[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: Willow has collapsed on his couch after battling
with an "evil book".  Monroe himself has had a rough day of it.  They take
the morning off and go for a walk.  Shmaltzy romantic stuff but nothing
too hot and heavy.]]]]]]


Split-Level Apartment -- Telegraph Hill Custom Clockworks(#2367R)

 
 	 This area of the house has been renovated recently, tearing out
the walls that made it into small rooms and replacing them with more space
and better windows, though the actual furnishings are on the sparse side.
A gigantic steamer trunk stands in one corner - a pair of bookshelves are
half-filled, the rest of the books lying in piles nearby. An iron,
zigzagging staircase leads up to the second floor, which has been
converted to a loft bedroom. A large wardrobe stands open there, with
clothes peering out. The kitchen, which occupies one tiled corner of the
apartment, is especially sparse, with hardly an appliance in evidence. A
large wooden work table has been assembled recently and placed to one
side, out of the way of the comfortable-looking chairs and couch near the
west-facing window. 
 	 << +views set >>
Contents:
Willow
Obvious exits:
Out <O>
You have no unread mail.





Monroe rises at dawn and slips downstairs into the bathroom for a shower
as quietly as he can manage, which is actually fairly quiet, clunking of
the pipes notwithstanding. He emerges fully dressed, of course, and goes
about breakfast, casually making several dishes at once, all timed
perfectly to be complete at the same time: scrambled eggs and chorizo,
tortillas warmed in the oven, the sweet smell of flapjacks and the
pungency of bacon. (He must not eat much of a lunch.) 

It is probably the smell that reaches through sleep first, either that or
the cold breeze from the front room when he opens the door to get the
paper. But whether she will actually wake then is another matter.

She slept the night in deep sleep, without any dreams to disturb her, it
seems. When she wakes up, her hair has fallen forward into her face as she
looks around in bleary eyed confusion, her lips in a thoughtful pout. She
sits up a little straighter as she sniffs the air.

There's coffee in that air as well, and tea, milder than the herbal stuff
he gave her last night. Monroe is turning slowly through the paper, though
he glances up when her head emerges above the top of the couch. "Good
morning," he says, thankfully, softly, but just loud enough to be heard
over there. "Did I wake you?"

Willow looks at him a moment with vaguely confused brown eyes peering out
from a mop of red, limp hair. Then comprehension dawns. "No." she says
with a smile, tucking her locks back behind her ears. "I woke myself. Good
morning, and what is that lovely smell, and may I borrow your shower?"

Monroe says easily, and in his normal tones. "It is breakfast, and the
blue towel on the rack is yours. If you do not take too long, the chorizo
will still be warm when you return."

Willow smiles, getting up. "I'll be out in a minute." she heads back, and
well, she's not quite back in a minute, but in due time. You also probably
sense some magick while she's in there, because when she comes out, she's
wearing fresh clothes - her clothes. She smiles, looking much more
reasonable. "I forgot to ask - what's chorizo?"

Monroe says easily, "Sausage, it's one of the habits I picked up from
Mexico. I'm sure it's terrible for one's health." He gestures at the chair
next to him, the paper neatly folded and put aside, of course. (The only
guy in town who can put a newspaper back together.) He has thoughtfully
not started eating himself. "How did you sleep?"


Willow sits down. "Sausage. My mother would die." she considers, and
smiles. "Deeply. I don't feel drained anymore." she eyes the food. "I feel
hungry."

Monroe grins. "Let me serve you." he says, spooning out a generous helping
of eggs, a thick, soft, warm tortilla, a large, round pancake, and a small
bit of chorizo. As he does so, he says easily, "I too slept well, perhaps
something of a surprise for both of us."

Willow looks around "Where's Argus?" she blithely misses the connotations
his statement may have implied (because she's Willow) and then says,
"Well, I was so tired that I don't think I had a choice. What was your
excuse?" she smiles up at him, and then looks at her plate. "Do I fold
this, like a burrito or like a fajita or something?"

Monroe smiles. "Ah, you may, you may...the tortilla is used to scoop up
the eggs and chorizo, generally, or you can wrap it up and eat it that
way. It is informal food, I'm afraid." He leans a little on his hand and
sips his coffee. "I suppose I had used up all my dreaming earlier in the
day. As for Argus, he's upstairs being wound." (When you were in the
shower, using that magical awareness to get all freshened up, aside from
noticing that Monroe has the cleanest bathroom you've ever been in, you
did notice a slow, tiny, but very steady flow of Quint upstairs.)

Willow nods. "So tell me, what was the dream you had the night before, and
why did you sleep so nicely last night?" she neatly folds it burrito
style, and seems to have success that way, occaisionally scooping with one
end. She eats in small but hearty bites.

