Chapter VII - Healing Pains

This is what you came here for. Adventure, intrigue, murder, mystery and action - plus a healthy dose of boring everyday stuff. One continuous story-line, broken up into smaller themes for easier consumption.
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IamLEAM1983
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Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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June 6th, 2026, 8:45 AM

Aidan's morning alarm was cut short, finches and redbirds leaving his smartphone's speakers in place of a synthesized voice.

"Good morning, Aidan. Today is Saturday, June 6th, 2026. Partly cloudy weather is to be expected, with a minimum of 60 and a maximum of 83. I-2 index is 2.5, no unscheduled portals or Gates are expected. Today's RAI is measured at Low-to-Medium. Grounding jewellery or appropriately-warded clothing are advised. Capstone Industries' inauguration is scheduled for next week, the new dryad's unveiling is planned for this Tuesday, at 3:30 PM. Your schedule is currently clear. Here are the news, as read on WKHPL 85.6 FM, fifteen minutes ago."

Three worked his way out of bed as the news report unfolded. The I-2 Index referred to Intraplanar Interference, or the Planes' settling throes as the barriers between worlds settled in thier newfound permeability. Particularly sensitive individuals could now open barriers anywhere where some measure of significance could be observed, either personally or on the basis of folklore or myth. Like in the olden days, one now could feasibly circle the same tree clockwise enough times to leave the material plane and end up in Faerie. 2.5 as a measurement suggested nobody would noclip out of Earth today, at least not in Hope's immediate vicinity. The RAI, or Rogue Arcana Index, measured how out-of-control the local arcane field was. Things had gotten better now that Jack had learned to shoulder the weight of the city, but it was still high time for another dryad to be added. Old Hope's practitioners were few and far between, but Hope's Downtown area probably felt like the brain to Jack's distant metaphorical heart, demanding most of what the island had to offer.

Capstone Industries were Belial's boldfaced smirk to the world, as he'd not only cornered the post-merger market for supernatural weaponry, but also the need to circumscribe arcane fields like those created by Samoset's curse. Hope's own "siphoning plant" had carefully been working away at Buck Mansion's usual exuded pall of dread and misery, reaching out from across Sandhill and forcing the curse into a single, narrow and straight line. The "Black Line", as it was now called, was a thin strand that effectively cut the city in two, concentrating the curse in a very narrow band. Any building that was directly under the Line seemingly had the laws of probability skewed to favor irrepressible misery in the exact inch the Line covered. Cars that passed underneath it stopped working, complex machinery failed, and only boosters of a sort that had been installed by Hope's new Celestial neighbours managed to cut through it - turning it into a long, dotted strand of misery broken up by oases placed in order to protect most drivers, workers and pedestrians.

Providence had been re-inaugurated the week prior; a new city with old street names and a familiar grid. After some arguing in the Host, it was agreed that the East Coast had no need to suffer the sight of a permanent blight so close to one of its important battlefields. Gabriel had effectively copied an old trick from Faerie and had displaced the chunk of Heaven that served as the Providence, Rhode Island of its own formerly departed residents, and had allowed for it to be wedged into the material world. Celestial Command had left Hope, although traveling from one city to another only took one or two wing flaps, or perhaps a bit of Angel Time.

The month was shaping up to be one of inaugurations, new beginnings and various surprises, as Horatio also had a bit of an opening number planned for Horatio Ignatius Grimley's Dime Museum of the Strange and Bizarre, in a renovated quad that stood right next to Centennial Park's still-worked-on memorial to Sophia. The small campus contained an office building, the dime museum proper and a small stadium structured like a permanent big top. The Karthian-built rollercoaster had been inaugurated only the day before, the local Squids having opted to lend a hand by taking to some of Horatio's scattered and expensively-shipped amusement rides. What Marius had done to Magnus Tower's stairwells and elevator shafts, they did to the troupe's decaying carousel, tilt-a-whirl, dark ride and House of Mirrors.

However, Drake's virtual assistant had been kept in the dark regarding one crucial activity he'd planned for the day, going so far as to leave no trace of it on the team's timetable for the weekend. He'd taken the two days off and had lied about taking Sarah for a coaster ride, with Horatio's promise to lie convincingly - and now set about trying to put together clothes that would look as nondescript as possible.

