Morien Argall's page

Morien was starting 'round the car to Sal when she waved away help, and remains paused there. She, too, is part of the Look at Danny, although unseen behind his back. The selkie shakes her head as he retreats inside.

Joining Laverna and the butler before the former has a chance to feel that her host(s) have entirely handed her off to the help, Morien notes, "I noticed one of those classic all-copper Turkish coffee sets last time I was here, and I bet that's not just for display." At Fothergills' nod, she asks of the Fae, "Join me for a cuppa? There's nothing quite like it."

A slow, predatory grin spreads over Moriens' features as she takes in the new information. Her only comment is a breathed "Ah."

The pale car glides through the Yorkshire countryside like a fragment of moonlight on its way to Trip's manor.

Under Moriens' hand the Flying Frost seems to do just that, skimming over the road as if barely troubled by matter or momentum. At Sal's words the selkie stares at her in shock - for a bare instant, in which she nearly sideswipes a parked car. Eyes back on the environment, Morien talks right over Danny. "You're telling me that the guest of honor went to all that trouble just to off herself?!" Her voice is quiet, but the incredulity carries. At the next thought, the selkies' eyes narrow. "Did she think Lawrence busted up Ogilvy's lab in Hull? Or the Triads? I could see wanting to take an enemy down with her, before she got too weak from the wasting disease."

No further driving irregularities follow, leaving Kenneth to wonder about what happened.

Sal's comment draws an amused squint as Morien hides her concern over just how badly her friend is injured. "We let Tangris ride in here. You'll notice it doesn't smell like goat."

She glances at Sal's damaged arm, worry showing through for a split second. And you sure aren't gonna hang on behind Kenneth like you did on the way here, the selkie adds silently, not with your other arm hanging like that. She couldn't tell what was wrong with it, but even through the remnant of military bearing Sal's posture told her it must hurt something awful. Then Moriens' eyes are back on the humans' face, offering humor as a shield against pain and wounded pride.

Morien leans across to pop open the passenger-side door. "You look like hell, Sal. Sit down."

Morien barely registers Danny's unspoken compliment; the selkie levelly taking account of the battered group. There would be time for banter. For all that it's covered by her cool demeanor, the fireworks have left her feeling like there's another shoe left to drop.

The ghoul limping away from its encounter with Bunny is mentally tagged and filed. That one would take a while to be feeling quite 'himself' again.

Alertness: 4d3 - 8 + 3 ⇒ (2, 3, 1, 2) - 8 + 3 = 3

Morien gives the shelf a thoughtful frown and pulls a small but powerful flashlight out of her messenger bag to have a look. For something like this the host & guests would want to supply as much of their own technology (or magic made to look like tech) as possible, but she might get some idea of what kind of object belonged there.

Morien adopts a bored expression and ambles towards the construction site. Once inside, she casts a practiced eye over the structure for anything that might be of interest. Especially to an engineer's nasty, suspicious mind.

Investigation: 4d3 - 8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 3, 1, 2) - 8 + 4 = 5

Morien raises an eyebrow at Danny. "You'll choke down beer to keep the foreman out of the way while the rest of us search the building? Or is he going to be underfoot?"

Morien frowns speculatively into the tabletop, even the mug of coffee forgotten in her hand. "If you're right, our job just got a lot easier. We wouldn't have to engineer anything except the truth turning up at an inconvenient time." She doesn't bother looking up - the map of possibilities spreading out in her mind is far more important. "Let's check it out right after lunch."

"Or an honor guard," Morien adds. "It sounds like Winter's ambassador is about as VIP as it gets in these parts, and we could get away with being showy about it."

Morien raises an eyebrow at Danny. "I remember saying as much at the time, yes."

The selkie smirks at Sal. "They only have sires. It'd be too accurate to call one somebody's dam."

Morien nods absently while the gears behind her eyes turn, trying to assemble the puzzle pieces she has. She looks back to Kenneth with some surprise. "She. That one was very emphatically feminine. - I suppose it might have been a glamor, but why bother?"

Morien sits up and takes notice. "So that's what he meant by 'natural immunes'. There's a good chance they gave Ogilvy some of your blood for his experiments, Sal." She scowls at the tabletop. "Feels like I have almost all the pieces of this puzzle, but not quite."

The selkie ticks off items of new information on her fingers. "The wasting disease in the research notes might have been caused by a fey curse. We don't know more on that point because Dr. Spite does not believe in fairies." Another. "The strongest of the Poppycock Peacocks can grant their 'favorite pets' a measure of superhuman power and longevity - but it's a secret among their most high." She raises an eyebrow at Kenneth when she mirrors his choice of words. Then ticks off a third. "And now we know why they were interested in Sal."

Morien is still chewing on the new information when Kenneth arrives. Once he's settled in, she asks him, "Just how ambitious is Molly? And do you know what it is she wants?"

Morien perks up; that hadn't made the radio news. "Attack by what?"

She grins and shakes her head at Danny's greeting. "It's only morning for late risers like you, Danny-boy."

