It is only a few paces from the edge of the wilderness to the lake; trees crowd close to the water in every direction. The water at your feet is pristine, shining blue. Gentle ripples ruffle the glossy surface of the water and whisper at the shore. The hump of Katahdin Peak, blue-grey with distance, looms over the trees as they ring the lake. The air smells clean, rich with pine and fish. In the distance you can make out a dock, and other signs of human habitation; but here, only the calls of birds, frogs, and insects disturb the peaceful quiet.
An airship bobs over the lake at the end of long, fine tethers that are fastened here and there around the eastern portion of the lakeshore. An array of ropes and winches dangles from amidships, ending at a small, floating platform with couple of small, neat dinghies moored to it. Occasional sounds emit from the airship: spinning propellers, jets of steam, and voices.
The floor of the treehouse is nestled, carefully placed in the break in between a twin-tree trunk about ten feet off the ground. The panel in the center of the wood paneled floor opens to allow a rope to drop down, to give access to those welcome.
The house itself is sturdily built, mainly of pine panels. One wall is left mostly open, covered in a metal wire mosquito-screen. This makeshift window faces the lake, westward.
By itself, the place is scarcely furnished. A bedroll in the corner carries a work pillow, though a rolled-up sleeping bag is available for others. A clay pot in the opposite corner, by the window, smells of woodsmoke and coal, so it's obviously a firepot. A small frying pan leans against it, the bottom blackened by multiple uses.
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt is tucked into them at the waist; the collar of it's left mostly unlaced, the ends of the cord hanging down. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
Well, look at this city boy. He's middling-tall, with the sort of skinny-yet-flabby physique that comes of never exercising or eating right; although his limbs are lanky, he's got a bit of an overhang in the belly region. His looks are plain, nothing special to them at all except an interestingly aristocratic nose, long and thin. His complexion is fair--no, it's pale, desperately pale, almost albino, although there is some natural color. Apparently he doesn't get a lot of sun. His eyes are a confused dark gray-blue-hazel, and intently wary, often flicking to the source of a sudden sound or movement. They're often veiled by his hair, which is a mop of Beatles-esque proportions, ugly in a way that went out of style during the Long Night. Also in the way of bad fashion statements, he has jaw-length sideburns which widen at their ends, although he's otherwise clean-shaven. It's a look that hasn't been in vogue for a century or so. His hair, eyebrows, and sideburns are all a uniform shade of absolute black; it does not flatter him.
If it wasn't already painfully obvious that he's fresh from a big city, his clothes cinch the deal. Loose gray corduroy pants, long enough to bunch over the tops of sneakers, a long-sleeved thin blue cotton shirt of the pullover variety, and over that, a battered red-and-black flannel shirt, unbuttoned. Despite the light clothing, the chill of the season doesn't seem to bother him.
Tristan's back at the frozen lakeside again, an hour or so after the early dusk. He appears to be juggling, tossing three smooth round stones into the air in a high arch, his head canted back to keep them in view, his eyes glowing a deep bloody red, paying attention to nothing else but his entertainment.
Contrary to popular opinion, Serendipity =is= capable of being quiet. He's doing an admirable job of demonstrating it, too, at present -- he pads as slow and silent as he can through the trees, stopping at the treeline to lean against the trunk of the biggest tree and watch.
Tristan's chanting to himself under his breath, a rapid patter that goes something like this. "...ladies and gentlemen boys and girls I will now juggle not four, not five, but six, yes six of these, uhm, rocks, casting away all thoughts of my personal safety for your entertainment, watch and--" He tries to scoop up another rock with his foot and launch it into the pattern like a hackey sack, but screws it up and winds up springing backwards to avoid the sudden brief rain of rocks as those in the air come down. "Fuck," he remarks, amiably; he hasn't realized Ren is there.
Soft applause from the treeline. Ren stays where he is long enough to be seen -- hey, how often does one get to do that cool-as-a-cucumber GQ model pose thing, after all? -- grinning broadly, moonlight reflecting off the white of his teeth. "You're a man of many talents," he observes, once he's sure he's been notices.
Tristan spins on a heel to face Ren, startled. His eyes are still glowing red, which looks far more menacing than he himself does, after he realizes who has snuck up on him. "Well, yeah, a guy's gotta keep busy," he replies with a grin. "Kinda suck at juggling, though."
Serendipity shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets and sauntering over toward the vampire. "A guy's gotta keep busy, absolutely," he agrees. "...And the juggling didn't look too shabby to me." He glances about briefly, taking in the surroundings, and then looks back to Tristan, remarking matter-of-factly, "Your eyes are glowing."
