Jinks Pearly Temple

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Among the gardens, scents mingle: green, loam and subtle sweetness, wafting from the meticulously groomed grounds. The lawns are richly green, dense and close-cropped, bordered with polished pale marble stones the size of a human man's fist. The pathways are smoothly cobbled in muted tones that subtly echo and contrast with the surrounding greenery, shaded by the lush canopies of tall, straight trees whose branches arch over the walkways to form open, airy tunnels. Elegantly ornate, tall mana-lamps of wrought black iron keep the paths softly lit in the evenings; they are often situated near benches of matching material and style. It is peaceful, here. Somber. It is also curiously warm and green no matter the time of year; leaves do change color in fall but remain on the trees until spring comes again.

At the heart of the park where the paths converge are large marble pedestals supporting bronze or marble statuary, chiseled letters upon the heavy bases naming the subject of each piece. The previous sculpture celebrating the union of Alexandros with Myrddion has been removed from the center of the garden and replaced with a gorgeous statue of the Crown Princess Lianna Rena and a marble walkway that leads to the Monument of Heroes - a newly-raised edifice celebrating those who fought and died on behalf of others. Tribute is still given to the friendship between Myrddion and Alexandros in the form of the paired standards mounted above the entrance to the Monument of Heroes: one from each nation. The flagstaffs are crossed and held by a Myrrish Knight and an Old-Alexandros Miner.

EXTRAS: +view

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Oates Stout human farmboy with genial grin & witty eyes 2m 4h

Abrahil A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons. 0s 1d

Sandy The HIPpest elf ever. Practically a HIPpy. 13s 16h

Halani Shortish, dusky skinned woman with almond shaped eyes 53s 23h

Jinks A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. 5m 4h

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North <N> South <S> East <E>

Bridge <W>

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<Meet> You join Sandy.

"*There* you bloody are," says Sandy, having come out of nowhere to talk to Oates. Whatever Oates was, is, or had been doing is not important to her. She just appeared, out of nowhere with her hands on her hips to say that.

"Do you still have the books?" she asks.

It's Gilday, Khael 05 20:41:27 1014. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing.

A cold wind blows from the west, driving charcoal clouds before it and blotting out the stars in isolated patches overhead. The air is clear and elsewhere the stars shine brightly.

"Sure do," replies Oates, closing the book that he had been perusing and digging the rest out of his backpack. "Sorry about the delay, but I hadn't caught your name when you had to depart, and wasn't sure where I was to bring the books." He makes sure that the books are in a tidy stack, then gives a slight bow. "Again, my apologies. Shall we resume taking these books where you need them?"

"Oh! Oh dear--there she IS!" Several yards away, a young gentleman, somewhat rotund, stands there in a hat and coat-tails. He beams, his reddish hair whisping gently in the evening wind. And he lifts a cane, punctuating 'is!' with a point towards Sandy.

"The heroine of the theatre!"

"Really?"

"Wow!"

"She's shorter than I thought..."

"I think she's kind of pretty..." adds one small, tiny girl.

Children. Children, just this side of their teenage years, apparently on an outing to see the sights of Alexandria. They wear smocks that mark them as visitors to the theatre--potential actors, stage hands...all.

"Oh, my, yes! Why, if you join the theatre, just think of all the heroes you'll get to portray! Just think!" the reddish-haired gnome chuffs.

"But I couldn't play /her/! My hips aren't big enough!" exclaims one of the other girls.

"Oh, my. Well, there's always padding, isn't there? Why, theatre is illusion! It's all about the illusion, you know!"

The cold-- and the hour, too, likely-- has driven most of the sane folk indoors for the evening. With Alexandria's ratio of adventurers to sane folk, though, that leaves plenty what might be walking around the gardens in the cold. Hells, they might still be here enjoying a quick break and a bite to eat (maybe even a drink) if the skies were weeping blood, the dead were rising from their graves, and the full range of hellborn daemons were being birthed across the planes from Taara's rotten loins.

The sky is a dome of colorless black tones from where you stand, the cloudcover unbroken, and the tree branches rustle in the wind spilling down from the Redridge to the east.

