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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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Listening in, Three added an appreciative pout and shrug. "I wonder if he's met Erik the Red, back when Newfoundland was still called Vinland. The Canadian arm of the Drakes is more Ontarian than Maritime, but one of my aunts picked up an old Colonial number outside of St. John's and turned it into a B&B. Been there a few times, long before enlisting."

Erica Drake wasn't exactly on Mad King Jan's level, but the thought of her still made Aidan smile. "I never did stop through Horatio's Crossing for more than travel essentials or the occasional beer, but now that you mention it..."

He gave Charles a long, scrutinizing glance. "It's the eyes, right? Size and color might change depending on who you're looking at, but I've definitely spotted eyes like yours, over there. Same shape."

Aidan couldn't quite repress a smile. "Don't you want to just settle down a bit more, sometimes? I don't know, maybe get something more than the occasional P.O. box we have to sleuth for, at least? You've got all that family back there, I'm sure nobody would mind ceding you some land or letting you rent someplace on the long-term; seeing as I doubt you'd actually want to seriously put down roots."

He shrugged. "Could be nice, now that Katherine's pretty much up there with other potentials for being Soulborn like Anjali."

The thought opened up new and fairly dizzying avenues of inquiry, making Aidan look away for a while longer. "Shit, man," he then remarked, seemingly to nobody in particular, "we've got people emailing dead relatives and getting replies back, now. Fucking Heaven's got its own DNS server stacks, its own telepresence online! I guess looking for any one subscriber in all of Humanity's dead is sort of like looking for a needle in a haystack. Fuck, I can't imagine investigations that might force us to pull WHOIS lookups on Celestial databases..."

* * *

What started as a concealed and soft tentacle puff was substituted for a more human whistle. "Someone's been thorough!" remarked Nereus, something then making his shoulders sink a little.

"I probably shouldn't be surprised, the resistance has been sanitizing and securing concrete uses for the Black Speech for as long as Lucian, Meris and I have been plotting together. Three centuries won't beat out your millennia, but that time obviously was more than enough to engender the beginnings of a more responsible userbase for the Darkhallow."

He fell into a contented silence for a few moments, smiling behind his short goatee, and then tented his fingers together as they returned to the main group.

"Would you mind if I...?" he said, giving Marius an oblique glance as he left his question hanging in order to avoid any outward spills of information. "Not now, of course - we've all got plenty on our docket, but..."

He smirked. "Later on, let's say, once I'll have worked past the tearful reunion and I'll have time enough to work on something of a housewarming gift for Meris and I's own space. I'd like to try out one of these sunsets of yours, and I'd be delighted to show you some of my plans for Hope and New Dalarath."

* * *

Azazel seemed to appreciate Meris' summation, as well as the fact that Abigail was effectively done with his pants' measurements. "I'm glad Tom and the others were right about you," he told Meris. "You've got a good heart."

Anjali added a partially-teasing coo and smirked. "Prerogative for any decent superhero, I'd say. Are we going to have to do this ourselves," she then asked, gesturing at Azazel, "or is this going to be faster for the rest of us?"

Abigail scoffed in amusement as she set her measured pieces aside to be cut and stitched later. "I've handled Transgenic legs before and I know my way around lich calf bones - the rest of you lot won't be nearly as long."

She glanced at Spector. "I'm assuming you're Service-issue, though.
- Nowhere close," noted William as he casually pulled a folded bundle of felt a bit upwards, his gait making his slight forwards lean seem a bit comical. "I'm mostly half-Veiled at all times; I'd lose precious time tracking targets down if I had to worry about torn seams."

That made Coach look up from his hat's brim. "So, wait - you're technically naked, right now?
- The White King never bothered with clothes; he mostly suggested an ersatz of something like a suit as some other form of psychological warfare. In centuries past it was armor pieces or torn surcoats, that route - in my case, it's more a mixture of practicality and decency. I don't want to look too individual if I can let my drones run interference for me."

Spector made as if to adjust his necktie, the length of silk darkening as he fidgeted with the knot, and then brightening back up to its usual crimson sheen. "Not to worry, even indecency wasn't on the menu back when I followed Elspeth Davis' orders. She was very particular about her King," he stated, a mixture of pride and resentment touching his words.

* * *

"Mmhm," nodded the elder incubus. "All Sisyphus has to do is let his boulder tumble on its own, and all Tantalus really needs to realize is that he's not hungry for the fruits on that branch; he's actually thirsty for the water he's lying in."

