Chapter V - Brimstone

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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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When John began his pitch toward the Archangel, Coach would recognize his wife's expression of Not this again... before it slipped into a cool gaze of her own.

She spoke evenly with a half-lidded gaze. "You should have included yet, Mr. Smith. Especially if the likes of Rupert Issacs are included in any potential projects. The man has a morality with the slipperiness of a greased wheel, and he's not the only sort out there. Pay enough to someone like that and then give them complete free reign, and you will be repeating history. We Chimeras were legally obligated to have our tissues harvested to produce the treasure trove of medical advancements from them in return for Goliath Corps's losses due to Ruthven and the damage we created. However, I don't think the angels or demons are obligated to do the same."

The super soldier paused for a moment when another aspect of the issue dawned on her. "Technically, God has the copyright to their genetic material, since they're two sides of the same coin. It may not even be readable by any current technology, and He could easily morph it without affecting their actual essence. And I don't think any amount of sitting down in a place of worship will persuade Him otherwise," she pointed out. "Why not offer your services without expecting it to increase Goliath Corps' earnings? It makes for better PR."

Abdiel then chose to chime in on the discussion, "Honestly, I'd be leery of exposing any scientists to Throne genetic strains; there's a reason we don't ever expose mortal minds to our true forms. I'd imagine it'd be the same for the rest of the higher Choirs as well; it's too volatile. Even in the event of social integration for angels and demons, it would likely be on a case by case basis if one of our numbers chose to give your company, if they did at all. And I'd have to agree with Mrs. Robertson's points; you garner more positive attention when you act altruistically."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Smith didn't seem entirely perturbed by Aspasia and Abdiel's refusal of his offer. He merely shrugged. "Be that as it may, I have generations of sponsored arcane and anthropological research suggesting that the undead's creation was a calculated decision. We also enjoy spinning the creation of anthros - of my own people - as an act of creative whimsy by the dragons. I've found enough to suggest our immortal friends had reasons to believe the mundane humans would be glad to have someone with superior abilities around, during civilization's infancy. If entire ethnic groups can arise from a need to further arm the weakest of us against some unperceived threat, I honestly don't see the harm in at least attempting to scry Celestial and Infernal genes using our own tools."

Gabriel opted to humor the mammoth. "Mister Smith, I'm an Archangel. I only look like a Caucasoid human of a certain age because I choose to. My own genes are like subatomic particles to a Void Weaver. I can mutate and change forms, and can do so in ways that completely circumvent natural laws. I don't have to worry about cancer cells forming out of my changing species and don't have to painfully shift material from one configuration to another."

A few seconds passed, and Gabriel's ear pinna were suddenly pointed. His jawline looked finer, his expression wrinkles looked more muted, and he now seemed to have something of a Summer Fae heritage.

"If I were pedantic, I could say the Host is comprised of Nietzschean creatures. We are Will to Power, and DNA isn't much more than a layer of interpretation or knobs on a switchboard. We have no common genetic core, no obvious markers for any traits of ours. We could even assemble perfectly functional human or anthro bodies for ourselves while omitting the HOX gene, the one that's responsible for limb disposition and organ placement in both humans and anthros. Clone this particular strand and you would obtain abortive tissue."

Again, without any visible transition, Gabriel transformed into his interpretation of a Blue Chimera, now looking like a would-be wizened former commander from one of Aspasia's fellow units. "We were made to be above natural laws, in order to better protect them. Theriomorphs like Aislinn are a careful combination of magic and specifically tailored mutant genes that allow thousands of complex structural changes to carry themselves out within microseconds of her pelt being shucked on. I fail to see how you find my wings or my immortality worth investigating when you're sitting right next to a woman who can warp her entire skeletal structure without breaking a single bone. That's without mentioning what happens to her brain, with location-based and size differences to consider in either human or seal forms. Jostle your average brain around the way her transformation does hers, and you'll end up with a seizure."

