Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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

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"Prior announcements are never unnecessary, young miss," noted Gubbin. "Except for targets, obviously - or food-to-be."

Bagley canted his head to the side. "I would call ahead, yes, lest you find yourselves flung into a bad Robert Louis Stevenson theatre production with no warning as to your dramatis personae. By the time you'll both have returned we should have prepared most of everything for Lord Haskill's planned gathering."

* * *

Lucky sent Hanako a split-second glance, only the spines along the back of his neck betraying that she'd managed to startle him. They bristled and then resettled, as if he'd expected someone to go for his throat and had that impression disproven in the same moment. Nerves of nanite-infused steel, that one...

Carrie, however, was impressed by Hanako's explainer. "Have you ever participated in the Wild Hunt, Lady Hanako?" she asked the Malk.

In the meantime, Nereus sent their room's door a bit of a tentative glance, and then glanced back to Aidan. The human smiled and etched a whooshing gesture. They might've been like small crabs stuck waiting for a squid's feelers, it didn't change the fact that they were safe, for the moment. For the sake of being polite, Nereus placed a hand on Meris' back and coughed slightly.

"Er - please excuse us. We've some preparations we'd like to take care of."

A few moments later, the couple retreated in their bedroom, Nereus grunting as he picked up a big Samsonite suitcase, tipped it to its side and then opened it. "I've had the suit shipped to my last drop-off point before Hope, behind two aliases," he explained. "Picking it up felt like I was the protagonist in a Robert Ludlum novel, code phrases and all."

One ripped-away tag on a USPS box and the rustling of silk paper later, Meris could see the neatly-folded copy of the suit Nereus had always worn in the Darkhallow; with the addition of fine silver threads that were almost completely invisible. The outer layer had protective wards laid out in her own native tongue, and the inner lining's gray silk was lined with symbols she wouldn't immediately recognize.

"I couldn't consistently contact the Gentlemen, so my own research into user-proofing the Black Speech likely created a bit of a dialectal split. I saw this as a weakness at first, and then realized keeping my own protective measures distinct would add another layer of difficulty for the Loyalists' own linguists and cryptographers. I haven't had time to excise the negative shadow of you I created in my own sanctum, so I eventually figured out how to repurpose it."

He scoffed lightly as he brushed the suit's gray inner lining with a few fingertips. "I might've made progress in recent years, I still didn't want to part with a working memory of you, no matter how much it didn't reflect who I knew you to be. So, I blinded my projection of you with what it wanted - or what I used to think you resented me for not cultivating. Past that, all I had to do was listen."

He switched to the selkie dialect, showing much-improved fricatives, compared from his other uses of Meris' own idiom from centuries ago. "The fool Chambers thinks I started Renewal to give into his plans of enslavement. The truth is I was the only one of us two who ever paid attention, when we solicited help from Tibetan abbots or Hindu swamis. I knew he'd try to destroy me, and I knew I needed as many tools as possible to stay grounded."

Silence settled in for a few seconds. "Self-compassion is surprisingly hard to hold on to, I've found. Even after rationalizing everything and finding all the evidence I could that pointed to your being safe."

* * *

"They will, if properly coerced," agreed the Speaker.

Bucky allowed a few moments of apparent satisfaction to settle in and then gave the vista an encompassing glance.

"You find me pleased. If this flesh of yours had been mine, you would even find me proud."

The pale Squid reacted by turning away for a moment and coughed nervously. In the back, the currently-silent Aatxe allowed himself a single eyebrow raise. With the Speaker looking away, Bucky gave the demon a quick look and a steadying gesture: he wasn't buttering the poor sod up for nothing. He then stepped closer to the body of Meris and Nereus' son and placed a hand on its shoulder.

"Some aspects of your plan will merit close scrutiny, but I am of the mind that the Dead Gods couldn't have asked for a better representative than one such as yourself."

And there it was - for just a split second; a look you might've associated with that denied child; a spark of vulnerability, followed by a slightly wavering in the Squid's sense of balance. Aatxe seemed to get what Bucky was driving at, and stepped forward under the appearance of wanting to help the Augur steady the Speaker. A large red mitt hooked the religious leader's right armpit, the Pride Knight's face came close -

And a nod was carefully offered to Fake Nereus. There was something there - if not a soul, then the tattered remnants of the connection between the body's original occupant and the flesh itself.

"Cuidado, milord," grumbled the demon. "Dalarath's stones are still moist on average."

The Speaker looked troubled, but not quite for the same reason. "T-Thank you. Emotional dregs from the soul I was allowed to displace. Pay no attention."

* * *

The lawyer and faun-like demon gabbed for a while, Nybbas alternating between taking a few steps and letting himself float along the ground.

"We're busy bees, Wormy - busy, busy, busy! The Vienna Council's asking for our input in a good three dozen former cases, Vassago's spying onto a good twenty-six favourable and unfavourable potential futures, and Agares has just as many variations on PR to work on. Nickar has to cover it all, so chances are he's planned for Jenkins here - and your kid, too."

Herbert rolled his eyes. "Why am I surprised? Word would travel fast in Solomon's Court, after all.
- Best service in all the planes!" snickered the protocol officer as theyno stopped in front of what looked like a cross between a stylist's workshop and a Pre-Christian Israelo-Palestinian temple, status of the Carthaginian goddess Tanit serving as mannequins. For a while, a few female and younger male demons that looked like relatives of Sariel's were the only souls they crossed, as sewing machines clattered and several mechanized weaving racks added their noise in the far back. The front of the soundscape was occupied by something energetic, pretentious and indubitably European, what probably felt like an EDM producer's winning shot at a Eurovision participation - and that seemed tailor-made for the sounds of clattering high heels and relentless camera shuttle clicks.

They found Nickar in front of a tailor's mannequin, one that curiously fit Charles' chest-to-groin proportions to a tee. A few gray swatches were thrown onto the object's mock-shoulders, and the beaked demon's maw was turned downwards in a moue of perennial dissatisfaction. In seeing the trio approach, he immediately locked eyes with Jenkins.

"Solomon's sodding beard, finally - no, we'll have none of this, come and stand in the light for me," the demon said, gripping Charles by the shoulders and moving him half a pace to the side. "Hrm; green-gold - like Starr's. Not enough sleep, seen a little too much - Vassago's off his rocker, we can't go with gray gingham. I'd sew herringbones on you and something tells me you'd try and make me eat my pins and staples..."

He smirked, in a way that might've almost been a come-on. "Can't complain about those proportions, though - guerilla warfare does suit some folk, eh? Sorry, I'm rambling - you try and maintain composure when your colleague isn't sure if you'll go for nine-millimetres, Uzis or just card deck-shaped Semtex charges you'll slip behind pillars - or whatever it is you could come up with as party favors for dolled-up immortal aristocrats..."

