"Tea would be lovely."

Nexus said to Oz, her accent distinctly Estuary English despite the color of her skin.  If she was an immigrant, she wasn't a recent one, or else she was some sort of savant with languages and accents.  She found a seat on a sofa, near the group that was forming without putting herself directly in the middle.  Without even realizing she was doing so, she flicked her phone on, her eyes scanning it briefly before returning to her new companions.

"Are we using names, or are we keeping this formal?"

This last was addressed to the room as a whole.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Wed 19 Apr 2017.

"I'd take a tea. And a coffee. But also, funny story!" Selene answered Oz, the only person in London who seemed to be able to match her for good cheer. And it seems to diminish nothing when she reached into her pocket and pulled free a clear plastic bag of ceramic shards that had once, in all likelihood, been a teacup. "It's broken!"

Selene handed the baggie over, before she threw herself onto the sofa next to Nexus. "Your hair is excellent!" she exclaimed, before turning her attention to the only man yet present. "And so's yours. In fact, I believe everyone here has excellent hair. Or does that make it all average?"

Oz looked sadly at the pile of ceramic before gently taking the bag and the other cups.
“Not to worry dear, I’ve got a dozen more at least hiding around. Why don’t you all keep Stele company in the living room and I’ll fetch the tea”, she turned and moved away not pausing to call out to answer Nexus’ question:
“Do introduce yourselves! Single strands do not a web make!”
As Oz clicked further into the depths of Hayfich the entire place suddenly felt very quiet, as if the life and bustle of the hotel swirled around their hostess.

A web then, how fitting.

"Nexus."

She said simply, her gaze meeting each of theirs in turn.  It wasn't her full Shadow Name, to be sure, but it would do for now.  She'd been slow to trust before Davin, and the wounds of that betrayal hadn't even scarred over yet.  Now her life had become a seemingly endless series of compartmentalized facets, each distinct and yet part of a greater whole. Nexus was simply another face of the gestalt, and more than an adequate one given her current circumstances.

"Average, unfortunately."

She added, her gaze settling last on Selene.  Due to the lack of inflection in her tone it was difficult to discern if she was serious, or merely sharing in the joke.

"Subjectively average, anyway." Clasm spoke with an American accent, New York to those that had an ear for it. For this occasion, her attire was more of the same, black denim drawing emphasis to a canary yellow top. As she spoke, a coy smile came to her lips, and she looked toward the woman called Nexus with a raised eyebrow. Oz had left the room, and while the cat's away... "For us to be average in general we'd need to be average in general, if you know what I mean. I'd hardly call anyone here average by any measure. Name's Clasm."

Bast gave Oz a polite nod as she offered her her teacup, then turned back to the group, crossing over to one of the nearby chairs and taking a seat, crossing her legs in front of her. Mau hopped down from her shoulder to curl ephemerally in her lap.

"The only way any of us count as 'average' would be with an extremely small sample size of very weird people." She smiled. "I'm Bast. Good to meet you all."

When the blue-haired girl's question about formality reached him, one slim brow quirked up as Stele wondered briefly what other sort of circumstances they might be in before taking another cautious sip of his tea.  He couldn't help but wonder how Oz was connected to each of these people.  The rumors he'd heard spoke to her web of influence as a truly monolithic thing, but this was the first real hint he'd seen of that in the time he'd spent at Hayfich.  Offering the mistress of the house a sympathetic wince as she lifted the remains of her mug, Stele gripped his own a little more tightly.  For a true tea-lover such losses were terrible things no matter how many you might have.  'Not to mention it makes for an ill omen overall.'  The Moros mused as he cast a steely gaze around the room to count their number once again.

