Codgery Tom is one of the wealthiest Fey in New York City.  Like all Leprechauns, a Pot of Gold was his birthright, but a long time ago, he realized that in this new world, there were new ways of doing things, and the idea of one's treasure being a pot of yellowish metal coins was very, very Old World.  Tom spent his gold on some very well chosen investments.
 Now Codgery Tom has a Pot of Investments, and unlike gold, that grew.

And grew.

And grew... amazing what one can do with a two hundred year investment outlook.

With all his money, though, he never strayed far from his roots.  In fact, he went out of his way to preserve them, buying a hotel, and the bar on the ground floor.  He leases the hotel- one more entry on his ledger- to a company that operates it for him and sends him checks.  But the bar he runs personally, as an old fashioned Irish pub.

There are lots of old fashioned Irish pubs in New York City, some more authentic than others, and some would say Codgery Tom's Emerald Door is less than authentic because there's no television constantly playing football matches.  But Tom is old fashioned about that.  No TV in the pub.

The Emerald Door is the hub of Faerie society in New York City.  Tom decided that it had to be, of course, because Ireland was the hub of all things Faerie. Or so they said in Ireland.  Regardless, on any given evening, at least a dozen are here.  Even though they might be of very different kith, with origins from very different cultures, they have a lot in common, and here they can open up a little more and... be themselves.

Dennis and Edna know its a good place to find Faolan.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:11, Sun 06 Dec 2020.

The Emerald Door isn't the only bar that Faolán frequents. It isn't even his favorite watering hole, all things considered. But, it was a drinking spot for Faerie kind, so that meant he haunted the place on a pretty regular basis. If only to be among people that at least understand what it is to be Faerie, and sometimes just to...remember. From the looks of things, today was one of the later kinds of visits to the Emerald Door.

Sitting at the far end of the bar, where the bar-top met the wall, giving him a clear view of the door and anyone who might want to creep up behind him, was Faolán Arasgain. He didn't look like much, especially at the moment. He was maybe in his early forties, not especially tall or muscular, had short, messy brown hair, and was clad in rumbled clothes that look like they could use a wash and an ironing. Especially his button-down shirt, and sports jacket. The white was stained with sweat, and droplets of something darker that was difficult to make out in this light. His grey sports coat was starting to rip on his left shoulder, and the ends of the sleeves were also flecked in drying liquid. The man himself didn't look much better than his clothes.

There was a cut above his left eye that was tapped shut, and his right cheek sported one hell of a bruise. As were the knuckles of both his hands. They were swollen and purple, like a boxer who just got out of a solid fifteen rounds. They were easy to see above the bar-top, as in his left hand he held a half-smoked cigarette, and he was pouring a shot of Bushmills Original with his right. The bottle looked to be almost half-empty, and there was a suspiciously empty bottle of it on the bar near him too.

For someone recommended to be useful in the area of finding things, and being an expert on the darker aspects of life, Faolán Arasgain looked more like a scrappy old drunk than a sharp investigator.

As usual, there are an assortment of faerie folk in the Emerald Door today.

Among them are two polar opposites.  One of them is Faolan.  The other is Thale.

Thale is one of the Seelie.  Their name comes from an old Scottish word meaning "happy, blessed, or lucky" and Thale makes it clear why this is.  By Human standards... and the standards of much of Faerie society... he is extraordinarily handsome.  His skin is flawless, his eyes bright blue and his hair so brilliantly golden it might be actual gold.  His reputation here holds that he isn't the brightest Faerie around, but in the Human world, with looks like that, you don't have to be.  Thale finds that Humans will not question a good looking face with a friendly smile, and has always had an easy time slipping into Human society.  In fact, he's rarely seen here.

As a human, he works as a male model, and gets invited to many, many parties.  But today, it looks like he's had an urge to reconnect with his fey heritage.

He's a center of attention, with a dozen assorted fey folk, listening to some dramatic tale he's telling.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:30, Mon 07 Dec 2020.

