Old World Blues

Anything you might want to try out that doesn't temporally or thematically fit the serial should go here. This is an ideal space for all your what-ifs and might-have-beens, as well as for your average silliness.
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Old World Blues

Post by Karl the Mad »

"Why should I care what the public thinks?" Marius retorted. "I don't answer to them. If I have to answer to anyone it's the Vienna Council, or Lilith." He looked away for a few moments. "Rendell can't be my only option. I want my memories back, and right now I can't think of anything else worth draining my bank accounts over."
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Re: Old World Blues

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Three crossed his arms in front of him. "You do answer to the public, Marius. You have since you appeared in front of the Vienna Council. Doctor Naxos testified in favor of your potential for rehabilitation, and your plans made the headlines. With your curse gone, everyone knows exactly how close you came to killing us all. The only reason you haven't been locked out of every potential business venture imaginable is the Council's assurance that while they might never get you to appreciate us, they might teach you there's more to gain out of working with us. Considering, my reservations about Rendell - or any other potential criminal  or legally grey avenues - stand."

He looked away in thought. "The only other options I can see would involve either you joining with a highly-trained Karthian in a Dominion; to see if there isn't a way for a third party to access what you personally can't. Either that, or we ask mister Rothchild and Tom to go on a deep dive along the threads that connect to yours in the Shadowlands. The deeper and further into the past they'd go, however, the more they'd only pull back fragmentary data. If Tom's been coaching me correctly, the only way to mitigate that would be for you to actually be in Alexandria while qualified instances take you on that deep dive. Small physical distances ensure optimal connections with the Shadowlands. Otherwise, etheric lag and garbled data has to be worked with."

The salesman looked confused. "Wait - the Afterlife has a latency?
- Correction," supplied Three, "limbo has a form of latency. It's a kind of ROM dump for everything that's ever happened or ever been, and connecting to a patch of the Shadowlands that's located in Egypt from Rhode Island is, well, ridiculously inefficient. It's doable, but then you have to be one heck of a Diviner - like mister Rothchild - to have a chance at making cogent details out."

The Drifter seemed intrigued. "Doesn't that more or less go with the Simulation Hypothesis?
- That's not exactly related to mister's Vlastos' problems, but yeah. A lot of modern Diviners are finding pointers to the idea of the Thrones being set variables influencing a procedural seed - Creation as we know it - and the basic laws of the Universe being akin to something like core programming. In that analogy, we're just software packets with three-way switches for the soul: one setting for mortal existence, one for Damnation, one for Ascension. Seeing as Creation makes up everything we know and feel, perceiving it as fake is kind of a waste of time. Baudrillard and Descartes can coexist, the Simulation doesn't necessarily have to be taken as a simulacra."
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Old World Blues

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"Tom Magnus has no reason to want to help me, and the Rothchilds are as likely to try and sabotage me as give any aid," Marius replied flatly. "And what's the public gonna do, anyway? Try and kill me?"

As he spoke those words, a couple new customers walked in. They were burly guys, and not exactly the usual sort of customer who came into a place like this, but they wandered apart to peruse the merchandise on display. Neither of them showed any obvious interest in the trio, and Marius didn't seem overly concerned, or even aware of their existence. "They couldn't kill me hard enough," he went on in a lower voice, as not to be overheard.
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Re: Old World Blues

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Drake rolled his eyes, something in his posture suggesting a maintained casual demeanor as well as acknowledgement of the other two visitors. Seeing as he'd placed his order and Marius wasn't buying anything, he stepped aside and lightly nudged Vlastos' chair to the right. Brief eye contact was made with one of the two men and a small nod was exchanged. Small civil courtesies in case they'd been waiting to speak to the salesman.

Vlastos would then sense Drake's presence doubling, the young man existing as both the person who stood nearby as a storage drone could be heard whirring about and picking boxes up from their shelves - and as a slight whisper in the back of his mind, unobtrusive but nonetheless still open for continued exchanges.

