voice. "That'd be fine," she says to the man in black, tilting her head slightly.
When the kid speaks up, there's a cough from the woman wrapped in grays and blacks that sounds suspiciously like the terminated beginnings of a chortle. She glances over to the kid at his request. Her eyes slide towards the man who carried the basket. Though they're whited over, the raised eyebrows can only be one thing: question.

Shrugging slightly, Morrigan looks at the Boy for a moment then to Storm. "That's Phelan. A gifted boy with his hands. Very light fingered who could be a very gifted Pick pocket should the desire take him that way." Here he pauses long enough to lean a bit closer to the boy and speak in lower tones. "I don't suggest it though I collect the fingers of pick pockets and keep them in a coin purse on my dresser." Then he continues. "You seem perplexed Miss.

Phelan shakes his head. "A knight doesn't pick pockets," he tells the man in black very seriously. "Blue Sister says good things /can/ happen if you work very hard and are very good. She knows some people that might be able to help me become a fighter, she's not sure about a knight, but she might be able to help me become a soldier." Since Morrigan has given his name to Storm, the boy bows, showing the manners he's already learning. "Where are we going?"

"Not perplexed," Storm muses, shifting slightly in her seat. "I generally don't mind children." Though she's otherwise not shown much of who or what she may be, there's certainly a way to her speech. She's at least well-educated. "I was looking to you for confirmation as to his ability to take care of himself." There is, however, a nod to the lad. "Perhaps you could learn to repair machines or heal people with those deft fingers."

Nodding slightly, Morrigan Stands after a moment. "He can take care of himself. He lives down here I'm led to believe. and He's lived this long." Nodding to Karcher, Morrigan motions for Storm to lead the way.

"My dad repairs drones," Phelan offers, but then he falls silent and watches the adults. No one has said he can tag along, but no one has said, no. So, he quietly follows along since he hasn't heard otherwise.

"Alright. However…" Storm gets to her feet and digs around on her person. There's a tucked away pocket; close to the body, where it's hard to get at. She pulls out a bit of paper. It's offered over to Phelan. "Blue Sister gave me this for you."

Nodding, Morrigan moves with the pair quietly, headed towards the door. Cloak wrapped about him as he waits for the others to take the lead.

The boy's eyes brighten as the paper is handed over, and he unfolds it. He looks at it, and he gives a little jump. Then, he's off and rattling, "well, you already know Old Man Simmons is getting low on medicine, I can take you to him," and he continues on down the list, giving a report on each one. The boy seems to be a veritable wealth of information on that corner of the Alley, and the people in it.

Eyebrows rise over white eyes and Storm gives a faint shrug. She gestures to Phelan. "Lead the way. I don't know the streets as well as you do." She's been learning, on her outings with Blue Sister, but she knows she'd still be prone to getting lost.

Moving along with the pair, Morrigan watches the streets quietly. Moving a little slowly this evening, He nevertheless keeps a decent pace with them. making sure to watch their backtrail.

Phelan certainly knows his way around, and seems to have a knack for chatter, setting some of the people who are suspicious of Storm… well, if not at ease, at least not hostile to the woman and the man with her. There is no backtrail, although at times there are pauses and eyes that follow them, but no people. Finally, they finish, and head over towards the 'new' clinic in the drudge quarter. "I don't usually hang around here, but I've been to see Bertram and Bertie Jr at the clinic a couple times."

In it all, Storm is polite. Wary, perhaps, but polite. She made a promise to Blue Sister to do what she can until the woman can return and she seems keen to carry through on that. There's even a few promises of goods she hears about or learns of. Small things, mostly; extra supplies, shoes for a kid, and so on. Those things do end up delivered, also. Often in various packages and without labels, but in the coming weeks… they will appear. "Any particular reason?" she asks of Phelan, "or just not your kind of place?"

Walking with the pair, Morrigan chuckles softly as Phelan mentions that this isn't where he normally hangs out. Hands folded behind his back under the Cloak, He looks around once more before he finally says. "Sapphire chose well in having you come in her place Ms. Storm. I'm impressed."

The boy shrugs as he tugs on the door to what was once a storage facility. "There are more sick people here. The lady that gave Blue Sister the necklace says it's something about lungs. I don't want to get sick." He steps aside, "ladies' first," he intones as if reciting a lesson.
Once inside, they will soon be greeted by a man that comes out of a front room. He's older, although maybe not quite as old as he looks, since the factory life can wear a man down faster, and he has only one arm. "Good evening, Mistress Storm," he greets, having adopted Blue Sister's habit of not being able to drop titles completely with the code names. He gives a wink to Phelan and nods to a room across the hall, which sends the lad scampering eagerly. Bertram's eyes travel up to Morrigan, then back down. "How is Blue Sister recovering?"

White eyes slide to Morrigan, though perhaps it's only from the cant of head and shifting of eyelids that it is even noticable. "I promised her I would offer assistance until she was able to return. I keep my promises." Within the clinic, Storm tilts her head to the man as he approaches. She's already pulling the other note from within her banded, mismatched attire. "Blue Sister is healing well, but she sends her apologies that she cannot return until she has earned her spurs." And the note is offered over.

Looking aorund once more Morrigan pauses, considering for a long moment. Morrigan looks at Storm for a moment, then speaks quietly. "I've got to get going. but if you have a moment, would you be able to pass something on to the lady for me when you have a chance?"

Bertram's eyebrows raise when Storm mentions spurs, glancing around, but the news also brings the corners of his mouth down with worry as he takes the note, the fingers of his one hand deftly flipping it open so that he can read it. "This is sad news, she will be missed," he looks up. "Do you mind opening the storerooms while you're here? We've enough supplies in there to last for a bit, but the oxygen tanks we had in use have run out. We've not been able to operate for the past couple days."

"Of course," Storm says to Morrigan, looking to him. Her head cants slightly to one side, "I'm happy to take any messages you may wish to her." There's a slight nod to Bertram, "She regrets it greatly. It's why I'm serving in her place for now." The woman shifts back on her heels, giving a bit of a nod. "Of course. Need to make sure you can continue to operate."

Considering for another moment, Morrigan nods. Standing with his back to the rest of the Room, He leans closer and speaks softly. "If you would. Tell her that it's possible we will see each other on the street one day." After another moment's pause, he reaches under the hood and pulls the balaclava and the blacked out goggles off his face. Leaving the Hood up so only Storm can see his features, he gives her a quiet smile "So she'll know who she looks for."

Bertram nods his thanks, and excuses himself to get the inventory sheet to go over with Storm, giving Morrigan a chance to talk with the woman privately a moment.

Storm listens, hands clasping before her. With her poise, she might be noble… or at least upper class. Some things, one cannot quite hide. Though were Morrigan to ever hear the way she swears… There's no way to tell with the mask, but it may show in the way her eyes squinch slightly. She's smiling, tilting her head in a nod. "I will be sure to let her know."

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