Goblin Town -- Logs

Cinnamon looks up and blinks when Josie's abruptly wagging tail bonks her leg -- then brightens at sight of the three men all apparently hale and whole, "Oh, they're back! Look, Aisling -- and they... look fine?"

Aisling looks up and smiles, eyes twinkling, "Well, they are all pretty easy on the eyes." That makes Josie snort and nudge Aisling who laughs, "Yes. They look fine." She arches a brow, "No trouble?" Cinnamon giggles at Aisling's comment!

Shane slides into a seat and shifts so Thorn can sit down beside him. Elias settles into another chair at the round table, "No one even got hurt. I'm glad Caradog sent Diarmaid. No one wants to cross him." Aisling laughs warmly, "No one with any sense wants to go up against a Fomorian if they can help it."

Cinnamon looks intrigued, "Is that what he is? Isn't that from... is it Irish myth?"

Josie wags and beams at Thorn, "I'm really glad, too. We were all worried." Shane grins at that question, "Yup. But so are sidhe. And boggles. And a lot of other things."

Cinnamon hastily adds, "Wait, wait! Did you find the gun?!"

Elias nods, "The gun and the silencer." Shane adds, "And a guy with really horrible taste in weapon decoration." Thorn nods in agreement with Elias and Shane, "They've taken him to Caradog, where he'll be in prison at least overnight."

Cinnamon sighs in relief, "So you caught the guy too? Awesome." She stares at her plate for a moment... then looks up at the group, "So... what next? What will they do with him when they've decided he's guilty? Will whatever happens persuade people not to try attacking me any more?"

Elias reaches over and pats Cinnamon's hand, "You'll be asked to give an opinion on that, actually. You were the injured party, both legally and physically. It should show that you aren't on your own and that there are consequences. So yes, it will be very persuasive."

Cinnamon sighs, relaxing a bit more, "Ah, okay. I can do that." She's envisioning having to talk about how her feelings were hurt at being shot at... it hasn't occurred to her that 'giving an opinion' might entail more than that -- like having a say in the culprit's punishment.

The proprietress of the cafe comes over soon after with drinks (including something in a very dark bottle for Elias) and asks about food. What comes to the table is a lot more than is ordered with her assuring them that it is fine and they should eat and not worry, "Is good food! And have had rough day! Eat! Eat!"

That makes Josie giggle and say quietly, "She's like my nana: 'Josephine! You are only skin and bone!'" The werewolf rolls her eyes. Cinnamon giggles in spite of herself at that! She enjoys herself quite a bit with these nice people, now that her worries are somewhat alleviated. The day started horribly... but it has ended, she decides, quite nicely!

The dinner at Cafe Prague is filling to the point that Elias actually takes the little proprietress aside to talk to her to let the others quietly slip out. It makes Josie giggle and Shane sigh in gratitude. He's in good enough shape that one big, rich meal isn't going to hurt, but anyone that gets over-full can have sort of a food hangover. Despite the culprit being found, Elias insists that either Shane or Josie stay with Cinnamon. Josie bashfully asks if Shane can do it. She wants to spend a little time at her own place. Elias himself walks Thorn back to his quarters, chatting with him in a friendly way. He asks a few questions about how he met Athala and suggests that Thorn might want to get Erin some fresh redcurrants and even perhaps a few meal worms as a treat.

Thorn is grateful for the advice! He doesn't want to spoil Erin but on the other hand she was an immense help in getting the culprit arrested and held. He thanks Elias also for the walk back to his quarters. He makes a mental note to go find redcurrants and meal worms on his next break. But first, to let Iason know what's going on. Elias waits until Thorn is inside before heading back to his own home. He has apparently decided that the medic needs watching-over for the moment.

Cinnamon sighs with some regret at herself -- she ate more than she should have, out of a mix of nerves and enjoyment of the food! She mutters wryly to Shane on the way home that she feels like she should almost be waddling, she's so full! Shane grins down at her and groans in sympathy, "She's fond of Elias. She even keeps blood for him. So anyone that's with Elias is likely to be treated like her grandchildren." He asks Cinnamon quietly and seriously if she would prefer he sleep downstairs or she'd rather he kept watch outside.

Cinnamon blinks startledly up at Shane, "Oh, uhh... y-you w-wanted to..." She pauses, mentally fiercely berating herself: [Don't be an idiot! He's guarding you -- it's not a proposition!] She takes a deep breath, then says relatively steadily, "I -- er, y-you should do what's, um, most comfortable for you, Shane, okay? I mean, Josie slept just fine on the futon downstairs -- I got it for her, after all! S-so... whichever you prefer?" She whews quietly to herself as she manages not to turn beet red in embarrassment! ...then wonders in wry amusement if she's more pleased or disappointed that Shane's taking the bodyguarding seriously!

Shane smiles, as warm and friendly as ever, "I had figured the futon. In front of the door or at the bottom of the loft ladder. Whichever would be easiest to get it set up at." Once they're back to her place, he actually checks all the windows and the salt and mistletoe over the fireplace before dragging the futon to the door, explaining he realized she might need to come downstairs and might not want to step on him to do so. After that, he wishes her a warm goodnight and takes off enough of his armaments not to accidentally stab himself as he sleeps.

Cinnamon nods and tries to help move the futon, and makes sure Shane has a towel set out for him, and tries to be a good hostess. She also shyly offers the information that she's supposed to get a troll cross soon from... Hilde, she thinks? Later, once she's safely tucked herself into bed, Cinnamon makes some notes about the day in her little diary/journal. It's been what, three days since the Council meeting and Killa's sort-of attack on her? In that time she's sent out invitations to all the reveal faction. So far she's gotten no replies... and as far as apologies? Nasteexo was very kind, apologizing personally! Jalil sent a letter -- a slightly, um... snarky seeming one? ...though, as Cinnamon notes in her journal, she should probably cut the guy some slack, as English probably isn't his native tongue, and he was at least trying to be nice!

Cinnamon sets down her journal and turns out her little lamp, then lies in the dark and muses thoughtfully to herself. Maybe... maybe it's time for her to start just tracking folks down and talking to them that way? She doesn't want to feel trapped here, after all -- she really likes the feeling of having friends! Oh, also: she really needs to do some research on the folks she's supposed to be representing! Who were they again... ah. It was the Arctic peoples, all of Pacifica -- including Australia -- and the poorer southern Europeans, who hate Marcus because he's patronizing to them. Oooh, maybe some of them actually live here, too? Like the Greeks or the Italians? She'd love to connect with them, if so! She smiles quietly to herself as she rolls over and curls up to go to sleep. Having a plan really helps!

As Thorn drifts off to sleep, having informed Iason about what had transpired that evening, he reflects on what happened that day. He's still not trusted; that's fine, it has to be fine. This is his home, now. That will either change or it won't, but either way, he has roots here, now, and he will do what he can for Coblyn Street. He doesn't like the implications that the shooter wouldn't have done anything without Killa's OK; at first they thought that the shooter was just trying to follow Killa's unspoken wishes, but with Diarmaid's comment that Killa's people never did anything without Killa's permission... that's unsettling. It also means Killa might have known about his person's attempt. What Killa does or demands in the next day or so is going to tell a lot about Killa's character, as well as what he knew. Thorn thanks Erin again, and does his best to fall asleep. At Erin's chirp he smiles quietly and murmurs, half-asleep, "Yes, Erin, mealworms. I promise."

The next morning both Thorn and Cinnamon are awakened with brisk knocks at their doors. Caradog has sent pages to invite them both to the palace. Cinnamon blinks as she listens to the page talking to Shane at the door... then sighs and sags a little once the door is closed again. A bit wryly she checks with Shane, "Dressing-up time again, right?"

Shane listens to the page and nods, assuring the young woman that he and Cinnamon can find their way to the palace alone. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at Cinnamon, "Sadly, yes. But you do look quite nice in the dress. It suits you."

Cinnamon rolls her eyes and sighs heavily as she starts sliding out of bed, "Only if it still fits -- after that hugemongous meal last night!" Pattering to the bathroom, she mutters, "Bet the king doesn't think to feed us either! We should stop by Uta's on the way..."

Shane says, "It would be quite rude to roust us so early and not feed us. Caradog may sometimes be an ass, but he's not purposely rude most of the day."

Cinnamon brightens slightly, "You think so? Well, okay then -- I'll hurry so you can use the bathroom too!" She splashes her face with water as she wonders interestedly: what do kings eat for breakfast? Caramelized kippers and delicately fried harpy squabs? Gilded nautilus shells on a spread of platypus beaks? Perhaps lightly marinated basilisk capon pastries? She giggles quietly to herself, and hurries to get dressed.

