Subject: Re: IC: Wolves Glen Pub
From: Jeff Huo <jeff@spundreams.net.nospam>
Organization: Denizens of the Wolverine White Coat Ghetto
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.storyteller


Malada 2 wrote:

> Jeff Huo <jeff@spundreams.net.nospam> writes:
>
> (Pearl speaks)
> >> "The door seems to be keyed to where you came in.  If you
> >> open the door it will lead you back home.  However, if someone
> >> else opens the door it will open to where _they_ came from."
> >> She smiles.  "Be careful who opens the door for you."
> >
> >Alex smiles warmly. " Thanks! I'll keep that
> >one in mind. "
> >
> >Alex thinks for a moment. " But then, does
> >that mean someone could follow me back
> >to my world from here? "
>
> "If you opened the door for them," Pearl says
> scratching her head.  "But I'm not sure;
> I'm not a mage."

Alex looks distinctly uncomfortable
with this answer, but simply nods in
acknowledgement.


> >> >"You're from Chicago, too?" Alex asks.
> >> >"What's your Chicago like? And how
> >> >did you end up here?"
> >>
> >> "I'm not from Chicago.  And the owner's
> >> Chicago is not my Chicago.  Mine's nicer."  She
> >> shivers a little.  "I'm from a little town in upstate
> >> New York.  As for how I got here," she scratches
> >> her head, "that's a good question.  I found it where
> >> no door should be."
> >
> >Alex tips her head, ready to listen to whatever
> >story Pearl might have forthcoming, clearly
> >interested but not wishing to ask for what
> >Alex feels she might have no right to hear.
>
> Pearl gives Alex a penetrating stare then nods.

Alex returns the stare evenly; one,
however, might note in her peripheral
vision that Alex grips the handle of
her chair tightly with one hand and
the octagonal badge on her breast with
the other.

> "After scrapping my way through a rather nasty encounter
> I ended up in... well, let's say the astral plane.  I was going
> to work my way back when I saw a door and a sign appear
> in the mists.  And I smelled something familiar close by
> so I went in.  And so here I am."   She grins broadly.

Alex smiles in return. "Astaral planes?
What are those like? What kind of magick
does it take to go there?"

> "I might tell you more details later but first, sit and relax.
> Interesting pin you have there."

Alex jumps a little bit in surprise. "The pin?
You noticed the pin?" she says, as her
free hand goes to her robe, where pinned
against the crimson is a tiny pin, the size
of a thumbnail, one that would not have
been noticable, hidden somewhat behind the lace
at Alex's throat...which probably accounts
for Alex's surprise.

[OOC: I'm guessing you meant something
else; the pin wasn't supposed to come up
until later, but now is as good time as
any. ;-) ]

It is of red and yellow and white gold,
accents also in diamonds. It is of extrordinary
workmanship for something so small:
a tiny little mouse, standing on it's
hindlegs, holding a tinier book, it's
mouth open, as if in song, standing in
front of a golden harp.

"This...?" she smiles, and then,
with a clear and strong alto-near-tenor,

"Guademaus igitur, iuvenes dum su-u-mus! /
  Guademaus igitur, iuvenes dum su-u-mus! /
  Post iucundam iuventutem,
  Post molestam senectutem, /
  Nos habebit humus...
  Nos habebit hu-u-mus! "

[ It's sung rather well. Not spectacular, like
Rowan could do, but still very good, far
better than most. ]

Alex holds a moment, lost somewhere in her
memories....

"Maybe," she mentions to Julia, "this could
be the first story that goes for a drink?"

"Cambridge University at Boston was
founded in 1636," Alex begins, "Within fifty-years it
was one of the most prominent and largest
centers of higher learning in the Western
World, certainly in good standing with it's
mother institution of the same name.
Its students founded many
organizations, among which were
several singing groups...one of them
being the Figments of Cambridge..."

"The Figments --a name, to borrow a
phrase from a famous fantasy series,
given in scorn and adopted with pride.
The Figs were born in 1710 of a
dispute among the largest and most
famous of the singing groups at the
time, the Crimson Society Singers..."

"See, when Canbridge-West was first
formed, it served primarily the people of
New England, the farmers who had come
to America intending to run a society free
of what they saw as the corrupting influences
of the rapidly liberalizing United Kingdom.
But by the end of the seventeenth century,
Cambridge was attracting students from
throughout what would become the Dominion
of North America,  the best and brightest.
While New England was a highly egalitarian
society with ample opportunity for a man to
make something of himself by dilligence and
hard work, be he the son of a fish-monger or
the Lord Govenor, the same could most
certainly not be said of the other colonies.
The high-bred, priveleged children of New
France and Virginia were used to a certain
level of deference and privelege from those
they considered their inferiors. They most
certainly didn't get it from either the
institution, or from their classmates born
and raised in the smithies and farms of
New England. The result  was a lot of friction."