Morien peruses the books, coffee in hand, while she decides whether to put herself in a situation where she'd have to make chit-chat. In the end curiosity gets the better of her. She wanders over to Laura's table and takes a seat, her only preamble a smile and nod when Laura looks up. "What did you make of the Poppycock Sultan last night? Seemed like a good piece of theater to me, if a bit too flashy."

Morien takes an appreciative deep breath of the air in the hold - easily the most delicious thing she's smelled today. But she returns to the rest of the group with a scowl and hunched shoulders. "Their third crew member ain't here. Suspect they took him along as vampire chow." She shoves her hands deeper into her pockets. "Let's go home."

Unless someone objects, she leads the way back to their parked cars.

Morien appears increasingly concerned as her search continues, but she spares a moment to look at Danny as if he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. "There were three crew. We've found two of them."

Morien is frowning abstractedly into space. "Huh? Yeah, just a sec." She gives the fishing boat a quick once-over, including looking into all the rooms and larger storage spaces, since the crew was clearly in no condition to take care of the craft for themselves.

Alertness: 4d3 - 8 + 3 ⇒ (2, 1, 1, 3) - 8 + 3 = 2

"Gaaahhh! Sidhe! WHY did it have to be SIDHE?" He grouses in his best Indiana Jones impression.

Morien sighs with exaggerated frustration. "Damnit, Jim. I'm an engineer, not a diplomat."

Morien smirks wider at Danny in response to the Look. "I'd do it. Worst case, I could sprint for the river."

The selkie pauses for a beat, then a look of mild disgust passes across her face. She asks anyway. "Anybody know how to reliably trigger a nosebleed? We'd need something that looked genuinely accidental. - And a broken nose doesn't count, even though I'd heal."

Kenneth cocks his head and looks at Danny, a smile forming, "Though that goes give me an idea. If the Poppycock were tae be the one tae violate hospitality and the Accords, I would imagine he'd be subject tae a whole host ay trouble from the bigger powers ay the Nevernever."

Morien looks over her shoulder at Kenneth, smirking faintly. "Does that mean we're volunteering Danny to get the worlds' worst papercut at his meeting?"

Morien waits for the Mote to pass the ladder since the tide has continued to fall, and follows Danny's soaking footprints up. "Wasn't there a third crew member?" she asks, stepping onto the fishing scow with hands in her pockets, as if that somehow mitigated the disrespect of her intrusion.

"I'll be disembarking here. We've got some unfinished business to take care of." She glances up to the rest of the group on the quayside, sounding much less happy about the fact.

Morien leans over the edge of the Mote's deck, "Hi Lyceus. We've had our fun on the North Sea - could you take the Mote back to her place on the Ouse?"

Morien smirks at Danny & Tangris while she attends to the Mote, neither her hands nor her sing-song whisper pausing in the process.

Morien grins at Laura, "All of 'em. Didn't use 'em to avoid being blown off course."

With the toss of a rope around a docking point, she finishes the somewhat tricky task of opposing the tide into port. "Alright, everybody off. The next bit will take three times longer with you all cluttering up the deck." She sounds satisfied rather than impatient, this time. "If someone could get Lyceus' attention, that would save us a bit of time as well."

The selkie barks a laugh. "I wish. Munitions are Sal's department." A pause. "Hope she's having a quieter time of it."

Morien looks at the sailor like a fisherman who'd baited their line for tuna but landed a refrigerator. "I was hoping he could tell us something useful. No such luck." She sighs. "I suppose we get him warm and dry, and hope he recovers. Humans get hypothermia way too easy."

However, she doesn't move from her position in the nook of the sail lines. Instead, she wrings the last possible Newton of force from the wind as the Mote struggles to oppose the falling tide.

Survival: 4d3 - 8 + 3 ⇒ (2, 3, 2, 3) - 8 + 3 = 5
W00t! Just made it!

"They've got their own arcana, and that one's evidently loaded with it. Wish I could read Sanskrit, or whatever it is that shows on their human 'skin' if you kill 'em." Morien shakes her head in frustration.

When their new passenger is nearly aboard, she re-orients the Mote's sail to start chasing their prey again. "How about some hot air, Danny? It'd be interesting to see where the Poppy disembarks, but we'll need to catch up for that."

The Mote has a pair of life preservers: one on the forwards wall of the cabin, and the other on the aft wall next to the door. They're the round style, red-and-white like peppermints, each with a coil of sturdy nylon rope attaching them to the boat.

"That'll be the unnamed 'third party' at Laurence's meeting, I bet. Wonder if Laverna knows." Morien hums along to Danny's reprise of the earlier tune as she brings the Mote around near to the swimming sailor, keeping enough distance that he won't get knocked against her hull or dragged around in her wake. He's making indifferent progress towards shore - ten or twenty miles away. "Kenneth, Tangris, one of you throw the poor sod a life preserver and reel him in."

Morien smirks faintly at Laura, all but invisible in the darkness. Finding her attention drawn back to the scene aboard the other boat despite herself, she studies the figure that might as well glow with presence.

Investigation: 4d3 - 8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 2, 3, 2) - 8 + 4 = 6

Discipline: 4d3 - 8 + 3 ⇒ (3, 1, 3, 1) - 8 + 3 = 3
Going to invoke Still Waters Run Deep for a total of +5.

