[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: Monroe's first meeting with Bardon.  A Big
Speech.]]]]]]


Starbucks Coffee(#1651RJMs)

	Welcome to Starbucks Coffee Shop: commercial powerhouse in the
gourmet coffee industry. This place looks akin to every other Starbuck's
in the nation, but still manages to retain a comfortable charm. Perhaps
it's the synthetic earth tones that cover every surface, or maybe it's the
eerily trendy staff..or maybe it's just the comforting smell of warm
coffees, mochas and pastries filling this place from wall to wall.
	 A tall evergreen counter takes up the back wall, surmounted by
cookie jars and coffee flavored candies. Behind it is a long menu of
products and prices printed on burnt orange slats. But if you don't think
a 'grande brazillian blend mocha with a shot of val and a loganberry
scone' sounds all that good, stick with the orange juice.
	A narrow black bar is bolted to the exterior of the seating area
with pretty and uncomfortable iron barstools, but you can get a good view
out the wide windows from these seats. More comfortable chairs circle the
black tables atop brick red tiles. It's hard to sit or leave without those
chairs making some awkward noise along the floor. But the constant swish
and gurgle of the espresso machines covers up most noises, lending each
table a surprising amount of privacy.

                              Places available                             

Obvious exits:
Out <O>

Bardon comes in from outside, the door easing closed behind him.
Bardon has arrived.

Bardon slips through the doorway, mindful not to catch the didge slung
over his shoulder on the rapidly closing door. He glances around the
establishment, his gaze coming to rest on the sole occupant he recognises.
"Hello there, Monroe."

Monroe has a large cup of coffee and is writing what looks like a very
long letter on plain white paper with a fountain pen.

Monroe looks up. "Oh, hello, Bardon." he says cheerfully. "Will you join
me?'

Answering the query with direct action, Bardon slips into the booth,
making himself comfortable opposite you. "Gladly." His eyes fall for a
moment on the missive you're working on, although he politely refrains
from querying. "How's the universe treating you today?"

Bardon sits at Booth 2. Booth 2.
Bardon joins you.

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe puts the letters aside. They are unremarkable
except for containing rather a number of marginal illustrations of gears
and levers, and for being much longer than any other handwritten letter
you've probably ever seen. "The spheres whirl onwards and all is as right
as can be expected with the world." he says genially. "How are you?"

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon gives you a wry grin. "The spirits are watching
over me well, thank you." He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking
towards the counter before his focus reverts to you once more. "Working on
another radio?"


Seated at Booth 3, Monroe laughs. "No, no. I've actually completed it, and
managed to determine the problem." He looks somewhat proud. "In repairing
it, I found that it no longer is capable of receiving signals from the
direction of the future, but the time period can now be adjusted to the
liking of the listener. Unfortunately, the geographic location of the
signal origin is now the difficult factor. The set can be set to, for
example, last month, but I still can't determine why sometimes it picks up
channels from Oaxaca and sometimes from London."

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe says "These correspondences are on more abstract
subjects to some associates of mine."

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon nods his head almost exactly as though he
understands what you're talking about. "I see..." he states, although
judging from the look on his face he really doesn't. "I'm afraid your kind
of magick is basically gibberish to me...although I'm certain my medicine
ways must seem the same to you. In some ways, I think that's the main
strength of the Traditions...we can agree to disagree and still work
together."

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe nods slightly ruefully. "Yes," he says, "It is a
shame that this amiability is now, quite ironically, the Traditions'
exclusive possession. I count the ability to reason among differing views
among the most important gifts of man." He then tilts his head slightly.
"Medicine?" he says. "You must refer to the traditional arts of the Indian
tribes, surely."

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon nods his head slowly. "Yes, although their arts
are in fact descended from that of my Tradition. I am, as I believe I
mentioned, a member of the Society of Dreams..." he pauses, chuckling
dryly as his gaze falls to his tanned but definitely caucasian hands.
"...despite the color of my skin. My wife is of the Sioux, and between the
lessons from her and the Spirits I walk the Medicine Path."

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe looks blank for a moment. "Oh, the Lakota." he
says. "Certainly, certainly. I at one time made the acquaintance of a
small number of that tribe, and was sorry to leave them. A fascinating
people and culture." He smiles. "I have never actually met a Dreamspeaker,
though."

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon inclines his head in your direction. "Well, now
you have." A smile quirks at the corners of his lips. "Something to enter
in your diary, no doubt." He shifts his weight slightly, a soft sigh
escaping his lips. "So, you spent some time with the People, did you?
Which reservation?"

