25October 2012-Michael-Janvier
The Sideshow - Sunroom and Gardens(#3934RA)
The Sideshow
The exclusive portion of the club holds fast to the ideals of home and inspiration to artistic vision. There are still nods to the Sideshow theme, primarily found in the statuary present. The VIP area is an oversized glass sunroom that leads to the outdoor gardens beyond it. Greenery infuses the space, built with hanging gardens, and pedestals overflowing with life. Much of the plant life is new and fresh, recently imported and meant to grow in and overflow the area. Only one singular statue is found in the sunroom itself, something molded from light material, for it is crafted to appear as if it was a man suspended by sharp hooks through the flesh. Ivy and moss grows to his crafted flesh and his expression is one of utter bliss. He is, of course, the requisite 'Sideshow Freak.'
The furniture universally is all teak wood, though some of it is clearly meant for indoor use only with the cushions that are placed on it. Oversized chairs, sofas and loveseats are all strategically placed throughout. Even the bar -- for there is a small one placed to one end with lovingly crafted barstools -- is made from the material. The furniture outside is also of the wood, though there is more freeform to the design of the benches. The wood left in a more natural state with knots and twists. There is no conformity to it though it is clearly functional. Much of the funiture, indoor or out, is placed that the simple outdoor stage can be viewed.
The water gardens outside are impressive for being as new as they are to the area. Along the walkways there is water that is set to motion, falling across stone, while in other areas there are more serene koi ponds. A small bridge in particular has been set up, a good focal point for a picturesque scene. A statue of a siren has been placed near and a stone sign proclaims it the famous Fiji Mermaid. To the rear of the area, beyond a small field of grass, there are six modern trailers that have been set up to appear as though they were part of a circus caravan.
This area is full of vibrant color and elements of the Dreaming. Chimerical fireflies and fire sprites are visible quite often, as are dancing water elementals. Brownies, tiny and savage, wage war amidst the foliage of the greenery. So too are the statues, though none more than the Freak, aka Green Man. A chimerical proclamation with bold lettering reads: "Eyes of both faerie and mundane dwell here. Take caution with your words."
The weather is just about perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, the sun is bright and shining on this fine fair morning. A slightly peaked Ionae is sipping tea, a platter of plain toast and some crackers beside her. The tea seems to be helping bring color back into her striated cheeks. She looks over to Mongo, trying to resist the urge to smile at seeing such a small teacup held in the troll's hand, and instead directs her smile up to his face. "Have you found an area you like for your academy yet?"
Mongo without a trace of comedy or irony, sips his tea with pinky extended. The guy's had tea literally around the world, and it is very important to know about various manners involving it. "I was wondering if it would be possible to be next to or very near to Aisling territory? We've got a couple of ideas for working together on some projects so it would definitely be handy. That said, if you want to spark growth by putting me elsewhere, I'm more than amenable to the idea. There's still be collaboration." sip.
Carolyn enters, stifling a yawn, and heads for the bar. Seeing Alala and Mongo she waves to them but before detouring their way she collects a coffee from the bar with cream and lots of sugar. "G'morning...I was hoping Father Cross'd be here, I said something about buying him breakfast and he said something about that being in need of a cure for starvation. How're you both?" She manages not to giggle at Mongo's pinky, but it's a struggle and her grey eyes flicker with amusement.
Cross pressed open the door to the VIP room, the worn out and tired looking old preacher taking a slow glance around the green expanse of gardens and the small paradise contained in the VIP room. His eye landed on Carolyn, and he smiled warmly. Ah, there was his 'date'. And she was with good company! He approached the group with a friendly wave from a scarred hand.
