Long Lost Friend - Camille's home

(place saver, Marla if you could place the setting of where ever your character is living right now and have her be doing something.... or something)

Camille trudges from the bus stop to her Shelbyville home after a nice long day of tending nature. Being a landscaper has its high points, for sure, she thinks to herself. She keeps her head held high and shoulders strong as she wills her legs to move her body over the sidewalk. A long day. The few people who pass by leave much space between themselves and her, probably not even knowing why. A smile starts on her lips. They sense the wild beast in her, like walking past a house with a barking dog in the yard. Only I am the dog, she muses. Finally she makes it home. A small house, not worth much really, but her own. It was a gift from her kinfolk, funds to purchase a place of her own when her journey continued far away from them. Not much to look at, and minimalist decor inside. The yard needed some nurturing, a shame she never had the time to give it the attention it certainly deserved from a landscape artist owner. Camille pauses at the gate. Something feels special, like the day is over but there is one more development to be made. A curious feeling, but she brushes it off. Thinking of her kinfolk has gotten her worked up a bit, she assumes. That feeling from childhood that maybe there was a treat if you just walk in and ask nicely.

She enters the house at last, loving the warmth and the pleasant combination of soaps and cooking and herbs. "Whispers Justly," she says aloud to herself, "you better feed yourself or you won't be any good to anyone." And she sets to washing up and setting out foodstuffs and pans to whip up something filling.

Part of the way through her dinner prep a loud voice bursts from the quiet outside. A man wearing designer jeans and a fancy button up shirt is bent over her flower bed. He is wearing 3D glasses, the kind with red and blue lens, and a pair of heavy ear muffs that one might wear while mowing the lawn. He is screaming at a flower.

"Is this the home of Camille?! What? Yes, yes it is a wonderful spring night. What? You're hungry? Ok I will address that, but first, does Camille live here? What does she look like.... Uhm... You know I'm not sure, red hair, probably tall-ish, maybe short. Funny accent, scotswoman and all, you know. Anyone like that here?"

Camille, hearing all the commotion and catching most of what was said, slips out the kitchen door and slinks around the house quietly. Coming up on the front corner she sniffs lightly and pokes the tiniest bit of head around the side to see what the heck is going on. This man...how does he know her name, where to find her? *Why* would he want to find her? She had no enemies that she knew of, not who were familiar enough to seek her out and call her by name. She looked harder as he continued to yell at her flowers. Odd, this wasn't exactly normal attire...not outlandish but...
Screw it. She strides over to him. "Hey! Hey mister. Why are you looking for Camille? Don't you know any better than to interrogate a lady's poppies?" She strikes a pose, trying to look taller in case he wants trouble.

He looks up at her for an uncomfortably long amount of time, squinting slightly, then back down at the flower.

"Hardly, she has purple hair, not red."

He looks surprised and then takes off the glasses. He looks back at her, "ah... yes, red hair."

He quickly stands and stride over to her, "Camille my dear, it's been a while, how are you?," he quickly says, still yelling with a slight british accent.

"Do I...know you?" She tilts her head inquisitively, trying to place his face in her past. "I'm sorry for my rudeness, but you definitely startled me."
She loses her poise for a second as she squirms the slightest bit under his gaze.

"My dear you're going to have to speak up.... I can hardly... Oh yes," He says before taking of the ear muffs. He tosses them out into the street.

"Do you know me..... hmm, it's been 4? 5 years? Hmm, probably not."

He ponders a moment and then smiles and pulls a small object from his pocket. He holds it in his palm for a few moments and stares intensely at it. Then smiles again.

He takes a few more steps to her and holds out what looks to be a normal english pound.

"Go on then, take it."

Her mind is trying to make sense of it--4 or 5 years,so before the change. But she can't have forgotten someone so quickly and so thoroughly could she?
Camille reaches for the pound, determined to just go with it. No weirdo stranger was going to throw her too far off. As her hand closes in she asks, "So what was your name again?"

"John. Don't worry, you'll remember," he says in a friendly voice.

"John." Very simple name, okay. Camille takes the pound note and begins to examine it in her hand. She wasn't sure she was awake. A strange encounter like this, maybe she fell asleep instead of making dinner....

Upon looking back up from the coin the man is replaced by an unearthly majestic man. The man now wears a designer suit easily worth more than a cheap car on his torso, a fancy dark blue cloak on his back, and on his face he wears a grin that take Camille back to her childhood.

"Hello there, remember me now?"

With that hazy memories of nights almost forgotten rush back into her mind.

Flashes of playing with her imaginary friend, laughter and childish things. Magical times she had thought were part of a rampant imagination. Adventures and dreams and that time she painted herself in the middle of the night. John was there. Not the dull-ish normal man questioning her flowers, but a supernatural version of him, the other man brought back to her by this token somehow. A fantastic and wholly unreal friend, conjured to make up for the fact that none of the other children wanted to play with her. Standing here, concrete and physically before her.
Camille felt a little dizzy. A little giddy.
"Oh sweet Gaia! John! My friend, how can you even exist?" She lunges forward and wraps her arms around him, still squeezing the coin tightly in her hand.

He pats her back, "never didn't exist my dear. Just was gone for a while. Back now, you no longer smell funny...... well a bit, but that's alright."

He extends an arm to the door, "shall we? Maybe some tea and then you tell me what all you've been up for for these few years?"

