"Making Friends and Influencing Customers" Log Date: 6/19/00 Log Cast: David, Madelyne Log Intro: The young Mongrel David, newly arrived in Haven, has been grateful beyond words that he has been lucky enough to fall in with friends who have gotten him a job and a place to stay within almost hours of his reaching the place -- a man's got to eat, after all, and he's got to sleep too. And for all that his kin have accused him more than once of his head mostly being useful for being a place to put the hood of a cloak, David knows a man needs money to eat and sleep. And so he has happily accepted a position at the Pantheon in the Empyrean quarter of the city -- though it puts him into a position where he can't help but bump into pretty blonde Empyreans, a breed which have always meant trouble for the likes of him. And for David in particular, they're especially trouble when they happen to come equipped with an angelic voice, a harp, and a remarkable lack of patience for the admiration of awkward young Mongrels.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Friday, August 28, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Summer Weather: Drizzle Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* The Pantheon - Haven(#350RDJM$) Bright frescoes decorate the walls of this large, pentagonal room, depicting the rise of the city of Haven with Delphi at its heart. The domed ceiling is supported by four marble "atlantes"--statues carved to resemble youths from each race. The figures are expertly rendered and painted, if somewhat stylized, and they hint that this establishment caters to clientele from each. A long, marble-topped bar runs along the last wall where refreshment may be ordered. The air is laden with the smell of richly prepared foods and ambrosia, suiting the exclusive nature of the tavern. Rose marble tiles decorate the floor, which sinks toward the center of the room in a series of three pentagonal terraces. Situated at the two higher terraces are fine tables of polished oak--those on the outermost terrace long enough to seat larger parties. The lowest terrace features a shallow pool, lined with greenery and replenished by small fountains. (See 'places'). Contents: Madelyne Obvious Exits: Arch Out David Just another Mongrel, from the look of him -- but this one at least is easy on the eyes, as Mongrels go. He's young, seemingly fit enough, and not _too_ scruffy of appearance; his features, while not necessarily refined of line, are pleasingly symmetrical. Short but unevenly cut black hair stands out in striking contrast with his sunbrowned skin and big sky-blue eyes, of a shade that suggests he's got an Empyrean or two somewhere back in his ancestry. He's tall, his frame rangy and lean, though his awkward carriage suggests shyness, post-adolescent clumsiness, or both. So does his voice, since he appears to have a habit of stammering his words -- but still, something about the clarion young baritone falls quite pleasingly upon the ear. He fidgets a lot, too, seemingly unconsciously, often rhythmically tapping his foot or hand upon whatever's handy. He's humbly but decently clad as one might expect of a Mongrel -- especially one who's managed to score a position working in a fairly classy establishment like the Pantheon. His simple blue linen shirt, brown breeches, and brown boots are all a working man's clothes, clean and in good condition; the shirt is of a vivid enough blue, too, that it nicely sets off his eyes. Now, if the Pantheon were some other establishment -- like, say, the Siren's Song -- this particular wee hour of the morning might bring it more customers than currently are in sight within the place. As it happens, this _is_ the Pantheon, and most of its regular clientele are at home sleeping the sleep of the comfortably well off. However, there are still enough late-night patrons around that the kitchen help and the servers have something to do -- and thus, the Pantheon's newest server, David, has been conscripted to run drinks back and forth periodically to those that need them. The door at the front of the room opens and closes, almost getting the wings of a silent, white-clad Empyrean. She is holding firmly to her a small, golden traveling harp. She gingerly makes her way to a table and and seat. With a quick look around, and not spying any branded healers or purple-eyed gigilos, the girl relaxes, her lips almost smiling. Madelyne Standing before you is a tall, lithe girl in her mid to late teens. Her skin is lightly tanned a vibrant and healthy shade of cream. Her wings are often folded like a feathery cloak of