Location • University Park (Old Tuberculosis Hospital) •
Factions • Ordo Dracul
Date • 2020-05-06
Summary • Frances is initiated into the Ordo Dracul. Hooray.
The Chapterhouse of the Ordo Dracul. A place that sits upon a Nexus, a Layline that has multiple lines crossing over it at a singular point. In this case, the Abandoned Tuberculosis Hospital.
The place is dead and silent, security cameras pointed around to ensure that those coming and going that do not belong are shown the door by the mortal staff, but for those that have the proper words, or papers of introduction, entry is smooth and flawless.
The hallways leading to the administrative wing are lit, the floors clean, those parts of the building that are used for tours are dusted. The main doors to the administrative wing are open, but the lights are not. For those that have the senses to navigate through the dark, it is not too great a problem - but still. Slightly annoying.
A single LED candle is set up on an office table, with a set of multiple comfortable chairs around it. For Lurk, she's probably irritated with a series of text messages asking her to show up and 'help'. Mostly 'help'.
For Frances, well, she got a small card. With address, time, and the word for the evening: 'Indefatigable'.
For Lurk's part, she's become accustomed to the ... eccentricities of her rival. The darkness has never bothered her, she has her own ways of navigating the pitch world that he lives in, the deep places being her lair of choice, after all. ... Damnedable eldritch horror that she be. She's made her way here in a timely fashion -- he hasn't even really had a need to wait for her. It's likely that she was holed up in the Library, sifting through old records of the area for some reason or another. She spends a lot of her time in this place. She finds herself sitting in one of those comfortable seats, legs neatly crossed as she taps away at her phone, a shake of her head so common that it might appear that Parkinson's disease has finally come to claim her ancient alien mind. A txt is delivered to Alistair. It reads simply:
'Why am I here again?'
Unless something horrible has happened or a random doom attack appears right in front of her, she's always the type to be at a meeting a few minutes early. She even took the time to look up that word, 'indefatigable' since it's simply not something that ever rolls off the tongue in normal conversation or a term she's heard before. Her hair is brushed but still straggly and her blouse is new otherwise everything else is as normal with those faded jeans, very worn boots and faux gold chain with something hanging hidden in her shirt.
Once at 'the address' she'll enter and make her way towards wherever this meeting will take place making certain to take the time to look around for exits and other hidden things not yet wasting the blood to see better in the dark, her hungry beastie always on edge as she attempts to be prepared for surprises.
Headtilt. Alistair's not old. It's obvious in the way that he moves - there's an absence of the static, there's fluidity in it as his thumb taps away on his phone's keyboard without even bothering to glance at it. Alistair's head tilts again as footsteps patter on floorboards. He shifts, slowly peeling himself off one of the chairs - stepping down as if he were a child trying to avoid waking a parent in getting up to sneak for a drink.
A 'bwoop', sends the text off. A 'bwing', a text back. Head tilt. Thumb tap. Thumb tap. He walks to the edge of the administrative doors, standing half-lit in one of the nearby lights that have been left on. Low power, long-lasting bulbs. Environmentally friendly. "Come in. Come in. Wander around too much. You get lost. Then the House gets you." His voice is muffled behind his mask, with a low, droning to it that makes it sound practiced - or the Nosferatu is bored. Or maybe it's just the Curse, picking at nerves. He leans back and away from the light of the hallway, moving back towards the table. Gloved fingers clutch at his chair - the furthest from the single glowing LED candle -- complete with fake flickering light effect!
"Sit. I am Alistair." He gestures to Lurk. "This, is Lurk. Official titles can wait - they have no meaning to you." A pause. "Do you still eat? Food?" A simple question to start.