Thorn is surprised by the invitation -- he reads it more as an order -- and he lets Iason know about it, promising to return to the infirmary as soon as possible. He goes in what he originally called his 'scrubs,' but which he should realize are symbolically distant from such a simplistic term. Iason nods solemnly as he listens, "Yes. Go. I need to be at the infirmary, but I want your report on how the little dragon is doing. She's had a rather unhappy few days, I think."

Thorn nods soberly, "I imagine she has, yes. I'll let her know you asked!"

It's a happy coincidence of timing that Shane, Cinnamon, Thorn, and a heavily-cloaked Elias arrive at the palace gates together. This time, they're let immediately in. One of the guards even makes sure Elias is well-enough covered and offers to get -- of all things -- a sedan chair if the vampire needs it. Elias assures them he's fine and walks with them. The cloak has a deeply cowled hood that hides his face completely. Cinnamon cheerfully greets both Thorn and Elias! She's not wild about the over-elegant (to her) dress, but she can at least keep her good mood up with fanciful thoughts of culinary silliness! Thorn greets the others warmly, but doesn't draw things out -- the better to get Elias under shade from the sun as soon as possible!

Once inside, the four of them are shown to an interior chamber. It's actually the same reception room/conference room that they were in last night. There are no windows and the light is provided by sconced gaslights. Caradog is already there, as well as a pair of maids -- and Shane's comment about it being rude not to feed them is right. There's a lovely little repast. Fruit. Pastries. Breakfast meats. Juices. Milk. And something in the same sort of very dark bottle that Elias was given last night at the cafe. There's also a dish of what look like dead crickets. The vampire divests himself of his cloak and is wearing the same outfit from the night before.

Caradog welcomes them, offers them food and then settles in himself. For someone dressed so elegantly he's quite ravenous, apparently. He has a sausage so dark it looks like it has to be black, fried eggs, and... is that fried bread? Cinnamon looks around with relief -- yummy food! -and none of it is too exotic... er... crickets?! Oh, wait, right -- for the bird! Oh, fantastic -- she's also not the only one wearing the same clothing as yesterday! With a sigh of relief, she quietly eats and listens to everyone else.

Thorn is surprised and touched that Caradog -- presumably! -- had the crickets set out for Erin. At least he thinks they're for Erin. He can't think of anyone else there who would be eating something so unusual -- though he does try to remember if anyone at Marcus's meeting ate anything of that sort that night. He starts eating after Caradog bids them eat, and lets Erin know she should dig in as well. Thorn eats lightly but well; he wants to make up for lost time at the infirmary later that day. Erin quite happily begins pecking up and gobbling the crickets. There's a few minutes where the only real sounds are utensils on plates... and then Caradog speaks, "Killa's man, Bala, has been in the cells all night. Diarmaid stayed as guard." The gealsidhe's lips twitch into an amused smile, "Apparently he thought Daniella might do something rash."

Cinnamon looks up with interest, wondering if Daniella is still around. She's quite curious as to why anyone human would work for someone who pretty much considers them menials and/or food! Maybe... maybe Killa pays really well?! Though... if he does, that's a serious change from how she was told he operated previously! Elias sounds wry, "Daniella is brash and proud. She's not stupid. Bala and his weapon were found by rightful search. And Killa may have a small contingent of guards, but he doesn't have 'storm the castle' numbers of guards." Cinnamon raises a perplexed eyebrow -- curiouser and curiouser! Why would a proud woman work for someone who doesn't respect her?

Thorn's brow furrows. He wouldn't be surprised if Daniella had tried something, actually. But it would be rash. And -- ah, Elias explains it. That would make sense; the various monarchs in the enclaves probably keep a close eye on such buildups, after all. He anticipates Killa's people throwing Bala under the bus.

Caradog nods and chuckles, "She did try to appeal to my baser nature, actually." He rolls his eyes, "A bribe. As if I needed her money. She and Killa will be arriving soon." He pauses and then adds, "They were not invited to breakfast. I wanted to speak with you all and ask your opinion on what should be done." He turns his eyes on Cinnamon, "Yours especially, lady."

Cinnamon blinks startledly, drawing back slightly at Caradog's abrupt focus on her. "M-m-me?!" Internally she sighs -- dammit, she's squeaking again! So undignified... ugh! She takes a deep breath, then hastily turns to someone in authority, the way she was taught to do in the more... contentious board meetings at her accounting job, "I, ah, Elias! Wh-what do you suggest? What, ah, is the usual, er... punishment? Uh, in, um, in situations like this? Please?"

Elias smiles at Cinnamon. Again, he doesn't seem to think she's going to be intimidated by the show of teeth, "Well... in the most extreme cases -- attempted regicide, for example -- the penalty is death. Just as the penalty for treason almost everywhere is death. He could be jailed. He could be exiled. Other punishments may be levied." He motions to her, "You are the wronged party. And you're a councillor. What do you feel would be meet?" He's not talking down to her at all. The level gaze seems to be trying to convey something.

Cinnamon stares wide-eyed at Elias -- she's drawing a complete blank on what to do! Why is he staring at her? What is she missing? Oh! Does she... has she maybe spilled food on herself?! She does a hasty glance down at herself, just to be sure. Whew, no: she's not spilled anything on herself. Caradog watches her quietly, if not quite as intently as Elias, "He's correct. Had that attempt been made on my person, Bala's head would already be on a pike outside the gates." He leans in to confide in them, "Do you know what his name means?"

Cinnamon sighs in frustration as it hits her: she is so untrained and unprepared for this! All the fairy tales she's read say that suggesting a punishment means it's usually used on the person who suggests it -- so how can she actually safely suggest anything?! "Uhh... n-no?" Thorn listens attentively, especially since with Killa and Daniella approaching, the meeting is going to get a lot more tense. He flexes his hand briefly; he doubts that his magic would have any sort of effect on an immortal like Killa, but if worse came to worse, maybe Daniella -- no, best to let the palace guards handle anything that happens. He's very new and very suspect right now. He frowns, though; what does Bala's name have to do with this?

Caradog smirks slightly, "Bullet. Apparently he's quite proud of his marksmanship." He shakes his head with a chuckle, "At the very least, he'll be persona non grata here. He's broken a handful of laws, after all." Cinnamon nods slowly at Caradog's amused commentary, then turns back to Elias, still unsure what it is he wants from her but trying her best to figure it out. Thorn is a little taken aback by how cavalier and even amused Caradog seems about the whole thing. He keeps silent, though thoughtful; he doesn't envy Cinnamon this quandary.

Cinnamon doesn't know Thorn's thoughts, of course, nor that hers somewhat mirror his. Instead she shifts slightly in her chair as it finally registers: she's going to be face to face with her attempted murderer! Her eyes widen as she tightens up in sudden panic, and the center of her back starts to feel achy and unprotected. Great googly moogly, why is she even here?! Elias, noticing Cinnamon's discomfiture, smiles again, "My dear, you are the injured party. What would salve your soul?"

Shane leans in and says quietly, hand on her shoulder, "Relax. No one's going to bite you."

Cinnamon literally jumps in her seat at Shane's unexpected touch, yelping once before she manages to slap a hand over her mouth. She turns bright red, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from welling up, and wishes fervently that someone -- anyone! -- would tell her what to do! She can feel herself starting to tremble... so she abruptly bolts upright out of her chair and breathlessly blurts out, "Gotta go, restroom, please?!" Fortunately the chair is large and heavy enough that it doesn't fall over with a humiliating clatter. Cinnamon doesn't wait, though -- she just grabs a double handful of her way-too-long skirts and bolts for the door they came in through.

As quick as she bolted, it might be shocking that Elias is faster and gets out into the hallway with her. Thorn blinks, opens his mouth... then closes it quick when Elias just seems to disappear. [Is... is that a vampire turning into mist?] he thinks confusedly.

Cinnamon glances frantically both ways as she enters the hallway, instinctively searching for someplace quiet and secluded. The presence of the vampire doesn't actually worry her, considering all the stories she's read of them mention their eye-blurring speed. Elias's voice is soothing, "Calm, my dear. Calm." At the same time, he's motioning her into a small side-passage. Cinnamon shoots into the side passage -- that looks good! -- and darts down it in search of someplace she can at least temporarily hide. She's struggling with a mix of nausea and tears, and she really doesn't want to end up making a mess and becoming palace gossip material.

Elias is... spookily good at gently herding Cinnamon into a small room. It seems to be some kind of office, but it also seems rather disused. Cinnamon glances around frantically as she enters the room -- then nearly collapses into the nearest chair once she realizes there's no one else there, and Elias is closing the door. Putting her face into her hands, the poor girl finally lets the tears fall, sobbing in quiet frustration to herself. Elias produces a handkerchief and hands it to Cinnamon. He leans against the front of the desk. It gives him -- as so many things do -- a teacherly air. He waits out the first storm of sobs.

