Lohrinor's brasserie was established about seven years ago, taking up a lovely part of the restored Covent Garden. Right about the time that Salem, Master of Geomancy in the Service of David returned to her old city as city planner. Easy job, really, considering she was the original planner of old Sarum.
     But now, Salem, called Alexandra in her day role, has another problem. She's here, for she knows this city better than any. And she needs to save it.
     "Welcome," she says as you approach. "It has...been a long time." Truly. "And this is the last place I'd have expected." Dressed sharply in a blue suit, her briefcase sits next to her in the bench.
     Nothing exciting ever happens at Lohrinor's. Never.
     "Lunch?" she asks, offering you a saved menu. She's already started on a cup of tea.

     Kit Marlowe -- Galadriel, Sentinel of Aspirations -- strolls within. He looks a little out of place. He has a halo of dark brown curls. Everything about him speaks of warmer climes, southern cities. He even has a tan. Venice is still everywhere upon him. Half of him is still there -- his rock collection included.
     He wears a button-down red shirt, a pair of faded jeans an brown hiking boots. He doesn't own a briefcase, but he does have seven pockets.
     Kit smiles, cherubic face showing it in toto, and he puts a hand to his stomach. "Thank you, I may, yes. And... thank you," for the welcome. He takes a seat. Kit glances over at the menu, grey eyes pondering.
     Grey. It belies the Celtic origin of a vessel that otherwise appears wholly Italian.

     "Always nice to see help in town," Salem says, her blondish hair piled on her head. She pushes up a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "Have you gotten settled? I will admit...I'm a little surprised, but no less grateful." Your choir isn't so surprising. Cherubim are oft on the front lines. But a sentinel -- what is that anyway -- and Blandine? Salem looks surprised to even know that you can have a corporeal form. But indeed you do, and one of some use and familiarity.
     Thought the eyes are sorta odd.
     "Where are you staying," the Geomancer asks. Of course, home and stability are everything.

     "That is part of the mission for my visit. I need to ... sort out the particulars. I haven't been to London in a while. The buildings have changed," he murmurs, "...and I think I will try the tuna..." Kit smiles, it is a pleasant smile. "And I ... always hope to be of use," he continues. "I do not know what I will find here, or how ...opportunity," emphasized. An interesting word. "... will present itself."
     "I would appreciate your advice... your suggestions on where best to be. And ... a lay of the land?" Kit's mouth curls in a smile. An apropros statement.

     A woman in a stiff waiter's apron walks over, smiling. "Lunch?" she asks, anticipating an order.

     "Just another tea," Salem asks, barely looking at the waitress. She finishes off her present cup of tea, folding her arms in front of herself.

     Kit looks up and smiles. "Please..." Grey eyes flit over to Salem. Peckish? "Tea... and a few extra biscuits," cookies. His accent is all strange. It's Venetian icing over an Irish cake.

     "Certainly," the girl replies. "And for your main?"

     Salem remains quiet. Apparently, she is sticking to her tea.

     "Scones," Kit thinks to say. Might as well try to jog the memory.

     "No tuna?" Salem asks, confused a tad. Oh well. She simply goes back to fiddling with her empty tea cup.

     The waitress nods, expecting a lunch order herself. But she smiles. "Teas, bikkies, and scones." A bob of her head and she turns to head off.

     "Nah, changeable as the phases of the moon," he murmurs back. He smiles to Salem, then smiles to the waitress as she heads off.

     Salem nods and goes on once the waitress has departed. "I can, of course, make arrangements for you as you need, Kit. If you have budgetary constraints, just let me know. Will you be working?" she asks, before heading into the lay of things.

     "I will probably have to. I am expecting a small windfall from ..." he clears his throat slightly. "... the Archangel of Brilliance... until I can best find my niche. I am from here ...originally. But I have spent many years away." And by that he means his vessel is from here. "Irish, actually," he whispers. Wouldn't want that to get around.
     "I was working at an orphanage before. I may teach. I may have to teach and find a gig or two around as I did in America." A cherub of Blandine who's not only on the material plane but travels? "I need to sort that out yet. I expect I will have to sooner or later."

     Salem nodded and turned about. The latches on her briefcase made a *click* noise when she opened it. Nothing said, but quickly she retrieves a sheet of paper, sliding it across the table to you. "Here is a list of places that may fit in the ranges I anticipate for you." Some innate ability of David's choir, to be sure. "You shouldn't have any problems getting a lease."

     There is a wash of warmth and a nod and expression of gratitude. "Thank you. I thought I might have to track down the nearest tether and pull up a cot." He takes the paper and he folds it, tucking it into his shirt pocket. "I appreciate this. Is there... anything in particular that I should know or be aware of... environment wise? I admit, that is the better part of my concern. I'm moving from a relatively quiet environment, Venice," in case you didn't know, "... to a very busy one..."

