At Gremory's remark, Aislinn lightly snorted. "That's an understatement," she retorted, thinking of Amenadiel.
"Thankfully, they're not all like that," she noted. "One of your predecessors is one of the more level-headed angels in the Host. Though, she's been making waves with her new beau, The Infernal Broker."
Ciaran tilted his head and informed, "Abdiel, the Fire Throne, worked the counter during the incursions. Post-war, she's been helping Melmoth."
Aislinn looked back to the incubus and nodded. "Suffice to say, there's plenty of immortals shaking up the status quo. Some good, some not so good," she commented.
She smirked as she circled back to his statement. "As for that big cheese, you'll probably meet him soon enough, with some celebratory drinks to go around."
***
Aspasia rubbed her neck as she considered their options. "I could give Brenner a call, but it'd be probably be a long shot at him having seen a couple Faerie-made suits pass through his shop."
She then sighed. "On the other hand, if they made their way to Paradise, he's our most likely informant without needing to access a warrant," she admitted, pouting.
The Fauness motioned for patience and dialed the Pilus' number, hoping he would be there. As she waited for him to pick up, the others would see her demeanor shift. Her shoulders squared, and she took on a more imposing posture, just in case Frank wanted to give her the usual Drifter run around.
Chapter VII - Healing Pains
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TennyoCeres84
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
A few ringtones sounded, after which Brenner's lightly-accented and oddly boisterous voice was heard. Most first-time customers were usually shocked to heat a Pilus speak in a basso fit for self-aggrandizement with a touch of Slavic posturing.
"Brenner's Emporium, exotic tech at low, low prices! One moment, please!" he started, adding perhaps just a little too much sunniness and good cheer to his voice, before moving the receiver away and covering it with a hand. It didn't really do much to conceal his voice as he shouted. "Cyka blyat - no testing on the premises! Envy thralls - whose idea was it to give you guys working minds and humanoid bodies, huh?! Do you even know what you're looking for?!
- Everything's so shiny!" replied a weirdly hoarse voice, like you might've heard out of a tweaked-out addict, interspersed with nervous chuckles.
Shelves were heard clattering - possibly a Thrall attempting theft - and the loud clack of a big mechanical button being struck was heard. Something whirred in the back, followed by the Thrall yelping. Whatever it had grabbed, it was dropped to the floor with a loud bang.
"You're an Envy Thrall with a few extra brain cells, I see," drawled Brenner. "In this plane of existence, people pay to get what they want. Count yourself lucky; there's places outside this gravity well where your little stunt would've earned you a transeuranic slug through your freshly-substantiated birdlike braincase. Now hold on a moment, or else my ENTIRELY LEGAL automated turret might get ideas."
The demon's breath was heard growing faster, likely out of sheer panic. "I-I need something to look better! I have a job interview; I need money to buy things!"
Frank was almost heard grimacing. "I said hold on, urod! You won't be the first of your kind I'll have to start a tab for, I'm sure..."
The phone was shuffled again. "Y'ello; sorry about the mess, ehehe - some of the new neighbours, as it were, getting a tad entreprising..."
Aspasia would almost be able to hear the short and pudgy alien smile broadly, displaying its four blunt teeth set in a face no Terrestrial mother could've loved. "What can I do you for, eh?"
In the meantime, Spector mostly failed at not letting his disapproval show, even if he settled with turning his back to the counter and crossing his gangly arms together. His sightless mien scanned the floor's gridlike arrangement of other booths and clothing stands in a studious and well-rehearsed look of seemingly utter boredom. As for Silas, he stood close enough to catch earshot of Frank's handling of the situation, and settled with a smirk, a shaking of his head and a slight readjustment of his hat.
He was polite enough not to talk while Aspasia was on the phone, obviously, but the look he gave her was obvious enough: you can take the huckster out of the crime-infested space station and drop him in a society in the midst of profound social changes, but you can't take the space station out of the huckster...
* * *
"Looking forward to it," replied Gremory with the same airy casualness, one eyebrow raised and a smirk twisting one half of his corpse-thin lips. "It's another reason as to why I picked up, actually, when Little Brother here came calling. What I do; it's like a well-rehearsed dance. I'm great at changing the venue and the upholstery's color, as it were, but it's always the same tango - usually for two."
He flicked a finger at Tom. "This guy here's been dancing with half of the Pit and Heaven's dignitaries - and with all due respect - with you and your friends too, Aislinn. Honesty and love are just new steps I can't wait to see for myself on the proverbial dance floor. Any good artisan always looks for opportunities to learn, and I know chest-puffing gets a bad rep out of us incubi, but..."
His smile turned liquid again. "I'm a master craftsman, I am. I've already established I don't need to get too intimate to get some mileage, so... Anyone care for a demonstration?"
Tom raised a finger. "I think I'll go first - it'll make things less awkward.
- Suit yourself, brother dear," replied the elder incubus with a shrug. The white-haired and red-skinned zombie then shook his arms free of his sleeves like a surgeon and then gently placed his index and midfingers on Tom's temples. "Alright, now - breathe deep, relax, undo a few of these Warlock's chains and padlocks for me..."
Tom's features relaxed, a slight pinkish haze covered his eyes for an instant, and he raised his hand to his mouth as the Steward of Lust removed his hands. He coughed to recover his poise, gulped, and nodded both to his brother and Aislinn.
"That was - surprisingly moving," he said. "Entirely non-erotic, too. The closest point of comparison I've got is what Aidan relayed to me about what Nereus told him of his and Meris' time spent in the Darkhallow or in their secret alcove in Dalarath."
He smiled at Aislinn. "He showed me us, just sitting in the penthouse, reading books on a rainy day. It seems stupidly obvious, but I felt like everything was done. We were safe, nothing would ever threaten us or our friends again, and I'd only ever need to flex my skills for Halloween parties or the occasional Walpurgisnacht celebration."
"Brenner's Emporium, exotic tech at low, low prices! One moment, please!" he started, adding perhaps just a little too much sunniness and good cheer to his voice, before moving the receiver away and covering it with a hand. It didn't really do much to conceal his voice as he shouted. "Cyka blyat - no testing on the premises! Envy thralls - whose idea was it to give you guys working minds and humanoid bodies, huh?! Do you even know what you're looking for?!
- Everything's so shiny!" replied a weirdly hoarse voice, like you might've heard out of a tweaked-out addict, interspersed with nervous chuckles.
Shelves were heard clattering - possibly a Thrall attempting theft - and the loud clack of a big mechanical button being struck was heard. Something whirred in the back, followed by the Thrall yelping. Whatever it had grabbed, it was dropped to the floor with a loud bang.
"You're an Envy Thrall with a few extra brain cells, I see," drawled Brenner. "In this plane of existence, people pay to get what they want. Count yourself lucky; there's places outside this gravity well where your little stunt would've earned you a transeuranic slug through your freshly-substantiated birdlike braincase. Now hold on a moment, or else my ENTIRELY LEGAL automated turret might get ideas."
The demon's breath was heard growing faster, likely out of sheer panic. "I-I need something to look better! I have a job interview; I need money to buy things!"
Frank was almost heard grimacing. "I said hold on, urod! You won't be the first of your kind I'll have to start a tab for, I'm sure..."
The phone was shuffled again. "Y'ello; sorry about the mess, ehehe - some of the new neighbours, as it were, getting a tad entreprising..."
Aspasia would almost be able to hear the short and pudgy alien smile broadly, displaying its four blunt teeth set in a face no Terrestrial mother could've loved. "What can I do you for, eh?"
In the meantime, Spector mostly failed at not letting his disapproval show, even if he settled with turning his back to the counter and crossing his gangly arms together. His sightless mien scanned the floor's gridlike arrangement of other booths and clothing stands in a studious and well-rehearsed look of seemingly utter boredom. As for Silas, he stood close enough to catch earshot of Frank's handling of the situation, and settled with a smirk, a shaking of his head and a slight readjustment of his hat.
He was polite enough not to talk while Aspasia was on the phone, obviously, but the look he gave her was obvious enough: you can take the huckster out of the crime-infested space station and drop him in a society in the midst of profound social changes, but you can't take the space station out of the huckster...
* * *
"Looking forward to it," replied Gremory with the same airy casualness, one eyebrow raised and a smirk twisting one half of his corpse-thin lips. "It's another reason as to why I picked up, actually, when Little Brother here came calling. What I do; it's like a well-rehearsed dance. I'm great at changing the venue and the upholstery's color, as it were, but it's always the same tango - usually for two."
He flicked a finger at Tom. "This guy here's been dancing with half of the Pit and Heaven's dignitaries - and with all due respect - with you and your friends too, Aislinn. Honesty and love are just new steps I can't wait to see for myself on the proverbial dance floor. Any good artisan always looks for opportunities to learn, and I know chest-puffing gets a bad rep out of us incubi, but..."
His smile turned liquid again. "I'm a master craftsman, I am. I've already established I don't need to get too intimate to get some mileage, so... Anyone care for a demonstration?"
Tom raised a finger. "I think I'll go first - it'll make things less awkward.
- Suit yourself, brother dear," replied the elder incubus with a shrug. The white-haired and red-skinned zombie then shook his arms free of his sleeves like a surgeon and then gently placed his index and midfingers on Tom's temples. "Alright, now - breathe deep, relax, undo a few of these Warlock's chains and padlocks for me..."
Tom's features relaxed, a slight pinkish haze covered his eyes for an instant, and he raised his hand to his mouth as the Steward of Lust removed his hands. He coughed to recover his poise, gulped, and nodded both to his brother and Aislinn.
"That was - surprisingly moving," he said. "Entirely non-erotic, too. The closest point of comparison I've got is what Aidan relayed to me about what Nereus told him of his and Meris' time spent in the Darkhallow or in their secret alcove in Dalarath."
