Chapter VII - Healing Pains

This is what you came here for. Adventure, intrigue, murder, mystery and action - plus a healthy dose of boring everyday stuff. One continuous story-line, broken up into smaller themes for easier consumption.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Humming, Miranda rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the table with a thoughtful look on her face. "To be honest, the people watching and imagining what their lives are like reminds me of the assignments the theater kids get. That's not really sad, just different from what you want, Anjali," she pointed out, then slurping at her fruit smoothie. "The rest just sounds like activities even supes do when there's not some villain to stop."

Aspasia crossed her arms over her chest as she recalled memories, "The mundane stuff is something I found myself craving after I was acquitted and after I returned from Japan. A significant majority of Chimeras went to work as bodyguards for private companies or were picked up by the military. All they knew was war, so that's where they gravitated towards. At the time, I didn't want to have anything else to do with commanding others. I returned to The Last Round and worked there. If I hadn't had the notion of settling down in some capacity, Miranda wouldn't have been born," she explained.

Aspasia raised a brow at the young woman. "If you're not interested in working as a cop, there's plenty of other ways to help society without depending on super powers. Since you're Soulborn, you'd likely excel at whatever field you'd go into. Medicine, community organizer, and so on... I've done some volunteer work for the local hospital in the past, and I can tell you, all those nurses and doctors are relieved when they can get a break."

The older Fauness then smiled at her. "I wouldn't say run before you leap, but more that grass isn't always greener on the other side. You probably will have a future with superhero powers or the like, but learning to appreciate the the mundane things in life is just as important as the amazing feats you might do one day."

***

"Tom should be here in a few minutes," Aislinn addressed, shaking the extended hand. "Yeah, I could see how you'd feel that way, given what I know of with the previous Prince. I can imagine things like titles lose their significance, especially given Lucifer's previously long absence."

While he was there for a job interview, Ciaran offered his hand as well. "I'm Ciaran McConmara, Aislinn's twin brother. I did some work as a bouncer here when Club Ishtar was initially getting started." He wasn't sure how much Gremory would be able to pick up from a single touch, but he obviously didn't feel like going over it with someone he had just met. Whoever he had lost had been important to him and others, but there had been reciprocated love involved between them. A rare love for the departed.

Introductions now taken care of, the actual interview could begin. "What made you want to take Tom up on his offer of being a bartender? Since you've been in Lust's territory for a considerable amount of time, wanting to seeing what the mortal plane is currently like is a given. I heard that your approach to doing things had more in line with what Lucifer originally intended instead of the Princes' turning Hell into an Infernal frat party," she addressed with an interested smile.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Anjali nodded. "I know. I spoke to Gabriel, and he thinks us Soulborn being native to Heaven makes us positive by nature. We're just wired to expect good, or great things - and I guess I'm starting to understand how I and a few others managed to cope during the war."

She looked back to Azazel. "I don't mean to seem like I'm jumping between topics, but aren't you worried about Michael? I mean, the Archangel? Catholic lore says he's the one who stuck you down in the Pit, who responded when those who cursed you thought that just dooming you to a slow death wouldn't suffice."

Azazel's features darkened slightly. "Lore also says I'm bound and gagged and buried under stone and sand until Judgment Day, at which point I'd be thrown into Hell," he said. "Judgment Day's passed, as far as I'm concerned, and you people saved me. Michael's late to the party, if he's got a part to play."

Coach sniffed. "Angie, darling; when you'll get old enough, you'll realize there's a point where canon and apocrypha meet - and a point where scholars of any discipline get their facts muddled. Azazel's in Revelations, true enough, but he's there as a sort of wish-fulfillment mechanic and as a testament to the sadism that's not above even God's faithful. Think about it - binding and burying someone for all of recorded history, waiting for the world to end and only then assuming it's time to chuck them down in the Pit? That's a special kind of cruel, if you ask me."

Spector sniffed. "Cruel, yes, but not that unusual, coming from Heaven," he noted. "You've seen the top brass during the incursions, the exemplars and paragons, those closest to what Gabriel wants to represent and protect for Humanity's sake. I'd show you files on some of the scenes I found in Paraguay, Montenegro or northern China, but as soon as some angels feel there's distance enough from mortals, some of them let loose. You wouldn't like the results."

The Wisp paused to look about. "Angels who stay long enough, down here, tend to get tired and winded like everyone else. Hurt them enough physically and they'll stop for a bit. They'll need a while to catch their breath, tap into their resources, recall what they truly are. They eat, they sleep - their power doesn't go away, they just pocket it someplace deep. Once in a while, though, you find the traces left by someone who's never done that, someone who's all angel, all the time."

Anjali and Azazel blinked at him. "What's that like?" asked the former Scapegoat. The agent sighed in reponse.

"It's nothing good. Imagine what would've happened if the Goat's plan for you had come to pass on the battlefield," he said. "Then, swap rage and resentment for an indefatigable sense of purpose. If your Pop Culture's up-to-date, I'd refer you to the Terminator. They're corporeal, so they bleed when shot or cut, but it doesn't faze them at all. Survive long enough and you get to see the wounds close without leaving scars. The smart ones stick to the mundane combat spectrum - guns, close-quarters combat, short bladed weapons - it affords them a measure of stealth. I've seen vacated corporeal remains of unidentified males and females that were crushed under engine blocks, pulverized under hydraulic pressure plates or blown up by C4 charges they'd set up. The vic managed to double back, likely, back into their foxhole - and click."

