Scene #1367: Meeting in the Lobby

Owner	Pose
Guest Psyber	It's just an average Monday in Boston-666. The approach to the city is slightly overcast with the sky pockmarked with scattered grey clouds that occasionally see the sun peeking through in short doses. The air is chilly and slightly winding, barely touching the low 40s with intermittent gusts. Standard day in Boston January, really. Psyber, himself, is in his lovely office building. He's, due to not having any missions which require his immediate attention, pulling lobby duty. Due to this being nearly noon on a Monday, this meaning that he's got a container of chinese food on the reception desk, a newspaper open in front of his face, and is leaning back in an office chair with his feet propped up.
Sir Bedivere	Although some might complain about the crisp winter air of the city, January in Boston is like a summer day after Dun Realtai's winds and weather. So it is that the Knight of the Round Table strolls briskly down the street and into the Heaven or Hell tower. He knows his way; it doesn't take him long to reach the office of its owner. Bedivere's wearing a suit, which makes him look remarkably modern, aside from that faint hint of a warrior's poise. There are hints to his anachronism here or there -- the red stone stud in his left ear, or the bronze cuffs that bind his hair, tooled with ancient La Tène ornamentation. On the whole, though, he's pretty good at faking an urbane, if slightly feminine-looking, businessman. He's wearing a plain black suit, a lot like the kind Saber favours; his shirt is white, but the tie is the same soft blue-grey as the mantle of his knightly cloak. The only thing that doesn't seem to belong is an obviously handmade, slightly clumsily-knit blue-grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hands are covered by black doeskin gloves. Clutched in his arms are a stack of books, a fastened folio full of papers, and tucked behind his right ear is a sleek, modern pen. There comes the sound of a shoe rapping against the doorframe; Bedivere wavers slightly under his load, but doesn't drop anything. "Master Psyber." A short pause. "Shall I close the door?" Something about him seems somehow... different. Not that he's not himself, or any other tampering; it's definitely the onetime Marshal of the Realm -- but something about his presence seems subtly different. That faint whiff of the supernatural about him seems stronger, somehow.
Guest Psyber	Psyber looks up from the reception desk. It's actually a pretty modern lobby, with marble floors and some glass doors. It's also way warmer than it is outside. The kind of thing you'd expect from a business set in a tower. Psyber sits upright as Bedivere comes in, looking the man over and seems to remember about the appointment in that instant. "Oh right, yeah, yeah. Come on in. Sorry it's cold out, Boston Witers and all that," He rubs the back of his head before folding up the paper into quarters and setting it down next to him on the table. He waves the man over to the front desk and then clears off the carton from his lunch and a few appointment books, as well as a phone. "Here, all that looks h eavy. Set it down right here," He indicates the freshly cleaned spot in front of him and then says, "There's a lot of it. I hope it wasn't too much to handle. I'm probably gonna have Azzy help you out due to his bureaucracy abilities in the future. Split the paperwork up a bit and give him forms." "How've you been, anyway?"