Cross
Old. Tall. Crazy. Irish. That about sums up the average persons summary of who 'Father' Cross is. His head is topped with a mane of lanky red hair. It would perhaps be curly if it had been washed in recent history. Its lanky and tangled, matted down against his head. He wears a wide brimmed hat over his head to shield his weathered features from the suns damage... But that damage was already done. His skin was a tanned brown like leather. His face was crinkled in wrinkles, and it didn't help that he seemed to be quite thin and emaciated. His left eye is completely missing, and he wears no covering over the ravaged socket. There is a line crossing from his upper temple, over the eye, and onto the bridge of his nose, showing that he was struck by something that removed the eye. His lips were thin, and his one good eye looked out at the world with an intensity that could be downright unsettling if you were to meet his gaze.
His upper body is shielded by very thick, heavy Vestments that looked like they'd seen as much wear and tear in their life as 'Father' cross himself had. It was a thick coat with a high collar that went up high enough to cover up to his chin. It was usually warn open in the front, and it would hang all the way down to his ankles, the end of it terribly frayed from years of being dragged on the ground. It looked like it had been patchwork repaired countless times. It had long sleeves that went beyond his gaunt hands, hiding them from view if he places his hands together.
What can be seen when the vestment is opened is that he wears a variety of medallions, trinkets, and figurines around his neck. People from most walks of religious life could identify a symbol there. The most predominant however, is a foot tall cross made out of thick wood that has been exquisitely carved. It hangs from a leather-bound rosary of carved beads.
The man seems to not be wearing a shirt beneath the vestment, exposing his liver-spotted, thin upper body. He is hairy, generally unattractive, and old. Its clear that this is someone that could use a good meal or 3. However, the most noteworthy thing about his upper body as the advanced scarification mark that had been painstakingly etched into his flesh. It was a cross that went from just below his breasts, across his entire upper body, and from the hollow of his neck right down to his navel. It was a dark purple, and nearly two inches thick across. Years, and years of effort went into that disfiguring mark, which further added to the reasons people tended to avoid him on the street. Though they were less visible and much smaller, the same sort of scarification tattoos were in the palm of each hand.
His lower half is covered by a set of heavy pants, the end of the pants tucked into the well-worn leather boots on his feet. There were no laces on the boots, they looked to be held on with lengths of cloth tied around his calves.
There is a worn falling apart satchel carried under his jacket that rests against his side, held to his body by a piece of cord looped over one shoulder. The old man has an almost palpable aura around him. Be you supernatural or sleeper, there is a strength of something about him that would be uneasy to be around. He almost radiates some otherworldly strength.
Alala looks up and over to Carolyn as she arrives, her expression hidden behind that noble mask, though the glitter in her gem-like eyes (At least to fae eyes) seems sympathetic. "Good morning, Carolyn. You are welcome to sit with us until the Good Father makes an appearance." Speaking of the devil, Alala turns her head at the sound of the door, and smiles as she sees Liam waving Cross through. There is the subtle shift in her body language as she mentally slips into 'human' mode. Relaxing her posture slightly, loosening the mask she keeps on so very tightly. A warm smile is sent his way, and a lift of her teacup. "Welcome Father Cross, do join us."
Mongo
A huge man, over seven feet tall stands before you. He has close cropped brown hair, easily maintained with a simple combing. His eyes are clear, bright and blue. He has high set cheek bones that run down and a lantern like jaw line that leads to a square dimpled chin. His massive, broad physique doesn't necessarily taper - he's built like a wall - but there's very little softness to him. He's mostly muscle. He carries himself like an athlete.
He's dressed simply. A black button up shirt is halfway opened revealing a red shirt underneath it. The button up shirt itself is rolled to the elbows at the sleeves, and both tucked into a pair of well worn jeans. The jeans fit well, are neither too tight nor too baggy, and lead down to a pair of work boots. He doesn't wear much in the way of jewelry, and doesn't have much to his style that makes him stand out more than his size already does.
A towering Troll, standing almost 11 feet high. He has longish brown hair, and bright blue eyes that matches his skin. Two massive horns grow from the highpoints on his hairline and curl into majestic ram-like horns. His skin is the color of the clearest summer skies and the complexion of marble. There is a bare minimum of softness covering his hard and muscular physique.
He wears a simple black shirt and pants. His boots are simple boots, from which a pair of spurs are strapped. He wears a gold chain around his neck as a sign of title. When he's dressed like this, he's usually not armed.