"She's met me before." Lurk offers in retort to Alistair's introduction of her, her brow slightly furrowed as she continues tapping away at her phone, the screen casting an eerie, pale light over her inhuman features. It is perhaps only then that it becomes apparent that she is not in her more human flesh, but rather an augmented version of what she believes is her 'true self'. In that moon-pale cast from the screen, tentacles can be seen coiling over the back of her head, draping over her shoulders with an idle twist and flick of the ends as though they sought something just out of reach, independant of her wants and needs. Her skin is scaley with a pearlescent sheen betraying the scaled quality of the surface, so smooth in its segments that it appears wet. In one of her many tentacles, a lantern is held, but is not lit. Why is anyone's guess. It is simply lifted to hang over her like an angler fish's dongle. What a ridiculous word. ... dongle. She takes in a quick breath through her nose, almost a gasp as she remembers to give the appearance of her humanity, despite most knowing such a thing no longer lives within her eldritch shell. She finally lifts her gaze, dimly glowing just the same as the screen as she allows her attentions to shift from the phone to Alistair, and then finally to rest evenly, weightily upon Frances. Her lips purse, and finally a subtle crease tugs the corners of her mouth upward in an approximation of a smile. "A pleasure."
You know that feeling you get when brought to a parent teacher conference and you're going from classroom to classroom with Mom and the teachers? Yeah this is that, best behavior or at least the attempt of it and it's obvious that she's trying to not be the barbarian that she knows she's very close to being, not as bad as some but definetly high on that list. It's one thing to be a brief comrade in arms but now she has to actually TALK to them, and they are creepy and foreign and so not like Frances at all.
Not wanting for alll her flaws to become noticable just quite yet but not wanting to look like an utter newb that she kinda really still is, Frances offers a simple nod towards Alistair and then Lurk as she makes her way in. Her own steps aren't huge productions either regardless of the boots, she's used to stepping lightly so at least it's not as if a fully uncouth Bruja walked in...but she sees Lurk and that's different for certain.
She looks, and looks fully with an obvious curiosity but newp, she's not going to say a word over all that 'weird' bud damn, now Lurk's looking.. and smiling at her, yeah, that's not right but it's so perfectly Gangrel Frances can't help but admire. Finally her gaze will be pulled away as she stands there in between you two but mainly focusing upon Alistair though yeah, she can't help but offer a peek at Lurk now and again. Aaand then that question is asked and she can't help but bring her eyebrow up in confusion, that's a silly question...
"No, I don't see a reason to..?" is stated with a lilt of appreciated confusion.
"To remind you of your humanity. To remind you of your limitations. Despite all that you are, you still can't hold down a meal. You can't enjoy the sunrise. You will never know what it is to reproduce, hold your own children, feel their heartbeat and warmth without wanting to tear out their throat and drink deeply. No matter how hard you try, there is an instinctive disconnect between what you were, and what you are."
The air hangs heavy with the expectation of Alistair continuing. It is pregnant with expectation. Instead, his head snaps towards Lurk. "You have? Oh. We have. You have. I have. Yes." His head swings back towards Frances, and his heels are resting on the chair. He rocks forwards a bit, leaning towards her - hands reaching out to push his fingers on the arms of the chair. He stares at her. Or his visor is set in her direction - and he turns his head to the side. It's like a dog trying to understand what you're saying.
Except the dog is a weirdo in a bundle of yellow robes, a strange helmet, and a Nosferatu. So the weirdness just rolled downhill and picked up momentum. "For some people. This understanding is a bitter recognition of... Limitation. How do you feel about that idea? What do you want to achieve - here? Within the Ordo Dracul?"