Jinks minds not the cold in his fur-lined cloak and stylish adventuring leathers. Thin sterling chains sway between piercings in his nose and ears and a Ceinaran ritual blessing is painted in bright colors on one cheek. An arm wraps around his companion while the she-gnome busies both hands with a cube-shaped contraption set with a trio of thin, aqua-glowing tubes, pressed copper wiring, and a circular lens that pulses faintly. The box has two sets of four loops-- on one side-side and another on the bottom-side-- through which her fingers are laced. Handles of a sort.

"... and so I'm left debating the merits of a refined beam or a more... bombastic Kulthian approach." She chirps, wrinkling her nose in that sort of 'I'm frustrated in a cute way' way. Even covered in pockets with assorted tools and knick-knacks dangling from a belt, the girl's dress is less elaborate than her black-eyed company.

"Ah, yes. A question that's puzzled generations past and present-- which will certainly trouble those in the future, as well." Jinks answers in that 'I'm doing my best to be interested in your contraption while I steal glances down your jacket front' manner.

Sandy goes North <N>.

Sandy has left.

Sandy has arrived.

The voices of children. Oh dear gods. Oh no. Not this. Anything but this. She looks over at the children, her eyes filling with dread before she casually puts Oates bewteen them and herself. She's using th4e man as a body shiedl for the time being. Then there's something even *worse* than children.

There is Jinks.

She finally turns to Oates and says, "Well," a careful beginning, "I can just... you know. Teleport them. Eventually." She eyes the books.

Oates glances over at the children, then over at Jinks. "Well, if'n it works for you, I could go to wherever you instruct me to take these books, on the chance that you have to leave suddenly again," he offers.

"Mom!" one of the urchins calls out suddenly. Just as another one says, "Dad!"

They look at eachother, these two kids, a girl and a boy, and then both turn to stare at Jinks and the lady beside him. And the little girl /does/ look a little...

That is, her hair is absolutely GORGEOUS.

She MUST be related.

To Jinks.

"Oh, yes! You'll play heroes, and..." and the red-haired man's speech trails off. Into.

Uncomfortable.

Silence.

Things were progressing nicely; some light getting-to-know-you contracts executed together, a celebratory dinner after collected bounties, and a few drinks in this lovely little not-quite-too-popular-yet spot just outside of the eastern markets. Now Jinks was whispering into the girl's ears and she was blushing-- only to be spoiled by the metaphorical cold shower of children shouting accusations of parental entanglement. The girl's smile fades into one of those 'I don't quite get the joke but I'd like to!' looks and Jinks goes stiff-rigid as he's torn between the instinct to flee and a pelvic-born desire to stay as close as possible to his current game.

Recovering quickly, Jinks runs a hand down the front of his goatee and plasters on the most relaxed of relaxed smiles. The kind of smile that would still be living in its mother's basement at thirty because going out and finding gainful employment is too much work. "You must have us confused, children. We've no sons or daughters. Though-- if we were to-- I'm sure we'd be happy they were so lovely and talented as you both."

"Good gods. You're actually believing in all this politeness stuff?" asks Sandy to Oates with a shocked look on her face. Then she eyes Abbrahil. Jinks. Abrahil. Jinks. There is an increasing level of horror on her face. "Just, uh...oh gods. Well." She clears her throat. "Just a moment." A hand is held up to him. "Did you read the books?"

Oates nods. "Not all of them, and not all of the way through, but the stories are good, and I think there's a few useful nuggets of information in them."

"...and," the red-haired man tries to continue, weakly. He glances towards Sandy and the farmboy, and clears his throat, looks a little nervous...

Juuuust when the little girl stomp-walks over towards Jinks with INTENT, as only an almost-teenager can do!

And then she tries to slap him across the face! "My mommy says you're a doody head! And you owe us money!!!"

The girl's angel-like face looks ready to break out into a chorus of: bless your little heart's. And her fluffy-soft snow-hair is just curly enough to make it cute. Pearl-Temple perfect, to name one of Myrddion's famous child actresses.

"Doody head!"

And just-like-that, some of the other children pick it up! "Doody head!" "Doody head!" "Doody--"

"Moooom! You're EMBARRASSSING me!" cries the boy, as the 'Doody head!' picks up. It's SO AWFUL. His poor ears are cherry-red! He'll have to walk on the other side of the street and wear shades after this!