Alala
Solid. Steady. Firm. Dependable. Stubborn. From the angle of her jaw to the calm reserve in those dark hazel eyes, this is a woman who gives the impression of being a rock in a storm, calm, cool, collected. Her dark hair is pulled back in a no frills practicality, that still manages to have a quiet sensuality to it, expressed in the shiny waves of glossy hair. Her complexion is a warm golden tone, hinting at a potentially Mediterranean heritage. Thick black lashes frame a pair of hazel eyes, set at a slight slant. Her nose is a touch too large, adding character to her patrician features; a small thin scar crosses the bridge, grazing the top of one high, broad cheekbone. Her lips are full, adding a generous note to her composed features, a hint of something more under the businesslike facade.
She's built like an athlete or policewoman or firewoman. Tall, leanly muscled with long, elegant limbs and exceedingly good posture. She walks in comfort in her skin, possessing an athlete's sense of her body; moving with grace and confidence. She dresses in earth tones and dark colors, dark slacks, forest green shirts, button ups worn open over lighter tank tops. She wears very little jewelry, only her wedding band, really. Platinum, encrusted with what look like diamonds, flanked by two thin bands of crimson metal.
The Earth holds treasures buried under her skin, and this particular sidhe seems forged those very things. Crowned in dark, silky waves of hair the same shade as fertile, loamy earth. The curls are shot through with warm bands of copper, gleaming streaks of gold highlighted with silver and platinum creating an ombre effect. Her skin is carved from alabaster, variegated shades of pale, like lightning running through her skin. Her face is rather angular, her features seemingly delicate on their own, and yet together they arrange to an expression that exudes a sense of strength, solidness, dependability and earthiness uncommon with Arcadian sidhe as this one seems to be. Dark brows curve over wide eyes of polished black opal; brilliant green, electric blue and purple, shimmering with gem-like fire. Her nose is patrician, set above a lovely mouth, generous, full lips the color of unpolished rubies. Her chin is a gentle point, though often set into a stubborn, determined angle.
She's rather short for a sidhe, standing just over five and a half feet. Built like a sidhe warrior, despite the elegant, willowy limbs she still gives the appearance of solidity. She's dressed simply, an off the shoulder, sleeveless ivory blouse whose straps lay against her biceps. A forest green leather vest is laced up tightly, over top. A pair of chocolate brown leggings are tucked into a pair of boots only a shade darker. Her jewelry is elegant and matches perfectly; a ruby and diamond pendant and bracelet are both set in platinum, as is her wedding band, the central band encrusted with gems that glow with starlight flanked by two thin bands of crimson.
Carolyn
She's tall for a woman, 5'7", and athletic. Her long hair is auburn, shot through with coppery highlights. Her eyes are grey as sea mist and glitter like frost. Her features are fine boned, overlaid by smooth, fair skin. The same classic beauty is echoed through the rest of her form, and augmented by the grace that comes of self confidence. Her voice is a quiet soprano. Her only jewelry is a gold necklace, plain but of high quality, from which dangles a silver crucifix. Her hair is a spill of loose curls, a wave of dark auburn streaked with copper and gold hilights wehre the sun has bleached it, that spreads across her shoulders down to her shoulderblades.
She's wearing jeans, a sweater, and low boots. Her cardigan has a somewhat low v-neck, and is short, letting show some of her belly as she moves. It's knit from red cotton, comfortable looking, and eyecatching. Her jeans are faded and a bit tight. Her shoes are black ankle boots, with silver trim on the toes. The uppers are loose and floppy, cuffed over and decorated by some short tassels.
Fiery gold and gleaming copper hair, eyes grey and glittering as frost...the sidhe woman is fair, and light as the dawn, terrible and splendid as a queen of old. There is strength, though, under her fair skin. A heart shaped face, with high cheekbones and a strong chin is tempered by fine bone structure to give her features a strong yet delicate beauty. This same beauty is echoed through the rest of her form, and augmented by the grace of a dancer, sure footed and quick. When she speaks, her voice is a quiet soprano. Her hair is pulled back into a french braid, the tail of the braid dangling between her shoulderblades, and tied off with length of green ribbon.