The dark-haired goat straightened. "So that's good, right? Mundanes can kill them.
- Only in the corporeal sense," replied Spector. "I could have the closest bunker glass Abdiel with ballistic weaponry right now if I wanted to - the country's more paranoid military contingent has Heaven's who's-who under permanent crosshairs, thanks to smartphone exploits. If she didn't see it coming, her body would probably be reduced to ash and gristle. It wouldn't kill the Fire Throne, though. You just can't kill a Throne with mundane means. She'd pop up maybe seconds later, right next to us, mean and ornery as Hell."

Anjali smirked. "And Nami hasn't stopped anyone from tracking them?
- Lucky for us, I'm guessing she can't," noted Bill. "She has more of a, um, holistic approach to tech than any seasoned programmer or engineer might. If the hardware keeps sending pings standing in for All clear, she doesn't pick up on it. There's that, and the letter agencies aren't your usual Black Hats, you know. They're not looking to cause damage - they just peek in a little from time to time."

Coach tapped a few phalanges on the table. "Well, that's nothing to reassure us technological conservatives... I sometimes think I liked it better back when my Impala was cutting-edge, what with its notable absence of an onboard computer. When I want to change my engine's RPM, I just need to change the timing belt. No need to futz about with ports covered under plastic or to keep a laptop on hand to occasionally plug into my dashboard," he said, scoffing.

* * *

"Good to meet you," nodded Gremory to Ciaran as he shook the offered hand, something to the roane making him glance down at their clenched hands, his shaking gesture slowing down slightly. When he parted with him, the elder incubus looked a little perturbed for just an instant and then smoothed things over with another liquid smile.

"Well, Ciaran, you'll have to forgive me if I at least mention that what was apparently yours was quite likely beautiful - I can sense that much. You have my condolences for her loss. If I get the job, first drink's on me."

He glanced back at Aislinn, a bit of a mute Ah of understanding sketched by his lips for a second. Most incubi and succubi were functionally nameless towards one another, as usually superficial and fleeting as their interactions were. It stood to reason that one of the more entreprising ones amongst his brothers would've quite literally made a Name for themselves.

"Tom, eh?" he asked rhetorically. "Short, a bit on the curt side - memorable, too. Paired with an ostentatious surname, that would mark him as prime Warlock material," he noted, grinning. "To answer your question, I'd say it germinated with Asmodeus' deposition and really blossomed once Lucifer's will brought things more in keeping with my own M.O. I had to see what kind of mortal life had spurred so much of a taste for change in someone so usually dead-set as one of the Lightbringers."

He rolled his eyes. "You'll hear this a thousand times if you so much as hear it a dozen, but I'm not like other incubi. Live long enough and you've slept with everything and everyone under the sun, you've tasted of every fetish, every perversion, every unavowable secret shame and most of the so-called dark wishes mortals fantasize about at night, under their covers. If you take Asmodeus' flawed understanding of Lust to its terminus, you - at least, I think you do - end up with an essential bit of disillusionment."

A finger was tapped on the bar. "Keeping you lot in prisons of fleeting sensory bliss doesn't help anyone. Lust's demesne is infinite and we have as many souls locked in endless embraces as we do weeping in a corner and pleading for it all to stop - and it doesn't address the core design behind Lust. To do that, you have to understand that anyone who lusts for anything is imbalanced. Something's missing in their lives, and they think the pursuit of carnal pleasure will fix that. My job as an incubus is to intentionally call attention to the superficiality of these pursuits, and to try and trigger a moment of catharsis."

He sniffed and pointed at the wall's lining of liquor bottles. "Let's say you're an alcoholic who somehow ends up in Lust. You might say I'm no sexual deviant, what am I doing here? to which I'd say you lusted for booze. Now, why not Gluttony, hm? That's because the Lustful cannot appreciate the very thing they're attempting to partake in. Gluttony's issue isn't an absence of appreciation, it's an excess of it.

Now, catharsis - that's where torture comes in. If you were one of my charges, miss McConmara, something tells me I'd have to dazzle you with brotherly love and seemingly perfect familial bliss. I'd have to quell any and all doubts as to your beau's former leanings and convince you to just lean back, sink in, and ignore that gnawing, persistent little voice in the back of your brain that tells you that's not what you're here for. The interesting thing about Lust is that intercourse doesn't even have to enter the picture - which is something the young ones forgot under Asmodeus. I'd keep you in that warm embrace of sorts, stretch illusory family and workplace get-togethers into an eternity of summer barbecues and Christmas vacations playing on a loop - all the while keeping things just short of perfection, to keep you ever-so-slightly frustrated..."

He smirked. "Fucking the Damned to within an inch of their Extinction triggers nothing. It creates nothing. Now, the Chinese finger trap, on the other hand... It creates a yearning, a need, a fire that starts timid and hopefully burns brighter with every cycle - until, hopefully, you'd break out of my arms, rightfully take out your frustrations on me and finally Ascend."

Gremory chuckled. "It's a bit ungrateful, but the most skilled in my ilk aren't much more than glorified punching bags tailor-made to take the abuse after pushing the Damned to dish it out, to confront their own deeper issues. Not that some souls don't need a few centuries of near-uninterrupted intimacy, of course, but these are fewer in number than my own brethren think. We're built to satisfy that just as well, and it's simply unfortunate that this became the one facet of Lust Asmodeus would focus on."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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"The reason for Nami's more holistic approach is likely influenced by her upbringing, then having that mingle with her angelic nature. Hanako-san is a Malk, more appropriately, a nekomata. There's a certain amount of animism from her mother's side that would have influenced how she sees technology, both at her job and as a Throne," Aspasia observed. "It'll serve her well whenever we start getting more sentient AI. Seeing an AI as having a sort of spirit might ease the friction of humanity's viewpoint machines as a means of production only. A burgeoning AI to her is probably something akin to a young dryad to a Fae Lord of Lady needing positive influences in order to become a guardian of a Nexus, albeit it on a smaller scale."