And change his name!

And move to a different city!

Jinks takes being slapped in stride-- one might almost guess it's happened once or twice before. He blinks twice and looks down at her, sniffing a little and blinking. "I think you have me confused with Chiddle, miss. 'Ambassador Chiddle?' The Lower Trades Lothario? Of the Happy Valley gnomes? I come from Clockwork Pointe-- where men are taught to treat women as the lovely, intelligent, and ultimately unique creatures that they are.

"Look at you! So young, with your whole life ahead of you." Jinks takes his arm from around his date, leaving her to pay REALLY CLOSE attention to the mana-acceleration and redistribution engine (or MARE) she'd been talking about previously. He kneels down, shaking his head sadly. "Don't let your life be ruled by hate and distrust. The world is full of the good and the great. One horrible, horrible gnome like Chiddle shouldn't spoil you on men forever-- some day you'll find a handsome, talented young man who thinks the world of you, who will climb the highest mountain or pluck the very stars from the sky for you. Seek counsel with the Hearthguard. Bring your mother with you. I'm sure the goddess' chosen will have some words of wisdom."

As Jinks says all this, Sandy can't help but hesr it. She stares at him with shock, then coughs a few times before saying to Oates, "Oh, uh. Well. That is good," she nods her head up and down, "I was... just going to read them because they involved a lot of demon killing," she admits, as if this is a point of shame. Somehow. "Seemed sort of trashy, you know?" Then she glances over at Jinks again. Eyes him. Newfound respect.

Oates shrugs. "Nothing wrong with reading a good story... or a book with good info... or even a story with good info," he points out. "I take it you're fond of books of adventure, or was this more for research?"

"Doody-heaaaaad!"

"Don't listen to him!"

"But he's so haaaandsome!"

"Ffft! Girls!"

Jinks' gentle insistance just makes Little Dimples stomp her foot again, though. "I am NOT confusing you with Chiddle! And my hair is NOT made of poo!" and she adds, "And you owe my mom money! I want to go to school!"

This time? The shocked silence? Is of an entirely different sort.

The children STARE. And, the boy buries his face in his hands. SO EMBARRASSED.

Near all of this, the red-haired man coughs, but brightens as he overhears Sandy. "Oh, my! I do so love a good romance!" he says cheerfully. "We should compare notes sometime! And oh, my. Did you say 'adventure'?" if possible, he just...beams. It's like someone lit a lantern and shoved it inside the red-headed gnome's cheerful shell.

"Little bit of both, honestly," says Sandy. For some reason, she is being nice to Oates. Maybe this is because he is staying between her and Jinks and the rest of the children. Perhaps she's hoping they'll stop noticing her and paying attention to her at all.

"I'm sure your mother is just confused," Jinks says, offering a sympathetic smile. "How old are you, miss? I came to Alexandria short months before the final battles of the War for Sendor-- up until then I spent my life aboard airships through the Myrrish kingdoms. Before that I was living in my family's manse at Clockwork Pointe." A timeline, he's sure, that makes the girl much too old to be the fruit of his bits. He turns and looks up at his company for the evening, catching her eye and tilting his head. He'll see her some other time-- no need to endure this awkwardness. Trying not to look too relieved, the artificer takes a palm-sized disc from a pouch and hooks it against a pair of brass loops on her bracer. The strong smell of lightning struck fills the air and brass studs worn about her frame at chakra-points glow brightly before she spins in a tight circle and is swallowed into nothingness. Escape!

With a quiet sigh, Jinks turns back to his supposed-spawn and tilts his head in consideration. "Your hair is lovely-- I'd never even think of implying it was made of poo. What is it you'd like to go to school for?"

Oates nods. "If'n you don't mind my asking, what exactly is the research for? It sounds like you might be thinking of some sort of adventure, and I would'na mind helping in some way if I could."

Pause. Then somewhat awkwardly, "I want to be a singer. It's why I'm with him! I'm learning the theatre," she points a finger towards the round, red-haired gnome, who gives a little wave before turning back towards Sandy and Oates with a bit of attentiveness.