Herbert coughed. "I'd say morningstars and claymores would be more likely; this is London's Undercity, after all."

The beaked demon shrugged. "Guan dao. How would you handle Chinese swords, hm? Copper ones, that is - magicked away in the guests of honor's pompous First Dynasty frou-frou nonsense."

* * *

"I would, most certainly," replied Holden. "Don't be too hasty - I'll wait for your submission."

He sighed. "And I would have to ask how you feel about our paying you back in installments... I've tried to ask the Rothchild man to reconstitute every heirloom that was lost in the Hall's destruction and the world hasn't quite so recovered that my meagre English accounts are all retrievable - but there are still a few strings I may still pull. Especially here, in London. It'll be a while before I once again can garnish Aidan and the others' paychecks over the Holidays..."

There was a pause as Holden refocused. "Tom opted not to follow us, as you know. All the better, honestly. He may not be trustworthy, but I've seen his kind, Preston. He still cares, very much so - but is turning reckless. Careless towards himself and others. I've allowed his displays of largesse back when we needed an ace in the hole for Vlastos - but now?"

He sighed, the sound of it suggesting frustration. "It's unseemly, is what it is. And poor Aislinn; worry is doing her no good."

A few more seconds, and he then looked up. "There is also myself - or rather, my hardware. We've come here with a few precious assets, a fair few new friends - and something superceded my judgment, for one brief moment during the War. Something that I can feel... growing off of myself. I've asked Frank Brenner to review this armature's kernel, and there is the expected semi-autonomous mode in place, that shouldn't be much of a concern. It should get the body to its docking station or protect me if I am endangered - but the fact is it nearly killed Azazel."

He looked back to the rest of the group. "We're safe - it cannot be invoked on command and only responds to immediate threats my own training cannot account for; but if my eyes ever glow red... The best I can do on my own is run diagnostics and I'm still tackling the kernel's assembly language. It's a battle hard-fought for someone who's gone from Morse code to the world's shortest primer on HTML, and now some obscure fork of Python processed through Karthian scripting... I'd hoped you'd have brought some of your old hardware."

Followed a weak little chuckle. "From a hacker to an android's private physician... I do hope you're up to the challenge - or for the opportunity to poke at my wires and ports. I've already sent logs over to Paradise by laser ping, but I'd much rather go with a proverbial desk jockey I know well enough."

* * *

Sev obviously latched onto the offered rhetorical hand. "Why, yes - that was a little before my time, I'll admit - but the logs are familiar to me. From father to son, all three of us make it a point of pride to keep track of our more illustrious purchasers - er..."

And, as Vlastos had covered his acquisitions with groups and shells, the goblin realized only now that he didn't actually know which of the admittedly-murky legal bodies he could reference that happened to relate to the Alexandrian vampire. Consequently, the relative ignorance of his next question made sense.

"I trust we were helpful in your endeavors, at least?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Alex had initially thought of getting Gubbin or Bagley to contact Rothchild, but she mused that it would be better for the Squid to at least have an idea of who would be coming to his home. After getting his number, she indicated to Vernon that she would talk to him while they headed to his house.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the provided number.

***

Even with Lucky's brief moment of being startled, Hanako paid him no mind and nodded to Carrie. "I have been in the Wild Hunt, a few hundred years ago. There was a brief time that some of the Mab Loyalists thought it was a good idea to try their hand in making a one-time deal with Belial. The situation was bad enough that it called in the Oberon at that time to the Eien-no-Yuki region. It was also bad enough that Heaven opted to send Matriel out on assignment. This led to us eventually meeting after I found him injured during a scouting mission," she explained, gesturing to the angel.

In typical Malk fashion, Hanako chose to keep the details of their eventual courtship close to the vest.

"It was a small taste of the incursions in the snowy forests and mountains I roamed as a youth, so you can imagine I was rightfully enraged at the Kori Clan's foolhardy plot to win Mab's favor. Belial thought he'd be able to get Fae-forged metals he could use for his products in return for helping the Kori Clan, similar to how he thought he could seize Joyful Death from young Miranda."

"There was much battlelust to be had by my kin and me as we rent flesh, horns, and tails, albeit we did have to avoid the infernal-based iron weapons Belial had prepared. We also had to be careful not to ingest demonic flesh, given with how much of a taint that sort of meat carries."

Meanwhile, Meris reassuringly placed a hand on the one that traced the suit jacket's gray lining. "I know you certainly had a difficult time during my absence, but you still retained your inner strength in the face of those uncertainties. You've outwitted Chambers despite the threats and subterfuge he's done to keep us apart and become more mentally agile and adaptive because of it," she said in the same tongue, admiring the inner embroidery.

Pulling the box Nickar had given her out of her own suitcase, she laid it on the bed and removed the tape and pulling the lid off, curious to see what the tailor had made for her.

***

Fake Meris approached her "son" with a casual enough demeanor. "Every being has their slips, their vulnerabilities. It's par for the course when souls have to adjust to the leftovers of the former one," she addressed, canting her head in a strangely maternal manner.

"It's best to acknowledge these moments and then left them drift away like a cloud," she explained. "They're fleeting thoughts, nothing more."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Preston stared at Archie for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden show of trust. "I'm not sure I-" He cut himself off, looking for the words. "I, I mean... software? Not hardware? Might check chopper."

They had left in a hurry, if he had brought anything it'd be by accident. Or maybe if enough of the bird was intact he could interface the clank's drives with the onboard computer? Those old Marine systems were built pretty tough.

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

"You certainly were," Marius replied, tapping the side of his nose and winking. "It's weird that we never met in person before now, usually I like to meet my financiers in person. Even back then..."

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

Charles could only shake his head. "I'm a khaki kinda fella, honestly," he offered. At the question of swords he frowned in thought. "Guandao's like a spear, yeah? Curved tip? I'd prolly use it like a big ol' pole-axe."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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It took a little while, but the man who answered didn't quite fit the stories Alex would've picked up. Lucian Rothchild was now known as one of the city's incorruptible few, an out-and-proud Void Weaver representing his species' true heritage, one of the few empowered guardians of Reality as most knew it - and an almost-flawless gentleman. Whoever was on the phone felt like they were anything but.

"Y-ello, Stuck-up Reality Benders Incorporated, how can I help you?"

The voice was low and a bit hoarse, carrying a strange sort of accent that borrowed from across the pond in a fair few places, but it also felt like something that could've come out of someone's wider vocal registry. Vernon didn't speak aloud so as to lack manners while his daughter was on the phone, but he still mouthed the word Billy to her - for Charles Wynn's alter ego.

