[[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: Monroe and Willow discuss Spark's earlier visit.
There are some sparks but nothing serious.  She also helps him with his
Time Radio.]]]]]]

Willow knocks on the doorframe, saying with a smile, "You called?"
Monroe is not working on a piece of clockwork - instead, his workbench is
covered with sketches and designs. He traces out another curve with the
sweept of an antique compass. He looks up at Willow as she enters and
smiles broadly. "Come in, Willow, welcome. I hope I did not take you away
from anything important." he says easily, laying aside the draughtsman's
tools neatly in their velvet-lined case.


Willow shakes her head. "Not at all." she offers with a smile, moving
forward. She pauses for a walk-by scritch between Argus' ears (assuming
he's there) and stands next to the bench. "What are you up to?"
Argus actually lifts his head when Willow crosses the threshold, yawns,
stretches his body upwards, gives her what can only be described as a wry
look, and waits for the scritching. When it is complete, he turns, noses
open the back door, and disappears into the back room. 

Monroe says, "This? This is a new sort of drive train for a steam engine -
I am hoping it will reduce the irregularities associated with the steam
hydraulics to make it a viable source of motivating power for some of my
machineries." He adds, "I had an interesting visitor a few days ago."

Willow leans against the bench carefully, "Oh? Who's that?"

Monroe says, "She said to refer to her as 'Spark' - I believe she is
associated with Bardon. Do you know of her?"


Willow laughs. "Yes, I know her. She's a member of the Order...I think.
I'm not really sure. Niles doesn't like her very much, how was your visit
with her?"

Monroe nods slightly. "I think she was expecting someone very different."
he says easily, "Certain of my statements seemed to discomfit her, though
it was a genial enough discussion. I suppose that is a positive sign, or
should be, when one's expectations are challenged."

Willow nods. "She's very mystically oriented. I'm sure your magicks are
probably a little alien for her."

Monroe's eyes twinkle a little. "Some days, they are alien to *me*, so I
can sympathize." he says. "I met with Bardon afterwards - I was a little
worried that perhaps her misconceptions might have been distributed to him
- thankfully, my worries turned out to be groundless. We also had quite an
invigorating discussion, and found much common ground."

Willow beams. "Oh, that's wonderful." she looks concerned. "I'm only
hoping that Niles and Xerxes won't be too judgemental. Sometimes in the
order we can be really stuffy."

Monroe chuckles. "No more so than in post-colonial Philadelphia, I am
sure." he says with a charming grin. Then, more seriously, he says "I am
not sure Bardon is sufficiently comfortable with my background to desire
my presence in a...cabal of his." (Monroe is still not quite comfortable
with 'cabal', apparently.) "However, we share enough understanding that I
could rely on good relations with him even absent such support."

Willow smiles. "That's good enough." she says happily. "If Niles and
Xerxes can be convinced of that much, it will be enough for me."

Monroe chuckles a little, and nods, understanding. "Only one more than
zero is still more than zero." he says with a smile. "How is business?
Have you received any word from any of your Halloween customers?"

Willow grins. "There were quite a few boys from the high school walking
around on Sunday with apples."

Monroe is about to say one thing, then changes his mind and says another:
"Did it seem to have worked?'

Willow smiles. "I don't know." she smiles a little. "They're all in school
right now. Do you think they worked?"

Monroe grins. "I don't know - I didn't receive one. At least I don't
*think* I did..." he murmurs.

Willow makes a sudden jump, "But then, I didn't walk in your door with a
bag full of apples, did I?" she arches a mock-suspiscious brow at him.

Monroe bursts out laughing. "That's right. *I* brought the apples. Perhaps
from one of your competitors..." he says with a grin.

Willow puts her hands on her hips and says slyly, "Now, I really couldn't
see a man like you doing love apple spells..." she looks at you sidelong.
"Them's alot of apples."

Monroe says solemnly, "You see? Industrial progress. Whereas before, you
could only grow a few love apples per season, we can now manufacture seven
or eight thousand per minute."

