[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: This is Niles' first formal meeting with Monroe. Willow consults Monroe afterwards.]]]]]] You step into the soft ambience of The Gaslight Room. It assumed that you have a reservation for this restaraunt. You must be suitably attired to receive service. If you do not have a jacket and tie, the maitre d' will ask you politely to leave. The Gaslight Room -- Larson Metropolitan Theatre A classic dining room: white linen table cloths, a forest of fine crystal at each table, lovely potted vegetation and extravagant lighting provided by the room's namesake; gaslight. The stage lights from the old theatre have been modified to fit as wall sconces about the exterior of the restaraunt. These flickering braziers give the room a uniquely romantic but almost auspicious air. The room wraps in a 'L' shape around the back of the lobby and the more exclusive tables cannot be seen from most areas of the main dining room. The wall facing the street is a long series of dark tinted windows with the more public tables butted against them. Extending from the lobby wall is a small square bar topped with a strange driftwood glass rack, tinkling with the movements of the bartender. Portable silk screens are spaced about the room, adding privacy to some of the tables and accenting the space with their subtle artistry. Well dressed waiters and waitresses roam about the busy restaurant carrying brass platters, topped with an assortment of delicacies, to their respective tables. The patronage here are all suitably attired (formal/casual) and the room is alive with their jovial, but conversational banter. ~Nightzone~ +Views and Places available Contents: Willow Niles Obvious exits: Lobby Niles sits down at the Private table around the corner. Willow sits down at the Private table around the corner. Monroe arrives at exactly the appointed time, perhaps a little ahead or behind of Willow and Niles, but not too far. You go over to join Willow. You sit down at the Private table around the corner. This table is the second of the highbacked leather booths around the corner. From your seat it is impossible to see the main dining room. Only the other tables back here are visible. The table is set for four, with wine, water and brandy glasses. Four yellow ceramic plates are topped with fanned napkins and a single yellow rose. A vase full of fresh red roses rests at the center of the table. At your table, Monroe greets them warmly enough, with a smile. "Good evening. I trust things went well?" At your table, Niles says "Things have been...settled." At your table, Monroe says easily, "Always a better state of affairs than its opposite." At your table, Willow offers him a returned smile and then offers, "As well as can be." she seems to be taking a minimalist approach to her end of the conversation. At your table, Niles says "Greets Monroe with a quick smile. "Well then..."" At your table, Niles says "Have you eaten here before Monroe?" At your table, Monroe sips his water. "Oh, yes, Willow introduced me to the establishment many weeks ago. It has since become one of my favorites." At your table, Niles nods. At your table, Niles smirks, "Willow's come to enjoy it a great deal, I think." At your table, Willow smiles. "Well enough." she says. "They have a lovely Riesling." At your table, Monroe nods slightly, "It is very sedate. I appreciate it after the bustle of the outside street." He gallantly fails to notice Niles' smirk. At that juncture, a young woman appears at Niles' elbow and offers to take orders for the table. At your table, Niles looks around, not even having looked at the menu, wondering where the waiter is. "Oh, there you are. Hmmm, yes, I'll try the prime rib and a bottle of Chateau St. Jean Merlot...the '94 would be splendid." At your table, Monroe orders light, a chicken salad with grilled eggplant. At your table, Willow orders her usual filet mignon. The server nods, not even writing down the orders, and yet maintaining to ask the questions on how folks would like things cooked, et cetera. Then she thanks them for their orders and excuses herself. At your table, Monroe turns back to Niles and smiles gently. "I expect you have much to tell me." At your table, Willow looks between the two, an unobtrusive observer. At your table, Niles says "Not so much, perhaps, as you have to tell me." He smiles, folding his napkin across his lap casually, "When the food arrives, we'll see about our privacy here..." Which it does, in suprising short order... At your table, Monroe says easily, "I do not think it would take long for me to exhaust the meagre store of knowledge which I possess and you do not, but your sentiment is appreciated." He smiles charmingly at the server and pours a little of the salsa-ranch dressing on the salad. At your table, Willow smiles, just a little, and attends to her filet mignon. At your table, Niles says "So...I'm told you have a rather interesting past...?" At your table, Willow has the grace not to cough delicatly, but she does sip her wine. At your table, Monroe