Reservations

[Seven]

Seven approached the beautiful, glowing mansion that was the home for the Bottom of the Cup Café. As he crossed the street, the smell of glorious foods waited on the air like the swampy bayou he imagined was the inspiration. He smiled to himself and strolled confidently into a soup of music, smoke, and noise that spilled into the garden and covered porches.

He was dressed for the venue, having read reviews that set his expectations about the interior of the café and its patrons. He yearned greatly to meet the proprietress, and only the best would do to present oneself to a Queen.

He wore deep blue slacks cut slim to the leg. An azure shirt was tucked in at the waist and worn with the top three buttons splayed apart. At the neck glittered a necklace. The pendant was a long, silver tusk. Most gloriously, he wore a tailed jacket printed with large blue and purple hydrangea blossoms. His eyes were colorfully bright against the blues, as if the color ran from his irises into the flower petals.

He smiled as he entered, pausing naturally at the front station.

“Good evening, I have a reservation.”

“Under what name?” asked a young man.

“Seven,” Seven said.

“Like the number?” he responded quizzically.

Seven nodded. “That’s right. Like the number.”

[Xander]

Nothing much changed from Xander's appearance. He had found an old pair of American made blue jeans. He had unfortunately borrowed from Tobias' wardrobe with a worn vintage heavy metal band t-shirt. He'd found it in a thift store still in good condition even if it was a little worn. Some of the best things were used. Xander pulled on a black leather jacket over the t-shirt. Both the t-shirt and jeans were a little tight -- but in all the right places he thought to himself as he admired his reflection in the mirror.

Z was closest to himself. Z was not a facsimile of who he was, he was almost Xander Mitchell -- almost. Old friends used to call him Z. He was an American teenager when he'd been that person. Z was what he would have grown up like. Without the cons. Z was a normal person. Or what Xander thought he'd have been. Z was hard working business man. He was here on vacation, checking out real estate -- looking for a new place to live. He could work anywhere he wanted. There was always the need for a marketer. Z was good at his job.

It was all a story but it was very close to reality. Z's family was gone from this world -- he was alone. Like Xander.

Armed with Z's life firmly in place Xander made his way to the Bottom of the Cup cafe and hoped none of the magical forces gave him away. Maybe that was why he liked Asha -- he was waiting for her to figure it all out. Which made Xander want to abandon Moscow, but first he would go back to the cafe and order food and have a good time.

He pulled open the door and laughed to himself when he heard the hostess say 'like the number?' he must get it all the time. Xander chuckled, "I guess my timing is impecible. Do you ever get tired of saying that?" He asked as he waited for the hostess to guide Seven to his table and luckily himself as well.

[Eidolon]

Her fingers trailed the cases of books, gently plucking volumes from amongst their brethren for quiet perusal. She felt out of place amongst the decadence, plainly dressed in a world of glittering jewels. Though music still drifted through it was at least a little quieter here than in other parts of the cafe. She did not feel comfortable; not because of its eccentricity or flamboyance, though neither were a lure to her either, but for the cloy of hospitality -- like the place wished to gregariously welcome her into the heart of a home. Yet she was amongst strangers, and the blurred lines of familiarity left her distinctly uneasy. Rumour did not help, though to that she resolutely closed her ears. The Cup had been Kōta’s choice, not hers. And it was true, amidst such colourful peculiarity they were unlikely to stand out over any other.

He was very late. Eidolon’s eyes ghosted away from meeting those belonging to the sparse number of patrons reclining in the relative ease of the aptly named Amber Room, but she did glance up from time to time when figures passed through the rooms beyond, seeking her brother.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Maman Marie Mayfaire
Front Counter Attendant

---

Marius sighed. "She did it because I had almost gained the courage to do what I had to do! To place them both and myself in the sun and finish forever what the Egyptian Elder had sought to do - rid the world of the King and Queen and all the fanged men and women who glut themselves on death! Oh, she is too clever!"

Marie giggled with delight as she read through Anne Rice's novel, Pandora. What words this woman wove - oh! - they were divine! And that Marius? A sexy beast to be sure, but if Marie were Pandora, she woulda kicked him out on his pale behind faster than you could say 'what for.'

Marie had been working her way through The Vampire Chronicles for the sixteenth time, thank you very much, and they got better and better with each read. She'd have to pick up the Mayfair Witch books soon, if only because they shared the same last name! How Marie wished Anne's words were true. If they had been, then Marie herself would probably be a powerful sorceress, just like her mistress, Rowan. That would be something. If Marie could control the five elements with a thought, she wouldn't have to work here. She could start her own bar and it would be so much more tasteful than this place. Rowan was a nice child, to be sure, but she had such a loud taste when it came to decorations and furniture. Were this place Marie's she would start by getting rid of that awful Carousel room, that was just too much. If this were Marie's place, why she would -

"Like the number," Esteban said jokingly to one of the new customers. Marie shook her head and rolled her eyes. She put Anne away beneath the counter and stood up from her stool, grabbing her walking cane in the process. The gnarled old woman walked up to the man called Seven and gave him the up and down.