He smiled at Aislinn. "He showed me us, just sitting in the penthouse, reading books on a rainy day. It seems stupidly obvious, but I felt like everything was done. We were safe, nothing would ever threaten us or our friends again, and I'd only ever need to flex my skills for Halloween parties or the occasional Walpurgisnacht celebration."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
The fauness refrained from her reacting to Spector's poorly concealed air of disapproval and chuckled silently at Coach's smirk. With demons' adapting to seemingly new-fangled concepts like payment, she felt a bit of sympathy for the huckster, even she still found the situation vaguely amusing.
Given the Pilus' demeanor, Aspasia switched gears and opted for congenial, even if she still seemed more direct in tone. "Hey, Brenner, it's Aspasia. I'm looking for some information on a couple non-tech items you may or may not have seen...A couple things that their owners might've wanted LOA to throw inquiring minds off their trail," she explained.
***
Aislinn sent him a smile. "That sounds nice, especially if you're needing a breather during a stressful time," she responded, tilting her head. "Not realistic, mind you. Hope attracts threats like a flame draws a moth, but we're used to that by now."
She glanced at her brother, who seemed curious about what the older incubus had to offer. "Want to go next?" she asked.
"You can go ahead of me," he answered, shaking his head. "I'll go afterward." He still seemed a bit guarded toward Gremory, even if he was perfectly friendly with him.
The female selkie took a seat and glanced back at the potential bartender. "I'm ready when you are," she said, taking a deep breath to relax herself. She could have times where she could be guarded as a warlock, but she was far less restricted than the warthog.
Given the Pilus' demeanor, Aspasia switched gears and opted for congenial, even if she still seemed more direct in tone. "Hey, Brenner, it's Aspasia. I'm looking for some information on a couple non-tech items you may or may not have seen...A couple things that their owners might've wanted LOA to throw inquiring minds off their trail," she explained.
***
Aislinn sent him a smile. "That sounds nice, especially if you're needing a breather during a stressful time," she responded, tilting her head. "Not realistic, mind you. Hope attracts threats like a flame draws a moth, but we're used to that by now."
She glanced at her brother, who seemed curious about what the older incubus had to offer. "Want to go next?" she asked.
"You can go ahead of me," he answered, shaking his head. "I'll go afterward." He still seemed a bit guarded toward Gremory, even if he was perfectly friendly with him.
The female selkie took a seat and glanced back at the potential bartender. "I'm ready when you are," she said, taking a deep breath to relax herself. She could have times where she could be guarded as a warlock, but she was far less restricted than the warthog.
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
Abraham nodded and kept on driving, and though he didn't relax his vigilance, it seemed they had frightened off any current pursuers for the moment. Charles was psyched up at getting to make a shot like that, and happily jabbered on about the mayhem he could inflict if he had power like that. Which probably made it less likely he'd ever learn it!
In any event they made it to the rest stop, and Abraham parked the big rig in a good spot near the diner. He and Jenkins watched the cars pull up and the people walk in, wondering if they were really who they seemed to be or if they were more squids with their Masks on.
At Nereus' instructions, Abraham looked pensive. "Less free," he muttered, wondering what that meant. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, looked for that old Mossad mindset from years ago. Stiff, cold, businesslike and direct. Rude, even. He found it after a little searching; his face hardened, his spine straightened, his fingers twitched as if yearning to wrap around a guilty neck and throttle it. "I will do my best." Even his voice was different, harsher and more guttural, his native accent thickening.
He approached the diner and walked in, sitting down at a random stool not far from the older man with the case. He requested coffee in the same stiff tone; the waitress blinked for a moment, taken aback by his abrupt manner, but went to fulfill the request anyway.
--------------------------------
Marius nodded. "Sounds like we're ready for anything," he remarked with a similar smile. "I'll try not to blink around then."
On a whim he reached down and turned the radio on, flipping to a news station.
"...in international news, yesterday out of Hong Kong the government awarded two of their highest civilian awards, the Gold Bauhinia Star and the Gold Medal for Bravery, to entrepreneur and Hong Kong native Marianna Jolene Jameson, in recognition of her efforts and service repelling the demonic incursions of the recent Pride Wars. For our overseas listeners, Ms Jameson is a highly decorated former officer of the HKPF, who served on the force's elite SCRT or Supernatural Criminal Response Team, the HKPF's exosuit division. For more information on Ms Jameson's background and service, visit our website at..."
"Isn't she with you guys?" Marius asked, turning the volume down again. "I've not met her, that I can recall anyway..."
In any event they made it to the rest stop, and Abraham parked the big rig in a good spot near the diner. He and Jenkins watched the cars pull up and the people walk in, wondering if they were really who they seemed to be or if they were more squids with their Masks on.
At Nereus' instructions, Abraham looked pensive. "Less free," he muttered, wondering what that meant. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, looked for that old Mossad mindset from years ago. Stiff, cold, businesslike and direct. Rude, even. He found it after a little searching; his face hardened, his spine straightened, his fingers twitched as if yearning to wrap around a guilty neck and throttle it. "I will do my best." Even his voice was different, harsher and more guttural, his native accent thickening.
He approached the diner and walked in, sitting down at a random stool not far from the older man with the case. He requested coffee in the same stiff tone; the waitress blinked for a moment, taken aback by his abrupt manner, but went to fulfill the request anyway.
--------------------------------
Marius nodded. "Sounds like we're ready for anything," he remarked with a similar smile. "I'll try not to blink around then."
On a whim he reached down and turned the radio on, flipping to a news station.
"...in international news, yesterday out of Hong Kong the government awarded two of their highest civilian awards, the Gold Bauhinia Star and the Gold Medal for Bravery, to entrepreneur and Hong Kong native Marianna Jolene Jameson, in recognition of her efforts and service repelling the demonic incursions of the recent Pride Wars. For our overseas listeners, Ms Jameson is a highly decorated former officer of the HKPF, who served on the force's elite SCRT or Supernatural Criminal Response Team, the HKPF's exosuit division. For more information on Ms Jameson's background and service, visit our website at..."
"Isn't she with you guys?" Marius asked, turning the volume down again. "I've not met her, that I can recall anyway..."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
Abraham would have time enough to receive his beverage and work through about half of it, before the older businessman returned from the bathroom, paused, and selected a stool next to him. As if on cue, the waitress lowered the overhead television's volume and the entire room's worth of patrons dropped their speech down to a whisper. By the looks of things, they weren't entirely aware of their doing so, something to the waitress' thumbing down of the volume control looking autonomic - entirely unsupervised by the waking mind.
Then, the man spoke, in a low and airy tone. He didn't quite sound like a combatant, but something in the envoy's affected human visage suggested he'd still seen his fair share of blood. "You know what I am, mister Zahavi, and I also know what you are. Circumstances suggest you have been enthralled, but before even this is considered, what merits pause is your own background. Mossad, with a long record of operations both legitimate and denied, and a long series of letters of commendation coming out of the Midrasha. A staunch pro-Israel defender for years, followed by a series of professional and personal setbacks. Another level of thralldom falls, and all of the Knesset's nigh-on Biblical posturing falters. You effectively fall off the grid and resurface as a free agent under a dozen names - until you meet Charles Jenkins, third of his line. From then on, the aliases stop. You find peace at his side, something strangely... worthwhile. Politics, ideology, morals - all fall by the wayside, assuming you can find a means to keep this man alive and out of jail."
He took a sip of his own coffee. "Not entirely amoral, but clearly in it for the challenge; the adrenaline - the rush. You've been penniless before and weaseled your way out of indigence with a potent mix of conditioning, creativity and observational skills. A mere mercenary lines his pocketbooks; while money has long ceased to justify your actions. No mere sellsword, then."
The man set down his cup. "Up here, I go by Paul Travers. If you're familiar with Wyvern Securities, I work for one of its rivals in the business - Triton Investments. My job title is Risk Assessment Specialist, but it effectively makes me the eyes and ears of those of my kind who have aims here. At the mundane level, I use my skills to make wealthy men even wealthier. At the level that interests us, however, I keep abreast of events related to my own creditors, and influence them in ways more suited to the current climate. The two idiots you ended on the freeway weren't part of my team - moronic zealots who foolishly thought that entreaties to Dar-Larath and pledges for blood still had their place. For what it's worth, I apologize."
The apparent human clicked his tongue. "My patrons understand that a higher form of war has no place for anything such as the trap I'm sure the Apostate and mister Jenkins have in the works for us. Personally, I'm inclined to let the rebels have their seaside retreat. I'd even let the soon-deposed Augur wallow in the conjugal bliss he so clearly desires. If you're truly under the sway of the man who now calls himself Nereus, then I'm sure you feel his guilt, his remorse at having cracked your mind open like an overripe watermelon. You're stronger than the Afrikaner idiot was, however - much more so - so I'd wager you'll still feel like yourself for, oh, several weeks."
A joyless smile followed. "If you're not - and I suspect you aren't - then I'll have to commend you. Your instincts didn't fail you; most thralls with military training fall back on old habits as a means to shore up their compromised psyches. Not that it matters, those around you are the last thralls I'm likely to create for myself, as well. You've all grown wiser and the Dead Gods are Themselves as They've ever been. It's as much a boon as a detriment to our efforts."
Travers tapped on his cup. "Please understand, mister Zahavi - we're going to play from your playbook, from here on out. The days of poorly-hidden cults led by half-insane fundamentalists in the Mad Arts are over. You'll need all of your resources - and all of your wits - to find those like me. If the Apostate has actually seized your mind, then your little team is down one player. I let Ethan Swinburne play his fiddle with the South's Eldritch Confederates and all he accomplished was a resounding defeat at the hands of Oberon and Titania. We've even tolerated Chambers' long con and are now picking up the pieces. If your allies don't hurry, we might deny Meris the pleasure of putting her sword to the Chamberlain's throat."
