Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 31 March 2005 |
| Who: | Bronwen, Genevieve, Yoshi |
| What: | A chance meeting of a spritely dressed Genevieve with Bronwen results in an attunement to a prided weapon, finally shedding some light on just why Genevieve is so well tolerated by the Michaelites. |
Hippie Hollow
Now technically restricted to those age eighteen and older, the grove-steeped park sits near the edge of Lake Travis. Given the name Hippie Hollow, as it became markedly popular with that persecuted group during the late sixties, and later on in the seventies, took on a greater importance. To this day, its rock outcropping strewn beaches remains a bastion of nonconformity in an increasingly conservative state. Skinny-dipping is just as rampant as it was half a century ago, and it draws a lot of attention from the students getting their first taste of mind expansion at the university campus that lies about twenty minutes to the east. The most recent groups to take advantage of the welcoming, airy nature preserve use the land twice a year to host gay pride events, raising the brows of those that live and work inside town.
Bronwen walks down the paths towards the area known as the Hippie Hollow. She seems to be walking purposefully but she also walks unaccompanied.
A thrashing about in the underbrush can be heard along the footpath by the favored skinny-dipping hole. Someone appears to be dancing in the underbrush. A high, lilting voice rings out from the singer, identifying the other party as a reveller, nothing more.
" o/~ The ruffled leaves, of vapory green;
Fringe mimic branches, fine as thread;
Above slim stems whose ebon sheen
Is always mellowing into red! o/~ "
Bronwen's step slows slightly as she hears the voice and recognizes its owner. The woman moves off the path towards the shaking underbrush and reaches in to open the branches slowly. "Genevieve?" she asks the vibrating leaves.
" o/~ As though in shreds a mist of morn,
Yet lingered on the balmy grass! o/~ "
Genevieve springs out, clad in utterly ridiculous get-up. Bouncing on her ankles, she chirps upwards to Bronwen, "Hiiiiiii." The faint sound of a vehicle motor catches her attention briefly, but the sight is lost through the trees. However, that doesn't stop her voice from ringing out. "Like the outfit?" She whisks the make-shift fern wings as if to emphasize the decidedly mercuirial nature of her garb.
The view of the vehicle's operator appears as he takes a constitution along the hill, and downward. He is soon followed by several college students, bamboo practice katanas. Finding a spot on the green grass, they remove their footwear as the Asiatic man looks on with a smile.
Bronwen tilts her head slightly to the side. "The wings are rather ingenious. Is it in celebration of the new season?" Her own clothes remain the usual durable pants, boots, shirt, and leather jacket.
"Cheering myself up," Genevieve admits, wobbling in place slightly. "With Kurgan and all," she admits. She continues to flit about the path as the pair continue to walk, eventually bringing the group of people on the rise into view. Genevieve sets her left foot forward with a smack of bare heel on the soil, fists balled together as if she were holding one of the kendo sticks herself. "His vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" she proclaims, before flashing a smile to Bronwen. "Are ya here to go play in the lake? It is warm enough."
Genevieve is dressed in what can oly be described as Renfair outfit for pixies, ferns for wings, as she skips along a footpath along the off-duty officer Bronwen. Her voice carries pretty well as the lass seems to be forcing herself into a more cheerful mood.
Yoshi removes a thermos from his briefcase, pouring a hot liquid into the metallic cup while he shouts drills to the students in Japanese, their wooden bokutou whizzing through the air. His smile morphing into stoicism, Yoshi sips the tea, his other hand brandishing his bokutou as well.
"Indeed. I plan on finding those that were the cause of his death," Bronwen remarks. "I need to speak with Tyrr to find out what he knows before I continue. How long did it take you to make your outfit? The wings alone must have been tedious."
*Crack* The Japanese fencing instructor slams his bokutou into that of another student's -a small blond Longhorn. "The form is wrong. Review, and perform it again." he tells her sternly, but not rudely. Giving her a smile, she tries at it again, and seeming pleased with the correction of the drill, Yoshi nods, turning his attention to the lake while his student's practice.