It takes a few minutes, but finally the small burst of terror and upset weeps itself out... and Cinnamon just sits there with her face down, wiping her eyes with the hankie and trying not to sniffle. Her voice is halting and miserable, "'M sorry, Elias... b-but I... I don't really know what to do here! I... I d-don't think I'm ready for this j-job..."

Elias' voice is gentle, "No one is ready for this job at first. At least no one that's going to be any good at it." He doesn't try to touch her, "Let's talk about it one-on-one. What do you think would be fitting?"

Cinnamon sniffles as she looks up, miserable and red-eyed, "Fitting? F-for me to go home... a-and someone who knows what they're doing to take the chair." She looks down at her hands twisting the hankie as she unhappily adds, "C-caradog's just laughing at me... you seem to want something from me but I have no idea what... I'm just a disability to Shane... how'm I supposed to decide what's supposed to happen to my attempted murderer?! I'm just an accountant!"

Elias listens quietly. When she's done he says, "Caradog is certainly not laughing at you. You took a bullet and are barely bruised. He knows not to take a dragon lightly. As for Shane? I think he's genuinely fond of you. You're not a liability to him. He's treating you as he would a nervous friend. I've seen him do much the same with other people that were scared. He's a protector." He takes a deep breath, "Would having Bala exiled -- declared persona non grata -- satisfy you? I somehow don't see you asking for him to be killed."

Cinnamon glances up startledly, "F-fond? Oh... no, I d-don't mean he doesn't like me or anything -- I mean more that he and Josie likely have lots more interesting things to do than have to b-babysit me all the time."

Elias leans forward with a smile, "They get to spend time with a dragon. I'd say that's rather interesting. You're fine. You were thrown in the deep end, but you have friends. Let us say, then, that having Bala exiled is a good punishment. Some would ask for a flogging or other physical punishment."

Cinnamon sighs as she thinks for a bit, then speaks slowly, trying to pick her words with care, "As far as Bala... I don't know, Elias. That's the real problem, I think: I truly have no idea what the right thing to do is! All the stories I've read that have punishments in them, like being thrown into a nail-studded barrel and dragged through town -- that's what the bad guys do! But on the other hand, I can't let Bala get off scot free... but I haven't the faintest idea what will convince him and his sociopathic owner to leave me the heck alone!" She looks up at Elias, her face scrunched up in misery as she softly reiterates, "I... I just crunch numbers, Elias, you know? That's all I really know how to do. B-but... I don't think there are any numbers I can crunch to make Killa stop blaming me for what happened."

Elias mmms and listens again, "You are very good with numbers, true. Which means that you're going to be quite good at populations and calculating risks. Killa is an ass. Then let me say that exile is both compassionate and firm. Bala can make his way in the world outside ours."

Cinnamon sighs, rubbing her face as she murmurs dispiritedly, "Okay... though I don't know what populations have to do with Killa wanting me dead..."

Elias says, "Nothing. You're deprecating what can be done with numbers. I was giving you an option." He hands her a handkerchief, "Cinnamon, you are the grandchild of one of the closest friends I've ever had. You are always willing to think you're less-than. You're not."

Cinnamon sighs again, pushing her limp hair out of her face and rising. She takes a deep breath, "Okay. Gotta face the music." She lifts her chin a bit, pushes her glasses back into place... then mutters, "Oh, yuck!" Fiercely polishing the tears off her glasses, she heads for the door, "Might as well get it over with... thank you f-for your patience with me, Elias. I... I'm really s-sorry I'm s-such a drag."

Elias puts his hand on Cinnamon's shoulder to stop her and says quietly and firmly, "You. Are. Not. A. Drag." He sighs and shakes his head, "I have the urge to go back twenty years and slap sense into your parents."

Cinnamon startles slightly when her forward impetus is abruptly stopped, glancing back at Elias -- but then his words shock a small, nervous giggle out of her! She puts her now-clean glasses back on, tucking the hankie into a sleeve as she mutters, "Smudgy glasses are the worst!" Her smile is a little tired still, but it's at least a smile, as she adds to Elias, "You're nice. Thank you for being you, today."

Elias chuckles, "You're welcome. Now. Let's go back and tell Caradog that we want Bala exiled from Coblyn. And once he's exiled from Coblyn, he's going to be watched closely in any other enclave except the one near Killa."

Cinnamon muses thoughtfully as she walks along next to Elias, trying to smooth out her rumpled skirts, "Can he be exiled from any enclave I'm in, too?"

Elias nods, "A restraining order, basically." He's got a hand comfortingly on her back as they step out of the side passage and nearly walk into Bala and Daniella.

Cinnamon gives a startled yeep! -- and almost folds over as Elias' hand keeps her from jerking back. A heartbeat later, though, she blinks and pushes her glasses firmly back into place, snapping, "You! Are you Bala? Shame on you for cowardly shooting someone in the back like that!" She puts her fists on her hips as she adds to the tall woman, "And you -- are you Daniella? What on earth are you doing working for someone who considers humans no better than food?! They say you're a proud woman -- that's good! But how can you take pride in working for someone who doesn't respect you?!" Later, Cinnamon will wonder in shock and confusion just what came over her then. Right now, though... she's got a vampire at her back, she's upset, and she genuinely wants to understand these people's motivations!

Elias manages to keep his expression neutral as the apparently-scared Dragon from before disappears in this indignation. Bala is almost pouting. He's tall and leanly muscled and extensively tattooed. Even his face has a lot of black ink on it. He snorts and looks away from her. Daniella's voice is cool, "Killa's respect is difficult to earn, but I believe I have."

Cinnamon shakes her head slowly, her voice disbelieving, "Yeah... I wish you luck with that." Since Bala doesn't reply, she simply lifts her chin again and strides firmly past him. She almost hopes he tries attacking her from behind again! She doubts he'd survive it if he did, after all... not with Elias there. As they walk past, there is a sharp word or two from Daniella in a language that... might be Spanish? Bala mutters something and then there's something that sounds like a hand slapping the back of someone's head.

Caradog stands when the door opens and he says, "Are you well, lady?"

Cinnamon snaps grimly, "No; no, I am not. I am frankly astounded that my attempted murderer is such a foolish and childish individual, and I don't want to ever have to see him pouting at me ever again. Can we banish him permanently from Coblyn, your majesty -- and also from any enclave I happen to be in, please?"

Caradog sits down and motions Cinnamon back to her place, "Of course. Exile would be appropriate. And having him excluded from any enclave where you're present would also be appropriate. It would require the agreement of the local rulers, but we do try to work with one another."

Thorn could understand Cinnamon's distress. He isn't at all sure what he would do in her place. She's the dragon councillor, after all, and he most definitely isn't! At the same time, on her return she seems so dramatically changed! 'Confident' doesn't do her justice. He's sitting there blinking as Cinnamon comes in and almost tongue-lashes Caradog -- she seems less irritated that Bala tried to kill her than she is that Bala is, apparently, not up to some standard of hit-man! He glances around, wondering if anyone else had noticed that sudden change. Even so, well, he's glad she did! Especially if she ran into Bala and Daniella on the way in. Shane is grinning at Cinnamon's sudden confidence as well. He'd been quietly watching the door. It's seconds after Caradog has said that the rulers all work together well that the door opens and Daniella enters with Bala -- and behind them is Diarmaid. He either wasn't there yet when Cinnamon confronted Killa's people or didn't see that he needed to step in.

Cinnamon drops into her chair with her chin still high, tightly clasping her hands together below the table... and desperately hoping no one notices she's nearly shaking in reaction! Hopefully they'll be done soon... hopefully. She's faintly disappointed that Bala didn't get to hear her announcement, though -- she'd meant it for him, after all. She blinks at a sudden thought, then tries to subtly mouth to Elias, 'What happens to the gun?' She really, really doesn't want it or the silencer to go back to Bala, after all! Heck, if she has to, she'll take the disgusting thing herself to keep it from that contemptible murderer! Elias smiles and mouths back, 'Forfeited.' Cinnamon nods once at Elias' reply; she's satisfied with that.

The Fomorian takes up a lot of mental space and he stations himself in front of the doors once Bala and Daniella are in the room. Caradog stands to greet Daniella, but there's none of the insouciance of his welcome to the others, "Daniella. Is Killa still not well enough to venture out?"

Daniella's eyes flash, "No. He is not, Your Majesty. He will be well in perhaps three more days."

Caradog ahs, "Well. It was an unfortunate incident." He doesn't seem overly upset that Killa isn't out and about, "Please, sit." He motions to a chair for Daniella.

When Bala smirks and moves to sit as well, Diarmaid is there and takes the young man by the neck, "You stand." The boar-headed man's eyes glow sullen red for a moment. Cinnamon nods firmly in agreement with Diarmaid. If he glances her way she gives him a small, grateful smile as well. Diarmaid nods at Cinnamon. He really is rather fierce looking with those tusks. Bala is sulking again. He really looks like he can't be more than twenty years old.