You say "Actually, it was yesterday afternoon - I had indulged myself in a
siesta. The dream was terribly vivid and...well, surprisingly unfamiliar.
I was above Larson, and I saw a giant turtle, ridden by a gigantic Indian
rise up from the sea. He called on me in the name of the 'Middle Brother'
to do something, right some wrong, I'm not sure exactly what..."

Willow furrows her brow. "I'll have to research that imagery." she notes
to herself. "Did anything else happen?'

Monroe nods slightly. "I was led northeast to a village...I'm not sure if
it really exists, but it was a modern village, into the hut of an old man
in a wheelchair, a shaman of some kind, I believe. He was discussing
something with a young Asian man." He pauses. "I guess I don't have to
tell you that I do from time to time dream of the Chinaman I saw hanged -
but this youth was not Chinese. He looked Japanese to me. In any event,
they were discussing some awful creature that lived under the sea. The old
man said it ate men alive, and fed also on their fear, like a nightmare.
He asked the Asian lad and myself to do something about it. We debated a
little while over how you fought a nightmare - I decided the best way was
to wake up. Whereupon, somewhat anticlimactically, I did."

Willow frowns. "Did he give it a name? The creature?'

You say "The dark one. Or perhaps that was a description."

Willow shakes her head. "I'll have to look into it and see what I can
find. Did anything in particular stick out in the dream?"

Monroe chews a bite of flapjack meditatively. "It was all extremely vivid
and detailed, but...when I have the imagery of an Indian in my dreams,
it's usually an Ohlme Indian, and when I have Asian imagery, it's usually
Chinese, because therein my experience lies. This was none of that. It did
not *feel* like a dream once I was with the old man."

Willow considers. "Did you detect anything magickally?" her expression is
thoughtful.

Monroe shakes his head. "I noticed nothing out of the ordinary - alas, all
my devices were left behind with my sleeping body."


Willow murmurs something about wishing she knew more Tempis.

Monroe watches her a little, then remarks. "I am glad I am able to take
your mind from your difficulties yesterday with my own conundrum...is
there anything which you want me to know about them?"

Willow considers. "Well. Be very careful if you happen to catch a glance
at that book. It will try to snag your mind, but only once, I think."

Monroe nods slightly. "I have no interest in its contents." he murmurs, "I
ask what you want me to know about *your* experiences."

Willow shakes her head. "The text of the book isn't particularly
impressive. It's basically a manifesto or a codex devoted to magickal
nihilism. It's the book in and of itself that makes it important. Which
probably makes no sense."

Monroe smiles. "Actually, it makes the situation much simpler....but
Willow," he says, "I'm asking about you. Are you going to be all right?
What are you going to do next?"

Willow takes a deep breath. "I'm going to rebuild my Sanctum. And leave
the book to Niles. It was his in the first place."

Willow adds, "And maybe research some of that imagery.'

Monroe says easily, "I would appreciate your help. I will also call on
Bardon sometime today."


Willow leans back. "I'll see what I can find in terms of mythology." she
sounds a bt puzzled by it, and eats her breakfast thoughtfully. "Are you
going to be about having a normal day?"


Monroe nods slightly. "I think so." he says. "I think I need one. What
about you?"

Willow shakes her head. "I'm thinking about closing up for the next two
days. Today to spoil myself, tomorrow to try to pull my Sanctum back
together."

While Monroe is listening, Argus pads down the stairs, which softly clang
beneath him, and he comes over to the pair, unusually friskily. He nudges
Monroe's leg. "Oh, stop it." Monroe says testily. "You don't even eat, you
wretched creature." Argus *looks* at him, then *looks* at Willow, then
nudges his leg again. "Oh, quit bothering me." Monroe says. "Desist! Go
lie down at once." Monroe turns his attention back to Willow. "Oh? What do
you plan to do to spoil yourself?" Argus *nudges* him hard. "-Stop it-!"
Monroe hisses.

Willow seems somewhat puzzled by the dog's behavior as well. "Maybe he
just wants attention?" she suggests. She shrugs. "Read some tomes I
haven't had a chance to catch up on, as well as finish up some letters and
emails. Maybe work on my inks and papers. It's so hard to get mesezoic
squid ink these days."

Monroe nods. "That sounds very relaxing...how exactly *do* you get
Mesozoic squid ink?" Argus turns his back and trots away, finally. "If you
say 'from a Mesozoic squid', I will have to congratulate you on telling a
joke so old that *I* heard it in my youth." he says with a grin.

Willow considers. "Well.. actually, yes. That's where you get it. But
there's always www.thig.arcanoi.bargain-basement.bizarre/bazarre.com .
It's got some real finds."

