8966/Red Runs a Monday Morning

Red Runs a Monday Morning
Date of Scene:	06 December 2021
Location:	The Empire Club - Lounge
Synopsis:	Greetings, warnings, and plottings.
Cast of Characters:	Meggan Puceanu, Eric Brooks, Alfred Pennyworth

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Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Daytime grinds along towards midday, and for those Brits far from home, a fine time to snack on a proper liquid lunch. Maybe a tipple, maybe an actual decent meal awaits while catching up on world affairs and a good book. Whatever one's poison, lunch time at the Empire Club is rarely boring. The lack of televisions blaring on about the news, various disasters in the old empire, or footie games may be a plus.

Meggan sits at the bar, for once not behind it. She tends enough here to be something of a fixture but Julian usually has the duties downpat. When it comes to the mixed cocktails, though, her elemental skills mean she's second to none at mixology. Easy to make the drink to the most exacting proportions when you can sing to the molecules or sense something is off without tasting it. Her lively expression may have something to do with doomscrolling through stories about the Papal Killer in Hell's Kitchen, or other intrigues, though every time the door opens, her gaze lifts. An uneaten scone sits on a plate, the empty teacup betraying her preferences.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade walks in black leather trenchcoat billowing behind him, shades on and of course the everpresent bullet proof vest. Spying Meggan he heads to the bar and places an order. "Afternoon." He grunts out in his gruff gravelly manner.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"So late already?" Wherever did the time go? The look of vague amusement from Julian, the bartender with the stiff upper lip, is so subtle that it might pass the consideration of most bystanders. He returns to polishing up glasses and preparing for the next order coming his way. The blonde Englishwoman stops lounging with a slight curve to her back, pulled up out of the dregs of social media. Instagram and Twitter rot one's brain, no matter how useful they may be for researching current events. With the swipe of a finger, she dims the screen. A set of digits flash and fade out, confirming wasted time aplenty.

"Goodness, it has." Those soot-ringed eyes blink and she laughs at herself, shaking her head. "Where are my manners? It's good to see you again, Blade. I should ask if you've heard the news yet. Something right up your alley, I'm afraid." A flicker around at the various people engrossed in their reading and other concerns warrants a softening of her volume. "I can keep to the basic details, at least."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade gives his order to the tender for something stiff and strong. "No can't say I've heard nothin about it. So whats the word?" He asks with a predatorial grin. "Good ta see you too."

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Surprisingly haggard looking in the face, but as impeccably dressed as ever, Alfred almost glided into the lounge were it not for what might be a lack of sleep that robbed him of some of his usual fluidity. Tucked under an arm was a stack of crisp looking medical journals and as he approached the bar he flashed a polite smile and an incline of his head to those about while mounting a seat.

    "Good afternoon - Alfred Pennyworth?" he offered, with some vague suggestion of belonging as his eyes darted along the length of the bar's stock. "I would normally opt for tea but... may I possibly have a glass of brandy? The sun is over the yard arm, as the saying goes," he quipped, huffing to himself slightly as he pulled the top of his stack in front of him and crossed one leg over another. If nothing else, having not been thrown out, he sunk into a dignified resignation that he had found the right spot.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
It's a flashback to a different era, one Meggan probably (maybe?) wasn't alive for, but she channels the glory days of the Nineties plenty well enough. The phone's obviously all wrong, being a device small enough to fit in one hand without folding. Her gaze shifts through the glittering rime of kohl to mark Alfred's arrival, and she dips her head in a greeting nod to him. The finger-wiggle that starts she consciously halts, that wave pinched off. "Meggan Puceanu," says the activist, "though Meggan or Meg will do." Trying to warp a Goidelic last name to the American or British tongue isn't easy for anyone. She hooks a finger around her teacup and gazes at the empty contents, then surreptitiously nudges it along the counter for Julian to replenish the hot water in. Brandy comes first, and whatever Blade ordered. Those will be delivered with the quintessential class of a trained bartender who'd retain his poise during a nuclear bombing.

"Serial killings in Hell's Kitchen," she asides back to Blade though it's not as if she's openly conspiratorial about it. Stripping away the veneer of light conversation, her tone dips to something more serious. "Series of crucifixions for petty crimes. Profane acts being committed by a thing that swiftly needs to be stopped."