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe looks down. "I fear I have been remiss in
keeping my journal for the last few years. So many changes seem to come so
quickly that it seems almost futile to try to record things, for they are
gone before the ink flows from the quill." He looks up. "I...it was not on
a...reservation." He says the word with great distaste. "Such a system had
not yet been imposed upon them." He says 'system' with venom, perhaps even
a bit of irony, depending on how perceptive you are.

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon appears to note that irony with ease. In fact,
almost nothing seems to pass this man's attention...his eyes take in the
subtlest nuances with almost no effort. "Not yet imposed?" he queries
quietly, curiosity mingling with his own obvious dislike of the current
situation imposed upon the People. "Monroe, I suspect there's something
important you may need to fill me in on, yes?"


Seated at Booth 3, Monroe nods. "Yes," he says, sipping his coffee. "I am
surprised but pleased that the rumors had not reached you yet." He puts
the mug aside and says, lowering his voice slightly, "I was born in 1820.
I was Awakened at the hands of the Order of Reason, in particular the
group called Iteration 9. There was an intercenine quarrel and I was cut
off from the support of the group, and was shortly thereafter involved in
an accident involving the study of time, which removed me from the plenum
for well over a hundred and fifty years." He looks over at his mug again,
as if looking for some answers there and failing to find them. "I was sent
West when California was still a part of Mexico. It was on that journey
that I traded with several Lakota on the Plains."

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon listens quietly to your words, although he leans
back with widening eyes when you mention which group you were awakened by.
"The Technocracy....." he murmurs, one hand lowering to take hold of his
didge. "You're a bloody Tech!?" Although your innate Awareness will
doubtless note the gathering of power around Bardon, it does not appear to
be directed at the moment...perhaps a preparatory action, perhaps
something else. "A Tech...and part of the group that forced the People
into the reservations and degradation."

Seated at Booth 3, Monroe looks wounded, perhaps even a little frightened,
but faces Bardon with defiance and a tinge of pride. "At the time, sir, I
understood the goal of Iteration 9 to be equality of treatment for all men
and ideas, which goal I still possess close to my heart. It would be idle
woolgathering for me to describe the mechanisms which were to have
protected the Lakota and other aboriginals from the depredations of those
who would exploit them, for they were either not implemented, not
initiated, not successful, removed, or destroyed, and in the intervening
years the Order seems to have lost all Reason - I cannot but think that
they cannot understand the tragedy of this failure, but I assure you, sir,
I do."

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon appears to relax his vigilance not one little
bit as you continue to speak. "Let me get this clearly....you -were- part
of the Iteration but now you're not?" He pauses, his suspicions have most
definitely not been laid to rest despite your words of sympathy for the
People. The energies forming around him take focus, centered on himself.
"Speak now and speak nothing but the truth, Monroe. Are you still a member
of the Technocracy, or have your loyalties gone to the Tradtions
completely?"

Anton has connected.


Seated at Booth 3, Monroe looks slightly hurt. He opens his mouth and the
words more or less slither their way up through his throat. "I would not
prevaricate even should you have lacked the power to ensure my compliance
and I confess that though I understand your caution, I feel the treatment
is unwarranted." But he can't stay away from the question for long: "The
organization to whom I owed my loyalty is as dead as my brothers, friends
and acquaintances. Yet while I live I shall not reject its ideals: that
liberty is preferable to slavery, democracy to dictatorship, truth to
falsehood, justice to wrongdoing, reason to ignorance, and that mankind is
the finest of all God's creations, and deserves our greatest efforts. My
loyalty to the Traditions reflects my ideals as far as the Traditions do.
I must say that the Technocracy has proven itself supremely uninterested
in pursuing any of these. Instead it has prosecuted a wasteful and
meretricious war against the very ideals which I was told that it stood
for, to what end I know and care not." As he speaks, his cadenced voice
takes on a slightly different rhythm, emphasizing some words and drawing
back on others - it makes the whole thing much easier to listen to and
follow, and the last sentence is like a gun going off: sharp, pointed,
forceful.

Seated at Booth 3, Bardon nods his head slowly, the background gathering
of power fading just as slowly until at last it is entirely gone. "All
right, Monroe. Your words are truth...and maybe I do owe you an apology
for how I reacted. Maybe." His hand lowers from his instrument, the
suspicious expression on his face lessening as he does so. "I make no
apologies for how I feel about the Techs though, considering how they've
treated my Tradition, my adopted people and the world in general."

<OOC> Bardon sighs. "RL calls once more...my apologies, I have to log off
for a while."
<OOC> Monroe says "Me too - it's okay."

Bardon has disconnected.