He glanced back at Tom. "Detachment. Something I think you could learn from, baby brother."

The warthog seemed a bit surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gremory shrugged lightly and gestured vaguely at the club that surrounded them. "I mean, all this. I've had a look at you and while, yes, the whole Warlock gravitas thing suits you, I can't help but feel like even knowing you could walk through those Gates into Heaven and be accepted for what you are wouldn't be enough for you. I like affecting wealth and success as much as the next torturing spirit, but you didn't defeat the Goat 'cause you've home-brewed yourself a few aces in Service Industry training seminars."

Tom's nostrils softly flared. "And you're naturally above all this. Nothing you see here appeals to you?"

Gremory rolled his eyes. "Appeal isn't the problem, Tommy-boy."

Tom seemed to wait for a punchline of sorts, but none came. "What is it, then?" he asked. Almost coyly, the Steward of Lust grabbed a plastic coffee stirrer and chewed at one end. He didn't add another word, but his gaze obviously had a challenging quality.

"One time, some strange quirk landed a Buddhist monk in my bedroom," added the corpselike figure. "A monk, of all people - imagine that. What he Lusted for? That was easy. Peace. Stillness. The kind of mindfulness you just won't find on Earth or even in Heaven."

He smirked. "I gave him his Nirvana, all right - all three hundred compressed years of it. With one proviso. He'd be alone in that state of grace. Completely, irrevocably alone."

The warthog pressed on. "What does this have to do with me, Gremory?"

Asmodeus' firstborn held his smirk and chewed on his coffee stirrer. His eyes then slid over to Aislinn and Ciaran. "I won't tell him," he added, his tone breezy. "It wouldn't do him much of a service if I did, and I don't think he'd appreciate my intuition. I doubt he'll be truthful with either of you, honestly - or himself."

Magnus scoffed. "So I'm being analyzed, now?
- No, that'd be Sariel's job," replied Gremory. "Go see her; it'll probably do you good.
- We've won," challenged Tom. "There's nothing left but reconstruction, nothing except consolidation."

Gremory slowly grinned, in a manner that obviously angered Tom. "Best two out of three?" he said, which caused Tom to angrily pick up his staff, recover his jacket and storm off towards the elevator cabins.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Looking from Coach to Spector, Aspasia nodded and clicked her tongue. "First impressions are important for any person or being of power," she acknowledged. "It's an easy way to show off your prowess to allies, peers, or foes alike. Dangling bits are vulnerable if you leave them exposed, with regard to indecency."

Meris looked to Abigail. "Since you've taken care of Nereus and Azazel's garments, what would suggest that we wear for the Choosing? None of us are Fae dignitaries, but we have our place at our friend's side during a big and important transition. Consider my question as a means to inform NIckar of your styling abilities to encourage him to meet with you later on."

***

As Tom stormed out of the establishment, Aislinn quickly stood up to go after him. "Tom, wait! There's no need to be getting pissy over a reflective question!" Since he departed without much concern for herself or Ciaran, the female selkie's lips developed into a moue.

Ciaran frowned at the sight of that. "That was weird. I get that he might have some hesitance at noticing his own flaws, but he basically left in a temper tantrum. He's usually a bit more even tempered than that."

Hands on her hips, his twin sister sighed and turned back to them. "I know. After the incursions were over, he's effectively been on Cloud 9, as though everything's been said and done. Reconstruction's happening, yes, but there's still far more recovery for everyone involved. And what was that about consolidation? Everybody's in charge of their own duties, so he wouldn't have any need to consolidate anything other than what he's responsible for."

Gremory's example of the monk caused the male roane to shift back to it. "Your story with the monk? He got what he wanted through your form of Nirvana, but he was essentially alone. When he was alive, he would've at least had his fellow monks or the occasional traveler or visitor to his home."

Aislinn followed his logic. "He took that for granted and foolishly isolated himself. That much loneliness isn't good for anyone. In fact, it's dangerous for a lot of reasons."

He looked over at the elder incubus. "Is that the common tie that Tom shares with that monk? Isolation to the detriment of everything else?" he asked, sending Aislinn a meaningful look. "If that's the case, then it sounds like Tom's going through a change that he doesn't want to admit to and won't say to anybody for fear of the repercussions."

While waiting for a response, Aislinn had unconsciously placed her hand on a spare paper napkin and crumbled it under her palm, clenching it as though it would wring some insight or answer from it.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Charles' face fell a bit at the mention of his daughter, but Aidan was right. Reaching out to her was as easy as sending an email or making a phone call, and by the sound of it, she was enjoying her time in heaven.