He sniffed. "Oh, and you can tell Meris to expect something in the mail, when you do see her. She won't like it, but it won't endanger her."
The gentleman then brought his attaché-case closer, opened it and pulled out a wax-sealed roll of parchment, the symbol in the wax being that of Oberon's signet ring. "Feel free to spring that trap of yours, but circumstances have it so I've been placed under the Winter Court's protection in advance of the Sidhe's first royal induction of Changelings in over eight hundred years. Perks of being the financial advisor for House Frost, and an honorary Fae Commoner. I understand Shield's own demonic protégé is part of the role call - if you're familiar with the name Azazel, that is. Injuring me would be in very poor taste, considering. Wouldn't want to sic a Wild Hunt on this poor city, especially not so close to the unveiling of its new dryad."
In the meantime, Nereus had kept a low profile in Abraham's auditive processes, using a clasp of his hand on Charles' shoulder to relay what his friend heard. As things unfolded, the Void Weaver's human seeming went from steely determination to a stab of despair and from there to apparent thoughtfulness.
He couldn't show himself, but had to make it clear that Travers' challenge had been properly issued. Triggering these thralls was out of the question, but something else had to be done... Drawing a breath, he kept his voice low.
"The powerslide was fairly demanding, I won't be able to muster up the focus needed for what I have in mind," he told Charles. "You can, though. I'm thinking we could disable the thralls' vehicles and destroy Travers' own car. The phrasal constructs you'll need are in Dar-Larath's wheelhouse and you're more than an adept at those, from what I've seen."
He glanced at the diner. "Of course, if Abraham keeps Travers in there long enough, you could also settle with manually tampering with the cars. It'd be less conspicuous, but it might leave the both of us vulnerable."
* * *
Hearing this, Aidan couldn't hold back a scoff, pride and amusement being obvious in the smirk that follows. "I pity any Pitspawn that decided to try and attack the Sin Seven, honestly," he noted. "If she's got a Grishnakhal of her own, I'm guessing it's already dead or in traction somewhere in whatever might pass for a VA hospital in the Pit."
Something else made him chuckle. "Or maybe she put up so much of a fight that she's stuck with a Pride Knight stan wanting to swear fealty to her or something. Seeing her again should be fun, I figure the gang's composition probably got tweaked after everything that happened."
On a whim, he pulled out his phone, thumbed the Messaging app and selected the last number he had for her.
Hey, Jameson - long time no see. Just heard the news, thought I'd say congrats. Can't really chat; omw to kick Squid ass. Pop by Hope sometime? Lots of stuff happening.
He paused and then added Really glad you made it. We all miss you.
That done, he pocketed his phone and slightly tensed up. They were now well up and onto Point Judith Road, Aidan's back straightening as the rest-stop came into view.
"Fuck," he swore quietly, "place looks packed..."
* * *
Brenner's tone remained as relaxed, even if a bit of genuine pleasure could now be detected in it. "Needles in a haystack, my dear. Finding them wouldn't be impossible but, eh - let's say the recent Terrestrial events shook things as far out as Paradise. A few of the Dusters had already emigrated here for the sake of brushing up on regulatory measures, and things went to Hell just as one of these expats returned home minus a duster coat and plus a few shiny degrees. LOAs used to slip through like cream through kvass and now they're backed-up like my mother on spawning month. I'd be worried, but ah, it's probably just another layer of paperwork, another stab at institutional control by one particularly tenacious Blueskin looking to have some sort of ground to stand on, before challenging Renny. If anything, it might make checking for info all the more easier. More heads in the mix means more people open to creative remuneration, after all."
His assistive belt was heard powering off, the movements that followed sounding like the squeak of a weakly-inflated balloon being compacted and released.
"What should I keep an eye out for, exactly?" he asked, on the tail end of a light grunt of strain.
Silas leaned in. "Two tailored suits - silk and cotton; your usual Terran cut. A bit lighter than your average local build.
- Like the Gentlemen?" asked Brenner, possibly drawing on Jubal and his peers for size reference. Coach lightly hesitated, then opined.
"Yeah, something like that. Haven't seen that many built-up Squids so far, except maybe for Cuthbert - and he's long gone unless someone summons or calls him."
Brenner grunted back. "I'll do what I can, forward whatever it is I find - but this new Captain Sternn of the Spaceport Authority is really testing my networks. Hell, if you obviously didn't have something on your plate, I'd offer first freight class in a last-gen Stasis pod so one of the local do-gooders makes sure things stay nice and chaotic back home - the way they should be."
The Pilus snorted. "I'm expecting him to bring up taxes as a concept, during the next Sector meeting! Taxes, blyat, when Paradise has been running off of IOUs and its own blockchain for the past six thousand years or so!"
* * *
Gremory repeated his gestures with the roane. "That's it," he purred, "nice and loose, now..."
From an outsider's perspective, the whole of it wouldn't last much more than a fraction of a second - long enough for the same pinkish haze to wash over Aislinn's eyes. From hers, however, it might feel analogous to being plunged into the Darkhallow. The world faded and in its place arose something similar to Tom's own description.
Rain gently battered the penthouse's windows and Aislinn would find herself seated at her favourite spot in the living room. One of her favorite playlists was piping through the speakers, her phone resting on its charging and connecting pad on the entertainment center. Seated in front of her was Tom, but something in his eyes was a bit different. Gremory's liquid charm animated them, and when he spoke, it was with the elder incubus' voice.
"Normally, I'd give someone what they desire and call it a day. For some minds, I like to put up more of an honest display, though. If I didn't know Tom, I'd be using his voice and using his likeness to charm you, appease you - whatever works, really. Seeing as we're on professional terms, though..."
Tom's likeness faded back into Gremory's own self, their postures matching. "You're deep in your own mind, now, love," he said. "Whatever you say here, stays here. Same goes with whatever I do. As for you, right now - you're the core of Aislinn McConmara's desires. Everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever needed..."
He crossed his legs together. "So, in the spirit of keeping things clean and presentable for a potential co-worker - what is it you desire, Aislinn McConmara? I've suspended us in the small bit of forever between two of your eyeblinks, so there's really no rush. Prune away anything that wouldn't do for a workday confession and anything too personal I have no reason to know."
Then, the man spoke, in a low and airy tone. He didn't quite sound like a combatant, but something in the envoy's affected human visage suggested he'd still seen his fair share of blood. "You know what I am, mister Zahavi, and I also know what you are. Circumstances suggest you have been enthralled, but before even this is considered, what merits pause is your own background. Mossad, with a long record of operations both legitimate and denied, and a long series of letters of commendation coming out of the Midrasha. A staunch pro-Israel defender for years, followed by a series of professional and personal setbacks. Another level of thralldom falls, and all of the Knesset's nigh-on Biblical posturing falters. You effectively fall off the grid and resurface as a free agent under a dozen names - until you meet Charles Jenkins, third of his line. From then on, the aliases stop. You find peace at his side, something strangely... worthwhile. Politics, ideology, morals - all fall by the wayside, assuming you can find a means to keep this man alive and out of jail."
He took a sip of his own coffee. "Not entirely amoral, but clearly in it for the challenge; the adrenaline - the rush. You've been penniless before and weaseled your way out of indigence with a potent mix of conditioning, creativity and observational skills. A mere mercenary lines his pocketbooks; while money has long ceased to justify your actions. No mere sellsword, then."
The man set down his cup. "Up here, I go by Paul Travers. If you're familiar with Wyvern Securities, I work for one of its rivals in the business - Triton Investments. My job title is Risk Assessment Specialist, but it effectively makes me the eyes and ears of those of my kind who have aims here. At the mundane level, I use my skills to make wealthy men even wealthier. At the level that interests us, however, I keep abreast of events related to my own creditors, and influence them in ways more suited to the current climate. The two idiots you ended on the freeway weren't part of my team - moronic zealots who foolishly thought that entreaties to Dar-Larath and pledges for blood still had their place. For what it's worth, I apologize."
The apparent human clicked his tongue. "My patrons understand that a higher form of war has no place for anything such as the trap I'm sure the Apostate and mister Jenkins have in the works for us. Personally, I'm inclined to let the rebels have their seaside retreat. I'd even let the soon-deposed Augur wallow in the conjugal bliss he so clearly desires. If you're truly under the sway of the man who now calls himself Nereus, then I'm sure you feel his guilt, his remorse at having cracked your mind open like an overripe watermelon. You're stronger than the Afrikaner idiot was, however - much more so - so I'd wager you'll still feel like yourself for, oh, several weeks."
A joyless smile followed. "If you're not - and I suspect you aren't - then I'll have to commend you. Your instincts didn't fail you; most thralls with military training fall back on old habits as a means to shore up their compromised psyches. Not that it matters, those around you are the last thralls I'm likely to create for myself, as well. You've all grown wiser and the Dead Gods are Themselves as They've ever been. It's as much a boon as a detriment to our efforts."
Travers tapped on his cup. "Please understand, mister Zahavi - we're going to play from your playbook, from here on out. The days of poorly-hidden cults led by half-insane fundamentalists in the Mad Arts are over. You'll need all of your resources - and all of your wits - to find those like me. If the Apostate has actually seized your mind, then your little team is down one player. I let Ethan Swinburne play his fiddle with the South's Eldritch Confederates and all he accomplished was a resounding defeat at the hands of Oberon and Titania. We've even tolerated Chambers' long con and are now picking up the pieces. If your allies don't hurry, we might deny Meris the pleasure of putting her sword to the Chamberlain's throat."
He sniffed. "Oh, and you can tell Meris to expect something in the mail, when you do see her. She won't like it, but it won't endanger her."