He could only hope Marius had a change of clothes that screamed more Trucker Between Shifts and less Plurimillennial Vampire Currently Between Jobs...
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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While others were preparing for the return of a new dryad or preparing a surprise for a certain archmage, Aspasia had given herself two goals to focus on in the rebuilding of Hope. One was the reconstruction of The Last Round, as it was one of the community hotspots that maintained its relevance as a place to eat and gather for people from all walks of life. The other was to help Azazel get used to being around others and learning to trust himself to be around other people. It was an important part of tackling his curse and improving his overall state.

This progression had taken in baby steps, namely having him to warm up to the immediate circle in Shield. Miranda and Anjali being his tutors was a start. She would invite others over for movie nights to get him used to a handful of people at a time. His curse was a mountain that had to be chipped away at for the time being, until Titania and the others could give him a deeper purpose or role.

Today's attempt at socializing him involved having a simple get-together at the food court. The Fallen Faun had been making progress with being around those he knew, but being in a more open area with less known people at least seemed like the next test to assess the Fallen Faun's progress.

When he had first arrived at the Tower, basic ownership of belongings had been instilled in him rather quickly by giving him clothes that he could consider his, instead of the haphazard, piecemeal armor that had hung on his form previously. Miranda had gifted him a ring he could put on one of his horns if he had wished. Other items like books and pieces of furniture had been placed in his apartment, suited to his tastes. From what the older satyress had remembered, he had been gleeful at the concept once he gotten used to it and the idea of having his own home and privacy.

The former commander was broken out of her thoughts by her daughter. "Do you think he'll show up? We told him to be here at 9," MIranda observed.

"I hope he will be. It's one thing for him to join us in one of our apartments, but it's another for him to willingly come on his own to a more public area," Aspasia mused thoughtfully. "It's also a bit early, so he's still got some time to get down here."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Silas didn't have much to do with Obsidian Plaza and its food court, but the part of him that had undeniably been a short-order chef for the better part of the last hundred or so years couldn't keep itself from tracking the comings and goings of the customers around them - initially for anything that would've looked out of place, and a few minutes in, for botched orders he would've cinched with his eyes closed.

Magnus Tower didn't have restaurants of its own, but through its connection with Juno's shopping mall in Pandemonium, the city had access to a more comfortable space in which to browse or simply walk around. The first few times with the local walkers' club had needed some convincing, but the sight of walker and cane-using seniors strolling about in orderly groups was now commonplace. As some of them put it, you could almost think you were still in Hope if you squinted just right. In some ways, they technically were. The tower's portal, as it were, looked very much like a subway tunnel and opened straight onto Juno's sunken garden and sitting areas. Purgatory's new and permanent sunset cast reddish and golden light on luxurious tropical settings and made the garden's artificial waterfall glimmer, tiny facets of light playing onto the walls of the large walkways that surrounded the plaza. Juno had effectively updated the mall's content, but not its precise feel. Superstore chains that were defunct in the material plane seemingly were hale and hearty down here, leading to the odd sight of a Benny's store advertising Modern Looks for the Modern You. One of the models displayed looked like an unusually demure incubus, reddish skin accented with a decidedly contemporary pink blazer. The other one looked like a standard female human, with makeup and hair design that wouldn't have looked out of place a few months before the incursions.

Of course, fashion hadn't changed much, but the concept of your average customer had. Silas himself was of the more tolerant bunch, as could've been expected, and hadn't turned away new applications coming from former Pitspawn or from angels looking to blend in with the local masses. A ways away from Aspasia and the girls, a seventysomething biddy with an ostentatiously blinged-out cross pinned to her power suit's lapel pin jerked her arms away in disgust when a seemingly adolescent demon in food-court blues and a visor cap mumbled an apology to pick up her tray.

The lich took a sip of his coffee. He'd only packed his bone wand and had left his pistols at home for the sake of discretion, but still felt a tad self-conscious. Shopping malls still unnerved the part of him that felt exposed without the familiar weight of his duster or the half-conscious closeness of his own cooking nook, back at the Last Round. He'd settled for a no-name Egg McMuffin clone and had spent the meal's short shelf life discussing plans with Miranda and Anjali.

