Dominion Estate

The Dominion estate spreads out over a small hill, giving the mansion built at the peak a view of the surrounding suburban countryside. The grassy lawn is dotted with statuary and encircled by hedges grown up to hide the stone wall which surrounds the estate. A gravel driveway snakes elliptically up from the front gate northward to the house, east from there to the garage, then back towards the front gate. Preparations for some sort of garden have been made on the western slope of the hill.

The house itself is old and appears to have had had work done it over the years. The original, main part of the house is made of gray stone and reaches four stories high with the tower. The east and west wings appear newer and are made of brick and wood. The previous decay and disrepair can still be seen, but there also seems to have been some effort put into fixing the place up.

(+views set)

Obvious exits:
Mansion Front Gate

Natalie drives up to the Dominion gates in a small dark-green pickup. She stops at the keypad, her window coming down, but it's a moment before she leans out to tap a number. The truck's covered in dust and mud - clearly not a dilettantes's vehicle - while the woman inside moves slowly, as if weary.

It's actually past the gates that Quentin's hanging out as the truck pulls up to the gates; he's out on the porch, sprawled out in one of the weather-proof chairs munching on a bag of cheetoes and tapping at some things on his PDA. As he hears the rumble of the engine, he leans up, looking over the rail to watch the gates with a curious expression.

Gates open, gates close, truck safely through. Nat stops the truck in front of the house instead of continuing on to the garage, her door likewise opening and closing before she even notices the stranger. When she finally does, she studies him with an air of 'what now' before wondering, "And who are you?"

Quentin has, by the time she emerges from the truck, pushed himself up to his feet and tucked the PDA away; even brushed some orange crumbs from his shirt to keep from looking like a complete slob. "You must be Natalie," he admits, flashing a grin beneath bangs of cerulean-blue, "Sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself sooner, only been in town two days. Quentin." The bag of cheetos is offered, then, open-mouth toward her.

Natalie snorts, a tired smile curling her lips as she takes a handful of processed-cheese goodness. "Yeah, I'm Natalie. Thanks. Jeremy says, hmm." If Jer said that or not becomes irrelevant as she studies the other Galliard for a moment, tries another tack. "Will you be staying in town?"

Quentin quirks a wry smile up at one corner of his lips, "Yeah, I'm sure Jeremy says a lot of things... he tends to." Once the cheese-offering is taken, he lets the bag fall back down to his side, free hand raking back through his hair as he admits, "For a little bit, at least. Not sure how permanently."

Quentin:
A shock of electric blue hair spills down just over this teenager's brow, whispering at the nape of his neck as well; slightly long both in front and in back, a razor's work having shaved the sides just above and behind his ears into a buzz-cut haze of cerulean. The features of the night-pale face shadowed by that hair are slightly angular in their lines, high cheekbones leading down to a sharp chin matched by the straight line of his nose, the eyes to either side of it a startlingly bright shade of green that gleams almost emerald in the right light. He's a rather slender young man, in height just a few inches shy of a full six feet, although a touch of leanness to his limbs hints at the recent development of muscle to strengthen his frame.

He's dressed in a rather casual fashion, with a few flares of individuality to make him stand out. A hooded jacket of waterproof nylon taffeta falls over his upper body, midnight black in sheen with streaks of deepest blue to add a bit of colour to the garment, its large velcro-closed pockets bulging slightly with a variety of hidden contents. Beneath that can be seen, when the jacket's open or off, of a less glossy black -- a sweatshirt of a warm cotton weave worn slightly loose against his slender frame, but comfortable. His hands are gloved, black leather and polyester mesh offering more of a stylish commentary than actually protecting the fingers within from the elements. The black velcro band of a Coleman 'Night Sight' watch wraps about his left wrist just behind the glove, its metallic-blue ring circling the time display. A pair of black jeans cover his legs, the tough denim fabric scraped to a paler white at his knees and a few spots near the cuffs where they brush over the edge of hi-top sneakers crusted with mud and dirt from walking outdoors.

"Give me three members of Synthesis," Nat continues as if it weren't completely apropos of nothing, her nose wrinkling as she pops a Cheeto. Her eyes never leave Quentin's face.

"Alive," Quentin replies with a brow's quirk, not missing a beat, "Or dead?"

A faint quirk pulls up one side of Nat's face. "Either." She's relaxed at the return question, though she isn't yet completely at ease.

Quentin shrugs one shoulder, "Jack Salem, Alicia, Roger, John Smith..." A wry curl of his lips, "I can keep going, if you like."

"Not necessary." The Walker elder stretches, her back popping, then grunts. "Crap. Well, if you're going to be in town much longer, you should probably get the core dump." She eyes the boy. "If you haven't already? Have you heard about the Russians?"

"A bit," Quentin admits, crooking a brow upwards, "Nobody could really give me the straight story, though. Jeremy was a bit busy hacking and sucking face, and Josh seems about as well-informed as your average CNN-watcher."