Willow looks suprised. "You didn't!" she says with a smile, hands going to
her mouth.

Monroe laughs. "Good God, no." he says with a grin. "I wouldn't know how
to go about doing it."


Willow laughs a little. "Well.." she looks at him with a shy smile. "I
would have eaten it." she remarks as casually as she can manage, and bends
down to scratch Argus again.


<OOC> Willow says "Well, she probably didn't notice - so she bent, looking
for him, and belatedly realized he wasn't there. Which will make her look
silly, but it's quite Willow."

Monroe flushes. "Well, I would have had to think about its use. Ethics and
conscience and all that." he says with a shy sort of away-looking smile,
so that he probably (?) misses Willow trying to scratch Argus.
Willow comes back up just in time for her own blush to fade, though she's
definitly feeling sheepish for trying to pet the non-existent dog.

Monroe looks back. "Oh, I was going to have you listen to a little of my
radio receiver's production, to see if you could identify the languages.
Would you like a cup of tea or coffee in return for your assistance?" he
says easily, gesturing towards the back door.


Willow smiles. "Tea." she says merrily. "I don't really drink coffee, I
just keep it in the shop for those who do."


Monroe nods and turns gracefully from the desk. He holds the door open for
Willow, brushing past her slightly as he goes to open it for her.

Willow has left.

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>

Willow looks around thoughtfully. "The place has changed." she notes
quietly.

Monroe enters. Argus is curled up under the staircase (it's hard to see
him unless Willow is looking for him). "Yes, I am finally getting settled
in." he says cheerfully, then looks somewhat sideways at her. "I hope it
meets with your approval."

Willow smiles. "It's lovely. And soon it'll be as cluttered as mine."

Monroe chuckles slightly. "Perhaps." he says easily. "It is certainly
easier than I thought to accumulate quite a collection of artifacts.
Please make yourself comfortable, I shall bring the receiver to you." He
gestures at his large overstuffed chair, a reading table next to it. He
gracefully goes to the kitchen and puts on a teapot. (The first time he
hasn't had one already brewing.) Then he returns to the workbench and
takes out a much smaller, compact, but infinitely more complicated-looking
version of the radio that Willow and Bardon saw earlier.

Willow seats herself obligingly, eyeing the radio with dubious wary. "I'm
curious to see if it'll go anywhere I can identify.'


Monroe winds it up with a brass key. It clatters and clicks and clanks and
whirrs and slowly but surely the gears and levers and chains inside go
into motion - however, instead of becoming louder and louder, it becomes
softer and softer, like they were cancelling each other out, until it hums
with a slight silent vibration, like a large speaker. The teapot whistles
as Monroe fetches a thick notebook and a fountain pen, and he moves away
from the radio to pour a cup of tea for them both.

Willow watches the 'radio' intently, as if waiting for it to spew forth
like the Oracle at Delphi. She thanks him when he brings her tea, waiting
expectantly for sounds.

Monroe opens the notebook and starts setting dials to different numbers
and letters. "Aleph." he mutters. "918. 49. 192." Voices move in and out
of the silence, which is apparently the version of static that is coming
through. He explains, "I've written down the settings which are valid, so
that I can reproduce them when necessary. This particular broadcast,
theoretically, is approximately five years out of sync." He sets the last
dial and flips the switch. A man's voice is jabbering on in a
possibly-unfamiliar language.

<OOC> Monroe says "Why don't you give me a Linguistics roll just to show
off? I know you've been dying to ever since you logged on here for the
first time? Diff 7."

<OOC> Willow laughs and counters with her Natural Linguist Merit. -2!
=->Auto Judge<-= Willow types '+roll int+ling=5',
	rolling 9 dice at difficulty 5 with 4 successes:
	  -1-  2   3   4  <6> <7> <8> <8> <10>

<OOC> Monroe hehs, "Yeah, yeah, it's like Anatoly's chess, Crouse's
baseball, Carter's history, or Monroe's gadgets. We've all got one
ridiculous stat, we love showing it off."