Sir Bedivere	"It is warmer than Dun Realtai." Bedivere shows a thin smile. While he has no conception of the temperature, or any appreciable way to measure it, there's no mistaking that there's probably a forty degree difference. That place almost makes the midwest look toasty. "Considerably less snow, as well. Nothing to apologise for; such is beyond your control, in any case." "I think," he adds, cocking a mild grey eye toward Psyber. One never really knows for sure, in the multiverse. Somewhat gratefully, he sets down the load as gently as he can, though some of the heavier books still produce a satisfying 'thud.' "Azzy?" For a moment the knight looks blank, but recognition seems to dawn. "Ah. Yes. Lady Aoko's Servant. An incarnation of Death, or something of its like? I have spoken to him very little. I do not mind; although I am capable of handling this." Straightening his gloves now that his hands are free, he carefully pulls the folio from the pile, leafing through the papers. Those violet eyes squint slightly as he skims them for something, finally plucking a few pages out and presenting them to Psyber. "You will find your finances complete and accounted for in these pages, although they are non-standard forms; these are my own work. The rest is included in the folder, with itemisation where possible. Check them for accuracy, if you please; I will understand if you wish to do so to your own satisfaction, and indeed, I would expect it." "As to the workload, fear not. It is no greater than when was appointed Marshal of the Realm by my king. When I was appointed, there were... a great many changes being affected in the kingdom." He shrugs, though the gesture is subtle. "And that included a great many changes in Camelot's armies." "I must admit," he sighs, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, "I find English a strange and awkward tongue. I prefer my native tongue, or even Welsh, but I suppose it is what it is. Just as well I need not speak it; only read and write it." How is he? He seems to blink somewhat owlishly at the question, as though he actually has to stop and think about that. "Well, thank you. For the most part I have been doing what light work there is to be done, such as balancing the ledgers; it is too cold and the snow too deep for any great work to be done in Dun Realtai. Further construction will have to wait until the spring." His head shakes; he dismisses the matter with the motion. "What of you? I am sorry we have not had more opportunity to speak. My king has insisted that I spend my time resting," he adds, eyes sliding away from Psyber, as though he were embarrassed by the fact. "I am still recovering." From what, he doesn't specify. "On the whole, though, I could ask not for better. I do not know why, or what I have done to deserve it, but the Good Lord smiles upon me, truly." He shakes his head. "It is a knight's duty to serve; After Camlann, I... did not think I would be given the opportunity. To be given the opportunity to serve again, and to assist the people -- that is a blessing, truly."
Guest Psyber	Psyber picks up a couple of the papers and then skims through them, "Oh perfect, perfect. This will definitely help nail down that tax mishap from last year," Psyber says as he inspects the finances carefully, "Some hacker embezzeled a ridiculous amount of money in my name, so it got all hectic. I wanna try to mitigate that in the future." "And yeah, the moocher's servant. Apparently being Death makes him crazy good at paperwork. I don't know if he can do full on finances like this, but he at least processes forms at a ridiculous speed," Psyber notes, skimming through the papers and then thinking it over. Despite his usual slacker attitude, he has a pretty keen attention to detail. He takes out a pen and taps it against the forms as he goes over them. "And I'll still apologize for the workload because now you're managing two major projects, so I feel bad for distracting you from Dun Realtai's own books," He notes offhandedly. Occasionally he makes a quick note on a sheet. It's mostly him trying to fill in for the things Bedivere couldn't itemize for lack of receipts. A note about a new rifle he bought that accounts for 2000 dollars here or there, just trying to give Bedivere more complete records. To the comment about construction, "Yeah, it's not great to break ground and build in frozen soil. Foundations shift during the thaw unless you're using industrial construction techniques," He notes, red eyes flicking over the papers. "Saber's good to keep you resting, too," He eventually shuts one folder and switches to another, "You're a good knight and excellent in your trade, but I'm willing to bet she fears losing you a second time to some injury or illness brought on by exacerbating physical conditions." He looks up, "I doubt she'd ever admit it, in those words, but it's my theory. She'll err on the side of caution to avoid risking your presence in her life."
Sir Bedivere	"I noticed a discrepancy, yes." Bedivere's eyes flick to the stack of papers and books, and he frowns slightly. "I attempted to sort that out as best I could, but I am not confident I have found everything. Aside from that, the accounting should be accurate. I will attempt to process them again, later, and see if I might smooth out the remainder." Moocher? He raises a brow at the unfamiliar term, but doesn't interupt. Death, good at paperwork? "Hm. I wonder what the correlation is. In that case, it may perhaps be better to give him the forms, yes. I will handle everything else of the agency, in that case." "Distraction? I volunteered for this duty," he points out, though not ungently. "I had some notion of what I was volunteering for, even putting aside the finer points. At present there is little to be done for Dun Realtai's accounts and management. The weather is too poor for any work to be done, so aside from standard importation of basic supplies, many of its people are resting and recovering after their ordeal." He nods faintly at the commentary on construction. "It would be like digging a hole in sand. Putting that aside, it is far too cold to ask the villagers to expose themselves to the winds for extended periods. I am beginning to see what it was Lady Alaia meant about shielding the region from winter. If this is under the effects of her protection, I would surmise it is unliveable otherwise, and must wonder how these people survived, before." He looks a little puzzled, folding his arms. "They are a far stronger people than even I had guessed. I am glad for that." "So long as I can maintain a steady import of supplies, they will keep until the spring, and the rest of the construction can be completed without fear of setbacks." He drums the fingers of one hand against the opposite forearm; one eye slides nearly closed, the other distant in thought. "There are still a number of more, ah, 'modern' improvements I would like to incorporate." Bedivere looks up, lifting a brow at the almost-admonishment, but sighs in seeming resignation. "Aye. She is." He looks away, studying the opposite wall, away from those red eyes. "One thing to understand about my king -- about both of us, if I am to abide by the virtue of Fides -- is that for nigh on twenty years, we were forced to sacrifice our humanity for the good of the kingdom. We could show no impartiality or favour. We could show no concern for our brothers-in-arms. Often I was sent on dangerous missions to enemy territory, or ordered to lead pitched battles against the Saxon host. And it killed her, every time, to use her knights so, as one would use a tool, but she could show no hint of her pain."