The discussion of killing angels on a temporary or permanent basis made her recall the scene of rusting metal and debris flying through the air after Hesediel's demise, leaving her to grimace somewhat. "Hopefully, an occasional peek is all that those smartphones will be used for. Matriel, Abdiel, and Nami already had to pull a miracle out of the ether so Cuthbert could become the Throne of Metal and literally prevent metal on an atomic level from breaking down. There's people who are wealthy, ambitious, and foolhardy enough to try to use that outlet to control forces the Thrones watch over for their own gains," she noted.

Miranda considered her mother's points and understood who she was likely referring to, but obviously didn't voice who that might've been. She remembered going to Goliath Corp. for the occasional visit as a child. The doctors there would poke and prod her, seeing if she had any latent arcane abilities due to being the child of a lich and a Faun. Thankfully, in her mother's opinion, it had been fortunate that she hadn't, as the scientists who worked there could be almost as unscrupulous as Rupert Issacs had been.

To lighten the rather grim discussion, she giggled and joked, "Dad, the chances of your Impala becoming self-aware or becoming more technologically advanced are pretty slim. You can still find parts for it. So I don't think you're going to become this generation's version of Knight Rider."

***

Gremory's description of a hypothetical existence in Hell involving familial bliss caused the roane to blanche ever so slightly. "Yeah, that sort of experience sounds maddening in more ways than one," she commented, scoffing nervously. "However, it does make me vaguely think of the Buddhist concept of attachment. Or also, moderation in all things. Don't get too obsessed or tied to something or someone in that it blinds you to issues related to them."

"However, your approach is certainly more constructive than what I've seen in other incubi and succubi," she admitted, thinking of a particular pubescent succubus. She found herself briefly wishing there was a boarding school that taught young individuals this method of tormenting and aiding the Damned toward Ascension. However, she somehow doubted Alice would readily take to it... The thought passed, and she swiftly returned her attention to her task.

"That explanation of yours brings me to another question. Our clientele is a mixture of angels, demons, and mortals. For the most part, everyone who's been a patron has gotten along with other patrons. There's always the exception, though. Since you wouldn't be in Lust's demense, how would you handle a difficult or unruly customer if they're making an ass out of themselves or potentially endangering those around them? That same question applies to employees as well," she queried.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Listening to the Drake family banter back and forth, Marius was surprised at how he didn't feel like an outsider, or a third wheel. They were content to let him eat in peace and consider his responses. Disconcerting, somehow, but he didn't let it get to him.

"It's hard to get away from Goliath, that's for sure," he replied, agreeing with everything Aidan had said. "Smith is the Henry Ford of our time, you might say." He finished the bacon on his plate and wiped his mouth off. "So, you were apparently implying that Smith has come to your company for security upgrades? I'd be curious to see what the demands of a man like him are, if there weren't matters of confidentiality to consider."

He knew all about NDAs, and wouldn't be a part of breaking any. "It's funny, though, we used to have anti-monopoly laws with teeth in this country. But the legislature fell behind on modernizing them for a brave new tech-based world, and here we are!"

------------------------------

Charles bore the brunt of Thanos' criticism with good grace, smirking at Abraham when the undercover squid wasn't looking. His eyes went wide when he called Green into being, and wondered if he'd ever be capable of something like that. It'd take a lot of work, but he felt like he had the first steps in his mind now.

"Here we go," he replied, adjusting his stance according to Thanos' suggestions. He searched for the word he wanted, envisioned Blue as best he could; a vast cloudless sky, the deep of the ocean, cobalt and glittering sapphires...

But as usual, when he went to gently whisper the word, the whole thing was hijacked by a surge of animal fury from whichever primal part of his mind the Azardad implant was attached to. What came out was a low snarl, evoking tsunamis and brutal floods and overflowing rivers. The cup turned blue alright... and then shattered into impotent blue liquid that fell from his hands, collapsing into a shimmering puddle at his feet.

"Every fuckin' time," he muttered, disheartened. He looked around to see what else had been dissolved, but thankfully the damage was localized for once. Well, except for his hands, which were covered in the same blue gunk. Abraham was already fetching some paper towels. Charles looked up at Thanos and shrugged. "Welp, leastaways I didn't break nothin' else..."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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"Not that I expected to," noted Coach. "It's enough that I've got nerds calling me Vecna or Acererak after hitting their local comics shop, or that some gamers call Admiral Arvak after some video game that's spawned a bunch of memes in the 2010s. My car turning sentient would probably be enough for me to hex it back into unconsciousness."

Spector chuckled softly. "Somehow, mister Robertson, I doubt you'd do that. You've got too much of a kind soul to extinguish something brand new. No, I'll join your wife in noting that there's no shortage of entreprising individuals the world over, who all paid very close attention to what happened here. The media was quite quick to cover the Bliss distilleries and Hellfire refineries helmed by energy conglomerates, but some wellsprings were built over by private interests. Goliath is one of those, with its South African energy subsidiary. Then there's Belial and his converters."

Azazel frowned. "What do you think they're trying to do?
- In two words?" rhetorically asked the Wisp, "Privatize magic. Want to sling some spells? Pay a flat monthly rate, and we'll make sure the confluent you can sense but can't tap into stays open for you."

Anjali looked fairly alarmed. "They can't do that - it's like trying to privatize water!"