"If he shows up," he replied to Aspasia with a shrug, "good for him. I won't blame him if he doesn't, to be honest. I didn't like shopping malls when they were first inaugurated and I don't like 'em now, either. Too much AC, too much flim-flammery, not enough human warmth."

Anjali returned to their table with her second helping of breakfast, in the form of a chocolate-banana Belgian crèpe stuffed with cream and small fruits. She was still a far cry from Bucky's own eating habits, but seemed to have gained a more active metabolism than standard humans. The "soulborn" were still the object of tentative studies and Anjali herself had declined Hope General's request to keep her in observation for a week or two for the good of Science, stating that only "her people" had any right to figure this out. As there were more, now - and more trickled in when long-dead names and faces realized Heaven could be traded for an active return to their loved ones' side. Locally, George Gammell was almost beside himself with trepidation - his son had applied for re-manifestation.

"Are you sure you're still hungry, Angie, or is this your sweet tooth talking, hm?
- A bit of both," replied the young woman, stopping to cut herself a slice and shove it down her mouth as if she hadn't just had one rolled crèpe, before. "Dad's still helping me piece things together, but I think people like me sort of make deeper hooks into the mortal plane the more we experience, and it works on a smaller time-frame than demons or angels. The more we live, the stronger we get. Tests are showing we can take as much abuse as your usual strength-enhanced superhuman, without necessarily being stronger than a human."

She chased her bite down with some coffee of her own. "Trauma or success make us age. We don't change unless something important happens to us. The world ending would've changed anyone, so you can figure out how influential it was for me. We've got improved neuroplasticity over mundanes and our brains sort of want to stick to the norm for our bodies. If we change quickly, then our minds adapt just as fast. It doesn't make the loss of childhood any easier to swallow, but at least it means in the context of the world going Post-Apoc, I won't be a drag on anyone's resources. Twelve year-old Anjali would've sat in her room reading books and hoping her Dad doesn't get himself killed, but..."

She didn't finish. Obviously, Archie having changed bodies was a bit of a sour note for her, but bitterness left her features quickly. "Now, at least, I'm in a position to do something if he tries to do something chivalrous and stupid again."

Coach nodded. "And you still won't train under him?"

The girl grimaced lightly. "I don't know - Dad swashing buckles and acting all debonair while jack-knife-kicking insurgents from the Pit is his thing. I feel a little more in my element when I'm on a patrol with Crystal - she gets that I'm a little more direct than he is and it suits her wolf half, I think - but I mostly work with Al and Regis. They get that I'm more comfortable making an opening, wedging myself in it and keeping it open for everyone else - mostly with gunfire, plus the occasional punch or two."

The Holden girl smirked. "I'm basically a pint-sized Bucky, sans big bloody sword or massive hands. My buddies on the Soulborn BBS I use say there's a chance we might sprout powers, but I can't say that's likely as long as Jack's the only one keeping things in focus."

The lich grunted in thought. "Is that something you'd like?
- Having powers? Well, it'd be cool to sort of bring back the old Brit Metahuman Class generations after Sir Arrowhead," she joked, "but I'm more Eurotrash than Eton College, as things are. Blame Crystal and Andrea."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Aspasia frowned thoughtfully as she munched on the last of her eggs and took a sip of some milk, then swallowing. "It's your life, but I would approach the prospect of gaining powers in a "if it's meant to happen, it'll happen in its own time" way. Everything already develops for you at a rapid pace, then perhaps extra abilities should develop as they are needed rather than actively pursued."

"You've had more luck with dealing with conflict than in any superficial environment, from what you told me," Miranda mused.

The older Fauness nodded. "I have. Elder Protis' advice of "battle being my anvil" is something I understand better now. Whenever I fully reclaim my Wyldfae heritage, I'm hoping it's after you've reached majority and are on your own more, Mira. Having access to that fount of power isn't something I'm in a rush to acquire."

The teenager snarked, "I'm sure Grandfather is terribly upset that you weren't some horned, 80s' action flick chick with a bazooka."

A snort and a hearty chuckle left her lips, complemented by an enthusiastic roll of the eyes. "Grandfather, my ass. I'm sure he's skulked off somewhere to plot. He'll be back at some point."

