Tea with the Three
2nd of October 2006 A.D.
The lights are low inside the shop and voices lower still, a soft hum of sound from young and old alike local and visitor alike seated around the small tables with flickering paper lanterns at their hearts. In the air you recognize the scent of green tea black... and you
think that one is called red though as the steam rises from the cups as if to swath the words of the patrons in a gantlet mist that smooths out the edges of Middle American into something more like the quick tonal syllables of Chinese. Though you catch two distinct streams of meaning which Usum assures you are languages in their own right and not merely dialects it is hard at first to sense the mood of the tea house, it seems like nothing more than an extension of the worry and fear in the streets, but the more you listen the more certain you are that the company you chose is not a welcome one here.
Faces tip away from the door as you walk in, menus are lifted a few inches higher and eyes fall upon the content of their cups with an intensity that not even the, no doubt excellent, service merits. When a little girl asks her mother 'why the lady is dressed funny' she gets such a quelling look as to make one wince.
The server, dressed in very fine looking black and gold leads you towards the back of the building where a discrete door almost blends with the light pinewood of the back-wall. Beyond a short corridor is a darkened room lit only by the lanterns, though these are mental and wood not paper, spilling out whiskers of light onto a trio of faces who are not quite there.
Closest to the door and to the left of both the others is an old man, bald as an egg on top, though more than making up for it with the braided beard and mustache, he makes no bones about his other nature as the tip of his beard is braided with crane feathers. This then is Lán Hè, whose use name means simply 'Blue Crane' eldest Shen in all of Chicago. Though he bids the four of you welcome with all courtesy his smile does not touch his eyes.
In the center of the table sits a young woman in a black turtleneck that seems very Steve Jobs-y an impression helped along by the seeming extraordinary youth of Língguāng whose name means 'Nimble Light'. According to Bùshì Tùzǐ she is a Cloud Butterfly, one who danced among the Mountains of Heaven and whose call is beauty mortal and divine alike, though she had been banished from that realm more than a century ago and send to wander the Dragon Lines eastward over the endless waters of the Pacific until she finds wisdom. She had instead found her way to Chicago where she had grown into a lover of firework displays and airshows, particularly those who show a pilot's daring. She is one of the most invested of the local shen in material existence, spending enough time incarnate to run a small weekend piloting school and mentain her certification up to date. Her manner is less cold and more intrigued, eyes the color of old amber remain fixed upon the point at the center of your forehead where the mark of your power would burn.
Finally to Língguāng's opposite side stands a man in a dark silk suit the likes of which would not be out of place in one of those Italian Mob movies or maybe the Chinese Triad, though both of the assumptions would be just as wrong. Leaping Jack, as his use-name translates, belongs to a web of beings that was old when Han Dynasty was young, he is one of the spider-kin, those who weave the dusk and hide away the siins and embarrassments of dragons. Had he seem one too many of those, you wonder to have ended up in Chicago rather than remain in he Middle Kingdom? That you cannot say for certain, but to Usum's particular scent of intrigue he seems particularly young and inexperienced
"Welcome, welcome all and may you have the pleasure of tea and the comfort of company in these trying times," Lán Hè offers once all of you had said your part. "Strange that we should meet under such circumstances, strange and unexpected. Far it is from the Roof of the World." He glances meaningfully at Brother Divisimar. "Farther from the Realms above..." he glances at the Sword your father bears, almost as though he expects it to answer. "You come seeking asnwers and promising solutions and yet whose solutions hmm? Do you seek to put the servants of the Coldheart King to the sword, to give them a chance to repent or..." he looks directly at you. "To make them
kneel?"
What do you reply?
[] You would see the murderers perish for their crimes
[] You would offer clemency to those who have the ability to accept it
[] Write in
OOC: No rolls yet since I need to know what flavor of promise you make to tell what the DC for this would be and just generally what to roll for