says easily, "As interesting as any man's." He smiles. "It is a little more removed from my present circumstances than is usual..." He sips his wine easily and then places it aside. "I will summarize as best I can, though I am as prone to egoism as anyone. I was born in 1820 - I lived the first part of my life in Philadelphia. I was Awakened at the hands of the Order of Reason in general and under the specific tutelage of the group called Iteration 9. I was sent West where I was undergoing training as a Timekeeper, when there was an intercenine quarrel, and I was cut off. Shortly thereafter, there was an accident involving the quintessential feedback...paradox is the modern word, I think...and I was torn from the time plenum for well over a hundred and fifty years. And here I sit." At your table, Willow lets her eyes drift to Niles for his response to this. At your table, Niles sips his wine. "The Order of Reason...how...interesting." At your table, Willow keeps quiet, knowing that Monroe will expound where is necessary. At your table, Monroe smiles. "It was interesting, sir. Very much so. A fascinating group, and to an impressionable, idealistic young engineer, a welcome band of brothers. Of course, between that time and this, they all died, and have apparently been replaced by grasping salesmen and dull-witted thugs." At your table, Monroe says this last a little drily, a little wryly - a half-joke, but one he's made too many times before. At your table, Willow does interject this time softly: "Or robotic killing engines." At your table, Niles doesn't chuckle, but he neatly slices his prime rib. "You must be a prime candidate for them...if they're still aware that you continue to exist. Certainly some of your former colleagues still persist in existence, after all." At your table, Monroe rolls his eyes slightly. "It is no coincidence, I think, that 'reason' has been eliminated from their title. I think the term clearly no longer applies to the group." At your table, Niles nods, "Evidently." At your table, Willow eats her filet mignon and shuts up. She studies the two back and forth. At your table, Monroe listens to Niles, and chews his eggplant before replying, which he does very carefully, choosing each word and putting a tiny pause between each of them. "I know you think you are complimenting me, and so I accept your remark in the spirit in which it was offered. But it is no compliment, sir, to say that I would surely be accepted there. It is, to be generous, an error. I would not. I cannot but think of a single belief which the Order stood for in 1847 that has not been clapped in chains and sold on the slave-block." He calms down a little. "I know you meant it as a compliment, and so I thank you, but I have no desire to join any kind of group such as that. I do not even regard it as the same Order, and nor, apparently, do they." At your table, Niles says "It was no compliment, to be sure. But a reality. You can be quite sure, that if they discover you, they will do whatever they can to either regain you or eliminate you." At your table, Willow murmurs, "Some of us can just get lost in the system." At your table, Monroe nods slightly. "They would eliminate me. They would not ask, for they would surely know my answer without asking." he says. "If they launched a war against their own members, the Etherites, how much more would they hate someone like me?" He nods to Willow. "That is my practice. I am keeping as much out of sight as is practicable." At your table, Niles says "Have you established contact with the Sons of Ether yet?" At your table, Monroe nods. "I have - they have agreed to admit me into their ranks, such as those ranks are. I was in San Francisco for about two years, acclimatizing myself to this new time and slowly exploring the world of the Traditions." At your table, Willow's fingers carefully rest on the linen tablecloth. At your table, Niles says "You know, of course, that even in the 19th century, the 'Order of Reason' posed a serious menace...as they have since the Rennaissance...but tell me, what do you think of the Traditions now?" At your table, Willow looks Monroe in the eyes, her own softening as she quietly places a piece of obsidian on the table. The aspect of Entropy fills the diameter of the table, focussing on Monroe, reverbrating the truth of his words. She silently hopes Niles doesn't see her mute appeal to Monroe for having to do it at all. At your table, Monroe says mildly, "I disagree with your characterization of the Order as particularly menacing, any more than any other group of researchers, but I will not argue the point with you. I am forming my first opinions of the Traditions now - I never even saw a Tradition magus from a distance when I was younger. They seem more or less as I was taught they would be: fractious, raucous, elegant, brilliant, and greatly more powerful than they imagine. Caretakers of a great trust and to be respected." At your table, Monroe either does not notice Willow's appeal, or does not react. Niles says "Well, as a matter of