Coach sniffed. "Kiddo, we all have a water tax to pay to access the local infrastructure, and the Pride War's made everyone extremely conscious of the dangers of magic. I'm not surprised PR goons jumped on that and presented privatization as a means to gatekeep via. Their lists of presented perks are fairly obvious: no more liches or accidental superheroes, no more ghoul uprisings or unscheduled Gate travel - and a nice, clean and even flow for anyone who's lucky enough to be a subscriber. They obviously leave out the part where practitioners on a corporate mandate would see their caps lifted, or where entrusting a single group to defend and filter out a Nexus opens it up for abuse. That's without mentioning another point: the end of dryads as we know them."

Spector glanced away for a moment. "That's one area where the Canadians have us beat, if I might be honest. Each province's capital backed its dryad's hiring as an official for their Federally-backed provincial energy corporations, effectively turning the new via networks into arms of their pre-existing power grids, and managed as such by dryads serving as officials. The short of it is that Ontario's Minister of Arcane Distribution is a three hundred year-old dryad named Hausis McCreary. She isn't just giving a thriving wage by the locals, unlike what used to be the case with Sophia - she's got a full-on minister's salary, with all the perks attached. Her Tree's been replanted right in her own back yard."

Anjali seemed intrigued. "What's her name mean?
- Hausis?" repeated Spector. "It's Algonquian - she's the last dryad the natives managed to plant before the colonists spilled out of the Saint Lawrence River Valley and spread New France to her door. Hausis means Old Woman. In practice, it means most Canadians will do the exact same thing folks like Smith want us to, the difference being their dryads' and Nexuses' upkeep are going to come straight out of their own tax dollars, with regulated prices. With the dryads knowing how essential their services are, the locals can be sure Hausis and her sisters are going to stick to fair rates for all citizens - which isn't something I can say for our conglomerates. Comcast's already made a bid on some arcane thoroughfares on the East Coast and the Midwest, and the arcane theoricians in the Bureau are absolutely livid about it."

Coach grunted. "They can padlock Nexuses all they want, no amount of red tape's going to stop some hapless techie from standing too close to the root during a surge. We'll see less idiots actively trying to turn into something like me, à la Rendell, but accidents will still happen. It's unavoidable."

* * *

"Much obliged," purred Gremory. "I'll admit, seeing Brother again after so long should be a treat. I wasn't always like this, to begin with, and I've gathered enough to understand that we've both made our ways in the Afterlife on our own - but we didn't exactly follow the same path-"

He couldn't finish, as the elevator's doors dinged and Tom froze for an instant, needing a heartbeat or two to prod himself into leaving the cabin. He looked about, as if expecting a small throng of lesser succubi and incubi to have trashed the place, and then settled back on the silver-haired ghoul.

"Gremory? Is that you?"

The Steward of Lust bit his lower lip, eyelids hooded. "My, my, my, Tom Magnus, I didn't expect you to have worked wonders like this on such a dismal figure... The extra poundage is a bit of a shame, though."

The Warlock blinked again. "Er, well, my host was never the most self-conscious of individuals and there's a point in a man's forties where the effort required sort of outweighs the results you could expect and, well... That, and this is all still clinically dead. I can do some wonders, sure, but processing energy stores is, um, too high-intensive an output even for me. I know I'm saying that as someone who-"

He paused and stopped the elevator doors from closing with his staff, and then stepped out. "I mean, as someone who opened an assault against Pride's forces with a hail of summoned Imps."

Chuckling, Gremory leaned against the bar. "Oh, I'm not judging, brother. An Infernalist with a bit of a Dad Bod, as it were, is a nice change of pace from the emaciated wretches I've have the dubious pleasure of working with. Not that I was ever worried, you were always on the inventive side when it came to the usual post-possession glow-up."

Tom's cheeks reddened by a smidge and he approached the bar. "So why didn't you, you know...
- Pick something more presentable?" tried the elder incubus. "Oh, I don't know," he replied airily, "I thought honesty would be a better token of appreciation than my trying to look like something I'm not. Oh, and let me reassure you - I haven't touched hide nor hair of your two gorgeous friends."

Still scoping out his long-lost sibling, Magnus coughed uneasily. "I thought you'd be more, well, horny," he admitted, to which Gremory replied with a vague look of puzzlement, followed by a twinkle of understanding.

"Ah, yes - the olden days... Tom, little brother, there's a point where even the best of Asmodeus' seemingly-endless gang-bangs turns stale. It all goes meaningless and before long, you're left with gyrations left and right, stomps and pelvic thrusts - like the steps to a dance with no tune, put together by a choreographer who can't quite seem to make his mind up...
- So why didn't you leave, like I did?" asked Tom.

Gremory pivoted his bar stool to include Aislinn and Ciaran. "I already told these two what proper torture work means to me. I realized I had a purpose and that the only one who'd really lost his way was Daddy Dearest. For someone like you to come up here and gallivant about while dreaming of freedom from their baser needs, someone like me had to stay down there for all those Damned who can't quite make it to Pandemonium's nurturing hands. I won't repeat myself too much, but I'm rarely the one dishing out torment. Torment is what the Damned come down to inflict upon themselves."

* * *

Gavin seemed to agree. "Them, and antitrust laws, copyright - and now, if you believe some people, access to magic, too. The media are calling what happened the Pride War, others go straight for Armageddon, but it's made a whole lot of powerful people paranoid. Brazil's PM is doubling down on repression for low-status Infernal immigrants and mundane foreign-nationals, there's a surge of Far Right extremism that's predictable if you've ever so much as paid attention to this country's contingent of faithful."

