You step onto a cracked but clean tile floor that was probably once red, but is now a faded salmon pink. A large, rectangular communal table seating about 10 takes up the middle of the floor, with mismatched smaller tables arranged near the large front windows. The long counter in front of the kitchen door sports plates of fragrant bread, cookies, and muffins and bowls of fresh wild fruits. A small, rattling fridge in the corner holds a selection of juices and cold spring water in reused bottles and jars. Atop the refrigerator is a can for cash donations; next to it is a box for barter payments. Scrawled on the box in black marker are the words "Pay what you can, when you can."
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 hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. 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.
This is Julen. She's in her late 50s, it seems, and looks to be someone who's spent that life well and happily, with lines creasing her face, and laugh lines crinkled about her eyes. Her hair is dark, with considerable amounts of salt mixed in, and it's short. Her eyes are grey-green, and her face is handsome, not pretty. She's a little too stubborn and square faced for most people to call her that. She's not thin, but she's also not stout, and when she lifts things, her muscles show in the strain. She's about 5'9", and limps when she gets tired.
She's a woman who commands, if not attention, at least the eye. She's not excessively tall, although she occasionally appears to be so, nor is she excessively riveting, but there's something about her, a strange grace to strong hands, an odd light in her eyes. There's an energy in her step and a purpose to her movements, certainly, and somehow, she just draws the eye even when she's not trying to.
She wears rough linen pants, dyed dark blue, and a softly multicolored fine linen shirt. Sandals are on her feet, and she tends to carry a staff around, mostly for hiking places with.
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.
Julen's staff is leaning against the counter. Julen herself is sitting at the main table, slowly but surely taking apart a (cooked) chicken.
The front door opens, and Ren sticks his head in and glances about. "Hey," he greets a bit absently, then closes the door, still on the outside. There's a moment's pause, and then he opens it again, pointing at Julen. "You!" he exclaims brightly. "Been =looking= for you. How goes it?" This time the door closes with him on the inside as he heads to claim a seat at the table.
Julen pauses, in the midst of breaking a bone in half. "For me?" She puts it down, marrow still unfound. "I have been around and about. How may I be of help?"
"For =you=," Serendipity confirms, grinning widely. "You're a difficult woman to find. Though I admit it's not like it's been my =sole= activity th' last couple weeks." He gets comfy, resting one arm and one elbow on the table, resting his chin on the upward hand. "See, there was a little incident, and people told me as you were th' one who oughta be let know."
Julen says, apologetically, "It could well be that we missed each other by mere seconds, at times. You never know, in these situations. In any case -- what incident would this be?"
The Diner door swings open, apparently by itself, although the knob has clearly turned. A split second later, Tristan's slinking through the door, so low he's nearly bent double. He closes the door and attaches himself to the wall, eyeing both Julen and Ren warily.
"Wouldn't doubt it," Ren starts cheerfully, breaking off to glance at the door as it opens. A brief flash of concern peeks through the cheer for a moment, his forehead furrowing a fraction. "...hey, Tris. ...you doin' okay? I was just gonna tell Ms. Julen here 'bout our visitor back at the dock..."
Julen regards Tristan evenly for a moment, then makes a welcoming motion. Voice warm, she says, "You both encountered this? Please," she says, to the vampire, "Sit, speak with me about it."
Tristan glances nervously at Ren, then at Julen, and sneaks over to the two of them. Rather than sit in a chair, he settles on the floor, half crouched, his hair falling into his eyes as he keeps his head bowed to not look Julen in the eye. "Yes'm," he murmurs. "Y'a caern officer ma'am? Only asking cuz I ain't met you yet."
Serendipity shoots Tristan a sideways, worried glance. "'s plennya chairs," he offers quietly, shifting the one beside him out slightly with the toe of a boot. "...and yeah, we def'nitely both encountered it."
Julen inclines her head. "Yes indeed, I am. Constance Juliana Brown, but please, call me Julen. I am also known as the Fire in the Dusk, when in non-human forms. I am Gaian Sentinel and theurge and, in fact, Alpha here. And," she adds, just the slightest touch of slightly confused worry emerging in her voice, "I am not prone to either eating or beating you."
Tristan chances a glance up, first at Julen, then at Ren, a little longer, and shifts his weight slightly where he crouches. "Tristan," he tells Julen. "Caitiff. Nice to meet you ma'am. Just covering my ass." He quirks a slight crooked grin. "We got a story for ya."
Serendipity returns Tristan's glance, brow furrowed somewhat more, and arches a brow in question before looking back to Julen and agreeing, "Yeah, we do. Other night, 'bout two weeks ago, we were hanging out down by the dock, just chatting about things, right?" he starts, gesturing in the appropriate direction.
Julen holds her regard of Tristan for another moment. "Good to meet you. Have to talk, later." She seems to mean it. Nor does she snarl and leap at his coming out process; she just refocuses on Ren, and says, "Well, if you say so..."
Tristan tugs his forelock to Julen. He resettles again, a little easier at this time. "Ma'am, the short of it is, another leech showed up and grabbed Ren. Held him hostage and made me promise to serve him, which meant servin' his master."