Monroe laughs with delight. "I never knew we knew such deep and dark
secrets in elementary school." He doesn't follow the web-address at all,
but just nods cheerfully. Argus returns, with a leash in his mouth. He
drops it at Monroe's feet. 

Willow smiles. "He wants you to walk him?" she says in delight. "That's so
sweet. He definitly wants some attention, Monroe."

Monroe says "Oh! Well, why didn't you just *say* so!" He leans over to
pick up the leash, but Argus picks it up again and takes it over to Willow
and drops it at *her* feet. Monroe looks at him, then up at Willow. "I
think he wants us to go for a walk." he says. "Would that fit into your
day somewhere?"

Willow smiles. "I don't have an objection." she reaches down and scritches
behind the dog's ears. "Though you realize, Hotep will smell you on me,
and get extremely hissy." she tells the canine.


Argus says, cheerfully, "Not my problem, organic. That's what you get for
having a prissy little fleshbag hanging around the house." Monroe scolds:
"Argus, behave yourself." Which apparently translates to keeping his mouth
shut and enjoying the skritch, which he, dutifully, does. "Do you want
more, Willow?" Monroe says, indicating the (very few) leftovers.

Willow chastizes, "That prissy little fleshbag is my Familiar, thank you
very much." she doesn't stop scritching though and says, "No, I'm alright.
But Argus is decidedly testy, so perhaps we'd best walk him." she gives
Monroe a gamin little grin, picking up the leash and offering it to him.

Monroe grins and hooks up the lead to Argus' collar. "You get a polite,
kind, fetching little cat, and I get *this* hideous, unpleasant beast. No
wonder the Union was going to phase out Familiars." He pats the side of
Argus affectionately as he speaks, and looks back at all the dirty
dishes...but Argus springs ahead before Monroe can protest that he needs
to clean them.


Willow smiles. "We'll do dishes when we get back." she promises. Oh. Now
it's /we/, is it.


Monroe doesn't notice the 'we', or doesn't mind. "Of course, of course."
he says, being dragged towards the door by the pistoning legs of Argus.
Boy, he must have gotten wound *tight*.

......

You pass through the gateway into Tsukimizu Gardens.
Tsukimizu Gardens

	A narrow stone path winds through the beautiful Tsukimizu Gardens.
Plants and blooming flowers of all kinds can be found within these
gardens. Small signs set in small stone boulders along the path remind
those visiting to stay on the path and to not touch the plants. A few
benches under the cherry and pear trees that line the path give the weary
a chance to rest. The path winds its way up to a hill where a small bridge
crosses two ponds. The ponds are at different elevations and water from
from one pond cascades in a waterfall to the pond below. Both ponds are
teaming with colorful Koi and a small rock barricade built into the upper
pond keeps Koi from plunging into the lower pond below. Small coins can be
seen within the waters of both ponds. After crossing the bridge, one comes
to a huge willow before the path winds down the hill to a large rock
garden. This is the turning point to where the path winds its way back to
the entrance gates. To the side of the gate is a large torii or archway
made of wood. Large boulders have been embedded deep to form a path from
the archway into the shrine.

************************Place Code and +Views in
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Contents:
Willow


<OOC> Willow says "Hrm. Rules say no pets. Shall we look elsewhere, or
ignore the rules?"

<OOC> Monroe says "Let's see. I think I can work that in."

Monroe is yanked by Argus more or less comically down the various streets
and sidewalks to the gates of the Japanese Gardens, where Argus stops
inches from the property line, tongue wagging tiredly. With a single rush
of motion, Argus tears the lead from Monroe's hand and smushes himself
down over a heating grate outside, curling up as if for a nap right there
on the street. Monroe laughs a little and offers his arm to Willow,
looking at the Gardens. "I've never been here before." he says.

Willow smiles. "It's really lovely. I've been there with previous
associates - it has a shrine and a koifish pond and a teahouse as well.
Shall we?"

Monroe nods slightly, his breath forming fog in the air as they walk down
the path. (I'm wondering if there's snow everywhere. I imagine it's cold.)

Monroe looks around at the scenery with something of wonder. "I have never
seen anything like this before." he says.

Willow smiles, occaisionally reading some of the Japanese outloud.
"Lovely, isn't it?"

Monroe nods, listening. "It certainly is a beautiful language....and a
beautiful place." He walks along, taking deep breaths, as if to cleanse
himself inside and out. They move up the hill, slowly, stopping often to
take in the still emptiness of the morning park. "This is how it all used
to be." he says suddenly. "You could stand and feel there was nothing in
any direction but what you brought with you."

Willow tilts her head. "And what happens when you bring the world with
you? Or when what you bring with you changes as your will might?"