"Of course, yea, let's go on inSorryOh gosh I hope you like chamomile, it's about all I've got by way of tea--I've had so much happen these past years, being with the kinfolk seems like a whole lifetime ago I'm so glad to see you John I could use an old face in times like this." The words rush out of her in a single stream, punctuated at the end by a big grin and a relieved sounding whoosh as Camille opens the door and gestures for him to follow.
She leads the way to the kitchen, practically bouncing as she gathers mugs and tea bags.

"Kinfolk and gaia? Seems I feel i've heard those terms somewhere before."

He takes a seat and then gets a serious face, tha looks only something wrong on him, "Camille dear, did you join a cult? That would explain the ludicrous amounts of banality you used to spray. Cults are bad my dear."

He nods sage-like.

His words have a sobering effect on Camille. She slows her movements in making the tea. How could I have been so careless, she scolds herself. Roll with it, she encourages, play it off. "Oh you know, kinfolk, my family. I meant I moved away from my Dad and the old neighborhood. First I had some medical issues, then trade school to start a career. Had to move around to keep a job. I've started an entire life of my own now. It just gets a little lonely." There, she nods, that's alright then. "Now," Camille changes tone from passive to direct, "how much sugar do you like? Or would you rather have some honey? I bought it from this Amish guy on the way home from a great garden the other day."
She plasters her grin back on and turns her back to grab the additions and then places them on the table, followed by steaming mugs of pleasant chamomile.

"Ah yes, the Amish. I adore the Amish. So strong willed and dedicated. Hard workers they are," He picks up his tea and takes a sip, "horridly dull though. centuries and still nothing new. Nope, definitely don't like the Amish. Now the Swed's on the other hand. Good people, there. Made the internet you know?"

He pauses and thinks for second, "I hate the internet."

Camille bursts into laughter at the last sentence. "Have you made your mind up about anything, or are you so strictly fickle?"
She stirs some sugar into her mug and drips some honey on her spoon, licking it off before refilling it and stirring that in as well. "I don't have a lot of use for the internet. I buy a newspaper when I need to look for work. Sale ads come straight to my door, and all the important news of the world is on a marquis or taped to a shop window."

"Well, most of it yes."

He sits down his, "well, what do you do? Do you work? Do you still paint, oh please tell me you do, you were inspired you know."

"I work in and around the city, trying to keep some green in these people's lives. I'm a landscape artist. Folks pay me to make sure their tiny strips of grass stay green and free of dandelions, or make sure they don't fry the petunias. I trim bushes and add a little finesse to hedges. You know, anything with nature, they hire me to touch it."
Camille takes another sip and sets her tea down as well. I don't have much extra cash lately, and when I move I always travel light. So I don't have any art supplies other than what I need for work. Not much paint needed for that." She pauses, realizing something. "You just made a joke. I almost missed it, you sneaky man. Speaking of sneaky, where have*you* been all this time?"

He slaps the table with both hands quite abruptly, "yes! The is great, art with nature. Lovely, that's new, it's creative."

He leans back suddenly taken aback, "joke? About what? The Amish? My dear, I never joke about the Amish."

"Oh and where have I been..... Hmm.... Mostly Bardstown rd. It's pleasant. So bright and energetic and colorful. I have a house there. Oh and sometime 4th st, a comrade of mine owns one of the clubs there."

"So, what made you decide to drop all you that had and suddenly learn so much about nature? Plants and what-not?"

"And Gaia," he mutters under his breath.

"I'm glad to have your approval in my work. I might show you some of the more extensive work I've done. I have a feeling you'd appreciate it. As for dropping everything, like I said, some medical stuff came up and then things changed. I needed to get out and do some wandering, make some friends, become an adult. Some kids stay with their parents and go to college. That wasn't really for me. So I picked something that came easily to me and studied it enough to get some money doing it. Pretty simple, really."
She lets the memory of meeting the garou, the rites, the rage and the battles to glide over her brain for a few seconds. "It has been an adventure, absolutely. I guess not many gardeners get to say that truthfully. So, tell me old friend, how did you come to find me? I'm not exactly listed in the yellow pages..."
Camille is actually burning to know, how and why now, but asks as though it just came to her as a passing inquiry.

"Oh, I've always known where you were, mostly at least. I've followed you, just not very closely. Couldn't come close until now. Not sure why, something changed."

He smiles, "I told you I'd always watch after you. I just had a hard time dong it for a few years, was still there I promise."

He stands bruptly, "how about some bisquits then? Do we have any bisquits? Perhaps I should go get some"

He opens a nearby cabinets and looks in.

Camille furrows her brow and pushes out of her chair slowly. "I keep them in here," she says as she opens the tiny fridge and plucks a can of pre-made biscuits from a shelf. "But if you were watching me this whole time, really, why not show yourself? You could have come to me and been my friend."
I sure could have used one a few times since then, she thought flippantly.

She turns on the oven and begins looking for a pan to cook the biscuits on.

"Ah, yes. Well you see, you smelled bad. Err, tasted bad. To say, it was hard to be around you. Err.... well, I'm not sure how to explain this. Somethings are hard to be around, old people, corporations, vampire, the amish, potato farmers. Not sure why you though. Whatever it was, not anymore. Weird huh?"

He leans bad and nods, having obviously made an interesting point, if only to himself.