The mammoth clicked his tongue. "I find it disturbing to see how even supernaturals can't follow a simple conversation... Plans are laid out to make the Goat a mundane demon, and you never considered once that locking the Prince of Pride within human limitations would essentially turn him into a highly exploitable Warlock? There's also the small matter of him being your enemy. If you curse him to flesh, I can only assume he'll find some means to bleed, in future... Even then, don't think I can't bribe some of Chimera Row's orderlies to slip a few wispy clumps of hair in a plastic baggie while wearing Nitrile gloves."

He shrugged. "We're owed a peek, as we've been owed the right to understand this very world for ourselves, as mortals. Waving Celestial copyright as a defense is not only laughable - it's groundless."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Aspasia merely shot a look at Smith that was mostly exasperation and looked back at Gabriel. "You could resurrect Mary Shelley and have her beat a copy of Frankenstein, made out the universe's strongest metal, over his head, and he'll still be like this. Either you come to some sort of agreement in the meantime or we could be here for a while longer using up what valuable mortal time we have left to prepare before shit hits the fan."

Seeming to play as a mercurial sort of devil's advocate, Abdiel sighed. "The direction this conversation is going in, Gabriel, really isn't surprising. This is another part of the spectrum of mortal curiosity and innovation that always marveled you. It doesn't necessarily revolve around Da Vinci's inventions as the final outcome of those traits. And to be honest again, it shows that Mr. Smith is as ruthless as you have been in your gains to see Humanity reach its full potential. Another facet of this is if Mr. Smith uses underhanded and illegal means to attain demonic or angelic DNA, the Vienna Accords will catch up to him and Goliath Corps. He'll likely just maneuver his way through the court systems as he has done before when morally questionable issues arise, which has resulted in mostly beneficial events occurring."

"I would agree coming to some sort of temporary agreement between the two of you is the easiest and smoothest method of having this conference come to a close and move forward with our plans," the Throne opined.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Smith nodded at Abdiel. "It's always a pleasure to see supernaturals underlining the value of due process. I do agree, in that a compromise would be appreciated. My company has always respected high standards of privacy, and I don't intend to veer away from this fact with our new Celestial and Infernal neighbors. However, I would argue that there is no greater example of Eminent Domain status than angels and demons, owing to their widespread cultural presence. I don't intend to vivisect any of you. Furthermore, if my inquiries are as futile as Gabriel puts it, we'll know in short order. Gene sequencing won't reveal anything we don't already know, virtual body mapping won't trigger breakthroughs..."

He shrugged. "And so on. I see no cause for alarm here. The Archangel's defensive stance is proof enough that further research is needed."

Gabriel sighed and withdrew somewhere within, then coming out with a calculating look. "Humanity isn't ready for the kind of singularity that's looming over them, for what's already present on Earth in the shape of a scant few individuals whom I won't name. I allowed Tom Magnus' constructive exploiting of the planar merger for the sake of Progress, but I won't blow the doors open if I'm not sure we have guards posted, metaphorically speaking. One day, you'll find who I'm referring to. They'll show you their powers of their own free will. Until then, I'm willing to offer a guarantee. Not to you, mister Smith, but to one of your fellow patrons in the Sciences."

The mammoth nodded. "Fair enough. Who would this be?
- Queen Titania has sponsored a number of research chairs and programs, and we know she's come into possession of George Gammell's DNA," he said, glancing at Meris. "I offer a guarantee of safety and progress, the guarding of those scientists involved from any threats that could arise out of the blood of one of Amaxi's spawn, no matter how redeemed it might've been. You've seen us guard the universe on your scale, but you'll also find us between cellular membranes or orbiting around the tiny suns of subatomic particles."

He nodded. "To be clear, Heaven's backing ensures Titania's endeavors will be fruitful. The Promethean Order's clients will be uplifted to human genetic stability without sacrificing their uniqueness or the boons they might offer."

Three glanced at the anthro. "That seems fair to me. It's not Heaven or Hell's cornucopia, but it's a different kind of Horn of Plenty. Plus, imagine how pissed Amaxi would be that Her best shot at annihilation only ends up offering us more sustainable antibiotic courses or gene therapies."