The gentleman then brought his attaché-case closer, opened it and pulled out a wax-sealed roll of parchment, the symbol in the wax being that of Oberon's signet ring. "Feel free to spring that trap of yours, but circumstances have it so I've been placed under the Winter Court's protection in advance of the Sidhe's first royal induction of Changelings in over eight hundred years. Perks of being the financial advisor for House Frost, and an honorary Fae Commoner. I understand Shield's own demonic protégé is part of the role call - if you're familiar with the name Azazel, that is. Injuring me would be in very poor taste, considering. Wouldn't want to sic a Wild Hunt on this poor city, especially not so close to the unveiling of its new dryad."
In the meantime, Nereus had kept a low profile in Abraham's auditive processes, using a clasp of his hand on Charles' shoulder to relay what his friend heard. As things unfolded, the Void Weaver's human seeming went from steely determination to a stab of despair and from there to apparent thoughtfulness.
He couldn't show himself, but had to make it clear that Travers' challenge had been properly issued. Triggering these thralls was out of the question, but something else had to be done... Drawing a breath, he kept his voice low.
"The powerslide was fairly demanding, I won't be able to muster up the focus needed for what I have in mind," he told Charles. "You can, though. I'm thinking we could disable the thralls' vehicles and destroy Travers' own car. The phrasal constructs you'll need are in Dar-Larath's wheelhouse and you're more than an adept at those, from what I've seen."
He glanced at the diner. "Of course, if Abraham keeps Travers in there long enough, you could also settle with manually tampering with the cars. It'd be less conspicuous, but it might leave the both of us vulnerable."
* * *
Hearing this, Aidan couldn't hold back a scoff, pride and amusement being obvious in the smirk that follows. "I pity any Pitspawn that decided to try and attack the Sin Seven, honestly," he noted. "If she's got a Grishnakhal of her own, I'm guessing it's already dead or in traction somewhere in whatever might pass for a VA hospital in the Pit."
Something else made him chuckle. "Or maybe she put up so much of a fight that she's stuck with a Pride Knight stan wanting to swear fealty to her or something. Seeing her again should be fun, I figure the gang's composition probably got tweaked after everything that happened."
On a whim, he pulled out his phone, thumbed the Messaging app and selected the last number he had for her.
Hey, Jameson - long time no see. Just heard the news, thought I'd say congrats. Can't really chat; omw to kick Squid ass. Pop by Hope sometime? Lots of stuff happening.
He paused and then added Really glad you made it. We all miss you.
That done, he pocketed his phone and slightly tensed up. They were now well up and onto Point Judith Road, Aidan's back straightening as the rest-stop came into view.
"Fuck," he swore quietly, "place looks packed..."
* * *
Brenner's tone remained as relaxed, even if a bit of genuine pleasure could now be detected in it. "Needles in a haystack, my dear. Finding them wouldn't be impossible but, eh - let's say the recent Terrestrial events shook things as far out as Paradise. A few of the Dusters had already emigrated here for the sake of brushing up on regulatory measures, and things went to Hell just as one of these expats returned home minus a duster coat and plus a few shiny degrees. LOAs used to slip through like cream through kvass and now they're backed-up like my mother on spawning month. I'd be worried, but ah, it's probably just another layer of paperwork, another stab at institutional control by one particularly tenacious Blueskin looking to have some sort of ground to stand on, before challenging Renny. If anything, it might make checking for info all the more easier. More heads in the mix means more people open to creative remuneration, after all."
His assistive belt was heard powering off, the movements that followed sounding like the squeak of a weakly-inflated balloon being compacted and released.
"What should I keep an eye out for, exactly?" he asked, on the tail end of a light grunt of strain.
Silas leaned in. "Two tailored suits - silk and cotton; your usual Terran cut. A bit lighter than your average local build.
- Like the Gentlemen?" asked Brenner, possibly drawing on Jubal and his peers for size reference. Coach lightly hesitated, then opined.
"Yeah, something like that. Haven't seen that many built-up Squids so far, except maybe for Cuthbert - and he's long gone unless someone summons or calls him."
Brenner grunted back. "I'll do what I can, forward whatever it is I find - but this new Captain Sternn of the Spaceport Authority is really testing my networks. Hell, if you obviously didn't have something on your plate, I'd offer first freight class in a last-gen Stasis pod so one of the local do-gooders makes sure things stay nice and chaotic back home - the way they should be."
The Pilus snorted. "I'm expecting him to bring up taxes as a concept, during the next Sector meeting! Taxes, blyat, when Paradise has been running off of IOUs and its own blockchain for the past six thousand years or so!"
* * *
Gremory repeated his gestures with the roane. "That's it," he purred, "nice and loose, now..."
From an outsider's perspective, the whole of it wouldn't last much more than a fraction of a second - long enough for the same pinkish haze to wash over Aislinn's eyes. From hers, however, it might feel analogous to being plunged into the Darkhallow. The world faded and in its place arose something similar to Tom's own description.
Rain gently battered the penthouse's windows and Aislinn would find herself seated at her favourite spot in the living room. One of her favorite playlists was piping through the speakers, her phone resting on its charging and connecting pad on the entertainment center. Seated in front of her was Tom, but something in his eyes was a bit different. Gremory's liquid charm animated them, and when he spoke, it was with the elder incubus' voice.
"Normally, I'd give someone what they desire and call it a day. For some minds, I like to put up more of an honest display, though. If I didn't know Tom, I'd be using his voice and using his likeness to charm you, appease you - whatever works, really. Seeing as we're on professional terms, though..."
Tom's likeness faded back into Gremory's own self, their postures matching. "You're deep in your own mind, now, love," he said. "Whatever you say here, stays here. Same goes with whatever I do. As for you, right now - you're the core of Aislinn McConmara's desires. Everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever needed..."
He crossed his legs together. "So, in the spirit of keeping things clean and presentable for a potential co-worker - what is it you desire, Aislinn McConmara? I've suspended us in the small bit of forever between two of your eyeblinks, so there's really no rush. Prune away anything that wouldn't do for a workday confession and anything too personal I have no reason to know."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
"Maybe Sternn hasn't heard the adage, "if it's not broke, don't fix it," Aspasia mused with a click of her tongue. "Shouldn't mess with something that's worked fine for so long." Someone like Spector might've been annoyed at hearing such rhetoric, but there were some parts of Paradise you couldn't take out of the satyress, even after being on Earth for fifty some-odd years.
"Hopefully, he won't cause too much trouble. Perhaps we can look into him, if we get the chance," she said, her genuine smile being heard from his side of the phone. "We'll keep in touch with you. Thanks, Brenner."
She told him bye and hung up, looking back to the others. "Looks like we might be waiting a bit to find out who those suits belong, too. It was worth a try."
She sent a smile to Abigail. "Now, to keep our end of the deal. I'll go ahead and call Meris, and you can start getting Azazel suited up," she addressed, scrolling through her contact list again.
It wasn't long before the Heiress picked up. "Hey, Meris, it's Aspasia. Are you busy?" she asked.
The female selkie was heard faintly over the phone that she wasn't. "Could you come over to the Rhapso & Ariadne outlet that's inside Macy's? I've got someone who's eager to talk to you in exchange for getting Azazel some fancy suits," she explained.
Given the business' reputation for high-end haberdashery, even the Archmage sounded somewhat incredulous. Her voice could be heard a bit more. "Rhapso & Ariadne?! That must be quite the seamstress to be here!"
"You'll come then?"
Meris agreed to the trade and asked the fauness for the directions, as she wasn't entirely familiar with every store within the immense tower.
Aspasia filled her in on the location and then hung up again. She smiled again at the True Fae. "Meris is on her way. I wouldn't worry about being too formal with her. She's pretty laid back."
***
The core of Aislinn's desires didn't take long to respond. "I'd love to have a peaceful life, but not too peaceful. Complete perfection's boring. I'd want to have more time to work on my art and spend with family and friends," she answered. "A chill, but exciting life."
Her answer might've seemed contradictory, but these opposing opposites seemed like a vital part of who the roane was. It was somewhat similar to Tom's desires, but she obviously had her own differences as to what she desired.
"Hopefully, he won't cause too much trouble. Perhaps we can look into him, if we get the chance," she said, her genuine smile being heard from his side of the phone. "We'll keep in touch with you. Thanks, Brenner."
She told him bye and hung up, looking back to the others. "Looks like we might be waiting a bit to find out who those suits belong, too. It was worth a try."
She sent a smile to Abigail. "Now, to keep our end of the deal. I'll go ahead and call Meris, and you can start getting Azazel suited up," she addressed, scrolling through her contact list again.
It wasn't long before the Heiress picked up. "Hey, Meris, it's Aspasia. Are you busy?" she asked.
The female selkie was heard faintly over the phone that she wasn't. "Could you come over to the Rhapso & Ariadne outlet that's inside Macy's? I've got someone who's eager to talk to you in exchange for getting Azazel some fancy suits," she explained.
Given the business' reputation for high-end haberdashery, even the Archmage sounded somewhat incredulous. Her voice could be heard a bit more. "Rhapso & Ariadne?! That must be quite the seamstress to be here!"
"You'll come then?"
Meris agreed to the trade and asked the fauness for the directions, as she wasn't entirely familiar with every store within the immense tower.
Aspasia filled her in on the location and then hung up again. She smiled again at the True Fae. "Meris is on her way. I wouldn't worry about being too formal with her. She's pretty laid back."
***
The core of Aislinn's desires didn't take long to respond. "I'd love to have a peaceful life, but not too peaceful. Complete perfection's boring. I'd want to have more time to work on my art and spend with family and friends," she answered. "A chill, but exciting life."