     Salem inhales and begins to speak, but the waitress returns with the order. "Teas," she murmurs, setting down a great wooden box of choices, two teapots of hot water, cups, and full service. A plate of nut biscuits and a plate of two poppy scones are also set down, with jam and cream. With that done, the waitress turns and heads off.

     Dark eyebrows lift and Kit's eyes widen appreciably. Once it's all set before him, he plucks up a scone and pours a cup of tea. There will be cream. Of course. Grey eyes look to you as he lifts the cup for a sip.

     "You perhaps have been briefed on the...growing abstracts here. This is a front, Kit. And I cannot even say who is here, with certainty. In truth, I'd rather not know...that is dangerous information to have and any would want it. Julian Kane's made no secret of his existence. Josander. Several witches have taken up residence and the vampire population is slightly agitated of late. The only Glasswalkers that remain are those with investments and they remain hidden. Bone Gnawers come in from the countryside, only to get into fights. The Glamour courts remain and I personally....have seen a Mummy. Rare, that. Decay has arrived..." Salem shakes her head, 'I do not know what it all means." In all that, she avoids discussing the Host and its allies. One can never be too sure.

     He reflects on that for a time. That, or the cloud of steam rising from his tea. "To speak the name of the City is to encounter wide-open stares of late.... did you say Josander?" He seems intrigued by this. "... and Julian Kane?" Kit makes a sound in his throat. "I see Clearwater is not quite finished with me. As the poet said, we might be through with history, but history isn't through with us."
     He sips at the tea. You could easily insert Destiny (or Fate) into that sentence. Kit sets down his cup, arms resting on the table. "I do not have much experience with either of them, but I know of them. They were focused on Clearwater. America. A few years back. I was there, too." Odd that.
     He sits back, "My main intent for the first ...however long..." and I never know, "...I will be getting acclimated. But it is ... very helpful to know what abstracts or entities one might encounter. Even if one is attempting to avoid such encounters." As he shall apparently, by that look.
     Decay. Vampires. Mummies. Werewolves. Demons. Angels. Fairies. Oh my. It's all a little much. "London sounds crowded," he murrs, and he sips at the tea again. "I do not pretend to know why it would be. It is a front, an old front and now a new front. I do not even know why I am here, truly." He smiles. "But it will be revealed when it is time for me to know."

     Salem nods at the observation. She cannot say what your role and task is either. She pours herself another cup of hot water and drops in a teabag. "You will find the media, technology...well, in truth, -everyone- is here." Of every word, service, blessing or vice. Some mortal is in the fray, and making choices that affect everything around them.
     "Just remember," Salem notes, "...humans need us. They cannot see what drives their choices of destruction or life, but we know."

     He only smiles at that. Yes, he knows. Kit sips the tea, nodding in agreement a moment after. "I appreciate your help," he says, cup lowering again. He reaches for the scone he plucked, pulling off a corner of it. It melts in the mouth. It reminds him of home.
     Part of Kit Marlowe, the part that is wholly Christopher, remembers green fields, grey stone clifs and brilliant yellow flowers. Frothy, dark beer. The plucking of harpstrings...
     "Until I settle in, I likely have no other questions. I am pleased to meet you. And I really appreciate the assistance. You were surprised?" He smiles at that notion. Me? Shocking?

     Salem looks up. "Surprised at?" she asks, not knowing in what context.

     "We don't usually hang about in cities. I keep forgetting this. I have been here so long now, I have become accustomed to the skin of it." Physicality. A dream manifesting itself out in the open. What is that to mean? He remains... in order to find this out himself.
     Kit rolls his shoulders a little, setting that aside. "I think that I have enough information to pave my way..."

     Salem 'ohs', nodding as she drinks more tea. "Well, yes." She leaves it at that. You explained it well enough.
     "I wish you luck in your work, Kit. Please, let me know if you need anything. These are...volitile times. But," Salem smiles, "...when things change is when anything's possible."
     Such effusiveness from someone of David's choir.

     "Thank you for that. I'm going to need it." He does not quip that in a joke but means it. Sincerely. He stashes the scones. He lifts the cup of tea for a swallow. "And thank you...again... for the list. That'll come in handy."
     Kit rises a moment later, reaching over to take one of the biscuits as well. A penchant for confections, perhaps. But then, he is a dream angel. "I wish you the best in yours," is his farewell.

     Salem gives a wistful smile and roll of her eyes. She's done this too long. An archangel she should be, but they only give those out once in a millenia, and the most recent one has been awarded, or so she hears.
     She does not stand as you go. There's a bill to pay. But Salem picks up her cup again, cradling it as both of her elbows come to rest on the table. She sighs.

Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 08:00 AM