Three also finished his plate. "Sometimes, I end up thinking this matters a whole lot more than keeping an eye on Rendell or getting called up by Dispatch in South Little Italy because a Paradise expat is trying to sell transeuranics on the sidewalk with no registration and no check-ups on customers, or because an eight-year-old in Renton suddenly started expressing pyrokinetic abilities and was stuck giving third-degree burns to his classmates on accident."

Sarah blanched at that last one. "Jesus - did that actually happen?
- Yeah, last week," nodded Aidan. "Floyd Elementary, over on Lake and West Cruise. DeShaun Montes. He'd been kept at home all of the week before because of a weird spike of fever, and his mother thought their home had heater problems. Kid's bathtub never cooled down while he used it, all of that week. Then his fever breaks, he gets sent back to school, and the recess yard's swing set's chains snap and drop him to the floor, with all the chain links he'd touched turned to slag. Kid's distraught, starts crying, reaches out to a friend - said friend screams. There's a hole where DeShaun touched the shirt, and severe burns right underneath. Nobody wants to pick him up, one of the hall monitors gets as close as she can to him, saying it was like standing near an open furnace - and tries to get him to calm down. The more upset he gets, the hotter his epicenter becomes. He's practically glowing by the time I get there."

He sighed and glanced at Marius. "I had to scream over him, tell everyone to cover their ears. I spent ten minutes trying to Speak his exuded heat into being nullified, it created massive updrafts that caused a few power outages around town, three weeks ago. By the end, he was still uncomfortably warm when I hugged him. I didn't have it in me to try and edge away from him, so I just took it in. I was dying of thirst by the time the paramedics arrived and found the right wards to cancel out his heat emissions."

Sarah finished her plate as well. "Sorry to burst your bubble, bro, but DeShaun seems more important than any laws some out-of-touch congressmen could draft up."

Aidan obviously wasn't angry at his sister, but his tone rose all the same. "Sar, fear is what gets people to choke out freedoms for everyone else. It all starts with parents at the school's PTA meetings saying they don't want their kids to be in the same class as him, and it escalates all the way from there to Neocons with corpo salaries thinking that the good of all  means treating people like Marius, myself, DeShaun or even Archie like they're somehow subhuman. It's easy, it's cost-efficient - and it's the worst idea anyone could ever have. Demons are already forced to wade through a mile of red tape just to live with us, and they'll have it easier than any local who happens to think or move different."

Having begun to pick up the group's plates, Dawn opted to be more constructive. "So what do you propose we do about it all, Marius?" she asked. "Speaking rhetorically, of course."

* * *

Thanos looked concerned by Charles' obvious dejection. "This isn't about what you did or didn't break, Charles - what matters is what you did accomplish."

He bent down, scrooped up a fingerful of the blue stuff, lifted it to the base of his tentacles and took a few sniffs. "Is that... gouache? Hm, there's hints of acetone, so definitely not watercolors. That, and the consistency doesn't fit..." The Void Weaver then shook his finger free and approached Abraham, taking one of the paper towels to clean his hand, thanking him with a nod and a smile.

"If I'm the only one on the judges' panel," he said, "I'd say you made it. You Spoke Blue into being, Charles! So what if it wasn't solid or didn't stay in the rough shape of a cup - there's always tomorrow and the day after and the day after that!"

Returning to the truck, he grunted as he boarded it. "It's like any - unf - meditative practice, or like learning to fall asleep in active combat zones, as a soldier, hm? You fail a few dozen times, until eventually..."

The Augur snapped his fingers. Then, giving the soldier a momentarily wry glance, his features turned somber again. "Well, it's positive reinforcement or beatings, my way or the old Arbiters', which you wouldn't like and which I wouldn't want for you, either. Besides, I'm not a fighter and I haven't had to work on my stick-fighting form since I was inducted as Augur. I didn't mind the exercises for the sake of their health benefits, but I detest violence. I haven't come all this way just to fall back down the same hole as Chambers and all those that preceded me."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Aspasia sighed in irritation. "The new dryad and Capstone Industries are respectively set to be unveiled and inaugurated later this week. Call me paranoid, but I don't think that's a coincidence."

"Well, that wouldn't be out of character for Belial when he sent a small pack of Wyrm Damned to bring back a magical sword," snarked Miranda with a roll of her eyes.

Aspasia chuckled at her daughter's liberal use of teenage sarcasm and turned her gaze back to the table at large. "Affablly evil businessdemon or not, we don't what the new dryad will be like. Some people are expecting a Sophia Redux, but I don't think they'll be keen to the idea of letting anybody trying to market off the use of via. The guardian will have her memories, knowledge, and some of her personality traits, but we're still dealing with an entirely different person. Given how Sophia passed, I'd would be extremely cautious about just expecting them to follow market demands because some asshole in a tie said so. I mean, Ciaran told me Sophia went low-grade Gaia's Revenge on the Pride members who were haranguing her at the very end, as far as making them and any other demons in the vicinity extremely sick."

She took another sip from her coffee and looked over at Spector. "Expecting a young dryad to start signing permission papers to arcane lines won't go over smoothly. In fact, it sounds like more of the bs that went on in the 1800s, so locals thought they could just take whatever they wanted from the dryads, based on archival records. That led to Jack being killed repeatedly and Sophia having to defend herself. It was a small mark of grace that dryads got some rights after the Vienna Accords were signed, but now an update to that feels appropriate. It sounds like the best defense against some threats for dryads is a good lawyer."

***

Aislinn sipped some water and pointed out, "Tom, if Gremory, yours, other incubi or succubi's experiences are any sort of measure, then I think I can say that they can exist on a wide and varying range of perspectives and attitudes. I doubt Ben and Lydia's viewpoints would be exactly the same as each other's, nor would they match entirely with your idea of peace and happiness."

