Chapter V - Brimstone

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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Meris snorted with a shake of her head. "No kidding," she responded to the young man.

She glanced Wormsworth's way and sighed. "Start with the very basics. Once you'll get hungry, you'll need to eat actual food and stay hydrated. Then comes the part most mortals learn when they're about two or so. Learning to use the toilet. Thankfully, we're in the 21st century and not the Middle Ages, back when we only had chamberpots and not indoor plumbing!"

***

Aspasia smiledly knowingly, adding in her own chuckles. "Thirteen years old, thinking she knows better. On Halloween night, no less, in a city that has a near yearly zombie outbreak," she recalled with a lopsided smile. Some of that awkward smile seemed self-directed, amusement mingling with sheepishness.

"I probably handled the matter in a way that most child-rearing experts or some parents would frown upon... Then again, she gets some of her impish behavior from me. When I realized where she had gone, I crept up to the house and realized her and her friends were telling ghost stories. I pretended to be a movie version of a zombie and groaned, moaned, pounded, and pawed at the house. I scared the living daylights out of them. There was also the fact that the hosting girl had set it up while her parents were out of town. My brain-craving demands turned into a more earnest request for them to open the door. Poor Mira was both embarrassed and angry at me. I called the main girl's parents and waited for them to get back. The trip back ended with her having a month-long grounding and a sound discussion over our errors."

***

"I missed you, too," Aislinn smiled and lovingly embraced him, joining him in the intimate liplock. "I suppose it's not surprising. It's only been about two months since we did the ritual. That's both a long and a short time to adjust to a seemingly new and strong emotion like love," she whispered to him.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Herbert's champagne flute lightly rattled. He almost managed to hide his growing concern behind the same snobbish moue - just almost.

Archie tsked and lightly tapped his cane against the cabin's upholstered flooring. "You'll pull through, mister Wormsworth. I, too, sometimes forgot mortal niceties and foibles; but you will find they impart something your status as a mere educated Pitspawn cannot carry through to you."

He raised a gloved finger. "That mile-wide blue-blood streak of yours hides fear, just as mine once did. You'll find there is something to enjoy in the act of eating out of hunger, of drawing breath after being immersed..."

The Clank winked at the others. "In sleeping, as well. Darkhallow or otherwise, we poor, defenseless mortals have the unique opportunity to disappear, once we close our eyes. In my experience, it's always the first thing that seduces you, that brings you back from that cold, callous hunk of wood and copper I sometimes feel myself sinking into. I've read papers suggesting that modern cyborgs lose over sixty percent of their odds of depersonalization after a good, long night's sleep. No matter if you run on perpetual motion, electronic input or your own supernatural essence, sleep is the one thing no organism on this good Earth cannot entirely repel."

Wormsworth scoffed. "You can't be serious, Milord. I can't simply seize the scope of your efforts after a single nap! I-"

Archie raised his hand. "No, but it can keep your nature as an unknown factor in check until such time as I know that a demon mister Ephesian and myself both trust has appraised you."

Herbert was about to sit up, indignation flaring in his tone as he worked on a rebuttal, that the spy politely asked for Anton's assistance. A single word slipped out of the neurosurgeon, the Black Speech precisely targeted to demonic recipients. In the same instant, Three bent forward and caught the champagne flute, Wormsworth's reply trailing off into a low groan. Aidan set the flute aside and went to work.

"Alright, people," he said, "give him some space... The new local Satanic snob's got a pea-sized nose and he's not used to breathing while unconscious. He'll choke on his own spit if we don't keep his airways clear. I don't care if he's immortal, I don't want a bunch of supernatural meat and blood stuck in a hypoxia-induced boot loop on one of Tom's couches..."

Bucky shook his head. "What's that mean, in English?"

Three sighed. "He's a corporeal demon stuck on Earth," explained Three. "I've done my homework as per Gabriel and Tom's suggestions - he'll just keep choking to death and resuscitating on a loop, his mind's not used to this and won't even register it as a threat. Where we'd wake up if someone tried to choke us out, he won't. I'm assuming demons can't get brain damage, but I'd rather not take chances. If the experience isn't too traumatic for him, he'll be hooked, at least partially."

Bucky seemed dubious. "What if he ain't?
- If he does not respond well enough," calmly mused Archie, "we are taking him to the best man in town to possibly re-wire his pleasure centers. Lucky for us, Tom is still an incubus.
- What about the Fens?" asked Leonard. Archie shrugged in response, packing even more distinction in that same gesture than Wormsworth could have - only laced with his own adventuresome and friendly spirit.

"At least, we'll be able to tackle them knowing our new friend won't simply lead us into a feeding den for overly ambitious Damned. If he is, he'll wake up, come clean, have some inkling as to why we do what we do, and get the bloody Hell out of our way."