Sir Bedivere	"Now that she is no longer under such an obligation, she is free to do the things she could not do during her reign. She is free to order me to rest. To ensure that I do not overwork myself. To worry about those whom she considers friends and comrades. Did you know? I nearly perished, when Caliburn was lost to her. It was a cowardly night attack by the Saxon host, not far from Camelot, and my forces were wholly overpowered. We could not even see for the rain. Yet we triumphed, somehow; but I was nearly laid low by my wounds, and I remember tasting blood when I was borne back to the citadel. Yet all she could do was look at me when I delivered what scattered report I could remember. But if you had seen her eyes, Sir Psyber--" He pauses, grimacing slightly; the title a familiar slip. "You would have known what it cost her." "Truly, I am glad for her to order me thus. I do not always think to do so myself. I spent nearly twenty years pushing myself past the breaking point for Camelot's sake. I could afford no sign of vulnerability, no sign of weakness; there were too many who wished me ill in the courts -- I was not a popular choice of marshal," he adds, with a sardonic half-smile. "In truth, I was not even from Camelot, but a foreigner from the northern kingdom of Dál Riata, between Ulaidh and Alba. Ah, I believe you know them today as... 'Ireland' and 'Scotland?' I never spoke of it. Even the legends seem to think I was of Albion, so I performed my duties well. Better still they not know that I was the son of a filidh. A... hm. I would say a 'magus,' but I do not know what would entail the differences or similarities. I am not familiar with magicians of the modern era. But in Dál Riata, music is magic, and magic is music, and my people were well-versed in both. The filídh were bards, musicians, poets, judges, and the advisors to kings. I was no commoner -- but to have been foreign in Camelot was worse than commonness, I would say." He sobers. "In any case... I digress. Yes. I believe you are right." He sighs, glancing back to Psyber, faded violet eyes meeting red. "In any case... yes. I believe you are right. No, I know it. I know her as well as anyone can. I saw her hidden heart, in Camelot, when she thought she had hidden it away from the world." The brief flicker of a smile he shows is almost sad. "So I hardly hold that against her. I know I do not always think to see to myself; to cease in my duties. It is an unfortunate flaw in my character."
Guest Psyber	"Such a tale of her does not surprise me in the least," Psyber notes in reply to hearing about the night Caliburn was lost. He leans back against his table and flips through the paperwork, piece by piece. It serves multiple purposes, not the least of which being that he can avoid looking directly at Bedivere as they talk about Saber. It's not a personal affront, it's just that Psyber naturally withdraws when it comes to talking about people he knows. "A bard, hm?" Psyber asks, looking up finally to catch Bedivere's gaze, "It seems that throughout history there are two people who classically see the problems of a kingdom for what they are, and whom do not fear telling the King. The bard and the jester." He notes, gaze flitting back down to the papers in front of him, "Which is why it is wise for one to always have the King's ear." "It's nice to see her get to relax. Between her time with Sakura and any of the other happenstance of the Multiverse, I am pleased to see her finally settling into a life that she is well-suited for," He adds, "Not that I think she was ill-suited to the modern world, merely that she is likely more comfortable now than she has been in years prior."