Her answer might've seemed contradictory, but these opposing opposites seemed like a vital part of who the roane was. It was somewhat similar to Tom's desires, but she obviously had her own differences as to what she desired.
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
"What do you mean, my playbook?" Abraham replied, dropping the affected tension as soon as it was obvious Travers had seen through it. "You seem very well informed about us, sir. But I am not sure if we can say the same about you." He reached into his pocket, manipulated his smart phone by touch. "What do you want from us, if not our deaths?"
Outside, Charles' phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw two words: Hold off. "Somethin's got Abe spooked," he remarked, showing the message to Nereus. "That Travers fella's got us sussed out, so what? Let's do 'em in anyways." But he held off regardless, waiting to see what Abraham did next, or what Nereus had to say.
-----------------------------
"Would that dealing with our Grishnakhal was so easy," Marius replied, rolling his eyes. "Sounds like she'll be busy in Hong Kong for a while yet, however."
As they pulled into the rest area, he was curious at the lack of chaos and conflagration that was the trademark of Jenkins letting loose. "Are they even here?" he wondered, parking near the semi trucks and scanning the area. "I see Jenkins' truck, but... ah, there he is now. But what are they waiting for?" He reached beneath his shirt, made sure the 500 Smith was there. "Some kind of stand-off, is my guess."
Outside, Charles' phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw two words: Hold off. "Somethin's got Abe spooked," he remarked, showing the message to Nereus. "That Travers fella's got us sussed out, so what? Let's do 'em in anyways." But he held off regardless, waiting to see what Abraham did next, or what Nereus had to say.
-----------------------------
"Would that dealing with our Grishnakhal was so easy," Marius replied, rolling his eyes. "Sounds like she'll be busy in Hong Kong for a while yet, however."
As they pulled into the rest area, he was curious at the lack of chaos and conflagration that was the trademark of Jenkins letting loose. "Are they even here?" he wondered, parking near the semi trucks and scanning the area. "I see Jenkins' truck, but... ah, there he is now. But what are they waiting for?" He reached beneath his shirt, made sure the 500 Smith was there. "Some kind of stand-off, is my guess."
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IamLEAM1983
- Site Admin
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
The Wisp gave the fauness a sideways glance as he crossed his arms, then shook his head. He, indeed, didn't approve. Obviously, however, he also knew better than to play politics or ideological ping-pong with a near-stranger on the phone when more pressing matters were at hand, so he remained quiet.
"No trouble, darling," replied the Pilus. "I know everyone with a Face and a Name is busy around town, lately, so don't worry too much about Paradise, eh? It'll fend for itself just like it has since forever. I can't cast too much umbrage anyway, I'm a taxpayer like you!" he stated, then seemingly catching himself.
"A humble, upstanding, salt-of-the-earth taxpayer who has never smuggled goods as a form of tax evasion even once. Nope, never before in my life - eh, heh..."
Silas couldn't stop his lips and crow's-feet from fading back into view as he smirked. "Hang up, Frank, before you stick a pseudopod in your mouth.
- I probably should, right?" the alien asked rhetorically. "I should have something within the end of the day or so, all depending on weather conditions, asteroid trajectories and how uptight the local FTC chapter is about pirate laser-ping broadcasts for the day. I'll try and CC Renny and Yelena, see how bold our new Spaceport Authority's gotten with the Vanguard Queen. My guess is Sternn's given the Space Mages a wide berth..."
Spector spoke up from the side of the booth. "If he's smart, he will have. There's a reason as to why Sidhe presence outside of the Earth's orbit is so low. We know our domain ends outside of the planet's accretion disc."
The salesman finished his goodbyes and hung up, then letting Aspasia phone Meris. Spector shifted from pointed disapproval to polite concern, placing a too-thin hand on Abigail's shoulder as she steadied herself against the far counter. "Are you well, Milady? I could have-"
The Sidhe coughed her uneasiness away and shook her head. "I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in. If I didn't have a Mantle to draw on, I probably would've passed out or excused myself to the bathroom for a minute. And please, it's just Abigail, in here. Abigail Weaver, if you really have to. I didn't pull an Adrian Snow or anything, but I'm also against the family's act, like Anna Wintour and Cruella had a baby with Galadriel, if that makes any sense..."
Azazel looked a little disappointed. "I haven't watched enough movies yet to get these references, sorry..." It seemed to make the designer smile, her briefly incandescent complexion returning to normal human tones in an eyeblink.
"Fashion design comes with certain expectations," she explained. "It used to be only exceptional heroes or the Sidhe's nobility could even think of wearing clothing or armor designed by my family - or any family in the trade, honestly. The difference is most big-name brands also have output designed to end up on store shelves: they'll be expensive, but mundanes and mortals would still have some hope of purchasing something, or of at least appreciating their craft during a runway show. The names behind these brands don't sketch concepts or hire seamstresses for anyone who could use this mall, honestly," she explained, looking about. "What used to be heroes picked from birth became people blessed with the right cheekbones or waist size," the Sidhe lamented, lightly sighing. "You don't turn this lofty without growing cruel in the process, and I heard Nickar was a rare breed, even for a demon."
She smiled. "A true creator that still has an eye for the practical and who understands there's more to the trade than dressing up supernatural dignitaries or movie stars. He still wouldn't pick just anyone's measurements, but if he sensed his skills could better yours, he'd have something stitched for you within the day."
Azazel nodded. "So you think you're a bit like him, then.
- I hope so," admitted the Fae. "I still have a business to run and some materials are expensive, but..."
She hesitated, then her smile widened. "I remember my first real customer - the one who woke me up. A Changeling girl, barely eighteen, a few weeks away from the end of secondary school in Brixton - in London's South. Her father had abandoned his Knighthood for love and was slowly turning mortal, and she said seeing him succumb to all the centuries that had passed over the span of a few years had devastated her. He still had long decades ahead of him, but her father had been this almost... indestructible force in her life, like a battlement to lean against - and now the stones were crumbling. He was happy, though, seeing as it'd mean he'd die with the woman he'd always dreamed of falling for. He'd die withered, old and gray, but happier than many a man he'd once known."
Abigail's eyes gleamed slightly as she reminisced. "I realized that graduation ball dress of hers was more than something she'd put on just for the sake of a few pictures - it meant a change of sorts, in and of itself. She'd transition into adulthood by putting it on, and even though it had to look good on camera, I felt needed to give it bold lines and a sturdy feel; like a battle raiment fit for both the basketball court-turned-ballroom and any last stand against those who might resent her family for their own choices."
There was a pause, as she collected her emotions from the conjured memories and looked back upon Aspasia. "That young woman Chose while wearing my dress, in front of her whole promotion. Her parents emailed me the footage - like a reverse Carrie, the homecoming queen beaming next to her boyfriend, her eyes almost closed, her skin flaring like a magnesium strip that's lit on fire. Some people were scared, some cameras were fried, but those who knew, you could hear cheering in the back or weeping from the rush of it all. When that first surge from Summer's Mantle passed, she realized she'd have to be her father's battlement, now - until the end of his days."
The smile returned. "She's a social worker, now - the Court's contacts give her grief about it and expect her to change for something more prestigious, but she's told me she's happy to use the Mantle to lift disabled elderly out of their wheelchairs or to restrain delirious patients so they don't hurt themselves."
* * *
Gremory smiled knowingly, eyes half-lidded. An odd, seemingly stretched-out note or tone began to resonate, somewhere low in the registry and seemingly travelling for the elevator's lobby. Its anticipatory effect resolved in the ding of the cabin reaching Aislinn's floor and in the doors opening. Out of it walked a duplicate of the roane, clad in similar clothes to her own, albeit with a raincoat placed on top. Tom was behind her, his usual outfit complemented by a long overcoat in a slightly darker tone of purple than usual. They seemingly continued a conversation that had begun somewhere on their way up.
"-the poor kid punched right through his stretch of synthetic skin. He realized this was the last set I'd brought along and just about fell apart when I glanced at him. He kept trying to look back down, act like nothing had happened and just moved his needle back and forth in front of his busted practice frame with his motor turned off..."
Tom's eyes softened as he smiled. "That's a shame; did you manage to save face for him?
- I mean, I'm not Meris so I can't exactly heal a synthetic membrane back together if there's nothing in there that qualifies as an injury. Even with Squids making jobs for themselves by Speaking miles of fully organic dermis into being for a bunch of job sectors and industries to use, the stuff's still not exactly cheap. The best I could was to draw attention to his drawing skills. Like a lot of teenagers, he had a few treasures hiding in his spiral notebooks' pages. Poor guy thought I was going to publicly haze him for breaking practice hardware and he almost cried, but..."
She removed her raincoat and set it on a nearby peg. "I think he hadn't received recognition as an artist in a long time, maybe ever."
Tom nodded as he removed his overcoat. "It does start like this, sometimes. Secret shames turning into hidden pastimes, turning into shy hobbies and then fully-assumed careers."
Second Aislinn fetched a glass of water for herself, the steps almost autonomic as they kept speaking. "How about you?" she asked. "How do you go about introducing Junior High students to Infernalism in a way that won't bring the school's PTA down on you?
- You find out where their interests lie," replied the warthog, "and then you capitalize on that. I started by introducing myself as just Tom, someone who works with the police department, on occasion. I mentioned hobbies, the time I spend with a truly ravishing woman, and then casually dropped that I brought forth the Damned and the Fallen for a living, with the occasional Celestial summons thrown on top. Outside of police work, there's a ton of demand for skills like mine in the VFX sector, so I quoted a few movies where the Pyrotechnics tech had used a bit more than just shaped charges or mineral deposits to change the flames' colors. Toss in a few small-scale examples, and I had them hooked."
The roane smirked as she sipped her glass. "You didn't singe some poor teacher's eyebrows, did you?