* * *

Carrie slid a look between Hanako and the angel. "Were demons involved?" she asked the Throne. "Gabriel allowed me to catch up on what would be relevant to our group and didn't want me to eavesdrop, but I have a hard time imagining standard Fae putting the Water Throne down."

Three didn't speak, but something in the look he sent Hanako made it obvious he had his own opinion. If Belial had been involved, it wouldn't have been a stretch to imagine he could've swayed a few Infernalists tangential to the Urakawas' demesne into lending a hand in the attack, thereby justifying Matriel's involvement and explaining the concept of his being injured.

Of that opinion, he settled with the most obvious aspect. "I doubt Belial would've tried to bolster your opposing force directly; what we've been able to see of his operation felt very corporate. Calculated."

That seemed enough for him to add a smile. "I don't think Malks could've asked for a better foe. You're a chessmaster in your own right, Lady Hanako."

* * *

Nereus remained silent for a while, simply drinking Meris' words as he settled behind her, allowed himself to place one hand against her waist and set his tentacles to drape over her shoulder as he joined her, looking down onto the dress being unveiled.

Nickar didn't quite have the same sensibilities as the Weaver family's maiden, lying a fair bit closer to the idea of a rockstar designer. The cocktail dress had bold curves and slightly showy shoulder ornaments, along with a leg slit that would probably shock a fair few monocle-wearing Fae aristocrats downstairs, even as it deftly evoked the natural slit of a selkie's seal skin.

Ignorant observers would've been horrified at first glance, as it did initially look like Nickar had contorted a seal skin into the shape and frame of a more flamboyant velour-covered pencil dress. However, closer observation would expose hues of green and copper that came in and out of view as the dress caught the ambient light, giving the downy grey base coat an aura of power and mystery. The base velvet had been carefully dyed in order to evoke a seal's pelt and included a shoulder clasp fashioned out of black glass that looked almost exactly like a seal's eye. The dress looked rather simple from out front, but any oblique glance revealed glimmering symbols lifted from several sources, from the Orkneys' ogham syntax to Latin phrasal constructions typical of warding spells, to the occasional veve glyph and fragments of Enochian script - even the Black Speech's sanitized version was featured along the hem, suggesting a formal and humble greeting and promise of peace that could've only come from one source.

Nereus smirked over her shoulder. "I'll admit you've been a better student than I, all those years ago. Once I learned of your return and of what you'd become, I knew I had to make some sort of gesture. Summoning Nickar in preparation for this took me three weeks, and I had to do it hidden in my bathroom, in the bunker Chambers and I shared."

He scoffed lightly. "In the end, he told me my intent had impressed him enough to overlook my lack of talent. He still was gracious enough to accept my apology."

His scoff turned to a chuckle. "I knew you'd likely made some odd friends over the centuries, but I had no idea you'd end up with such a diva."

* * *

Again, there was the sense that something outside of the Speaker's control wanted to agree with Neasa, something which he pushed back relentlessly. Something that, likely, wouldn't come out without the added benefit of the body's missing soul.

"Your reassurance is most welcome, Consort, but unnecessary. I've dealt with such intrusive thoughts since the Many-Armed deigned to allow to return me to sapience in this body."

Strangely, Aatxe broke from his Silent Bruiser routine. "Strategic concerns would demand that we know of your origins, wraith - if contingencies are ever required in order to safeguard your place in this flesh."

The Speaker gave the demon a measured look and then refocused on Fake Meris. "I am Nikolaas Buck reborn, plucked from the fires of Hell long before the Lower Plane's reinvention by Lucifer Lightbringer. The current Chamberlain deemed that the spawn of the Augur of Dalarath and Meris the Consort may have been tainted by her influence. His soul was cast out, still unformed, to the Darkhallow."

Fake Nereus furrowed his brow. "Did you track him down?
- Pardon, Your Eminence?
- The weak soul, Speaker. Did you track it down?"

The Speaker shrugged. "You should ask the Chamberlain, perhaps he-"

Nereus took it as a good chance to assert their roles and took a step forward. "Consider yourself lucky I haven't torn your dubious mind asunder, Dutchman - the Darkhallow is far from being the death trap many zealots assume it to be. If my son's native mind could have survived - or even thrived - without the fetters of the flesh..."

The pale Squid suddenly looked very concerned. "Surely you're not suggesting that-
- The entity the Resistance calls the Curator has been eluding you for centuries, and its emergence lines up with this body's birth," Fake Nereus said, marking his last three words by poking the Speaker's flesh with an index finger. "Freed from the constraints of Time, my son's incumbent mind could have matured into one of our greatest foes - and you dismissed him for an urban legend fit for snoozing archivists mistaking the Black Library for the reality of our plight!"

The whiplash from Fake Meris' encouragement to Fake Nereus' scolding looked to be a bit much for Buck to process, but it was in line with Dalarath's typically dysfunctional ideas regarding politics. As for Bucky or Neasa endangering their dream-based man on the inside, it stood to reason he'd be able to handle a bit of added scrutiny...

* * *

Archie looked like he knew his request was a bit last-minute, especially considering how Preston didn't have the proper tools for it. "I know it isn't exactly right of me to ask this of you in our current predicament, but I've already forwarded log files to specialists referred to me by our Governor, whom we've met a few times before. Caliban Smith assures me that Paradise's engineers are best-suited to look at the code for an Alkaev armature like mine, as I didn't want to make my concerns public. If I did, Anastasius Romanov would have surely dropped by my front porch, feeling the need to dramatically weep for forgiveness in the name of his fellow Karthian brethren...

He sighed and made a tongue-clicking noise. "I'm looking for a software-based first opinion, mostly. I'd ask the Masterson fellow, if he's still in Hope, for any physical concerns - but this isn't it. The body is doing quite well and still performs above my expectations - but operating it knowing there is an overprotective ghost of sorts ready to jump out at the first sign of duress does not appease me. I won't be telling you anything new if I mention that I am expecting some form of theatrical display, during the ceremony. A new vampire breed using this event to hobnob, the Quetzalcoatl surely taking note of our absence while their figurehead strenghtens his connections with Hope's underground and the drug market, and all the warnings related to the Void Weavers that we've been given of late... Yes, something is bound to happen."

A short and sardonic chuckle was added. "As your own jaunt obviously proves, of course. For your sake, I'll pray that your next ride is as boring and uneventful as possible, dear boy."

He then refocused on his request. "All I'm asking for is a first attempt. If you find nothing or there is no way for me to interface with the copter's computer with your help, then you will have my thanks nevertheless - and fair compensation. I insist on this particular point."