Gremian entered the Emerald Door without hesitation. He took a deep breath, taking in all those aromas from the old continent. It was time like those that he missed the old place. He looked around, smiling. The Library mission was important, but he felt that there where no immediate danger. He walked to the bar. He paused when he noticed Thale. He slightly changed his course to be closer. He smiled more, because, if Thale was here, Proge was probably okay. And the thought that he might crash, gently, more like just a temporary stealing of Thale spotlight, turned Gremian's smile into something closer to a grin.

At the bar, Gremian ordered a black beer with some crisps. He waited for the beer before asking Tom: "Hi, I'm looking for someone named Faolan. Can you help me find him?" He asked politely. While he was kind of hoping that his question would break conversation, Gremian was sure enough that unless Faolan did something recently, nothing like that would really happen.

Faolán heard his name spoken by someone who had shambled up to the bar. If that broke him out of his reverie, it didn't show on his face. Indeed, the bruised man poured himself another shot and downed it in one smooth motion before he even thought about piping up.

"Who's asking?" the Sidhe asked through a cloud of smoke after he had taken a drag on his cigarette.

Faolán gave Gremian a quick once over with a flick of his eyes. That done, he went back to draining his bottle at a slightly alarming pace. It seemed that he didn't intend to stop drinking anytime soon.

"Whenever someone say's 'who's asking' it means they know the answer," Codgery Tom says, always ready to dispense sage bartender advice.  "T'would be the grim fellow there yer after.  Best of luck to you."

One of the advantages, or perhaps disadvantages, of Faerie life is that form often follows function.  They say with Humans, do not judge the book by its cover, but its relatively easy to look at a Fey and instantly know about the lives they lead.

Thale, for example, clearly does not deal with anything dark and grim.

The golden haired elf pauses long enough to look at just who would be interested in dour, sad looking Faolan.. Faolan who was one of the few in the Emerald Door that day not drawn into Thale's charismatic orbit.

Gremian thanked Codgery Tom with a nod for the introduction. He looked at Thale than smiled enigmatically. After such display, he turned his attention to Faolan. He responded in kind. He looked the fae up and down before slowly drinking half his beer. He refrained from burping loudly. "The Library, well, me, Gremian, in the name of the Library. The Elders suggested that you might help us with something." He made a sign at Codgery Tom to show that he was interested in another beer, before he drank the rest of his beer.

"Did they...?" the older man grunted mildly, and something that was between a wry grin and a grimace flickered over his weathered features.

Taking another drag on his cigarette, and another shot from his quickly emptying bottle, Faolán considered what Gremian had said. He was in the mood to be introspective at the moment. And drunk. But maybe Gremian was bringing him something that would distract him for a while. There was always that hope.

"It depends on what you need from me. Who or what you need me to track down. Pull up a seat and give me the details. Then I'll tell you if I can help you or not," Faolán said, indicating the stool next to him.

Gremian took the offered seat. When he finished his beer, He took an handful of crips and put them in his mouth. He chewed a few times before swallowing.

"Simply put, your help. If we are quick enough, that's probably just about reading and explaining some runes. The kind that are old, probably forbidden in a region or two. But I suspect, that your help will involve getting to the runes and out of the place, because, well, the surprise is lost." He took a small bite of crisps before continuing. "I've seen the runes, but no one want my goblinkind explanation of "messy fun time ahead" of the symbol I've recognized. You heard story of that storm a few days ago?" As he asked the question, he had turned slightly, an invitation for Thale to barge in and tell his story. His story would probably be a good selling pitch, thought Gremian.

"Whoa, back up there a second..." the ragged looking man said, holding up a hand.

"Okay, you want my help with identifying some runes. That much I got. But I'm no Seiðr. I mean, I've been around the block a time or two, so I probably could tell you more than most, but aside from telling you what culture might have inscribed them, I don't know how much help I can be. Besides, I need to know a bit more. Where'd these runes come from, and why does it concern the Library? And what storm are you talking about?" Faolán rumbled, listing off the questions with a countdown with his fingers.

At the mention of "storm" Thale's ears prick...

Okay, they are always like that, pointed, standing up... but it's an expression.

The golden haired Elf turns.

"Not that I was listening," Thale says, "Elven ears, they hear everything and I can't turn them off."  He gives a little chuckle and a pair of female fairies giggle.