Monroe looks surprised. "You can't bring the world with you. The world is
there, this is the world, in every direction. The world before you, and
where to choose, as the poet says. As to the latter...it is still your
choice. Still different than being surrounded."

Willow points out almost playfully, "If all places are one place, then why
can't you fit the world in your pocket?" she looks to the shrine with some
fascination, then her eyes are distracted by the koifish. "You asked me
once what the cabal had planned to do. What do you want to do? What do you
plan to do?"

Monroe laughs a little. "That's why I say you can't bring the world with
you. Where would you put it? Do you know what I wanted to do first when I
came back to San Francisco?" They start walking again. "I wanted to hide.
I wanted to run and hide somewhere deep in the wilderness, where things
were still at least a little bit like I remembered them. There are places
left in the world like that - I looked them up...the Australian
outback...some small towns in Central and South America...but as I learned
more, I knew I couldn't do that."

"And now?" she asks softly, shaking her head. "For a technomancer to wish
to live in the wild...what a remarkable thing." her voice is soft, and
does not carry. "What does Monroe Phineas Dennison want to do with his
life? What goals does he wish to fulfill, now that he is where he is -
here, in Larson?"

Monroe shakes his head a little. "You'll think me mad." he says
cheerfully, looking up the hill at the top. "There are three things, in no
particular order. Some are more insane than others." He stops and turns
towards her, standing very close, perhaps to keep them both warm.

Willow grins. "I always believe in six impossible things...after
breakfast!" she butchers Carroll willingly.


Monroe laughs slightly and puts his hands on Willow's waist. "First," he
says with a sparkle in his eye. "I want to find out what went wrong.
Impossible? Of course. Insane? Almost certainly. Second, I want to end
this ridiculous, wasteful war. Impossible? It is the very epitome of the
word. Insane? Absolutely. And third, I want to know *your* full name, and
kiss you before noon. Insane? Perhaps. Impossible? Well, that *I* cannot
say."


Willow blinks, eyes widening in shock. "My Name?" He can almost hear the
capitalization. "Why do you want my Name?" she asks, and then considers.
"You must mean my birth-name...or do you mean my Name?" she asks, clearly
suprised, with an air of not knowing whether to be defensive or be
thrilled.

Monroe blinks. "Whatever are you talking about? Yes, your birth-name."

You say "Have you another one?"

Willow considers, then explains. "I have err, well - four, actually. Birth
name, Craft name, Shadow name, and True Name. Which do you want?"
Monroe laughs slightly. "Well, you have stumped me, I must admit." he
says. "I get along with only the first, middle and last. Why don't we
start with those, and you can tell me the rest as you see fit."

Willow smiles a little. "Danielle Willow Rosenburg. My Hebrew name is also
Danielle." she then adds playfully, "You already know my Craft name,
anyway. I took Willow, and used it as a matter of practicality and
symbolism."

Monroe ahs. "Interesting." he says with a smile. "Much better than
'0100010', anyway, though I didn't get to pick that one. Now, what is your
opinion about the possibility of the rest of my third goal?"

Willow gives a smile, almost coy smile. "Who was going to be making the
effort in that venture?" she asks, tilting her face up. He's not the only
one with perfect timing.

Monroe laughs a little and draws her closer, tilting his head down to her.
"I'll try to remember later." he says. It is their first standing-up kiss,
but the differences in their height have been offset somewhat by the hill
- Willow finds, perhaps to her delight, that her head is almost even with
his, his arms closing around the back of her tightly.

Willow's brain flashes on that old wive's tale about kissing and getting
your lips frozen together. However, this doesn't impede her. And this
time, when her fingers lift to curl through his hair, it's done with
deliberation.

Monroe kisses her longer, a little deeper, then, though the contact of
their bodies remains minimal through the thick winter clothes they're
wearing (or does that make it more arousing, rather than less, safer,
easier to relax and feel the presence of the other?), the rising heat of
their lips and face moves slowly upwards. At the end of the kiss, which
Monroe ends gently, almost a kiss of its own as the contact softly breaks,
he murmurs, "The problem - or perhaps the joy, of a goal like this is that
once you reach it, you always think of another, similar goal."

Willow smiles, her breath gentle against his face. "Like what? You do
realize, this doesn't count as an impossible thing."

Monroe says softly, "More, if you please." and, seeing that she does,
kisses her again, this one less introductory, less waiting for Willow to
respond as urging her to. It's a reply to the first, a rejoinder, or
perhaps a harmonizing voice, if one were to put it to music.


Willow giggles. "Please sir, may I have some more?" she manages a piteous
Oliver before she is kissed, which promptly quiets her, and in what is
coming to be her favorite way possible. It's not even occuring to her to
be embarressed.