"In summary, you're not all clones. I mean, we know people who technically have clones of themselves, and they're not exact copies of the original version. Variety is the spice of life and all," she conjectured, vaguely rolling her right wrist as though it added to her argument.

"I haven't been interviewing him, but I've been liking what his responses have been so far to Aislinn's questions, also from the perspective of a responsible drinker," Ciaran added, with his twin nodding in agreement.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Charles grinned at the encouragement, but it felt hollow on his already-hollow face, and he sighed a bit as he stepped up into the passenger seat. "If we're gonna git anywhere solid we gonna 'afta rewire me brain, bro," he explained in his broken accent. "When Azardad did 'is thing, he stuck th' implant onto the, uh, what's the word... amygdala? medula oblongata?"

"Boss, the redneck act does get old, after a while," Abraham said reprovingly as they rumbled back onto the road. "You need not hide your intelligence here." Thanos could easily infer that few others could get away with speaking to the scarred old vet like this, for though Abe did not raise his voice at all, the words still had some bite to them.

"...well, whatever the word is, its th' primitive part a' me head," Charles went on after a moment. "I know th' brain's clever enough ta rework itself, yeah? Find new nerve trails 'r some shit? You'd think I could just take a bullet in th' noggin 'n expedite the process, but Abe here don't seem t' wanna do it. Drakey Boy don't wanna, neither!"

"...please consider how macabre it is for you to go around asking your closest allies to shoot you in the head, boss," Abraham added, half under his breath. "What if we hit the implant?"

-----------------------------

"Who, me?" Marius replied, sounding surprised after absorbing Three's story. "I... I wouldn't involve myself in such matters anyway. If things get too politically uncomfortable I could simply hide away until it cools down again. And these things DO cool down, you know, especially these days."

He handed his plate to Dawn with a nod. "So, if I were being honest... I'd say let the fascists have their fifteen minutes, then move on when they run out of steam. No one really takes them seriously anymore, anyway, not since that Trump fellow lost so badly." He held up a thin, veiny hand. "I realize how that might sound, and I apologize, but it's how I'd handle it. Let them make noise, let them come out of the woodwork and isolate themselves in their little storm in a teacup, and take their names and faces down for later. Meanwhile, do what you can to keep the so-called minorities under threat safe."

This too shall pass, as they liked to say.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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"It's macabre and unnecessary," noted Thanos in the same tone as Abraham. "Here's what we'll do, Charles: you get us all back to Hope in one piece and as soon as I'm convinced there isn't a troupe of brainwashed assassins waiting to do me in at every third or fourth street corner, I'll introduce you to the wonders of optogenetics. Speaking minute changes into being in any direct fashion is largely futile, especially if we're talking about something as sensitive as neural engrams. What I could do, however, is use what I can do to reproduce a costly Paradise procedure at a fraction of the price tag. In any case, I'll want to review Anton's work on both yourself and Aidan so I better understand it. As soon as I have a sufficiently stable basis to work on, I could Speak your neurons' light-sensitive properties back into manifestation and effectively imprint new instructions on your Lexicon - including how to best use those connections it already does have."

Looking back ahead as they began to drive away, Xenophon pursed his lips together. "Aidan did warn me about Azardad, in our correspondences... He was so anxious to obtain results that he effectively botched the methodology that led to your being implanted. Nevermind how blatantly unethical it obviously was, what's even more troubling is how he essentially foisted powerful tools onto you without so much as a clear grasp on their use. He compensated the second time around by picking someone whom he knew would temper the implant with fully cognizant applications of ethics and morality, but the both of you were effectively short-changed all the same."

He sighed, some of his frustration leaving him. "I wish he'd linked the both of you to me, somehow. Training you would've given me something to beat the doldrums away at night and it would've broken the isolation all three of us obviously felt."

Pensive silence took him for a few instants, after which he rubbed at his Flesh Mask's goatee. "The Speech is a gift, I understand that much, now. It first originated from a place of kindness, care and wisdom, before it was corrupted. There used to be a time where my ancestors breached shores and Spoke openly, knowing the only things their Words would bring to the surface-dwellers would be peace, protection or prosperity. It used to be those like me could've Spoken right in front of Abraham, here, and all he would've felt would've involved the certainty that we safeguarded all the rules that allowed for his skills to find use. Things out there could've nullified his bullets' momentum and caused them to sink to the floor like stones in the deep, and we would've been at the ready to free his tools and skills from any such curses."

He looked back to Charles. "Your lot isn't fair, Charles. Gabriel's involvement with Aidan's selection suggests something else is at play in the boy's case - but for all of the good Anton's done for your friends during this war, you're worth more than what he's done to you. If you'll let me, I'd like to rectify that. I don't know how long it'll take or how much research I'll have to either perform myself or commission, but I feel you're owed at least that."

* * *

Marius' last addition looked like it eased a sombre look of disapproval that had settled on Aidan's features. "We can keep the right people safe," noted Three. "On that, we can agree."

Sarah washed her hands in the sink. "Always the proactive sort, huh? Remember the last time you had us read Archie's employee evaluation for you? Mister Drake shows a finely-developed skillset, stymied by a certain youthful disposition that pushes him to disregard certain long-term approaches informed by his older colleagues."