"Well, well, well, ain't you a looker, now?" Maman Marie said to Seven, squinting up into his face, "Rowan woulda just gobbled you up if she hadn't run off with that Armande fellow. Looked like trouble, if you ask me, but you didn't and I'm tellin' ya anyway. You can do that when you get to be my age, child."

She shooed Esteban off and turned back to Seven, "Reservations you said? Well, I better get to work and earn my Ruble..."

Marie called Esteban, who was now looking harassed, back over, and got the reservation information from his dingy little clipboard.

"Yes, yes, right this way, cutie. You got guests joinin' ya?" Marie chattered away amicably without waiting for his responses - she was just happy to have a listening ear - as she hobbled into the Seance Room, assuming that Seven followed, "I'll be your date tonight if you ain't got one!"

Marie howled with laughter as she found the table reserved for the handsome man, calling for some servers to pull his chair out for him. She laid the menu out for him and awaited his pleasure.

[Seven]

The infatuating Madame of the house swept in like a hurricane, and Seven’s smile gleamed with absolute joy for the sudden disruption. Her sweet brown face wrinkled like paper when she spoke, and Seven had no doubt that every line and crevice etched into her skin were badges of honor. Oh! The glorious battles the Madame must have waged in her life. Seven would be filled to the brim with ecstasy to hear but one such tale.

As the bold madame lead, so Seven followed diligently behind. The room they entered was lush and colorful, like walking into the beating heart of the voodoo queen herself. “It’s a shame the Mistress of the House is stolen away. I was so desiring a reading!” he smiled upon her offer, but only to animatedly look over one shoulder and confirm that Z followed.

“My dear friend, Zee is joining me,” he said as he rounded on the elderly Madam with a bright hop. Seven wasn’t incredibly tall, but he had a way of lowering himself so that none were intimidated by his presence. “but I would be delighted to have such a date as yourself,” he said whimsically, plucking her knobbed hands into his and lavishing a princely kiss upon her knuckles.

[Xander]

The woman ignored him. While great for his cover Xander growled inside. Being ignored was not something he enjoyed. He had clearly been talking to Seven before she rudely interrupted and swept him away. Xander followed in their wake glad that Seven pulled him back into the situation. He was not some lamb to be lead to the slaughter. But Z put on a happy smile and he was not too offended by the woman's lack of attention.

They were lead into the Amber room. There were other patrons. Others sitting in wait. One woman with dead snakes sat alone. What was this place? Moscow drew not only the special but the snakes as well. Drawn to the same power -- The Ascendancy. Xander closed his eyes and blocked the auras from his vision. He didn't even want to see into Seven's at the moment. His fluxuated too. Special. Was there anyone of note in this stupid town that was not special or a snake.

When he opened his eyes they were being shown to a table by the Madame. And Xander took his seat a roughly. "I need a scotch on the rocks, best you can offer please." He needed a stiff drink or he might growl all night. His stomach might churn if the colors didn't dissapaite soon. Too many special people.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Maman Marie Mayfaire
Front Counter Attendant

---

Marie’s head zipped around towards Zee. She all but jumped, having been completely ignorant of the man before. There was something about this Zee that Marie could not quite put her finger on. Oh, her memory hadn’t been the finest in her twilight years, but she was still sharper and spryer than most her age – thank you very much. Fumbling into the pocket of her cotton dress, Marie extracted a pair of coke-bottle spectacles. Placing them on just so, Marie took a closer look at Zee.

                “You been here before child?” She asked him, studying his face, before shaking her head and answering for him, “’Course you wasn’t. I’da remembered. You must have one of those faces, child. Or I’m gettin’ old.”

                Marie cackled. She always knew what to say to make herself crack up.

                The glasses came off and were back in her pocket. She turned her attentions back on Seven and gave him a wide, gummy smile. Was that a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks? Couldn’t be. Marie was too old and too wise for a romp with such a young, handsome thing. He almost reminded her of Anne’s foxy vampire, Marius. Almost.

                “You better watch that silver tongue of yours, cutie! I’ve half a mind to join you!” She cackled out as she pinched at his supple cheeks, “You want a reading? We got plenty here that can do that for ya’, including yours truly.” A tone of pride entered Marie’s voice as she said that last bit. Reading the cards had been a means to pass the time during the slow hours in the Café, a little way to occupy her mind; but over the last few years, Marie found that she was actually developing a small skill with the little painted cards.

                “Scotch on the rocks? I like em’ hard too,” Marie said to Zee with a wink. She took out a small paper notebook from her other pocket and wrote out the drink order for Zee. She looked over to Seven and waggled her sparse eyebrows, “And for you, Galahad?”