"Come on," he sent Marius, "you know as well as I do that Tom is a colleague of mine. If I couldn't stand your guts, I wouldn't be here. You did what you did because you were convinced you had your reasons, and Tom knows that as well as I do. You were wrong, but holding it against you isn't productive in the context of your rehab. I took time to go speak to other patients in Vienna, and you definitely weren't the only one with suicidal ideations of that magnitude. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but blowing up the world out of sheer resentment feels like it's on a list of the Vienna Council's classics."

Drake pretended to be absorbed in the inspection of a video card's flashy packaging, poorly-rendered waifu bait included. "You kicked our asses, we kicked yours. End of story, hatchet's buried."

There was a brief pause, followed by an odd addition, Drake's words were barely audible in the back of Vlastos' mind as what felt like a jarhead's life-preserving routine kicked in. "Five feet eight, six foot one. Humans. No olfactive or visual advantages. Both average two hundred pounds each. Some center-mass resistance, but easy headshots. The guy at my right could be stunned long enough for me to reach the front exit. Can't see the shipping exit from here. Lots of shelves. Decent temporary cover. Salesman mentioned Brenner - possible illegal Paradise ordnance out back. Current market's leaning on rail shotguns. Terrible range, a real horror show from up-close.

Can't see bulges in their clothes. Either they're not packing or they're using space-compression tech. The rightmost one's posture, closest to the front window - he's fought before. Calluses on his right hand, favors his right foot. Left calf is slightly smaller. Old leg injury. Prioritize left knee - should pop out of its socket with a kick. The one right next to me is on the leaner side. Less CQC, more MMA. No facial scars, so no boxing history. That rules out Krav Maga, Muay Thai..."

Marius would feel Drake's tactical rundown fade out of the back of spectrum of awareness and retreat to the privacy of the soldier's own mind. Vlastos' heightened senses would see that Aidan remained alert, but any mundane would have been convinced Holden Hall's point man was just looking for a new GPU to slot into his own personal rig. 
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Old World Blues

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"The worst part of it all was, I stopped having fun three hundred years ago," Marius sent back. "Blowing things up became a chore, and just between you and I... part of me's glad to be rid of it." Did he honestly feel that way at the time, or was it something more recent?

In any case, the vampire pretended to inspect another rig, although honestly his thoughts mirrored Drake's. He would wait for them to act first, though.

The two men had expected Vlastos to be alone, clearly, as they kept glancing at Three with vague disgruntlement. After a few silent minutes, the shorter one went to the salesman and made pointless small talk to distract him, while the taller approached Marius. But he didn't do more than clear his throat before the door burst open! "NOBODY FUCKIN' MOVE!" a scarred old blond man yelled, brandishing... his empty hands, making pistol gestures? "THIS IS A FUCKIN'- snrrrk" He couldn't get the rest out before doubling over in laughter, though. "Sup, Drakey," Charles Jenkins called out in between giggling gasps for breath. "Always wan'ed a' do 'at fer funsies!"

The man's flow was ruined, and he stepped away from Marius again, glaring at Jenkins as if sight alone could kill a man like him.
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Re: Old World Blues

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Three's bound pistols had shimmered to life in his hands, and he'd reflexively raised both barrels towards Jenkins. Tension left his face a split-second later, replaced by exasperation.

"Not while my badge is out, for God's sake!" he snapped, his voice low, as he holstered his firearms. "Look, if you're looking to tag along, at least wait until we leave. I'm just waiting for a confirmation or a pickup for Connor's specs. I can't goof off right now, I'm on the clock."

Sighing, he looked to the salesman. "Sorry about that. Old reflexes, I guess.
- It's fine. Fake stick-ups are part of basic Paradise customs, makes sure we're up to snuff for the Dusters, security-wise. Call it a fire drill or something."

He looked off to the side. "Last assembly bot's peeling the plastic off of the side panel's glass pane. Everything's tested and ready for Connor's OS of choice."

Drake's guns shimmered back out of view. "You do deliveries, or...?
- Nah, sorry. Either you ask your friend here to deadlift it with one hand for you, or you take your other buddy's gas-guzzler."

That left Three to look back to Marius. "Feel like helping me lug a full-size and fully-loaded ATX tower back to the Hall?"
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Old World Blues

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"I didn' know you was in 'ere 'till I was in 'ere too, bro, sorry," Charles insisted, still laughing. "I was tailin' them two pikers." And he pointed at the two guys, who still had yet to say anything meaningful. They glanced at each other and scowled, patience clearly wearing thin.