She's dressed in black, silver, and grey. Her blouse is grey silk, almost silvery, tucked into a pair of snug black leather pants, which in turn tuck into soft boots of black leather. Her belt is silver, a knotwork pattern of fine chain links woven together. A sword sheath of black leather with silver trim hangs from that belt. The sword is long and light and double edged, heavier than a rapier but only just. It's the plain tool of a soldier, well cared for but the silver wire grip worn with use.
Mongo nods pleasantly to Carolyn, "Good morning, and yes, you can giggle at me sipping tea all you want." he says with a grin. "I know it looks horribly amusing." his tone is good natured and warm. It's about then that Father Cross appears and the big fella has a ready smile for him, "Long days and pleasant nights, Padre! Long time no see!" he says, pleasantly surprised to see him.
Carolyn looks up as Alala spots Cross and waves back to him. \"Thank you," she tells Alala quietly, an Irish accent slipping into her voice. She takes a seat next to Alala leaving the space next to Mongo for Cross. She watches the old man, a bit of worry in her expression due to his haggard appearance. "Come have some breakfast Father...my treat, as promised, so eat well or I'll be insulted." The Irish accent grows a bit stronger as she speaks.
Cross smiled warmly to the trio, approaching and settling down with a soft grunt as he placed himself by Mongo, before relaxing and chuckling softly. "Feels good to rest these old bones." He said with an idle chuckle, "Thank ye all for the warm welcome. I don't get by as much as I used to." He said, settling in comfortably. "How've ye been Mongo?(Or whatever name Cross knows him as >.>)"
Gawky, long legs, long arms, but arrogant despite the lack of grace in his stride. Michael Janvier Baron High Ridge enters and strolls unhurriedly for a table. He more or less ignores all about him other than to not trip over them. The man takes a table and settles in to wait for the waiter or waitress to appear.
Alala nods to Carolyn and picks up her teacup, sipping it slowly. She seems to be concentrating on her breathing, as if she were feeling unwell, though she's also attempting not to draw attention to it. Whatever ails her seems to pass and soon she's setting her tea down with some rosiness in her pale cheeks. The arrival of Michael Janvier is not lost on her and Alala's head turns as she studies the man. "I shall have to have a talk with Liam." The tenor of her voice, Cross or not, is pure sidhe arrogance. A slip of her true self as she looks to the newly arrived man.
Mongo nods, "I've been pretty good, Father. Been coming and going, but mostly hanging around." he says and sips his tea. That's when Mongo gets tense. He sees the other new arrival and glances between Alala and Carolyn, his muscles visibly ratcheting up a notch. He sets down the teacup before anything can happen to it.
Carolyn murmurs a quiet order to the waitress who shows up at their table even as Janvier sits down at another. Done placing her order, she follows Alala's gaze to Janvier. "Who's he," she asks.
Cross blinked at Alala at her words, and the one-eyed man angled his head towards the newcomer, gauging him warily. "Oh?" He asked softly of Alala, his voice a murmur, "Is this one going to be a problem?" He asked with mild interest as he examined the newcomer. Another glance back at Alala, the preacher letting a finger point to his vacant eye socket for just a moment, with a quizzical tilt of his other eyes brow. Mongo's words and actions did not exactly relieve him any. "Seriously, are we going to have a problem?" He asked, no eagerness in his voice, just something rather akin to exhaustion.
Michael Janvier seems blithely unaware of the tension his presence has brought. He orders his breakfast, "Eggs Benedict, and a pot of tea," in the cultured voice of a graduate of Oxford, his rich voice rolling across the gardens. He dismisses the waiter with a glance, and then looks toward the other table. A polite nod of his head acknowledges Alala. Cross and Mongo aren't even glanced at. Then his eyes settle on Carolyn.