history, they had long since taken to the infamous argumentum ad baculum for which they are now quite notorious. Hopefully, you did not employ such tactics." At your table, Monroe says mildly, "We were taught that all disputes were to be settled with reasoned argument, like men, and not with force, like beasts. If war must come, let its wisdom be doubted, let it be questioned and scrutinized for motivation and judged for what it is truly worth, for men were not placed on this earth to fight. They were made for better things. I cannot speak for history. I only know what I and my fellow initiates were taught: that our judgments were not perfect, our perceptions were flawed, and our wisdom was no greater than any mortal man." At your table, Willow seems to wish to say something - but she keeps her own council. At your table, Niles frowns. "I hope Willow will make some history books available to you." At your table, Willow says "I already have. Both Sleeper and Awakened - particularly those on the defections of both the Sons of Ether and the Virtual Adepts." At your table, Monroe nods slightly. "I have corresponded with many Etherians. As I say, the ideals which were were taught appear to have been completely and explicitly eliminated, for what reason I know not." At your table, Willow goes back to her food, finishing it before the men do, since she speaks considerably less. At your table, Niles says "So, you were unaware that, at that time, the Order of Reason was engaged in a campaign of murder?" At your table, Monroe places his fork down. "Please," he says softly, "I have told you everything I know upon the subject. I have never killed a man and was taught that it would do the Order no good for me or any other person to kill a man unless there was some overriding reason, in which case we could expect to be treated to a hellishly difficult inquiry into our actions. I do not mean to belabor the obvious, but yes, I am unaware that the Order was engaged in a campaign of murder, and, to anticipate your future questions, I am also unaware that it engaged in mass rape, human sacrifice, cannibalism, piracy and high treason." At your table, Monroe says very softly, "Please excuse my language, Willow." At your table, Willow offers just as quietly, "Forgotten." At your table, Niles nods, "I am not surprised that they would hide it, but it /is/ surprising that you didn't know. I ask, not to insult you, but because I must. I have no doubt that, were our positions reversed, you would do the same." At your table, Willow's Entropy Effect is dropped. Whatever point she had to prove, or goal she was trying to achieve, apparently in her eyes has been made. --------------------------------- Willow comes in, if the door is unlocked, peering through worriedly. Monroe sits on the stool near the workbench, peering at the complicated mathematical formulae before him. Argus has coiled up around the base of the stool. Monroe's hair is a bit mussed, as if he's walked a fairly long while in the cold windy outdoors. Monroe looks up, and smiles, "Willow. Come in, come in." Willow looks instantly relieved. "You're not angry with me." she leans back against the door frame. Monroe sighs slightly. "No," he says easily. "It isn't the first evening I've spent..." He wants to say one thing, but he shuts his mouth, he shuts it pretty hard, too. "...in such a fashion. I imagine it won't be my last. I know your hand in it was tied." Monroe scribbles a little in the margin of the math and puts the pen aside. Willow walks in further, and then crosses over, standing next to him at the workbench. "Niles knows how I feel. He was very specific about wanting assurances of where my loyalties lie." she hesitantly reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair. Monroe's scribble is just a little savage scratch-mark. He looks up at her and his eyes soften. "Oh, Willow." he murmurs, putting a hand on her shoulder easily. "Loyalty has such a terrible, terrible ring to it. It sounds as if we are nations or political parties rather than persons. What did you tell him?" Willow shrugs. "I did what I had to do." she says. "I had to show him I was willing to be the guage for any lies you might tell. And I had to assure him that should you join the cabal, or even the chantry, that any sort of...argument we had wouldn't spill over." she keeps her hand in his hair. She looks fairly miserable about it. "I was so worried you'd consider it a slap in the face." Monroe shakes his head a little, but not enough to dislodge her hand. "I know you trust me, and I know he does not." he murmurs. "I am not so foolish as to think that he would not have done the same had you refrained. Please," he adds, reassuringly, "do not trouble yourself about something so small. I could hardly bring it upon myself to lie when being implicitly accused of terrible outrages." Willow nods, letting her hand slide to his cheek. "He was really suprised that you weren't aware of the atrocities of the Order. I told him that it was my belief that it was because you were part of a specific project