* * *

They drove past Point Judith, the Atlantic coast gray and flat in the wintertime haze, and finally entered Providence through Narragansett, slipping through to Cranston's two-storey strip malls and small, upscale retailers. Cranston packed a little residential space and largely focused on commercial development, also serving as a follow-through to RSI. From there to Brown University, you only needed a few subway stops to reach the intellectual and cultural heart of Rhode Island. If Hope was the State's arcane nexus, Providence was still where business was largely rooted, and where people like Harrison Arkham were likely to find a stable client base. Being sufficiently removed from the Buck family curse, strangeness didn't touch Providence quite as often as it did Hope. Rendell having seen the importance of keeping a few nevralgic centers intact during the war, Providence hadn't taken more than a few ancillary drop pods. The North-Atlantic commercial hub had benefited from the Restructuration's use of alien technologies, like any other metropolis on the planet, but by and large, Providence was where you went to have a taste of a world less concerned with demons, angels or technology run amok.

Not that it was completely immune to strangeness, either. The self-styled Master of Providence and founding father of Weird Fiction, H.P. Lovecraft, had once maintained roots there, as a sickly boy and jilted lover. More specifically, Angell Street was where the Void Weavers' literary seed took root - and where Coach's smartphone was directing him.

Wanting to give Loren time enough to put on his face, Silas turned next to the Wendell Erickson Athletic Complex and entered the parking garage nearby. A few more minutes were spent finding someplace private and quiet in the depths of the concrete stacks, but the trio was soon left alone facing a skybridge and stairwell leading back to the streets below, the Impala's engine cooling and clicking behind them. The seasonal cold was slightly abated by a space so filled with purring engines, but the lich still found himself popping his collar and readjusting his slightly floppy Stetson, to seal the nape of his neck against the chill. A few seconds in and Loren was gone, once again replaced by Ajax - Ajax David, to be exact - and his slightly rugged physique.

"We're a few street corners away," noted the disguised Karthian. "Story goes the Arkhams purchased 454 Angell Street from the Lovecraft family, after the writer's father fell ill. Howard himself never found the fame he'd needed in life to so much as have a chance to repurchase it - and I doubt the Arkhams would have accepted his offer. If there's one thing Harrison knows how to do, it's how to inflate land values in record time. A struggling writer who still hadn't realized his potential as of the mid-thirties had no chance whatsoever."

* * *

Tom didn't respond verbally, his now deeply affectionate form of lust driving him to keep the roane close, his hips and feet affecting the first few tentative steps to a slow dance only he could hear. He hummed a few bars from The Very Thought of You, and then settled with a quiet, deeply contented sigh.

"Thank you," he then quietly whispered, "I needed that. I needed a bit of you, for a change. "As for you, you haven't seen what I'm rocking, or your own premature Christmas gift."

Smirking, he parted his overcoat a bit like a flasher would, revealing his clumsy and woolen rendition of a sleigh pulled by rendeer, the whole of it done in tones of black and purple, with a few touches of red and green. Little renditions of food-laden plates hovered above the reindeer, the embroidered Santa wearing what was probably supposed to evoke Gandalf the Gray's floppy hat. Across the top of Tom's chest, the words You Shall Not Fast took pride of place in the midst of poorly-embroidered fractal snowflakes.

"Tada!" he said. "This is hours of painstaking searching online after you thought I'd fallen asleep, looking for the absolute worst Christmas sweater I could find."

His smirk turned a little impish. "I wouldn't be worth my salt as a demon if I spared you, so..."

Tom paused long enough to dig in his overcoat and fish out a bundled package. He handed it to Aislinn with a slightly ominous-sounding chuckle. "I hope you'll groan and roll your eyes as much as I imagined you would."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Neasa, Crystal, and Meris avoided cloistering around Wormsworth in order to give him enough space to breathe easily on his own. The Archmage frowned thoughtfully. "

It's better to ensure that he's functioning properly first, and then we can see to the Fens. Once he's able to see that an incarnated life isn't so bad, he'll also be more willing to trust and work with us more easily. That's a fairly standard technique for potentially winning people over," she observed.

***

"I'm sure. Plus, Lovecraft's paranoia might've put him on edge enough to possibly detect something wasn't right about Arkham at the time, so it was just as well," Aspasia mused as she readjusted the scarf around her neck to keep out the chill. Even with being a hearty Chimera, she could still feel the nippiness of a standard Northeastern winter.

***

Aislinn burst out laughing at his hideous sweater. "Good use of time, Tom," she complimented with a bit of sarcasm, taking the box and quickly removing the wrapping paper with amusement.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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OOC: I didn't elaborate on Aislinn's shirt. Have fun coming up with something both horrible and awesome. :D


Three realized the middle section's armrests were held in place by Velcro bands. He opted to use that in order to prop the layer's head up enough to avoid complications. Wormsworth barely reacted, although his eyes were furiously pinballing behind his closed lids. Leonard now having his own wealth of knowledge to draw from, the head of the newest law firm in town didn't seem too concerned.