Genevieve finger-waggles to Bronwen, "Oh, I bet there's something else on your mind. Need something? I'm starting to overstay my welcome, figured I could do something useful to justify my upkeep." She gives a saucy wink, before breaking into a laugh and spinning on heels, arms outstretched to feel the evening air upon her arms. The sharp report from the sticks clashing catches her attention, and she stares doe-eyed up towards the precipice.
Bronwen glances towards her companion. "There's always something on my mind," she replies with a bit of a grin. "But yes, I did have something I wanted to ask you since you are the primary person I know with the skills needed."
Yoshi looks down the precipice, his eyes seguing from the lake to the shore, meeting Genevieve's doe visage with his strange, gray eyes. He raises his tea cup in salute, and turns back to his students, preparing to dismiss them.
Genevieve practically squeals in delight and unbidden latches onto Bronwen's arm. "You found an office building run by the bad guys and want one of my Progress buddies to run himself through all the severs there, blowing out every last millimeter of conductive materials in the building?" She has a wide grin on her face, and an almost pleading look on her face, like that of a child begging a parent for an especially coveted toy.
Bronwen laughs softly. "While that would be amusing to watch, this plane's reality afterwards would make it an annoyance. Actually I was thinking of your skills in regards to your associations."
Genevieve catches the friendly glance from the light-eyed Asian, and pauses to give a cheery wave of one hand, before returning to pester Bronwen. "Well, just tell me already, stop beatin' around the bush. I'll do it, you're doing good stuff for Mikey, I know it'll be worth it." Mmm, someone's feeling eager to help, likely a product of some misplaced, lingering guilt.
Yoshi dismisses his students, many of whom take back to campus in their own vehicles, or run off to enjoy the amenities of the Hallow. Pouring more tea, the Asian looks down the precipace once again, and looks down on the two women conversing. He blows on the heated surface of the liquid, his face seemingly bathed in an aura from the setting sun.
Bronwen mouths 'Mikey' to herself and shakes her head, still grinning. "Fine, I'll be direct. I was wondering if you would be able to connect me to my weapons in such a way that I can track them down should I get separated from them. What comes to mind is similar to a Guardian's ability with their chosen."
Genevieve tchs to herself, and rears back slightly, saying, "DAH-LING! That's so easy! Why didn't you come to me sooner?" And then, she asks, "Got 'em with ya? Can I see 'em? You're going to have decide, though, it takes a while, you may just want to do one depending on how well you wanna track it. Raising hell in Fado's doesn't take much energy. This, however, will. Although I'm sure Tyrr'll thank ya for the break." She wrinkles her nose and giggles.
Bronwen rolls her shoulders uncomfortably. "I didn't want to impose, to be quite honest. I believe I'll get the smaller blade attuned first, then have my axe modified." The faint grin returns to her features at the second question. "Genevieve, do you really have to ask if I have them on me?"
Genevieve practically falls to her knees in agonized disbelief. "You don't have your axe with you, awww, c'mon, I would have loved doing that one first! You know how long it's -*BEEN*- since I've done the Lumberjack Song? Huh? Really?" However, she relents and says, "Show me?" At that point, she kips up, and begins to prance around Bronwen, a few snatches of cong chirping out from her. "And if you'd really like to help, like the good girl I know you are, you'll contribute some of your energies to the making of this lovely bond. You two are getting married! We should have a party afterwards. See, Tyrr's not as serious about his axe, hence the whole girlfriend comment. You know, getting the milk without buying the cow? But you? Your blade? Now that's commitment. I get to be the priest!" At that point, she actually performs a cartwheel.
Bronwen reaches towards her back waistband and withdraws both the short blade and its scabbard. "I also have my axe, but I'd rather not draw it out in the open and during broad daylight," she replies. "And of course I'd help with the energy costs. It would be only right."