"Not at all Father. This is a family establishment. I merely dislike that particular, disrespectful individual." Alala turns her face from Michael, not returning the nod, a direct social cut. She looks instead to Cross and flashes a smile that is somehow all teeth. Her complexion is better, her cheeks not lacking in color now. She turns to pin Carolyn with a bit of a look. There is a message there in her eyes, something, again, that slips beyond her usual low-key vibe and into the territory of unspoken command. She attempts to hold Carolyn's gaze as if that could physically keep her in her seat as she murmurs, "That," up comes the teacup, a sip taken, "Is Michael Janvier. And I strongly encourage you not to run over and do something you may later regret."
Grey eyes flash at Alala's explanation, and a towering fury builds in Carolyn like the clouds of a thunderstorm. For a breathless instant there's a feel as of lightning but then Carolyn gets the reins on her anger, for the moment at least, though she trembles with the effort of it. "Dead men have no need of wives," she growls, that Irish accent thick and grey eyes nearly black.
Mongo shakes his head, "Nah, Father..no problem. Just some people I like less than others," he glances towards Caro and back, "Others I can't entirely vouch for anyway."
Cross nodded his head slowly to Alala, just dipping it politely towards her as he watched Michael for a moment before letting his gaze fall back to Alala and Carolyn, watching with interest the short conversation between them. Stare. Where did that outburst come from?! "Easy lass..." Cross murmured softly to Carolyn, looking at her quizzically for an explanation, his gaze flicking to Alala, then back to Carolyn.
The woman's rage washes over Janvier like water from teflon, it just doesn't stick. A hint of a smile curves High Ridge's thin lips and he gets up and approaches the other table. A slight bow. "Ladies," he says to the sidhe. The troll and the human don't even get a glance. "We haven't met," he tells Carolyn, "But I feel certain we'll quickly grow quite close."
"Death is off the table, and not for us to decide anyhow. We are not gods to grant death. Each life, even miserable ones are precious. We must remember this." Alala states as she pours herself some more tea. She glances towards Cross and offers him a smile, "Is that not right, Father?" When Michael comes to the table, Alala is on her feet in the blink of an eye, turning to look the man in the eye. "You are not welcome here and you would be wise to simply walk away." There is an added weight to those last words, a snarl barely suppressed in Alala's voice that, while overall her tone remained polite, for those last two words, there is a pulling back of the veil to reveal that she really quite dislikes this person.
Mongo isn't the type of person who advertises his size, nor what he can do with that size. He's for the most part, soft spoken and gentle. So, for those who know him they might understand the significance of him backing up Alala by simply standing. It's not that he stands, it's how. It's almost a transformation how someone as big as he is can simply stand and appear to gain a few feet of height and double their width and their visage turn to utter stone. Really, the only difference is the fact that he's not green or wearing purple stretch pants. For those familiar with Mongo? It could be quite a sight.
In no mood to be lectured, Carolyn makes an exasperated sound but Janvier is there before she can say anything else. "Never," is the only thing she says to Janvier and That's little more than a hoarse whisper as she fights to keep herself seated and her hands off the man's throat. Mongo's suddenly looming presence helps, it distracts her ever so briefly and that sudden threat in her defense is reassuring. A deep breath and a black look.
Cross nodded, "Aye Alala. Quite true." He did not take more than a moment to shift to standing as Janvier approached, moving his frail, but tall, form to partially block Javier’s views of Carolyn. He spoke not a word, but.... Well, he'd be pretty hard to ignore. A thrum of primal 'power' just happened to spark from the man. Quite un-fae like. The universe may have just growled, through Cross. But as soon as it had come, it had faded. The expressionless preacher certainly wasn't claiming it, though his one eye was intently watching the intruding man.
Michael Janvier isn't completely brain dead, and he takes the Countess' advice, backing away with a blank expression and hate in his eyes. He turns, and stalks from the room. "I'll have what's mine," his rich, cultured voice proclaims as he opens the door to exit.