<OOC> Willow snickers. "Well, if you're going to have me use it, I might
as well trot out the merits that come with it. ;>


The man is speaking in a fairly common Nigerian dialect, one not often
used in the big cities, but in the smaller townships, which this station
appears to serve. He's giving the weather at the moment. Without specific
experience in the language, it may be hard to follow specifically what
he's saying, but Willow can pick out names, places, and general ideas
pretty easily. (I'll let you fill in the details.)

Willow considers. "You're picking up Africa. I'm only getting a little,
because modern dialect has been so influenced by French. He's talking
about how a small dust storm should be expected - from the north, I
believe. And to make sure that the electricity is kept off during the
night, because the static will be very bad."

Willow says "Well. I /think/ that's what he said. 'Static' is what it
sounded like."

Monroe takes a few notes. "Africa." he murmurs. "Can you tell where in
Africa?"

Willow says promptly, "Nigeria. It's a tri-county tower, not one of the
city stations."

Monroe nods. "Nigeria." he says, writing that down. He picks up a
well-worn almanac and finds the country, nodding. "Ah, yes. That fits." he
confirms. "Good." He switches to a few other stations, one of which is a
non-Mandarin version of Chinese, one of which is a very slang-filled
Polish liberation station from the forties, one is an Indonesian
archipelago islander station (and was *hard* to identify), and for each
Monroe makes more notes on the page. At the end, he switches it to a
Chicago music station from the late forties while he makes a few final
notations on the sheet that look like the beginnings of a terribly
complicated math problem, and shuts the notebook. Then he looks up at her
with admiration in his eye. "Wonderful. Thank you so much, this is a
tremendous aid."

Willow looks almost disappointed to stop. "I'm glad I could be of some
help. And I'm especially proud you didn't pick up any 80's rock stations."
she smirks a little wryly. "I'm sure you'll be needing my services for
this again?"

Monroe laughs. "Well, I *do* have a few of those." he admits. "But I could
identify them quite readily. 'Q-rock Cleveland.' And so forth.


Willow smiles. "You should try picking up a good one... WYRD, from North
Carolina. Alternative rock and late eighties." she sways a little in her
seat to the swing playing.

Monroe's eyes glint. "As for having you back, well, I shall need to test
my hypothesis, once I have it written out. Reproducibility, you know." he
says with a smile. "It's a marvelous excuse. More tea?"

Willow holds her tea cup out, "Please."

Monroe takes it and goes to get more tea. "Unfortunately, the design is
not quite precise enough to be able to specify location, although I've
managed to make it behave quite regularly with regard to the time plenum -
finally." he says, bringing the cup back. "The sound is also quite good, I
think." It is. It's awesome. You could almost be in the studio.

Willow nods adamantly, "It's actually quite astounding. You have better
sound quality then most fiber optic setups or digital recordings."

Monroe beams quite proudly. "Yes - I understand the *theory* of all the
business about binary numbers, but I remain somewhat unclear on why it
must be translated at all - I'm sure, as a student of languages, you know
how much can be lost in translations." He sits gracefully down on the love
seat nearby and sips his own tea.

Willow smiles. "In the meantime, it surely is a fascinating project." she
tilts her head. "How are your orders coming? I had considered putting in a
request for a wristwatch." she holds up her hand, as if to indicate her
wrist. "Except I really like, oh, men's watches. Women's always seem so
flimsy to me."

Monroe nods. "Very well - the mail order business still provides the
greatest portion of the monies, though I've picked up a fair amount from
antique-hunters." He looks away slightly. "I would very much like to
prepare such a watch for you. I doubt I could make one match the grace of
your hands, but all artists enjoy a challenge."

Willow confesses (as she lacks the coyness of more modernesque
flirtations), "I was hoping you'd be up for it. The truth is, I really
need one. I'm so ditzy when it comes to paying attention to what time it
is, and I see no reason to purchase one from some department store when I
can come to you and get one that's so.." she searches for a word,
"..sincerely made."