From their screen, Akaios and Ahriman voiced their support of the idea. "I would not have allowed my Sammaelites to give of their flesh or blood," noted Ahriman. "We may be working towards redemption, we still are the Fallen. There is no telling what primal evil, what unspoken darkness, lies at the heart of what we are."

Akaios tossed his head to the side. "Plus, it's, y'know - illegal and kinda creepy. Hey, welcome to Earth, citizens o' Pandemonium! Now spit in this here Petri dish, will ya?"

The mammoth had rolled his eyes at Ahriman's statement, but his askance glance suggested he was willing to concede Akaios' point. "Feel free to consider me naive, but I firmly believe that few of us are inherently evil or even that much predisposed towards Good. The Goat is more misguided than fully motivated by nefarious intent.
- That's mighty Humanistic of you," complimented Raguel. "Problem is, Belphegor and I ain't human."

Sloth snorted. "I would contend that the State of Nature exists, but that we all here stand above Nature in our responsibilities toward it and our past attempts to influence mortals. I am Sloth because I am not mortal, Gabriel, just as your Progressive values are the result of your standing beyond time and mere mortal limitations alike. However, to come here is to experience this State of Nature for ourselves - to be open to change for the first time in long aeons..."

Three frowned. "I don't get it. Neither Aislinn or Neasa here were born neutral - they've had value systems drilled into them by their parents.
- But they could choose what to apply and what to discard," opposed the cat. "A luxury both the Blessed and the Damned have never had. Choice, mister Drake, is Humanity's state of grace. In staying here, I will ultimately give reason to Smith's assertions. I will no longer be Sloth. I will become... something else."

That made the soldier smirk. "A Philosophy teacher at the local campus, maybe?
- A very sleepy Philosophy teacher, yes," shot back Belphegor.

It was hard for Gabriel to stay particularly concerned. "I do miss our talks, old friend," he said, looking in Sloth's direction. Belphegor managed to have his chuckles echo as much kindness as annoyance. "I do not, honestly. You never could let your mind wander, Gabriel, or pick topics like apples out of a summer orchard. Being curious is more my cup of tea than being driven."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Aislinn scoffed amusedly. "Maybe once we're not involved in a life or death conflict, maybe you two could drop by Club Ishtar. While I doubt he can really get inebriated, maybe some drinks would loosen Gabriel's focus on ambition and you two could have a meandering conversation on whatever topics you like," she suggested

As for the agreement, Abdiel nodded affirmatively. "I believe that's a suitable compromise. It benefits Gammell's people, and ensures more security to the procedures that will take place," she noted.

Aspasia offered Belphegor and Raguel a thoughtful and amused, lop-sided smiled. "Perhaps you could consider yourselves as mortals who have had their telomeres expanded and added onto, like a car that's had fancier features added to it. That's why you can relate to the mortal condition, but you're also able to skip around through timelines but also live far longer than we can."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Belphegor shrugged. "Something tells me you'd appreciate Raguel's take on agelessness more than mine, honestly. I've never seen mortals freeze and expand moments of exquisite comfort. Very few have ever turned idleness into an art form."

He etched a smile at the Fauness. "I can see you gratefully crawling into bed at the end of it all, but I'm no fool. You would get that dreaded itch in the back of your brain, a few hours later, and then my offered comfort would become as a prison. My bliss would be your unending torture."

Three glanced at the sleeping demons. "So why do they look so comfy splayed beside you?
- They have nothing," explained the cat, raising his eyebrows. "Nothing but rest to live for. Human souls gone as demonic as the rest after Falling - but their wickedness is a gentle one, to a point. Sloth has no power if it does not seem inviting, after all. My Court has always been the most gentile and safest of all, honestly. My vassals might complain if forced to extend niceties, but my Vice means nothing without comfort. Only the truly Fallen lose all will to live and wallow in the simple comforts I provide. I've never been much of a constant tormentor, considering."

