Roleplaying
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Seminars
| When: | 16 March 2005 |
| Who: | Bronwen, Oreniel, Tyrr |
| What: | Bronwen and Tyrr chat about the riot across from Fado's before Oreniel comes across the two and he asks his own questions. |
The Rose Garden
In the middle of the local park, there's the Rose Garden. It's carefully tended to by an older man, Julian Paterson. He loves spending hours in the park making sure that the roses and grasses are all perfectly aligned, the grass trimmed; they were his family. Of course, while he serves neither side, and anyone who meets him would say he's the nicest old man you could meet; few know the true secret to his garden. He keeps the soil fertilized by burying dead bodies, mostly the homeless, beneath it. He just doesn't see anything wrong with killing them to maintain the perfection of his garden.
Just at the edge of the Rose Garden, between several tall bushes that obscure him being noticed, is Tyrr. He's exercising, Tai Chi, moving slowly from one pose to the next. He only has a tight t-shirt on and jeans, his jacket, axe, and other items lying a few feet from him.
Bronwen is working in a less-visited area of the park with a younger red-headed male in her company. He's sweating a fair bit and his breathing is laboured, while hers is smooth and even. They appear to be sparring in some form or another.
Given the area Tyrr's in is one of the few less visited areas, it's not that far of a stretch to say Bronwen and her rookie friend are nearby. But because of the bushes, Tyrr won't see the two of them; but given his height it's easy to assume that Bronwen and her friend... or anyone nearby could spot the top of Tyrr's head as he continues his motions of Tai Chi.
The spot of blond among the greens and browns of the park catches Bronwen's eye and she turns her attention to it for a few seconds. "Take a short break, McNab. While you haven't gotten it quite yet, there still might be hope for you. I'll be over there but don't get any smart ideas about sliding off my radar. It isn't as easy as you might think," the female cop comments over her shoulder and strides towards Tyrr's location.
Tyrr leans over, touching his hands to the ground, and in one slow ascent brings his legs up into the air. The slow ascent is the key to the exercise, working the muscles in a gradual exertion, Tyrr begins to lower himself backwards, his stomach facing the sky as his feet touch down again. Just as he stands upright again, he sees the approaching Bronwen.
"A bit of calmness before the insanity of the day before Saint Patrick's Day at the pub?" Bronwen calls out in way of greeting. "This would be a good place to find it."
Tyrr continues in his motions, extending his left hand out to his side and bringing his right hand in close to his chest, both hands balled up in a fist. "Tomorrow will be no worse than this weekend will be. I told the staff anyone who wanted to come in will get triple time for any non-scheduled time helping us out. So I think we'll be fine."
Bronwen turns slightly to keep an eye on her redheaded companion. He's stopped resting and appears to be attempting the movements Bronwen's trying to drill into him on his own, if a bit jerky. "A couple of your employees are going to make a killing then, between the triple-time and tips from patrons," she remarks. "Did the pub have any damages done to it with the riot across the street?"
"Nothing more than a few cracks in the windows, which I've already had replaced." Tyrr stops his motions through Tai Chi and walks over to grab his axe. "I think most people know to leave Fado's be." And now, he begins to practice his Tai Chi with the axe in hand, making the slow movements even more tedious and stressful (for a human at least).
"So one would hope. I don't believe that's fully true, though," Bronwen comments with a pleased nod at the rookie's attempts. "Too many stupid Hellsworn come when others go. A dull cycle, although it does have it's fun times when they try to confront us on our own turf."
Oreniel is headed towards the Garden, pleasant demeanor looking a little strained. Recent shootings and violence in the city have been forcing him to run on little sleep. It's not a problem, but it's a bit of a hard habit to break...
Tyrr is in a semi-secluded area of the Rose Garden, with varying large bushes roundabout him. He's noticable though still, being a rather tall man, as he practices Tai Chi, save with his axe in hand during the slow movements. "Those who are foolish enough are rather shortlived though."
