White Stag: Pub

The pub takes up the vast majority of the first floor of the building and is partitioned into two sections by the long, mahogany-finished bar that runs along both sides of the seperating wall. On the one side, the place has a more restaurantish feel: booths occupy the spaces beneath the windows, and tables with sturdy chairs are arranged in a pattern that allows waitstaff easy access. On the other, the place has a more typical pubbish feel: the tables are closer together, more stools belly up to the bar, and the usual barroom diversions -- color television mounted in a corner near the ceiling and canted down to provide a clear view to most patrons, a billiard table, and a few dartboards -- are present.

The decor of the place is much as one would expect. There is the obligatory Irish flag hung over the door that leads back into the lobby and a couple of neon signs and mirrors proclaiming this or that particular beer, while the mirrored partitioning wall behind the bar is laden with just about every liquor imaginable. Of note, however, is a particular painting that holds a place of honor near the bar rather than being comingled with other, more mundane paintings and photographs of Irish cities and landscapes -- it depicts in exquisite detail the last stand of a mortally wounded warrior who has lashed himself to a stone dolmen in order to continue to fight on, alone, against an onrushing army. Atop the dolmen, watching the warrior's courage in the face of death while spreading her blue-black wings as if in anticipation, is a large raven.

In addition to the archway that leads back out into the lobby, there's a pair of swinging doors marked 'Employees Only' that lead from behind the bar back into the kitchen and beyond.

Contents:
Megan

Obvious exits:
Lobby

Arrangements having been made to meet up here, Megan is already seated in one of the booths near a TV showing soccar when the Glass Walker arrives, a pint of dark beer on a coaster on the table, and a mixed bowl of peanuts and pretzels at her right hand. Thank goodness for the new moon, as she seems relatively relaxed. But the few tables around her are still clear, from the subtle and intangible pressures of the Curse.

And doesn't Natalie look spiffy today? The Walker pauses at the door from the lobby to give the pub's inhabitants a once-over. It's not hard to notice Megan, not with the de-militarized zone around her, but even so it takes her a minute or two to notice the other woman and come over. "Afternoon, Megan." She doesn't sit, not immediately, but stands behind the other chair, a hand resting lightly on its back.

Megan glances away from the game on the television to Natalie, looking nicer than she might elsewhere, but still not as nice as the Glass Walker. She leaves off the noshing to dust her hand free of salt before indicating the booth opposite her with a smile. "Afternoon, Natalie. Thank you for agreeing to meet here. You find the place okay?"

Natalie says, "Wasn't a problem," as she slides into the indicated seat, shaking her head at the waitress as she hesitantly approaches. The woman retreats in dignified haste and returns to talking with the bartender, carefully keeping an eye on the scary women. "I've got an interview a little later, so I won't be able to stay for long. I just wanted to make sure you knew about Trevor's bird."

Megan blinks owlishly. "Merlin?" she asks. "What's his bird up to?"

Natalie shakes her head and rests her wrists lightly on the edge of the table. Both hands in sight, there's a good Garou. "Not that bird. A different one. Big black one, likes to tell stories." Her eyes flick toward the bar, but those two are into their own conversation and paying no attention. "What's the scientific name? Cor-something or other. I thought they were all extinct, but Trevor claims there's one around his farm."

Megan's geniality vanishes into a taut irritation, although, she manages remarkably to limit her reaction to that. "Corvids," she supplies the word, "at least, that's what class the ravens belong to. I'm surprised there's one around his farm, though, given how assiduous farmers tend to be about running them off so they don't eat their crops. Did he mention when he started noticing it?"

"That sounds like the word he used," the Galliard agrees. "Hmn, no, he didn't exactly. He said an old friend of his - Luke - used to invite it inside the house. Me, I don't think I'd want a bird just flying free inside, even if there were someone with it at all times. Who knows what sort of trouble it could get into?" She pauses again, expectantly.

Megan growls softly, but then cuts the sound off, without even the guilty look to see who might have noticed. She seems to be exhibiting a lot of confidence about this place. "I don't know why Luke would've done it, but, no, ravens aren't meant to be inside the house. Or even on the grounds. I'll talk to Trevor to make sure steps are taken to make sure it doesn't go there again. And if it persists, I guess we'll have to pull out the rifle and go a-hunting." Even speaking in eupehisms, there is a deadly seriousness in her expression.

Natalie drops her a nod before her attention nips up to watch the television - Viagra commercial, how charming - for a second. "That's rather what I thought, but he said he liked them. There's certainly no reason to go around feeding it, much less inviting it inside like some sort of guest." Her smile is thin and perfunctory. "...Unless we wanted to have it for dinner ourselves."