Three scoffed more in amusement at this than out of frustration. "So I care - sue me. Archie thinks we should just want until Sharpe tries to pull a Bolsonaro or a Trump at the Congress' level and I'm just here, thinking about the mundanes and supernaturals forced out of Louisiana, the Carolinas, Texas or New Mexico by sympathizers that swooped in and ran off with seats because of the last few months' hectic political climate. If I'm Sharpe's Halcyon, I'm grinning from ear to ear because the Pitspawn gave me exactly what I needed: fear and mistrust and paranoia. All I need now is a Joe Average with a square jaw, a Christian name and a strawberry-blonde wife and I'll land practically daily preening sessions with Tucker Carlson; the fucking creep."

Dawn clicked her tongue. "Hon, this is Rhode Island. The worst we've got is WASPy Brown University professors shyly pushing revisionist theories for one semester before getting yelled out of home and tenure alike. People are less complacent than you think, even if the Fae are involved."

Shaking his head, Aidan moved to take Sarah's place at the sink. "Spoken like people who haven't been stared down by one of the oldest Fae alive. Aspasia and I pulled Regis from Morgana's grasp by the skin of our teeth. If I hadn't asserted my own Mantle, I'd still be drooling at her feet."

Sarah scoffed, a touch of derision marking her askance glance. "She's that bad?"

As he dried his hands, Three smirked at Marius. "Take Marius, Sarah. He's making progress by strides, but he's still miles away from how integrated - and able to manipulate that integration - he'll become in the coming generations. Project him a few hundred years ahead, assuming nothing goes wrong, and you get someone who won't even need the Black Speech. A smile, a nod, a polite cough - everything perfectly dosed to elicit harmlessness, sympathy and friendliness by the buckets. Remember what we've read about Ruthven at his most active, and you'll get some sense of how effective charismatic immortals can be."

The soldier than looked back at his sister. "Morgana's on a different level, Sar. Rupert Isaacs was already unstable, but I figured his devotion to Rendell would serve as a sort of shield. Even with that, I could feel just how close he got to bending the knee in front of her. I felt..."

He hesitated. "Before I let my mouth run to avoid thinking about it, and before I brought up my Mantle, there were a good five or six seconds where I would've done anything for this... thing, this creature that was so beautiful a part of me was terrified. Now gender-bend her, stick her on C-Span and watch an elevated Phineas Sharpe pulverize the Constitution with nothing except smiles and a fountain pen, and a Judicial arm of the country that's effectively paralyzed with awe."

Gavin nodded. "I see your point, son; except your Sharpe man isn't Morgana. He's Duke as per their regional charter, and Faerie's other two Queens know better than to challenge a system Oberon and Titania both protect."

Glancing back at Vlastos as he helped his mother transfer the plates to the dishwasher, he gestured with a free hand. "You're a bit of an Art History specialist, Marius - care to remind those three what Morgan LeFay is supposed to have done to Merlin, if not the rest of King Arthur's court? I know it's folklore, but there's always a nugget of truth in there."

* * *

That made Spector grunt thoughtfully. "I could probably make a few in-roads; have someone from Ottawa arrange a meeting between the new kid and Hausis. DC still hasn't taken Washington's own dryad out of hiding yet, but you'd assume the spirit born out of one of Lincoln's favorite elms would have something to teach her, too."

Coach seemed to agree. "It'd be more productive than showing her Jack right away, too. Poor guy's starting to remind me of the nineties' crop of antiheroes - the War's been rough on him. Died twice, sprouted as many more times, now with a thing for traditionally-loaded shotguns and old canvas dusters... Zebediah had to cool him down, two weeks ago - he'd terrorized some kid whose only mistake was of being paid to drop off pamphlets at his house."

Anjali nodded. "I heard the space chick's gifts were still paying off. Looks like the local arcane failure is finally starting to look like he might be good at something...
- Necromancy of a very specific type," noted the cowboy, his jaw working in displeasure. "He uses, deals with and manifests Nikolaas Buck's victims - both Colonial and Wampanoag. Some people say he's more or less picked up the slack from Leonard Ephesian's loss of powers. I've seen him go - he's less drunk now, so much as he feels drunk with power in a way I'm sure Tom Magnus would consider really cute," noted the lich, his disapproval obvious.

Azazel looked a bit confused. "So what do we do with all this?"

Spector glanced at Aspasia. "We're at the local mall; we might as well shop. You'll need to look your best if you're going to join the ranks of the Fae, kiddo."

* * *

Tom seemed a bit surprised by Ciaran's addition, unable to keep himself from adding a bit of quizzical glance at Gremory. The elder incubus chuckled, at that.

"Oh, yes - Ciaran conveniently left out the part where I seduced his and Aislinn's respective subconscious layers and seeded unnameable desires within them, all in the span of a few milliseconds before the elevator's doors opened with you in it."

Tom blinked a few times, then looking away with a sigh of relief. "Oh, right - you're joking."

Gremory hooded his eyes. "Am I, though?"

More tense silence. followed by the silver-haired incubus snorting in amusement. "Of course I am. I'm offered hospitality on the mortal plane for the first time in thousands of years, and you honestly think I'd go and bungle this up? Ye of little faith, to quote a certain someone..."

Realizing he might have lifted a point of concern, Gremory looked back to Aislinn. "There's nothing to worry about, it's simply a case of my docket earning one particular case I've had to work on for the last several thousand years. She's graduated past torment, but now I've got another sticky situation to deal with," he explained, smacking his lips. "She's attached. It doesn't happen often in the Pit, but Stockholm Syndrome isn't unheard of. I'm trying to get her to let go of me of her own accord so she'll finally Ascend, but it's harder than it seems. She's a nice girl, really - if one with a History-defining set of mistakes in her ledger."

Smirking now, Tom gestured. "Well, then, don't leave us hanging! That's definitely something to put down on a resume! Who is she?"