"His brain's learning to adapt to REM sleep. I had to absorb knowledge regarding standard medical procedures in the Pit, and most entreprising Vices tended to provide their long-term spies with a basic immersion in the realm of mortal needs and wants. The first time is always particularly vivid, disorienting and rarely leads to any sense of restored stamina. Increased exhaustion is more the standard, actually. Pitspawn always waste their first hours spent sleeping, in a sense, through no fault of their own."

Three looked concerned. "This seems terrifying.
- It would be," confirmed Cuthbert. "Pitspawn do have a conscience - it's what exorcisms beckon forward. For someone like him to be brought so low… His jumbled dreams are more than likely degrading or embarrassing, his subconsciousness exploring every ounce of denied shame or regret his burden of Pride kept away. Unless Magnus reverses the course and shows him what pleasant dreams can do, we'll be in for some explaining once he wakes up."

* * *

They walked the rest of the way, 454 Angell Street coming into view from behind the naked trees' outstretched limbs. While the house was still built on a slight terrace, as Lovecraft himself described in his letters, the surrounding grounds had shrunken down with the passage of time, its inauguration's spacious front and back yards giving way to a half-wall that surrounded the property, delineating its perimeter from the sidewalk and street. The brick facing had been water-blasted clean in recent years, pale cream walls contrasting against the decorative Colonial window panes and frames that had been painted a dark shade of mahogany. As with many a town house built in the mid-1800s in America, it had a wide and spacious porch that opened up to the street from the side. Judging by the way the windows were set, this was a rather spacious if humble residence; the sort of place that nowadays tended to be reused as private offices or that were repurchased by prospective homeowners for a little over a cozy million dollars. The trio's angle of approach allowed them to see a suit-wearing anthro cat taking a few last drags on a cigarette before heading back in, gold-green eyes thoughtfully observing the passing traffic. He turned to snuff his cigarette in the provided outer ashtray and headed inside. An office, then. Private residences didn't generally pack stylish little metallic boxes stuffed with cigarette butts…

As they walked up the stairs leading to the front porch, they'd spot a plaque reading Poseidon Holdings in the front lawn, the company logo looking like a stylized tidal wave wrapping around a schooner, lifting marine life to either side and above it. The wave looked almost like a short, sweeping tentacle, the objects and plant life suspended in it suggesting a tentacle's suction cups by their placement. Something made Coach think that not many people made that connection in the past. In any case, the front door wasn't locked, a sign by the door asking that shoe covers be removed. The place had been renovated multiple times over, but always in keeping with the outer architecture's design. Green paisley wallpaper and dark wood cofferings covered most surfaces, the original pale wood flooring looking impeccably waxed. On the main corridor's walls waited picture frames showing everything from large yachts to drone-operated cargo ships, with even a few houseboats to be seen. Poseidon seemingly had clients around the world, from Dubai's glittering artificial islands to sleepy Flemish moors. A few plaques near the front door celebrated commendations by Rhode Island's Chamber of Commerce or the Better Business Bureau.

A few steps in, what had been the house's spacious living room waited, now serving as equal parts lobby and waiting area. The receptionist was a bright-eyed Asian woman, who flashed pearly whites as the trio approached. As expected, Aspasia and Coach's respective levels of fame worked in their favor.

"Hello," she asked, mild excitement visible in the lines of her face, "can I help you?"

Silas eyed his wife knowingly, and with a bit of amusement. People who recognized them from the Battle of Hope or who'd heard of them tended not to crowd the Last Round, but you'd occasionally spot the occasional fan or history buff. They'd usually been lucky, having dealt with the polite sort who'd always needed encouragement to work up the gumption to say thank you or request a selfie. Lily, as her nametag suggested, looked much like that. Coach had never minded people wanting a memento of their meeting one of Hope's liches, so long as the topic was sedately broached. So, he did as usual and pretended he hadn't noticed that slight dash of giddy nervousness.

"Hi," he said. "We, um, don't exactly have an appointment, and our situation's a bit unorthodox... Asp and I - we're not looking for a boat or a houseboat or anything - we're in Renton. We've got a friend here who is, and he's not used to the whole investing for your workplace aspect of being self-employed..."

The false Chimera nodded, looking just sheepish enough for it to be believable. "I'm Ajax, Ajax David. One of Aspasia's old batch-brothers from Paradise. I work with a few gross distributors and the local fisheries. I need to invest in a bigger boat, but I can barely keep my own accounts afloat, so..."

Silas wrapped an arm around Aspasia's shoulders, smiling at Lily like any contented husband wound. "We're looking to guide him through the process - and we'd like to case Rhode Island's docking opportunities while we're in the off season. It's quiet, and we're thinking about sailing down the coast over the next summer. Ajax here's mostly our demo. We're green on ships, he's green in finance - we're a good match."

Lily nodded. "Right. Well, we normally do this over the phone, but I was thinking I could pair you with Stephen Ogden, after the Holidays. He mostly handles commercial sailing, so he'd be mister David's best bet. How's January 10 sound like?"