"I still got me junkyard, yaknow, I get all me shit forwarded over there anyways," he noted, clapping Abe on the shoulder. "I figure when I start feelin' old, is when I'll slow down, yeah? I don't much lookit, but I am pretty damn old..." A faraway look drifted over his scarred visage, but he shook it away. "Starr gets it from me, I bet, that nonagenarian thing."

As they rejoined the others outside, Marius settled for a nod and a sincere "of course." Catching the tail end of their conversation, he grinned. "Are we comparing our age?" he asked rhetorically. "You might be getting on, Jenkins, but what does that make me, hm? Or Nereus here?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The tailor glanced off into the distance for a second or two as she pondered Meris' question.

"Well, if you weren't already friends of the local Summer and Winter Houses, I might've advised going for the most expensive ends of what you can individually afford, but no Fae that moves to another Viscount's lands does so without some prior preparation. Mortals and mundanes rarely feature as notables in Sidhe society as you'd find it in smaller towns, but Hope is anything but - especially after the Pride War."

She shrugged lightly. "Assume you're at one of President Jones' galas, before everything went to double-hockey-sticks - as an extended plus-one to Azazel, Lord Haskill, Lady McHale and Meris herself," she explained, glancing at the others. "Review peerage if you need to, and don't be surprised if the Viscount Evergloam shows up in full regalia. He's probably the only one in the ranks above Lordship that you couldn't offend if you upstaged him sartorially - the rumor mill says he's well aware of the debt he owes to Shield."

Silas clicked his absent tongue. "I'll have to check in the old trunks and coat bags, I might have a few things that could appeal to those of us with a foot permanently wedged in the eighteen-hundreds."

Anjali, however, was intrigued by the notion of Percival holding a debt against her extended family. "If he has a geas, why hasn't he come to collect?"

Weaver's smile broadened as she kept working. "Life boons are discretionary, and they aren't given lightly. They're typically given out when someone saves a Sidhe or Wyldfae's life, but they're also occasional gifts of love or gratitude. He'll be happy to convert it to a typical Oath if you ask for something tangible, but it's really designed so he or anyone under his orders has a sort of one-time license to kick doors down come what may, and save your lives."

Anjali smirked. "Are love boons a thing?
- Absolutely," replied the seamtress. Fae marriages are incredibly powerful rituals, and a lot of practitioners with a foot in Celtic myth and pre-Christian arcane theory liken it to a kind of abstinent version of a mating ritual. The chivalry of it all matters more, in some sense, than channelling something like making out or intercourse as an arcane funnel."

Silas nodded. "We're about to get RSVPs for Vern and Eir's marriage, of that much I'm sure. The War's brought them even closer, but they've also learned to channel their Mantles more effectively when they're together. There's less of a need for Heaven to stabilize local weather patterns."

The tailor seemed amused. "Polite Fae society thinks they're scandalous, seeing as they still like it when people who Chose around the same age end up together. Mother's shown me a few cartoons from last month's Punch magazine by email, and one of them had Haskill as Scrooge and the Lady as a gender-swapped Ghost of Christmas Present."

Spector scoffed lightly. "Punch - right. The old waistcoat-wearing establishment in Faerie barely got used to political cartoons as a concept that we Americans ended up with brasher pens like Daryl Cagle or Ben Garrison, depending on your preference. The magazine faded out of print in the early nineties after close to two hundred years of mundane publication, but it never went out of style in those corners of Fae where some calendars are still stuck in 1854. I imagine some mutton-chops are still ruffled months after their having engaged broke out on the grapevine."

Coach's eyelights rolled. "I still get invites from Trad and Conservative groups for disgruntled immortals looking for new members. Summer is for Summer, Winter is for Winter, the Empowered Should Strive for Responsible Celibacy - complete malarkey. As if I'd risk grilling my wife or daughter by kissing them," he noted, glancing at Aspasia as he did.

* * *

Gremory lifted a moderating hand. "I just saw what I saw - keep that in mind. If I dove back down into yours, Ciaran, I might not be able to reconstruct this place - or your Gal Friday - at all. Certain immortals get to fix themselves in stone, but a lot of us are exactly like the rest of you: we're in flux, different facets come through at different moments - it could be I was fresh out of tact after centuries spent dealing with the already-deceased almost exclusively; and it could be that I read him wrong."

