Nov 20, 2020 8:00 pm
A Tuesday Evening some months past
Cittie of York Pub, Holborn, London
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The interior of the Cittie of York pub is dimly lit making vision for most of its patrons a difficult thing - not so, for at least two of its patrons this evening.
Far to the back, beyond the bar and the narrow walk between the bar and the tables and booths across from it, sits a dimly lit alcove of booths nestled together. The alcove is empty of visitors in spite of their being nearly two dozen people meandering near the bar and the tables and booths immediately across from it. Surprisingly no one has intruded upon the privacy that currently surrounds Kebi Abdou and her associate, Yanric Hahn. Kebi sits in a booth absently turning a glass of red wine in her hands as she focuses her gaze upon the drink, her expression bordering upon frustration as she waits. In a black blouse with matching slacks and heels, Kebi appears more like a hot twenty-something ready for a night on the town than a scholar impatiently awaiting a visit from the long-dead.
Last minute evening strolls are not unusual for Kebi. In the short time that Yanric has known her, he has found that her inherent wisdom and incredible intelligence are coupled with a distinct lack of any ability to apprise him of her pending schedule. She dismisses it as the eccentricity of age (though she scarcely appears older than 25 - maybe nearly 30, tops) and pays it little mind even if it frequently frustrates Yanric in his efforts to provide for her safety. Kebi is an enigma. She is magical, to be certain, but she manages to conceal … something else. Her accent is hard to place. It is as if she speaks English with a hint of an Egyptian accent coupled with an Irish-Welsh brogue, or some similar hodgepodge that Yanric cannot quite place. Most importantly, Kebi knows people. A LOT of people. Though, the term "people" may be a bit misplaced. In the short time that he has been in Kebi’s employ, Yanric has seen her speak with Fae, magicians of all stripes, a werewolf - a scary one, another Dhampir, and even a poltergeist! And, she has spoken at least 4 different languages that he has thus far been able to identify.
For all her mystery and the aura of strength and capability, Kebi seems to lack any capability to physically defend herself. She has been the target of attack twice in the past month - both times by vampires, and both times their efforts have been put off by Yanric.
Kebi’s penthouse apartment is large, and Yanric stays in the bedroom immediately adjacent to hers. Bookshelves and cases and shelves containing knick-knacks and artifacts abut most the walls of her bedroom and the reception room, and very old paintings and photos line portions of the fifth floor reception room. Yanric has seen Kebi’s bedroom only a couple of times. Inside are items that must be of Egyptian origin. A large book on a dais in a corner, a bookshelf with old tomes, scrolls, parchments, and some small, very old looking statuary. Next to her bed in a gold frame is an aged black & white photograph of a man who appears to be about 30. The man’s image is stern - no give at all. He may be handsome enough, but he is alone in the picture and it is only of his head and shoulders. Kebi has never mentioned any lovers or romantic interests, and the only name of consequence from her personal past that she has mentioned is "Tim", and that he used to work for her.
Yanric’s recollection is derailed when Kebi sits up straighter and whispers loud enough for Yanric to hear, "He has arrived."
Finally. The person Kebi had come to speak with has arrived. Well, perhaps "person" was not quite the correct word. The ghost Kebi had come to speak with had arrived. Cedric Thorson was the ghost of someone from long ago. Indeed, the two previous times that Yanric has been present for Kebi’s meeting with the spirit, he has manifested in what could only be described as Elizabethan garb. If an accurate reflection of his existence in life, Cedric was a tall man with gaudy clothing and a frilly collar that looked both uncomfortable and impractical. The man’s wardrobe appeared as if he stepped out of the pages of some Shakespearean sonnet.
Unfortunately, the two of them spoke in Gaelic, so Yanric was largely left out of most of the conversations. What they spoke about each time was a mystery, but it seemed that Cedirc provided Kebi with information on something, or, someone, each time. That’s what kebi did - she gathered information and disseminated it. She used it to focus people towards specific means. So much of her efforts seemed to be geared as much towards protecting the Hidden World from discovery as it was to protect the mortal world from them.
With their conversation in a whispered tongue that Yanric had little knowledge of, he had time to focus on the bar just several feet away - the patrons seemingly incapable of noting their presence. No one at the bar seemed to pay this end of the pub any particular mind. With the exception of one fellow with a particularly foul countenance about him. Sitting alone at a table along the window across from the bar, the man’s face is shrouded by a high collar from a long coat and he has a full pint of ale in front of him on the table. His face lies still in their direction. It could be a coincidence … or, it could be something else.