Daniella's voice is cool, "I've been sent by Killa to assure you that Bala took it upon himself to assuage our master's honor." As she speaks, Shane is looking at her quite intently. Thorn is watching Bala's face as Daniella says this. Is he surprised? Shocked? Dismayed? Resigned? Was he expecting this? or is it coming out of left field for him? Cinnamon wonders exasperatedly how defending herself from his attempt to intimidate her has somehow impugned Killa's honor. She has to cover a sudden, nearly hysterical grin as her next, frivolous thought is: [Maybe it's really fragile? Like a soap bubble?!]

Bala was starting to smirk -- and then Daniella throws him directly under the Caradog-shaped bus. His eyes almost bug out and his jaw drops. He looks like he's about to say something and Diarmaid's hand claps over his mouth. Daniella's voice is calm as she continues, "Killa very much regrets the confrontation with the dragon. Bala is enthusiastic, but not bright."

Cinnamon thinks with nervous ferocity, [He darned well better regret it -- that jerk!] From behind Cinnamon there's a quiet snort from Shane. He's still standing a bit like a bodyguard. Cinnamon glances curiously at Shane, wondering if Daniella was lying or not. Thorn thinks, [Oh, I would very much like to hear what Bala was about to say!] And, almost as importantly, why Diarmaid kept Bala from saying anything. On balance, however, Thorn sees what he expected but hoped wasn't the case: Killa told Bala to kill Cinnamon. Interestingly, this seems to exonerate Killa from being Liam's assassin. If he'd killed the dragon, then he would know what it would take to kill one, and wouldn't have sent a gunbunny with little more than an elaborate toy after her. Unless, of course, it was a Man For All Seasons incident, and Killa is just covering all his bases.

Caradog looks up and watches his guard cover Bala's mouth, "Oh. Please. Let him speak." The sidhe king's voice is amused, "I'm sure it'll be enlightening."

Diarmaid nods and removes his hand, rumbling, "Didn't want his squeaking to interrupt you, Your Majesty. I'm happy to let him talk."

Bala says in a thick Latino accent of some sort, "I jus' do what I godda do! Dat puta disrespec' a god!"

Daniella rolls her eyes and snaps, "Shut. Up. Bala. Please."

Cinnamon tilts her head thoughtfully, "Anyone want to translate 'poo-tuh' for me?" She dryly adds to Bala, "If you really felt you had to do that, don't you think that's strong evidence that your so-called god is more a bully than not?"

Diarmaid's voice is still a low rumble, "I believe, lady, that he just called you a whore... or maybe a bitch."

Caradog's voice is quite cold, "Yes. He did. Bala, I don't care who told you or didn't tell you to try to assassinate a council member. Cinnamon has requested, and I have agreed, to have you exiled from this enclave and from any enclave she happens to be in. I have granted the former and I will do my best to effect the latter. You did an emminently stupid thing and broke multiple laws along the way. Your weapon is forfeit and will be handed over to the offended party as weregild." He looks at Daniella, "I trust that Killa will be quite clear with the rest of his people that this is not acceptable behaviour?"

Cinnamon nods to Diarmaid, slightly shocked -- she's still getting used to living outside her usual (decidedly un)social bubble. To take her mind off it she asks a bit faintly, "Uhh... what's weregild, please?"

Elias says, "In human terms, restitution. As when someone is sued and has to pay damages."

Thorn considers: this is little more than a slap on the wrist, even if Killa had just said the equivalent of 'Will no one rid me of this turbulent dragon?' He isn't quick to dismiss Killa's involvement with Liam's death now, but Killa is showing himself to be reckless with his words. [Oh, yeah, that sort of thing will go really well with a living god,] Thorn thinks. Then Caradog mentions 'weregild,' and Thorn has the sudden mental image of Cinnamon hefting the ridiculous, huge hand-cannon -- and he feels like his brain bluescreens at the sheer absurdity. [Maybe she can melt it down for the gold plating?] he thinks blankly. Thorn doesn't know about Bala, but being identified as the owner of that... weapon would be more embarrassment than he'd be willing to take.

Cinnamon nods slowly as an idea occurs to her, "Okay. I'm the 'offended party,' right?" She has to swallow hysterical laughter as it occurs to her that 'offended party' is the nicest way to say 'someone that asshole tried to murder in cold blood' that she's ever heard! She takes a deep breath, then adds in a relatively steady voice, "If so, may I have it now, please? Before Daniella and Bala leave?"

Caradog nods and looks to Diarmaid, who goes to the door and speaks to someone outside, asking them to bring the gun. It's not actually very long before Lorcan arrives with the pistol. He rolls his eyes as he passes it off to Caradog. Caradog himself looks as if his brows are going to climb right off his face. He murmurs, "How... tasteless."

Bala swells up and looks indignant. Daniella, who has her back to him says, "One more word, Bala, and I will personally beat you senseless." She says that with a calm voice that's somehow more chilling than if she'd been angry with her tone.

Caradog examines the gun -- though he's pulled on gloves to do so -- and shakes his head, "Ah, well." He hands the gun back to Lorcan, who brings it to Cinnamon as Caradog says, "Weregild. I think that's even actual gold on it." Bala is still seething. Caradog sits up straight, "Let's make this official." He snaps his fingers twice and a page that had been very quietly (and nearly invisibly) lurking in a corner darts off. She returns a few minutes later with Caradog's Seneschal who is carrying a book of some sort.

Cinnamon glances around as they wait for the arrival of the gun and silencer, then nods as she realizes the floor is stone. When Lorcan hands the weapon to her, she rises and walks (with great care, so she doesn't stumble or drop the horrible things) to stand near Bala. Crouching, she sets both objects on the ground, then straightens and says quietly, "You called me a whore, Bala? I don't think you know the meaning of the word. It's not me accepting money and selling my soul. So... this time I am being nice... I am protecting you... from me." She takes a deep breath -- then flames with all her effort and concentration on the gun and silencer lying less than ten feet from Bala! Cinnamon keeps flaming as long as she can, or until she sees the gun melt into a puddle -- and then she stops, breathing a bit hard. Once she's caught her breath she glares at Bala, adding fiercely, "If I ever see you again, though?" She points at the slag on the stone floor and snaps, "I'll do that to you." She turns then, walking with even more care back to her seat.

Caradog sits up and Diarmaid tenses in the way of a good warrior, ready to knock Bala down if needs be. Bala is still smirking, though his eyes are a little too wide. When Cinnamon begins to melt his precious gun down to a puddle, he starts to protest, "'Ey! 'Ey, dat's my..." He gets Diarmaid's hand across his mouth again for his trouble. Daniella watches all of this impassively. Thorn reacts by almost leaping back out of his chair at the sudden flaming, his eyes wide. He manages to keep from yelping. The gun isn't completely melted. There's too much steel and the heat it would take to melt that would scorch a crater into the stone floor. It is, however, completely useless. Cinnamon settles back into her chair, hoping no one notices how tired and scared she's currently feeling... but she's done the best she can to convince both Bala and Killa: leave the dragon alone!

Shane rests a hand on Cinnamon's shoulder and smirks. She glances a touch wearily at Shane -- something? She doesn't realize it, but she's tired enough that she's leaning slightly into Shane's hand, in fact. The half-beansidhe actually winks at Cinnamon and then schools his face to more seriousness. Elias watches this all with a smile. The young dragon is coming into her own. Caradog says, "Well, that saves Llew having to register it." He motions to the Seneschal and announces in much more formal wording the verdict against Bala and the reasons for it. Once that's done, he turns back to his guards, "Diarmaid, Lorcan, escort Daniella and Bala back to Killa's compound and then escort Bala directly to the end of Coblyn and eject him." He pauses, "You don't have to be overly gentle about it."

Cinnamon smiles faintly, then goes silent as she watches and listens. She sighs and relaxes slightly as the verdict is announced. Maybe now Killa will leave her alone... maybe. Daniella nods and stands, "Thank you, Caradog. I had already gathered Bala's belongings, though I was not sure if it would be to send to his next-of-kin."

Caradog's voice is cold as he adds, "Daniella? If anything like this comes from Killa's people again, I will revoke permission for his guards in the enclave. I've been generous in letting him have a dozen guards. Don't make me regret it." Daniella simply nods and turns to follow the two guards and the hapless would-be assassin.

Cinnamon sighs and relaxes even more once Killa's people are gone... though she does wonder with dry amusement if Bala will learn anything from the trial today. Elias' voice is dry as dust, "That is an exceptionally stupid young man." Cinnamon smiles tiredly at Elias -- she can't but agree! Thorn has, by now, gotten himself back into his seat and looking a little less startled at the gout of flame. He nods to Elias. It really sounds like Bala took what happened to Killa to be some sort of permission to go after Cinnamon... which was beyond stupid.