Ajax smiled. "I've got a quota increase to handle for the Buck Fishery's deal with Bumble Bee Seafoods, and I'd like to get to it before the snow thaws.
- He's in a bit of a rush," added Coach, turning his smile into a bit of a sympathetic cringe. "We're not, but we'd like to invest in a few Chimera-run ventures around the tri-State area. There's that, and the fact that the wife's just convinced me to bite the bullet and have at least one impulsive, senseless and immortal-worthy purchase at least once in my life. I've got hundreds of years of interest rates to shoulder, so I can get a taste of how the local megalomaniacs do it, you know? Buy a yacht they don't need, custom-chart a cruise, crash into a reef off of Miami's coast and never be heard from again..."

Lily chuckled. She tried to have it sound polite, but what left her mouth was perhaps just a tad too frank for it to work... It was rather endearing, honestly - she clearly wanted to shake Aspasia's hand.

* * *

Once he saw it, Tom went for a hard wince. "Oof," he  said, "that's horrible! I love it!"
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Meris sent Wormsworth more of a sympathetic glance before looking back to her friends. "If that is the case, we'll have to deal with the repercussions after he awakes. For the time being, the best thing that we can do for him is keep him restrained and to get him to Tom. This isn't going to be an easy road, but this will likely be the new norm for reforming demons, since the old paradigm is on its way out, to some extent."

***

Unknowing if Lily might've been part of a thrall, Aspasia went with the necessary motions and shook Lily's offered hand, smiling congenially. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lily. My reasoning for encouraging my husband to invest in such an expense is to get out of the same old routine. Living a little never hurts, and we've always been frugal with our money, so why not live a little and enjoy ourselves? My friend Ajax is the first in our investing in Chimera-run businesses. Most of my kin have managed to get on their hooves without many issues, but there's a few here and there who haven't been as fortunate. I'm no longer their commander, but I still feel a responsibility to aid them if I can," she explained.

***

What was pulled out of the gift box horribly enough blurred the line between annoying Christmastime cuteness and hideous attire. The hunter green was meant to emulate the bottom of a Christmas tree, but the centerpiece for the shirt was an enlarged white seal pup popping out of a newly opened gift, with its appliqued red lips puckered toward the viewer. The gaudy wrapping paper of the pictured box was illustrated with joyous snowpeople, wide smiles and Victorian hatwear adorning their head as they went about their seasonal activities. To add to the ridiculousness of the garment, metallic green and red jingle bells were stitched onto the negative spaces of it. Obviously, whoever had designed it had been thinking of lame puns for selkies and how they could make it as ugly as possible.

Aislinn offered her beau a cringing wince of her own. "Nice job, lover boy! It's both horrendous and saccharine!" she complimented him, scoffing. Humoring him, she pulled it on over her head and tugged it over her petite frame so he could enjoy the tacky gift on his lover.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Three was about to reply something when Herbert's phone began to audibly vibrate. Three grabbed the device from the attorney's front jacket pocket, inspected it, and then opted to use one of the demon's thumbs to unlock it. That done, he stuck it to his ear. A voice he didn't recognize was heard, slightly shrouded in the sounds of surrounding traffic.

"We're almost here, sir," said a male voice, with a rasp Drake strangely felt familiar with. He briefly looked at the others and then opted for a shot in the dark.

"Thank you," he said, "I'll pass it on to mister Wormsworth. He, um, felt like bragging about his doohickeys and I was the last in line to hold his phone, so..."

The limo's driver scoffed. "Sure, Drake. With what you got yourselves mixed up in, I can't say I'm surprised. You're part of the first mortals he's given a damn about in a long time."

Three hesitated. "Do we know each other? I, uh, made my way down to the Pit and Pandemonium a couple times. Me and a few colleagues, actually."

Another scoff. "Yeah, I'm Leucios - nice t'meetcha. I'm Charon's cousin; you met him while driving over to the Sammaelites' office."

Three opted to put the speakerphone on. "Wait, you're from Pandemonium?
- Was. I guess you can call it an Involuntary Contract for Prolonged Employment," the chauffeur snarked. "Used to be a barge driver for the Sammaelites fishin' for souls, got pulled in. Sloth sold me to Pride, oh, a coupla thousand of your years ago.
- So you're a slave."

The soldier could almost hear Leucios shake his head. "Eeeeh, kinda-sorta. I got my own place and I'm treated well enough - Pride's boys don't like it when their assets get banged up, it lowers our value as status symbols - I just don't get much in the way of holidays. I get off days, but I can't leave the Pit or this limo.
- So, what'd you say if I told you your boss is currently conked out?"

Leucios shrugged audibly. "His funeral, I guess. He's done stuff he deserves to feel bad for, but he's mostly just an ignorant schmuck. He's the Pit's cream of the crop when it comes to PR outreach or legal affairs, but you're his first mortals ever. I figure you'll do him more good than harm; maybe even break me out of this place in the process. I've got a little hatch in here that takes me back to the Pit no matter where I drive; it kinda sucks, having to go for pee breaks between two wind-blasted rock formations. Stretching my legs on decent concrete sounds like a frickin' dream right now, lemme tell ya..."