* * *

Sev shrugged and gestured airily. "Vienna Accords or not, those of us who tend to spend most of our lives on the other side of most Gates don't really like to announce ourselves, you see. Deal with the Fae or their cultural dependents long enough and you're always shaking hands with a retainer's retainer or the envoy of an emissary. I doubt you'll remember mine, I keep a hand in the mundane banking pool and pull out the occasional barrister or notary public, send them out with a letter of marque with my Lord's insignia ratifying my intent."

Sedgewick was lucky to have focused on Marius, others clearly would've found his comments to be worthy of a hard shove or at least a solid glare. "I'm sure you're familiar with the old rigamarole still, hm? My people meet your people, they have a lavish little luncheon on our expense accounts, money changes hands, and it's all just mortals and mundanes meeting their comrades, from the greater world's point of view. The real people in charge stay out of sight, as is our prerogative. We have people for deliverables, people for active persuasion and people for deterrence, so on and so forth..."

* * *

Nickar sniffed. "You'd think so; except the place is likely to be as packed as a chickpea salad. I'd tell you to watch out for Guandao being used against you, instead - and to prepare accordingly. The Jiangshi are our concern, everyone else is going to default to swords, for the most part. If anyone uses guns, it'll be Paul Travers' little motley crew - the bullet-bending ingrates..."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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While briefly surprised by the unexpected voice, the tree spirit took note of Vernon's mouthed indication of who she was speaking with. Given that speaking formally would've only reinforced his possible perception of her being stuck-up, she opted to keep things casual.

"Hi, this is Alex, the new dryad. I'm coming by to do some consulting about mundane and arcane matters. A little birdie told me I'm speaking with Billy. Is Lucien also around? I'd like to talk with you both."

To Billy, her voice vaguely resembled Sophia's, but it also sounded younger, like a teenager's. A teenager who had been given a heap of responsibilities in a short amount of time. The accent carried some of Eirean and Vernon's accents, albeit smoothed by the former's American influence.

She figured her request was pretty random, but she was also uncertain about how all of this would go.

***

Hanako nodded her head graciously and continued, "Belial was never there himself. Our intel informed us that Kori clan had contacted some onmyoji who had fallen out of favor in the mortal courts, and by extension, they used their ties to Belial to coordinate the attacks, which included yokai who were Damned at some point in the past. Oni, some tengu, and your standard demons."

Matriel frowned in his recollections and sighed. "I was struck by some infernal cannon Belial had designed, and the "cannonballs" were temporarily held together with hellfire in a sort of congealed state. It allowed the shrapnel to become lodged in my skin and not outright kill me. Enough to incapacitate me for the pawns to carry out their tasks," he stated.

"As far as we know, the artillery wasn't stable enough or cost efficient for him to keep around. This was actually before a monk had brought the concept of cannons over from China to Japan, so Belial was looking ahead and using the situation as a test run. If he had realized I would be injured, he knew I'd be able to recover from it. Having water vanish would be a major blow for a smith of any kind."

The nekomata looked from her husband with a miffed expression, likely due to the whole scenario. "In any regard, the higher-ups in Faerie and Hell follow the same principle of sending out their underlings to do their bidding. Some in more aggressive ways, and others in more... tedious ways," using her eyes in a gesturing motion to indicate the goblin speaking with Vlastos.

***

As Meris unwrapped the package, her eyes widened with amazement as she ran her fingers over the velvety fabric. She lightly traced over some of the marks imprinted into the fabric.

Regarding his commentary on Nickar, she lightly chuckled and smirked. "Well, it's not surprising. I think you have to be that way at least to some degree, what with all the competition in the fashion world. Also, his previous patron was The Goat, who'd have him alter the same clothes over and over again for centuries. You'd need that diva attitude to create a buffer for someone as insufferable as him!"

She nodded approvingly and smiled up at Nereus. "This will keep me well protected, but in a more subtle way. The fuddie-duddies in the crowd will be too flustered to notice its intricacies."

She lightly pecked one of the tendrils hanging down her shoulders. "Thank you for this, Nereus. I know it was a risk with a micro manager like Chambers. I'm sure there's only so many bathroom excuses you could've given him while you were preparing to summon Nickar," she said with another chuckle.

***

Relieved to see the shift in approach, Fake Meris added to the emotional whiplash. She gracefully approached Fake Nereus and the Speaker, her shoes harshly clacking against the moist stone ground, like a metronome keeping time.

Any encouragement having now left her features, the selkie loomed toward him and steepled her hands together. "Now that you're aware of the issue, what are you going to do about it? As they say, time waits for no one."

"Instead of floundering about how to stop the weak soul, what will your next course of action be? You need to be precise with your plans, so that you'll thwart this threat to our plans while you can, if it's not already too late."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Preston nodded thoughtfully, then smirked. "Do my best," he replied, gesturing for Archie to follow him. He slipped out of the hall and went back to the landing pad, hoping the lackeys hadn't carted off the fuselage and instruments of his poor downed bird. If that was still there he could get to work jury-rigging an interface for Archie's request.

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

"Sounds about right," Marius agreed. "I have to be a bit more hands-on these days than I was before, of course, but I still have People."

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

"So I'm gonna need armor fer blades, a' least," Charles summarized, "'n maybe a coupla sneaky blades a' me own, Kenway-style." A reference to Edward Kenway of the Assassin's Creed games, obviously.

That put a smirk on his face. "Speakin' of, it prolly ain't yer usual thing, but ya got anyfin'... flashy? If we're gonna go Kenway-style, might as well go all out!"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Billy's tone spoke of extreme interest, but phrased in a dangerously playful manner. "A new dryad, eh? Well, you know what they say - what goes around comes around and Sophia..."

He chuckled meanly. "Boy, did she go around, or what. I might've been a desperate shot at diversion from a terminally deranged cephalopod, even I found wanton chaos boring, after a while..."

The rhino sounded like he could've kept going, but Lucian was heard in the back trying to ask for a reasonable outcome in as sedate a selection of terms as possible. His voice was drowned out by Billy, with a groan.

"Good God, man - you'd think a guy isn't allowed to make introductions in this household! If you're that convinced I was almost off to hook up with someone, well, you're right, but I'll do you a solid and stick around until Scrooge and the new kid scarper, alright? Restraints included."

Lucian had many qualities, but he was still a bit old-fashioned, in some respects. His tentacles were probably twitching with rising annoyance, and he sounded like he'd drawn himself up, straightened his back in a very recognizable Victorian holdover.