"Halvsies, then? It'd be about..." She plants hands on hips, and looks over Bronwen, "About half your Essence reserves, I wager. If you have a few hours to spend, we'll get started now. MAY take all night, but not if we're lucky. And I do pretty well on the luck side of things," she asserts, swinging hands in the air. The hummed refrain from "Head over Feet" begins to roll around her throat as she continues to peer speculatively at Bronwen.
Bronwen simply nods in agreement. "And afterwards I'll provide a meal of your choice," she adds. "Although it does have to be found in Austin to keep it someone manageable." The dark-haired woman offers Genevieve the protected blade.
Genevieve darts out hands with that same disturbing gleam in her eyes that causes the much larger Tyrr to cringe whenever she's around them. Genevieve chirps, "Thank you!" and then breaks out fully into some of the song's lyrics, as if she were serenading the item in her hands, " o/~ Your love is thick, it swallowed me whole... You're so much braver, than I gave you credit for! That's not lip service... o/~" And accompanying that proclamation, there's a faint gonging against the Symphony, a quiver of it as Geneveive accesses, queries, seeking out just how agreeable the process would be on this warm, fine night.
Roll by Genevieve: (2) (1) (2)
Genevieve then continues to offer up the short sword to the skies, as if inspecting its weight, before spinning it in her palm. "It is," she says as she begins to 'humina' in her way, very akin to the rollicking, bouncing chant Rafiki performed in the Lion King upon finding the grown Simba. A short pump of her balled up hands around the grip accompanies the more boisterous portions of the calls, before she spins suddenly and points her forefinger and middle finger to Bronwen's eyes. "Keeeeeeeeeeep those peepers on this thing," she points to the sword "While we're doing this!" At that point, she rolls her belly, and with another spritely giggle, begins to enter into what looks like a scimitar dance performed by harem girls. "A-sem a bala, nim a bala..." She's likely just repeating syllables at this point.
If there's one thing Bronwen can do with relative ease is following orders. Especially orders as basic as the one Genevieve gives. "Fair enough." Her amber eyes track each movement of the blade.
Carrying herself with absolute certainty, Genevieve then intones. "Now, put your right hand out."
Genevieve then pauses. "In, or out, first... I know you repeat..." She then bursts out to Bronwen, "You gotta do this right, or it won't work! "IN! Well, from your point of view it's out, but it's really in! You put your right hand in!"
Bronwen holds her right hand out -- in -- as instructed, palm-up.
"Okay, now you put your right hand out," Genevieve demonstrates, clutching the sword to her chest, pulling her hand back towards herself.
Bronwen looks slightly confused but still follows the movements of the blade and Genevieve's vocal prompts, if in reverse of how she'd interpret the orders.
Genevieve tchs to herself, and rears back slightly, saying, "DAH-LING! That's so easy! Why didn't you come to me sooner?" And then, she asks, "Got 'em with ya? Can I see 'em? You're going to have decide, though, it takes a while, you may just want to do one depending on how well you wanna track it. Raising hell in Fado's doesn't take much energy. This, however, will. Although I'm sure Tyrr'll thank ya for the break." She wrinkles her nose and giggles.
Bronwen rolls her shoulders uncomfortably. "I didn't want to impose, to be quite honest. I believe I'll get the smaller blade attuned first, then have my axe modified." The faint grin returns to her features at the second question. "Genevieve, do you really have to ask if I have them on me?"
Genevieve practically falls to her knees in agonized disbelief. "You don't have your axe with you, awww, c'mon, I would have loved doing that one first! You know how long it's -*BEEN*- since I've done the Lumberjack Song? Huh? Really?" However, she relents and says, "Show me?" At that point, she kips up, and begins to prance around Bronwen, a few snatches of cong chirping out from her. "And if you'd really like to help, like the good girl I know you are, you'll contribute some of your energies to the making of this lovely bond. You two are getting married! We should have a party afterwards. See, Tyrr's not as serious about his axe, hence the whole girlfriend comment. You know, getting the milk without buying the cow? But you? Your blade? Now that's commitment. I get to be the priest!" At that point, she actually performs a cartwheel.
