Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Rosslyn Club was the definition of an English Gentleman's Club in appearance, and by reputation. The name alone spoke to taste, privelege and power dating back to it's founding in the 1860s. Titan's industrial of days gone by had stayed there for some hours with tea, newspaper, dinner or at the bar - Andrew Mellon, Henry Oliver, George Westinghouse. Private luncheons at the Rosslyn determined the course of local, national and global corporations then as it did now- and the staff of managers and servers were rigorous in defending the spirit of the club's exclusivity and discretion. It was a handsome brownstone, decorated in Edwardian grandeur with wingback chairs and panelled libraries, art donated by members that required an on staff curator, and a collection of manuscripts and books worth for any museum. Six a la carte dining rooms, 45 posh corporate suites, and 42 overnight rooms catered to the membership and guest registry, much of which had seen Stroud Marinus' own personal touches and donations as an antiquarian and restorer of impeccable quality.

Her actual membership, however, came of the family name and fortune. And she made use of it and all its heights, arranging specifically for one of the overnight rooms en suite. It had a balcony with a view of the city's theater and art district that couldn't be compared to. The Rosslyn's own letterhead provided the invitation:



Wafered, sealed, she set it in a runner's hand to take to the DCBC and whatever practices of the day were being held. Then the artist settled, with her coffee and a book of minerals from one of the shelves. "You will need a fine, ambitious name. "

The doormen each gave polite nods, one opening the way for her and turning in after her to give a way to someone next to a podium before he led the way, "Ms. Marinus' rooms are this way, Ma'am."

The concierge behind them could be heard speaking, probably to a bluetooth earpiece.

There were two halls and an elevator ride, and the man knocked on the solid wood door crisply, waiting twenty seconds before cracking it to announce, "Delphine Rousseau for Ms. Stroud Marinus." He then opened the door fully into the foyer and waited to close it behind her. The foyer was professional, plain, with a handsome bench and coat hooks and carved wooden arches to the other rooms- a dining set, reading alcove, kitchenette and a bedroom. Stroud stood and came from the alcove, past a silver tea and coffee set that looked fresh and steaming. Perhaps brought in the moments between Delphine's passing the concierge and the elevator- part of the mystery of prompt and high class service.

"Pigeon, it is an honor to see you could make it. I didn't doubt, but all the same, the heart skips at opportunity, does it not? Please come in. I'll give you the details and then we can summon up our guest if you're amenable. Have you ever had the tea service here? It isn't to missed. How do you take yours?"

"Matters of milk, sweetener, amounts and what tea is used are primarily personal preference. The important steps of taking tea in popular agreement are Indian tea, and a china or earthenware teapot, at least 3 minutes steeping and thanks to the Royal Society of Chemistry, milk first in the cup. " Stroud carried the conversation as steps carried them back into the reading alcove with the setting. Stroud drew over a navy and gold rimmed cup of bone china, and prepared tea with a macaroon and a shortbread set beside before setting it down for Delphine to entertain. For herself, the antiquarian set to making another coffee, this one with cream. "There is a great deal to be gained by teaching, learning, and direct practice, and the dedication to these things are something professional dancers excel at. Beyond those, it is entirely up to chance whether genetics bless any individual with exceptional capabilities in speed, grace, flexibility and strength. We are, after all, all only—"

"Human." Stroud took a seat again on the circular couch that ringed the alcove, coffee in hand and tracing the rim slowly with the tip of her index finger. "Supposedly if we shoot for the moon, even failing, we fall among the stars. Skill can work the same- training with weights on the limbs makes compensating for that transfer over into regular movement. "

"Our devil can offer that to you. For the price of some hours a week spent training in skills given to you, keeping your eyes and ears open for information and making good contacts in your exceptional social network on their behalf. If you prove very skilled, even training others. If you can do that, you will be given the gift. Faster than human, more graceful than human, stronger than human, more enduring than human; over the peaks of Olympians and masters of history, you would be made far beyond the range attainable by normal people. Super human. You would be what you should be. Are you interested, pigeon?"