Aspasia looked back to Anjali. "Back to the subject at hand, take things as they come. I think half of the problem with immortals or megalomaniacs causing trouble is that they don't feel satiated with the life they have. They gain something worthwhile, but then it's never good enough and they go off and do something extremely stupid."

"It's one thing to challenge yourself, but an active pursuit of something more can pave a dangerous path, especially if you think your actions are well-intended."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Anjali grinned between bites. "No worries, 'Spasia; I'm not about to go all Anakin Skywalker on you. I can't get past Dad's guard break techniques, so I have a hard time imagining myself with a lightsaber."

Coach clicked his nonexistent tongue. "Foil or rapier?
- A genuine-article eighteenth-century foil," the girl replied, rolling her eyes. "You know my father: if things are looking up, he got his tightest pants on and spends his afternoon skipping around the mansion's halls, looking for someone to throw a few a few lunges at him - at least until Crystal slaps a folder on his desk. Then he turns into Sherlock Holmes and voices all his thoughts aloud even though nobody's really listening. Everyone's either helping the newborns from the Pit settle into Earth life or dealing with everything else that's filled the Goat's void."

Scoffing a bit, the lich glanced about. "Like what?
- Eh, I guess you could start with Weasel Biggs more or less shaking Dad's hand after the amended Accords were signed and saying I guess we's goin' back to avoidin' each other, huh? and Dad throwing in a sardonic Don't do anything I wouldn't do, mister Biggs! knowing full well that we'd see cocaine shipments roll through port as soon as maritime corridors would reopen. A bunch of dragons died during the first big raids and the Quetzalcoatl mostly laid low around Mexico - now the survivors are trying to pick up the others' pieces."

She sniffed. "Oh, and uh, the new one-man vampire breed in town just warned us about an old vampire breed that left Torpor, thanks to the Pit's mucking about in the Chinese mainland. Prime Minister Li Si requested a translator and then practically drained him dry. He technically didn't violate the Accords since he'd asked for the interpreter's permission before pouncing and left the guy alive, but..."

Coach nodded. "The Jiangshi are looking to make a move, and that means competing interests will, too. Li's going to have a hard time of it - it's kind of hard to be the Prime Minister of anything when your ruling monarch died of mercury poisoning thousands of years ago. Plus, he's running up against a black hole of missing info that makes Azazel's settling-in feel like a cinch, in comparison. Azazel's pre-Biblical by just one or two generations, Li's dating back to 208 BC with no prior exposure to the Middle-Eastern or Western worlds."

Anjali cleared her plate. "I know, but Uncle Forsythe is still worried. He says Si was Qin Shihuangdi's occult right hand, more or less the supernatural arm of the Qin Dynasty - its own little Eldritch Gestapo. They way he's adapted... It goes against what he believes in. It's worse than what I ended up doing."

Silas glanced at his wife and sighed. "The Jiangshi are energy vampires. They've got fangs and they draw blood, but they're not driven by their own biology even if they're not clinically dead, like the Freaks or the Draugr. They don't absorb nutrients from a person's blood - they suck up a portion of that person's soul. Now, a handful of them are awake and active thanks to the ley lines realigning  over China - and one of them probably fluently speaks English and German, now. One of them is forcibly detained in Vienna and is using that to play catch-up, like Rhadamantus with books."

The lich then checked his watch. "Speaking of catching up, Azazel's running up against the limits of being fashionably late..."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Aspasia sighed and glanced at the wall clock. "We don't know if he's still in his apartment or somewhere along the way, working up the courage to meet us here. I suppose the thing to do is give him a call on the phone we gave him," she said.

Miranda clicked her tongue and frowned. "I'll call him." She pulled out her phone and dialed the number connected to his phone.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The phone rang a few times before being picked up, Obsidian Plaza's own din reaching Miranda's ear in an oddly recursive fashion. That meant he wasn't that far off.

"I'm almost there!" all but yelled Azazel, having been probably in a bit too much of a hurry to answer to properly position the phone next to his mouth. "I never came here before and I got lost! Tom's giving me the-"

He paused, turning away from his handset and quite audibly asked Tom what term he'd used. "He's making me run around!" he started, then catching himself. "No, I mean - he's giving me the run-around while I'm on my way! I haven't seen this many stalls together since..."