Thale continues: "You must be talking about THAT storm.  The one that happened the night I was lost on the mortal side of the Veil.  Yes, it was a strange one.  Very small."

"Small," repeats a Fairy.  "I saw it.  "It was the smallest storm I'd ever seen.  I thought maybe Breeze lost her temper."

(Breeze is a well known Sylph, a sort of sky spirit being)

"Well, I was at a party in... oh I don't even remember," Thale says.  "What's that place with the unicorn wall hanging thing?"

"Tapestry," says the Fairy.  "You were at the Cloisters for a private party."

"Well for the next few days I wasn't able to remember who I was!" Thale says.  "That party was awesome, but I have no idea what I drank!"

The fairies giggle again.

Gremian mouthed Faolan's questions to make sure he didn't forget one.

The gremlin looked at Thale. He almost sighted at how useless the elf's tale was to convince someone to help them. "Well, Thale almost answered questions 2 and 3, isn't? But yes, that storm. He wasn't the only one affected by the storm, as little as it was. A friend of mine got hit too. And I heard about a third one. Or was it seven? Anyway, the Library got involved, because, well, when Faeries are concerned, the Library is. So anyway, to answer question number 1, we found the place where the storm was sleeping. And that's where I saw the runes. The elders think that magic must be involved. I'll say something like a cult or a ritual, with the storm resting place as the center piece. Most of that should still be in the same place, because, wall doesn't move like that quick." After finishing his speech, Gremian looked at Faolan for his reaction.

Most Fey creatures, by nature, make terrible investigators.  The essence of their being is to a part of the world, and accept what it is, while the world accepts what they are.  With so much done "by magic" they see little sense in teasing things apart, trying to figure out why Ley Lines are where they are, or why iron seems to brush off magic of all sorts*.  Humans, meanwhile, are driven to poke and prod at the world and squeeze answers out of it.  It's not an unknown trait among the Fey folk, but it's an unusual one.

Thale is "traditional", in that he does not care how it happened, just that it was interesting and bizarre and scary and hopefully, it will not happen again.

"The Librarians will look into it, right?" he asks, with a voice that seems to suggest Them, not Me, good.  "I can tell you, it is frightening and very... scary... to lose yourself like that."

"So scary!" echoes a Fairy, trying to sound concerned.

"I think if it was Runes, the Library would have people who can read them.  Elves can read them, you know.  We invented them."

"Elves are smart," the Fairy confirms.

At this point Codgery Tom himself is curious.

"Bring'em on down, Lad, we'll have a look at those runes!  If it's bothering my folk, it's bothering me and I want to see what all the fuss is."



*One researcher, a rare Fey scientist, believes there is a connection between iron being traditionally antithetical to all things Fey and magical, and iron having a unique atomic structure giving it the most stable nucleus of all the elements.

The door swings open again on silent hinges, letting the weak light in from outside and briefly outlining the stunning curves of the woman who entered. Even with the door closed, light seemed to cling to her almost white hair for a moment as she slid through the smoke filled air and selected a seat at the far end of the bar. Crossing her legs, she makes a friendly motion to attract the barkeep's eye. When he approaches, her voice is pitched low so as not to carry and she orders a French 75.

Leaning back with a sigh on her stool, Coira adjusts the hem of her slip dress to ensure propriety and draws circles with a wet fingertip in the water rings left on the bar by previous client's pints.

Codgery Tom pulls himself away from listening in on Faolan and Gremian for a moment, customers are customers.

Especially this one.  Perhaps the spotlight might not linger on Thale after all.

He walks over to Coira.  Tom's heart and soul have always been with the Irish Fey firstly, but deep inside he knows that Scottish is really just another kind of Irish.  Bagpipes and Kilts, how could they not be?

"All the finery of Manhattan but the lass knows, here's the touch of home, doesn't she?  Like the Selkie is called back to the sea, every now and then its back to the Emerald Door and her own kind.  What will it be?  And mind ye, I can do those fancy posh drinks too!  I've got a book.  Though ye might have to drink it from a less fancy glass.  Still yer among family when yer here."