How pleasing, those rare instances when there was no equivocation getting in the way of progress. Stroud took a long draw from her coffee, then left it on the table to stand away from the table- in the entrance to the space. Possibly for dramatic effect, more certainly to ensure there was no escape. No second guessing.

It took a blink to summon the uniform— Stroud's button down, belt and designer pants replaced with the fitted, embroidered greens and golds of General Schörl. "There will be pain, but you conquer that every day. "


Schörl smiled, then vanished and reappeared beside the ballerina something of a parlour trick and further proof of the gravity, magic, and validity of the promises made. "I will not touch your heart, but deeper. To change a thing is no simple task, but you will weather it, my luv. I know you will. "

And sunk her hand into the woman's chest.

Schörl didn't worry over sound effects- wood paneling was quite insular, as were bricks and many other layers beside. The hallways wouldn't hear much, and what it did could be construed the same as her other usages of the space with fetching prizes of the art and music scene. Attention was given wholly to the steady stream of chaos and focusing on the state and feel of the starseed in her grasp. She'd touched other starseeds before of the ranked circles of power, that of civilians, and had a clear estimate in her mind of how much it should take. No more than that. There was no risking Delphine to youmafication.

So she stopped when the amount was administered, but there was no change. Delphine's starseed felt intense, a sensation not precisely hot or cold, but thrumming. Now HERE is an odd effect. But what the cause?

Shadows of nightly noises and images haunted the backs of eyes. Line of people in basements or derelict buildings, with beautiful or middling art piled around and one by one making something of each one except...when it didn't work. "You're special, pigeon. Incredibly special. More than you dreamed. There must be a star in your breast. I don't have the key, but I know the devil who does. "

A press of cool lips to Delphine's forehead and the slender, strong hand withdrew from her chest. A glowing crystal appeared in it, activated, and Schörl spoke to it, "General-Queen Laurelite, this is Schörl. I've found a star hiding in the rough as yet unlocked. Requesting your assistance, with a cat. We're in private, at The Rosslyn Club."

Laurelite did not respond nor arrive; there was no communication from her for nearly two whole minutes—and then the air around them rippled. The General Queen arrived, one cat tucked under her arm and petting the top of her head with gentle fingers.

She smiled at the General. "Your riddles amuse me, dear. Wouldn't it be easier to be blunt, or do you just appreciate the poetry?"

The question seemed to be rhetoric; once she had grounded herself after her teleportation, she set Soyala down on the ground. She moved slowly, fluidly, and stood at her full height. Absentmindedly, she brushed some nonexistent lint from her uniform as she looked around.

Finally, she eyed the two in the room, taking special interest in the civilian. "…She's a pretty little thing. Soyala, would you please?" she prompted, nodding towards the girl. "I'd like to know what we're dealing with."

Soyala was always eager to serve, and so had practically leapt at the chance to assist Laurelite in the corruption of a new Senshi. This one would be all hers, from the beginning - how absolutely wonderful. She wound her way over to the girl, rubbing against her leg.

"Definitely a Senshi, this one. So wonderful and special - a star, indeed." The cat purred unabashedly loudly and delightedly, and then, with a delicate flip, she produced a pen. "This, my dear, is for you. You will need it." She picked it up in her mouth and offered it, standing on her hind legs with paws resting on her new charge's calf.

Laurelite would have to corrupt her properly, but Soyala was pleased to do her part.

"You'll need it after this," Laurelite said, and gave the girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I will apologize in advance for this. The experience can feel a bit unpleasant. But afterwards, I promise, will make up for all this unpleasantness. Try to relax."

She placed her hand over Delphine's chest. "Don't scream."

She looked to Schörl, as if to ensure she had a good grip on the girl; it wasn't that she thought she could run, but she would have preferred to avoid any inconvenience.

"And Soyala. I'd like to know her name, and sphere. If you could."

But she didn't need to wait. Instead, she reached into Delphine's chest and searched for the starseed. It couldn't escape her practiced grip; she held it delicately, but firmly—and began the steady flow of Chaos they'd need to recruit her.