The young rookie, McNab, is within visual range of his self-proclaimed trainer, Detective York. He's sweating and slightly flushed but he looks rather determined to conquer whatever task the senior cop set him for the moment. "How do you manage to carry your axe around in public places without getting reprimands from the other cops on-duty five times a shift, hmm?" Bronwen asks, slightly distracted. "It's the shortlived fools that keep the cycle going. You know that."
Oreniel stops to ask others in the park late if someone came through on a training mission. He sticks his hands into his battered jean pockets, sighing faintly. He looks... well, more focused and resolved than usual.
"Because I know a lot of the cops around this city Bronwen. You have to remember, I've been here for the last few years, longer than you have, despite your Role putting you into their midst." Tyrr smiles and stops finally, setting his axe back on top of his coat as he stretches some. "Though I'm surprised your rookie over there isn't freaking out from seeing me with it."
"My rookie, as you're calling him -- though he's more like a lost waif -- has more important things to worry about like improving his reactions for self-defence by relying on himself and not a weapon," Bronwen says. "Hmm. I should try to check with some of the supervisors that know me from Denver to see if they've got that little tidbit under wraps." She glances to the side where Tyrr stands. "How do you think he'd react if I suddenly pulled my own axe out in front of his eyes?"
Oreniel strides towards the clearing where those bearers of the burden of battle are congregating, and clears his throat some distance away, having received apprpriate directions. "Good Evening, Detective York..." he pauses, and gives a slight bow, "Mr. Ceallaghan, I wasn't aware you were here. Good Evening."
"Oh, I dunno. Maybe he's 'scrappy'." Tyrr smiles as he rolls down the t-shirt sleeves from being rolled over the top of his shoulder. Reaching down for his axe again, he brushes the dirt and grass off it. "Tyrr, not Mr. Ceallaghan, Oreniel."
"Then there still might be hope for him and his abilities yet, friend," Bronwen answers. She doesn't correct Oreniel's usage of her one name. "Hello again."
Oreniel smiles faintly, "Hello," and gestures over towards McNab, "No problem, Tyrr, but Orion, if you would please." He gives a faint bow, and says, "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing a meeting. I had a question, but it has waited some time what with the aftermath of various crisis, and the onset of new ones. It can wait longer, if needed." He shakes his head sadly, "I wish I could say I had known those who have left this plane recently."
Tyrr shakes his head as he twists the handle of the axe in his hand, causing the blade to rotate around. "Not at all Orion, we just happened upon each other and were chatting. What did you need to ask?"
Oreniel smiles apologetically, tries to resonate Breanna, and asks, "Well, I would like to ask about Sandra a few weeks ago. I wasn't able to make it to Christian's ceasing of existence," he shakes his head, "I have heard some conflicting reports. Detective, the impression I got was that Sandra was moving to a location so secure, you did not want to even speak of it. But... a friend of mine, one who I hope is moving in the direction of Heaven, thought she saw Sandra when bail was posted for Christian. If my friend has been compromised by a Balseraph or one of Factions, I need to know this so I can be better prepared and ready to counter such foul Lies."
Roll by Oreniel: (1) (4) (3)
Bronwen crosses her arms over her chest, not looking friendly but not looking overly annoyed -- yet. "Tell me, Orion," she asks, the fingers of one hand tapping against the opposite elbow. "What is the best way to keep a location of something sacred secret, hmm? Do I contact one of the journalists of the Statesman? Maybe tap one of the star reporters for the local TV station. Or maybe -- just maybe, mind you -- I only tell the two people I implicitely trust not to go flapping their traps to other celestials, Blessed or Cursed, about said sacred being's location. She was in one of the safest places in all of Austin and well-cared for. Would you like to give breaking into that place a try? I can tell you know that you'd have a handful of Warriors shoving their weapons down your throat if you did."