It's a good thing she has come to /some/ terms with this, otherwise turning into a violently unhappy elf queen in the middle of a bar would be something not relegated to Tolkien movies.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shakes his head. "So More killings that law enforcement is ill equipped to handle. So what makes it up my alley, sure its weird but what makes it my kind of weird." He says with a look and nod to the tender before sipping his drink. "I mean are we sure its something thats my kind of thing to deal with?"

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Savoring the first sip of the liquor, Alfred let's out a long sigh of resignation - possibly in response to the warmth suffusing his body, or perhaps in regards to a 'series of crucifixions.' He spoke in a level conversational tone, leafing through his magazine to regard a diagram depicting an open chest cavity. "Something of an atavism, isn't it? Crucifixations that is?" he remarked dryly over the top of the medical journal. "Funny, how that tends to happen."

    His interest piqued, Alfred turned toward the conversation, thumbing his place. He raised his glass in appreciation to the bartender and Meg, smiling again as he sniffed at the glass and then took another sip. "Hell's Kitchen is rather notorious for gang activity, no? Perhaps some... new organization, trying to make a name for itself?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Law enforcement might be victims much as anyone," Meggan admits in that troubled tone, one soft enough not to venture very far. Her movements telegraph discomfort, one born out of a simmering rage kept in check. For good reason she might prefer the tea, hardly noticing the temperature of the boiling water or the diluted flavour by the time she reflexively brings it to her lips. "Angels."

One word slides forth in an explanation gone slant, though it might mean something. "Not the typical problems you solve, I grant you, but in the fold. Off-brand, same vendor."

She brushes her bangs back off her face, slinking a dark look sidelong to Alfred and more particularly, his journals. "Light reading material, sir, or connected to other matters? Hell's Kitchen's been cleaned up some time ago, more the problem comes from judgy beings thinking that level of punishment is warranted for shoplifting."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shakes his head. "You think Angels are doin this? Ain't that I don't know somethin for the church to handle? As for Hells Kitchen it'll get bad again thats what it does, it goes in cycles." He says easily. "And when dealing with any type of divine or anti divine being, they're always going to be worse than the books have them written."

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
Waving his free hand about vaguely, Alfred shook his head and glanced down at his reading. "Just trying to keep on top of the practice. Service in Her Majesty's armed forces can only do so much when your information dates from the seventies," he replied, crossing one leg over the other. If he was disturbed by the conversation's turn, he concealed it well - maintaining a flat expression.

    "I would imagine one... organization... is much like another. Crucifixion is certainly extreme for anything, but the crime fighters that we've grown accustomed to can be almost as severe for minor issues. Perhaps they're ah... sending a message? Especially with the name of the neighborhood," he offered with some hesitation.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"At least one is." The tea isn't much for flavour, and Meggan summarily dumps another loose leaf tea bag into the cup in hopes that it might acquire a more suitable flavour. Black tea is not black tea when it sneezed at a pot of water and counted its work done. Her veiled gaze narrows, those eyes an uncanny green more keeping with a tiger than an actual person. Then again, humanity is a veneer thin deep with her. "An organization of one, so far as I've heard. Not to say that where one goes, another won't follow. I'd be surprised to find a solitary agent, but that's not impossible. Is it?"

The grave look turns up to Alfred, since /he/ mentioned HRH's armed services, and that much marks him as far more skilled than she is. "A problem for here, while we've the ravens making news all over London and not a sign of them. The other birds round the City think they're uppity and spoiled rotten. No love lost between the gulls, crows or ravens at any rate. Bit of a miserable walk that was, being shamed and shouted at til they reckoned I wasn't trouble."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade takes another long drink as he thinks for a bit. "Look this all is good stuff and I'll look into it." He says. "Dont mean I'll find anything, and it doesn't mean it is or isn't what you think we will all get to the bottom of this." Than he listens to the weird rambling. "What the hell did you just say?" He asks confused

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The scone still isn't touched, poor neglected thing. It might go into the scone age untouched.

She nods to Blade, aptly listening and then breaking into a bit of a sigh. "I'm not sure what prompted an angel to start hurting people, but you might be the right person to look into the problem. I know a few other people who are pursuing the hunt. They could welcome the help, I'm sure. My own role in that is bound to be a mess."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade nods draining some more of the drink. "Yea having a good amount of folks looking into something can be a benefit but it can also be a hindrance with people getting in each other's way. Well hope for the former."