Sir Bedivere	"I did act as her advisor." Bedivere glances back to catch Psyber's gaze, shrugging faintly. "There were few things I was not aware of within the kingdom, and what I did not perceive, Sir Lancelot did. Between the Left Hand and the Right Hand, there was little that my king was unaware of." He shifts his weight in his chair, but he doesn't lean back. One gets the sense the knight might be slightly uncomfortable, surrounded by so much concrete and glass; the urban jungle just doesn't agree with him very much. "The filídh are not quite what you may think of when you use that word, 'bard,' but it is the closest approximation I know of." He shakes his head, faintly, reaching up to tug at the red stone in his ear. It almost seems like a gesture of unease. "But I did not have the king's ear. Not precisely. She was not a king whose ear could be bent. We had simply reached an uncommon level of agreement, however unspoken, over what must needs be done for the good of the kingdom." Bedivere sighs through his teeth, though he does finally smile, faintly. "I agree with you. Whether or not she has the understanding granted Servants of the era they are summoned into, we are of similar minds, and we are made somewhat uncomfortable by such places. Truly, there are wonders there. There are things we never could have dreamt of. But they are so different; and that makes us ill at ease, I think." "Ah, one more thing." His eyes eventually turn back to Psyber, whisking off his left glove and holding up his hand, baring the elegant red knotwork of his command seals. "It is about this."
Guest Psyber	Psyber is silent through most of the explanation of both Saber's past and of Welsh Lore. Neither of which are his particular strong points. He simply gives Bedivere a nod every now and then to indicate that is still listening, or an 'uh huh' to punctuate the point. Eventually, though, Bedivere brings it around to those symbols on his hand. Carefully, Psyber closes the folder and sets it back down on the table next to him. There's a long moment where he looks at the markings on Bedivere's hand and then says, "I see." Psyber begins, thinking on what Bedivere could possibly need him for. "I'm unsure of what advice I can give you related to that world. I've never been too involved in its mechanics and my deepest tie to it is a close relationship with a third rate Magus of no importance. But if I can be of help, do tell me."
Sir Bedivere	"Be at ease. I seek no advice from you." Bedivere lowers his hand, eyeing the half-angel obliquely. "I simply wish to forewarn you of something, lest you find out through other means. I would prefer it not be an unpleasant shock for you to find out." "I have sought out tuition in how better to use these. The reality is simple: I am insufficient as a Master to the needs of my king. Her legend is great, I am gratified to say, but it also means that so too is her power as a Servant." He shakes his head, faintly. "I am not even a third-rate... 'magus.'" The term is given somewhat awkwardly, in its English form; he pronounces the word with clear awkwardness, and a clear, almost Irish-sounding lilt -- he hasn't been speaking the Welsh of King Arthur's court, but his native Scots-Irish Gaelic. "I am the son of a filidh, who was himself the son of a lineage of filídh. But I have no training." "I left Dál Riata before I could be trained to my father's place." He smiles, a little fondly. "I caught sight of the king in the market square. My brother, my cousin, and my father and I had come to trade. But once I had seen her, I knew then I would serve no other master. And I did not." The smile fades. "However, had I known, I would have taken some training." "Sufficed to say, when I first accepted her command seals, I could not provide her with what she needs. But I wished to inform you of /who/ I have accepted training from. It is Loros." He holds up a forestalling index finger. "Before you accuse me of foolishness, I know his ilk. He is like to the Tylwyth Teg, the Ever-Living Ones; the Fair Folk. His kind are bound by ancient law. I have traded to him a favour for his tuition, but know that it is a favour that will not interfere with my obligations to the Union, or to the people of Dun Realtai. Perhaps it may be a shadow cast upon me, personally, but that does not matter to me." He replaces his glove, tugging it back into place. "I do not think there is anything you need be concerned about, but I wished to inform you, lest you find out through other means. He is, if nothing else, an excellent tutor and one I can trust to his word when given. He has had some manner of past experience with the War of the Holy Grail, I think, for he is familiar with these, and familiar with what instruction I require specifically."