"Speak for yourself, Alistair," Already Lurk affords a contradiction against the foreboding, brooding words of the Nosferatu that holds the lion's share of Frances' attention at current. As it should be. He's the man in charge, after all. ... At the very least on the surface. She remains seated, legs crossed, and with her attentions shifted off the phone it now lays to rest in her lap as she observes the two. "There are methods of reproducing. What you -mean- to say is that by the strictest of definition we cannot 'naturally' procreate. It is not, however, an impossibility. As for desiring to consume that which you have created, I believe in some aspects this is something that many humans have encountered ... though perhaps not in the same manner. Parents, most especially mothers, have been known throughout history to consume..." Those glowing, frosted seafoam eyes slowly trickle toward Frances, her shoulders squaring and posture straightening just a touch. "Do excuse me, now is hardly the time to correct our dear Primogen, is it?" There's another flick upward at the corners of her mouth, enough so that massive fangs are glimpsed for a few scant moments. The tips never fully disappear. Too long fingers now drum softly against her thigh, the soft pitter-patter of them landing not so different than what you would expect from someone tapping on leather. She does wait for him to finish, to ask those important questions. Her attention is quite fully upon Frances now, waiting for her retort, very obviously curious. ... And judgmental.
Right after the first few comments are spoken, Frances immediatly opens her mouth as if to give some kind of retort but instead chooses to shut it and just stand there, behave and listen. Her silence gives her the moments to focus on not blurting out an answer, or vulgarities in this not so casual environment, with the judgey mcjudgeyface Lurk.
Of course the Lurk is all logical in her summation of actualy procreation, the fact that new 'baby' vampires can be made as can ghouls but that's just entirely too much work for anyone to deal with. When she talks Frances will look in her direction, an excuse to note how the 'weird' just seems to continue to manifest itself. It's one thing to have the hidden creep of Alistair's mask and robes and another to have it flat in your face as in Lurk's condition, both equally gloriously horrid.
Finally she'll find her voice and answer with an, "I've had two decades to deal with the no children thing and every night I think of nothin but how to be better at what I am, if I stop and focus on how much I screw up then I'd just get more pissed off and that doesn't help anything." But that question about why the Ordo, she'll open and then close her lips choosing instead of stating her first thoughts to focus on the next, he asked why the Ordo and not about not why the others. "I need to be more than my sire, I need to be more than my bloodline and I need to be less of a risk to the Praxis and myself. I can't help anyone if I'm not bettering myself and I need education, I've not had that really ever yet. My beast's tug on its leash is exhausting but I'm terrified of letting go, I don't like being afraid of stuff that I can't even begin to figure out on my own." she admits in defeat.
"Under the conventional norms of the condition of Vampirism, a Vampire, such as ourselves in the base state, are incapable of the acts previously mentioned. As my esteemed colleague brings up, there are methods of altering states. That is the joy and work of the Ordo Dracul. The only politics we care about are internal. I attend meetings strictly to ensure that our needs are being met. That we have our domain. That we have our feeding rights. However, Lurk is correct. There are.. Ways." Alistair sounds.. Animated. Awake now that there's an active debate about something that interests him. This slowly trails off into that dull drone as he is forced to discuss the facts of politics.
His head never really turns from Frances, and there's a tilt as she opens her mouth. Then he bobs forwards, it's almost a nod, but it's whole body. "You want to be /more/. That is what we exist to be. More. You will be more than the politics of the All Night Society. You will change. Fundamentally. Spiritually. Your concepts as they exist only exist as a limitation to the possibilities of what can be."
"Fear is something we understand. Fear is a vehicle for change. Be it positive or negative, fear will drive you to do something. The person that you were, does not exist after you react. Change is what drives the Ordo Dracul. You wish for education. For growth. These are possible. You will have heard the term 'change is never painless'." A pause. His head swivels to Lurk. He raises a hand and gestures to Frances - inviting Lurk to address.