Safi paces through the forest, around the shore of the lake, moving quietly through the woods. Soft footsteps rustle in the snow and the deadfall of winter. She pauses, hearing distant voices--and a faint smile comes as she shifts direction, heading toward the sound.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, that." Tristan blinks, which is like watching a cartoon of Menacing Eyes Beyond the Firelight. "So's I can see in the dark. S'stupid, you'd think vampires would like, come with it built in, but we don't." On alert now, he cocks his head, hearing Safi's footfalls.
Serendipity huhs, and leans in, peering at Tristan's eyes up close -- well, as close as he can manage, given the height difference and all. "...int'resting. How come I never saw that before?" he inquires, apparently oblivious to Safi's approach. He does notice the head-tilt, however. "...you're not gonna run off again this time, are ya?"
Safi slips through the trees, peering through the dusk. "Hello Ren," she says, from somewhere off the Serendipity's left.
"Wasn't juggling in the dark before," Tristan tells Ren with a grin. He waves at Safi. "Hey, it's the nymph."
Serendipity turns his head quick, looking over his left shoulder, and flashes Safi a grin. "Hiya, beautiful," he greets her easily, giving Tristan back a few inches of his personal space, but pointing out to him, "...yeah, but you were doin' =other= things in the dark... it's not juggling-specific, is it?"
Safi answers with a smile and a cautious little wave. "Hello." She studies Ren a moment, as if checking on his well-being.
Tristan rolls his eyes. It's an interesting effect. "Didn't have to see real sharp to do those things," he points out with a smirk.
Serendipity smirks back. "You sayin' my snow sculpture's not worth studying in detail?" he challenges, arching an eyebrow.
Safi bites her lip, and ducks her head to partially conceal her smile. "You are busy," she says lightly. "I am ... glad you are well." She skirts them by a small distance, and continues on her walk.
"Uh, well, bye," Tristan calls after Safi. He scratches his head, then shrugs. "Yeah, well, let's just say the details were real obvious," he tells Ren.
Serendipity glances after her, a little surprised, but lets her go with a light, "Later, lovely," before looking back to Tristan with the grin still in place. "What, are you sayin' I'm less'n subtle?"
Tristan throws back his head to laugh into the night, then abruptly shuts up and looks back at Ren with an absolutely undead-serious expression. "Not at all, man. I'm saying you're as subtle as Zelda with a bad case of PMS."
"Oh, yeah?" Ren challenges, grinning broader. "What'm I thinkin', then?" He tilts his head, hands coming out of his pockets to rest on his hips.
"Oh," Tristan waves casually, "probably that you're bored and kinda lonely and y'd like me ta bite you again."
Serendipity looks triumphant. "Ha. I was thinkin' about seeing whether anyone's using that treehouse in the tree over there, sometime," he retorts, without looking away from the vampire.
Tristan sniffs dramatically, dismissive of being wrong, and cocks his head at the indicated treehouse. "Ain't never seen anybody go in or out of it. Still, s'pretty new. Note th' camo, too. Whoever built it is one a' the young guys, not one a' all these old farts living around here. Good at his job, too."
Serendipity looks up at it, and nods, consideringly. "Maybe I'll just hang out in it a while 'n' see if anyone ever shows up," he remarks, and looks back to Tristan. "...wanna check it out with me?"
"Sure," Tristan says cheerily. "Hey, lemme go up first, okay? Just ta make sure it's okay." He looks again at the treehouse, eyes flicking and jumping to different areas of it.
Serendipity shrugs, grinning brightly. "Yeah, a'ight. Protect me from the evil treehouse beasties," he agrees.
Tristan thumbsup at Ren, grinning back, and lopes over to the treehouse. He grabs the rope, gives it a few sharp tugs, then, satisfied that it's not going to give way, begins to scale it, climbing hand-over-hand and gripping the knots with his feet. Reaching the floor of the house, he pulls himself in with a swift lunge.
Serendipity waits at the bottom of the tree, watching Tristan clamber up into the treehouse.
Tristan isn't out of sight long, thirty seconds at most, before his upside-down head pokes out of the hole in the treehouse's floor. "C'mon up, it's cool," he calls, his white hair pointing at the ground, and then he retreats again.