Perhaps he's taking notes for another play.

"We don't have money to really pay for it, though!" and then she gets mad at Jinks all over again!

That darn Jinks!

Jinks him!

"Oh dear gods. It's just getting worse," says Sandy, quietly, under her breath. Then she looks at Oates and adds, "Yeah, well. I guess you're right about that. And an adventure, eh? You're an adventurer?" she lifts hsr eyebrows, giving Oates a look now. "I used to be an adventurer --," she doesn't finish that sentence, though, instead adding, "... then you work for the guild?"

"My line of work has great demands on my coin, I'm afraid," Jinks tells the girl, stroking at his chin in thought for a moment. "No, sadly, I don't have much of any currency to spare... but I'd be happy to take an apprentice." He sniffs, and stands back up, pulling his winter cloak down in front of his shoulders. His black eyes narrow subtly as he looks down at the girl, "I expect a certain amount of discipline. If you've any gift at all for the craft I'll likely make you the greatest singer in all of Alexandros-- and if you have that spark I'll even show you how to touch the Hymn." He quirks an eyebrow and raises the inflection of the last word. Tempting. Tempting.

Halani has disconnected.

Oates nods. "Joined a few weeks ago, but haven't had many jobs yet. Helped sort out some trouble involving an angry mob and accusations of witchcraft, but mostly it's been odd jobs and helping out with incidental crafting and the like. Still, a job's a job."

Abrahil (the red-haired gnome, disguised!) clears his throat a bit. "Yes, you see. She's retired now...but you'd best be careful! One wrong look, and she'll breathe fire on you!"

And this? This distracts some of the children, who give Sandy a disbelieving look.

Where's the horns and tail??

Near Jinks, Dimples-and-Curls frowns at Jinks. And, "I want a contract." Apparently. Someone's mother...taught her well.

"You know what the first rule of b eing a really good adventurer is?" asks Sandy of Oates, "aside from the whole 'not dying' thing," she adds a moment later, still looking at Jinks and the kids.

Halani has connected.

That produces a chuckle and Jinks shakes his head. "Coyote laughs, girl. You're far too young to be so cynical." He takes a few steps around her, looking down at her and pressing his lips together in thought. "I don't work under contract and I won't be bound into your service when you stand to gain everything. I've no interest in a slave-- and I'd never abuse one of the People to my gain.

"You wish to learn how to sing? I can teach you. If you think the arrangement is unfair at any time you can walk away-- I won't beg to be allowed to improve your life. We require nothing so formal as a contract." He waves a hand dismissively, his rings glitter in the light of the mana lamps. "All I require is your time and you-- you require raw talent."

There's a snap of a button loosed and the gnome withdraws a pinch of glitter. He begins to sing a melodic scale; up two notes, down one, up two. He tosses the pinched flecks into the air and spins his hands around them, catching them to cavort in a sphere of soft pink motes. They dance as he waves his open palms and then fly away leaving streamers of the playful colors to explode in a brilliant flash of silver over one of the majestic trees lining the road. It sparkles, glows, and glints all festive and magicked. Jinks dusts his hands against one another smugly, "Take it or leave it."

"Ummm... only think that comes to mind is 'don't volunteer,' but I think that's more for the military," Oates muses aloud. "'Don't bite off more than you can chew' also comes to mind, but that might fit under 'not dying' for many of the same reasons." He looks at Sandy inquisitively, always willing to listen to the advice of those who know what they're doing.

(New BB message (2/10) posted to 'General' by BeagleBumble: Tenebrae Stories: Did You Know...?)

"You mean /me/," the girl says with a look at Jinks when he says 'raw talent.'

His daughter, INDEED.

She reaches out and grabs his hand, and as she does, there's a sort of chime. Everyone can hear it--it's a 'tonnnng,' the sound pure though low-pitched, as though someone, very very very far away, had hit a sort of bell.

The red-haired man appears frozen, in a way that's not-quite-right...

The black-eyed gnome simply shrugs. Proclamations of talent do little to impress him. "So you say... but only time will tell for sure, yes?" He offers a smile-- challenging-but-friendly. "Coyote smile on you, girl."

Abrahil goes OOC.