10-02-2013, 04:05 PM
As at the previous warmoot, Miss Avery Chase is quiet for the vast majority of the discussion. She sips her tea, occasionally dunking a bit of shortbread into the Earl Grey before taking small, tidy bites. Like the other Silver Fang in the room, she all but gleams. It isn't just the strength of her purity, it's the quality of it; the Silver Fangs do have something, don't they? Something bright and effervescent, as though they come closer than any other creature, even among their own kind, to some Platonic ideal of savage royalty. She is impossible to completely ignore, even in her silence.
Javed sits on the arm of the heavy, soft armchair Avery commandeered for herself, his form held higher than her own, his rank higher than her own, but there is a sense of at least some equality between the two of them. She holds her tongue while he speaks; he casts glances to gauge her reactions to things. Noticably, there's no point when one or the other's eyes go far away, vaguely unfocused, the subtle but telltale sign that packmates are speaking to one another through their totem spirit's voice.
Even when, as Eva tells them that 1999 Broadway has 2 hidden levels,
that there may be some kind of attraction or gateway there to utter horrors,
that the Beloved Horror wants it back,
Avery's teacup rattles slightly, china against china, as she sets it back down on the saucer. Her eyes are not widened, but are unblinking, focused intently on the Shadow Lord kinswoman. Avery has gone very still, very silent, and this is the reaction that Javed catches on her face when he looks at her. The tenor of his voice, low and firm, seems to calm her a bit, as she turns to set the cup and saucer on the end table beside her, dusting crumbs from her fingertips with a small napkin. She breathes deeply but silently.
And, as this is a warmoot, ideas and plans and questions begin instantly: getting to the lower levels, the rituals that the Beloved Horror is known for, getting backup for sneaking around the lower levels. Javed volunteers the two of them to go with Celduin as well, and Avery merely nods. There's a small frown that passes over her face as Lola and Eva talk about the architect, the airport, and avoiding the lower levels, but it does, in fact, pass. She turns to look up at Javed, who (as he does frequently enough to have made her want to pack with him almost immediately upon meeting him) speaks with both boldness and clarity. For the first time since her round of greetings to various friends and respected allies in the room, Avery wears a small smile. She speaks up for the first time as well, addressing the room and not a specific person within it:
"If I may." Of course she may. The calm in her voice twines with the gravity of it, a sound that feels like a gentle, heavy hand on one's shoulder, giving the sense of solidarity that goes beyond whatever words fill the space of that sound. It is compelling, and it is also strangely comforting.
"It is possible that the architect is unaware of what he has wrought." She doesn't ask them if they think this is possible. She doesn't say 'might'. She does not say this as a musing-aloud; she says it as a reminder. And before there is room to insist that he must know what he's building: "As I sincerely believe Champion of Honor-yuf,"
for he was yuf to her, after his death,
"was unaware of what he did. As I trust the Guardians were unaware of what they were doing. There were other influences, powerful ones, beyond their knowledge or control, and even our own kind have rites and gifts to compel action from both mind and body, enemy or friend."
She leans back in her chair a bit. "I recommend that any investigation into the architect begins with confirming or discounting such influences as they may be acting on him. Doing so may provide alternate avenues besides espionage, kidnapping, interrogation, and assassination, all of which hold the risk of reprisal not just from the architect but any mortal or supernatural allies he may have."
Javed sits on the arm of the heavy, soft armchair Avery commandeered for herself, his form held higher than her own, his rank higher than her own, but there is a sense of at least some equality between the two of them. She holds her tongue while he speaks; he casts glances to gauge her reactions to things. Noticably, there's no point when one or the other's eyes go far away, vaguely unfocused, the subtle but telltale sign that packmates are speaking to one another through their totem spirit's voice.
Even when, as Eva tells them that 1999 Broadway has 2 hidden levels,
that there may be some kind of attraction or gateway there to utter horrors,
that the Beloved Horror wants it back,
Avery's teacup rattles slightly, china against china, as she sets it back down on the saucer. Her eyes are not widened, but are unblinking, focused intently on the Shadow Lord kinswoman. Avery has gone very still, very silent, and this is the reaction that Javed catches on her face when he looks at her. The tenor of his voice, low and firm, seems to calm her a bit, as she turns to set the cup and saucer on the end table beside her, dusting crumbs from her fingertips with a small napkin. She breathes deeply but silently.
And, as this is a warmoot, ideas and plans and questions begin instantly: getting to the lower levels, the rituals that the Beloved Horror is known for, getting backup for sneaking around the lower levels. Javed volunteers the two of them to go with Celduin as well, and Avery merely nods. There's a small frown that passes over her face as Lola and Eva talk about the architect, the airport, and avoiding the lower levels, but it does, in fact, pass. She turns to look up at Javed, who (as he does frequently enough to have made her want to pack with him almost immediately upon meeting him) speaks with both boldness and clarity. For the first time since her round of greetings to various friends and respected allies in the room, Avery wears a small smile. She speaks up for the first time as well, addressing the room and not a specific person within it:
"If I may." Of course she may. The calm in her voice twines with the gravity of it, a sound that feels like a gentle, heavy hand on one's shoulder, giving the sense of solidarity that goes beyond whatever words fill the space of that sound. It is compelling, and it is also strangely comforting.
"It is possible that the architect is unaware of what he has wrought." She doesn't ask them if they think this is possible. She doesn't say 'might'. She does not say this as a musing-aloud; she says it as a reminder. And before there is room to insist that he must know what he's building: "As I sincerely believe Champion of Honor-yuf,"
for he was yuf to her, after his death,
"was unaware of what he did. As I trust the Guardians were unaware of what they were doing. There were other influences, powerful ones, beyond their knowledge or control, and even our own kind have rites and gifts to compel action from both mind and body, enemy or friend."
She leans back in her chair a bit. "I recommend that any investigation into the architect begins with confirming or discounting such influences as they may be acting on him. Doing so may provide alternate avenues besides espionage, kidnapping, interrogation, and assassination, all of which hold the risk of reprisal not just from the architect but any mortal or supernatural allies he may have."
my whole life is thunder.