The Second Rome

It's not a nice neighborhood. Not the worst, certainly, but it may be hard for one to tell when one recession ended and another began. The bar in question doesn't really seem to have a name, at least not one that is advertised. A broken neon sign still buzzes out the first letter: a "J" glowing a sickly green. The rest is a collection of broken tubes in the window.

Inside, one can see this once may have been a well loved saloon. The ancient bar of oak and brass still retains the faintest ghost of its grandness. Yellowed photographs and news clippings peek out from the smudged glass and brown leather that still shelter them upon the wall. The smiling and gay faces of men with names long forgotten seem to taunt the current drinkers.

Mr. Ghost sulks by himself at a worn and scarred tabletop of cheap formica. He clutches a shot glass. A cheap bottle of berry schnapps sits half-full in front of him. There are few others in the bar at the moment; the few other patrons seem to consist of wrinkled and beaten retirees. Despite the scratchy Christmas music faintly playing from a decrepit Wurlitzer the bar seems deathly quiet, each drinker lost in his or her own world.

((OOC: This scene follows this scene.))

Damien leads Fisher down the Foggy Bottom street while keeping his eyes open for signs of trouble. Once they reach the door he listens at it for a second before pushing it open.

"Come on in and stay cool," says Damien holding the door open.

((OOC: This takes place immediately after the end of this post. Open to any Lost characters who might be at the freehold.))

After a walk up Massachusetts Avenue from the Dupont Circle Metro stop, Akira arrives at a large house on Woodland Drive.

"This is the place I was telling you about," he says to his companions. He leads the way along the stone walkway to the front door. "I'll tell them we're here." He presses a small white button under a black rectangle. "Akira Sanada and guests, here to see Ms. Ravenscroft and Mr. DuSable, please?" A pause. "They're expecting us."

After a few minutes, there is a faint buzzing noise and then a soft click. Opening the door, he gestures for his companions to come with him. "Follow me."

((OOC: All characters welcome!))

The Union Station mall is not very busy this evening, with only a few early Christmas shoppers and the usual mall rats. Inside the Express store on the mezzanine level, the clerks busy themselves with folding and displaying clothes. The changing stalls are in the main area of the store and behind one of the doors, a soft rustling is heard.

The door to the changing stall opens, tentatively, and what might be a young teenage girl's face peeks out from behind it. The eyes widen and the stall shuts again, with a thud. A few moments later, the door swings open wide and the girl steps out, her face red and heart pounding in fear. Her eyes squint as though she had stepped out of a dark cave into sunlight.
**Wha- What is this place? It's so… bright! Why are there all those lights in the ceiling and by that mirror?!**
She catches sight of herself and a loud squeak comes from her mouth as she turns away from her reflection.

To mortal eyes, she is a plain-looking girl with chestnut hair which hides the right side of her face. She wears a very plain brown dress, which covers her arms and legs, with a tabard-like overdress of rough black cloth, which has a pocket in the front and a hood in the back. She wears no shoes.

Behind the mask is a broad countenance streaked with white and auburn fur, the face shows one shining black eye. The other is hidden by medium-length red hair which sweeps back toward pointed ears covered in soft white fur. Her arms are velvety black, ending in elongated paws. An ample tail, with alternately fair and ruddy rings trails behind her.

A short, gaunt, disheveled figure hops the fence the the National Zoo and staggers out onto Connecticut Avenue, staring in a bewildered fashion at a nearby streetlight.  His attention is broken by the sound of a passing car, and he reacts in a most peculiar fashion by diving behind one of the lion statues at the Zoo's gate. 

**What manner of glamour is this?**

((OOC: This scene takes place after this post. Open to any Lost who might be at the freehold.))

Kellyn gets off the Metro at Dupont Circle and hikes up to Massachusetts Avenue. In his hand is a manila envelope. Once he arrives at the freehold, he makes his way through the mansion until he either finds one or more members of the Council, or someone stops him.

**The sooner they know, the better. We can't just leave this hanging.**

A brunette wearing a black with white lolita-syle dress walks down the street. Spotting the sign for Tekha Khana, the brunette slows and starts looking at people.

It's one of the last bright warmer days of fall. The sun shines over the eternal protesters in Lafayette park and the tourists that ignore them. It also shines over a Beast basking on a bench next to a bicycle.

Sometimes he looks over at the protesters and thinks, <i>**Am I hungry?**</i>

((OOC: Yet another open to all getting to know you scene. Drop in if you feel the urge.))

Outside of the Heart of Darkness, Amy hangs out with the bouncer at the door. She flirts with bouncer when it's quiet, and checks out people waiting to get in whenever there are arrivals.

She's dressed in low cut black halter top, a short black leather skirt, black fishnet stockings and high heels. A glint of silver shows from her bare midrift, as she apparently has a belly-button piercing.

**I wonder if that guy from the Smithsonian will show. Not much to look at, but he was interesting....**


((OOC: Open to everyone))

Scriber sits in his home-office chair, leaning back. It's been a few days since the subway incident. Two slips of paper are out in one hand, angled so he can see them both.

**I really shouldn't involve the kid. But at this point, who else would believe me? Certainly not my brother! And Mary... God, I didn't even know where to start with her. But maybe... maybe someone who's point of view is just a little bit different...** Scriber sighs. **Yeah. An artist who doesn't know what's what anymore and a cross-dressing kid against the whole of Faerie. This'll work out well.**

His eyes glance to the books scattered across his desk, the authors' names like a guiding light: Rose, Campbell, Briggs, Froud, Keightly, Erhardt, Purkiss... There just seems to be so much information that he doesn't know what to make of or what to do with. **Well... they say faeries will favor fools, poets, children and drunks. And I can't think of anything more foolish than to just go ahead and do this.**

His decision made, Scriber pulls out his cell phone with his free-hand, and starts typing in toby_dc's number. He tosses the student's slip of paper onto the table and holds up the business card. The phone starts to ring, and the artist waits for an answer..