#rivervale_lodge

"But I thought, the lodge is nice, you know?"

Frank nods. "I can promise you, if it doesn't conflict with her Oaths or duty, the Chieftess would see honor and respect to the Inanimae."

"That's good, I think."

"I think so too." He pushes the lodge door open and invites her in, careful to scrape his boots and leave them at the threshold as well as hang his jacket up, and offer for hers.

"Do you have any oaths?" She follows his example, stepping on the heels of her sneakers and leaving them in an untidy pile by the door.

"Oh, yes. To my House, and to the Chieftess." He gets a cup of coffee, offers her one. "Most folks won't accept my Oath." with quiet dignity.

"Because of Liam."

"Is there milk and sugar?"

"Yes. And yes." He lets her treat her own cup.

Dag is not quite there on the black coffee trend, so there's a fair amount of both added to hers. "Are there special toll oaths?"

Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gentle rapping, rapping at the Lodge's door.

"Oh yes." A small. "My daughter and the Chieftess have one between.... Yes?" He goes to look.

He may have to look a couple times - and down a few feet, to see the slight form lurking just outside the door. "...." The wind, perhaps.

She takes a sip, and nods. Acceptable.

"...ess... or....mes ...awk."

For just a second, his eyes cloud darkly but then he blinks, and it's gone. "Oh. Symon, right? Come in."

"Symon?" She perks up. "Hey!" A grin.

He hesitates, eyeing the troll for a moment, unsure. Then a shadowy blur breaks away from the shade he casts and has slipped through the door before he can respond. A moment later, Dagmar's voice is heard, and he does indeed duck through the entrance fter nodding to the looming doorman.

Frank gets his feet out of the way, and closes the door. "Anyone hungry? Kerri usually leaves some stuff out."

Dagmar's shadow in the room grows slightly as Lovecraft joins it, winding around her legs somehow without actually seeming to touch her other than a faint tingle of her presence. As Symon approaches, his remark is heard... "Traitorous creature."

"Lovecraft is a good cat." She offers her hand for inspection.

"Think there's chicken, Frank?"

"I'll go see what I can find." He steps into the kitchen.

Shadowcat sitting back as though to not dignify this with a response - what is she, a slavering hound to snuffle at a master's mitt? But then, Chicken, and a paw is lightly raised to press against Dagmar's leg - with the tiny prickles of claws juuuuust extended enough to prick without cutting, as though to show, Yes, I COULD kill you... but I choose not to.... for now....

"We'll see, Lovecraft."

An exhalation from the sluagh as the mountain lumbers into the next room over, and Symon tilts his head to let hair fall away from eyes as he inspects Dagmar for a moment. "No new leaks or punctures?"

"Nah."

"I went up the stairs, and didn't die." A soft exhale, and he looms, hands outstretched for a moment in a spooky pose - er, well, it helps if she's sitting down. "Or did I? And come to haunt you?"

"I've never seen a ghost, but you could be one, sure. Have you tried walking through a wall yet?"

A smirk, and he remarks, "Is there a crack in it? Might try my best." His eyes flick over to the kitchen door. "This mountain. You trust him?" Suddenly somber, as he recalls his reason for the visit.

She chews on her lip, eyeing the door. "Frank's pretty cool. He's my teacher."

He relaxes a bit at that, and gives her a slight now. "My folk, we tend to stick together pretty tight. That's a good warning - not a threat." He's quick to add. "Some think if you mess with a slug, you mess with them all. Maybe it's not some mafia, but there's truth in it." Shoving hands in his pockets as he leans back to gaze up at the lodge, eyes trailing over the decorations, the carved rafters, the layout. "Are trolls clannish like that? All for one, and all?"

"I don't really know. They say that."

"This mean, I see another sluagh, I can be like 'yo, you know Symon?"

"Fair 'nuff. They've done me no reason to think bad of 'em so far as I've been here." He looks thoughtful, then cracks a grin. "They might know someone who does. I'm a bad example - probably down towards the bottom of the slug barrel. Wasn't especially a prize pupil, as it were."

A snort but a grin. "You and me, yeah?"

"You're more popular than I. No one wants to kill ME." A pause, thoughtful. "Yet. But give it time, I haven't been trying that hard."

Frank returns with a tray; sealed dishes on one side, and a healthy-sized ploughman's platter on the other. "Dagmar, there's a pitcher of lemonade in there, on the table. Can't miss it. Bring it on in?"

"Yeah, be right back.." She pads off for the kitchen, stockinged feet a bit less trompy.

He sinks back a little into the shadows, into himself, as Dagmar leaves and the mountain remains. A joggle at his throat as he swallows, apple bobbing in the thin neck.

Frank speaks quietly, his voice a rumble in your chest. "Covered stuff is for you. Kerri keeps it. Well, she's started to keep it again. Feel free to any of it, of course but...."

He says something - rather, his mouth moves. A pause, and he inches slightly closer, speaking up. "Master Withower's compliments on the Hearth's mushroom pasties."

Frank looks around with quiet surprise. "Really? Well. She'll be honored to hear it."

"And. A message for Mister Ironhawk." A pause, and uncertainly. "Sir...?"

Jaymes comes in from outside as if summoned

Dagmar starts out from the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade in hand.

"Jaymes? Well, he's.... right here."

"Jaymes, message for you. You've met Symon?"

Symon was just picking up one of the covered dishes, and he nearly drops it as James looms - er walks in. A clatter is prevented but a bit of the food hits the floor - ducking down quickly to pick bits back up and return them to the plate.

"Yeah I..." he also notices Dagmar "yes. I've met him."