Magnus Tower soon loomed over them, Leucios taking them inside the underground parking. Almost instantly, Meris would feel the protective barriers of Tom and Aislinn's woven spells close around her. Add to that the survival-oriented additions Tom had made, and the air quality improved outright as soon as the parking's door closed behind them. The tower was now host to enough HEPA filters and air purifiers to make your average hospital have an inferiority complex. Cuthbert couldn't repress an appreciative grunt. "At least we know any otherwordly pathogens can't make it through to the locals... This could make for an effective quarantine area.
- I'm pretty sure that's what Tom had in mind," opined Drake. "He wanted to work off of Elysium's old propaganda pamphlets, sort of fully realize the concept of arcologies Rendell wanted to pioneer on Earth. Complete self-reliance on the mundane and arcane levels. He's probably found a way to make the local ley lines turn recursive; generate a sort of micro-Nexus underneath the tower over time. If Sophia or one of the Tree's offshoots needs a replant, he's probably set up a garden plot big enough for it."

* * *

"That's extremely generous of you," said Lily, who shook the offered hand, smiling as she did. "I don't mean to pry, honestly, and I wasn't so much as born when the Battle happened - but what you did for us? It's been of tremendous inspiration. Whenever I'm faced with something that looks impossible, I remember the stories about the Last Round serving as a refugee camp for Chimeras, during the thick of it, and I remind myself of what you and your people managed to pull through. You're a model of tenacity, miss Robertson - it does you credit."

The young woman then shook her head slightly. "Not that I exactly wanted to fangirl over you, but - I'll see what I can do. Feel free to take a seat, it shouldn't be too long."

Silas and Ajax did as instructed, the lich picking up what looked like an attract brochure meant to woo over purchasing agents working for cruise lines. Poseidon apparently worked to distribute some of the latest models in the cruise liner industry, following licensing agreements with a few shipwrights and constructors of which Robertson didn't recognize the logos. He'd barely begun to scan an article that the young woman hung up her phone and lifted her headset's mouthpiece.

"Mister Arkham agreed to move his 12:30. Feel free to go upstairs - you'll probably cross his previous client in the stairwell. He'll probably have you wait in his office, he only needs one or two minutes to pick up after himself and close a few folders."

* * *

"I figured the next few days might justify a bit of self-deprecation," explained the Warlock. "I don't know in which way we'll get to celebrate Christmas - or if we'll get to celebrate it at all - but we'll both need to get our chuckles in somewhere. I've got all of Quint's mistakes in here," he said, tapping his temple, "and self-seriousness was the first of them. We're not demiurges, we're Warlocks. There's a difference, and it's big enough to tell us apart from the demon-imprinted smear on the wall we'd risk becoming."

He smiled earnestly. "There's that, plus the fact that I've got centuries of pent-up cheesy Rom-Com material I need to go through, now I've got an appreciation for the subject matter. I want more for us than hoary proclamations or fireballs, thanks to you."

The warthog lightly gripped her hands. "I'm looking forward to all our petty squabbles, our tossing pillows at each other, your turning me over because of my snoring, my pushing hair away from your drooling mouth, all those days we won't so much as want to bother to look the part and just stroll around in our pajamas until late in the afternoon..."

A quiet sigh was added. "For that, we have to survive what's coming."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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"It's certainly needed, as the park can only provide so much protection what with Sophia being similar to a genus loci," Meris mused. "Hopefully, he has enough room in there to provide ways to grow food, as it'll become scarce, more than likely. Not to mention, looting's going to be an issue with people who aren't lucky enough to find refuge in one of the safe areas."

"Well, actually, Ciaran's been spending time with Sophia fortifying the park. Since the park's a notable gathering place for people, she's been busy creating magically reinforced tunnels to different safe areas, like Club Ishtar and the Greenvale," Neasa noted. "It may not hold up indefinitely, but she's trying to give that region of the city a fighting chance. If nothing else, she can help evacuate people to where they'll be more secure."

Crystal nodded approvingly. "Not a bad idea. The Goat's not Rendell, so I doubt he'll want to hit that spot directly. However, it'll no doubt be affected," she said, then looking to Meris. "I hope our trip might even allow your husband to limit the number of Abominations making their way through the Hole. Pitspawn will be enough as it is without dealing with scores of Their creations."

The Archmage tilted her speculatively. "He can only do so much. It'll been enough for him to protect his portion of the West Coast. Removing numbers of seething, twisted malformations would clue Amaxi in to something being afoot."

***

Aspasia settled for a mild smile in Lily's direction, hesitant to give herself too much credit at the secretary's praise. It was because of her and the other Chimeras that the Battle of Hope had even happened. She viewed the matter as waking up from "Father's" self-infatuation and the urge to protect her troops. She was thankful when the Asian woman was able to find a spot for them in Arkham's busy schedule.