"What a delightfully candid response." Comes Lurk's unusually posh tones -- so in contradiction to the animalistic -thing- that she appears as at current. "Most try to deny. Deny everything." Her hand lifts to gesture airily in dismissal, "Flaws. Weaknesses," Her lips can't help their amused twitching as that next word slighters from her lips like a morray from the reef: "... Fears..." There is a ripple of rabid hunger that shudders through the periphery of every beast that happens to be in the room at current, a sort of vibration not unlike the rumble of a submerged and warning croc. It's clear that this word in particular delights the Seneschal, her tentacles squirming in response to the thoughts that're making their way through her decidedly savage psyche. She nods along with everything Alistair is saying, even if the occasional expression suggests she hides something she'd wish to say, betraying her thoughts, but not telling her secrets. When Alistair gestures toward Frances, there's a draw of air through her nose, a subtle clacking of her teeth being snapped together once or twice in her consideration. "You say you wish to learn. To be better. That you have not gotten what you needed from the kindred that took upon them the burden of embrace, but did not pay the price of knowledge." One of her tentacles spills forward over her shoulder, dragging languidly across her body before creeping its way back to its former position, a flicker of pallid golden light sparking in the lantern held above her head. "How cruel, to abandon your child, to rob them of the ability to know and to understand..." It's only then that the reason for her tentacle tumbling forward is revealed as some mutant iteration of an eel can be spied slinking free of those writhing coils, fangy maw and plethora of peepers turned toward the light in that tubular lamp. "The Ordo Dracul provides a sort of knowing, as he has stated. I, personally," She begins with a lift of her brow ridges, "Would be more than happy to provide a more savage-centric course. As the gangrel Priscus of Portland, you, the same as any of the other Gangrel, are by extension my child." A beat, "My burden, and my pride."
Caught between a small humanoid.. kindredoid? kraken and no-face from Spirited Away, Frances offers up a nod in agreement when the 'change is never painless' comment but it's just her head, not her whole body like Alistair's reaction of agreement earlier. Her beastie, still contained like a sloshing jar of acid with at lid that never really quite sits right... keeps popping every time you twist it to tighten it only to open up briefly before getting caught back on the spiral, Lurk's weirdness does not help, neither does the eel thing.
"I asked him to be turned, he gave me what I asked for and not much more." she admits regarding her sire. A nod then a touch of a frown at Lurk has made mention of her being a child, a burden and pride, of course Frances would focus on the middle bit moreso than the others. "I will accept any and all education that is offered and strive to figure out as much as I can. I know getting others involved takes time away fron your own growth and I don't wanna be dead weight."
"To help you comprehend. You will start in the Ordo Dracul under the title of 'Slave'. This is to represent that you have not learned the secrets of the Ordo Dracul. You have not begin to walk the paths. You are a slave to your base nature. Until your education reaches to the point where you are educated to a point that those who hold position within the Ordo Dracul recognize, you will do the tasks requested of you by your superiors within the Covenant. If you have a complaint, you may come to me. After that, you will take your first step. After that. You may never leave the Covenant."
Alistair explains the basics. It's given in that constant tone, disinterested, uninvolved, aloof to the point of irritation. Despite the fact that he's involved in the conversation. It is a complex thing, to sound totally disinterested yet at the same time give pointed instruction. It is probably annoying.
"You requested the Embrace. He gave it to you. That put him, as the Traditions dictate, as your Sire. He should have raised you, educated you. That you exist stands as a testament to your ability to adapt to change." Then, his head snaps off towards Lurk. It's as if his entire line of thought is put on pause to immediately address another statement. "If you wish to engage in her education, I will permit it."
Then his head snaps back towards Frances, and he starts talking as if he'd never spoken to Lurk. "Your ability to adapt to change is what will ensure your survival. What have you heard about the Ordo Dracul?"