What does yanric do?
Cittie of York Pub, Holborn, London
.The interior of the Cittie of York pub is dimly lit making vision for most of its patrons a difficult thing - not so, for at least two of its patrons this evening.
Far to the back, beyond the bar and the narrow walk between the bar and the tables and booths across from it, sits a dimly lit alcove of booths nestled together. The alcove is empty of visitors in spite of their being nearly two dozen people meandering near the bar and the tables and booths immediately across from it. Surprisingly no one has intruded upon the privacy that currently surrounds Kebi Abdou and her associate, Yanric Hahn. Kebi sits in a booth absently turning a glass of red wine in her hands as she focuses her gaze upon the drink, her expression bordering upon frustration as she waits. In a black blouse with matching slacks and heels, Kebi appears more like a hot twenty-something ready for a night on the town than a scholar impatiently awaiting a visit from the long-dead.
Last minute evening strolls are not unusual for Kebi. In the short time that Yanric has known her, he has found that her inherent wisdom and incredible intelligence are coupled with a distinct lack of any ability to apprise him of her pending schedule. She dismisses it as the eccentricity of age (though she scarcely appears older than 25 - maybe nearly 30, tops) and pays it little mind even if it frequently frustrates Yanric in his efforts to provide for her safety. Kebi is an enigma. She is magical, to be certain, but she manages to conceal … something else. Her accent is hard to place. It is as if she speaks English with a hint of an Egyptian accent coupled with an Irish-Welsh brogue, or some similar hodgepodge that Yanric cannot quite place. Most importantly, Kebi knows people. A LOT of people. Though, the term "people" may be a bit misplaced. In the short time that he has been in Kebi’s employ, Yanric has seen her speak with Fae, magicians of all stripes, a werewolf - a scary one, another Dhampir, and even a poltergeist! And, she has spoken at least 4 different languages that he has thus far been able to identify.
For all her mystery and the aura of strength and capability, Kebi seems to lack any capability to physically defend herself. She has been the target of attack twice in the past month - both times by vampires, and both times their efforts have been put off by Yanric.
Kebi’s penthouse apartment is large, and Yanric stays in the bedroom immediately adjacent to hers. Bookshelves and cases and shelves containing knick-knacks and artifacts abut most the walls of her bedroom and the reception room, and very old paintings and photos line portions of the fifth floor reception room. Yanric has seen Kebi’s bedroom only a couple of times. Inside are items that must be of Egyptian origin. A large book on a dais in a corner, a bookshelf with old tomes, scrolls, parchments, and some small, very old looking statuary. Next to her bed in a gold frame is an aged black & white photograph of a man who appears to be about 30. The man’s image is stern - no give at all. He may be handsome enough, but he is alone in the picture and it is only of his head and shoulders. Kebi has never mentioned any lovers or romantic interests, and the only name of consequence from her personal past that she has mentioned is "Tim", and that he used to work for her.
Yanric’s recollection is derailed when Kebi sits up straighter and whispers loud enough for Yanric to hear, "He has arrived."
Finally. The person Kebi had come to speak with has arrived. Well, perhaps "person" was not quite the correct word. The ghost Kebi had come to speak with had arrived. Cedric Thorson was the ghost of someone from long ago. Indeed, the two previous times that Yanric has been present for Kebi’s meeting with the spirit, he has manifested in what could only be described as Elizabethan garb. If an accurate reflection of his existence in life, Cedric was a tall man with gaudy clothing and a frilly collar that looked both uncomfortable and impractical. The man’s wardrobe appeared as if he stepped out of the pages of some Shakespearean sonnet.
Unfortunately, the two of them spoke in Gaelic, so Yanric was largely left out of most of the conversations. What they spoke about each time was a mystery, but it seemed that Cedirc provided Kebi with information on something, or, someone, each time. That’s what kebi did - she gathered information and disseminated it. She used it to focus people towards specific means. So much of her efforts seemed to be geared as much towards protecting the Hidden World from discovery as it was to protect the mortal world from them.
With their conversation in a whispered tongue that Yanric had little knowledge of, he had time to focus on the bar just several feet away - the patrons seemingly incapable of noting their presence. No one at the bar seemed to pay this end of the pub any particular mind. With the exception of one fellow with a particularly foul countenance about him. Sitting alone at a table along the window across from the bar, the man’s face is shrouded by a high collar from a long coat and he has a full pint of ale in front of him on the table. His face lies still in their direction. It could be a coincidence … or, it could be something else.
What does yanric do?