Oppressive the unknown others' presence may be, but it may as well try to weight down the waves as inflict itself on Morien in her element. She attends to the Mote, deftly maneuvering her little craft out of the diesel-reeking boat's way, but keeps a weather eye on the figure as Molly approaches it.

Morien gives a resigned sigh. "If his own crew doesn't collect him, we ought to. Or did you mean Herself over there?" That last with a touch of wry humor.

Sorry for holding us up.
Investigation: 4d3 - 4 ⇒ (3, 3, 3, 1) - 4 = 6

Morien quirks an eyebrow at the sight awaiting them over the Mote's bow. "Both, I'd wager." She angles the sail slightly worse against the wind, slowing their approach. Wouldn't want to run into the vessels now drifting near one another.

"Too much and not enough," she replies with a flash of teeth. "Do you know 'High Barbaree'?"

Morien raises an eyebrow at the first chorus, then smirks appreciatively. With Danny's assistance the Mote slips just beyond moonlight's touch, like a playful seal.

I'm pretty sure it's a scene aspect. Name it?

We also don't want to be too far away when they make their exchange. Summon us some fog, magic man. ;)

As the glow of street-lit civilization fades astern Morien makes no move to turn on the Mote's running lights, allowing the boat to fall into night's shadow. Instead she steadies herself in the corner formed by the mainsail boom and one of the ropes holding it in place, with the attitude of someone prepared to stay there indefinitely. For those who are still dazzled by the lights they're leaving behind, her position is picked out only by the red power LED of the radio handset clipped to her belt.

"Huh? Um, thanks but no thanks. The Mote and I have been out in storms where you could hardly see the end of your nose. No lights for now." She leans back to check what's on the far side of the sail, then continues, "If someone could keep an eye out for other craft, though, that'd be nice. Since we're running dark it's on us to keep a safe distance away."

Following maybe a quarter-mile behind.

Morien eyes the two people hanging back with undisguised impatience. "We could be heading for open water already," she points out.

Laura's question catches Morien by surprise. "Yes?" she replies, as if it hadn't occurred to her that anyone would want such a thing. Since the tide is in the Mote's deck bobs several inches above the quay, but there's no railing around it, only a lip to keep small objects from rolling off. On the far side, the slatted portion of the deck between main hull and outrigger doesn't even have that. Despite the requisite life preservers placed for easy access, the Mote was clearly designed for someone who wanted to get in and out of the water with a minimum of fuss.

Morien waves back to Sal. "You, too."

"Okay, anyone besides Danny?" Morien pauses to give any of the others a chance to catch her eye, then continues. "Danny, I think we're going to need you out here blowing hot air into the sails." She tries to keep a straight face, but doesn't quite manage to hide the smirk in her voice. "Don't want our prey to leave us behind."

She adds for everyone else, "There's a heater, a stove, and the head inside. If you like being dry on brisk nights like this, I recommend it." The fact that 'inside' and 'out of the way' are nearly synonymous is left unsaid.

When the Mote arrives in front of her, Morien steps aboard and joins the foxfire glow for a moment before it ebbs. "Thanks, Lyceus. Care to join us for a little outing tonight?" She ties the sailboat at a single point to keep her dockside, starts to move away, then evidently thinks better of it and adds a second point at the other end. After that, she falls into a familiar routine of checking over the boat from stem to stern, whispering something as she checks each knot in well-rehearsed order. It's only a few minutes before she has the triangular mainsail up and the boom tied only loosely, ready to maneuver. She looks down at the group from atop the short cabin. "All aboard. Any of you know how to properly use a two-way radio?"

Morien shrugs, not letting the prospect of delays dampen her anticipation for being at sea again. "Join the rest of us when you're done, then. We shouldn't be hard to find." The selkie nods as if to say 'that's all' and heads out of the pub.

Past the car park, she pauses to take a deep breath and looks upriver expectantly.

When Molly and the captain are on their way, Morien sets her glass down with a sigh of relief. Pretending that she liked gin & tonic had been getting old quickly. But then, that was why she'd ordered it.

She settles her tab and pauses at Kenneth's table on her way to the door. "The Mote should be arriving before too long; I'm headed out by the water to meet her. Care to join me for a little night boating?" she asks whimsically.

Moriens' unfocused gaze out the window is interrupted by the chirp of her cellphone. She glares at it, but quickly taps out a response.

[I have a boat. Push Danny in the river and tell him to page Lyceus.]

Morien gives an amused smirk at the sibling infighting - or perhaps just the BBC. She leans back and cracks her knuckles. "Whatever she's up to," the selkie indicates Molly's table with a slight tilt of her head, "I'd bet my eyeteeth that she's got some tricks up her sleeve. Special ones."

She slides out of her chair in the direction of the bar. "See if I can get a better look."

Assuming nobody stops her:
Morien orders a gin & tonic and finds a place to be unobtrusive which offers a good view of the quay, with reflectors and the handful of running lights bobbing at dockside, and the shadow of sailboat masts obscuring the cityglow. Conveniently, it's a place where Molly's table is between her and the window.