The hate in Michael's eyes is met by calm... actually, no; it's smug assurance really, in Alala's eyes. "You'll certainly get what you deserve." That retort is given in a sugary sweet tone from Alala. She does not move to sit until the man is fully gone from the gardens. "Liam? That man is not welcome back here unless by permission from either Dyson or myself." The Behemoth at the door nods, looking at Janvier intently, memorizing his face.
Mongo makes one or two steps towards Michael as he begins to walk out, a massive hand curling into a wrecking ball fist.
"Mongo. Let him go." There is no mistaking the naked command in Alala's voice. This is the tone of someone who expects to be obeyed.
Carolyn remains seated...if she got up she'd almost certainly lose what tenuous control she has. When he's gone and Alala directs Liam to prevent his return she relaxes somewhat. "Thank you," she murmurs to the other three, voice hoarse and rather harsh with the emotions she's been trying to keep collared.
Cross sat down roughly, looking slightly more tired as he took another sip from the well of power within him that was already rather depleted. "Someone mind explaining' to me what that was?'
Mongo is commanded and takes a deep breath; there is a chuff to his voice that is clear disappointment. He uncurls his fist, and returns to his seat. His expression is somewhat dour and if facial expressions could talk, his would say 'you never let me have any fun.'
"It is a complicated issue. He has some legal document that implies that Miss Owen owes him something. The fact that he is deliberately provoking in no way makes this situation more appealing." Alala replies, motioning for Mongo to sit even as she moves back to her chair as well. Once she's reclaimed her perch, she's picking up a slice of toast and nibbling on it. "Understandably upset," She shoots a look Carolyn's way, "I have been attempting to tell Carolyn that the situation will resolve itself, but she is shaken and upset. As she has every right to be."
"Upset?" Carolyn says with a snort of what might be charitably called laughter. "Such a mild word. If he tries to lay a hand on me he'll be lucky to pull back a stump."
Cross frowned heavily at the news he was given. "He does does he?" Cross said quietly, shaking his head. "It's why I've never liked legalities." He muttered quietly, his gaze moving to Carolyn. "He better not try." Unspoken threats instead of blunt ones, Cross was learning! "I imagine this is uh..." A glance sideways at Mongo. "Sideshow business?"
Alala sends Carolyn a look. This look is trying to be a quelling one. When Cross mentions 'Sideshow business' there is a low annoyed sigh from Alala. "It has nothing to do with our establishment. Carolyn is not an employee here." She falls back to a dogged sort of denial. Nothing supernatural about this place! Nope. Move along, nothing otherworldly at all.
Mongo is silent, resumes sipping his tea. He resumes his usual bearing, but the dark look on his face remains and his eyes are a stormy blue. He glances to Carolyn, his eyes rest on her a moment before looking back down at the table.
The moment passed, the object of her ire departed, Carolyn takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. Maybe it helps...her voice is nearer normal when she speaks, though that Irish accent is thicker than ever and some Gaelic words actually creep in. "Thank you fiorchara," she tells the three. "
Dyson comes out from one of the trailers.
Dyson has arrived.
The moment past, the object of her ire departed, Carolyn takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. Maybe it helps...her voice is nearer normal when she speaks, though that Irish accent is thicker than ever and some Gaelic words actually creep in. "Thank you fiorchara," she tells the three. "Thanks for standing up, literally, for me. I'll not forget." She's sitting with Cross and Alala and Mongo at a table, tension still thick in the atmosphere.
Cross simply nodded his head to Alala then, "Ah. Well, perhaps Carolyn could get some sort o' restrainin' order to keep him from botherin' her in private places then..." Cross said softly, before rolling his slender shoulders as he took a glance towards Carolyn, smiling warmly. "Ye know I always will rise for you." He said simply, before shifting to his feet. "And... since that fuck ordered somethin' tasty and left without it, I suppose I shall not let it waste." And off Cross went to steal Michaels Eggs benedict and pitcher of tea. Om nom nom hungry preacher.
