#baronyofthesilverwolf

It takes some doing.

A clever bit of clockwork and glamour, shaped like a spider, drops down in Wudlig's path.

"Hello, what's this?" he bends down to look, "Nice craftsmanship. You are not drek, are you? Dougal working? Not sure... "

No maker's mark. The wee beastie is about the size of a tarantula, and gleams in copper and silver. It waves its metal pedipalps in greeting, before turning and presenting its thorax. A tiny scrap of onionskin has been rolled up and affixed to the chimera - a note?

"You're a messenger ? Don't suppose you'd stick around after and let me run a look over your gears later? " He takes the onion skin though and unrolls it "I'd put things back" He assures. And he reads

The paper is tiny, but has room for a short message in purple ink: "SereniTea Cafe, 11:30"

1122, meanwhile, is preening at Wudlig's admiring gaze. He is magnificent, isn't he?

He does admire the spider some more "Definitely good craftsmanship. No mere 8 legged golem this."

"Oh, forgive" he says with uncommon manners for a nocker. He is wearing a mask, but it is well as his face seems..rather unattractive even with it on.

And he looks at his phone and does a search SereniTea Cafe to see if one is in town.

It is! A cute little indie cafe, near the green.

"Never been" He admits and decides if he likes it, he'll take Gerd here next time she visits. Finding his key, he looks to the spider "You coming along? I'm Wudlig by the way, though I suspect you know that"

A tappity-tap in response - some kind of code?

He he listens "Morse?"

The spider hops up, and skitters to perch on the nocker's shoulder. (Y-E-S)

"I'm rusty, but I think I get you. Then let's go" He gets into his carriage, which looks a bit like a pumpkin, or is it an onion or a turnip? and soon are driving that way , a veil going up, people know to avoid, but pay it not much mind other than that. "I'd go faster but one of the trolls here is a cop who enforces the speed limit. Normally I don't register but it is set to mortal veiling not changeling" He explains "or chimera" He adds

1122 listens!

"I could be walking into an ambush" He notes "But darn it, when workmanship such as yourself showss up on someone else's behalf, I give it a shot"

The cafe is full of quaint, boho charm. Potted flowers and herbs, pottery and paintings from local artists (hey, that's one of Chuck's Mom's! by the register!), big windows with lace curtains, charmingly mismatched furniture...

Tappity-tap. ("F-o-l-l-o-w")

1122 hops down, and scurries forward.

He looks about, notes the charming boho thing, and gives it another point in the 'gerd dept' and nods muttering "lead on" And he follows

It should be HARD to find a shadowy corner in this sunny, summery space. Young things and retirees both are there, some chatting, some reading or knitting. But the spider inerringly goes to the back. Here, ive has grown across the window outside, and leaves one table cast in dappled darkness.

He gets a bit more guarded, but follows still

The witch is waiting for him, a cup of tea in hand and a second steaming on the table. Her white hair is in a loose braid, bangs trailing into ink-dark eyes. She wears gauzy layers of grey and white, a chiaroscuro creature in the riot of pastels.

"Journeyman Wudlig." Grey lips quirk into a smile. This is NOT a Silver Wolf sluagh!

The glass eyes of his mask reveal little at first, but this his expression changes, "That's me. Your companion was so amazing I felt I had to take your invite. May I join you at the table?"

"1122 is a wonder, aye. Please. I got you Irish Breakfast. 2 sugars."

THAT catches his attention. How could she know? Well, she's a sluagh. Then the name of the creation rings a bell as well. When he has he heard of a spider with a name like 1122?

The spider chimera climbs and settles at his accustomed spot on the sluagh's braid, glittering like a jewel.

"Miss Zara of Earthrunes, I presume" He says as he sits down, "So nice to finally meet you"

"Likewise. Our mutual friend has spoken well of you." Sip.

At that he smiles "And of you. Pardon me, but ... "He sips "While I'm flattered, I'm equally baffled as to the purpose of this meeting. " He does think it over "Though I suppose given one of the two I work for, can't blame you for wanting it on different ground."

A lift of her eyebrows, and a nod. "I thought, perhaps, this would be a more agreeable ground."

He does not cuss NEARLY as much as most Nockers. Zara was told that such types tend to build up then explode. IT's really better to let it out in regular intervals

"The Baroness has surprised folks by allowing ... monitored visits from ALL walks of life, but well, things are what they are" He nods "How can I help you?"

"I do believe I shall need to tell Gerd of this place, I do not believe she knows it yet. Or, perhaps, that may be your privilege."

"Aye. Monitored." She briefly scrunches her nose. "The Cat's Comb is a rare thing, is it not? Cloaked as they are in their puzzle boxes and smoke screens."

"I would love to be the one to spring it on her" He admits, at mention of his bannerhouse, he smiles "No one really monitors a Combecatte even if they think we do. We usually let folks see what ever will make them most relaxed. Not through stealth, that is your people's expertise, though we do have some sluagh members, but rather presentation, and camouflage. Puzzles and smoke is a good way to sum it up, yes. " Curiosity arises "Are you hoping to purchase a service from me?"

"Mm." Slightly taken aback as he goes straight to terms of purchase. "Consultation, mayhaps."

He is still a nocker and they can be, as she knows, direct. Even a Combecatte

"I was curious" He admits , then looks speculative "I've done consultations and am available for such"

They can also be rude. She knows nockers well, but she is still a sluagh, and they have their own proprieties.

"Tell me, have there been any recent Dream Dances in the area?"

"Not that I'm aware of and normally that sort of news gets around. We have a wonderful boggan as a steward and I can't imagine she wouldn't be on top of that sort of thing. Pray pardon, here I am bargaining and there might be a chrsylaid out there in need of aid? " Clearly, Right of rescue comes before business

"A chrysalid?" She stresses the singular, making it a question.

At that, he pauses to consider her words, sips his tea to buy time, and notices the stress, "You are now asking about more than one? I can't imagine our thanes not on the ball for that."

"It is fortunate, then, that none here have hatched. Yet."

"But... a dozen more are known, and not all of those were fortunate."

Wudlig ponders this, a dozen? That means a lot further afield, possibly..many fields.