Serendipity wrinkles his nose. "The =short= of it doesn't make as good a story," he complains mildly, "...but yeah. And by servin' his master, he meant presentin' himself as the main course. Anyway, him being done with me -- the guy said his name was Faro, didn't say who his master was -- he wasn't paying attention, so I made a stab at killin' him, no pun intended. Which didn't exactly work, but just as he was gettin' real pissed off, the dock collapsed under him -- sorry 'bout that -- and he fell into the lake. And didn't come up. We figure he's a leechsicle for now."
This brings Julen up onto her feet, though she does not lose the faint aura of calm that still surrounds her. She takes ahold of her staff, and leans on it. "This is unfortunate." Understatement of the moment. "Did he say if there were more than he and his master? Were either of you injured? Did he seem to be new to the area?"
Tristan shakes his head. "Only mentioned himself and his master. We're okay--hell, I'm made a rubber, y'can't hurt me by throwing me around. Ren took a stake to the arm." He takes a second to consider the last question, then shakes his head. "Said he'd been following me. Which means he's been here a month or so at least. Since his master needs Kindred blood to survive, I'm guessin' both of them been around here a long time. Leeches that old really hate to stir from their dens, yannow what I'm saying?"
Serendipity ruefully indicates the hole in the arm of his coat, not yet patched. "Got it healed up, though, so no permanent damage. Well, t' me. I was thinkin' we oughta dispose of Faro b'fore he melts out, either that or find a way t' restrain and interrogate him first so we c'n find out more 'bout this master of his." A sidelong glance to the vampire present. "...Tristan thinks the guy's maybe too powerful for that, though. Yeah?"
Julen continues to lean on her staff. "Glad to hear you were-- mostly-- unhurt. Well." She shakes her head. "This is interesting. And, as I say, unfortunate." She looks at Tristan. "I am not intimately aware, these days, of vampiric... abilities. Such an old vampire would be able to control the younger vampire more fully?"
Tristan looks up at Ren, searching his face for a moment before dropping his gaze and heaving a sigh. An artificial sigh, obviously, but heartfelt. "Hard to say. Leech that old, yeah, it's a real good possibility. In any case, Faro's obviously blood-bound to the older leech, and he'll do anything that he thinks'll further the cause of his master. And in my professional opinion, ma'am, unless you got a lot more firepower around here than I seen so far, you do -not- want to give Faro a chance to escape or start killin'. My advice is to do him in if you can."
"Justin suggested just dipping him out and leavin' him in the sun," Serendipity mentions, "only I dunno for sure that'd be effective before he thawed and maybe got a chance to do somethin', which we don't want... and we've still gotta find out what the deal is with his master somehow; I mean, we don't want him droppin' by looking for his lackey or anything." He reaches over and gives Tristan's shoulder a very gentle, affectionate squeeze.
"There's far more effective ways than just the sun," Julen murmurs, then shakes her head faintly. "Yes. Professional opinion. I got a rundown from Serendipity here, briefly, of his background, but... what is your background, Tristan? What are your skills?"
Tristan glances at Ren with a small genuine smile, then back up at Julen, the smile turning crooked. "Spent the latter half of the Long Night in the Resistance, ma'am. Recon Cel number two-niner-five. Kind of an all-purpose rebel, short of going toe-to-toe with the big guns."
Serendipity smiles back, also genuine, and settles back a touch more comfortably in his chair. "Also, he can juggle and do acrobatics like a cat," he volunteers innocently.
Julen raises an eyebrow, and then rocks on her heels, briefly reminiscent. "Me, I was about 10 when the Sun came back. Recon and combat, cel 325. Albany area." She smiles into the distance, then shakes her head and refocuses on Tristan. "And you've been doing... what, since then? Other than," she adds, with the slightest amusement in her tone, "Learning to juggle."
Tristan's smile breaks into a big grin, which then fades abruptly and completely. "Uh. Well." He drops his gaze again. "Kinda here n there, roaming around. Bein' immortal n all, it gets to you, after all yer friends die." He shrugs uncomfortably.
Serendipity gives Tristan's shoulder another little squeeze, this one sympathetic. He doesn't seem to have anything in particular to say just now, though. After all, he's by far the baby of the table.
"That," Julen says, the echo of her own pain in her eyes, "Is a problem that is not confined to the immortal." After a moment, she adds, "Not to pry, but given as I must marshall resources and fighting talent, what magical talents have you?"
Tristan covers Ren's hand with his own; cold, of course, very cold. Looking up at Julen, he offers, "Not much, t'be honest with you. I got the changing blood some," he holds out his other hand, palm up, and extrudes his claws, to demonstrate, "I can move fast as a pissed off Garou, I can hear a gnat fart." He hitches another shrug. "S'far as vampires go, I'm sure y'know, ma'am, I'm real small potatoes."
Serendipity is fairly used to the cold by now; he doesn't flinch away from it, and there's only the faintest flicker of residual surprise in his eyes at the first contact. "We're atcher disposal if you need us -- well, 'least, I know I am." He arches an eyebrow at Tristan, checking.