Oh timing. From the general direction of the trailers, Dyson manifests. The young man moves with no exceptional hurry, his stride a leisurely thing that often accompanies one that is either on break or does not need to return to work that day. This is a particularly apt image for in hand is a lovely sketchbook with a pen held fast to it. His path is one that takes him vaguely in the direction of that mundane home resting near, out beyond the fence, and yet something causes him to pause. His lips purse and there is a slow turn of his focus until, through the glass, he spies one particular person. That would be his wife. It's uncanny really how that happens, that honing in on her that occurs, but such is what it is. Soon enough his course changes and he moves towards the entry to the sunroom, oblivious of the current emotional climate.
<FAE> There is, of course, a flare of his glamour as glamour senses glamour. That is what lends to Leras' awareness of his wife being near.
Mongo looks to Carolyn and his eyes soften. The look he gives her and the gentle tone of voice he uses perhaps make him transparent. Could be it gives everything away, but Fenwick is the kind of guy who keeps his heart guarded but well on his sleeve. His face takes on a light smile, from the mask of sheer nothingness it once was. "How could I not?" he asks rhetorically.
<FAE> There is the unmistakable sense of Ionae's glamour rising, bringing that cool, heavy aura with it as Leras nears.
Alala looks to Carolyn and glances between her and Mongo for a moment. "We are as family, Carolyn. I will not let any harm come to you, or any you hold dear." Again those eyes shift to Mongo in speculation. However it's short lived as her head turns sharply, eyes searching until... there he is! Dyson's arrival does not go unnoticed. She sits in her chair, lips curling up at the corners, anticipation naked on her face.
Carolyn can't help but smile as Cross appropriates Janvier's eggs benedict. "I suppose he was useful for something," she allows. She notices Dyson coming and watches as he and Alala begin their ritual. "I...should go though, I think. I need to calm down a bit. Father Cross, a raincheck on breakfast?"
Cross did not take long to return with a small tray containing his appropriated meal. He settled back into his spot beside Mongo, placing the tray on the table as he calmly went about pouring himself a glass of tea. He was oblivious of Dysons approach until he noticed Alala staring off at something with that look of anticipation on her face. He blinked, casting his gaze off that way and nodding slowly as he understood, a smile forming on his features. Timing indeed! A nod was given to Carolyn, "Well... alright lass, if ye feel ye should go." He said with a quiet nod, "I'd give it a few before goin' out." He said with a thumbjerk towards the entrance towards the Sideshow, "Just incase someone is waitin' for ye."
It is quite likely that Dyson is going to remain rather oblivious there of the general tone, as focused as he is on his wife. His gaze lids heavily and the very corners of his lips curve upwards at the corners for an adoring little smile that belongs completely to Ionae alone. When he draws near the delay of the ritual is only momentarily, a simple pause so that he can set the sketchbook and pencil down upon the table before Alala and then he shifts further. Awkward angle be damned, he brushes his fingers across her shoulder, travels the length of her neck and finally delves into her hair for that claiming and possessive twist. He lowers his lips then to hers, kissing her in a manner that is relatively appropriate for public. "Hello, beloved," he whispers, easing back just enough so that he can tip his head in the opposite direction and steal a little brief kiss to the corner of her mouth before straightening completely. "Carolyn," he greets, his brow quirking slightly. Evidently he is not entirely oblivious to the goings-on, for he continues with, "I regret being unable to speak with you at greater length." Then he greets Mongo with an inclination of his head, and finally, of course, Cross in similar vein. The old preacher's words though have him glancing towards the entry. "Is there an issue?"
Carolyn quirks a smile at Cross' comment. "Not if he knows what's good for him,' she says. When Dyson speaks to her she shaeks her head and makes a dismissive gesture at the aplogy. "There will be time again soon to speak," she assures Dyson. "If you will all pardon me, though..."
Mongo sees Dyson approaching and stands, offering his deep bow and a return inclination of his head. He resumes his seat and looks again to Carolyn, "sorry to see you go..perhaps I will see you later on. I do so enjoy our conversations."