"Charles is a married man, William; I've already had to field several explanations for Astra, and none of them dampen the fact that for her, this feels like cheating!"

Billy groaned again. "See what I'm dealing with, here? See?! Here, tell you what - drag your butts on over and we'll help each other out, okay? Lucian'll get to save the world or to help you do it like he usually does, and I might get it through his suprisingly thick skull for a Squid that I am not Charlie Wynn."

* * *

Aidan tried to avoid making his empathy for Marius too obvious - self-important dullards were probably a drain on anyone at any age, mortal or otherwise. Carrie, however, didn't seem to care for subtlety in the moment.

"It's just the way of the world, honestly," she said. "Not everyone takes to power sanely, Squids or vampires not required. Some people just wear it on their skin like a cheap dollar-store Halloween costume."

She repositioned herself carefully, neither standing right next to Hanako nor exposing their little conversational pod to Sev or Marius. She then glanced at Eirean. "The Sedgewicks - you said they're old money?
- For goblins, yes," conceded the Summer Lady. "Sev Senior practically burst out of the woodwork shortly after London's Great Fire, and he first made his fortune out of packaging out via for deferred use in curative spells. The fire, the city's cholera outbreak during and after World War One..."

She contemplated Sev Junior as he gabbed away with the vampire. "He's almost always been in the right place and the right time needed to make saved-up magic seem like a good idea."

* * *

Creases of amusement formed at the corners of Nereus' eyes. "You forget what I'm capable of, love. As much as I loathe reminding you, I was something of Harrogath's favourite in the last several generations. I already wasn't in tip-top shape, the constant AC didn't help and eating properly was difficult with Infernal envoys having taken control of California."

One hand on her shoulder, he canted his head sideways a bit. "Let's just say looking sickly was easy enough. Much easier than convincing your friend that I wasn't some power-mad Loyalist using foci or a kidnapped mage to mess around with the World's Breath like a kid with a chemistry set."

A light shrug was added. "It worked out, though. I eventually figured out how to tweak the proverbial dials, added a little Speech-based elbow grease to attract more via than naturally flowed near the bunker, and then figured out how to tune everything. It wasn't as pretty as your spells or rituals and it did end up with me learning what happens when a member of Solomon's Court slams the door on you, metaphorically - but I managed to get a few words in. Nickar's focus of choice seems to be crystal; all my attempts using a filled-up sink caught him at inopportune times."

That made him smirk behind his tentacles. "So, if you've never tried before, never actually try and summon Nickar like you do Matriel. I got to see the bare backside of one of Solomon's seventy-two demons for my trouble. I think I caught him showering after a work shift."

* * *

The Speaker traded a glance between the apparent Augur and his Consort. To his credit, he didn't visibly hesitate. "I'll put together a scouting team, starting with the slavers' apothecaries concocting sedatives. With prolonged immersion and improved time dilation, we'll covered the Darkhallow's latent space within one or two nights."

Bucky hid his assessment of the situation behind a glowering stare. They'd have time to comment on what this meant once they'd be out of the Speaker's hair. For the moment, he settled with faint praise. "Good. Leave no stone unturned, Speaker. May we bring down a few of Delmar's exiles, as well."

Nikolaas Buck nodded curtly. "Others willing. Now, my liege, Consort - you've left us with much ground to cover. I'll let your retainer show you to the city below," he said, glancing at Apophis. "Will you be staying for the Wrathmoon consecration?"

Not that what this was mattered - the Squids probably had a holiday for celebrating the stealing of candy from babies, as far as Shamus knew - but it was an easy opportunity. "Unfortunately, we cannot. The Consort and I oversee surface operations; ample veils have enabled my beloved to ingratiate herself not only to Rhode Island's metahuman and superhuman populace, but to the East Coast's American and Canadian selkie populations, as well. We are in the early stages of a structured attempt at cultural decay. If everything goes according to plan, we will see selkies operating petrochemical operations with their eyes squarely set on shareholder expectations. The ecological disasters to follow will deal a more vicious blow to the world's integrity than any standard operative cell. Our estimates say that this could sever these populations' unique link to the local biosphere and deal a severe blow to the local arcane web within the next six to ten years."

The Speaker quirked an eyebrow. "How patient of you," he noted, his tone not exactly suggesting praise. "Do you honestly believe They will see this as hastening their dominion?"

Fake Nereus figured he'd plant a few heretical seeds in there, as fully mollifying the Speaker wouldn't have been wise. "They will not see anything, Speaker. They are Impulse and Instinct. They are the undoing of the Self, apoptosis on a cosmic scale. Amaxi has had hundreds of occasions to see our bodies destroyed, and yet here do we stand today. She favors no-one and spares nobody. That alone should speak of our chances."

Bucky then glanced at Apophis. "Let's go, wretch. Lead us back to the markets, there are delicacies I wish to sample before we depart."

As pitifully subservient as you would've expected, Apophis nodded. "Yes, Your Eminence. Of course, Your Eminence... Right this way."

Bucky couldn't drop the act too soon, but Fake Nereus did allow himself a look of obvious relief once they were back near the palace's entrance. "I ain't too sure we'll be fashionably late still, Ness," he muttered for the selkie's benefit. "More like just Plain-Jane late, but my only gauge for how this could go is Archie."

Apophis glanced at the trio as they headed out. "I have heard of this Englishman from Loyalist reports. It's said he seems impassive at first, but can give into recklessness if those he cares for are endangered."

The Clank couldn't repress a quiet snort. "Y'got it in one, Appy. We might all be adults, Arch would loosen his screws if anything happened to me or Neasa. He likes seatin' the impression that he's some sort of Queenly-ordained tactical genius, but the truth o' the matter is he's closer to Charles Jenkins, if 'n lives are on the line."

* * *

Archie followed along, doing his best to not make the pair's headed for what likely was a restricted area seem too obvious. As expected, the jury-rigged abomination of a chopper had been removed from the bailey and hadn't actively been worked on in the interval. A few Fae Hounds and Malks rubbernecked as the pair crossed the cobblestoned courtyard and entered the smaller, second interior ring of the bailey's forge and workshop - to obviously be met by its surprised occupants.

From the look of things, a Malk and Hound pair were arguing over the bird's purpose and composition. Both were male and clad in the usual Medieval roots of your modern-day workshop essentials: cinched-down linens, leather fastenings and gloves and a large and waxed leather apron with its pouches laden with several tools Preston would've considered quaint.