"Gangrel," Julen says, with interest. "The changing, in and of itself, and the speed, those are vital, and the sensitive hearing is, as you well know, a skill many covet." She nods at Serendipity. "Actually, I would recommend finding Rowan and using his talents, as well. And, perhaps, Safi, though I am not entirely sure if her talents lie in this sort of investigation."
"Part Gangrel, yeah." Somewhat ruefully, Tristan flicks a lock of his white hair. "Shows, on occasion." He listens, glancing at Ren briefly, and nods when Julen finishes. "Put us t'work. Keep us outta trouble," he adds with a sideways smile. "Idle hands, yeah?"
"My hands're =never= idle," Ren claims, and grins, stretching a little without reclaiming the one on the vampire. "So what d'you figure we oughta do, then? Just dispose of Frosty post haste and then track down his Daddy?"
Julen quirks a smile at Tristan. "Partially that. If you'd rather not help, I certainly won't force you." She adds, apologetically, "I sometimes skip over the part where I ask if you /want/ to help. Or, indeed, if you want to be a part of things in the area. We do, after all, have a Cineal." She nods at Ren. "Though if you wanted to risk briefly waking him, and having, for example, fire immediately nearby, information of any type would be of great use. But I would understand if you did not want to risk it."
Tristan shakes his head. "I wanna help, ma'am. I mean, shit, if nothing else, I'm bored stiff." His mouth twists at Julen's suggestion regarding Faro. "I don't, personally, wanna risk it. But you know what kinda resources you got, obviously, ma'am."
"=I'd= risk it," Serendipity remarks, with a briefly too-toothy grin. "...tie 'im up real good to a stake in a pilea wood with oil all over 'im, at midday under a nice removable canopy, and interview 'im with a nice torch, or something. Asshole." Pause. "...I didn't like him much."
Julen regards Serendipity for a moment, blinking. She starts to say something, then just shakes her head and turns to Tristan. "To be honest, I don't necessarily want to kill either of them out of hand, because as you yourself amply prove, not all vampires are Corrupted minions of the destroyer. On the other hand, they do not seem particularly willing to negotiate. Rowan can sense Corruption; that should be sufficient."
Tristan nods, lowering his eyes in a surprisingly Garou method of acknowledgement and submission. "He's bad news, though I guess, technically, he might not be Corrupted."
Serendipity looks a touch sheepish. "Sorry. Only, y'know, not bein' able to mystically sense this stuff, I tend t' go with things like 'he threatened t' kill mosta the town startin' with me if Tristan didn't let the guy's master eat him,' and it doesn't exactly make a good first impression."
Julen admits, "No, you are correct. Quite honestly, if it comes down to brass tacks, I'm going to assume that, to borrow a phrase, they need killin'." The Westernism sounds odd, coming out of her mouth. "It is simply that if you have /time/, checking would not hurt." After a moment, she adds, "At one point, there was a rumor spread that there were vampires underneath the Mountain. There appear to be many things, underneath Katahdin, but I thought I would mention it, in case it proved useful."
"That rumor seems t'be bearing out," Tristan says with a certain grim humor. He stands in a sudden fluid motion, all tense again. "I uh, hey, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I, uh..." He's already edging towards the door, and then he's outright bolting for it. The Diner door whips open fast enough to bring in a skirl of snow, and then the vampire is gone.
Serendipity turns in his chair to follow the vampire, and opens his mouth, lifting a finger, but far too late for Tristan's speed. He sighs, instead, and makes a face, giving the door a half-exasperated, half-worried look. "...yeah, well. So, okay, then. I'll try to track down Rowan about it, before the weather starts warming up."
Julen stares at the door for a moment. "Does he do that frequently?"
Serendipity glances at the door again. "...well, more frequently than anyone else I know, anyway. He's a li'l jumpy sometimes. Today was -- well, more'n usual. Gonna hafta track him down and find out what's up."
Julen says, thoughtfully, "Yes." Then she adds, "That one's been hurt more than many. Should I be worried for him?"
Serendipity's hand drifts up, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes still on the door. "Well. I am. Concerned, anyway, maybe not so much =worried= exactly..."
Julen leans her staff back against the counter. "And what is the difference?"
Serendipity considers a second, then looks to Julen again. "Concerned's more for knowing something's wrong and hoping it's not too bad; worried's more for thinking something bad might happen to someone or something. Like -- I'm concerned something major's on his mind and upsettin' him. I'm worried the Master Vampire guy might get sicka waiting for his take-out and come tryin' to pick up his snack himself. If you see what I mean."
"Ah." She nods. "I entirely do. And I agree. But--" She fetches her staff again. "I should be off-- patrol. Do report if and when you find evidence, yes?"
Serendipity nods, standing himself, and pushing in his chair, and then whipping off a light faux-salute. "Absolutely. Get you information first chance I get. ...nice seein' you again, by the way."
Julen stops, and her smile is sincere. "You too. And thank you." She's gone out the door, surprisingly quickly.