Marius looked at the tower, shrugged and reached out for it. "No big deal," he said as he tucked it under one arm and started for the door. But he was blocked by the two guys. Marius sighed and pinched his nose. "Gentleman, if you have something to s-"

"Shut up, fangs!" the taller of the two shouted, grabbing the box and throwing it to the floor. "You've got twenty-four hours to get the FUCK out of our country! Or, or we'll-"

"Or you'll what," Marius replied, stifling a yawn. "Try to kill me? You couldn't do it hard enough. These two tried and even they couldn't kill me hard enough." He waved casually at Drake and Jenkins.

"Yeah? Well we could sure kill them!" the man replied angrily. "Or that bozo back there!" and he waved at the salesman. "He don't belong here either, but at least he's a taxpayer!"

The vampire sighed. "Surely you know by now that seventy percent of my liquid assets were handed over to the World Bank to satisfy outstanding tax debts," he explained calmly. "I did this voluntarily, nine months ago, as a gesture of... something."

Charles stepped up beside Three. "These boy's 're Dixie Mafia, Drakey," he explained silently for Three's benefit. "Dunno 'o's got 'em all riled up, but they gots a rage-boner fer ol' Ferget-me-not there somethin' fierce!"
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Re: Old World Blues

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Three opted to try and refocus the goons' attention. 

"Hey, bozos. We're cops, and you just unseated a couple thousand bucks' worth of hardware from their motherboard. If that doesn't do it for you, try our being Summer Knights."

He took a step closer. "Back off, and I won't have the local Winter Lord's Wild Hunt on your asses by dinnertime. That kind of frostbite kills, fellas."

Seeing as Vernon Haskill and Eirean McHale had taken a more public turn in their relationship, that kind of administrative influence and flexibility being at the Hall's disposition made perfect sense.

Drake narrowed his eyes. "Now, what are you two Neanderthals doing up north?"
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Old World Blues

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The man just sneered, then shoved Three backward and stomped on the fallen computer. "Y'all can't threaten us with the Fae!" he yelled madly. "They's powerless here! And y'all can't sic the Hunt on all of us, you fucking sell-out!" He clearly had a this isn't going to plan! vibe going on. "Aw, fuck it."

He reached behind him, pulled out a large revolver and shot Charles Jenkins in the chest. "There's yer fuckin' Viet-nam, ya bastard!" he yelled, turning to aim at the shopkeeper. He fired, of course, but Vlastos was in front of the man before the bullet could touch him.

"How droll," he drawled out, dropping the bullet after having snatched it from the air. "Do something original, you Mason-Dixon fuckwits." The man just snarled and shot the rest of his bullets at the vampire, who didn't even bother catching them; they impacted his seemingly frail chest, seemed to melt into puddles of lead, and stuck to his clothes.

The other guy, meanwhile, was screaming into a walkie-talkie. ""It's fuckin' ON, y'all! Bring it on, BRING IT ALL ON!!"
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Re: Old World Blues

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It was Three's turn to snarl. The trashed computer shuddered, the graphics card and digital audio conversion card were seemingly raised out of the casing by his sheer will, and they surged at the two men's throats, drawing a tiny rivulet of blood for each.

"Make me dig deeper, you idiots," he seethed, charging his English words with the aggressive and world-altering charge of the Black Speech. They wouldn't be cognitively affected, but they'd certainly feel how Drake was bending not just gravity, but some measure of the store's greater adherence to Physics, to his will.

"I could make you fall towards the sky. You'd scream for miles."

Loose parts on the salesman's counter shuddered, and the Drifter felt the need to hang onto his countertop. His, Charles' and Marius' guts would faintly rise in their ribcages, as though gravity had slightly, almost imperceptibly been altered. Three then raised a hand, focused on Jenkins without taking his eyes off of the pair, and coaxed the spent bullet to leave his colleague the same way it had entered. He then Spoke to Charles' nervous system and overall consciousness.

"Wake up. You'll have time to regenerate later. I need backup."
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