"All we have, all we are, is time and blood." What Lurk means by that is really left to the imagination. She doesn't seem the sort to clarify. That'd be too close to telling secrets, and she is, above all other things, a keeper of exactly that. This is, of course, in reference to Frances saying that she doesn't want to take up time. "In the end, it is by sacrificing a little that we become more than what has been given. My growth..." The eel continues to approach the lantern, bioluminescent patterns springing to life as soon as it gets near enough to it. It seems hypnotised, really, staring with beady black eyes toward that luminous near-flame, jaws hanging open. One of her hands lifts, cruel talons becoming visible as they, too, near the light provided by her dangling lantern. The backs of her fingers soothingly stroke over the rubbery skin of the eel idly as she considers her growth, and the words that should next be used. "Nothing halts my progress. None weight the tail of evolution." Whatever that means. She does actually seem pleased with the response, however, the promise that Frances will accept the education she, in Lurk's belief, so desperately needs in order to contribute more fully to the Ordo, and to the Praxis at large. The eel's many eyes blink unevenly, one at a time in a slow-crawling 'wave' that begins at the fore and ripples all the way back over its body as Alistair directly address Lurk. Her own eyes idly meander toward him, one of her brow ridges high on her features whilst the other knits, entertainment apparent in her expression. "You'll permit it, will you? How very generous," She deadpans, "So benevolent an entity, so charitable that I'm not sure just whom it is to which I now speak ... surely not the horror, the parched and ravenous beast I knew long ago." A pause, a soft snoot, her chin lifting by fractions so that she might look down her nose at the robed figure. "So long ago." There's a mocking tone, almost nefarious, not quite cruel that leaves her dark and scaled lips as she watches him for a few long and uncomfortable moments, before at long last the gravity of her glaring is shifted toward Frances once again to await her response to Alistair's last.
Of course that word, that triggery word to many is stated and she can't help but make a sour face before it is explained, that expression fades away into that of understanding because damn if that's not fully and completely true. Likely the only reason she's made it this far is because of her habits and own ways of dealing with similar physical rages in her mortal life, 'easy' enough to figure out how the rage of Luna is similar towards the Bruja beast, it's not at all but at least she didn't fully spazz out day one! Baby steps! Talk about a shit ton of trial and error.
The glances between the two, the not-so playeful bantering and an obvious long amount of history between you two only end up confusing Frances. Thankfully she's not the Invictus type so she doesn't get the hidden nuances but at least there's no current throat-yanking out so there IS that, maybe frienemies or enemies on hiatus for a greater purpose, who knows, kindred are weird in their ways and so it that shiny eel. Pets, glowing things, weird lantern things, none of that makes sense but hey, an open-mind is something learned years ago cause yeah, it ALL exists even the things you don't think to ask for.
"Thank you.." is offered towards Lurk and then Alistair before she'll consider what she knows of the Ordo, "Honestly not much, just that you're not into politics and not really the type to fight other convenants over petty shit that doesn't involve you personally. Mainly that you keep to yourselves and study alot? I've never really taken the time to try to get to know any." That word again.. time.
"Study. This is a good word. We study. We attempt to evolve ourselves beyond the base nature of a Vampire. This study is difficult. There are many dangers. There is also the possibility of falling. Humanity is not a requisite for being a member of the Ordo Dracul. We are the Covenant that has the least interaction with the living. We exist to evolve the Vampiric state."
His words are a little sharper. A little harder. There's the gentle creak as his hands grip the arms of his chair and squeeze. He's not a large person. He takes up space and volume due to the thick yellow robes that are layered upon his frame, but he's no Tiarnan, or Yngve in size.
Yet as his thin gloved fingers begin to squeeze, the wood begins to just slowly give way, starting to slowly sink in. Then, he catches himself. "I'll permit it." he states, finally. "As long as you provide weekly reports on her progress so that I can review and ensure that you're making sure she catches up for all of the experience that her Sire should have taught her and she lost."
"We have to peer review. After all."
If a voice could sound like it's smiling. It's that one. He rubs his palms over the arms of the chair, and then shuffles his wrists so that his robes splay out - nothing to see there. No. He sniffs. It's a muffled little noise, but it comes through anyway. "I don't expect you to know a ton about us, Frances. I was simply curious. Either way. Here's the rules."
"One. What you evolve, and become in the Covenant. It stays in the Covenant. You will not teach what you learn to outsiders. Of course, there will be exceptions, such as if we have information that the Court needs, but those things that change /you/.. Those do not leave the Ordo Dracul."