"I say we open that casing," the Malk argued, "it's not that much different from some of the portable foci we've seen artificers and armature-makers carry. It's shaped like some sort of cassette, there's no screws and everything seems held together by some damnable magic from the mortal plane, and-"

The Hound sighed. "I may not know much, Gantry, but I know the mundanes' batteries are chemical-based. If we break the seal on this, we could risk losing our limbs - and I'm not about to explain to a flustered Royal healer that I figured poking around mortal technology when I haven't set foot in London proper since 1792 would be a good idea! You're welcome to poke at some of these wires or poke at these strange glass-hewn things all you want, you're lucky the governor thought it'd be a good idea to let us take a crack at this before the Artificers!"

Ever the spy, Archie slowed down his stride and took a moment to poke at one of the chopper's torn-up wings with his cane, grimacing as it creaked. "Yes, I wouldn't poke this battery at all if I were you, gentlemen," he said, which caused the two Fae to abandon their humanoid forms out of sudden terror. Preston and Archie were met with a dog-sized, dark and lanky housecat that hissed at them, and something like the cross between an Airedale Terrier and a Bull Mastiff almost comically scuttling for cover behind the wreckage.

Glancing coolly at Preston as if they didn't have an overly large cat itching for a reason to pounce at them staring just a few feet away, Archie obviously loved the chance to play the part of one of those worldly mortals the Fae were so obviously annoyed with. "I'll leave you to it for the next few minutes - I'm suddenly curious as to why Punch and Judy were left alone with modern flight-craft still sporting a fair bit of a gas tank. I'm sure you'll have questions of your own as well, Mister Hauser."

The Malk hissed, even as his back sloped down a bit. "Do not insult us; we are First Envoys of the Governor General for the British Fae Holdings! We were entrusted with this craft until further notice!"

Archie seemed dubious, pausing in front of the workshop's hearth to inspect a small woodframe painting of what looked like a cat-eared child playing with a dog-eared toddler. The painting was dated to April 12th, 1764.

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm an incorrigible skeptic," quipped the android. "Did you perchance remove a module with buttons and a screen from the craft's dashboard?"

He was met with stares, which made Archie groan. "And to think Windows' command line still gave me pause two years ago after coming fresh out of Allan Turing's heyday... You mentioned a battery. Did its wires run to lights that kept blinking? Was there a voice coming forth from it that probably was still saying something nonsensical to you, like Pull up - altitude?"

The Fae Hound poked its head from around the nose of the craft. "We tried to find the place where the pixie that was saying these words could be, but we couldn't find its focus or its holding chamber."

Gantry had calmed down and sat on his hind quarters before shifting back to a humanoid form. "I didn't know how to shut that off, so I took a hammer to it until it stopped."

Holden settled with a sharp intake of air, but slipped a hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. Hopefully, Preston would find something workable in the wreckage or somewhere around it... Thankfully, the main console had been stripped and placed on a nearby work table, so Hauser wouldn't have to rubberneck too long to find it. It had, however, been smashed by a hammer a good five or six times, complete with busted buttons and a dented frame. The copter had been rather sturdy, however, and chances were Preston would be able to cannibalize other display panels or to jury-rig some other panel's controls to the main one's still-intact logic board.

Holden was right on one thing, however: someone close to Titania and Oberon having deemed that two tool-sporting idiots that were probably lucky to fix horseshoes or the occasional nail or two could be trusted with material from outside Faerie was more than a little odd...

* * *

Marius' little observation seemed to have flattered Severin' sense of self-importance, as he allowed himself a self-satisfied grin, a few rocking motions on his heels and a look Vlastos might've recognized on less self-aware immortals in the past.

"I just can't imagine how they do it," he said. "Mortals, I mean. I know most of goblinkind still lives in the mortal plane - a nephew of mine is turning ninety in a few weeks, the family says he's lucky to have survived the incursions - but I couldn't imagine having less than a century to plan and organize, you know?"

Unfortunately for Sedgewick, a more empathetic immortal stepped closer, now wearing slightly nicer jeans and leather chaps, a crisp white shirt over a black tee-shirt of which only the neck ring was partially visible, and a black suit jacket. Silas' usually floppy hat had been subbed for a visibly-new black Stetson, but he'd secured his spurs to the same old boots and didn't bother to hide the sling that held Admiral's leg bone or his Bridgeport rigs and pistols.

"I'm sure some of us can't imagine," noted Silas, his contempt hidden behind one of his usual agreeable smiles. He nodded to Marius but extended no such courtesy to the goblin. "Others actually run businesses," he said, nonverbally stating that he counted Marius in that number. "We keep ledgers, clean our workstations, pay our employees... Day by day, week by week, month to month."

The lich maintained his feigned respect, clearly enjoying the goblin's apparent stupidity. "You know, I've found it's incredible what a few short decades can lead one to do. I've adapted to a new nature, streamlined my research, developed a few new trades, put down some roots... I even started a family. Immortals pick up a reputation as overachievers, usually, or polymaths. I'd imagine it's hard to get anywhere if one spends a century idling."

Zeb chortled in amusement, from next to the minibar. "You're a credit to lichdom, Silas m'boy. It might be the booze talking, but did I ever seriously apologize for what happened between us?"

The cowboy rolled his eyelights. "I'd clock your lights out if we were still in 1886, but I do owe you most of this. Now if only that space witch hadn't given you an excuse to pick up the bottle again..."

The dressing jacket-wearing lich blearily narrowed his eye sockets. "What're you talking about; I've never felt better! One flick of the wrist and I've got better help on-call than any of Samoset's curses! Marius saw it, too!"

Coach shrugged, pointedly not looking in the younger of the Buck patriarchs' direction. "Whatever you say, Zebediah - just don't start swallowing flies while we're surrounded by other bit-players in the ranks for Would-Be Leads to Follow."

* * *

Nickar chuckled sardonically as he kept working on Charles, pinning a swatch here, making a chalk mark there - all of it without ever pricking the man's skin or leaving a smudge. In fact, it felt as though the suit the demon was crafting were taking shape around its wearer at a time-lapse speed that was just slow enough for normal senses to follow along without it actually looking slow.

"You'll be surrounded by people looking to be seen, the last thing you want is to actively look like you're blending in. Flashy is the name of the game, here. Don't worry, I've got something in mind..."

As he worked, he paused to snap his fingers at someone, a stern-looking female demon more or less tromping in on high heels that could've pierced a man's skull and taking to Charles' hair without the least bit of initial courtesy. In the meantime, the tailor lifted his eyes off of the table for a second - just long enough to add a mocking obsequious "Something for you, Milord?"