Caradog sighs and says, "Yes. Yes, he is. Sometimes Killa likes to have brash young bravos around. Some of them, I believe, are recruited from the cartels south of the American border." He shakes his head in bemusement.

Cinnamon glances at Shane, almost whispering, "Was Daniella lying about Killa not knowing?"

Shane tips his head to listen and then nods, voice low as well, "I'm quite certain Killa knew. But I'm also sure he was careful to do that thing where he doesn't actually order it..." He doesn't realize he's echoing Thorn's thoughts.

Cinnamon nods silently, unsurprised, "That'd explain why he likes having bravos around -- they're expendable." Thorn makes a sound of agreement to that. Cinnamon smiles tiredly as she adds, "So I'm guessing that's all the apology I'll ever get from Killa." She looks at Caradog as she adds, "Maybe you can advise me on how I might apologize to the folks in the stands the day of the council, your majesty -- the ones that I apparently scared, who tried running away when I flamed Killa?"

Caradog says, "Yes. He does seem to see them that way." He shakes his head, "I believe I've lost my appetite. Forgive me, but I am going to excuse myself. Please feel free to finish the meal." He pauses and adds, "I would suggest perhaps something in the broadsheets."

Cinnamon murmurs softly, "Broadsheets..." then glances inquiringly at Shane and Elias, "Can you guys tell me how to do that, please?" She politely adds, "Thank you for your time, your majesty," before Caradog leaves.

Elias nods, "We'll do that today. We don't have a newspaper as such, but there are broadsheets posted along the street for advertisements and news."

Cinnamon says, "Awesome." She doesn't even glance at the ruined gun as she carefully rises and adds, "I think... I'm going to head home too. Shane, Elias, Thorn: thank you so very much for your support!"

Thorn inclines his head in a bow/nod. "I'm glad I could help," he says.

Shane asks if Cinnamon wants to walk home on her own. If she says yes, he lets her. If she says no, he'll make sure she's safe back home before going about his own day. Cinnamon is tired enough that she simply murmurs that she's fine, thanks -- without realizing that's not really an answer -- then heads slowly out the door. Home... she can shed this heavy, clinging, too-nice dress there and crawl back into bed for a while. She can hardly wait! She'll deal with writing an apology for the broadsheets later.

Thorn lets out a breath, thanking the others sincerely and excusing himself to go to the infirmary. He reports in to Iason, letting him know what happened and that the broadsheets will have the full story later that day. He leaves it to the facts, not uttering his belief that Killa wanted Cinnamon gone and didn't quite say as much. Iason is solemn and nods, thanking Thorn for the information and saying, "Having a healer there is much respected in the enclaves."

Cinnamon rests for several hours, revivifying herself with hot tea, some warm scones from Uta's bakery, and re-reading some fun passages from one of her favorite books. After that she pulls out some paper and a pencil, and composes a carefully worded apology -- one that is specifically addressed only to those individuals in the stands which she startled or frightened when she flamed during the Council meeting. She's sincerely sorry for scaring them... but she's emphatically not going to apologize to anyone from, say, the reveal faction! Especially not after the assassination attempt. In fact... she's starting to think she's going to have to take things into her own hands, regarding that faction. Aside from Nasteexo and Jalil, the rest of them seem so arrogant that there doesn't seem to be a shred of human decency between the lot of them!

While she didn't expect it, Cinnamon also isn't really surprised when the messenger from Caradog's mansion arrives, handing her the bagged remains of Bala's half-melted gun. She thanks them, then opens the bag on her little table. Studying the partially-slagged mess, she wonders if Elias, or John at the bank, might have a way to delete the valuable metals to add to her account. Perhaps Shane will know how to properly dispose of the useless steel?

It's not long before someone knocks on Cinnamon's door. It's a sharp double knock, very measured. Cinnamon calls through the door, "Who is it?"

The voice is a rumble, "Diarmaid, ma'am. From the king's guard."

Cinnamon blinks, wondering what's up, "Um, okay? Moment..." She carefully checks all her salt and other barriers are in place, then opens the door. "Is... something wrong?" She pushes her glasses into place as she stares up at the big Fomorian. Up close, he's... quite... large!

Diarmaid is indeed large. He's possibly somewhat over seven feet, standing at the door and looking... solemn? Hard to tell with his porcine face, "I've been asked to deliver a letter to you." He doesn't make the slightest move to try to cross the threshold. He's holding a thick -- probably vellum -- envelope with an elaborate wax seal on it.

Cinnamon says, "Uhh... okay?" She starts to extend her hand, then pauses, "Ummm, Diarmaid? May I... ask a question, please?"

Diarmaid starts to hand the message to her, but pauses when she does. He nods, "Certainly. If you don't mind that I may not be able to answer."

Cinnamon looks a bit relieved, "Oh, good! I, um, don't think this is an awful question or anything. It's just... er, well, I, um, I don't really know what proper behavior is here? So... should I, um, tip you, or thank you, or... or I don't know... demand a champion, or what?" She's almost wringing her hands with worry as she adds plaintively, "I, I mean, you're like one of the few folks so far that's not of the hide faction that seems to n-not be disgusted that I d-don't already know everything? So like... I really don't want to be like, um, offensive to you... or anything? Y-you know...?"

Diarmaid chuckles and rumbles, "No, you don't have to tip me. Delivering messages is an occasional part of my job. I take the ones that the king wants to make sure arrive unopened and safe. If I were a courier, such as your friend Shane sometimes is, then you could tip if you wanted to, but it's not required. Especially as you have no control over when someone will send you things. The sender should pay any fee."

Cinnamon looks relieved, nodding several times up at the huge entity, "Oh, thank you so much for explaining, Diarmaid!" She beams as she holds out her hand for the letter, adding, "Thank you again for delivering the letter too! I hope you have a nice rest of your day!"

Diarmaid chuckles again. He seems relaxed with Cinnamon, "I got to manhandle one of Killa's thugs and toss him out on his ear. Thank you." He gives her an abbreviated but surprisingly graceful bow and moves off down the street.

Cinnamon blushes but grins at that! Once she's secured the door again, she curiously examines the wax seal -- is it the king's? She's slightly... perplexed? -startled, maybe -- at how casually people seem to behave around Caradog. Like, even if he isn't their king... isn't he still a king? A 'your majesty,' so to speak? Or at least that's how all the fairy tales and fantasy stories she's read treated them. Of course... she grins to herself -- it's not like those were necessarily accurate! She blinks then at a sudden thought: what if there were stories that were accurate? Might those be written by actual fairy folks? She grins excitedly -- what a cool way to tell really nifty fantasy stories that'd be! For a moment she wishes she knew how to tell stories entertainingly -- that'd be a fun way to earn a living!

Then again, perhaps it's that Caradog himself acts casually? After all, there are company manners and normal manners. It's possible he only enforces his titles on certain occasions. The letter, once opened, turns out to be an invitation to Cinnamon to the palace for tea. The writing is elaborate calligraphy and worded quite formally. The invitation is for two days. Cinnamon blinks in surprise at the invite -- the... formal invite! -- and swallows down a moment of panic. In a slightly hysterical attempt to lighten her mood, she mutters, "Well, drat! I should've asked Dairmuid to stay for an answer!"

Cinnamon's laugh is a little shaky, but she makes herself get up and do all the right things: another cup of hot tea, another calming scone with honey, and marking the time and date down in her little notebook. Under it she writes in all caps: 'GET HELP 2 PLAN 4 THIS!!' then underlines it... then carefully closes the notebook and just focuses on her tea and scone! Meeting alone with a king -- eek! She has no idea how to behave! But, but, don't panic! Elias will know what to do. Elias can help her. Yes... also this is a very tasty scone! After a few moments Cinnamon has her breathing calmed down again, and the wry thought occurs to her: she hopes none of the Reveal faction got panicked like this at receiving her invite to tea!

Elsewhere in the enclave, Lorcan shows up at the infirmary and asks for Thorn at the front desk. Thorn finishes his inventory of one of the herbal gardens; some of them are grown locally, even within the infirmary, since these ones are used so frequently and ideally fresh. He comes to the front desk when called, surprised and curious. "Lorcan, yes?" he asks. "Good to see you again! What can I do for you?"

Lorcan looks much more human than Diarmaid. Or, well, very obviously gealsidhe, but he's got readable expressions. He seems a bit amused as he hands over a vellum envelope with an elaborate wax seal upon it, "The king asked me to deliver this to you."