He slipped behind the bar, the LED strips behind the glasses and bottles choosing this moment to go from a Magnus-suitable purple to a Gremory-sanctioned pink. Feeling Aislinn might need something light and fizzy to counteract the funk she seemed to be in, he quickly assembled some sort of Virgin Tonic combo with soda water - and placed it in front of the roane.

"Here you go, love," he purred, "a little shot of gaseous clarity, so this doesn't eat you up. Just keep your eyes peeled, keep your resources in mind, and it'll all go smoothly. Even if I don't make the cut, for whatever reason, you know where to find me. Oh, and don't forget Sariel, obviously. As for me, well..."

He lightly clicked his tongue. "I'll have to brush up on my neighbours, after Lucifer's overhaul. Tom's brushed up against Pride, so I might as well start locally; see if there's any points of concern for the new Prince."

* * *

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you old sports," added Nereus, "but being in the thick of it again's got me feeling like a pond hatchling!" he confessed, rubbing his hands together. "I know what just happened was gruesome and unfortunate, but a part of me feels like the fact that it even happened after my generations spent as Chambers' reluctant proxy is, well-"

He inhaled sharply, fists on his hips and his frame briefly suggesting extreme self-confidence. "It's liberating," he finished, his human seeming grinning behind his goatee. "I'm no longer passive, no longer waiting in my tower for Meris to save me - I -"

Looking back around, he glanced back at the diner as if some sort of idea had taken root, only for the reality of their situation to sink in again. "May Dar-Larath choke our enemies in His viscera, I could've timed things to afford myself a steak in there!"

Three seemed amused, having likely heard of similar things from his own exchanges with the Augur. "Well, Superman, you'll get to host a victory pig-out once we're in the clear. We still have a mile to go before we reach the city's limits, and I can't wait forever to hook Meris in with the rest of our scheme."

The mention of his wife made the Augur blink. "Oh! Oh, of course not! Gods, you're right - we should probably get underway again, look a little less like sitting ducks... What did you tell her, though? What is she expecting?"

Aidan pointed at the truck Charles and Abraham had been driving. "Abe has a fake bill of lading for a so-called Stone of Wu, in there. I had to ask George Gammell to forge a convincing-looking magic stone from a corner of the world Meris has had a little less exposure with. We lit it up convincingly, Photoshopped it, got Shen Long to forge a convincing bit of scroll-work we Xeroxed for maximum friend of a friend's research effect, and planted that in her papers."

Nereus rocked on his heels. "I'll just play it all Anonymous Courier-like, hand her a small crate with the dupe in it, maybe let it slip that there's other potential takers like, oh, our friend Marius here - and then I'll just - be myself. Finally. See how long it takes for her to connect the dots together. After centuries spent working on schemes that ended lives in some cases, it feels nice to sort of dial things down to a teasing prank."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Aspasia scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Right-wing types tend to reek of desperation for others to join them in their mindset. I like to think of it as misery loves company. If we hadn't ended up together, you might've been vulnerable to their ploys, but thankfully that wasn't the hand you were dealt."

Meris smiled with some impishness. "Before the incursions, I gave Eireann and Vernon my own form of blessing. It goes without saying, I like to shake up stagnant conformity. I'm hoping things change for the better, regardless of what the venerable old codgers and codgerettes view as respectable."

Miranda grinned at the Archmage. "You're probably not the original instigator, but you're certainly up there in the Hall of Fame, Meris."

The selkie smiled. "I think all of us gathered here share that in common. To paraphrase, instigators of a feather flock together."

***

Aislinn nodded her head to Gremory and took the drink, sipping at it. "Thanks. I'll be keeping an eye on him for any other concerning behavior. Hopefully, it's not that bad."

She tilted her head in consideration. "As far as your employment with us goes, you have the green light from me. We'll have to wait until Tom cools down for him to fully agree. If nothing else, I might have to steer things more in your favor."

Ciaran listened to his sister's commentary and considered the options Gremory had for meeting others in their demonic social circle. "It probably won't be long before Randolph shows up. We could also call around to see who else might be able to talk with you, Gremory."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Marius smirked. "I could have procured a legitimate artifact if you had asked," he offered with a chuckle. "All this cloak and dagger stuff was a chore before, but now that it's optional I'm having fun too!"

"Arranging all of this without anyone catching on was an interesting exercise, as well," Abraham offered. "Took longer than it should have, though, if we had been able to simply send a text or an email or what have you."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Abigail kept working in the back. "Back when I was a Changeling, there were trading cards for Britain's superheroes. I'm guessing you're also due for a few rounds of commemorative tat, right?
- This is more Melmoth's demesne, frankly," noted Spector. "As you can imagine, active rememberance isn't really part of my skillset."