"The aforementioned Stele, it’s a pleasure to meet you all."  The necromancer added with that faintly slurring American diction that stood out so strongly against the British norm as Oz's footsteps receded.  Offering the group the crooked sort of grin that tended to get him into clubs and wherever else he wanted to go, he ignored the chill that ran across the nape of his neck as Nexus settled onto the couch in favor of joining the discussion.  "Average is one of those unfortunate things that depends entirely on your frame of reference.  Regardless, compliments from a beauty like you are always welcome."  Stele replied lightly with a little nod toward the strangely cheery amazon that had joined him on the sofa.

"Flatterer," Selene responded, her hand on Stele's shoulder to push him away playfully. It did nothing to dimish her spirits, though. She drew her legs up beneath herself, leaving her sandals unattended on the floor. Tattered jeans let her legs show through at both knees and again and again up their lengths. Each hole gave bits of blue fuzz to twirl between her fingertips and occupy her hands.

"Selene. And, wow, you guys are all really good at math. Maths? How many math do you have here? What happens if you've got two formulas sitting side by side? Maybe it's like with a mouse and they become, like... Meeth. As in, 'Oh look, I did all my homework and now my hand is all covered in meeth from doing all those figures.'" she continued wherever her thoughts lead her without real regard for anything else. Including whether or not it would be unusual for one to write maths problems out across one's hand.

Clasm's eyebrows slowly crawled up her forehead as Selene continued talking. It took her a moment to realize that the other woman had taken the talk of averages to refer to mathematics - the plural of math - rather than what was effectively survey data. Suddenly, the jokes that Mulligan had made at the expense of the Free Council made a bit more sense. It kind of made her curious as to what sort of jokes the Pentagram mages could make at the expense of the Seers.

"Survey results are more the domain of the sciences than of mathematics, if you ask me."

"Only when it counts."  Stele quipped with a little wink to soften the interpretation.  There was a palpable air of  sunny goodwill around the woman that was nigh infectious, though he rather expected that it wasn't quite natural.  Between the fidgeting and the rambling it wouldn't take much of a leap to guess that something was up, it just came down to figuring out what that might be.  'Hmm...am I seeing the results of a particularly trippy jaunt into the Realms or just plain uppers?'  The Moros mused as the side of him that was always watching his patients for signs of a bad reaction began to catalogue the little details that might tip his estimation one way or the other.

In the wake of Selene's speech he was rather thankful when the woman in the glaringly cheery shirt saved him from having to formulate an answer that could properly address 'meeth' being all over one's hands.  "Depends how far down the statistics rabbit hole we're going, but I think we'll all be happier avoiding that debacle."  He added easily, the words drawing to mind achingly repetitive hours spent correlating regression plots to admissible dosages in days gone by, though his smile remained an unwavering constant throughout.  Those college days weren't old enough to have gathered much in the way of nostalgia just yet, which made putting them from his mind rather more of a priority.  Generally speaking, Stele had never considered himself to have much of an ear for accents, but it didn't take a linguist to realise that at least half their party had a sort of elsewhere twang when compared with the English burr he'd grown accustomed to lately.  "So, obviously I'm from out of town.  Who else is learning their way about London?"

The bustle and clink of cups heralded Oz's return. The woman was strangely quiet in her focus of handing out the mugs, though her smile was ever present. Perhaps there was some personal reverence for tea, or perhaps it was just concentration to avoid spillage.
"Sorry to interrupt dears, but I've just got a call that the Runners are coming along soon to do some routes for me so I'll try to keep this easy for you".
The woman pulled a handful of business cards from her pocket and passed them out to the group. An address was written on the back of the cards, while a simple image of a house and the letters HAFH was printed on the front.
"I have a very dear friend who hasn't been responding to my calls. She's quite important in this city, though few know it. I need you to go an make sure that nothing has happened to her. Now I know that five of you feels like a bit much for the task, but if she's been harmed I need you to bring her here."
Idle fingers plucked at the weave of the blanket that was thrown over the settee Oz had perched upon, her previous smile gone and a worried look in her eyes.
"I've asked this as a favor, both to your Orders or your mentors personally. That favor extends to all of you of course, and if you have need in the future Hayfich will always be open to you. I hope that you'll go and make sure Belinda is alright".