She eyed Coach and Ajax before getting up from her seat and heading for the disguised entrepeneur's office.

***

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but I think we can do it. We have to," Aislinn responded, gently rubbing his hands with her thumbs. "For us, for our friends, for all of Hope and the world."

She then scoffed sheepishly. "Now, I'm starting to sound like one of those over dramatic action films, but you get what I mean. I want to be able to enjoy all of those potential hours and scenarios with you, and the only way to do that is together."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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The limo came to a stop in front of the parking garage's payment and security gate, Three quickly stepping out to gesture to a young man in rent-a-cop uniform. He'd barely opened his mouth that he realized the young man wasn't just your average kid working an entry-level job: something to his eyes suggested Celestial power. The young human waved the car forward with a smirk. "It's alright, Aidan," he said. "Tom's started reaching out to Gabriel for a few extra hires, and we're staying abreast of the situation."

Three looked back to the limo as he sat back in. "How's Wormsworth looking from your end?"

The security guard smirked. "He's got a few months ahead of him where he might come across as a prick, but he's a definitive work-in-progress. Help us pull through the Goat's attack, and you'll end up facing a few interesting timelines..."

It was Three's turn to grin. "I guess you can't tell me more either, Kevin," he said, looking at the angel's assumed nametag. The angel nodded back, although the gesture looked encouraging. "Timey-wimey stuff and whatnot," he said. "Can't safeguard the one or two most interesting timelines if I tell you about them. You'll probably be a little late for Tom and Aislinn, but it should work out nicely for these two."

Ephesian frowned. "Elevator problems?"

The angel's grin widened, exposing mirthful white teeth. "No, Paimon problems. Call it Early Onset Humanity. Knowing your little group, you'll probably think it's both funny and a little touching..."

The anthro sighed. "We don't have time for this!
- I'm sorry," replied the gatekeeper, "I don't make the rules."

* * *

The trio went up a wood-paneled staircase, walking past a couple in their early sixties who looked very much like your archetypal new yacht owners. They weren't exactly beaming and had enough self-respect to affect a decent countenance behind their fur and heads of hair, but there was a tiny bit of glee in their steps, just enough for Aspasia's stance-focused training to pick up. They nodded politely, were heard exchanging pleasantries with Lily, and then faded into the background.

Across the stairwell waited a set of dark-paneled French doors, which were ajar. Through them waited the principal office, clad in more paisley tones and a swath of marine details. A model schooner in a glass case took pride of place between two upholstered  windows and behind the desk, a large framed portrait of a slightly troubled-looking gentleman waiting above. It looked like a modern piece done in the style of Waterhouse or other Pre-Raphaelite painters, although the dark tones and fireside setting gave the whole piece a fairly Venetian-like sfumato veneer - a little smoke or haze seemingly clinging to the image.

A trim, if solidly-built man was waiting at the desk, hands busy tapping a closed manila folder into a tidy state. He reminded Silas of Cuthbert in his frame and obvious attention to physical tone, but there was something slightly more aggressive to the man's posture. Perhaps it had to do with his slightly broader shoulders and slightly narrower waist, with the way his pinstriped suit didn't fully smooth out his muscles' curves. With a dark and neatly-trimmed beard and a freshly shorn head of hair that seemed designed to alleviate the appearance of male pattern baldness, he had a bit of a spartan look to him. Tortoiseshell bifocals were perched on his aquiline nose, his starkly-colored eyes smoothly rising to meet them. They looked gold-green, with a few blue flecks streaking out from the outer edges to the pupil. You might have been tempted to assume the man a mere businessman, but there was something to his lantern jaw and crow's feet that suggested experience with the open air, something to his solid hands' delicate approach to the keyboard that implied he was familiar with back-breaking work.

If that was Harrison Arkham - and more importantly, if that was a Void Weaver in disguise - he looked like nothing  Coach had seen before. This was no dumpy Eldritch fellow or avuncular presence, and definitely not the kind of insanity-spewing religious maniac you would've expected, based on Meris' stories.

Arkham stood up and smiled, briskly walking around his desk to secret a few folders away. "I'm sorry," he said, offering them a quick and warm smile, "the Travers couple got a little overexcited about their recent purchase. I spent a few minutes swapping trivia about our respective favorite sailing spots. They're more the Caribbean type, while I like my seas colder, a little more challenging. The coast off of Martha's Vinyard, the Puget Sound, Montauk in October, the reefs off of Pickman's Sound, near Hope... I just find that something's missing if I don't need to pack a few layers and warm food."

Closing the file cabinet, he removed his glasses and lightly fidgeted with them for a second or two. He then extended his right hand for Aspasia to shake, managing to make his eyes seem slightly mirthful or encouraging while keeping his facial features mostly slack.

"Harrison Arkham," he said, his basso tone suggesting vibrant dynamism, "pleased to meet you, miss Robertson. It's an honor."