There came a clattering sound, Azazel muttering to himself in Aramaic as he picked up his cheap flip-phone from the ground. "Sorry, be right there! Bye!"

As per usual, his hanging up took a few seconds later, as he was heard struggling with the device for a few seconds before sound cut off. His speech had improved and seemed less halting or otherwise marked by trauma, and he was less prone to switching to some other dialect when upset or otherwise flustered. His curse being only repressed for now rather than fully lifted meant that he had to be careful around most electronic appliances, to the point where Silas had judged it wiser to opt for a prepaid flip-phone in the immediate. There'd be no browsing the Web or playing games for the former Scapegoat beyond classics like Snake or Texas Hold 'Em, but that wasn't his focus in the immediate. For now, Azazel spent most of his days either in tutoring with Miranda or Anjali or helped out at the public library where he'd already racked up an impressive tab's worth of late fees. At the rate things were going, the girls were quickly reaching the point where most of what they taught concerned either defense or practical applications, or just involved long hours spent retelling anecdotes that helped the Faun contextualize what he'd picked up elsewhere. He'd spent hours questioning Melmoth over Zoom and Archie in person, taking notes as if expecting an eventual test on the Director of Avarice's financial adventures or on Archie's influence on the modern day's sociopolitical climate.

A few moments later, a slightly disheveled-looking Faun with a patchy covering of dark fur and bowed legs more obvious than Aspasia's waved hi at the group, having thrown on a red tee-shirt under a light black cardigan, with custom-tailored black pants and booties designed to fit his hooves. The marks of his thousands of years of abuse were healing well enough and no longer seemed to hurt him, but they still looked quite fresh. Parts of the skin on his face looked disturbingly thin, not yet displaying the thickness and resilience of adult epidermis. He had similar patches of younger skin pretty much everywhere that had once been covered by his patchwork of armor or his manacles, evidence to what had been a serious case of chafing-induced rash. Accompanying him was the warthog, who still looked much the same as he'd had before the incursions. Silas thought his victor's glow was starting to outstay its welcome, but at the same time, if Tom Magnus could let his guard down, then it was sign enough that everyone else could, too.

"Sorry," said the Faun, smiling a bit sheepishly. "I wasn't sure if it was this food court or the one over by Circuit City. Then I thought it couldn't be, there's calculators and stuff in there and my curse sometimes leaks out a bit," he said, raising one of his ring-covered hands. "Most of everyone here's forgotten how to hex the seams of clothes, so that seemed like the safest bet."

The warthog smiled. "Right, of course - let's completely gloss over the fact that I just had to spend sixteen minutes navigating the mall while explaining things like virtualization containers and video memory from an Infernalist's perspective..."

He turned to Aspasia. "We'll need to let our friend here spend some time with Nami, one of those days. All I ever picked up is the one or two ways in which Arcane Forensics overlap with IT once in a blue moon, but Aislinn knows I couldn't be trusted with Club Ishtar's accounting and HR server to save our lives."

Tom hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I was just dropping him off, I need to head back. There's a few bartenders I need to interview..."

That made Coach frown slightly. "You're not staying behind the counter?
- I can't," replied the ungulate with a shrug and a smirk. "Some Pitspawn used their newfound independence to keep doing what they did during the war. Instead of doing it for Princes, they're doing it for themselves. Either I and a few other locals keep getting involved for a while longer or these skirmishes won't ever really end."

Silas nodded. "Being a signatory sure does come with provisos, huh?
- Well, I should've known they'd ask me to get involved, just like Meris is trying to help government officials the world over to deal with those Squids that abandon their roots and come forward."

The warthog clicked his tongue. "What we wouldn't do for democracy, huh?"

Coach allowed himself a few conciliatory chuckles and then sniffed a bit more sharply. "And Amenadiel?
- Still on the lam for now. That incriminates him, and the one spot we've got left to check is one that'll require a police warrant more than Celestial authority
- So he's still on Earth," noted the lich.

Magnus grimaced slightly as he looked away. "Eh, I didn't say he was, Silas. I said we'd need a warrant. There's a lot of places anyone could go to, to try and re-enter Heaven from the least-obvious place they can access. There's Armstrong Station, the Acidalia Planitia colonies, Paradise... Past that, if he re-enters the core of the Host and gets as functionally close to God proper as he can without losing his senses, we won't ever find him again. I'll start by visiting Belial and we'll see if our friend's negotiated passage for someplace that goes further than his habitual use of Angel Time allows."