"Against the institution, of course, they
could do nothing. But in the social
circles of the class body, they could
--and did-- try to establish their ideas
on social hiearchy. One place where this
took up was among the Society of Crimson
Singers, the most prestigious and
sought-after singing society on campus.
In the fall of 1710, several members of
the Crimson Singers proposed a measure
to the bylaws that would offer the
highly-sought after seats in the society
only to those of sufficently high social
station --read, sufficent family fortune-- in
addition to musical talent. Their rationale
was to improve the degree, refinement, and
class of the society. To say the least this didn't sit
well with the New Englanders, against
whom the proscription against 'the
unfinished, unrefined countrymen'
was obviously directed."

"A vocal minority of the Singers argued
against these bylaws, including several
New Englanders who themselves * did *
meet the new monetary standard, but
still felt it unfair. They ultimately lost.
Immediately after the vote, the dissenters
stormed out of the meeting in disgust
and quit the Society, retreating to
Talinvor's, a local Pub, to commiserate
and consider what they would do next."

"One of them proposed the founding
of a new society. One where it didn't
matter who your father was, only the
quality of your art and the cheer in
your heart;  one that would be dedicated
to the service of the community --raising
money for the Children's House at
Massachusetts General Hospital was
the agreed course-- and who would
not take itself so seriously as the
Society and many others had. They
would do blind auditions --auditions
behind a screen, so that we would
judge only by voice and personality,
without knowing whether the prospective
was the son of a barber or a baron.
Her fellows quickly agreeed and bylaws
were drawn up.  They name they
adopted was the Figments, after the
dismissive comments of one of their
antagonists as they dissenters left the
meeting: 'Let them leave our company
--they are nothing but shadows and
figments of what true high-born
society is meant to be, to scatter like
mice before cats. They will not long
endure,' the gentleman had sniffed.

"That same quote," she notes paranthetically,
"accounts for the mouse in our pin --
the mouse that sings proudly," she says
with quiet pride.

"I myself am of the Class of '68, and within
its ranks I met three of the closest
friends I have upon this Earth, women
as close to me as blood."

" But to continue my tale..."

"The Society of Crimson Singers
 tried to make life as difficult
for the Figments as possible. They had
us barred from the campus chapels and
auditoriums; hence, we sang in the public
squares and the churches and taverns of
the community. It was probably not by
design, as most of the singing societies--
mind you, most students --had little to do
with the community outside Cambridge's
walls. But in going out there
we ended up becoming the city's own..."

"...and perhaps some of it *was* by
design, for our founders had also
decided that merely raising money was
not enough; our time and our services too
we would offer. Being a child in a
hospital was no more cheerful back
then than it is now --probably less then.
And further most had not family with
them, for either their families lived far
away...or they had no family to speak
of. To have a friend to visit regularly,
to play with them, to be silly and lighten
their spirits...such could make a
tremendous difference to them."

"And so it has been our privelege to
serve, all these years," she says, awed,
a dozen --hundred-- memories behind
those eyes.

"It also came back to color our
performances, for who can be stuffy
and serious when one is around kids?"
she smiles. "And the people of Boston
apparently liked the care-free, silly
Figments more than the formal choirs..."

"Within twenty years
the Figments were a fixture at Christmas
time in our city carols, at social gatherings,
at the city's schools; we had firmly and
securely marked our own identity, separate
from the Society that we had bolted from.
The Society then proceeded to ignore us
and go its own way."

"History," Alex muses, "does not record
exactly when or why the Society disappeared.
Student groups do come and go with the years...."

Alex smiles wickedly. " We, the Figs, celebrated
our tri-centennial about fifteen years ago."

"Those hard beginnings forged a loyalty
and friendship among the founders that
they passed on...even as alumni we remained
active in the service and cameraderie of
our fellowship...Tally's will always be
our home, and the Figs our family,"
she says, wistfully. We gather --every
Fig still alive-- twice a year, and where
we see another brother or sister bearing
the mouse and horn, still we greet each
other with our own handshake and hug."

She grins. "Yes, we have our own not-so-
secret handshake --we were among the
first secret socities, although we aren't really
all that secret...we're not at all like those
Skull posers or others elsewheres," she snorts.

"None can say whether it was our singing,
our silliness or our service, but in time,
the fame of the Figments spread wide;
We did our first road tour in the spring of
1750 --inspired by the wish of one of the
members to do something special for his
far-away love-- and people made it
a point on a visit to Boston to try to catch
one of our shows. And everywhere we sang,
be it grand ballrooms or busy market squares,
when we put out the hat for the children,
always it came back full."

"It  was indeed at one of these outdoor
performances that the Figments would
change forever..."

" It was 1810, our first
hundred years. We were giving a performance
in Central Square, and after the show the
hat was passed, and the crowd made it's
way away and the square returned to it's
business. As the Figs packed their things,
they were approached in the cold by a
young woman --thin, almost gaunt, slightly
smelly, a large, ugly open sore on her face
and pocks all over, dressed in patchy
clothing, asking for directions to a
far-away town, and a little change
to help get her there."