Anjali pulled out her cell phone. "Now that you mention it, having an in with Pride gets us an in with Melmoth's stretch of Greed... The last group convo on our messaging suite involved him pitching image rights deal proposals. Bucky's sort of psyched at the idea of being some kid's favourite action figure, Dad thinks it's in poor taste, and Tom thinks his and Meris' contribution wouldn't be decently portrayed by a painted figurine with little LED fixtures mounted on the palms. Al Biggs doesn't want to have anything to do with this - he doesn't want the legitimate circuit to glorify mobsters - and Abdiel's refusal had a bit of a funny spin on it."

Coach smirked. "How's that?
- She's the Throne of Fire," explained Anjali. "Which form would she want to end up sort of frozen in place as a depiction of her? Do you try and Playskool some representation of her full, um, radiance, with a ton of moving parts, or do you just stick to her affected human self? She says she feels people might be offended whatever ends up being picked."

The lich nodded. "She's not wrong, I'll give her that... How about our fellow demons?"

Smiling, Anjali handed her phone to Aspasia. The Chimera would find a wire-frame still of a figurine tentatively titled Punching Action Paimon - and a PDF of several pages presenting the Prince of Pride as some sort of Eldritch Ken doll, with a dozen separate articles and accessories cited. Seeing that, Coach couldn't quite repress a chuckle. 

"Eh, he's still shown his heart's in the right place, since his coronation of sorts. I think the old demonic Ego is allowed a few rounds of wishful thinking... I have a hard time seeing Mattel agreeing to something like this."

Grinning, he showed Anjali's phone to Meris, having settled on a page titled Fully Poseable Deluxe Figurine - Throne Not Included.

* * *

"Would you mind if I tended bar, in the meantime?" asked the Steward. "Your Randolph might want to wet his whistle or nosh on a few peanuts."

The elevator doors chimed again and, as expected, Randolph slithered out, briefly stopping at Gremory's sight. His eyes slightly narrowed, and his one free hand was curled in close to his chest, fingers flexing as if preparing to cast one of his barriers or shields.

"I'm not hired yet, if that's what you're worried about," casually replied Gremory, as he gestured to the nearest free stool. "Gremory," he said, presenting himself, "Asmodeus' firstborn, so on and so-
- I know who you are," replied Mantus, who set a rather thick manila folder on the bar and took a seat, scooching a bit from one cheek to another for a few seconds as he did so, to more or less test his newly-earned rump. He settled in with a quiet sigh of gratefulness, looking especially glad with how his back now could conform to the stool's short vertical panel.

"I know you know," purred the skeleton, who flashed what could've almost passed for bedroom eyes at Randolph, before turning around to recover a bottle of Chivas Regal and a small Scotch glass. Seeing this, the Judge grunted.

"It's a bit early to be drinking," he said, which made Gremory look over his shoulder. "It'd be early if you'd slept, Your Honor," he replied, his tongue almost poking out of his lips as he grinned. "Looking at you, I'd say it's 26:30, if that were possible... I'm guessing what's eating you is on the counter right now?"

Randolph lifted his eyebrows and glanced at the two roanes, as if mutely asking if he truly was with them. He then looked back to the incubus. "We're perceptive, I see...
- Kind of my job," replied Gremory, who slid the drink on a coaster towards the reptilian demon. "That is, regardless of whether or not I get this job, though. Boss doesn't seem particularly enthused. I might have, um, made too much of an impression."

Taking a little sip, Randolph grunted and nodded. "I can imagine.
- Oooh, perceptive," replied Gremory, playfully repeating Randolph's own tone. The corners of the Judge's mouth twitched, in response. Randolph slightly reoriented his stool without pushing on the counter, a few of his lower tendrils gripping the stool's axle and twisting it towards Aislinn and Ciaran. As he did, he plastered a smile that might have looked acrid or sardonic, if those present didn't know him enough to know this was the closest he'd get to a full-fledged grin.

"So Seducers weren't good enough for Club Ishtar's payroll, eh? The situation has to be dire, if Tom is fine with letting the incubus who both wrote and tore apart the playbook on Infernal seduction and torture tend bar within close proximity to nightly rounds of mortals..."

* * *

"It would've been too obvious," grinned Aidan as he made his way back to his and Marius' truck. "Meris might not look it, but she's one of the oldest players in the book, when it comes to procurement. She was a guerilla before the word cropped up, a pirate, a field medic during World War II..."