The address on the card reads "74 Devonshire Close, E15 1UG", with the names 'Kevin + Belinda' written underneath.
"If Kevin or Bindy are there, just tell them Sally sent you from the inn"

"How long has she been missing?  Have you attempted to contact her through purely mundane means, or have other techniques been employed?"

Nexus' response was rote and automatic, an almost robotic sounding inquiry for additional information.

A wry smile drew itself across the woman's face, and the look in her eyes changed from worried to appreciative. Look for the helpers, a wise man once said, they are always there. He never mentioned to keeping a sharp eye out for the smart helpers.
"I've called but no one is answering their phone, so I asked the Police to check in on them. Apparently her husband answered and said everything was fine. I had told them he was out on business and I was worried, Bindy is quite old. I sent a sleepwalker over, collecting donations and the like, and she said Kev acted like nothing was wrong.
It's been a few weeks since I've spoken to her directly...The Seers have left her alone for over forty years, but who knows what they've been getting up to since Calaban passed, God rest 'is soul"

The final words were added as if upon a very old, very ingrained reflex. There was no kindness in the tone, simply spoken as one does when one has stood and sat and spoken on prompt every Sunday for over a decade.

"I didn't want to send anymore unless they were proper Mages. The Sleepers do try, bless them, but they can't see if a spell or a spirit is causing mischief where they shouldn't"

OOC: Calaban was a known leader of the Seers, to clarify. He's been dead for over a year at this point.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:43, Wed 26 Apr 2017.

Clasm shifted to a more alert posture at the mention of Calaban. Word had gotten across the ocean of his demise, and the reaction of his fellow Seers. Clasm knew, however, that there had to be more to it than that. A notorious paranoid dies in a way that nobody's in a position to 'inherit' his valuables, there's bound to be some sort of action. Unless, of course, the ruthless opportunism she'd seen following Lethe had been less a 'Seer' thing and more an 'American' thing. Unlikely, though.

"It's been long enough that the dust may have settled on any disputes in Calaban's inheritance. It wouldn't surprise me if one of his heirs got a new toy they wanted to play with, especially if the toy's profane." It wouldn't have to be the most prestigious of artifacts in the Seers' arsenal, since a sufficiently competent Watcher could manage screwing with Kev to make him turn a blind eye, but if Calaban had had one then it would explain the timing. "You know if Kev was protected against...?"

Clasm waggled her fingers in the air by her head, just short of tickling her temple.

"Oh, I'm sure she's ok!" Selene added in, her eyes focused down on the business card. For a moment, the process of trying to place the address on her mental map of London played out. Her eyes rolled up, scanning across the light fixtures. Her lips pulled together. They snapped quickly back into a smile when she had ever managed to place it or- more likely- given up. The card slipped into the pocket of her jeans. Whatever it found itself next to had Selene wiping her palm across her thigh after. "I mean, after all, who would want to do something to a nice old lady?"

Clasm glanced to her hands and started counting off on her fingers. She doesn't speak out loud, not immediately. Oz hadn't referred to the Seers as an organization by name, and Clasm didn't want to unless she knew it was safe to do so. Sympathy and connections, after all. Still, it didn't take long for her to run out of fingers, although her struggle to work around the business card in hand may have been a factor there. Huffing, she looked toward Selene. "Bad guys."

Settling back a bit and shifting his attention to the older woman as Oz reentered with her burden, Stele nodded slightly at her apology and accepted a card from her with a curios quirk of a brow.  Turning the slip of paper over to examine both sides as the mistress of Hayfich explained the task she had for them he slipped his phone from his pocket and tapped the address in, preparing to let Google do the work of orienting him toward it.  Offhand he might have agreed that five was a little much for a simple check in, but if the elder mage believed the task might actually require the old 'safety in numbers' advantage he'd trust in her judgement.