Azazel took a seat and followed along. "Why couldn't Amenadiel just use Angel Time to go wherever he wants?"

Tom raised a finger. "Quick version, seeing as I have to jet: Angel Time is obvious, as far as the Universe is concerned. If Gabriel flits around Hope and Providence in the span of a few minutes, then, say, Matriel could pick it up and retrace the Archangel's movements. If all we've got to follow is the mundane trail of passenger or freight shuttle manifests, then Amenadiel won't break the proverbial surface and he won't attract Celestial attention."

Coach finished his coffee. "And now that Belial's exporting weaponry and engineering equipment, he's the rare case of a Pitspawn with an in with a mundane transport solution on top of extra-orbital contacts."

Smirking, Tom briefly grasped Silas' shoulder and lightly squeezed. "He's a smart one, Asp - a definitive keeper," he said, obviously joking.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Aspasia scoffed and smirked back. "Well, his keen smarts aren't the only reason he's a keeper, but thanks."

She then scratched the side of her nose and frowned down at her coffee. "If Amenadiel's on his way to Paradise, it'd be worth getting in touch with Tyler Renny and the Dusters. When the station's life support systems started going offline, a target was likely placed on any conspirator's back. The locals probably aren't forgiving of that, and with his nature, he might stick out somewhat."

"Why would he go somewhere where he's a bit like a fish out of water?" Miranda asked.

"A desperate, zealous angel is still desperate. Given Paradise's around 10 million strong, he could hide out for a little while among the human population. That's one place where you can have a warrant, but it doesn't really carry any weight to the residents who would also have no qualms of handing someone like him over."

"There's also the fact that tech there isn't as protected from angelic energies as it is somewhat from magical energies. That might make getting around there a difficult situation for Amenadiel."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Marius Vlastos had awoken at dawn, as he usually did, and went through his new morning routine. Write down his dreams, stretch and do the exercises and forms Long had taught him, argue with the Noise over a bloodbag. Strangely, treating it like a separate entity instead of a source of white noise helped him deal with, and he wondered why he had resisted the idea for so long.

Whatever. He and the Drake boy had an interesting meet-up planned for today, and if all went well they could close the book on another wretched chapter of this city's history. But first he had to dress appropriately, disdaining his usual Italian finery in favor of rather more working-class rags.

Hence his current predicament. An entire walk-in closet and not one pair of jeans! He was surprised to have a flannel shirt, but that was out of tune for the weather outside. And they were always telling him to dress more appropriately...

Crap, he'd have to go shopping. And he knew his usual places wouldn't work, their cover wouldn't last long if he was strutting around in brand new designer clothes no matter how well he picked them out. He shuddered at the thought of shopping second-hand, but it would have to be done. He made sure he had cash on hand and set out, walking and taking the various forms of public transit until he found a likely place.

Some minutes later he came back out, afraid to look at himself in a mirror. "I look like a hipster, probably," he muttered, tugging at the collar of the gently used! denim shirt he'd picked out. At least the boots fit, he thought, looking down at the sturdy steel-toed things as he wiggled his toes. He couldn't abide short sleeves; Drake would just have to deal with it. At least his fedora still fit the ensemble, those cowboy hats and ball caps were just...

Well, not really his thing. He'd seen actual truckers, most of them were complete slobs who wore what the company gave them.

He returned home to put his previous outfit away, then went back into the rush of public transit, soon arriving outside the Drake Household. Normally he'd do something petty and sneak up on Aidan, but it looked like the family was around. Best to mind himself. So, at muggle speed, he walked up to the door and rang the bell.

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

Elsewhere, on the outskirts of Hope, an older semi truck and a long flatbed trailer were finally coming home. "It's been a looong time a' comin'," the driver of the truck remarked, rolling the window down to breathe the air in. "Lookit that skyline, Abe, ain't changed a whit. That fuckin' city anyway, bet they'd nuke 'er 'n they'd still 'ave 'er all rebuilt 'fore Spring were out, eh?"