Megan chuckles. "I like ravens. Quite a bit, actually. But there's a huge difference between admiring them in their natural habitat, and having them threaten your livelihood. And feeding it around the farm is asking for trouble." She grimaces, her eyes flashing with a brief eruption of anger, tamped down. "I'll talk to him. But, do me a favor, and pass word around that no one's to have any pets around the farm without going through me first. And if anyone sees the raven around, they're to make it clear it's not welcome there any longer."

"Will do," Nat agrees, keeping her eyes well-averted; no flash of challenge here. "Do you want me to talk to Trevor about his bird too, or do you want to talk to him first?"

"I'll talk to him," Megan responds promptly. Then without missing a beat, asks, "Did Joshua get to the estate okay?"

Immediately Natalie answers, "He got home, yes. I don't know about okay, but I brought a friend in to take a look at him, and everything's good. He got into a... misunderstanding with one of the dogs that hang out near the zoo. She took a pretty big bite out of him, but we don't think she's rabid." There's absolutely no reluctance when she speaks of the Ahroun, no sulkiness, no hesitation whatsoever. Instead she's almost... approving? "I moved out about the same time he moved in, so I haven't seen as much of him as I could. Don still wants us to get together for the family potluck, but she hasn't set a date."

Megan's mouth twitches a little at the middle of the recitation. "I heard about that. It sounded like a case of the human deserving to be bit." She relaxes a fraction, reaching for her beer for a generous swallow. "I told you about my pack coming together, yeah? There is one last bit of news, that I wouldn't mind being passed around, especially if it gets to Signe. I've caught wind that Taslyn and her 'girlfriend'," and the scorn in the Fianna's voice gives the word quotes, "were 'married' while they were gone. This is not an honorable mating. And I want everyone to be crystal clear on that count. I'm going to be talking to Taslyn as soon as I can track her down. Signe should be told, because it's her 'cousin' Taslyn supposedly 'married'. And I'm not happy about it. At all."

Natalie shrugs fractionally, relaxing so far as to let her hands slide into her lap. "Far as I'm concerned, both dog and man need to get thwapped on the nose. I talked to him and tried to get him to realize that, but... eh. There's only so much you can do." The news of Taslyn causes her to cock her head. "I'd heard about your group, but not the other. I hadn't even heard Taslyn was dating someone. Or that she was gone somewhere." She considers moments longer, never letting her eyes meet Megan's. "...You're not going to, hmn, have it annuled, then?"

"It's not a marriage," Megan answers tersely, anger glittering like diamonds in every edge of her word, and just has hard and sharp. "But she crossed a line which I am going to force her back to the other side of. She's a fucking ph--judge," she manages to catch herself in time, since her voice has risen to a normal conversational level. Good thing the TV is loud'ish. "A Keeper of the Ways, an upholder of the traditions. The Church's arguements against relationships of those types have nothing on ours."

Natalie ever-so-casually glances over her shoulder - though there's nothing back there - and sinks a little farther down into her bench. "As you say." She picks her next words carefully, cognizant of the other woman's temper. "Though... are they planning on adopting? Perhaps... if there is another way to, hmn... provide offspring?"

"Adoption," Megan intones darkly, "is not what is needed here. Taslyn's bloodline is, just like all of ours are."

"...If there were a way to preserve her heritage?" Nat offers quietly, looking back to Megan before dropping her eyes again. "I'm offering options, not... hmn, making demands. I'm not... exactly the most traditional person. You might have noticed."

"You're a traditional Glass Walker," Megan says, then drops some money on the table in front of her. "Just spread the news, okay? Otherwise, this is a tribal issue. Only reason it's Sept news is because it involves Jessie. And make sure Signe knows. Tell her if she needs to get a hold of me, she can find me at home, or patrolling around here."

Natalie bobs her head and slides out of the booth. "I will. Have you... have you decided on a name for that deer that's been hanging around your back yard? Or is it still unnamed?"

Megan's mouth quirks a little, as she straightens to her feet. "Ciancarw," she says, miraculously with proper accent. "And we've called our little group Resonance." (KEY-an-CAH-roo, for the curious)

Whereas Nat would probably choke on her tongue if she tried to pronounce it. "Congratulations. I'll pass the word on that, too. ...Cripes." She takes a look at the clock behind the bar and winces. "I've got to run - I'm late for my appointment."

Megan jerks her chin a little at the galliard. "Good luck making it in time."

Natalie heads for the door as soon as she's 'released', a hand already going to the cell phone at her hip.

[End of log]