2020-02-05: Dinner for Three at a Funeral Home
| Dinner for Three at a Funeral Home | |
|---|---|
| Lochlan invites two of his friends, Parker and Zibiah, to his home and place of business. He introduces them, lets them both know that in pairings he and each woman has shared secrets with each other an that, while he will not share their secrets with the other himself, he wishes them to trust each other on his word to some degree. A meal that would likely disturb most who witnessed it is shared. | |
| IC Date | February 5th, 2021 |
| IC Time | evening |
| Players | Lochlan, Parker and Zibiah |
| Location | Underhill Funeral Home |
| Spheres | Ananasi & Changeling |
Lochlan gets word to both Zibiah and Parker that he would like them to come over to the funeral home for an evening of cocktails, cuisine, and good company. No, really, the invitation really has that written on it. In Parkers case, if need be, the invitation will be delivered via word of arachnid mouth. Because even though Lochlan doesn't speak the language of spiders himself, he is well acquainted with others who do. When his guests arrive, they are welcomed to the funeral home by Lochlan's retinue, a tall older mortal gentleman whom they both have met before. He will show them to the dining room, where Lochlan waits at a long table. All the place settings have been moved to one end of the table though, to make the intimidating room slightly more intimate. A fully stocked sidebar is on one side of the room, and Lochlan already appears to be halfway through a glass of absinthe.
Zibiah arrives roughly five minutes early, the sound of her heels clicking on the glossy wood floor as she’s led into the dining room by Lochlan’s assistant. In her finely-tailored black sheath dress, she could be attending a funeral herself, except for the blood-red stilettos, which are distinctly inappropriate for such an occasion. Her hair is swept back in a neat French twist from which a few wisps escape around her face, and she makes her way over to Lochlan with a smile, laying a hand on his arm as she slides into a seat next to him. “Good evening,” she says. “I’m looking forward to meeting more of your ... associates?”
Having been invited like a normal person, Parker comes to the funeral home like a normal person: leaving her motorcycle parked outside and stepping in wearing a black turtleneck and matching black pants and leather boots. She looks around the place to see if anything has changed since her last visit and says, "Hello Mr. Underhill," to her host as she is show into his presence.
On the first floor, the only immediate sign of change is the presence of some building materials and some contractor's tools. Otherwise the funeral home looks the same there as the last time Parker was here. Lochlan whispers to Zibiah when she arrives, "I hope you will get along famously, but I will settle for simply tolerating each other's existence. Really, introducing any two people you like to each other is doomed to end in failure." Lochlan is in an especially fatalistic mood it seems, but he rises to greet Zibiah before gesturing to one of the two other place settings. "Anything in particular you would like to drink with dinner? We will be serving red meat."
When Parker is shown into the room, Lochlan is in the middle of reclaiming his seat. However, at the sight of the woman he rises and smiles a crooked smile. He waits for her to come close enough to hear his rasping whisper of a voice, before greeting her verbally, "Please, let me introduce you to Zibiah Tzarfati. Ms. Tzarfati, this is Ms. Morales, my dearest eyes in the dark." He then motions again to the chairs, "Please, everyone have a seat. Let me know what I can get for you in terms of liquid refreshment."
“Well, that’s dark,” Zibiah says, though her expression is one of amusement. As Parker enters, she stands and offers a hand to the new arrival. “Please call me Zibiah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” To Lochlan, she adds, “As you know, I prefer scotch, and if we’re having red meat I can see no reason to alter my usual habit.”
Parker's eyes narrow slightly at the use of her other name so openly. "I'll take a White Russian Shake if your man can provide it," she says to Lochlan in response to his offer before she nods to the other woman. "Hello... Zeebah," she says fumbling with the pronunciation of the name before adding, "You can call me Parker."
Lochlan pulls out his cellphone and rattles off a text message quickly, before tucking it back away. Then he rises and whispers, "Please, speak amongst yourselves while I see to your drinks." He walks over to the side bar and begins preparing the requested alcoholic beverages. His employee comes into the room shortly there after with a bottle of what seems to be the cream for Parker's white russian, before departing again.
“Close enough,” Zibiah says with a laugh. “You can call me Zib if that’s easier. Parker.” She sits back down, smoothing her dress over her knees. “How did you and Lochlan meet, if you don’t mind me asking? Do you also work in the death care business?” Her blue eyes are wide and intense, but friendly, her expression open and curious.
Parker nods and pulls her phone out of a pocket in her pants and types some notes into it, looking up at Zibiah a couple of times as the taps out the information. "If I don't make a note about it I'm going to have a harder time than not remembering your name at all," she explains about the note before saying, "I was exploring the city and you could say I crawled my way into the place. And no, I'm not in the death care business," only to follow it up with a return question of, "Are you?"