Thorn almost misses the envelope, and is a touch startled when he realizes that it was the king who asked Lorcan to deliver it. He accepts the letter a bit worriedly. "Uh... thank you!" he says, adding a bit lamely, "should, um, I open it now?"

Lorcan shakes his head, "You don't have to. I wasn't told that it's urgent. He just wanted to make sure it got to you, so he sent me instead of a courier." He inclines his head and says, "Good day." The gealsidhe guard moves, when he's not marching toward an enclave on a mission to search it, with the sort of grace and surety that Thorn has seen in all the sidhe so far -- including Athala and her people as well.

Thorn blinks a bit, managing to get his brain back into gear. He studies the envelope for a few moments, examining the wax seal. He doesn't think he's ever gotten a letter in a vellum envelope before, let alone one with a seal. He starts to try to open the envelope without breaking the seal, since it's so novel, then realizes that here, it's meant to be broken for very good reasons. He amusedly wonders if breaking the seal makes an ephemeral 'read receipt,' then breaks it, and reads the contents. It's a beautifully calligraphed invitation to tea with the king. There's some wording about wanting to get to know Coblyn's newest healer. It's for three days from now.

Thorn blinks. He understands what Iason said about healers being respected in the enclaves, but this seems a little suspect. Surely the king doesn't want to meet every healer? He approaches Iason with that very question, cautiously wary. Iason looks up from where he's carefully sketching something in one of his journals, dark brows drawing together, "From the king himself?" He taps the fingers of one hand on the table and says, "He asked me to the palace when I first arrived. But he hasn't asked the others, that I know of. Not for something like this. We've had to send healers there for small sicknesses and injuries." The centaur's smile is a little wry, "I have suggested to him that he hire a personal physician if he expects us to come to him."

Thorn tries not to grimace. "That sounds like a rather... fraught position," he says, only a touch wryly. Hopefully this isn't some sort of invitation. Though truthfully, he thinks maybe that the king wants to gauge Thorn's involvement in the festivities from Killa's compound. He doesn't say it out loud, though. "I'm sorry I seem to be being pulled away from the infirmary so much. I'll put in some extra shifts, if that helps."

Iason chuckles and lowers his voice as if he's not wanting to be overheard, "If he asks you to take such a position and you don't wish to, you have a built-in excuse, Thorn. You have other obligations. You've sworn loyalty to someone else."

Thorn nods in relief, lowering his voice as well, "I admit, I'd really rather not take that job, and... that's a really good point." He's relieved at that idea for an excuse, though it's continuing to make him a bit uneasy since it's been a thorn (hah) in his attempts to just be helpful to the community.

Iason nods, "In truth, I wouldn't take the position, either. Royalty tend to be capricious and many of them are hypochondriacs." He nods toward the invitation, "Go ahead and go, though. Make sure your pretty lady goes with you, however."

Thorn smiles quietly. "I definitely will. Thank you, Iason."

Iason nods and says, "Of course. You're somewhat under my protection, after all."

Cinnamon finally decides, after another scone, that she cannot hide in her little house all day! She's a dragon, darnit, and she'd like to think her many-greats grandfather would approve of her getting out and trying to make things happen. To that end she wraps up the half-melted gun again, checks her to-do list, then dresses carefully. A nice blouse and jeans, and another nice blouse carefully packed into her big handbag -- if she's going to get shot at then by god she's going to have an unperforated shirt to wear afterwards! That bit of bravado causes her hands to tremble for a bit, but she just clasps them tightly together and paces slowly through her living room chanting to herself, "I am a dragon! I am a dragon! I am a dragon...!" When her heart isn't fluttering quite so much she sighs gustily, then shoulders her big bag and steps outside, careful to lock things up neatly behind her.

After that she glances around, then checks with her next door neighbor, Uta at the bakery, "Good afternoon, Uta! Your scones were, as always, amazing soul food!" She smiles, pushing her glasses back into place as she adds, "Also, I was wondering: can you tell me where I would drop something off if I wanted it to go into the broadsheets, please?"

Uta is -- as she usually is -- partially dusted with flour. She beams all over her broad, cheerful face and says, "Oh! That would be at the bookshop! They gather it all together and they've got a printing press!"

Cinnamon blinks interestedly, "The one that the little cat pucca runs? What's his name..." she consults her notebook, "umm... oh, Tag's the apothecary, sorry. I mean... Astrid, that's it. Is that the place?"

Uta nods, still smiling cheerfully, "That's the one!" She giggles at mention of Tag, "Tag is wonderful. A little distractible, but wonderful."

Cinnamon giggles and nods cheerfully, then thanks Uta and heads off. At the bookstore she hands her carefully written paragraph to Astrid, asking, "Can I have this put into tonight's broadsheet, please, Astrid?"

Astrid peers at the paragraph, lips moving as she reads over it, nodding along. She smiles as she gets to the end, "You can. It's short enough that it won't be very expensive, either. I'll send the invoice to John and you can settle up with him." The small woman's smile is warm, "It's good that you're doing this, you know. I think most of them -- once they calmed down -- probably understood it was self-defense. But a dragon breathing fire? It's startling if you aren't expecting it!"

Cinnamon blushes faintly as she pushes her glasses up, her voice self-conscious, "I, um, I'm really sorry about that, ma'am -- I really didn't mean to scare anyone!" Honesty causes her to admit with a sheepish grin, "I mean, I was scared enough myself at that point, you know?"

Astrid clucks her tongue, "That one is a bully. And full of himself! As if he's the only god left on the planet!" She shakes her head and tucks the little paragraph into a pocket, "The evening broadsheet comes out around sundown. The morning one about dawn."

Cinnamon beams, "Thank you so much, Astrid! Um, where do they come out, please? I'd like to start getting them myself, please?"

Astrid gives Cinnamon a few locations she'll be able to see the broadsheets. They're put up in public places, but apparently sometimes people tear them down to take them home. That makes the little shopkeeper tut, "As if we've got enough paper stock to replace them!" One of the places they're posted is at the pub, another is just outside the bank. They're fairly evenly spaced along the street. There's even one that's posted outside the wall of Caradog's palace. Cinnamon nods thoughtfully at that news, making notes in her little journal so she remembers where to find the broadsheets later. Then she thanks Astrid again, and heads on off down the street towards the bank. She wants to ask John how to separate the valuable metals to be added to her account. She pauses when she sees a broadsheet, though, and takes a moment to peruse it. She's very curious: what is considered news on Coblyn Street?

This morning's broadsheet is printed on a piece of paper that would be the same size as two full sheets of newsprint and is nailed to a wooden posting board. There are other things posted as well. It seems to be the sort of place that people advertise services, post lost-and-found fliers, and there are also things that seem to be essentially open letters. One of the letters is a rather passive-aggressive request that people not talk so loudly 'in thee wee ours.' The broadsheet itself has columns about deaths and births -- though not so extensive as in a normal newspaper -- and some gossip. It also has an account of the search and seizure at Killa's compound (with an aside about the 'unfortunate incident' at the council meeting). The prose is quite purple and makes the guards and 'sundry other personages' out to have been putting their lives on the line with the odds stacked against them... which Cinnamon knows is definitely not true.

Cinnamon has to cover a grin at that! She's faintly amused at how Killa's attempt to intimidate her is sort of glossed over, too. Still, that's fine! Her apology should be in the next one, and maybe even the news of the assassination attempt. [Take that, creepy people trying to scare me off!] she thinks... with, admittedly, a bit of nervousness! She takes a deep breath, then nods firmly to herself: she's doing fine, darnit! She can keep an eye on the broadsheets too, she realizes, to see if anyone wants any help with accounting -- not that she expects that, but it can't hurt to watch for it, surely? With that cheering thought she lifts her chin and marches off to her next errand: dropping off the gun's metals!

Fionn greets her at the door of the bank. He even calls her by name as he opens the door to let her into the rakshasa's domain. Cinnamon beams shyly up at him, thanking him as she patters on by. She beams at John as well, "Good afternoon! I have something odd for you today, I think?"

John smiles and stands to greet Cinnamon, "Well, then, I'm eager to see it! I enjoy oddities."

Cinnamon seats herself, brings out her bundle, and glances up at John again, her voice wry as she pushes her glasses back into place, "I don't know if you've read today's broadsheet yet? But... there was an assassination attempt on me a few days ago. The... idiot's gun was given to me as weregild. I... kind of lost my patience with him, at the palace, when he started calling me names... and I did this." She opens the little bag so John can see the contents.

John chuckles, "Oh, I read the morning and evening broadsheets every day. I read the account of you protecting yourself at the council meeting. It was worded very diplomatically, of course, but whoever wrote that particular story couldn't help their satisfaction with what... you..." He slows to a halt and blinks at the remains of the Deagle. The rakshasa leans so he can look at it a little more closely, "That... is... ah. Impressive. I wouldn't have been sure what it was if you hadn't told me..."