Serendipity follows, swinging around on the rope more than strictly necessary -- but hey, it's fun. He hauls himself through the panel, and sprawls on the floor, laughing a little as he glances around the place. "Hey, this's pretty cool," he decides. "Whatcha think? Maybe need a few extra blankets and stuff in this weather..."
Tristan hops to avoid the sprawl, landing with his sneakers to either side of Ren's waist. "Workin' man's digs," he declares, towering over the Kin. "This boy, or, well, chick, I guess, is hardcore, skilled, an' tough. But hasn't been around in a while. So, I guess it depends on if ya wanna take the chance." He adds, "Definitely more blankets."
Serendipity laces his hands behind his head, grinning up at the vampire. "I pretty much always take the chance," he replies. "...but you're a regular detective, aren'tcha? Impressive, Holmes, most impressive..."
Tristan waves vaguely. "Pssht. S'what I did for the Resistance. Learned to do, then did. I got a lotta practice. This ain't nothin, honest, it's pretty obvious." He grins suddenly and points at the screened 'window', really more of a lack of wall. "Must be a nice view in the summer, but right now, that thing is like a howling vortex of evil. Y'probably wanna tack blankets over it or sumthin."
Serendipity nods, looking over at it thoughtfully. "Yeah... maybe do that now, warm it up a little in here," he decides, and looks back up to Tristan, unfolding his arms and extending his hands up to the vampire standing above him. "'s pretty cool. The observation, I mean, not th' temperature..." He hesitates, slightly wary. "If I ask you 'bout stuff like that, are you gonna run off?"
Tristan steps back and grips Ren's hands, pulling him upright. He looks wary himself now, his lips twisting. "...Dunno," he says after a moment's thought. "Guess we could try?" he offers, sincerely.
Serendipity comes up to his feet pretty close, and nods again, studying Tristan's face. "Yeah, a'ight. Doesn't hafta be now or anything. And you c'n always, like, stop if it's uncomfortable. Just... it's interesting," he replies, sincere as well.
Tristan nods slowly and cautiously. "I...guess it is, kinda," he hazards. "Was a lot of fuckin dangerous grunt work to me... But, yeah, okay. Sure."
Serendipity smiles -- as opposed to grinning, for once -- and lets go of Tristan's hands, wandering to the open side of the house, and sizing up the screened window. He rummages in the coat, coming up with a blanket, which he unfolds and holds up to the space. It's probably around the right size. 'course, he can only hold one edge of it at a time. "...gimme a hand?" he asks. "...Or alternatively I guess we could just wrap it 'round us, for now."
"Gonna hafta, unless you got some nails and a hammer," Tristan points out, although he obligingly gets the other side of the blanket and holds it to the wall in an appropriate fashion.
Serendipity looks thoughtful. "Hammer's easy. Nails..." He shakes his head. "It'll hafta wait." He pulls the blanket around his shoulders and then moves in with it, half-twirling in toward Tristan. "...well. 'least I'm a hell of a storm," he remarks.
Tristan playfully steps back and to the side, whipping the edge of the blanket he holds around Ren, engulfing him. "Hah, gotcha."
Serendipity laughs, fighting the blanket. "Oh no," he exclaims melodramatically, "whatever shall I do? Who will save me from this dreaded duvet? The light... is growing dimmer..." Ham.
Tristan grops randomly around the blanket, trying to find a bit of Ren to hold onto. "You've fallen into my clever trap!" he declares. "And now yer at my mercy, pitiful mortal!"
"Alaaaaas!" Serendipity exclaims, trailing into laughter as random bits of his anatomy get grabbed through the fabric. "Oh, the horror, the terror. What do you want with me, foul fiend?" He manages to get his head poking through a fold of the blanket, so he can see Tristan again.
"Uhhh." Tristan squints. "Good question. Maybe I'll just keep doing this until I decide." He resumes prodding and grabbing at Ren through the blanket, grinning. At least he's having fun.
Serendipity arches a brow. "You're not a very good fiend," he accuses, grinning back, and wriggles under the attack, managing to free a good portion of the blanket edge. "Ha!" he exclaims, and swoops the fabric up and over the vampire's head, trying to catch him under the fabric as well.
"Nah, as a fiend I'm a pretty good janitor. Hey!" Tristan flails, but it's no use, he too has been enblanketed. "Oh no, the tables have been turned by the daring hero."
Serendipity pulls the blanket down about them, trying not to laugh too much. "Kickass, I'm a daring hero. That sounds pretty hot. ...take THAT, dread, uh, villain!" He yanks on the cloth, which mainly ends up shoving him closer to Tristan, more than anything productive.