His eyes swerved to Meris behind the lowered eyelids. "I remember whispering to your Nereus, early in your conjugal mornings. What to do, I would ask him, confront the irritating and robe-wearing gnat of a vassal he was forced to keep in his palace's walls and perhaps etch some sort of forced respect? No, that would have required work. Basking in your love was much, much easier; and it made the early days of it all seem pleasantly productive, even if they had not been. And the Darkhallow, oh-ho, such a boon for someone such as myself! I could never enter it or otherwise tap in those lucid dreams of yours, but I could sense your rest. Your minds, loosely entangled like the limbs of sleeping lovers, Nereus' coil gone soft with the gentle caress of restoration, his weight like a bulwark, body heat like a furnace against the cavern's pervasive humidity..."

Sloth sighed. "I tried to extend your simple bliss outwards from the palace, to allow the occasional Arbiter and Prelate to rest as you did, for once. The Others turned what should have been gentle weaves and knits into night-long travails - believe me when I say I have scarcely hated anyone as much as I have Dar-Larath and Amaxi for turning pleasure into work."

Raguel seemed confused. "That's not exactly demonic...
- In a space like Dalarath," objected the cat, "spreading rest was as wicked an act as you could imagine. The dissenters were bolstered by the rare instance of a good night's rest - and so were the zealots. Plans formed between House Lulroth and the palace as nightrobes were shucked on, hope finding its kindling in the last few moments of conscious thought. Refreshed and alert limbs avoided daggers and knives, and rested Augurs recollected on lessons thought lost, in order to impart them out of love. Rest, young Guardian, was the kindling of revolution."

Belphegor then seemed struck by inspiration, and laboriously stood up to go and stand in front of Meris. Smirking enigmatically, he laid a hand on her shoulder, briefly bringing his fingers alongside her bicep. His fingers and palm were warm, warmer than the anthro's homeostasis would've allowed, but not uncomfortably so. He moved, repeating the process with every mortal in the room.

"A gift," he then said. "Exquisite rest to you all for this night - and this night alone. You will sleep as you've never slept before, as you haven't since the cradle. You will awaken sharp, loquacious, and brimming with potential. Unlike me, you will be free to act on it."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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The fauness, three selkies, and werewolf all gratefully eyed the demon, mildly surprised at his magnanimous gift. They each uttered their thanks to Belphegor and began to gather their belongings.

Meris still graciously eyed the obese cat and smiled. "I'm well aware of how restorative and invigorating a good night's rest can be for the mind, body, and soul. I also thank you for your efforts during my time in Dalarath. Even if our initial goals didn't come to fruition, it rooted Nereus and me in our relationship and sowed greater things that I hope will happen in the future."

Still functioning as a co-moderator for the assembly, Aspasia looked around and said, "Unless anybody has something else to add or say, I believe we are done with this meeting, and we can all head to our respective homes or headquarters to prepare for the coming conflict. I hope that this gathering can be an indicator of future collaborations for most, if not all, of the sides present here."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Things were being packed up that Three noticed how Belphegor and his cohorts had, fittingly enough, not moved a single muscle. The cat had gone back to his sectional, his throng of vassals had melted around him like pets cozying up to their owner, and his snores had gone up a notch. The soldier exchanged a look between Raguel and Tom, the warthog finally opting to lightly shake the possessed anthro's shoulder.

"You have to move, Bel," he said. "This isn't a B&B, it's a restaurant. If you aren't paying, you can't stay."

Half a long grunt and a low whine later, the cat stretched himself awake - or as close to it as he could manage, with eyes open under eyelids that looked to each weigh a ton. "This is why I stick to the Pit," he muttered. "One can hardly put their feet up without someone bringing up mortal rules. I don't exactly feel like leaving this body, either...
- So you didn't plan on a place to stay, did you?
- I thought about the Greenvale, but that would only work after the war. For now, I'm effectively homeless."

Tom sighed. "You can crash on one of my sectionals until 6:30 tonight. Unless the world blows up, we're open for business. Past that, it's my couch or you ask one of my own for a place to sleep. Plus, aren't you the one with relief efforts to plan out?"