Guest Psyber	Psyber actually doesn't have much to say to the Loros comment, so forestalling him with a finger falls on mute lips. He gives Bedivere a somewhat blank stare and then says, simply, "Okay. If that's what you think is best." And then he picks up another folder and starts to flip through it, checking over the paperwork. To elaborate on his outward indifference to the revelation, Psyber explains, "Loros, while dangerous, has been largely inactive for some time. Due to a lack of aggression on his part, he has also not been my personal and immediate concern for over two and a half years." He pauses for a few moments, "While I do not agree with his methodology or existence as a general matter of course, I have more pressing and immediate crises which require my attention, and so he is a secondary or even tertiary concern in the grand tapestry of my personal business." "Therefore," He notes in conclusion, "If you are aware of the implicit and explicit risks involved in the situation, I have little to say on the matter of whom you chose to provide magical education."
Sir Bedivere	"Ah?" Bedivere actually looks relieved when Psyber seems indifferent on the matter, even going so far as to let out a breath. "Good. I had expected some resistance. I do not know your past history with him, but I do know that he is a ranking member of the Confederacy, however inactive; I thought that might create... problems." He fiddles with his glove again, eyeing the dyed doeskin. "While it would have been preferable for me to find a tutor within the ranks of the Union, I felt his knowledge best suited what it was I require. It is not a matter of personal choice, at this point, but of necessity. I will not allow my own shortcomings to be the reason for her downfall. And while I can bear a great many things, I do not think I can survive losing her for a second time," he admits, more quietly. "Thank you for your understanding, and for your trust in me to handle the situation as I feel appropriate." The words certainly seem heartfelt. "In truth, he has taken somewhat of an interest in Dun Realtai, but I do not believe he represents any danger as of yet. Far more of a concern to me is Lady Kagenashi. Until I can discover her motives, I do not have any way to predict why she is there, or what it is she seeks, aside from a roof over her head whose neutrality she can trust in." He climbs back to his feet. "I will trouble you no more, in the meantime. I simply wished to drop those materials off to you, and to inform you of the situation; better to hear it from me, I think, than to find out through any other means. I intend to keep this matter quiet, however. I do not think it would be good if certain elements of the Union were to discover I were learning some manner of arcane arts from a ranking member of the Confederacy." He half-smiles, sardonically. "Be well. I will be in touch, if you require my assistance, or if you simply wish to talk." He heads for the door, but pauses on the threshold. "Was there anything else? I would not mind lingering a bit longer, in truth. I enjoy speaking with you; you are... hm. Different. I am sorry I cannot think of a more diplomatic means to put it, but it is always interesting, speaking to you. You are very different from anyone who was at Camelot's court."
Guest Psyber	"I appreciate the heads up," Psyber says, nodding to Bedivere, "He's a skilled wizard, that is factual. As I mentioned before, it is your call to make and not mine," Psyber notes, smiling a bit and seeming to just let the topic go after that. No need to keep dwelling on the topic of Loros, in his mind. When Bedivere starts to head for the door, Psyber gives a polite shake of his head, "I can't think of anything too pressing to talk about right now. I have just have a meeting Wednesday and some out-office excursions to make. Overall, a slow week with not much on my mind," He notes, scratching the underside of his chin. "Safe travels back to Dun Realtai and good luck on solving the mystery of Kagenashi. It would seem that you, Shizune, and D are all aiming towards similar goals. You should confer with them for more insight."
Sir Bedivere	The knight lingers at the door, hands at his sides as he watches the half-angel. He dips his head after a moment to Psyber's smile, evidently content to let the topic go, too. There's not much to discuss, in truth; it was just a forewarning, before he found out from any other sources. True, there are few indeed who do know, but Bedivere is not a man to leave things to chance. "Very good, then." He inclines his head in his own polite acknowledgement. "Sometimes, slow is good. The land of Cathay had a curse, in my king's and my time. I believe it translated into, 'May you live in interesting times.'" His smile is faint. "There are many definitions of 'interesting.'" He bows down, the display respectful and archaic, at odds with his sleek modern suit. "Thank you for the information. I will certainly pursue those leads, and confer with them. Perhaps they may have valuable information that I have overlooked or otherwise been unable to discern. I am an observant man out of necessity, but she is a difficult one to observe." He smiles, faintly. "I hope your day remains peaceful, Master Psyber. Call upon me if you have need of me. In the meantime, I will do aught I can to smooth the rest of your agency's finances. I am confident I can repair this for you." With that, provided Psyber doesn't call out to stop him, the soft-spoken knight slips out the door and takes his leave.