Cinnamon blushes self-consciously, "I, um... may have... overreacted a little bit? But... I was hoping it'd give the message to Killa's captain to please leave me alone." She glances away a bit sheepishly as she adds, "I'd really rather nobody else got hurt, you know?"

John smiles wryly, "Daniella? She's a cold-blooded one." There's no sense of irony as he calls the lieutenant of a snake-god cold-blooded. "I'm surprised she was stupid enough to let someone do that, you know. She's usually much more sly than that." He reaches for the former gun, then pauses, "May I?"

Cinnamon nods eagerly, "Yes, please! I, um, was hoping you'd know how to separate the gold and silver from the stupid steel gun, maybe? I figured I might as well add the valuable metal to my account." She grins shyly and shrugs as she adds, "I'm not sure yet what to do with the gun and the silencer, but I figure there must be some way known to dispose of them properly? Unless... is there any value to their metal, do you know?" She mentally shakes her head at Daniella believing she has Killa's respect... when Killa subtly encouraged one of his stupid thugs to attack a fellow Councilmember without her knowledge! That doesn't sound at all respectful to Cinnamon, honestly.

John examines it, "I'll get it to a metallurgist. They'll be able to separate it out and melt it down. The precious metals will go directly into your account. The rest of the scrap, we'll sell off and put the value into your account." He looks up at Cinnamon "You realize that many people would have kept it intact as a trophy?"

Cinnamon blinks with sincere puzzlement at John, "Why would I want something to remind me of a crazy boy trying to murder me?"

John smiles, "Because you survived the crazy boy trying to murder you. A symbol of your survival." He turns the former gun over in his hands, "Though a gun this large is... a bit gaudy. Even without gilding."

Cinnamon mutters amusedly, "You should have seen it before the melting!" She thinks about John's comment as he studies the gun. A symbol of her survival... how curious! To her, just being there still is the best symbol she can think of. The gun reminds her more of the fear and pain and emotional hurt she suffered. She tilts her head thoughtfully as it occurs to her: diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks, right? Maybe John's right for some folks... but she's going to simply use the ugly thing as a means of living her life better, if she can!

John pulls out his ledger and notes the gun down along with bullet points about the steps to get it taken care of and added to Cinnamon's account. He looks steadily at her and says, "You are taking quite good care of yourself here, Cinnamon. Liam would have been proud."

Cinnamon's eyes widen at that, and she sounds a bit breathless, "Really?! Oh... oh, good! I..." she deflates a bit, her voice slightly worried, "I... hope so. I wouldn't want him to be embarrassed by me, you know?"

John leans across the table, "You have taken up for yourself. You are solidifying your standing as a citizen and council member. He would be quite pleased with you."

Cinnamon blushes slightly with pleasure, pushing her glasses back into place as she murmurs, "Th-thank you, John -- that's really nice to hear!"

John smiles and nods as he tucks the gun away, "Give me about a week on this, OK?"

Cinnamon beams and nods, thanking John before she gathers up her stuff and heads on out. Next on her list: Marcus' house! She knows it's somewhere relatively nearby, after all. Might as well find out if he got the invitation!

Cinnamon strolls along Coblyn Street, enjoying the wide variety and intermingling of cozy little homes and intriguing little shops. It doesn't take much asking for someone to point her to Marcus' house. Or, actually, Marcus' mansion. It's a beautiful old Colonial style manor. It's blue with white trim and well-tended shrubs separating the front garden from the street at large. The door has brightly polished brass fittings and there's something that looks like an extra, ornate door knob to the right of the door. The 'extra' door knob has something in the middle that looks almost like a windup key.

Cinnamon pauses, staring up in astonishment at the building. She understands the 'polite' description of the house, but that's not what flits through her mind! Instead she wonderingly realizes this thing is... enormous! Three or four stories for sure, in a rather self-important style -- with stairs leading up to the pillar-framed front door. A few well-cowed pieces of shrubbery are firmly planted in militarily precise, aesthetically pleasing positions, while myriad identical windows all stare sightlessly out at the street. And all that... for one person?! She shakes her head in amusement... then marches up the stairs and knocks on the door.

The knocking doesn't bring anyone immediately. But then, the place is huge. Someone would have to be near the door to hear anyone knocking. As Cinnamon is standing there, someone calls to her from the street. The person is... kinda hard to look at. No, not hard to look at. Hard to see. It's a person. They seem humanish but other than that... no details stick. The voice seems pleasant, "You'll have to ring the bell!"

Cinnamon blinks curiously at the... entity, then nods and calls back, "Thank you!" She pauses, then adds a bit diffidently, "Er... is it polite to ask, um, what you are, please?"

The being laughs and calls back, "It's not impolite to ask, but not everyone will answer you." They wave -- apparently cheerfully -- and move off down the street, whistling. They apparently weren't offended.

Cinnamon blinks startledly... then laughs! That was a polite decline, she thinks! She turns back to the house, still grinning as she reaches out and... hmm... ok, she'll try the wind-up key. Maybe that's the doorbell? Turning the windup key doesn't sound like a doorbell that Cinnamon is used to, but it gets results. The door is answered by Marcus' butler. Thorn has seen him before, but the young dragon hasn't. The butler doesn't speak... possibly can't speak... but looks expectantly at Cinnamon. She blinks interestedly up at the tall, sort of... organic looking entity? Pushing her glasses into place, she beams sunnily at him, "Good afternoon! My name is Cinnamon. I was wondering if an invitation I sent to Marcus a few days ago actually got here, please?"

Butler listens and then nods, motioning Cinnamon into the foyer of the big house. Cinnamon hesitates -- she's been repeatedly warned not to go anywhere alone with any of the Reveal faction. She thinks a moment, then smiles politely, "Can I just wait here on the porch, please?"

Butler looks her up and down, and then nods once. He does close the door, however. It's not a slam. It's just the action of someone used to making sure the front door is shut. Just a few minutes later, it opens again and there's a smiling woman in a maid's uniform. She's got a silver platter and there's a small envelope on it, "Butler was going to send this with tonight's post."

Cinnamon blinks at the woman, "His... name is Butler?!" She grins, "Cool! Er, so... should I take the envelope, then?"

Ingrid giggles and nods, "His name is Butler, yes." She nods at the question about the envelope, lowering her voice, "It's very old-fashioned manners. Almost nobody has calling cards and such anymore."

Cinnamon looks intrigued as she picks up the envelope, "Calling cards! Are they something councilors should have?" She grins to herself as she checks for a wax seal on the envelope -- is there one? She's starting to really like them, and she hopes hers is done soon!

There is indeed a wax seal on the envelope in the shape of a leaf. Ingrid giggles again, voice still low, "Not really. They went out of style at least a century ago."

Cinnamon grins and nods, "That's a relief -- I'm still trying to learn all the things I have to have or do!" She slits open the envelope as she adds, "Is this a letter or note requiring a quick reply, do you know?" She's happy to read quickly and do so, if that's the case -- she'd very much like to pin down at least one person on a tea with her!

The note is short but beautifully lettered. It thanks her for her invitation and gives a date it would be good to meet. Ingrid waits for her to read it, "If you don't want to do the whole 'formal letters back and forth' thing, I can just give Butler the answer and he'll note it down in the diary."

"Oh, fabulous!" Cinnamon beams as she pulls out her little notebook, checking the date... then nods and pencils it in. "Okay! Sure, the date he suggests is fine, and thank you! Er... though I apologize for my manners. I'm Cinnamon!" She puts away her notebook and offers her hand as she adds, "And you are?"

Ingrid glances around as if to see if she's being watched, and then shakes Cinnamon's hand, "I'm Ingrid. Usually I'm the upstairs maid, but most of the staff are still in New York so I'm just the maid."

Cinnamon beams as she shakes Ingrid's hand, "Pleasure to meet you! So is Marcus originally from New York or something?"

Ingrid looks around again and steps out of the door, carefully closing it behind her so it doesn't slam, "His trod is up there. It's where his family is. He's got cousins there."

Cinnamon says, "Oh! Okay, I get it." She pauses, considering, then curiously asks, "So... do elves all prefer having very young elves as their representatives? Are the older ones all too busy or something?" She adds a bit shyly, "Also, I don't want to get you into trouble or anything... if I'm keeping you from work or whatever? I just... well, I'm trying to talk to as many folks as I can, so as to get to know Coblyn Street better, you know?"

Ingrid smiles, "Oh, Butler's doing his thing and Marcus isn't even in right now. I've got my work for the day done." She tips her head and thinks, "Well... Aisling's old. Really old. Marcus' seat was his father's and his father is really old, but he also got injured enough that he retired. And Hilde's seat was held by her grandfather and I think he just got tired of it."