The cat snorted noisily and tapped his right temple. "It's all planned out, my dear Warlock. In here.
- Well, there's a point where your plan needs to become real. You can't do that if you snooze through this world's last hours."

Sloth chuckled bitterly but once more managed to sit up. "I always hated common sense," he muttered, "as satisfying it might be. You can't have it and also spend a few millennia basking... God and Lucifer, do I so ever miss Iram..."

Standing up, he brought a hand to his face and spent a few moments rubbing his eyes and cheeks. That done, some semblance of energy seemed to have seeped into his features, his eyelids looking a bit less heavy. His vassals began to move as he did so, whining or moaning as they protested the end of their latest resting period.

"Alright, you lot," he said, "I need you to find discrete corners to leave these bodies behind. Go back to Hell, reach Pandemonium, and speak with Ahriman's healers. You're about to move more in the next several hours than you have in the past thousand years, and I won't suffer complaints, this time. I need you back here as capable physicians and healers, ready to bear arms if need be!"

One in the group looked like a seemingly exhausted old human woman. "Why can't we just spread your bliss to the Goat? He wouldn't be much of an issue if he slept as we do, would he?"

Belphegor recovered his metal quadruped cane - a leftover from the body's original owner - and placed a fair bit of his weight on it. "Pride's always valued productivity, daughter," he replied. "I might be able to rip a yawn or fluttering eyelids out of him, but putting him to sleep would be beyond my ken."

Three zipped up his coat and made his way to the exit. "Then keep that in the cards," he said. "We might need him distracted at some point. You'll need a coat, too - you can't just wander around as a diabetic anthro with a three-piece in the middle of December. Speaking of; start getting used to testing your blood sugar levels. You can't blend in if you snooze entire months away; you'll need insulin intake. Judging by the body's condition, we're talking regular doses."

Belphegor started to follow along. "If I regulate this body, rest will seem less appealing. That does not please me.
- Welcome to Earth," sighed Tom. "Population: a bunch of people who have no choice but to do stuff they hate doing to so much as survive."

The cat patted himself down once in front of Gabriel's limo and stopped at a slight bulge on the side of his waistline. "There is this object, like a metallic door against my side... What is it?"

Drake briefly eyed Meris, seeing as she was the next best thing to a nurse outside of Aspasia, and bent down to lift a corner of Belphegor's jacket. "Yeah," he said, "that'd be your insulin pump. It's a modern model, too. Near-complete implant, with a filling port for re-dosing. It's probably paired with discrete neural mods to display insulin levels in your field of view, as an alert."

Belphegor reached up and behind an ear, grunting as he did so, only to wince, grimace and immediately flick the same spot again. "The owner had muted these alerts, it seems. It would be why he died and what allowed this coil to come into my possession...
- So you're a functional hypoglycemic," noted Drake. "We need to get you some juice or a fruit. You'll have to get used to doing more than just noshing on food.
- Will I be awake?" the demon asked as he laboriously sat down and tried to make some space for the others. "Lucifer forbid it, will I be alert?"

Martin Loren clicked his tongue. "Within reason. A body this obese, with a chronic case of diabetes and several endured consequences already... If being as spry as a spring chicken seems bothersome to you, I doubt you should worry. Something tells me this man was sluggish even at his most lucid."

A rumbling noise in the cat's throat stood in for a sigh of relief.

In the meantime, Archie had stayed behind to thank Aspasia and Coach. "This has been of sort notice for all of us," he confessed, "but you've performed your duties admirably," he said, smiling. "I really should take to visiting this establishment more often..."

Silas had to chuckle at that. "Well, we gotta drop our findings off with the Rothchilds and check in with the City Records, but yeah, you should. I've been working on my bangers and mash," he said. "Classic airship skipper material."

The automaton placed a hand on his stomach. "Please don't tempt me, good sir. I fear I might find a way to make my gears and cogs gain a few pounds!"
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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"Well, depending on how things go within the next 24 hours and further, the Last Round might become a campsite again, like it did during the Battle of Hope. That could be a dish we serve to refugees," Aspasia answered, "After that, we'll be heading back to our home soon enough, just to make sure we have supplies for the time being and to check in with Mira and Ashley, our sitter. However, we'll need to follow up on those locations we saw on Arkham's map; with the upheaval that's about to happen, it might be a while before we can access records related to his project."