Bronwen reaches towards her back waistband and withdraws both the short blade and its scabbard. "I also have my axe, but I'd rather not draw it out in the open and during broad daylight," she replies. "And of course I'd help with the energy costs. It would be only right."
"Halvsies, then? It'd be about..." She plants hands on hips, and looks over Bronwen, "About half your Essence reserves, I wager. If you have a few hours to spend, we'll get started now. MAY take all night, but not if we're lucky. And I do pretty well on the luck side of things," she asserts, swinging hands in the air. The hummed refrain from "Head over Feet" begins to roll around her throat as she continues to peer speculatively at Bronwen.
Bronwen simply nods in agreement. "And afterwards I'll provide a meal of your choice," she adds. "Although it does have to be found in Austin to keep it someone manageable." The dark-haired woman offers Genevieve the protected blade.
Genevieve darts out hands with that same disturbing gleam in her eyes that causes the much larger Tyrr to cringe whenever she's around them. Genevieve chirps, "Thank you!" and then breaks out fully into some of the song's lyrics, as if she were serenading the item in her hands, " o/~ Your love is thick, it swallowed me whole... You're so much braver, than I gave you credit for! That's not lip service... o/~" And accompanying that proclamation, there's a faint gonging against the Symphony, a quiver of it as Geneveive accesses, queries, seeking out just how agreeable the process would be on this warm, fine night.
Roll by Genevieve: (2) (1) (2)
Bronwen shifts her weight but manages to keep her body from taking a step back at that unique gleam. She tilts her head to the side, murmuring, "Those lyrics seem vaguely familiar... probably from a radio I overheard on the street or in the break room."
Genevieve then continues to offer up the short sword to the skies, as if inspecting its weight, before spinning it in her palm. "It is," she says as she begins to 'humina' in her way, very akin to the rollicking, bouncing chant Rafiki performed in the Lion King upon finding the grown Simba. A short pump of her balled up hands around the grip accompanies the more boisterous portions of the calls, before she spins suddenly and points her forefinger and middle finger to Bronwen's eyes. "Keeeeeeeeeeep those peepers on this thing," she points to the sword "While we're doing this!" At that point, she rolls her belly, and with another spritely giggle, begins to enter into what looks like a scimitar dance performed by harem girls. "A-sem a bala, nim a bala..." She's likely just repeating syllables at this point.
If there's one thing Bronwen can do with relative ease is following orders. Especially orders as basic as the one Genevieve gives. "Fair enough." Her amber eyes track each movement of the blade.
Carrying herself with absolute certainty, Genevieve then intones. "Now, put your right hand out."
Genevieve then pauses. "In, or out, first... I know you repeat..." She then bursts out to Bronwen, "You gotta do this right, or it won't work! "IN! Well, from your point of view it's out, but it's really in! You put your right hand in!"
Bronwen holds her right hand out -- in -- as instructed, palm-up.
"Okay, now you put your right hand out," Genevieve demonstrates, clutching the sword to her chest, pulling her hand back towards herself.
Bronwen looks slightly confused but still follows the movements of the blade and Genevieve's vocal prompts, if in reverse of how she'd interpret the orders.
"You're doing okay," Genevieve encourages. "One more time, you stick your right hand in..."
Bronwen moves her hand outwards again, as if reaching for the blade. A glimmer of recognition might be visible in her eyes.
Genevieve's eyes glint merrily, as she sizes up Bronwen's progress, before proclaiming, "AN' YOU SHAKE IT ALL ABOUT!" Genevieve cackles as she waggles her hand, and then spins away, carrying the blade. "Y'do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around! That's what it's all about!"
Bronwen just shakes her head, seeing Genevieve's apparent antics in her perephiral vision. "In more ways than one, it seems."