The picture Oz painted as she went on to answer their questions was a little unsettling, if only because of what it might imply.  Either they had a very bad case of miscommunication here or there was something capable of restraining one of Hayfich's allies was masquerading about Stratford.  'Profane?  Oh an Urim...that could be unpleasant.'  The necromancer mused as he listened to the others puzzle through the matter.  The minutiae of the consilium's squabbles with the Seers weren't known to him, but he'd heard enough about the Order to know a shift in leadership could be a bloody affair.  According to his preliminary search results Belinda lived right at the edge of the Westham Cemetary which was promising in a way, if only because he wouldn't lack for materials if this came down to an actual conflict.

"Or something entirely less moral."  Stele finally chimed in as the American gave the traditional answer to the age old question of 'who would do such a thing?'  There were more than a few creatures out there that could easily take a someone's place or even bend their mind into shape without access to the powers of the Supernal.  They would just have to hope that if it did turn out to be such a thing it hadn't done away with Belinda quite yet.

"We are jumping to conclusions."

Nexus intoned, her affect flat and emotionless.  She sat on the sofa, her posture straight and formal, her eyes sharp as she held each Mage's gaze in turn.

"We have not even attempted to Scry the home, let alone visited the property personally.  The sooner we depart, the sooner we can put this conjecture to rest and verify Belinda's safety."

She wasn't sure she wanted to attempt a Scry of the property either.  She was still new to the domain, but from her own experiments and the brief lectures she had received from her Mentor she was aware of a number of countermeasures that a Mage might employ to ward against intrusions.  She turned back to Oz, the stiffness in her body language softening slightly.

"Would you be willing to share Belinda's phone number?  I know she hasn't been picking up, but it is still a connection that could be utilized to possibly gain some information."

"Neither of them are Mages, but beyond the protection of walking the runes in their area I've held off on casting anything. The gauntlet has always been strong in that area as well...", Oz's bottom lip was briefly caught between her teeth, the back and forth motion of her jaw indicating the thought processes scrolling through her mind. There was just too much in their world that could have gone wrong.

Of course, Nexus had a point and Oz reached for a pen before thinking better of it. Pulling a Nokia phone that would have been right at home in the early 2000's out of her pocket she pulled up a contact and looked over to make sure Nexus was ready to take the number.
"Of course you can have her number, perhaps they'll actually talk to you. I didn't ask for a scrying in case someone is there that could sense such things. Mages never respond well to being watched, in my experience", after a pause she read out the number:

"020 7946 5223"

Bast nodded in response to Nexus' gaze. "I agree. There's no reason for us not to simply drop by and see what there is to see, at least to start with. It could be nothing out of the ordinary." And if not, well, there would at least be five of them, she mused to herself. Which was probably Oz's intent.

She glanced over the business card before sliding it into a side pocket of her purse. "We'll do our best to make sure Bind- excuse me, Belinda is safe and secure, Factotum Oz," she said with a deferential bow of her head toward the senior Thearch.

Any hint of cause for worry rolled off Selene like water off an unusually optimistic duck. She leaned forward a bit, hands on her knees. A bit of blond fell over her cheek, only to be brushed back with its unruly mates in quick order. "I bet we'll be back this afternoon with good news!" she chirped, before taking one of the mugs that Oz had come in with. She slurped a bit of whatever it contained without checking.

Then the mug is set back on its serving tray and Selene is to her feet. "C'mon! Let's not dawdle! I bet if we go now, we'll have time on the way to stop for something to eat," Selene slipped into her sandals again. Taking a few steps toward the door out, a puppy who just wants to run around outside.

While the more serious individuals present took their turns talking, Clasm set to work drinking the tea that Oz had provided her. At this point, she was eager to get to the action, but at the same time she didn't want to spurn the woman's hospitality. That meant not only drinking the tea, but drinking the tea at a polite pace. While Clasm had few compunctions against being rude when it was useful, chugging tea crossed the line into tacky even without British sensibilities.