One of the Fairies sighs and says something in French.

She smiles at the welcome, a curling of lips and the tilt of her head indicating her pleasure. Coira was an import from the Isles just as Tom and many others were - all of them seeking something while longing for home and old hearths. But where there was water, well then, there would always be cool depths to rest and hide what needed hidden.

"French 75?", she ordered, rather hoping for at least a wine glass if not a flute. She was rather fond of the period right after the war that had caused the Parisians to create the cocktail - and even gladder when Harry had brought it to his bar here in New York just after. To be perfectly honest, she was fond of wars as well.

Glancing about, she chats as he pours, "Looks just like the last time I was in." And this seems to please her, for all that the human world spins out of control it is a relief to be in an environ that seems unchanging. Leaning back in her chair, silver white hair shifts from her shoulders to fall down her back.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:29, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

"I'll never change it, lass," Codgery Tom says.  "The Emerald Isle itself will change first, this is home.  There's some wild talk in here tonight. And some customers I don't usually get.  You know we say there's no such thing as coincidence, right?  I know poor Thale is a part of it, and Gremian too... tell me you're not.  Thale, there, was lost on the wrong side of the Veil.  Forgot who he was.  And I hear, not the only one."

Coira turns her head and glances about the dim interior, noting the players and returning her cerulean gaze to the barkeep. Her lazy smile tips up the corners of her mouth and she almost purrs out her response, "Dear Tom. I've not an inkling what others might be about this fine night. But as to my business, as you might remember, it is mine own and not some others."

Shaking her head, she leans an elbow on the bar, leaning in, "And I've never forgotten who I am. Or who has.....transgressed." Her smile is as cold as deep water. But she gives Tom a wink and shrugs.

Codgery Tom nods.  "Not my job to start rumors, I only pass em around to who needs em. But Thale, over there, has been through a lot, and he certainly enjoys telling the tale.  From what I hear there's at least one more.  What was it?  Will it happen again?  Will more of us get stuck like Thale?  For longer?

"If I were working for the Library- god bless those that do, but all those books...- I would be trying to get to the bottom of it.  Strange stuff and all."

Coira considers his words, shifting to slide off her high stool to stand next to the bar, "Well maybe I should be friendly...", she smiles and sashays, drink in hand, through the smoky confines of the bar, eventually coming to stand next to the table Faolan and his party are at.

The blonde waits for them to pause their conversation and look up before offering, "Can I buy you a drink?"

Gremian tried his best to reassure the crowd about the Library implication in the rune and memory problem.

Gremian was caught off guard by the offer of a drink. He deliberately paused before turning toward Coira. He looked at her. "Well, it's depend. My taste are expensive", he said eyeing the liquors on the highest shelf, "and my drunk wisdom is rarely worth a penny." He had learned the hard way not to accept food or drink from strangers without knowing what they want in return. "And... I'm trying to convince this lad", he pointed to Faolan, " to help the Library in reading some runes."

Coira's smile, when it came, was a few degrees warmer than it's usual arctic temperatures. After all, being in the mortal realm offered certain protections when dealing with food & drink. Lifting a shoulder in a half shrug, she replies, "Ahh well. The offer stands all the same."

"If I may," the Leprechaun Bar Owner/Bartender/Conversation Interloper says as he makes his next round, "Runes.. it's not the thing for my kith, you know.  "At best we're guilty by association.  Our magic is our magic, never needed none of that.  And what's more, there are enough of us happy to leave it all behind in the Old World.  Magic can be more trouble than it's worth.  Except of course where it's good...Veil, and all... but... if that Sidhe isn't willing to help out today, maybe its best to press him some other time.  You won't find leprechauns, but there's Fey a plenty who can read runes left, right and upside down.  I can round up some names, if you need my help.  I do my part, you know, always have."

"You might be right", grumbled Gremian in response to the Leprechaun. "I'll drink with her first, then I'll get back to you." He nodded thankful towards Codgery Tom. Then, Gremain raised his beer to Faolan and said: "Well, if you changed your mind, the Library would still be there.".

Gremian then turned completely toward Coira. "So, about that drink offer? I'm Gremian by the way."