Genevieve scampers back towards Bronwen, and then pats her arm. "Aww, don't be mad at me. We gotta spend the time doing this, might as well be fun, right? Fun I can do well." She waggles out her fern frond wings. The next few hours will pass, Bronwen serving as Genevieve's private, captive audience whilst she carries around the sword as if it were a parade baton. Any number of stories pour forth from her as she happily natters on about the Ransom of Red Chief, the time she delivered a baby on a transit bus, and the way that female whales play hard to get while in heat by doing a headstand and sticking their tails and half of their body out of the water which worked for only as long as they could hold their breath.
Bronwen stands through it all, her eyes remaining on the blade and her ears listening to Genevieve's ramblings. "Do you watch the Discovery Channel on the television very often?"
"You don't remember me getting nearly lynched by the football playoff season fans when I flipped it to orcas running upon the beach to eat seals, do you?" She cants her head to the side, before she finally ducks her head, and reverently murmurs a few chords of "Have You Seen Jesus My Lord", and another swell rocks through the Symphony. Success will bring with it another wave and unsettling notion of Essence draining away from both her and Bronwen.
Roll by Genevieve: (3) (3) (1)
"I think I missed that one," Bronwen murmurs before shifting her position to a more stable one at the feeling of draining.
The tune's haunting in its beauty, carrying with it an undercurrent of longing. For what, could be debated. The end of The War. The reunion of lost comrades. Any number of pains and wrongs in the world ebb and flow with those words, and for a moment, Genevieve seems content to clutch the sword to her chest as she belts out the words, eyes closed. As her own psyche reaches out to pull the appropriate Essence towards her, binding it to the blade, she looks downwards at it, giving a wistful sigh as she is reminded of the owner of a blade cast in lines identical to the item in her hands, save for the type of gemstone in its hilt. After a long, steadying breath, she sighs out, "Well, you did good, kid," she announces to Bronwen. "You should be able to find this thing cross-country if you wanted. Would be mighty useful in finding the snakes if they tried getting away after being stabbed by the thing. But don't go losing it at the bottom of any oceans! Or up in space! You'll not be able to get to it there!" She waggles a finger in mock admonition, before breaking into a laugh and respectfully twisting the blade on the flat of her palm so that Bronwen can take the blade for herself. "You'll be able to hear its metal sing through the air," she says reverently.
"Thank you," Bronwen replies simply, but her voice holds a deep gratitude. "Can I take you somewhere to recharge? Perhaps back to the pub, or maybe the pet store?" She accepts the blade and withdraws it from its scabbard to enjoy the faint light dancing along its edges. The woman brings the sword close to her mouth and seems to... kiss it almost, with a light press of her lips to the portion of the blade proper closest to the hilt.
"Oh yeah, I forgot! I now pronounce you Malakim and Blade! You may now kiss." She breaks into a laugh, and then half-trips down the hill in a flurry of tule and ferns. "I -- ooof! Guess you can!"
Bronwen jogs after Genevieve with only the occasional hitch to her pace, sliding the blade back into its guard and putting it all back into its secure spot. "Come on, let's get you home," she murmurs and snags the pixie-like woman by linking their arms. "Let me know when you're up to attuning my axe as well. But only if you are truly recovered and feeling fine."
Genevieve gives a goofy grin, "Is Tyrr in? I bet I could wipe that sour expression offa his face..." The suggestion is quickly dashed though as she gets distracted by the thought. "You know, it really wasn't that bad. I should be able to like... really quickly, especially if you're feeling up to it. Maybe even Sunday. We can make you a bigamist!" She squeals with laughter and claps, before taking her ring-crown and tossing it up carefree into the star-studded sky.
"A bigamist of blades. I'm sure the others would approve in some way, if they shared the same humour," Bronwen answers with a soft chuckle. "I don't know if he's there but I'm sure he will be eventually. And Sunday would work fine for me."
Genevieve allows herself a tired grin, and nods. "Well, I just need to rest up a wee bit. I'll be fine. Sit and toss darts all day long. Sounds like a good vacation to me." She does, however, finally collect herself enough to peer around to see if anyone was watching them. Satisfied, she gives a brief hug around the crook of Bronwen's arm, before darting ahead on the path to obscurity.
Previous: Logs