In response, Herbert parted with a gooey chuckle and an obvious gesture, nonverbals for You're obviously joking, and merely turned up the brightness of the Crown's effect on him. His gray suit turned to an almost blinding shade of silver-white, his red necktie gleaming as though someone had carved it out of a single arm-sized ruby. His ochre skin now looked almost like backlit molten amber, surface capillaries now leaving visible shadows across his face, or as though he'd just revealed himself to be made out of molten lava somehow holding a humanoid shape. A few seconds in, the exuded light was reduced back down to a mere suggestion, while the texture and color effects remained in place.

"How is it holding out for you, by the way?" asked Nickar as he worked. "Your unique expression of Pride, that is."

Wormsworth pouted slightly. "Well enough, I'd say. Hope recovered in time for its first postwar Pride parade, and I've incubi in the family, so to speak," he explained, as diffuse rainbow hues briefly became visible under the affected lava texture. "The more things returned to some semblance of normalcy, the more the locals' resilience invigorated me and the greater my power grew. I'm not one for metrics, but if you absolutely had to guesstimate me next to the Goat in his prime, I would say I now rival him - and am poised to keep thriving. You'll have to excuse the lack of humility in this statement, but it is absolutely rooted in the die-cast respect I've come to find for Shield's cohorts - and for Mister Jenkins, here."

Nickar being a demon, his pausing to grasp this probably made sense. "So you're effectively fuelled by Pride - not as self-infatuation but as admiration for others. If I were Vassago, I'd probably hyperventilate and list all the ways in which this is unprecendented in the Damned."

The Prince of Pride sighed gamely as he stepped forward and watched Nickar whiz to and from Jenkins' position, as the veteran was T-posed and readjusted over and over, and with enough speed to suggest that the tailor could probably adapt his tailoring moves to some oddly custom form of hand-to-hand combat, if need be.

"This is fun," then commented the Prince, pausing to pull out his cell phone to take a picture of Jenkins as things took shape. "Two worldly ne'er-do-wells, committing crimes against fashion and good standing, debonair and daring, wielding the powers of darkness and military know-how to serve as watchdogs for the world against the machinations of blackened and empowered hearts the world over! Oh, I'll hate going back to the old cabinet after this, nevermind what poor Leonard will have to say about this..."

Nickar snorted. "That's a change of pace if I've ever seen one; the old boss practically threw a fit if you extricated him from his throne. A little more and I'd say you're itching to throw a cape on there."

Herbert darkly cackled. "Don't tempt me, my good man; I just might take you up on that offer. I think Proudheart would make for a good superhero name..."

The gargoyle-faced demon mimed gagging and then refocused on Charles. "Hold out for just a few seconds longer; I might let you throw me to the floor afterwards as payback - emphasis on might..."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Billy's off-color tone made the dryad inwardly cringe somewhat, but she saw that he did so in a weirdly relatable way, even if it had likely stemmed from the psychiatrist half's and things he must've seen and heard in his profession. She had briefly flicked an uncertain gaze at Vernon while letting the rhino continue.

It was only when she heard Lucian enter the conversation she could begin to fully understand the conflicting dynamic between the patriarch and alter ego.

Sophia's provided memories of the Squid had ended before his Ascension, but she had a good enough understanding that he was far from physically weakened anymore; she had also been caught up on reports of his new status as an Archmage. From his tone, she was reminded vaguely of Archie's formerly antiquated views on the fairer sex, courtship, and relationships. By the sounds of things, she wouldn't have been surprised to hear his spine crack from going ram-rod straight, if her imagination wasn't far off.

She was broken out of her speculation by Billy's urging and nodded, even though he couldn't see her. The Void Weaver's insistence on treating Charles and Billy as essentially the same person caused her to wonder if there would be issues with Lucian seeing her as different from her predecessor.

"We were actually already on the way, just thought it'd be better if you had a heads-up. We'll see you shortly!" she responded in a friendly enough tone. Inwardly, she knew that the whole situation between them was going to be...interesting, to say the least.

***

Hanako sent the goblin a discreet, if knowing glance. "Insiders in related fields are all that he would need to keep track of the pulse of historical disasters and pop in when needed. "Barristers, healers, and so on, if they're close enough to Faerie and easy enough to remain unnoticeable for the needed amount of time," she mused.

That reminded the Japanese Malk of something she had been wanting to bring up. She kept her voice low enough for only their little group to hear. "Before the main event begins, Countess, you should be aware that some of the local Winter citizens have been displeased by your extended absence during the incursions with the Winter Lord."

"There's been talk about wanting Gawain McHae's uncle, Lyle McHae, to replace him. I'm sure there will be a lengthy and traditionally Celtic campaign in the coming weeks and months, but also don't be surprised if you see him rubbing elbows with certain dragons that think party crashing Lady Alastriona's debut was an acceptable way to introduce themselves to us. Along with any Mab Loyalists he feels would be good for garnering favors in his bid."

Matriel scoffed lightly at his wife and commented, "When not working at Wyvern Securities, Hanako's been spending part of her time gathering what intel she could while you were gone, given not everything turns up in the Viscount's reports."

She smirked and playfully sent a barb at him, "Yes, and that's when I'm not giving you pointers to spruce up your attire besides a well-tailored suit for an event that might occur once in a lifetime for some Fae. I know humility is the status quo for the Thrones, but appearances certainly count for something here."

***

Meris did her best to keep from chuckling at her tailor's expense, but the former Augur could see her lips curl back somewhat as she covered her mouth with a hand. "Duly noted. Summoning techniques may have more to do with the entity's demeanor than anything else. Calling someone from Pride is more involved than requesting an appearance with angels who are billions of years old and integral to Creation, as long as you get past the supposedly complex and expected means of asking for their aid."

Given that some guests were probably already changed, the selkie mused it was time for them to do the same. She turned around to face Nereus and sat down on the bed's edge. Off came the boots and garments she had worn in the carriage. Despite the centuries that had passed, Meris still felt comforting disrobing around him much like she had during their times in the thermal baths.

She cast a simple kinetic spell that made finding accessories within her luggage easy enough. A pair of black pearl studs, matching pendant, and smattering of cosmetics landed on the provided vanity, along with a pair of black heels next to the stool.

Overall, Nereus could see how her physique had been shaped over the years. Her arms, legs, and torso had the lean muscle of a dancer's, mingled with a selkie's retained chubbiness, after shedding their weighty sealskins.

***

Fake Meris nodded in agreement, albeit keeping an ear open for any potential eavesdroppers. If Meris had taught her anything about Dalarath and how it functioned, it was worth keeping tabs of their surroundings in case the Speaker hadn't fully trusted their plans.

"That's true. Though, hopefully, the next time he decides to go all blaze of glory in his next rescue attempt, he'll have learned how to anticipate how he might physically recover from such encounters. Even with a fancy, Paradise-based body, that doesn't mean he should ignore what Crystal and the rest of us advise so he's better prepared."