Neasa, Aislinn, and Meris had followed after Three. Upon hearing the need for fruit, the tallest selkie excused herself briefly and ventured back into the restaurant. "Aspasia, is there any fruit you could spare? We realized that Bel should probably have some."

Realizing it was for Belphegor's borrowed, hypoglycemic body, the fauness nodded to Neasa. "Sure, one sec," she responded, returning to the kitchen. Aspasia then returned with a fresh apple and an orange. "A couple left over from when we made wassail, on the house."

As she gave her the food items, she frowned thoughtfully as she recalled the cat's three piece suit. "I think we might also have a coat big enough in lost and found Bel could use. With his sluggish nature, he doesn't need to be made extra stiff from the cold." Another dash to their storage area, she came back with it and handed it to the younger woman.

Grateful for her perceptive nature, Neasa said her thanks and ventured back outside. "Here you go, Bel," she offered him the jacket and the two piece of fruit.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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On someone else, the cat's look would have appeared bleary-eyed and haggard. Going from functional somnambulism to suddenly decently opened eyes, however, was enough to sell Sloth's shock.

"My," he noted, "such kindness, extended towards a Prince of the Pit? My own wealth is worth naught in this place, and I've already promised ample rest to you all..."

He looked at the old coat and the fruits as though they were humbly offered raiments and kingly offerings. "I don't know what to say," he told Aspasia, jowls briefly working in bafflement.

Silas bent down in the car's doorframe and grinned. "Start by being true to your word. That'll be a big enough thank-you, considering."

The lich, however, seemed to latch onto something. "Speaking of, I get that you're looking to organize relief efforts, but what will you do if you're ever cornered?"

Sloth's snort seemed amused. "Remember," he said, raising an index finger as his eyelids drooped again, "Sloth moves, once cornered.
- Okay, sure, but Sloth moves how, exactly? You don't exactly look threatening."

Belphegor smiled enigmatically. "I've never been one to fly, honestly - even before Falling. I enjoy having some connection with the ground. Have you ever used your magic to jump so high as to clear skyscrapers, mister Robertson?"

Coach blinked, the cat producing another loud purr of obvious satisfaction. He reached out and patted the lich on the shoulder.

"Be well, mister Robertson. I will see you on the battlefield."

Gabriel slipped in the Humvee, stopping long enough to reassure Silas somewhat. "Belphegor's last big intrusion here was in 1963, in New York. He'd planned on spending months snoozing away in the Plaza, but an arm of Chicago's undead mob had different ideas for the place. The unlucky vampires eventually learned what it means to disturb Sloth... Story goes a young Stan Lee heard about the incident. A few months later, Marvel Comics had its Hulk. All that unspent energy has to go somewhere, right?"

Coach slid a disbelieving look towards the big cat, and then to Aspasia.

* * *

Across from the Greenvale and Centennial Park waited Greene Avenue, one of the city's oldest thoroughfares. Slicing through the heart of the city, Greene served as one of its many arteries and markers of gentrification. Most of the buildings there had either survived Elysium or had been renovated in painstaking detail. Some had been renovated, only to know a spotty record of habitation in the eighties and nineties. 3897 Greene was one such example, being a site that had seen many a historical event. The conclave that had fruitlessly debated over the need to imprison Nikolaas Buck, before the founder's demise, had assembled in the first building to have occupied this space. A blaze had taken it in 1799, something many locals had attributed to Samoset's vengeance. Arthur Holden and the East Coast's Ringleaders had used it to foment plans for a resistance against a thankfully short-lived schism in the Order of Saint George. Wenceslas Radovich had perished in the ensuing fight, a combination of religious zeal and supernatural powers tearing at the pale brownstone's three floors for close to two years, just before the end of the Silver Age. Good intentions and neglect finally carried 3897 Greene into the twenty-first century, as Matthias d'Aubignier first purchased it as his home, painstakingly renovated it - and then proved to never be around to use it. Being a Guildmate, a comparatively cheap subterranean condo near the Pedway made more sense on a budgetary level. As scatter-brained as his kin were known to be, the vampire scientist simply forgot to post it as being for sale, letting cobwebs and dust swallow otherwise excellent markers of good taste.