That elicited a chuckle. "God, no. I mostly stuck to everything south of my usual cigarette-lighter-style finger flames, two or three marble-sized fireballs... I conjured an imp in front of them and pinged Randolph's brother in a palm-sized summoning circle. He'd agreed beforehand, so I didn't need much more than a basic hail. I didn't want to make it too dramatic for the kids, but Akaios insisted on using this for a few laughs. He wasn't big on that scale, and the circle's resolution was obviously pretty weak, so he looked more holographic than anything else. He pulled a few tentacle-assisted Fortnite dances and pretended he was Princess Leia giving the Death Star's plans to R2-D2."
The tattoo artist chuckled. "So nobody asked about Shield stuff?
- Teacher didn't seem too thrilled about having me discuss which novels I actually read as a hobby, let's say. I caught a few wanting to take me aside for the school newspaper, so I got a bit more specific with them. My history with Quint is pretty well-known, now, so my mentioning his years training in Arcane Forensics and my co-opting them didn't seem to faze them all that much. One girl really wanted to grill me on Psych 101 ahead of her own admission to college and another kid wondered if Arcane Forensics meant you have to master Chemistry, so..."
Aislinn Two rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it: I'm an Archmage and I can technically shape the elements at my will, and you're still pushing to get me back in college..."
Tom shook his head in amusement. "I don't make the rules, honey. I've been telling everyone that's looking to tap into Nami's demesne and to give Technomancy an academic boost to first either major in Microelectronics or IT, and meanwhile I'm getting consultation offers for TV pilots involving Harry Dresden knockoffs turning their microwaves sentient so they can solve crimes faster. It's an absolute jungle, out there. You're practically immortal, now, and we'll both have to keep up with the times every so often. If Meris swallowed her pride or her perceived age several times per century and pushed through multiple career changes, you can, too."
She leaned back against the counter. "At least let me pay the bills with a few more potentially world-ending catastrophes and a few thousand or so bad tattoos; I'm still getting a kick out of the really good ones. You told me you'd been a railroad tycoon, once. Any other weird career choices across History?"
The warthog smirked as he lit himself a Sobranie. "Been a male courtier in Louis XIV's court for a few years. Most incubi would probably kill for a body like this, but I was already long past my Horndog phase, as it were. I had research to run, France's coffers could afford me leeching on them for a decade or so, and the only tradeoff was that I had to pretend to make passionate love to men and women that had twice my assumed body's age and none of my grooming habits. Paris at the time was - ugh. I'd just rather not think about it. It's the smell, for the most part, and I'm in an anthro's body, now. That only amplifies the olfactive memory. I'm glad the French Revolution forced me to relocate."
Gremory had been observing this for a while, now, and then looked back to the roane that represented the young woman's core desires. "How's that feel?" he then asked her.
* * *
Travers' eyes flicked to Zahavi's hands, but he only added the slightest of smiles. "If I'd had any chance to terminate the Apostate, I already would've taken it," he said. "I'm capable, though not as favored by the Dark Mother as some others. Ironically, the last proponent for your deaths is now too weak to so much as manage a glove slap in the Black Speech. She still favors him, but She also senses the curse that was placed upon him. Debilitation made flesh, the shriveling of sinew and bone in ways too targeted and too precise to be the work of a quarrelsome Brother of Hers... You've probably heard the name Grishnakhal on the news, lately. Of chief interest to us is one of his former associates, the one they call Azorthagal, He Who Sendeth Plague and Malady..."
The smirk turned to a slight chuckle. "If Jonathan Chambers were here with us, you'd all be dead. So would I, I imagine. Her transports carry him, emotionally, and for one of us to be given to Her rage is a truly terrifying sight, indeed. Any time you earn is likely to be either the work of the Gentlemen, or of my own faction. Neither of our groups is given to the kind of blood-soaked rampage the emaciated lordling would love to visit upon you."
Paul set his cup down. "What I want, Abraham, is a gentleman's agreement. Leave my people be once you'll visit London for Azazel's induction, and let us be upon returning here. We won't interfere in Meris' plans and you might even find a few of our voices in the greater choir the one they call Penfield Hilliard will have assembled to raise New Dalarath out of the Atlantic. We're not as brazen as our predecessors or as foolish as those who would transact with the Celestials on some vague promise of restitution. Everything tends towards entropy, and on a sufficient timeline, every mortal and immortal alike share similar goals. Invariably, today's threats are tomorrow's inconsequential background players, and the day after's allies. Everything resolves itself - and we intend to provide enough chaos to keep the pond stirred. That was our sacred duty to the First Prophet, not some set of pie-in-the-sky attempts at annihilation."
He glanced outside. "We'd like it if you could refrain from assaulting Mister Chambers, during the ceremony, as well. He'll be recognizable enough, his name being atop Triton's Board of Directors. What better than the CFO of a megabillion empire on the lucrative cusp of complete dissolution and repayment to its creditors; when you're in need of management for blood-soaked and iron-scarred funds dating back to Hadrian's Wall?"
A shrug was added. "Of course, you'll be tempted to use the presented opportunity, and none of us would begrudge you for it. However, it'd be a shame to spoil such a momentous occasion with bloodshed. Young Azazel truly deserves better than the sight of his allies ripping a disabled cuttle's human mask in full view of the public."
Even though he wasn't actually beside Abraham, Nereus willed a sort of consensual hallucination into being through the Israelite's visual cortex, essentially projecting himself on the next bench over for Zahavi alone to see and hear. It would go down to Abraham being almost able to perceive his body heat as he leaned on the counter and made the stool creak under his weight. The illusory Nereus leaned in closer to Abraham, hands joined together on the counter.
"Keep him talking, ask questions. Charles and I need to spot his primary triggerman, and I'm not close enough to scan everyone in this diner at once."
It was at that moment that Three and Marius arrived, Travers also taking notice of the repurposed Alexandria Antiquities truck. "Ah," he lightly said, "the Pendragon reincarnated, if you believe some theorists of ours, and the wielder of the final weapon against Amaxi, almost fit to rid us of our charge..."
Abruptly enough, one of the children in the enthralled family sat off from the stall he shared with them and walked past Abraham and Travers with the kind of steely and determined face that didn't exactly suit a ten year-old. He padded out of the diner as Three left the vehicle and stopped a few feet past the door, seemingly ignoring Nereus and Charles. He also spoke in Demotic Egyptian, although unlike Sarah, it had no good reason to even be familiar with the language. This was likely a ploy to force Vlastos and Drake to pay attention.
"Things have been civil thus far, Librarian! The man who beckons me sees no need to further complicate matters, but we will employ self-defense if pressed. The Shadow Lord I speak for serves a cabal older than the Chamberlain's, freed of their fanaticism and foolhardiness-"
The Lexicon having translated for Aidan, the soldier settled with keeping his rifle pointed up, his posture looking distractingly laid-back, while his eyes remained flinty. He answered in Farsi. "Your kind can't agree on how to worship your own gods and you expect us to give you some leeway while you cower behind a child?!"
Aidan switched to the Black Speech. "Let him go, Prelate. Free his family."
The child turned thoughtful, its unusually darkened eyes gleaming with unnatural awareness. "Alright," it said.
Inside the diner, the entire family produced weapons from within their personal effects and placed the muzzles under their lower jaw.
The child and Travers spoke the same words. "I didn't want to come empty-handed, so I intercepted your invites for later. For those of you out in the parking, these are your RSVPs for Azazel's induction. You'll find them on the counter, next to my actual body. If I leave here unharmed, no innocents here need to be injured. Let me return to my car, and I'll give Nereus the priming phrase needed to break my yoke on them. He seems much more stable than when he first broke out, so I'd expect a full recovery on all fronts."
Three exhaled sharply. "Right, like we'll turn our backs on a diner packed with thralls for the Others you've kept under your sway for any goddamn length of time imaginable."
Both Travers and the child looked unperturbed. "Fine. We can resolve this your way and give reason to the same barbarous idiots you killed on the highway. You'll lose access to the ceremony - and to Azazel - and myself and Chambers will both be in a perfect position to poison the proceedings.
- That's if you survive," replied Three, his jaw tightening as he prepared to acquire his first target.
"There'll be others," replied the broker in the same casual tone, "but any Scorched Earth policy is going to cost you. You have suspicions concerning our plans for your former beloved, mister Drake," noted the disguised Squid. "What if I told you a few more deaths in my ranks could finally convince the remaining Houses to stop paying attention to the Speaker's ideas? It'd be a shame if you never could reclaim - or redeem - your one true love..."
"No trouble, darling," replied the Pilus. "I know everyone with a Face and a Name is busy around town, lately, so don't worry too much about Paradise, eh? It'll fend for itself just like it has since forever. I can't cast too much umbrage anyway, I'm a taxpayer like you!" he stated, then seemingly catching himself.
"A humble, upstanding, salt-of-the-earth taxpayer who has never smuggled goods as a form of tax evasion even once. Nope, never before in my life - eh, heh..."
Silas couldn't stop his lips and crow's-feet from fading back into view as he smirked. "Hang up, Frank, before you stick a pseudopod in your mouth.
- I probably should, right?" the alien asked rhetorically. "I should have something within the end of the day or so, all depending on weather conditions, asteroid trajectories and how uptight the local FTC chapter is about pirate laser-ping broadcasts for the day. I'll try and CC Renny and Yelena, see how bold our new Spaceport Authority's gotten with the Vanguard Queen. My guess is Sternn's given the Space Mages a wide berth..."
Spector spoke up from the side of the booth. "If he's smart, he will have. There's a reason as to why Sidhe presence outside of the Earth's orbit is so low. We know our domain ends outside of the planet's accretion disc."
