#cor.summerfest

While by no real means a town of bumpkins, Port Leiry certainly is a town of rubes, or, perhaps more likely a town full of cretins with a vested interest in not raising a scene. Vampires lurk in blood-crazed hives, werewolves pack into the fringes of the woods and quiet areas. Witches congregate in secretive mass. She'd like to be out of here before the dogs and neck-biters know whats happening, which is strange to consider, given they're her favorite thing to hunt. But, this is all in service of that, and so, the stage is set, and soon the die will be cast. But the Hunters? Hunters, while protectors of The Great Secret, are not meant to indulge the instincts of monsters, and if the witches don't want to help rid the town of this filth, they can be made to. And if The Brotherhood, feckless and soft, is roiling under its own weight with reticence to act? Everything burns, at the end of the day, and a hunter who doesn't hunt can serve better as wood to fuel the fire. She's had to forego the Feng-Lindon heir - wrong place, wrong time, but she can hope somebody else has the chance she didn't.

Still, she thinks to herself, it's not a total loss. Blaire Davenport is one of a handful of names pried from the tongues of captured witches. A Phial witch. Pretty, young thing.

It is well-off that Heron's studied in hunting, and its unfortunate that in hunting monsters, one sometimes needs to employ fire for fire. Spellcraft is a human art, one that can be learned, at least in a lay enough form to be of benefit to a hunter, given the weak un-focused nature of the Fellowships' brands. In her forty and some years Heron's mastered two glyphic wards - one that detects magic, and another to mute its effects on her mind. The first of those is etched into her skin via her Fellowship mark, and the second is bent into a lace of silver and amethyst around her neck.

"Yeah - It's.. right." Vic even finds himself nodding to the questions on the other end of the line. "Okay, it'll - right, yeah." Any passerby could tell he was getting frustrated until finally he -

"Tomorrow, for sure. Rush pay." And snapping the old ass phone shut with a satisfying click. Fuck the smartphones. It doesn't feel the same. "God fucking shit, man, these fucking moms with their stupid, shitty Karen bobs - I hate -"

Looking up, he starts to bring his cigarette to his mouth and stops short, wincing. "..Sorry. Job shit. Don't wanna ruin the vibe."

One never knows where they might end up at a music festival, slight buzz making the tip of nose and ears reddened - a light flush on his cheeks. He'd had about one and a half of some frozen alcoholic thing - but the cups were as big as his head. And they were too damn sweet.

The one he's holding now looks like a sunset, and it all but goes forgotten when he catches sight of the large, tall blot of black in the horizon that is Mikala. Without a second though, he approaches - too wide of a grin on his features.

"I hear they have face painting. Might could find something to match the aesthetic."

Quiet, stone-faced, and clutching a cup of hard lemonade in one hand and the wadded-up wrapper of a spicy fish taco in the other, she's been staring off into nowhere while the white noise of a crowd and distant live music creates a seashell of noise for her to disappear into.

What had started as a normal day was ruined, first by her mother, and then by an absolute slog of a shift, only for the matriarch to come back in later with some masterful attempts at guilt tripping that have seen her go for a drive to clear her head.

Somehow, she happens upon Summerfest, and decides to stay; she hasn't eaten all day, and maybe the music will help settle down her brain, and so here she is, not quite sure how long she's been staring, zombie, into the collective crowd.

"Doll." She starts, hands clasped behind her back. Their relationship was an odd one - but odd felt more at ease and homey than anything that could be classified as 'normal'. Lucia was one for the twists and turns of life. The slowly cooling air and the humidity was making her long curls stick to her neck - amazing how much things stay the same over the years.

She holds out a drink towards the other man, something cheap in a cup with a straw. As one does. She has her own and makes a face after sipping it.

"Have you noticed the people walking slower than the others? Watching everything but the show?"

The music itself isn't why she's here, but it is nice to be able to get out on the town without having to navigate through side streets and alleys and never see another person out unless you plan it just right. There are thousands of people meandering streets, spread out on the lawn.

There are also a few people who look a bit out of place, and it makes her nerves tingle a bit.

Before entering, she catches sight of someone she doesn't really super recognize - but they're hanging off by themselves which is good enough for Lara.

"Leaving or just getting here?"

Hard to make a choice for what she wanted when nothing seemed all that appealing. The lines ahead of her were too long, the food smelled.. okay. Greasy. Fried. Spicy. It assaulted her senses, but her gaze drifted around at the people in the lines.

It would be easy.

But she's meant to be on her best behavior, is she not? Turning, she catches sight of a familiar face - blonde, pinched lips. "Narcisse." She greets with a wide grin, "I didn't expect to see you here, baby."