and were kept isolated, but that I didn't know for sure." Monroe shakes his head a little. "I think it is more likely," he murmurs, "that a combination of their madness today and the mistakes of yesterday has created an irrevocable impression that the Order always was the way it is, which is approximately as far from right as could possibly be imagined. I know of a dozen, no, two dozen examples which I could marshal, conversations I recall, books I was given, knowledge passed along, debates heard in the hallways of the institute, and yet all of this, against the strength of unreasoning prejudice, is like a breeze against the wall of a mighty stone tower, and it always has been." He then looks down a little. "The real tragedies are the ones which we never even saw and which are nowhere in the histories of the magi." Willow shakes her head. "For many of us it was as simple as the Burnings, as the extinction of the Bygones, and the persecution of today." she leans down and insists, "You have no part of that, you never did. You are no different then any Son of Ether who defected." Monroe falls silent for a moment, then he raises his eyes, almost plaintively, and insists right back, "I am very sorry, but your history lacks half the story. It is like..." He pauses. "It is like blaming a Connecticut shopkeeper for the depredations of a Florida slave-trader on the grounds that they are both American. I should enjoy someday to sit with you and discuss the Bygones - I do not know what you refer to as the Burnings, but I would hear that, too. But I feel *very* strongly that what I was told was not a lie, and I yet believe it. And that is where the Etherites and myself diverge." You say "Why would they tell us of these terrible struggles of the past and urge us to question them, if they did not believe that the past could be learned from? And if they believed it, why would others not believe it of them?" Willow shakes her head. "That's just it. I /don't/ blame you for any of those things. But.." she pauses, the second hand lifting, his face now gently cradled in both of her palms, "..the truth of the matter is that the Technocracy, perhaps not as the idealists you were brought into, but as it was formed, and as it has become, is responsible for frightful, terribly butcheries. Thousands, more then thousands, over the course of hundreds of years." Monroe says very softly, "I can name at least three such struggles which were overwhelmingly considered failures and rejected by future members of the Order, including myself. And this does not make the circumstances better, but worse, for now *I* am the rejected, and *my* ideals lie alongside those of the extermination of the Bygones and the permanent closing of the spiritual world, buried together in a mass grave of the Union's 'mistakes'.." You say "...even though they may today think themselves infallible." She cries softly, "Oh, no." she presses her forehead to his, "No, no, no. It isn't like that." she adds, "Your ideals have not been lost to this world, it's only those who live by themselves go by a different name. The banner is no longer carried by those you knew, but it is still carried." Monroe nods slightly and brushes his other hand across her cheek. "I know...and you know it, too." he murmurs. "But Niles cannot think of it in my hands, or flying over the Institute, or on the staff of the wagon rolling towards Yerba Buena as the sun set over a land still infinitely broad." Willow says, "Niles is not as closed to you as you think. That I can tell you. He still has questions, but he is not willing to reject you." She moves her head away, but not her hands. Monroe says softly, "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "It just seems as if he is determined to ask me only about irrelevancies. Bardon understood the point and came to it with the greatest alacrity: what about the Indians? My answer was difficult to come by and its content yet pains my heart, but I was proud to be able to give it and thankful that he knew to ask it." Willow shakes her head. "It's the way of the Order." she admits unhappily. "He wants to understand everything, and seeks assurance that you're not a plant, or that the Technocracy would actively look for you." she shakes her head, suddenly saying in a bitter voice, "Enough for tonight? Please?" her hands shake. "It's bad enough I have that damned Nephandic book in my Sanctum, just the thought of it, and this too, it's making me so messhugeneh." Monroe laughs a little. "All right," he murmurs. "More than enough. I agree. It isn't Niles' job to ferret out the things *I* think are important, and it certainly isn't yours to listen to me complain about it." He pulls her a little closer - not quite so close as they were when their heads were touching, but... "And likewise, I won't ask you about the book, though don't think I won't remember later." he says with a small smile. Argus has evaporated out from around the stool earlier in the conversation, the sound of his breathing disappearing among the ticking of the clocks in the cases.