The salesman finished his goodbyes and hung up, then letting Aspasia phone Meris. Spector shifted from pointed disapproval to polite concern, placing a too-thin hand on Abigail's shoulder as she steadied herself against the far counter. "Are you well, Milady? I could have-"
The Sidhe coughed her uneasiness away and shook her head. "I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in. If I didn't have a Mantle to draw on, I probably would've passed out or excused myself to the bathroom for a minute. And please, it's just Abigail, in here. Abigail Weaver, if you really have to. I didn't pull an Adrian Snow or anything, but I'm also against the family's act, like Anna Wintour and Cruella had a baby with Galadriel, if that makes any sense..."
Azazel looked a little disappointed. "I haven't watched enough movies yet to get these references, sorry..." It seemed to make the designer smile, her briefly incandescent complexion returning to normal human tones in an eyeblink.
"Fashion design comes with certain expectations," she explained. "It used to be only exceptional heroes or the Sidhe's nobility could even think of wearing clothing or armor designed by my family - or any family in the trade, honestly. The difference is most big-name brands also have output designed to end up on store shelves: they'll be expensive, but mundanes and mortals would still have some hope of purchasing something, or of at least appreciating their craft during a runway show. The names behind these brands don't sketch concepts or hire seamstresses for anyone who could use this mall, honestly," she explained, looking about. "What used to be heroes picked from birth became people blessed with the right cheekbones or waist size," the Sidhe lamented, lightly sighing. "You don't turn this lofty without growing cruel in the process, and I heard Nickar was a rare breed, even for a demon."
She smiled. "A true creator that still has an eye for the practical and who understands there's more to the trade than dressing up supernatural dignitaries or movie stars. He still wouldn't pick just anyone's measurements, but if he sensed his skills could better yours, he'd have something stitched for you within the day."
Azazel nodded. "So you think you're a bit like him, then.
- I hope so," admitted the Fae. "I still have a business to run and some materials are expensive, but..."
She hesitated, then her smile widened. "I remember my first real customer - the one who woke me up. A Changeling girl, barely eighteen, a few weeks away from the end of secondary school in Brixton - in London's South. Her father had abandoned his Knighthood for love and was slowly turning mortal, and she said seeing him succumb to all the centuries that had passed over the span of a few years had devastated her. He still had long decades ahead of him, but her father had been this almost... indestructible force in her life, like a battlement to lean against - and now the stones were crumbling. He was happy, though, seeing as it'd mean he'd die with the woman he'd always dreamed of falling for. He'd die withered, old and gray, but happier than many a man he'd once known."
Abigail's eyes gleamed slightly as she reminisced. "I realized that graduation ball dress of hers was more than something she'd put on just for the sake of a few pictures - it meant a change of sorts, in and of itself. She'd transition into adulthood by putting it on, and even though it had to look good on camera, I felt needed to give it bold lines and a sturdy feel; like a battle raiment fit for both the basketball court-turned-ballroom and any last stand against those who might resent her family for their own choices."
There was a pause, as she collected her emotions from the conjured memories and looked back upon Aspasia. "That young woman Chose while wearing my dress, in front of her whole promotion. Her parents emailed me the footage - like a reverse Carrie, the homecoming queen beaming next to her boyfriend, her eyes almost closed, her skin flaring like a magnesium strip that's lit on fire. Some people were scared, some cameras were fried, but those who knew, you could hear cheering in the back or weeping from the rush of it all. When that first surge from Summer's Mantle passed, she realized she'd have to be her father's battlement, now - until the end of his days."
The smile returned. "She's a social worker, now - the Court's contacts give her grief about it and expect her to change for something more prestigious, but she's told me she's happy to use the Mantle to lift disabled elderly out of their wheelchairs or to restrain delirious patients so they don't hurt themselves."
* * *
Gremory smiled knowingly, eyes half-lidded. An odd, seemingly stretched-out note or tone began to resonate, somewhere low in the registry and seemingly travelling for the elevator's lobby. Its anticipatory effect resolved in the ding of the cabin reaching Aislinn's floor and in the doors opening. Out of it walked a duplicate of the roane, clad in similar clothes to her own, albeit with a raincoat placed on top. Tom was behind her, his usual outfit complemented by a long overcoat in a slightly darker tone of purple than usual. They seemingly continued a conversation that had begun somewhere on their way up.
"-the poor kid punched right through his stretch of synthetic skin. He realized this was the last set I'd brought along and just about fell apart when I glanced at him. He kept trying to look back down, act like nothing had happened and just moved his needle back and forth in front of his busted practice frame with his motor turned off..."
Tom's eyes softened as he smiled. "That's a shame; did you manage to save face for him?
- I mean, I'm not Meris so I can't exactly heal a synthetic membrane back together if there's nothing in there that qualifies as an injury. Even with Squids making jobs for themselves by Speaking miles of fully organic dermis into being for a bunch of job sectors and industries to use, the stuff's still not exactly cheap. The best I could was to draw attention to his drawing skills. Like a lot of teenagers, he had a few treasures hiding in his spiral notebooks' pages. Poor guy thought I was going to publicly haze him for breaking practice hardware and he almost cried, but..."
She removed her raincoat and set it on a nearby peg. "I think he hadn't received recognition as an artist in a long time, maybe ever."
Tom nodded as he removed his overcoat. "It does start like this, sometimes. Secret shames turning into hidden pastimes, turning into shy hobbies and then fully-assumed careers."
Second Aislinn fetched a glass of water for herself, the steps almost autonomic as they kept speaking. "How about you?" she asked. "How do you go about introducing Junior High students to Infernalism in a way that won't bring the school's PTA down on you?
- You find out where their interests lie," replied the warthog, "and then you capitalize on that. I started by introducing myself as just Tom, someone who works with the police department, on occasion. I mentioned hobbies, the time I spend with a truly ravishing woman, and then casually dropped that I brought forth the Damned and the Fallen for a living, with the occasional Celestial summons thrown on top. Outside of police work, there's a ton of demand for skills like mine in the VFX sector, so I quoted a few movies where the Pyrotechnics tech had used a bit more than just shaped charges or mineral deposits to change the flames' colors. Toss in a few small-scale examples, and I had them hooked."
The roane smirked as she sipped her glass. "You didn't singe some poor teacher's eyebrows, did you?
That elicited a chuckle. "God, no. I mostly stuck to everything south of my usual cigarette-lighter-style finger flames, two or three marble-sized fireballs... I conjured an imp in front of them and pinged Randolph's brother in a palm-sized summoning circle. He'd agreed beforehand, so I didn't need much more than a basic hail. I didn't want to make it too dramatic for the kids, but Akaios insisted on using this for a few laughs. He wasn't big on that scale, and the circle's resolution was obviously pretty weak, so he looked more holographic than anything else. He pulled a few tentacle-assisted Fortnite dances and pretended he was Princess Leia giving the Death Star's plans to R2-D2."
The tattoo artist chuckled. "So nobody asked about Shield stuff?
- Teacher didn't seem too thrilled about having me discuss which novels I actually read as a hobby, let's say. I caught a few wanting to take me aside for the school newspaper, so I got a bit more specific with them. My history with Quint is pretty well-known, now, so my mentioning his years training in Arcane Forensics and my co-opting them didn't seem to faze them all that much. One girl really wanted to grill me on Psych 101 ahead of her own admission to college and another kid wondered if Arcane Forensics meant you have to master Chemistry, so..."
Aislinn Two rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it: I'm an Archmage and I can technically shape the elements at my will, and you're still pushing to get me back in college..."
Tom shook his head in amusement. "I don't make the rules, honey. I've been telling everyone that's looking to tap into Nami's demesne and to give Technomancy an academic boost to first either major in Microelectronics or IT, and meanwhile I'm getting consultation offers for TV pilots involving Harry Dresden knockoffs turning their microwaves sentient so they can solve crimes faster. It's an absolute jungle, out there. You're practically immortal, now, and we'll both have to keep up with the times every so often. If Meris swallowed her pride or her perceived age several times per century and pushed through multiple career changes, you can, too."
She leaned back against the counter. "At least let me pay the bills with a few more potentially world-ending catastrophes and a few thousand or so bad tattoos; I'm still getting a kick out of the really good ones. You told me you'd been a railroad tycoon, once. Any other weird career choices across History?"
The warthog smirked as he lit himself a Sobranie. "Been a male courtier in Louis XIV's court for a few years. Most incubi would probably kill for a body like this, but I was already long past my Horndog phase, as it were. I had research to run, France's coffers could afford me leeching on them for a decade or so, and the only tradeoff was that I had to pretend to make passionate love to men and women that had twice my assumed body's age and none of my grooming habits. Paris at the time was - ugh. I'd just rather not think about it. It's the smell, for the most part, and I'm in an anthro's body, now. That only amplifies the olfactive memory. I'm glad the French Revolution forced me to relocate."
Gremory had been observing this for a while, now, and then looked back to the roane that represented the young woman's core desires. "How's that feel?" he then asked her.
* * *
Travers' eyes flicked to Zahavi's hands, but he only added the slightest of smiles. "If I'd had any chance to terminate the Apostate, I already would've taken it," he said. "I'm capable, though not as favored by the Dark Mother as some others. Ironically, the last proponent for your deaths is now too weak to so much as manage a glove slap in the Black Speech. She still favors him, but She also senses the curse that was placed upon him. Debilitation made flesh, the shriveling of sinew and bone in ways too targeted and too precise to be the work of a quarrelsome Brother of Hers... You've probably heard the name Grishnakhal on the news, lately. Of chief interest to us is one of his former associates, the one they call Azorthagal, He Who Sendeth Plague and Malady..."