He turned back and leaned against the truck's door. "Meris' first allies from centuries ago weren't all that different from you two," he said, smiling at Abraham and Charles. I just workshopped this with Nereus in the Darkhallow over weeks and, well, came to the conclusion that nothing traceable would've piqued her interest."

Aidan added a light shrug as he gestured at Marius. "I'm pretty sure she could've contacted you as a client, too, before certain events unfolded. George Gammell used to serve as a bit of a front for her on occasion, so maybe you did sell her something unawares."

The look Nereus gave Three practically screamed agreement. "She's a woman, my dear gentlemen; a woman few people could ever hope to equal. I can only hope you'll all find someone who inspires you as much as she's inspired me."

Three scoffed in amusement, looking down at his feet for a half-second, perhaps to hide the sting of melancholy that gripped him. "Alright, Don Juan - let's get you to Doña Ana in one piece, we'll worry about further clandestine shenanigans a bit later on."

That mention seemed to trouble the Augur, and he stopped halfway between Marius' truck and the semi he'd been riding in with Charles and Abraham. "How's the situation in Hope, generally? I mean, in relation to what's concerning me."

Three nodded. "Harrison Arkham's either dead or MIA, Frank Swinburne's MIA and presumed dead, the Black Goat did us a favor and culled anyone who showed signs of having been exposed to the Black Speech who couldn't feasibly fight back, and now we're dealing with a different scheme of crazy. It's hazy and disorganized, at least locally, and it projects most of its hostility on the local demon pop. Cosmic Horror is out, religiously-sanctioned terror is in. Doesn't make them any saner; they just look different."

Nereus nodded. "Threshold Ministries?
- No, we're too far off from Texas for them to get a grasp of here. Could be we're looking at offshoots; weirdo Baptist, Anabaptist or Lutheran congregations using rental conference rooms to hold sermons... The mainstream's either calcified or grown tighter around the faithful. Father Curran preaches compassion to oppose even darker days, Rabbi Horowitz is looking to strengthen local Jew-Gentile connections, and Imam Jarrah has to dig into Sufism and Muslim theosophy to get his regulars at the mosque to let some of the iblis kneel and pray beside them. The local Coptic Christian contingent thinks Marius and his alternates were envoys from God, and there isn't a single local Neopagan podcast that hasn't made mention of Aislinn or Tom."

The Squid nodded at this. "Good - their defenses are up. Cult cells don't usually succeed in attacking a locale's sense of identity, but the Loyalists will shift tactics. Giving the masses lit candles and dark hoods after the Goat would be unsubtle; it would give us bright and obvious targets to pick from.
- And without Renewal to point the way, they'll fall back to what comes naturally to people like Arkham: deep work, secure embedding. They'll let Threshold crash and burn after a few outré public displays."

Nereus seemed to agree. "So we're mostly safe. Travers' group wants to wait it out, and the rest are waiting for our own playbook."

Aidan nodded. "Hence why I wouldn't open tomorrow morning with a coffee cup and raising New Dalarath from the Atlantic in one go. For now, the resistance is either made up of locals, or of guests to Hope."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Seeing the Ken-like depiction of Paimon, Aspasia grinned widely and snickered. "Well, it'll certainly normalize demons in the toys department, I'll give it that. Diversity and all," she lightly joked.

Meris took a look at the image and chuckled, with Miranda peering over her shoulder at the different action figures. "It's cute. Though, I can only imagine such figurines might become like that fictional adventurer modeled off of Archibald. That might be why he thinks the whole concept is in poor taste," she mused.

***

Aislinn set down her drink and looked over at Rhadamantus, sighing. "We need the extra help due to Alice being a pain in the ass and Amenadiel jumping ship for his treachery tour," she explained. "Tom thought it was advisable to have another bartender on hand who could handle the load, as Gabriel can't just loan out angels to serve drinks while one of his own is AWOL. He wanted to skip the usual MO and wanted the cream of the crop. That's why Gremory's here."

Ciaran shrugged and offered his opinion, "He's definitely been insightful since he got here, even if Tom himself didn't like what Gremory suggested. Therapy, of all things."

