InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "i'll get you my pretty"

Edene Ilsa (harborfey) wrote in oceancove,
@ 2011-06-14 10:41:00

Entry tags:

c: ilsa, c: thomas mckinnon

Who: Ilsa and Thomas McKinnon
What: A consultation
When: Tuesday afternoon
Where: H&W
Status: In-Progress

She swam that morning. She left before the sun had properly risen, before the air had lost its cool edge, and went out to the sandbar that some of the Gray's Harbor seals favored. They weren't any relation - ordinary seals, all of them - but they were good company. They all played in the surf until the pups tired, and then collapsed onto the sandbar as the fog lifted. The cold of the morning lingered on her skin for hours afterward, a reminder of what she had to gain.

Ilsa prepared for her meeting with Thomas McKinnon with a strange calm; she was certain this was the right thing to try. She didn't know what she might need, or even what was reasonable to ask Mr. McKinnon to do (her impression of the human legal profession having been primarily gleaned from assorted television shows), so she gathered everything she thought might be helpful, all the documents related to Teague's will and estate, assorted letters, even the postcards he'd sent her - a record of his travels. She didn't linger over any of them.

Such papers had always seemed like human detritus to her, but this was how humans established precedent - it was how they made truth, albeit of a more flexible variety than the fey were used to. She was almost human by now. It was time she made their methods work for her.

Ilsa arrived ten minutes early. As a direct result of extensive business dealings with fey, she had a habit of precision that for her included, among other things, punctuality; however, her experience of humans had led her to understand that punctual was often synonymous with early (annoyingly, the internet did not seem to agree on how early). She came prepared to wait. Ilsa greeted the rather impressive receptionist (noting with interest the taste of blood and death around her), and waited for instructions, her manner pleasant and easy.

Every once in awhile, chimeric water dripped from her hair.

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forthedefense
2011-06-14 10:50 pm UTC (link)

The annex to Thomas's office was like the beginning of a joke: two motorcyclists, a water spirit, and a huddle of cassock'd priests all stood at separate measure from one another, as if lifestyle were catching. Donna, old veteran of the social squeeze, had made sure the coffee pot was in full service. There were few diplomatic balms better than a good cup of coffee.

Thomas emerged from his office a short time later, a manila folder underneath his arm. He spoke briefly to his secretary and then presented the envelope to the priests, speaking in his strained Italian. They nodded and smiled. Shook hands. Their crucifixes swung heavily from the belts at their waists. When they left the cyclists seemed more at ease. One yawned, widely, revealing a pair of impressive fangs.

"Ilsa?" Thomas ventured, assessing the room.

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harborfey
2011-06-14 11:21 pm UTC (link)

Ilsa sipped coffee and stood apart from her fellows in the waiting room, partly because she tended to fall naturally into the attitudes of her surroundings - as no one else seemed keen to interact outside their groups - and partly because she viewed them as a form of fairly entertaining improv. She watched the motorcyclists and priests alternately glare at or pointedly ignore each other with unabashed interest.

When Thomas emerged, she watched him speak with the priests, trying to take his measure in some part before interacting with him herself, though she spoke no Italian. She caught the flash of fang from the cyclist as she turned her head to watch the priests leave, and had a brief pang for her lost Glamour ability. It was no great drama of grief - she just felt a momentary mischief to flash some sharp teeth in return. She smiled at him instead.

At the sound of her name, she looked back to Thomas and started walking toward him. "Yes," she answered. "Mr. McKinnon, I presume?" - though she knew it was him. It was just something to say.

	forthedefense 2011-06-17 07:17 pm UTC (link)
	Thomas listened attentively, racking information as it came to him. He admittedly knew little of the fey, perhaps even less of the selkies, but he had a rudimentary knowledge of skins and could more or less follow her. "Where was --" he consulted the will "-- Mr. Teague's last place of residence?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	forthedefense 2011-06-20 01:09 am UTC (link)
	"Mr. Teague seems to have had a sense of humor," said Thomas dryly, consulting the rest of the list. Teague had criss-crossed the continent quite a few times, alighting in one place only long enough to establish some formative ties to it before moving on. The will lay on the desk between them. Thomas pointed to a name. "'Nettie Teague,'" he said. "Is this you?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	forthedefense 2011-06-22 11:01 pm UTC (link)
	"Exactly how does a person steal a skin?" Thomas asked, thinking it a very obvious sort of question and kicking himself for not coming up with it sooner. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	forthedefense 2011-06-25 03:56 am UTC (link)
	"So it's a matter of figuring out the trick --" an apologetic glance "-- if I can use that word. Or tracking down the hiding spot." A pause. "And the legal aspect of all of this is ensuring your legitimacy to what's yours, correct?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)