The smirk turned to a slight chuckle. "If Jonathan Chambers were here with us, you'd all be dead. So would I, I imagine. Her transports carry him, emotionally, and for one of us to be given to Her rage is a truly terrifying sight, indeed. Any time you earn is likely to be either the work of the Gentlemen, or of my own faction. Neither of our groups is given to the kind of blood-soaked rampage the emaciated lordling would love to visit upon you."
Paul set his cup down. "What I want, Abraham, is a gentleman's agreement. Leave my people be once you'll visit London for Azazel's induction, and let us be upon returning here. We won't interfere in Meris' plans and you might even find a few of our voices in the greater choir the one they call Penfield Hilliard will have assembled to raise New Dalarath out of the Atlantic. We're not as brazen as our predecessors or as foolish as those who would transact with the Celestials on some vague promise of restitution. Everything tends towards entropy, and on a sufficient timeline, every mortal and immortal alike share similar goals. Invariably, today's threats are tomorrow's inconsequential background players, and the day after's allies. Everything resolves itself - and we intend to provide enough chaos to keep the pond stirred. That was our sacred duty to the First Prophet, not some set of pie-in-the-sky attempts at annihilation."
He glanced outside. "We'd like it if you could refrain from assaulting Mister Chambers, during the ceremony, as well. He'll be recognizable enough, his name being atop Triton's Board of Directors. What better than the CFO of a megabillion empire on the lucrative cusp of complete dissolution and repayment to its creditors; when you're in need of management for blood-soaked and iron-scarred funds dating back to Hadrian's Wall?"
A shrug was added. "Of course, you'll be tempted to use the presented opportunity, and none of us would begrudge you for it. However, it'd be a shame to spoil such a momentous occasion with bloodshed. Young Azazel truly deserves better than the sight of his allies ripping a disabled cuttle's human mask in full view of the public."
Even though he wasn't actually beside Abraham, Nereus willed a sort of consensual hallucination into being through the Israelite's visual cortex, essentially projecting himself on the next bench over for Zahavi alone to see and hear. It would go down to Abraham being almost able to perceive his body heat as he leaned on the counter and made the stool creak under his weight. The illusory Nereus leaned in closer to Abraham, hands joined together on the counter.
"Keep him talking, ask questions. Charles and I need to spot his primary triggerman, and I'm not close enough to scan everyone in this diner at once."
It was at that moment that Three and Marius arrived, Travers also taking notice of the repurposed Alexandria Antiquities truck. "Ah," he lightly said, "the Pendragon reincarnated, if you believe some theorists of ours, and the wielder of the final weapon against Amaxi, almost fit to rid us of our charge..."
Abruptly enough, one of the children in the enthralled family sat off from the stall he shared with them and walked past Abraham and Travers with the kind of steely and determined face that didn't exactly suit a ten year-old. He padded out of the diner as Three left the vehicle and stopped a few feet past the door, seemingly ignoring Nereus and Charles. He also spoke in Demotic Egyptian, although unlike Sarah, it had no good reason to even be familiar with the language. This was likely a ploy to force Vlastos and Drake to pay attention.
"Things have been civil thus far, Librarian! The man who beckons me sees no need to further complicate matters, but we will employ self-defense if pressed. The Shadow Lord I speak for serves a cabal older than the Chamberlain's, freed of their fanaticism and foolhardiness-"
The Lexicon having translated for Aidan, the soldier settled with keeping his rifle pointed up, his posture looking distractingly laid-back, while his eyes remained flinty. He answered in Farsi. "Your kind can't agree on how to worship your own gods and you expect us to give you some leeway while you cower behind a child?!"
Aidan switched to the Black Speech. "Let him go, Prelate. Free his family."
The child turned thoughtful, its unusually darkened eyes gleaming with unnatural awareness. "Alright," it said.
Inside the diner, the entire family produced weapons from within their personal effects and placed the muzzles under their lower jaw.
The child and Travers spoke the same words. "I didn't want to come empty-handed, so I intercepted your invites for later. For those of you out in the parking, these are your RSVPs for Azazel's induction. You'll find them on the counter, next to my actual body. If I leave here unharmed, no innocents here need to be injured. Let me return to my car, and I'll give Nereus the priming phrase needed to break my yoke on them. He seems much more stable than when he first broke out, so I'd expect a full recovery on all fronts."
Three exhaled sharply. "Right, like we'll turn our backs on a diner packed with thralls for the Others you've kept under your sway for any goddamn length of time imaginable."
Both Travers and the child looked unperturbed. "Fine. We can resolve this your way and give reason to the same barbarous idiots you killed on the highway. You'll lose access to the ceremony - and to Azazel - and myself and Chambers will both be in a perfect position to poison the proceedings.
- That's if you survive," replied Three, his jaw tightening as he prepared to acquire his first target.
"There'll be others," replied the broker in the same casual tone, "but any Scorched Earth policy is going to cost you. You have suspicions concerning our plans for your former beloved, mister Drake," noted the disguised Squid. "What if I told you a few more deaths in my ranks could finally convince the remaining Houses to stop paying attention to the Speaker's ideas? It'd be a shame if you never could reclaim - or redeem - your one true love..."
-
TennyoCeres84
- Site Admin
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
Aspasia frowned. "What she's doing is honorable, more than any prestige demanded by the Fae courts," she mused with a sigh. The judgement toward Abigail and younger Fae brought her back to a dilemma that she would face during her own eventual Choosing.
Miranda tilted her head concernedly. "What's wrong, Mom?"
The older fauness smiled and shook her head, glancing over at the former Scapegoat. "I'm glad Azazel will find a new purpose in Queen Titania's court, but it just makes me think of my personal Choosing that's meant to happen. There's certain things that rankle my fur over expectations. I've resided in Urakawa-sama's household in the past, and I'm technically a Knight for the local Countess. I understand a seasonal balance needs to be maintained, but I'm reluctant to feel okay with those certain expectations."
The girl looked back at Abigail. "The Fae Courts sound kind of like a high school clique. Is that a fair comparison?" she asked.
While they were talking, Meris unassumingly entered the store and remained quiet as the fauns talked. She wore a sleeveless white linen tunic with with blue spirals embroidered on the neckline and bottom hem. A pair of close-fitting black jeans hugged her legs, while her feet were covered with strappy black sandals with a low heel.
***
Aislinn's core of desires hummed pleasantly and smiled. "That sounds like a nice life. I get bored when I'm not working toward something. Could be a tattoo or a new skill. Feel like the right balance for my life."
Miranda tilted her head concernedly. "What's wrong, Mom?"
The older fauness smiled and shook her head, glancing over at the former Scapegoat. "I'm glad Azazel will find a new purpose in Queen Titania's court, but it just makes me think of my personal Choosing that's meant to happen. There's certain things that rankle my fur over expectations. I've resided in Urakawa-sama's household in the past, and I'm technically a Knight for the local Countess. I understand a seasonal balance needs to be maintained, but I'm reluctant to feel okay with those certain expectations."
The girl looked back at Abigail. "The Fae Courts sound kind of like a high school clique. Is that a fair comparison?" she asked.
While they were talking, Meris unassumingly entered the store and remained quiet as the fauns talked. She wore a sleeveless white linen tunic with with blue spirals embroidered on the neckline and bottom hem. A pair of close-fitting black jeans hugged her legs, while her feet were covered with strappy black sandals with a low heel.
***
Aislinn's core of desires hummed pleasantly and smiled. "That sounds like a nice life. I get bored when I'm not working toward something. Could be a tattoo or a new skill. Feel like the right balance for my life."
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains
Abraham looked unfazed, though his eyes flicked to the side as Nereus' projection spoke. He wasn't sure half of what the man said was true, or even to be taken at face value, but even so, a few things stood out to him. "What was that about the Pendragon?" he asked, matching Travers' casual approach with his own. "That was the name of King Arthur's father in British mythology, was it not? And the wielder of the final weapon... you mean Vlastos?" Keep him talking, Nereus said. That should be easy, he struck Abraham as the sort of man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice.
In the parking lot, Marius regarded the child coolly, then slowly reached out and nudged Three's rifle up, toward the sky. "Take it easy, boy," he muttered quietly, "we don't know what the truth here is, just yet." He turned and looked down at the child, speaking to the controlling presence behind it. "Does this Shadow Lord have a name, sir? What happens if we let you all go?"
Charles, meanwhile, had grabbed a few tools from his truck and dropped a wink to Nereus, and was quietly moving from black car to black car, trusting his friends would keep the bad guys occupied while he made their escape that much harder. For some it was as easy as reaching under the wheel well and snipping a wire or two, others were a bit more secure and so he had to settle with letting air out of the tires. Naturally he had more permanent ways of disabling even a high-priced car, but such ways were either too loud or too time-consuming. He didn't have the reality-bending ease the others did with the Black Speech, but he did have well over a century's experience being subtle and sneaky, projecting an air of belonging that could fools others as completely as any stealth field.
In the parking lot, Marius regarded the child coolly, then slowly reached out and nudged Three's rifle up, toward the sky. "Take it easy, boy," he muttered quietly, "we don't know what the truth here is, just yet." He turned and looked down at the child, speaking to the controlling presence behind it. "Does this Shadow Lord have a name, sir? What happens if we let you all go?"
Charles, meanwhile, had grabbed a few tools from his truck and dropped a wink to Nereus, and was quietly moving from black car to black car, trusting his friends would keep the bad guys occupied while he made their escape that much harder. For some it was as easy as reaching under the wheel well and snipping a wire or two, others were a bit more secure and so he had to settle with letting air out of the tires. Naturally he had more permanent ways of disabling even a high-priced car, but such ways were either too loud or too time-consuming. He didn't have the reality-bending ease the others did with the Black Speech, but he did have well over a century's experience being subtle and sneaky, projecting an air of belonging that could fools others as completely as any stealth field.