"Many perhaps might have ignored her or
even drove her off from her smell and
her horrible looks. Others, perhaps,
would have pressed some coins in her
hand and bid her leave. But the Figs
who were there did more than that.
One noticed that the thread-bare coat
that she wore could hardly keep out
the cold, and offered her the coat off
his back. Another her boots. The
group invited the young woman to
come back to their House to wash
up and then join those Figs at dinner
--the Fig's expense, of course, an
offer the stranger accepted gratefully."

"It didn't quite go as smoothly as
planned at first: the Figs first went
to a famed establishment that will
go unmentioned --not unusual for
the Figs, as several of them were of
high social standing, and Victoria, their
leader, was the adopted daughter of
the Lord Governor of New England
herself...Ruth, even with the Figs' help,
a thourough bath and a whole new
set of clothes, still fit in poorly with
her tight-drawn cheeks, sunken eyes,
and scarred and pocked face. Scandalized,
the waiters sought to have Ruth banned.
Victoria and the Figs would have none
of it. To ban a woman merely because she
was ugly was  intolerable. If they wanted
to ban Ruth, they would also have to ban
them all --including Vicky, the daughter
of one of the city's most powerful. After
some hemming and hawing, the
establishment did just that, and Vicky
and her compatriots found themselves
pushed out onto the street.

Retreating to Tally's, the home base of
the Figs,  the young woman's
story was heard over dinner; that she had recently
arrived from overseas; that she hadn't
much money on her nor a clear idea
of where she was going or what she
was looking for. Vicky offered the
stranger--who, among other names,
the stranger explained, had been
known as Ruth-- a place to stay while
Ruth figured things out, and Ruth
stayed there several days. Vicky, on
her own time, helped Ruth find new
clothing, showed her the splendors of
the city,  went to plays, saw the orchestra,
had great fun together...

And at the end of the week, when Ruth
finally left for where she was going,
Ruth promised to come back every
so often to visit.

Over the next several months, Vicky
and the other Figs kept up a correspondence
with Ruth; hosting Ruth when she would
come back to Boston, even surprising her
on her birthday with an raucous evening
on the town. Finally, that
spring, Ruth invited the gang to come
join her up in the country..."

"...and sent three horse drawn carriages
and a company of Coldstream Guards
to bring them."

"Mara! Ruth was another name for
Mara, Chancellor of the British
Concordat, Lady of Sorrows,
Lord Protector of Outremer, Keeper
of the Keys to the Fortress at
Westminster, and by far the most
powerful person in all of the Concordat!"

"Mara hadn't lied, per se, when
she first met Vicky and her fellow
Figs; Mara had just arrived from
overseas with little money and
no clear idea what she was looking
for or where she was going; what
Mara, as Ruth, had failed to
mention was that Mara didn't need
money, and had flown in from
overseas on her own power."

"And Mara wasn't quite sure what
she was looking for, besides to
see for herself if the tales of the
singing group with the tremendous
musical voice and even greater heart
were true...with her own powers,
Mara had changed her looks. Almost
as a test. And the Figs had passed
with flying colors...."

"That day we became the Chancellor's
own --the Her Majesty's Royal
Figments of Cambridge at Boston,"
she says with quiet pride. "As the
Children's House became the Children's
Wing and then Brigham Women's
and Children's and finally the
Children's Hopsital of Boston, we
have had the honor of being friends
to generations of kids, to sing all
across the world, to forge friendships
that have lasted a lifetime..."

"Vicky later went on to become
Viscount, and then later High Queen
Victoria I...she was not the first
Figment to achieve after her time
at Cambridge, nor the last. We
audition still with the screen, not
knowing who it is we choose until
after we tap them; our numbers
are almost always from outside
the social elite, for those are
most likely to be the down-to-earth,
silly folks we like for the Figs..."


"Yet despite that, four other Sovreigns
besides Victoria, thirty-five
Viscounts, almost one-hundred
winners of the Medal of Valor
and well over a thousand Fellows
of the Royal Academies have
come from our ranks in our history..."

"Vita Brevis, Arta Longa;
 Figments, aeternai," she ends
 quietly.


Alex looks to Julia. "Will that
do?" she asks.


> >- Alex
>
> -Pearl

- Alex

  And did those feet in ancient time /
   Walk upon England's mountains green /
   And was the holy lamb of God /
   On England's pleasant pastures seen....

   I will not cease from mental fight /
   Nor shall my (my) sword sleep in hand, /
   'Til we have built Jerusalem /
    In England's green and pleasant land; /
    'Til we have built Jerusalem /
    In England's green and pleasant land!




--
Jeff Huo | jeff@spundreams.net.nospam (remove nospam)
U. Michigan Med | http://www.spundreams.net/~jeff

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