Cinnamon looks shocked, "Marcus' father was injured because of this job?! Oh my gosh -- the poor man! Is he okay now?!"

Ingrid looks around again and lowers her voice, "Hunting 'accident.'" She does air quotes around the second word.

Cinnamon's eyes widen in horror, "Oh no! Was this like the assassination attempt on me -- except he wasn't as sturdy as me? Did they catch the jerk that hurt him?"

Ingrid's eyes are getting a little shiftier now and she says softly, "No one's ever proved it was anything but an accident. And he survived. Took a while to heal." She lowers her voice even further, "Stepped in a bear trap."

Cinnamon winces visibly, "Oh, ouch!" Impulsively she reaches out to Ingrid, adding, "I'm so sorry. That must've been really horrible."

Ingrid nods and looks around again and says, "It was nice to meet you, but I should probably go back inside." She gives Cinnamon another smile, "Have a good day," and then she's gone back into the house.

Cinnamon shakes her head slowly as she thoughtfully turns and heads off -- being a Councillor seems to be a particularly dangerous job if you're not sturdy as heck! She frowns as she pauses at the bottom of the stairs and studies her little notebook. Next stop is just outside Coblyn so she can make some phone calls... but once she's back on the street again... maybe Shane would know what happened to Marcus' father? Cinnamon shakes her head again, [Gosh, I hope Marcus is taking good precautions so he's not targeted next!]

Cinnamon has to wait a while before she can go visit Elias, but without Thorn present. She suspects the human... magic-user? She's not sure... well, he seems nice enough... but it worries her a bit that he's on such a short leash. Worse, the leash-holders seem to be a) part of the reveal faction, and b) pushing him on her. That bothers her some... and quite frankly, the unrequited worship in his eyes any time he's around Athala makes her feel slightly squidgy.

It's late enough that the sun is down, but early enough that most people are still awake. Josie and Shane both have things they have to take care of, but they both also make sure Cinnamon feels safe before taking their leave. Cinnamon thanks them with gratitude for their care of her, then checks: is visiting Elias after dark acceptable to him?

Shane smiles, "It's more than acceptable. He has more of his wits about him at night."

Cinnamon looks relieved, "Oh, good -- ok!" She smiles as she adds, "Thanks again, both of you. You've been the best friends a girl could want."

Josie sweeps Cinnamon up into a big, tight hug and grins, "You're a good person. I like you. I'm glad you're my friend, too!" Shane smiles, putting his hands on Cinnamon's shoulders, "You need more friends if you think we're the best." It's obvious he's teasing.

Cinnamon hugs Josie warmly back -- after the usual slightly startled, "Yeep!" -- and giggles at Shane! Shane, apparently satisfied he made Cinnamon laugh, takes his leave and says he'll be by to check on her in the morning. Cinnamon waves to them both, then steps inside her cozy little house to grab her bag -- she'll go visit Elias tonight! She really wants to ask him about the bits from the murderer that she brought him from Liam, after all.

When Cinnamon gets there, she finds Elias' door open and the shades that were so tightly drawn the first time she met him are pulled up. Cinnamon knocks on the doorframe, calling a polite, "Hello?"

From inside the house there are the strains of classical music and Elias calls back, "Cinnamon! Come in! I'm in the kitchen!"

Cinnamon blinks. How did he know it was... oh, of course -- her voice! She beams as she steps inside and heads for the kitchen, "Hello, Elias!" She can't help a smile as she thinks he must be very trusting to leave the door open -- then realizes that there are probably few who're foolish enough to tangle with a vampire at night on his home turf! She peeks into the kitchen, "Are you busy? Got a moment, please?"

In the kitchen, Elias has what look like large glass carboys out and he's fiddling with some sort of contraption atop each of them. He looks around and smiles. He's apparently decided she's not going to be afraid of him because he doesn't hide the teeth, "I always have a moment for you. Come in. I'm checking on my beer. I don't really drink it, but it's something that can easily be worked on at night and the science of it is interesting."

Cinnamon blinks curiously, pushing her glasses into place as she steps into the room and settles in a chair that looks like it'll be out of the way, "B-beer? Huh... like, the chemistry of it?"

Elias nods and finishes his fiddling. He picks up two of the full carboys and moves toward a door, "Yes. The chemistry. And the biology. It's yeast, after all. Come down with me."

Cinnamon rises and patters quietly along after Elias, curiously asking, "So... do you sell it, then, if you can't drink it yourself?" Cinnamon knows how heavy gallons of milk are and Elias is carrying two glass carboys that look like they hold at least six or seven gallons without strain.

In fact, they're not even jostling as he heads downstairs, "I give it away for the most part."

Cinnamon grins to herself as she realizes that, mentally tagging yet another bit of mythology as true: vampires are strong! "That's nice of you! Though... what do you do for money, then? Or do you have so much stashed away that it doesn't matter to you?" She wonders a bit perplexedly: will she ever get that way? She... sorta hopes not. Working and creating numerical order out of the chaos she's often handed makes her feel good! Though... hmm. Maybe what she does and what Elias does aren't that different? -which would suggest that a time may come where she too does creative stuff she enjoys just for fun. Well... odd, but ok!

Elias calls over his shoulder, "Oh! Hit the light switch at the top of the stairs?" It's true that he seems to be descending into pitch black.

Cinnamon grins again as she makes a mental note: vamps also see in the dark, got it! She flicks the switch, calling, "Thank you! I don't know if I can see in the dark or not... and I'd rather not find out by falling down the stairs!" She giggles, trotting along behind Elias as she cheerfully adds, "So have you had any time to look at the stuff I gave you from Liam?"

Elias is carefully tucking the carboys beneath a sturdy workbench. It actually looks something like a chemistry lab. There are beakers and test tubes and pipettes and other glassware. There's even a pair of Bunsen burners. He sighs, "Sadly, I have not. No more than a quick look. The blood is odd."

Cinnamon glances at all the stuff there with interest -- looks like this is something Elias does a lot of! Or... maybe beer is harder to make than she realized? Well, no matter! She tilts her head curiously as she looks up at the vampire, "Odd how, please?"

Elias turns and brushes his hands off. "As in: I've not seen anything quite like it before. Most vertebrates have red blood. It's the iron that does it. The reason it's red is basically that you've got rust in your veins. Some animals with exoskeletons have blue or yellow blood." He's taken on a teacherly tone, but not a condescending one. If he ever was actually a teacher, his students would have been able to tell that he loved to learn and to pass on that knowledge, "This, as far as I can tell, contains sulfur. It's black. I couldn't do much testing yet without destroying the sample."

Cinnamon considers that for a moment, "Sulfur? Hmm... so, fire related then, yes?" She smiles wryly as she adds, "Which... kinda narrows it down a bit, surely?"

Elias mms, "Well, with brimstone, perhaps. Liam himself didn't have sulfurous blood. It was, in fact, particularly rich in iron. If he cut himself, it would look more maroon than red. And many of the folk that inhabit this liminal space are quite shy about letting their biology be known." He smiles again, "Some sorts of creatures don't even have blood as you would think of it. You met Cronan, yes?"

Cinnamon nods and rolls her eyes, "Yeah, much to my embarrassment! Thank goodness Shane was there."

Elias nods and crosses his arms over his chest, "Cronan is a boggle. He looks like he's made of wood because he really is mostly made of wood. The nightmare that created him was probably of a child that got lost in the woods or who had a tree outside their window that creaked and groaned alarmingly in the night. Therefore, he doesn't have blood. He mostly has sap. To kill him, you would have to chop him into pieces or burn him. Since he's fairly harmless... if sticky fingered... no one has tried."

Cinnamon shivers slightly -- she doesn't think she'd like to know she'd been created from some poor child's nightmare! Then she frowns thoughtfully as she stares unseeingly at the glassware, "So... I take it you think letting this be publicly known wouldn't really help much? As in folks wouldn't be interested in helping find Liam's murderer?"

Elias says, "I'm still considering. If it gets out that we have something to link someone to Liam's murder, we may have people give us information. Or we may have someone try to murder us in our sleep."

Cinnamon grins ruefully, "That's apparently not new, though, right? On both counts?"

Elias chuckles, "That's true. The fact that you might die at any moment tends to disconcert people so I try not to be blunt about it. The other thing is that what I took to be hair isn't exactly hair. It reminds me of what spiders have on their legs. Or it might be some sort of vegetable fiber. It's got barbs. Stings almost like thistles." He absently rubs the fingers of his right hand together as he says that.

Cinnamon blinks confusedly at that, "Barbs? Huh! OK, that is weird!" She frowns thoughtfully again, "Well... you know what's going on here better than I do, Elias, so... I guess I'll leave it up to you?" Firmly she adds, "But if I can help, you'll contact me right away, right?"

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Last modified: 2019-Jun-12 19:53:32

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