"If the reports were correct, the city was indeed nuked," the swarthy man in the passenger seat replied, his voice level and clear in contrast to the random hysteria of his boss. "The Black Goat spared little in his assault here..."

"Aye, an' it's thanks ter us 'at he couldn't spare n' more, eh?" Charles Jenkins shot back as he accelerated up the freeway, upshifting smoothly. "Fuck, it's been a long-ass goddamn time... Salzberg, th' Midwest, Seattle 'n Pasadena... We was all over th' place with our lil' guerilla war, weren't we?"

"We surely were." Chaos and warfare for months, just the way the two of them liked it. Abraham hid a yawn, then glanced back into the sleeper compartment. "Mister Thanos? Hope is in sight, if you would care to awaken..."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Coach glanced about, watching the other users of the food court go about their business. "Don't forget, hon, we're talking about someone who's been hiding from the Chamberlain and the Speaker behind what's probably the sturdiest Veil ever assembled, to the point where it worked down in the Darkhallow. Amenadiel might not be a Throne, but he's obviously proficient. I'm sure passing for mortal outside of Earth's gravity well is well within his capabilities," he said, sniffing.

As was typical with Azazel, his curiosity took things in another direction. "How do you handle vowels, mister Robertson?"

The suddenness of the question made the lich and warthog exchange a laugh. "Well, I'll leave you be, then," noted Tom. "Some of the people I've trained are still up Point Judith Road, canvassing the outline of this place, once it enters the physical plane. You picked a good time to shop around for his things, Juno's started to have things tied up and secured down," he noted, observing as a few uniform-clad demons picked up unused chairs and tables and neatly piled them up, using what looked like vaguely Eldritch ratchet straps to secure them.

Coach lifted two fingers to his hat's brim. "Don't pick one of the hornier types for the bar, Magnus; I'm not one for pregnant silences with a stranger that's serving me drinks!"

Laughing, Tom pulled out his phone as he walked away. "Good point! Be safe - I'll be over at the club conducting interviews, if you need me!"

Once he was a ways away, he dialed Aislinn's number, hoping that nobody had started using the club's Gate just yet. It was still early out and while he knew Aislinn was efficient, he assumed she wouldn't be up for a job interview while left alone with an unknown incubus... Once the warthog was out of earshot, Azazel repeated his question. Coach's lips left a ghostly imprint as he smirked, in response.

"I've still got all of my facial muscles, actually," he explained. "Well, technically. Via's running the show," he explained, encompassing his face with a hand gesture, "so it's all immaterial, but it's there. See? No lips in sight and I can still say baby, ladle or Aspasia," he explained, stressing the P in his wife's name. "If nothing accounted for the average human face, most liches couldn't make a sound beyond moans."

Azazel nodded. "But I just saw your lips, a second ago. I think I saw a bit of a mustache, too."

Silas nodded, shook his head and scoffed. "That happens, sometimes. Emotions bring things up front, sometimes. At others it's just physical strain. When I follow Asp on her morning runs, you can see my leg muscles under the denim.
- So what happens if a lich gets fat, then?"

Silas' eyelights twinkled and he gave his wife an amused look. "Well, I'd wager it means the skeleton starts to have a weird gait, when walking, since you can see more of it. Shirts with a wider opening settle lower - double chins and all - but you wouldn't see anything. It'd probably look like a normal skeleton stuck inside an oversized frame of via, with clothes stuck pressing against a whole lot of nothing an inch or so away from the bones."

Azazel made a face. "That'd be stupid.
- It wouldn't really help our kind's reputation, no," joked the gunslinger. "Luckily for me, my wife's a former soldier and I'm a coach driver. Our camping trips are a bit on the rough side - just ask Miranda."

Anjali smirked. "You guys forded rivers and stuff?
And stuff," nodded Silas. "All we need is a family-size pop-tent, a Sterno, a few lights... We pack dried pasta, fruits, and we've got a license for South Kingstown's hunting preserve. I wanted to take Asp away from all her Posthuman Jarhead conditioning, thinking it might help her reconnect. It's turned into a Robertson tradition, over the decades. In the aftermath of all this, it made for a nice break, last month.
- Regis should hear this," noted the girl, her interest having been piqued. She turned to Aspasia. "What'd you catch?"
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