There is the sound of a shaker going as Lochlan prepares Parker's White Russian. Then pouring its contents into a rocks glass with ice, he picks up the scotch he has already poured for Zibiah and carries both drinks back to his guests. Moving behind each woman, setting the drinks down on each of their lefts, respectively. "Your drinks." The one eyed young man then reclaims his own seat and his own beverage. He takes a sip of the absinthe, smiling but otherwise remaining quiet as the pair make small talk.
Zibiah nods, turning toward her bag and pulling out a business card, printed with THRESHOLDS Natural Death Services on one side and her contact information on the other, and offers it to Parker. “I’ve just moved from the Bay Area and I’m waiting for all my permits and inspections to go through so I’ve been helping out a bit. A mutual acquaintance put me in contact with Lochlan and we rather hit it off. Similar outlooks, I suppose you could say.” She picks up the drink and extends it toward him, and then Parker with a smile. “L’chaim.”
Parker looks at the drink in confusion but says nothing at first. She takes the card and nods. "I make custom silk clothing and... well, I'm a fighter and may be joining an association for such activities," she says to Zibiah. She takes a sip of the drink and says to Lochlan, "Not enough ice cream in this to make it a shake... must have all melted on the way out here," about it before continuing to speak with his business association. "I wouldn't say that Mr. Underhill and I have a similar outlook but... we've been known to see eye to eye to eye sometimes," with that oddity of phrasing she winks to the changeling and then says to Zibiah, "I don't know French to recognize that last."
"It is Hebrew," Lochlan whispers softly, "Meaning "To Life". And it is a toast I have always disliked. If there is even a milligram worth of power in those words, think of how much business we have lost, Zibiah." He then smiles to Parker and looking down at her drink, "Ah, my apologies. Entirely my mistake. I don't believe we have any ice cream in stock in the kitchen, but how about I have my man go out and get some after dinner is served for the evening?"
“Without life, no death,” Zibiah replies with a shrug. “I was born in Israel - or, well, land that is currently legally included in Israel, anyway. It’s simply the most common Hebrew toast. And after all, we are enjoying the fruits of life tonight.” She laughs softly. “It’s an inextricable cycle, really.”
Parker nods as if she understand while it is fairly obvious that she does not understand much of what Zibiah says. "That'll work but I guess I should've asked if you had the makings first," she replies to Lochlan before sipping some more of the White Russian she was brought as she apparently is unsure how to continue the conversation at the moment.
Lochlan picks up the absinthe spoon that sits next to his glass, and uses it to chime the glass softly before standing up from his seat, "Ladies, I invited you both here tonight because you both are people I consider friends, and because you both will likely run into each other again. Now, you have each trusted me in turn with some of your secrets, as I have trusted each of you with some of mine. I will not betray either of your secrets to the other, nor would I ask you to reveal them to each other after but a brief conversation." As Lochlan says this, his servant comes in with an actual covered silver platter and sets it on the table before leaving. "But I do ask that for my sake, you trust me when I say that you are both are very special women. And that within these four walls, you may be as much yourselves as you feel comfortable being. You have each met myself and my brother." A second silver platter is brought in while he is saying this, followed by a third. "I have had three meals prepared tonight."
He pulls the lid off of the first platter. It appears to be a collection of stale bread and moldy cheese. Then the lid off the second platter. It is a standing rib roast, sliced thin. Cooked medium rare. The third plater is revealed. It is a pile of hearts, kidneys, and other organs, likely human. They seem remarkably fresh. Lochlan's one eye gleams with a morbid, slightly deranged light as he whispers, "Dinner is served."
Zibiah’s blue eyes gleam with a wild light. Without waiting for further invitation, she reaches forward with both hands and grabs a piece of raw liver, putting it straight into her mouth and swallowing it without even much chewing. She’s remarkably clean about it, but even with her inherent daintiness she ends up with some gore on her hands and around the corners of her mouth. After decimating far more of the organ meat than one would ordinarily assume a petite woman of her size capable of, she dabs at her face and hands with the napkin, blushing, eyes downcast.
Parker doesn't bother to hide her disgust at the dish that was obviously prepared for their host. Instead she serves herself a slice of rib roast and then takes a kidney from the third tray. She uses a fork and knife to eat, mimicking human eating habits even though she's eating something most people would ignore as non-food. Zibiah's mode of eating doesn't cause the Ananasi to blink at all, rather she smiles at the other woman. "Why are you blushing, Zab?" she asks, getting the name wrong as she is unable to check the notes on her phone, "Underhill said we should be ourselves after all." She then asks their host, "I've not been here recently, any pests I can take care of for you tonight before I head home?"
Lochlan does indeed take a slice of stale bread, before using his knife to spread some moldy cheese onto it like it is the most normal thing in the world. He is clearly pleased that both the women have left their guard down at least enough to indulge in some forbidden flesh in each other's company. He whispers over the sounds of meat being chewed, "Not that I am aware of, Parker. But if you wish to do a sweep, I would be thankful for the extra peace of mind."