Monroe looks up at her with a smile. "I will undertake it immediately. A
sturdy design, you say?"

Willow says quickly, "Don't let it interfere with your scheduled custom."
she insists, and then smile. "Yes. You know, a big face, and a wider
leather band? Those are the types I love."

Monroe nods slightly. "I have just the right leather in mind for you," he
says absently - they both probably miss the double entendre. "It will not
interfere - it may take a while, but to alloy business with pleasure...I
cannot delay it." He smiles again.

<OOC> Willow says "/I/ would have missed it if you hadn't pointed it out.
Of course, now I need a moment to recover from falling out of my chair!"

<OOC> Monroe says "I actually tried four or five ways of typing that line,
but they all came out worse and worse. :D"

Willow looks pleased. "I have faith in your craftsmanship and aesthetic
taste." she assures. Then she tilts her head. "Is there something I can do
for you, though, in payment? Or is good old 'In God We Trust' greenery
satisfactory?" she smiles.

Monroe shakes his head dismissively. "No, no." he murmurs. "Please, if I
am to undertake it for you, let me give it to you as a gift, for whatever
pleasure I take in creating it comes from the knowledge that it will be
yours at completion."

Willow oh's, faintly. "Well...if you're sure. There isn't anything I can
get for you?" she's blushing more, and really not understanding why. It is
after all, just a watch.

Monroe smiles somewhat mildly at her blush. "You need not bring me any
gift other than your presence," he murmurs, "though anything more you
bring will be gladly accepted." He knows why she's blushing, it's a
*gift*, women are supposed to blush at gifts.

Obviously, she doesn't know this rule. "Well, alright." she looks
determined. "I'll think of something." she assures, more to herself. Then
she pushes on, "Has Niles contacted you at all? I know he did want to have
dinner at the Gaslight. I'm not sure if he wants me there initially, but I
believe I'm invited to join you later in the meal."


Monroe shakes his head. "I have not received the first word from him." he
says easily. "I hope I have not already made some error or fallen victim
to some untrue rumor."

Willow frowns. "What sort of rumour or error?"

Monroe shrugs. "I know not. I am only imagining such things exist. Though
you can I'm sure imagine the rumors yourself."

Willow considers. "Well. Have you told anyone?"

Monroe says mildly, "Told anyone what?"

Willow says "About your past. About being part of the Order. Did you tell
anyone besides me?"

Monroe says evenly, "I had to. Else I could not have been protected during
those first crucial few months." He looks into his teacup musingly. "I do
not see it as being a particularly appropriate thing to keep secret."

Willow nods. "I agree, but it really is the only thing I could think of
from which rumours might spin.'

Monroe looks a little wry. "I think it is, unfortunately, premium material
for such rumors. I hope I am not hounded by them forever, but I imagine I
will be."

Willow leans forward, putting her hand top of his. "It doesn't mean
anything." she insists. "It doesn't change you in anyway, and it doesn't
make you a better or a worse man."

Monroe turns his hand over and takes her hand in his. "I thank you." he
murmurs. "It is not shame I describe. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And
yet I know what is thought of me. Bardon's first instinct was to brain me
with his...cudgel, I suppose...when he found out. Would he believe a
terrible rumor if he heard it? It is not unimaginable. The possibility is
an irritation, certainly - I hope it is nothing more."

Willow looks worried. "I don't want anyone to hurt you." she shakes her
head. "There are members of the Order who could harm you without you even
having a chance to know what's happening." her eyes widen as she realizes
something, but she keeps it to herself, adding, "Even if you don't want to
join the cabal, or the chantry, please just make sure you keep on amicable
terms with Niles and Xerxes? The Order can be very efficient when it comes
to being rid of people they term as inconvenient."

Monroe chuckles grimly. "No more so than the highway system." Then he sees
she is serious. "I shall, of course, I shall." he says firmly.

Willow nods, but this is going to gnaw at her. She rises. "I ought to be
going." she says at last.

Monroe rises with her, retaining her hand for a moment, then shows her
easily to the door.