The drinking gave Clasm time to consider what she was going to get out of this. Oz had mentioned that the most immediate benefactors would be mentors and Orders, and Clasm had made a point of spurning hers prior to her arrival in London. There was a simple, obvious explanation for what Clasm stood to gain from aiding Oz, though. That is, aiding her beyond the usual dish washing and cleaning. This was a chance for Clasm to demonstrate that she was worth speaking up for, a potential recruit rather than a potential liability.

Clasm sipped her tea, and considered how she might put herself forward. Well, she started to, but Selene proceeded to out-American her, drawing a smile to the witch's face. "Pretty sure Belinda's well-being takes a priority over munchies."

Oz smiled at Bast, "You can save the pomp and circumstance for Concillium dear, in Hayfich you don't need to worry about my title"

Three chimes rang out at the door and a pair of male voices could be heard in the hall, loudly joking and laughing.
"Oz! Ooooz! Ozzy Ozzy Oxenfreeee!", the voice was a rich timbre that quickly erupted in loud sniggers before a loud smack was heard. Yelps and an apology filtered into the sitting room and Oz rose with an exasperated smile on her face.

"That will be the Runners, I've got to show them the routes for this week and make sure they've eaten, skin and bones the lot of them! Do let me know if you find anything".

Just like that, the flurry that was Oz moved off again to tend to the latest visitors of Hayfich. The room felt suddenly quieter without her there, the atmosphere changing from feeling homey to one of cold indifference.

For his part Stele merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of the blue-haired girl's regard.  Their speculation might not be quite as definitive as she'd claimed, but the point stood.  They had far too little evidence to be deciding on anything quite yet, though it wouldn't hurt for everyone to be on the same page regarding potential outcomes.  Lifting his mug to take one last pull from his slowly cooling tea, the Moros set the empty vessel on the tray and rose to join the others.  "We'll be in touch.  Thank you for the tea and again for those boxes."  Stele replied politely as the elder mage took off, subsumed back into the hurricane of activity that was the heart of her little empire.

Glancing about the little group that remained, he couldn't quite help but feel like a bit of an outsider.  Oz had chosen a strange motley to carry out her reconnaissance and he was acutely aware of the fact they had scarce more than a name to put to each face.  'Haven't felt this outnumbered since that Fundamentals of Midwifery class.'  The Necromancer mused as he followed along in Selene's ridiculously cheerful wake.  There was an infectious sort of energy to the blonde woman's every move that was really quite enjoyable if you could ignore the occasional bit of oddness.  That little bit of the strange might be right on target though in this particular instance.  "Actually, one might give us a leg up on the other.  If we can all stomach a second cup, a quick stop at a café for a tray of tea and a bag of scones could give us a lovely way in when we bring Sally's good friend Belinda a little afternoon tea and company."  He opined, with a glance toward the other American, his own lips twitching up in a sly little smile of his own as he considered how they might approach this.  If Belinda were getting on in years and supposedly on her own while her husband was away, a how-do-you-do visit would be just the sort of thing a compassionate, but terribly busy friend might arrange.  "Just to see how she's been getting on of course."  He added with a little eye roll and just enough emphasis to make his sarcasm truly palpable.

The door to number 74 Devonshire Close is a cheery TARDIS blue, a potential hint to how much space one can really take up in such a compact little plot of land. Though 74 does not share a wall with the cemetery, it is certainly close enough that the quiet and reserved air kept for respecting the dead permeates.
Happy little spikes line the top of the cemetery wall. Happy in that they will happily pierce you if you do not mind their little barbs.

The small front area of the house is full of plants, all seeming to be trying to inch their way into the neighbours' patios. However, they are all carefully tended, kept to within the bounds of the property. If one were to inspect the various pots and troughs of soil one would find small popsicle sticks with labels proudly declaring the plants growing.
It is a wild garden, but it is well loved.

Unsurprisingly, the sky is grey and the lamp post across the street slowly flickers to life as the group rounds the corner onto the street.

It's not raining. Yet.