Sucking in a long breath, Gremory delivered the info in a reluctant sigh. "Salome, daughter of Herodias, dancer for King Herod, who brought to him the head of John the Baptist. Add a little too much wine, a heated political climate with mistrust towards early Christians and an aptitude for one of belly-dancing's stylistic cousins, and you get the ahistorical and Biblical equivalent of flashing White Power symbols on TikTok while standing in front of a Black Lives Matter parade and accidentally murdering someone with a thrown bit of pavement. Either that or, well, doing nothing while a copper abuses of its position and kills an innocent man."

That made Tom whistle. "And she hasn't Ascended yet?
- No, she thinks she needs to associate all the parts of her she's defined as negative to positive affects, first. So, paradoxically, I've been torturing her by cuddling her for long bits of eternity, kissing her the way a lover might and generally divesting foreplay and sex of all the bad connotations she'd stuck to 'em. I already figured out she won't be one of the two or three souls I've met who Ascended via orgasm, but I can't force that realization onto her. Like everything else, it has to come from her. If she wants me to hold her close so she feels like a human being again for a short while, in the meantime, I really don't mind."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Figuring the Wisp might've had an ulterior motive for his suggestion, Aspasia nodded and threw her coffee cup in a waste bin. "He's right. Your trip's in a few days, and you'll need to impress any doubters from either court," she responded with a smile.

Miranda got up from her seat and finished her fruit smoothie and meal, also discarding it in the bin. "I think you need to pick out some colors that look good on you and make you feel confident," she mused.

Her mother chuckled. "Have you been talking with Neasa?" she asked.

"Some," the girl answered. "Though, my volleyball uniform makes me feel empowered when we play against another team."

Miranda looked over at Azazel. "What colors do you think you look good in? That seems like a good place to start on what to pick out, besides making sure it has a good fit.

***

The mention of Salome experiencing Stockholm Syndrome oddly caused their minds to drift toward Meris and Nereus, as the twins looked at each other thoughtfully. Even though their relationship was far and away from any toxic sort of relationship, it got the tatttoist's mind to thinking.

"If she's been there thousands of years, then she's going to have a hard time breaking from that routine," Aislinn noted, clicking her tongue. "If you get the job, you won't have as much time to spend on her. However, a cathartic event might help to break her out of her situation."

Ciaran sighed and scratched his left ear. "It's an easy thing to get too attached to someone, especially in a weird, complacent sort of way. That's what it seems like is going on with Salome. I don't know how you'd spur something like what Aislinn's talking about, but that feels like it'd be a good way to start her on the path to Ascension."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

"It's one of the reasons behind my being here," opined the silver-haired incubus. "My main charge isn't in any position to affect change, while I am. Realizing that I've got other things on my mind should at least prod her a bit."

Tom rounded the bar, removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoos Aislinn had etched on his forearms, almost two years ago. He then slipped on a pair of black nitrile gloves with reinforced tips and set about preparing a simple mocktail for himself. It was fairly early on for anything alcoholic, but spruced-up Virgin Ceasars obviously got a pass.

"She didn't react to your coming here?" he asked, to which Gremory pouted and tossed his head a bit.

"It's a long process, brother dear. I don't expect her to grasp the full scope of my relatively mundane actions, up here, until several weeks will have passed. Considering our current dynamic, she's likely to start with suspecting that I'm seeing someone or wasting time with a tryst of some persuasion. She'll be half-right, of course. If you entrust me with this bit of countertop, I'll be seeing a lot of people each and every day."

Tom nodded, only to blink a few seconds later. "Wait. She knows what you are and she's still expecting an exclusive relationship?
- It's part of her torture program, as it were," explained the Steward. "I spent centuries giving her exactly what she wanted, draped it all in the illusion of picnics and holidays; and then pulled the curtain back bit by bit. I cheated on her with women that only existed in her mind, played the part of the inattentive and preoccupied husband who's lost touch with his wife's sensibilities..."

The elder incubus sighed. "Every time I'd reset things, she'd blow up and retreat to another corner of the seraglio, then she'd come back, hug me and forgive me. Every single time stings a little: it's like seeing someone come perilously close to understanding a mathematical concept, step within maybe one or two arm-lengths of brilliance - and then spectacularly fail to make the last needed inferrences. She's lost her callousness, her foolishness, what got her in the mess she's in to begin with - and then fails to show the needed self-assertion that would've saved her and that would qualify her to join Heaven's ranks."

Tom gave Aislinn an empathetic smile, a touch of understanding and melancholy in his eyes. "It's like Sting says: if you love somebody, set them free."

Gremory nodded at that. "Bloody right, that Sting is. He a philosopher of some stripe?"

That made Tom laugh. "Sadly, no. Just your average, everyday influential singer and songwriter. A bit of a cultural lynchpin for anyone with a foot in classic Rock - except for that godawful turn in David Lynch's Dune. That outfit was, well... I'm an incubus by birth and even I'd have called it brazen."

* * *

Azazel looked down on himself as he stood up. "Um, I don't know... Same palette as this, maybe? Blacks, charcoals, reds?"

Silas grunted as he swung himself off of his seat and recovered his hat and duster. "Come on, now - you're about to be inducted on the side of picnics and summer vacations and you want to go Gothcore? I'm no stylist, but your skintone would work well with greens, browns, ochres, maybe complimentary bits of yellow..."

He shrugged and gave his wife a wink. "You pick up a few things about color palettes with someone like Aspasia nearby. First big lesson was on triaging bruises, and the more she experimented with her roots, the more her color theory developed."
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