the purest snow white. Her features are sharp, yet soft, with lips a pleasant shade of red, not too dark nor to light for her complexion. Her eyes like twin pools of light gray water. Her real beauty, however, is her hair; No jeweler spinning strands of silver and gold could have created the effect of her silver-gold hair in the sunlight, braided with care into a intricate bun on top of her head. She is clothed in a floor-legnth robe of soft wool and a pair of loose silk pants. the collar and sleeves of the robe are embroidered with silver swans in flight. Dropping off a goblet of wine to a red-eyed looking scholar who sits alone at a table and mutters to himself over a pile of scrolls, David turns just in time to see the newcomer heading in through the front entrance. For a moment, the young man visibly starts -- and then catches himself. Tienne told him this is the Empyrean quarter, didn't she? So he can hardly be jumping out of his skin every time an Empyrean walks in, can he? Sure, that _sounds_ reasonable enough... but aww, Tyche, she's pretty! David gulps, shoves a hand through his hair, and then manages to find enough bravery to wander over in the girl's direction and blurt out bashfully, "Dom'na, c'n Ah-Ah-Ah git ya somethin'?" At the prompt service, the empyrean is startled. At the garbled speech, she scruntches her brows. "Ah.." she says cleverly, in an almost song-like crystalline voice, "Can i have some hot water?" she asks finally, "I have been up all night singing and need to soothe my throat." She then turns her attention to her herbal pouch, looking for something to do as she just said; soothe her raw throat. The firelight shines on her silver-gold hair, making it look like strands of silver and gold wire interlaced. Truly unusual! Great shiny rainbows of Tyche, she's got a voice, too. David looks suspiciously wobbly in the knees for a moment, his eyes turning rather awed. "Uh... yes'm, Ah-Ah mean, yes, dom'na... Ah-Ah-Ah'll be right back..." Stammering this out, the young Mongrel walks backward with each syllable, practically colliding with the corner of a table as he goes. Only then does he catch himself, blush furiously, and bolt into the kitchen as if he's got a pack of wolves on his heels. "Ah need watah!" he can be heard to belt out in a surprisingly carrying baritone, before he vanishes into the kitchen. The Dom'na, as the odd Mongrel calls her, licks her lips and watches him retreat curiously. She shrugs and idly starts to tune her harp, settign the needed herbs on the table to wait for the hot water. Peppermint to add flavor, hibiscus to soothe the throat and a bit of chamomile to relax her. It doesn't take long for the black-haired young man to come back, a jar of steaming water carried cautiously in his big, lean hands. In fact, David progresses across the room as warily as if he were carrying a poisonous viper and fears it will bite him. "Here y'go, Dom--" And even as he sets the jar down upon the table before her, his dusky blue gaze falls upon the harp and freezes there, turning swiftly reverent. Madelyne lifts a brow. "Is Dominus ok?" she asks mildly, just a little annoyed. She fans her wings out a little and plucks the cup from his hand. "Is there any bread or such warm?" she asks, ignoring his stuper. As he continues to stare, madelyne Sighs. "I see you've noticed my harp." Turning abruptly scarlet, David catches himself, and his entire six-foot frame appears to lose two inches in height as he shrinks down in embarrassment. "Yes'm, Ah c'n g't ya some bread an' stew iffin y'want, got it on a stone on th' fire--" This last comes out of him pronounced 'far'; quite the accent he's got there, hmm? Clearly, the young man doesn't come from anywhere near Haven. But it's anybody's guess what haystack he might have crawled out from under, to wind up in a place like this. Upon the harp he offers no commentary, for now his gaze appears to have riveted itself to his shoes. Madelyne sighs and mixes the herbs. "What is so interesting at your feet?" she asks, mildly annoyed at the submissive behavior. Displeasure in an Empyrean voice -- well, that's nothing new. If anything, David's blush turns rather more red. "Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah'm sorry, Dom'na," he stammers out, baritone syllables falling out of him like a spill of water down a hillside; indeed, that liquid accent of his blurs his words together and softens them, like ground beneath a spring rain. "Y'jes' got, uh, th' harp an' all, an'... y'want me t'go git yer bread?" The empyrean in question, usually shy and reclusive suddenly goes