"Two. As a Slave. You will obey. Nothing like the Invictus and their lackeys. You are not a bootlicker. You are simply enslaved to your base self. We want you to evolve beyond this. Not keep you at it. But while you are in this state, you will listen to those that are above you in the Covenant. As Lurk has stated her intention to be your chief educator - I will make a provision that only she is allowed to make demands of you unless with her approval. If Lurk tells you to do something. You will do it. Until you step above that stage."
"These are the two main things you will need to know if you accept. Other things come later. Questions?"
Alistair has apparently covered everything that needs saying, and so Lurk merely sits there with an empty if broad grinning. There is a lingering threat, of course, and the air is heavy with the tension between the very different pair.
Books and covers, then again she always assumes that the kindred she meets are crazy super awesome at something or another but that's all hidden on the inside. All she can do now is pity that poor chair as it gets crumbled in terribly strong hands, she doesn't take a step back but she does sort of lean back a touch, she knows where the obvious exits are and will do what's needed to get out of this potential situation between you two... if it's fully between you two anyways, yay! More pauses, gazes between the two of you but keeping them moreso on Alistair considering he's the one hurting the chair, well instead of Lurk anyways so there IS that, and she'll only visibly relaxish when that tone of a smile comes forth. "Understood..." she states simply with the list of those brief rules that she would hope that would be obvious, I mean why teach what isn't yours to teach anyways to those who aren't willing to be in the know? Seems counterproductive and wrong.
Then the request of questions and of course she's ready and willing with one of her own, "If the time comes when I have an assignment from her and the Prince requests my presence for some mission, which should I complete first?"
"You can ask Lurk. To be honest, for your own sake, I'd presume you'd help the Prince. But then Lurk might have had an urgent request. Life wasn't easy. Why would Death be any easier?" There's a small noise. A manic titter. Something about the statement is ridiculously funny to the Nosferatu, but it's stifled. It's held down. Instead, he shifts and settles himself in his chair - doing his utmost to ignore Lurk's broad grin at him.
"And I'm going to treat you like an adult right now. I'm going to give you a simple question. Your answer is your own. There is no guidance in this query. You will answer this as your own individual entity. Do you wish to join the Ordo Dracul?"
"As the Seneschal, most of what I do coincides with the Prince's own motive." Lurk provides after Alistair has completed his speech. "That said, it would depend upon the urgency of the Prince's request, and the import of the task I have appointed." Her smarmy twat expression remains as she basks in Alistair's pointed avoidance of her grinning. The eel that's creeping its way out of the drifting tentacles opens its mouth a little wider, before snapping its maw at it a couple of times, a wet smacking noise given every time its gaping mouth is opened in threat display. Thankfully, it seems fully distracted by the lantern. "I am a reasonable woman," Woman is a term used loosely, "And have no desire to see you anger the Prince, but nor would I allow a failure to serve the Ordo Dracul. Suffice it to say, the answer to your question is an uncertain one, but I will promise not to make it an unduly difficult thing to ascertain should it come to pass." She offers, before falling silent to await the answer once again.
A few nods given in response to you both to various questions as she listens and notes the curious still bantering, playfully serious or like someone jumping on a nerve every..damned..minute, maybe it's more like a brewing cat fight. "Yes I would like to begin to earn my place in the Ordo Dracul."
That damned eel is distracting, the posturing and all and Frances can't help but want to offer her own toothy sneer but she doesn't, not her pet, not her place and as stated, the lantern is there and is apparently a good enough mental chew toy for now.
The fact that Lurk is now the Senschal is noted, how could she forget that she's potentially liable to get double duty, oh wells, she's still game for the challenge. The possibility of actually delving deep in something, learning and growing, yeah there might be a tiny bit of a twinkle in her gaze where there is usually an ever-ending grumpitude.
"Then it is done. You are now a member of the Ordo Dracul. Pomp and ceremony can wait - what matters is choice and recognition of self-will. You've made this choice of your own volition, without being compelled by threat, blood, or the powers of our kind."