[Rowan Finnegan]

Gareth Rice
General Manager and Rowan Finnegan's Personal Manservant

---

Gareth was positively stewing. Not only had Rowan gone galivanting off with some strange, older man and his whore, but Aiden had decided to leave the country! Were the Finnegans not obscenely wealthy, Gareth would have been worrying after his own career. Luckily, Master Seamus was only a phone call away should either of the twins prove to have disappeared indefinitely. Gareth let out a sigh and felt his shoulders relax. He was fine, the Café was fine, everything was fine.

The Amber Room was his safe space. It spoke of finer things and a more refined past. It was a place to relax from the revelries of the rest of the café. Chaise lounges, comfortable reading chairs, bookcases, what more could a man ask for? Company. That was a start.

Galton, the head chef, could normally be found in this room during his breaks – but it was happy hour and every patron needed a little something to satiate their hunger between the attractive and well-poured cocktails that the Café had on menu. Instead of the jolly chef, Gareth spotted Maman Marie tending to one of the few tables in the room. She had clearly been talking at length to the patrons and Gareth had it in mind to interfere, but only one of the patrons looked to be irritated; the other looked to be well taken with the elder. That was good. That meant a big tip.

Scanning the rest of the room, Gareth checked to see if any of the other patrons looked distressed or in need of service. His eyes settled on a younger Japanese woman. Her eyes roving and scanning almost more than his own. She was alone and did not have a drink in hand. That could not be good. He would not kick her out without ordering, but perhaps she needed a little coaxing? He pulled away from the bar and moved towards her table.

Gareth was a reasonably attractive man. He was in his mid-twenties, standing at six feet tall and blessed with a well-toned swimmer’s build. Gareth’s hair was brown and cropped, parted off to the side; a black bespoke three-piece suit added to his air of respectability. His light green eyes took in the young woman before he approached. He coughed politely as he came to stand near her, propriety would be observed.

“Miss? You look troubled, are you in need of a server or assistance?” he asked in a smooth, British accent.

[Eidolon]

Eido selected several books from the shelves before she returned to her seat. The available mix was surprisingly esoteric, and pleasingly so to the studiousness of her nature. Resigned to patience amidst her discomforting surroundings, it was a wall behind which she gratefully took shelter. For a short time she gently explored the pages. Some ended splayed across the table’s surface in order to cross-reference passages, a slim finger keeping place when the loud hostess brought through more guests. Her hopes quickly sank, but beyond confirmation that it was not Kōta, Eido did not stare.

She was not unaware, yet she did not look up when a polite clearing of the throat preceded a man’s voice above.

A quick glance of the table’s detritus revealed her mistake. She’d had a drink at some point, but it must have been cleared when she’d wandered the room perusing the shelves. That had been remiss on her part, and grossly impolite. That it necessitated attendance to her table fluttered embarrassment, for whatever her feelings on the establishment and its reputation, she had little intention to be discourteous. 

Her attention pulled up to put brief identification to the voice that addressed her, but did not hold eye contact. Instead her head dipped an apology. “I am waiting for someone. They are late,” she said. Her voice was low for a woman’s, melodious, and presently contrite. English was not her native tongue, though little remained of her accent. “Forgive me. Do you need the table? It is busier now than when I arrived.” As she spoke she had already begun to close the open books, watching the careful rhythm of her own hands. She would nurse something at the bar if she needed to. She had not meant to take up the space.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Gareth Rice
General Manager and Rowan Finnegan's Personal Manservant

---

The young woman could not hold eye contact for the life of her. Not proper when meeting new acquaintances. A shy one, Gareth guessed. She had a plethora of books scattered before her, no doubt taking pleasure in the Amber Room’s well-stocked and pristine library. He could not fault such curiosity. Indeed, it gave him great pleasure to see one of their patrons attack the tomes with such gusto. True, some came here to read, but never at this hour of the night.

Gareth’s eyes glanced over the titles of the books – all esoteric in nature. Another Goddess, then? They were drawn, after all, especially after Rowan ran off. A funny twist of fate, that. The Mistress of the House had craved to start a community here, a Court of the Gods as it were. They never came in numbers. The day after she left, however? Well. There were usually two or three of them flitting about the Café at all hours of the day and night. Gareth did not know if they were beginning to organize or if they too found this to be a place of sanctuary. How did this young thing find them? Word of mouth?

The patron moved as if to leave, her words sounding docile. Gareth held up his right hand in a soothing gesture, urging the woman to stay put. He chuckled lightly and tilted his head with a warm smile. She had a minuscule trace of a Japanese accent, so Gareth took a risk and starting speaking to her in the Japanese language.

“Please, forgive me. I did not mean to imply that you should leave. My name is Gareth Rice, the General Manager of the Café,” he gave the woman a very slight bow of the torso, “Be welcome. I wished to see if you had need of anything. The customer is king at the Café. Please do not hesitate to ask for anything you require. What does this person look like? Perhaps I may go about the Cafe to see if they have arrived?”