Three floors, six bedrooms, two leisure areas, one spacious office, an unused kitchen to kill for and an overgrown garden worthy of the Addamses. Horatio Grimley hadn't needed much in the way of cajoling to convince the Frenchman to part ways with his unused pied-à-terre - and it came complete with old bootlegger tunnels dating back to the heyday of Alphonse Biggs' own mentors. A saunter, a jig and some blueprints later, the local dryad had a decent scaffold of tunnels to expand outwards from, with plenty of structural markers for load-bearing areas existing for who knew where to look. The vine and root-laced tunnels, he left to the young couple's designs of fashioning bunkers and shelters. What really mattered to the addled Void Weaver was his centuries' worth of hard copy. His vaults, as he ostentatiously referred to them.

It wasn't often that you spotted the Grimley Circus' Ringleader without makeup, but that was only because Horatio's idea of casual wear was just as graven and a little loopy as you'd have expected. A little shade for the eye sockets, some wax for his aberration of a mustache, and a gray three-piece that would've been fashionable as of Chicago's World Fair had been shucked on, complete with a gray bowler hat. If you'd have told him he looked like a cross between Chtulhu and H.H. Holmes, he would've etched an overly dramatic sob. At the very least, he had no fears of being discovered, down there. He'd never bothered to hide, but he'd also always had spotlights and heavy makeup to blur out the impossible or the nightmarish. Underground, the lack of lens flares or garish makeup didn't matter. The clown he'd been for as long as he could clearly remember didn't need makeup in a place like this.

Plus, it was nice to finally have some outside company that was in on it.

As per usual and as of the past few weeks, he'd only needed to shuck on a felt overcoat to keep topside's chill away from his bones. As deep as Sophia had set her work, the winter cold wasn't much more than a constant pale of humidity - something you could easily stave off with the right clothing. From the bootlegger tunnels, it  was a short walk (or half of a Fred Astaire routine) to his vaults' doors. His reed cane having spent a few seconds poking at the dryad's deployed roots, he resumed his apparently carefree walk down to the tunnels' core, following the nature spirit's deployed fungal beacons. As he walked, he whistled one of Circus Contraption's more cheerfully dark pieces, features shifting as he wordlessly sang a madman's grim and wicked warnings to the corpse of a loved one. The song's bridge turned into a waltz-like hum as he approached the Tree's underside.

"Sophia? Sophia, my dear!" he called out, all sing-song and debonair, like a cartoon cat luring the mouse out. "At the risk of being painfully unfunny, I have to mention my vaults would appreciate going back to their roots, as it were. I'm glad the old thespian found these pre-Elysium bank vault doors for me to re-purpose, but these six-inch bolts don't find too much purchase in your soil... Either you add a few more tendrils to shore everything up, or my doorstep dramatically pancakes you, one of those days..."

He chuckled, briefly sounding like an overjoyed Wile E. Coyote from Chuck Jones' era. "I'll admit you'd make for a nice set of floorboards, but I'd miss your lovely countenance."

Arthur Holden came in from an adjacent tunnel, notepad in hand as he finished counting out his own contributions to the makeshift bunkers' reserves. "And they call me crazy," he said, "all because I have a yen for ventriloquism, voice acting and the latest bad guy's schadenfreude..."

Being a little less showy than Horatio, Art settled with a barrage of Dracula Emojis via SMS and a few lines of similarly Unicode-certified tiny Campbell's soup cans. The meaning was clear: the local vampires' safehouses had been stocked with non-perishables and water, as had been requested. Even the most water-averse of vampires had seen to it that they'd filled up their sometimes-unused bathtubs using rubber gloves.
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