His twin sister sighed as she explained why the warthog wasn't there. "Tom stormed off a little before you arrived. He got his purple boxers in a twist over Gremory's idea that he needs to learn detachment from the things he's surrounded himself with as a warlock-slash-entrepeneur. What allowed us to win against the Goat, effectively."
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by Karl the Mad »

Marius nodded, and cast an eye over their rescued hostages. "All aboard?" he asked them, going to the back of his truck and lifting the door. "It's not a passenger compartment, but there are straps on the walls, so I suggest you get a firm grip," he told them, indicating the tools in question. "Sit on the floor and hold on tight, I'll let you off around back of the central pedway station." He lingered there to help them up, then shut the doors again and secured them before heading around and getting into the cab. Once Aidan joined him, he started the motor and shifted into gear, pulling smoothly away from the rest area and onto the highway. "Mission accomplished, I'd say, though not without casualties," he remarked, referring to the mutated line cook he and Nereus had been forced to dispose of.

For their part, Charles and Abraham got back into their semi, waited for Nereus, and likewise pulled away. Abraham turned to look at Nereus, a troubled expression on his face. "Someone was using that man," he said, explaining what had been said to him. "But who would do that? And who do you think was speaking to me?"

"Too many damn spooks all runnin' around," Charles remarked, eyes on the road. "We're gonna thin th' herd later, 'opefully!"
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Nereus remained silent for a few moments as he considered Abraham's retelling of the morning's events. He waited for the semi to pick up a bit of speed and then looked back to the Israeli. 

"Any good cult needs an opposing force, a boogieman to stand against. Opposing Order is too flimsy a proposition in and of itself. All you need as someone like Charles is someone like you, Abraham, and all I needed was Meris. I used to think the Book of Fel Verses was wishful thinking on the Prelacy's part, but looking back on things?"

There was a pause. "They saw us coming. Not in terms of tactics; so much as in what role we'd play. Chaos wielded in Daylight, the Slayer's Hierophant, the Weapon-Wielder... I could give everyone here a role from that book. The only one I can't assign to anyone because no-one fits the bill is The One Who Waits..."

The Squid shook his head. "It's all textbook paranoia and even I'm not sure how much credence I have to give to all of this, but Amaxi's faithful occasionally try and find some sort of spy in the Darkhallow - someone or something born of it, in a sense, but still anathema to the Others. If the Darkhallow is a video game, The One Who Waits is the Easter egg, the real reason behind most, if not all our brute-forcing our rivals' Sanctums."

He looked back to Zahavi. "Imagine someone like you, but who can look like anyone, be literally anything in my species' greater dreamscape. Someone who holds all the keys and who manages to use the layered nature of most Sanctums against their own creators. Your average hopeful for a Shadow Lordship thinks the layering that's commonplace is an impedance to all outside forces, and The One Who Waits just - hacks his way in, in a sense, and nestles in-between layers, where it's safe. They'd be the one, single Prelate in existence with no personal dream-space, but who instead fragments everyone else's for their own needs. A dream-spy."

While Three was back with Vlastos, he'd nonetheless used the Lexicon to keep in touch with the semi's driver and passengers. Not wanting to spook anyone, however, Aidan settled with texting their group in response.

"I'd say this is one operative wanting to coordinate with another," he sent over SMS. "You're Mossad, Abe - you've got a full repertoire between smash-and-grab ops, intel gathering, high-damage runs, stealth recons... Nereus gave me the run-around in the Darkhallow, and someone's definitely showing similar approaches. The core cluster of dream-spaces shows signs of concerted attacks and their library spaces have been fortified. Agitators positioned at the outskirts lost their Sanctums entirely - there's dozens of sleeping minds focused on rebuilding at any one time during the day."

Looking up from his phone, Drake thought he'd address something connected with Marius. "You might've noticed how the usual young pen-testers mostly stopped pushing against your constructs, lately. They've left mine alone, or at least, more alone than usual. Someone's pushing enough to force the Darkhallow's Loyalist users on the defensive."

* * *

Anjali seemed to agree. "He'd rather romanticize his exploits, rather than who he is. Only James Bond gets to reap the benefits of being 007 while jet-setting; Dad knows there's always more work to add to the project."

* * *

The former Judicator grunted in equal parts displeasure and resignation."So I've gathered, honestly," he explained, pushing his folder towards the roanes. "I don't have anything concrete for now, or my charge would've taken effect; but I've been taking notes since the Goat's delivery to Chimera Row. Our failure to see Justice apportioned still gnaws at me. I might be able to levy suspicions or even accusations, but I couldn't act in good conscience or in full potency if Due Process isn't respected."

Gremory leaned on the bar and hummed in thought. "Give me the basics, then. I'll be able to help out if I have some sense of the events.