* * *

Tom let his fierce love for the roane radiate forth for a few moments, his now almost human and burgundy-toned irises boring into hers. He looked vulnerable in that instant, and more than happy to lower his defenses. Unspoken promises floated in the air. There was much the Warlock wished he had time for, but he settled with a slow caress of the selkie's right cheek.

"I should go and get changed," he said, "we're a few hours before the end. Something's bound to come up."

He kissed her again, this time as an energetic peck. "I'd suggest putting your war face on. That unfortunately means no hideous sweaters, which is a real shame."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

The three women looked at each other ponderously before returning their gaze to Kevin. "Is he starting to bond with others and starting to feel some sort of kinship or something?" Neasa asked the angelic guard.


***

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Arkham," Aspasia replied, offering him a firm handshake. She looked to the lich and faux-faun. "We're here to discuss investing in a boat for my old friend, Ajax David. He's wanting to get a vessel purchased as soon as possible to prepare for the next fishing season, and we heard good things about you. Ergo, here we are."

***

She smiled encouragingly, albeit a bit meanly. "Too bad I can't drive the Goat nuts with the bells on his shirt. It's the least the fucker deserves," she joked, then heading over to where she had stored her clothes in a drawer to change into something more appropriate for the coming onslaught.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

The guard eyed Wormsworth through Three's ajar door, holding his grin back as the Pride-borne lawyer let out a loud snort and weakly tossed his head, fruitlessly trying to articulate words.

"You'll see," was what Kevin settled with. "I'd suggest getting Herbert settled in at Tom's, first. I've gotta keep an eye on the cameras."

Three glanced at them. "You're an angel; do you really need these things?"

Kevin looked like he'd expected that one. "I'm a grunt with wings," he said, dimples appearing in his cheeks, "I know what God lets me know. The rest, I have to figure out for myself, like you do. Be sure to get Herbert some water, he'll probably be parched for the first time ever!"

A tap on the limo's rear was all Leucios needed, and the car slowly cruised off to where they could be parked. Then came the elevator ride upstairs, which showed just how thorough Tom and Aislinn's efforts had been. With everyone pitching in, all traces of Frost's previous ventures had vanished in a few weeks. The elevator cabin was wider than Three had expected, and big enough for a small cluster like theirs to fit in somewhat comfortably. Anyone who lived or worked there wouldn't feel too crowded in there, with Tom having added LCD panels to display newsfeeds, status updates, along with the food court's menu and the individual labels for each specialized floor. Out of concerns of equality, floors starting from the twenty-second one and upwards were labelled in accordance with who largely lived or worked there. They were also the ones that required use of the buttons' biometric features to so much as allow the cabin to reach them. For now, only authorized persons could see where and how the angels, demons and Animates lived, or how Ephesian and Associates' rebirth was coming along. The new Gammell's Toybox was a few floors down on the Concourse, not too far from the Wizard's Nook or Wolfram's offices - along with a space that didn't exactly have a name yet. For now, a few patches of attempted wainscoting gave a sly look at what was coming; the rest of it hidden behind large purple tarps.

Please pardon our dust, they said, the words flowing out of artfully drawn wards and visually represented motes of via. Three couldn't hide back a smirk at that sight.

As expected, the video label for Club Ishtar looked urban, sleek, slightly exotic and inviting. The cabin's speakers quietly piped Thievery Corporation's Facing East on a loop, remixed and intermingled with quietly jazzy trumpets. Sariel had lent her voice for the attract screen, her slightly Australian and sultry tones fitting the pitch.

"Club Ishtar. Distinction, refinement. Fine dining and premium entertainment befitting of Celestials and Infernals - at a mortal price. Come for the setlists and cocktails, stay for the company. Widen your horizons and experience life - unrestricted.Total safety, complete dedication; no matter who or what you are.

To you who are rising, welcome. You will soon meet beings whose existence you may not comprehend or caution. Rest assured, your security is our utmost concern. Sit and talk, drink with one of your fellow travelers. Be they winged or horned, you will find them to be much like yourself - if new to the complexities of life. Free yourself before them. Abandon all prejudices, and teach them freely - so that they may teach you. Only then will your evening among us be truly gratifying. Only then shall you understand our secret - how to unlock Ishtar's gates."

Sariel's tone changed slightly, as though she were issuing an advisory. "You will know our security staff by their uniform. Should one of our guests violate this compact, look for one of our signature purple jackets or cocktail dresses. Our staff are fully capable of resolving any issues you might encounter peacefully and productively."

As the doors opened, they'd realized Raguel looked a bit taken aback in front of the club's terrestrial entrance. The Latino rubbed a spot underneath one eye with an index finger and sniffed, the gesture conveying powerlessness. A strange thing, coming from an angel.

"Guys," he said, nodding to the group. "I don't s'pose anyone here's superpower includes Philosophy seminars, right? The Miles guy downstairs meant well, I guess - he started introducin' Paimon to some basic literary greats. Things were kinda okay before he got to Jean-Paul Sartre's Nausea - now the big guy's entire sense of Pride is all shook up. Contingency's something Squids lap up without so much as battin' an eyelash, but the idea of not mattering in the grand scheme of things is hard on ex-Team Goat types..."