Alistair states this as he goes still for a moment. Then he spreads his hands out towards Frances. "Welcome to the Ordo Dracul, Slave Frances. I will look up some introductory and educational reading for you while Lurk prepares your first tasks." He slowly peels himself off his chair - one foot at a time as he rises up to reach over to the LED candle. His hand hesitates when it flickers bright for a moment, and then he switches it off - and the candle goes out and becomes pitch black.
"I will make an announcement to the Court on your behalf. From this moment on, you will perform your duties as requested, and study and learn. You are encouraged to ask questions, but sometimes you may not understand the answer at the time. There will be difficult concepts for you to grasp and comprehend. Anything else?"
Lurk just nods. With the LED candle out, that lantern of hers is all the brighter. Of course, all anyone can see of Lurk now is the bioluminescent pattern of scales that skitters across her body, the glow of her eyes, and the bulbous many-eyed gaze of the eel that stalks it.
She nods at some point but then it's extra dark and the entrance is approved, woohoo! Like a giddy child she'll allow her lips to quick into a half and silly-looking smile but that will fade rather quickly as she nods again, back into serious mode and thoughts of how many notebooks she's going to have to get and a huge ass dictionary for all the fancy words she's liable to come upon. Either way she has a squatting spot now, a place to store things so she'll be fine, after all unlife isn't as fun without challenges and at least these will benefit her.
And then there's miss biolumniscent over there... who needs lights when she's around, seriously? "I have no more questions for the moment." when in reality she has a gazillion but nothing specific to this actual conversation.
"Then we're done for now. Or at least I am. If you want a full ceremony, I am happy to make sure people arrive. When you rise from the state of Slave, there will be a ceremony - because that will be when you are a full fledged member of our Covenant. On the back of the card you have, is my cell phone number. You can send me text messages with queries. If you do not have a phone, I will have one provided for you."
Alistair seems to shrink from the bioluminescent light, standing a small distance from Lurk. There's a few furtive glances in her direction - but he brings his hands together and taps his thumbs together. "Congratulations, Frances."
"You should still have my number, provided to the Elysium when I took the position of Gangrel Priscus." Jesus, she collects titles. Even Lurk isn't sure how this keeps happening. She proceeds to slink off her chair, the lamp flickering into the blissfully still dark of the deeps she so adequately represents. "Congratulations, and welcome, Slave Frances. For now, you must excuse me... as indicated, I've matters to attend to if you're to get started." And with that, she does in fact turn and begin pacing away down a hallway, her scaley patterns rippling and flickering like light warped by calm waters in her retreat.
That walk though.. more like a slosh but not like the monster from the black lagoon and certainly not mermaidy, just... weird. A blink or two is given towards Lurk as she disappears elsewhere to plot and plan edumication for her, yay! before she'll return her attentions towards Alistair, "No reason to celebrate anythin now, I've just started and I'm not really into all that. Thank you."
Then the truth comes out as she digs into her back pocket to pull out a flip phone, "I'm slow on texting but I've got a phone, just not much holds up where I go and I never really bothered to figure out all the new stuff, too busy gettin my hands dirty."
Alistair has a complex phone number. Nah. It's a normal one. "I'll get you a robust one. Longer battery life. Attachable plug-in miniature solar panel so you can charge it during the day if you're under the dirt. Just bury most of it and leave the panel showing." Talking from some mild experience, this one. "A phone is a valuable tool. Even if you have no signal. Pre-downloaded maps. Useful apps. All sorts of things." Says the weirdo robed cultist talking about normal everyday phones.
His visor shifts, following the rippling scales, his head tilting to the side for a moment. He just freezes in place. Staring. Behind his visor. His shoulders rise and fall once. Rise and fall twice.
He then turns his head back towards Frances. "It is the best way to reach me. Good luck to you, Slave Frances. Do not linger in the Chapterhouse long. It holds secrets - some of them are more dangerous than others. We'll see if Lurk can help you find them!" Oh. Jolly good idea. Of course, then he's pacing over to the window in the Admin building.. And he's climbing out of it rather than walking out of the room like a normal person.