The former dragon gave the elder incubus a long glance, then sighed and opened his folder, then turning to a tab marked as the Timeline of Events. A cough was parted with and he thumbed the page.

"Day Zero: the Black Goat is carried beneath Magnus Tower after being effectively deposed and rendered docile. A few days pass, he is unresponsive and uncooperative, only speaking when challenged. Mister Ephesian visits him at 6:30 PM, video footage included. Taunts and insults are exchanged. Mister Ephesian leaves in a huff, the Goat looks particularly pleased with himself.

Day Sixteen: the last of the autonomous incursions happen, it becomes obvious that some of the planar immigrants would curry the Goat's favor from within. After another grisly scouting report, Tom descends to the tower's basement in the wee hours, to have access to the most power possible in that timeframe. By 3:33 AM, Tom is yeling at the Goat, and the Fiend settles in his detention pod - mocking him. Tom mutes the microphone feed six minutes later.

Day Seventeen: Alice makes a pass at him. He refuses - repeatedly. Arcane sensors are tripped during the conversation, but the club's systems aren't armed during the day. Headaches seem to be a new development. A pill-related habit crops up."

Day Twenty: The Goat is transferred to Chimera Row. Daily visits from Tom begin. Doctor-patient confidentiality seals their record, with the Supermax wing's attendant psychiatrist having been present. Camera feeds suggest the first few meetings are three-way, and the Karthian is never seen afterwards, past the fourth. I attempted to secure an interview, but he's as busy as I ordinarily am with courtroom duties... Something tells me my mantle of power could enable me to request information that would otherwise be confidential."

Pages are ruffled. "I've got another week's worth of observations. A month following his capture, all I have is a partial feed. Tom signs the guestbook as usual, enters the Supermax wing, and then the prison's entire camera grid and their backup systems all succumb to some sort of electromagnetic pulse. Tens of thousands of dollars of equipment fried, all on the taxpayer's dime. A few doors open on the lower levels, escape attempts are made by prisoners of lesser concern, all of which are unsuccessful..."

Rhadamantus then closed his folder as he looked back to Aislinn. "Thorazine's been out of circulation for decades, Aislinn. That's what the orderlies were forced to pull out to calm the former Prince of Pride down. That Karthian doctor used to be Cerebro, the same source Aspasia tapped when she realized she might need some means to shield her still-augmented brain from the Black Speech's effects."

Gremory's eyebrows shot up. "That means Blackie wasn't simply no longer lucid; he probably was terrified."

Rhadamantus nodded. "There's a gap somewhere, between Tom's visit and that first sedative shot. Something happened to what had formerly been one of the most powerful demons in existence that rendered him a screaming and mindless wretch. The part of me that's a common citizen is more than satisfied with that outcome, I won't lie about it; but the Judge I am knows I was lowballed. I was supposed to bring closure to all of us by meting out justice - and in those sixteen hours I can't make sense of, someone or something took action."

The elder incubus shrugged lightly. "If he deserves it, what's got your tentacles in a twist?"

Randolph sighed and tapped his glass on the counter. Spotting the rather universal gesture, Gremory supplied him with a refill. The Fallen dragon looked a bit more slumped or hunched-over, but there wasn't tiredness in that posture, not so much as tightly-coiled frustration.

"Your future colleagues, mister Gremory - the roanes you see before you, and their friends; all of them are what this era calls superheroes. Law's thankfully outpaced comic books and given us registration acts and punishable offenses, some more clumsily-implemented than others or less designed to protect the disempowered than simply gain political capital with reactionary fringes. Then, things improved over time. Now, after angels and demons began striding this Earth's surface, it became obvious to even the most obtuse congressman that some powerful individuals have every ounce of strength, maturity and objectivity required to be trusted with their own abilities - for the good of all. Superteams and other groups were making strides even before the incursions, Shield is testament to this - but now is when their necessity has the obvious ring of truth."

He lifted a finger. "There's only one constant: in any ordered society, no citizen is allowed to seek out justice for themselves on their own terms. If everyone took what happened to the Goat as a sign that comic book villains exist and can be trampled in the dust on sight, that would be the end of Hope. The end of democracy, as a different kind of demon would take hold of the world. We all have our better angels - and our darker halves."

That, Gremory seemed to be able to grasp. "Instant self-gratification. It probably tastes like justice, rings like it, feels like it - but it's hollow. As hollow as my younger sisters and brothers thinking there's nothing more to being an incubus or a succubus than twisting pleasure out of shape."
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