Three blinked. "I must've missed that one at Camp Performance.
- We've got a Duke of Pride experiencing meaninglessness for the first time while at the bar, Drake," acridly replied Anton. "You'd figure it's easy to understand!"

In any case, Paimon had gotten his hand on what looked to be one of Tom's champagne Magnum bottles, the sort you would've kept aside for marriages or Bar Mitzvahs; or the Earth being freed of Infernal intrusion or the Others' meddling. In the Duke's hand, the F1 victory rally-worthy bottle looked like a vulgar five or six swigs of Budweiser. His glowing eyes and maw were low, barely lit from within, and he was chestbare, having only bothered to shuck on some dress pants, belt and suspenders.

"None of you are really there," drunkenly slurred the Duke, gesturing at the group with his bottle. "The damnable Squids won, and their victory itself won't so much as matter! They know, they've seen that crushing blackness the fool Antoine Roquentin confronted! We are doomed, and that doom itself does not so much as matter! God's Creation will not mourn our passing, the Multiverse itself will not mourn Earth when our enemies triumph!"

Three took a few steps forward. "So your commanding legions, being the best of the Pride Knights and the rest of us being lowly ants...?
Meaningless!" wailed Paimon, even as he tried his best to have it sound like one of his more motivated and fire-laden roars. He failed, weak embers floating out of his maw.

Drake looked back to Wormsworth. "Well, that's cool, Paimon, 'cause I've got an unhappy camper here from your neck of the woods who needs an introduction to humility - while you need an ego boost."

Paimon tried not to sob. "Do all Literature undergrads suffer so?!"

Eirean tried not to smile. "Well, it could be worse. Bertram could've started you off with his usual favorites and tried to canvas The Lord of the Rings for you...
I care little for some aristocrat's finger adornments!" sobbed the Knight. "I am in the grip of true suffering!"

* * *

Harrison's smile looked gamely, and he shook Ajax's hand. "Well, mister David - you're in good hands. The Robertsons barely have five or six negative Yelp reviews.
- I'm really more interested in yours," admitted David. The big human looked down on his mitts and shrugged. 

"Honestly, I'm an overgrown accountant. This entire place was just me when I first took it over from the family, then I branched out. I specialized the workloads, kept the fun bits for myself. I, um, used to be in Brown's rowing team, back in 1998. I don't exactly have it in me to haggle things out with major shipwrights; I focus on our passion projects. Keep paddling, more or less."

 Silas had slightly stepped aside and focused on one of the other display cases in the office. In it, a vaguely Polynesian statue waited, her hair a mass of tentacles and stubby limestone hands holding up a pair of ceremonial knives. She was standing broadly, almost like New Zealander warriors during a Haka dance, features grotesquely contorted. "Who's that?" he asked.

Arkham shrugged and ambled a bit closer to the case, one hand in his pants' pocket. "Nobody knows, honestly. It's an old, old family heirloom. Obed Arkham found it in Tuvalu, in 1765. Carbon dating puts it along the same timeframe as the first Tonga tribes, but I'm personally skeptical - archaeology's not my thing. All I know is Oliver Arkham showed it to Winfield Scott Lovecraft in 1893, over in Chicago. It was some weird, drunken wager between the two - and Lovecraft liked his drink, or so I've been told - and the poor guy just flat-out lost the plot over that evening.

My family's history with Rhode Island isn't exactly great, Oliver took Winfield's drunken betting of this place over cards too seriously. He never bothered to release this place from his estate, never wanted to so much as lower the price..."

He shook his head. "Tenacious bastard, that one. Of course now, Lovecraft's in the public domain and there's no-one I could release Angell Street to. I made some inroads with the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, but it's like we've tainted this place for them, somehow. I offered to sell it symbolically, for a dollar - to keep things above-board - and they mostly laughed at me."

* * *

Wanting to speed things up, Tom went for an old Warlock trick - and a typically dangerous one, for anyone without his control. He briskly made his way to the penthouse's bathroom, where he quickly stripped down and entered the shower stall. A quick check of the wards later, he opened a surface-level portal to the Pit's churning surface right below his feet, and used his focus to tune Hellfire's effects. He was effectively deloused in record time, all stubble burnt off and body odors reduced to nothing. Having effectively cleaned himself in a few seconds, he had more than a few minutes to get dressed. That allowed him to take his time. Even then, he wasn't that long.

A short while later, the same old cologne trail and purple three-piece left the bathroom, sans fedora - he intended on staying indoors, he didn't need to overdo it - and stopped to clasp his Warlock's wand to the tune of something formless and jaunty that had formed on his lips while he'd used Hell's fires to clean himself. Owing to some inventive spellwork, he hadn't so much as needed to endure the Damned's screams in the process.
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