beserk. "So i have a harp!" she almost yells, getting the attention of more than a few people. "big deal!" she continues. Poor Sebastienne'd be molting agian if she was here. "GO GET MY DAMNED BREAD!" she yells, standing up her full 5'9" and unusually bitchy. Good thing she wasn't in a bad mood when Cynara told he not to play her song. She'd be mush. Mortified, David promptly shrinks down another three inches, unable to manage more of a reply than a terrified bobbing of his dark head. You'd think he had wings too, given the way he promptly shoots backward -- and this time he doesn't collide with the table. The commotion has attracted the head kitchen worker, however, and the man's shooting daggers with his gaze at the Pantheon's latest employee as David comes bolting back towards the dubious sanctity of the kitchen. Once he reaches it, the older man launches into the younger, heated whispered words not quite so conspicious as Madelyne's almost-shout, but not exactly difficult to miss, either. "Boy, are you hassling the patrons? What in the name of Tyche did you do?" "Ah-Ah-Ah'm sorry, Ah didn' mean..." Exasperated, the older Mongrel gives the awkward young man a shove into the kitchen, getting him out of sight... and moments later, that same older Mongrel re-emerges with a small platter upon which rests a warmed loaf of bread, along with a knife for cutting it and a small bowl of oil for dipping. Approaching Madelyne's table, he sets it down before her and says gruffly, "With our compliments, domina, and apologies if the boy was disturbing you." At the more self-assured man's words, the shy and reclusive girl nods and promtly sits back down, ashamed at her lack of manners and control over her temper. Well, this older Mongrel's not about to chastise an Empyrean for uncivil behavior -- even if this particular Empyrean might have caused an earlier commotion in this establishment. Criticizing Empyreans in a place frequented by them, after all, does tend to get a Mongrel in trouble. "Just let us know if you need anything else, domina, and we'll have it out for you." With that, the man inclines his greying head and withdraws, leaving the young harper to her privacy and her bread. Madelyne coughs and quickly starts to sip at her tea. "Can I get some honey over here?" she calls in her quiet, yet carrying voice. Oh, delightful. the only waiter on the floor is that wierd mongrel. Well, true, the kitchen's sort of understaffed at this hour -- but then again, it _is_ a wee hour of the morning, isn't it? The older Mongrel appears at the kitchen door in answer to that clear-voiced call, and he can be seen to nod swiftly in acknowledgement. When he vanishes again, he can be heard to gruffly order, "You heard the domina, boy, get her honey, and this time if you value your job, mind your manners!" White-faced, David shortly thereafter creeps out into value, bearing a small jar of honey. This time he doesn't utter a word as he shuffles to Madelyne's table and sets the honey down for her. an equally white-faced Madelyne accepts the honey and, after sweetinging her tea, says, "Thank you Dominus." and hands him the jar. He can't quite manage a reply, so David merely bobs his head, tugging his loose dark forelock in lieu of having a hat to tip. From the look of him you'd think that hypothetical poisonous viper he'd been carrying is now poised at the table before him. He waits long enough for the honey to be used, then mutely accepts it and turns to shuffle back into the kitchen. Madelyne sighs as she savored the flavor of the tea. After a while, she sets her cup down and starts to strum her harp, a slow, sad song with a haunting echo filling the room. The song is, by the way, the one that made Cynara so mad. Not that young David would know this -- for he hadn't been working the Pantheon more than a day or two ago. Before he vanishes into the kitchen, though, he does jolt to a stop at the harpsong that fills the room, as though the lovely notes are a lasso that snares him and holds him fast. For just a moment, he shivers all over... and then he vanishes into the kitchen again, almost as swiftly as he'd done before. It's several minutes before he comes out again, this time without his apron. He pauses and peers in the direction of the winged girl with the harp, and a hint of that same worshipful regard with which he'd gazed upon the instrument before lights his eyes... but he doesn't go anywhere near the table. No, from the way he bolts for the front door, it looks as if this particular server's shift at the Pantheon tonight is about to come to a halt. [End log.]