Natalie snorts at the mention of the Ahroun. "Josh is currently in deep water, in addition to being a headcase. Well. Short story - very short - is that we've got Russians my friend, right here in River City. They believe Salem's a demon of some sort - a Fomori, if you can believe that - and they're targetting friends and family. They also know about Alicia. Daddy Russian and son also appear to be a mad scientist's wet dream version of Spiderman. Have you seen," she air quotes, "'the tape' yet? Either of them?"

Quentin's lips tug up a bit at one corner at the Josh comment, his expression rather wry. "I noticed." A pause, then, and a slight nod, "I heard that much... though I haven't seen these 'tapes' you mentioned yet. What are they?"

Natalie says, "Jer can show 'em to you." She reaches out for more Cheetos. "In the first one, we get to watch the invisible man beat up Salem, Rina, and some guy who I'm assuming is Cutter. He also runs like a bat out of hell, soaks up gunfire, and can leap tall buildings in a single bound. Tape number two shows us Daddy Russian at home, enjoying a quiet evening of hanging from the ceiling, rape, and murder. The first two concurrently, the third sequentially."

"It sounds like they're the ones who're fomori," Quentin muses, lips twitching into a frown and the bag of Cheetos held up in offering to the city's tribal elder, "How the hell do they even know about fomori, let alone us? Who blew the Veil?"

"Maybe, we don't know, and we don't know, in that order." She pauses long enough to claim another handful, then parks herself on the steps. "We thought for a while that Konstantin - Ragabash Shadow Lord - was our loose lips, but he came in for questioning today, and nada. They knew about Salem before he got to them. They don't seem to know about the rest of us, or what we can really do. One of them mentioned how fire is the only thing that will kill Salem." She twists around to give the younger Walker a grim smirk. "So it's not even looking like a Veil breach in the first place, if you ask me. Not complete and total, anyway."

"They're probably working off Russian folklore about werewolves," muses Quentin, stepping down to the steps and easing himself down to sit, drawing a knee up to his chest, "Never really delved into it, myself, so I'm not sure what their legends say." A wry look to Natalie, "It's a major fuck-up in any case, though."

Natalie replies with a fervent, "Hell yeah. Anyway, Jer's got the passwords for their computers, so he's currently rummaging through all their info. Their 'doctor' will be heading to Cuba shortly to round up more guns - and bodies, possibly - for their little war here with us. They don't know about this place," a Cheeto-y wave at the grounds, "yet, so we're safe for the moment. Current plan - very loose plan - is to send a bunch of us through the Umbra with sleepy sleepy juice to immobilize Daddy and Junior. Then we set the place on fire and get the hell out of Dodge. Meanwhile we're planning on alerting the Cuban authorities to give the doctor a warm welcome when he arrives."

Quentin's lips purse a bit, head tipping in a thoughtful nod. "Not a bad plan.. not bad at all. Like Jer mentioned, they don't know me just yet, so if there's anything I can do to help out, just let me know."

Natalie says, "Thanks. I'll pass that on to Signe." A moment of crunching passes before she adds, "Y'know, being Elder sucks."

Quentin smirks a bit, "'Course it does. The boss always hated it, himself."

"Good to know I'm in good company." She draws up her knees, balancing her free hand across them, and studies her truck with a squint. "Oh - here's one way you could help, right enough and no combat. We've got a Galliard cub named Katrine. She's almost ready to Rite. I haven't had a chance to get her into the Umbra yet. Maybe you and Cat - he's a Theurge, recently rited - could? It'd be a damn lot of help."

"Hm?" Quentin quirks one brow upwards a bit, before with a shrug of one shoulder admitting, "I could do that. I haven't gotten a chance to see Cat in action since awhile before his Rite, too, wouldn't mind seeing how the squirt's come along since those days..."

Natalie mutates her truck-studying-squint into a Quentin-studying-squint. "Huh. Hadn't realized you knew him. But yes, he just Rited. With Joshua, actually. Last weekend. So he's all squeaky clean and fresh." She pauses again, wiping her own fingers off on her jeans. "Does he talk to you?"

Quentin's head tips in a slight nod, admitting, "I heard the story of their Rite last night, actually, he was telling it to the boss..." Another nod, then, quirking a wry smile, "Yeah, he talks to me."

Natalie says, "Damn, I wanted to hear that." Mostly she sounds tired, moreso when she stands, wiping her cheese-free hand over her face. "What I really need is to be about three of me. I think I'm gonna head inside and get a nap before... damn. Before I start moving my stuff down to Salem's office."

Quentin pushes himself up to his feet, crumpling up the now-emptied Cheeto bag and tucking it into a pocket; offering her a hand up, he chuckles ruefully, "Go get some sleep."

Natalie takes the hand gratefully. "Thanks. Nice to meet you, Quentin. We could use the help if you end up sticking around. I'm not gonna push, though..." A yawn catches her mid-sentence, and she's barely able to cover it in time. "Mng, sorry. No more speeches. See you at dinner, maybe." And with a nod for a farewell she heads inside.

[End of log]