Oreniel holds up his hands, "No, I understand and agree with the need for secrecy. There are few things I can even imagine that would be so precious and beloved yet be in so much danger. I would hope she's in a place currently that is more unassailable than Notre Dame, but... just tell me if it was a Lie that I heard that the apocalypse nearly took place, so I can cease worrying and devote my efforts to finding the Truth behind this current mystery."
Tyrr sighs, he knew that Orion, Pan, Sarah, or Remliel would be coming to this subject eventually. He remains silent for the moment and walks a few away from the two, leans down and grabs his coat. For the moment, he's silent.
"Answer me this, then. How would you feel to have someone trust you solely based on the core of your being, gain spontaneous insight and make an error in judgement, and then disappear suddenly to hear why? Think of it as a Guardian having their Chosen ignoring every effort they made," Bronwen continues, her attention momentarily distracted from McNab and his exercises. "Nearly disowning them, as if the Chosen had much of a choice. It opens a wound in your being."
Tyrr looks at the two for a moment longer as he puts the leather straps over his shoulder for the back holster for his axe. Sliding the axe into the holster, the blades resting across his upper back, he puts his coat on and just leaves. No words, no goodbyes, he just walks off.
Oreniel says... slowly, "I... won't claim to fully understand what you meant here, but I do understand some of that. There is a great burden in being allowed to glimpse the greater Truth on precious rare occasion, for people expect you to always have the answers. I do not, and feel I may not be asking you the right questions as well, and I am sorry to bring up remembered pain - but I need to know for the sake of another, and I owe you greatly if you answer, I promise you that. Was Sandra anywhere near Christian on the night Dominic intervened? And is that Knowledge now secure?"
"Christian used a Song and got to Sandra. He quite literally didn't last long once he did," Bronwen replies curtly. "For Sandra's later fear triggered her odd ability to cause a memory to replay in front of all of our eyes that Judgement disincorporated his distraught soul." McNab has now noticed that his trainer hasn't returned after a few minutes. He starts to scan the area looking for her, curiousity pricking his skin.
Oreniel looks around. "Strange, Tyrr has left," he says, and sighs, "True Knowledge of Heaven, again?" he asks out of curiosity, "I'm surprised Christian could track her.... but thank you for your honesty. I don't know if you'll find any use for it, but it sounds like your efforts that chaotic day do deserve my aid - I'm not sure what help a Novaline could provide for a mission of yours, besides perhaps staying away, but you did a great service to Heaven, and it should be rewarded."
Bronwen arches a slender eyebrow. "That vaguely surprises me that you willingly came over here with two Warriors together, for all of Flowers' peaceful ways. Have I answered enough of your questions and provided what you seeked?" McNab gets a wave of greeting once the Malakite notices his approach.
Oreniel admits, "Well, I only knew about the one Warrior," he waves gently as McNab approaches, "but I only came to put myself at peace, rather than force it upon you. Besides, there are other aspects of the Word not always in conflict. We ARE both in a rose garden." He smiles briefly.
Bronwen snorts softly before remarking, "We are in a garden but I suspect for two vastly different reasons." Her attention shifts back to the rookie as he approaches hearing range. "Had enough for today, McNab? Your form was improving by the end of it, so I suppose I'll let you off for the evening. Don't disappoint me tomorrow when we resume, or you're going to find it all the more difficult." The redheaded young officer nods, looking earnest if a bit tired. "Yes, Detective."
Oreniel looks at the young officer and shrugs apologetically. "That is a way of looking at it, I'm afraid. Good Evening again, Detective." Orion gives a slight bow and begins moving off.
"Another time, then, Orion," Bronwen remarks before heading back towards the paths leading out of the garden and the park. "Come on, youngling. While I might be considered hard, I'd rather not have to hear your training officer yak my ear off about having you exhausted for your shift."
Oreniel bows again and slips off among the roses as Bronwen continues her own special brand of encouragement.
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