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    'Ah'ing slightly, Alfred nods emphatically. "Yes - the ravens. I was doing some observation there to try and follow up on things. The poor boys manning the Tower... I hate to imagine the pressure -they- must be experiencing," he replied grimly. "Had the world not seemed the way it is -" he paused, glancing over with a nod toward Blade, "With angels, and Supermen, and the like... I honestly wouldn't buy into any of the superstition," he finished in a decided fashion, letting out a sigh and swirling his drink around.

    "Wonders and legends spring up about our feet like weeds though, it seems - with no respect for more mundane work schedules," he remarked dryly after a quick sip of his brandy.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"More to spread the danger out, but more to put themselves in harm's way. It's a fraught thing. An honest to..." The idea of even saying the phrase strikes her as odd. Meggan shakes her head, ponytail a ribbon of slippery sunflame. "The real deal? That's right messed up to go after. Like trying to punch a sunbeam or yell at time. Not sure what bit of good they can do without being prepared somehow. Never thought to be saying one of /them/ was bad." Them being winged things. "If you want," she adds for Blade, "I can pass on your name. Not that I'm asking yo uto do anything. Never, not in a thousand years. But I know you've ways of thinking and acting that are far more practical than me." An environmental activist, talking to a vampire hunter and soldier. It's all reasonably balanced, right?

Purely so, without knowing one another's secrets. Utterly must be, with a small god unwilling to invoke the One Above All.

She sips more tea and lowers the cup. "The ravens are put out. In the city, that is, they're feeling rather blamed and neglected. Not much I could do for them, though if you feel fit to leave a bloody biscuit or throw them a shiny, they'd appreciate it. 'Tis all about songbirds and larks and fancy ravens they say. If you believe a bird, anyway. I find it a bit nonsensical they've such rivalries, but I am no raven, am I?"

Right.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade leans back and takes another long drink. "You didn't say shit to me I gotcha." He says still awfully confused by the Raven speak. "Whats all this about Ravens and such?" Blade glances around. "Do I need to be worried about that too?" He gives his attempt at a smile

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan's fingertips slide together into a curved shape she wraps around her knee. Easy for her to keep her posture that way, as careful as she has to be in a tartan mini. "Ravens dying in London. At the Tower of London, that is. Not really sure why. Probably smarter people than myself who now about what makes birds hie off or vanish, but it's a bad sign when they do. I heard there's problems if the ravens up and leave, if you put stock in stories."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shrugs. "Look you know what my business is, you clearly know of things like Angels and demons. I don't see why people wouldn't believe in the old stories." Blade shrugs. "Thats whats destroying the world Noone believes in da shit anymore so the shit runs rampant."

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    "Mmm, as the legend goes, if the ravens leave the tower Brittania will fall. There's all kinds of sites about it on the internet, and it's a popular myth but... well, as I said, I fear i'm starting to become something of a believer," Alfred expanded with a nod and a smile. He finished his drink and furrowed his brow in thought as he mulled the topic over.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Britannia falling is a bit of a problem, cause it's home and all. I spent most of my adult life trying to keep us from chopping every forest and polluting every river." That's how most people know her name, if not her face, on sight. Meggan gives a slight smile, but it's a saddened one. "Truth is, many of those stories have a basis, innit? Science explains a lot but it teaches a lot has to be learned to. So it seems. I'm no expert, wish I were."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shrugs Britannia falling doesn't really mean that much to him. "All empires must fall eventually thats the way of the world. Everything changes nothing stays the same and everything built must eventually collapse."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
With a faint hint of a smile, Meggan unspools herself from the comfortable position and gathers up her scone. Poor neglected thing, it can be used to feed the Day-Drinker. He's probably not even up yet. "Things change. But the loss of sixty million people plus all the others who can claim to be British /is/ a bit of a problem. I say it being that I prefer not to watch my home vanish under a big wave or a civil war. Went bad for Charles, won't go better for us in this era." She cracks a tired smile.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shakes his head. "Not what I meant by that. I just meant these things go in cycles and we have to roll with it. The loss of those lives or being thrown into civil war is never good. But hopefully its not the worst case scenario with that.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Ah! That makes a whole lot more sense. Things may rise and fall, but I'm concerned they won't rise at all. Be like a bad cake, all a big mess, no stupid Paul Hollywood handshake at the end." Meggan rubs her fingers over her brow and then gives a warm if worn smile. "Forgive me, but I'm about to turn into a potted plant if I don't set down roots in bed."

She nods to Alfred. "Have a good day, or what remains of it, when you get round to it. You know where to find me, here or the Laughing Magician, if you need."