She glanced at Apophis. "Assuming we go through the markets like we said, will there be some indication of where to go toward Respite Point in order to escort you? I doubt there's signs or knowing insiders ready to direct the Augur and his Consort in that direction, after all."

***

Aspasia could be heard approaching them, having also changed. She wore a green, slightly flared pantsuit with a paisley motif and light blue accents on the lapels of the jacket. A bustle seamlessly integrated at the back on the form-hugging jacket. The front of the jacket appeared to have a built-in waistcoat, adding to her dapper, yet modern appearance. Blue jeweled and silver ear tips picked up on the ensemble's colors.

The fauness was heard scoffing and said where the younger Buck could hear her. "Yeah, if Zebediah falls asleep, I'm sure he'd certainly miss out on this gala's eye candy, which there'll be plenty of."

She added to the Western attire-clad lich, "Mira's almost done getting ready; she'll be with us shortly. I don't think I've seen her this excited since her school had the make-up prom she went to with her friends."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by Karl the Mad »

Marius rolled his eyes. "You'd be more effective if you were sober, Buck. You and I helped out a bit, but most of that was Hauser," he called toward the lich.

Turning back to Silas and Sev, he wondered why the cowboy disapproved of the goblin. But he didn't feel like asking, not out in the open. "We all need a little idle time now and then, though a century might be a bit much," he replied. Aspasia approached, and he nodded respectfully.

"Did someone say eye candy?" Mary said as she walked up too. She wore a gauzy black gown that barely maintained a semblance of modesty while still showing off the exosuit ports and augmentation scars, and looked quite relaxed from her time alone.

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

"My ship!" Preston groaned, staring at the wrecked bird and the feckless dorks who thought they could fix her. "I'm gonna fix Archie, then we're gonna kick your asses!" Grumbling unhappily he pushed past them to scrutinize the busted console, then turned to the rest of the chopper and the other scavenged components. "Salvageable," he muttered, gathering up a seemingly random collection of parts. "You! Soldering iron, now!" he barked at the dorks.

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

"Eh, mebbe later," Charles said with a gamely shrug as he endured the attention of the tailor and barber. "Whoda thought I'd be playin' dress-up onna day like 'is, eh?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Eirean couldn't quite repress a smirk at Mary's sight. "I pity the Viscounts that'll catch a glimpse of you, Miss. Jameson. You'll find a fair few of my peers are a few centuries behind the curve. I just wish I had at least eighty years off the clock, I might have had the guts to try something like this in shades of green."

She briefly glanced at Lucky. "I don't want to intrude, but I'm obviously not really up-to-date when it comes to human augmentation. Does getting things like this done to you hurt on the long term, or maybe expose you to infection?"

Vargas seemed like his interest in Mary's form was more professional than carnal. "Not if the tablejocks know their stuff, honestly. Mine's all bioware so it's designed to be genetically compatible with me - so everything just healed around and melded with everything else. Now, you couldn't take my bioports 'outta me without hacking me open with a bonesaw or something."

He sniffed lightly. "Hong Kong used to be fairly old-school, but there's obvious perks," he explained, miming a twisting motion in front of one the ports that lined Jameson's arms. "Housing's permanent, the actual plug can be clipped off and replaced in five, maybe ten minutes - with no anesthesia required. It's always been a thing for people with trypophobia, but people with a fear o' holes don't typically join exo-squads."

Eirean frowned lightly. "But there is a risk, right? Or some form of it?"

In response, the iguana opened his mouth and held it open for a few seconds, long enough for the Summer Lady to catch on.

"Oh - right. The human body's already full of orifices. I guess that's why I stick to Fae politics and the hospitality industry and other people make careers out of maintaining the both of you," she noted, smiling awkwardly at the two Transhumans.

* * *

The Malk and Hound set to work, arguing here and there as they came close to bringing Preston the wrong sort of torch a good three times. Eventually, Archie figured he'd more or less come to their rescue and picked out the two most likely-to-be-useful soldering tools they had on hand. One was a brand-new micro-soldering station with a roll of solder wick that still smelled and looked pristine, and a bottle of flux that was a few years old but still untouched. The other was a somewhat larger MIG welder, in case Hauser felt like patching things up for the bird to some degree. That done, he found the pair's little lounge next to their fireplace and removed his tailcoat and gibus, then rolling up his sleeves.

"Well," he said, sighing gamely, "I'm your man, Mister Hauser. Lay down a few work orders for me and I'll follow them to the best of my ability. Then we'll see if there isn't a way to silence my unwanted passenger..."

The Malk looked like he disapproved. "The Lieutenant Governor told us that-
- I wouldn't be surprised if your Lieutenant Governor thought my body was the work of supernatural forces, rather than a confederated effort from human and alien intelligences," interrupted the spy. "You've seen my friend's displeasure, I'll make sure to add my own when granted audience with Queen Titania herself."

Gantry the Fae Hound tried not to rubberneck while Preston would set to work. "I understand, Milord, but London-Upon-Faerie is several centuries behind schedule, and the demonic incursions justified a veritable arms race for protection. China and Japan's Courts are in possession of alloys and technologies our older peers disdained, and our research acumen is lacking. We thought-"

Archie nodded. "I can see what you thought, it's all over your mess, gentlemen. The fact of the matter is your superiors were overzealous and that you should be leveraging your long lives to seek modern degrees in Engineering and Micro-Electronics. From the aspect of national security alone, this could be grounds for termination, if not the removal of your acting titles."

The Malk wasn't hearing any of it, but the Hound eventually parted with a sheepish "How long are those degrees, Milord?"

By this point, Archie huffed out a breath and headed closer to Preston, in case he needed assistance. "Google it. London has a good six colleges within driving distance, several of them with technical training programs. Head out into the mundane world, find an Internet café, Google it and sod off."

* * *

"Happens to the best of us," replied Nickar with a sigh as he applied a few finishing touches. Judging by the way he'd phrased this, he'd also had plenty of occasions to prance and preen about on a runway...

A few seconds later, he took a few steps back, gave Jenkins a once-over and nodded in satisfaction. Power made the air thrum for a brief moment as he raised a hand, and a simple snap of his fingers resulted in partially sewn threads tightening themselves after sewing their own closing points. Some unseen force then cut off those loose ends in a single instant, and another fluid and Pride-worthy gesture resulted in a mirror in a modern white frame rolling towards him as if pulled by some sort of telekinesis spell. Nickar stopped the mirror in front of Jenkins and then stepped aside to scrutinize both the man himself and his reflection.

Simply put, Nickar had designed something that was likely to be some obscenely rich and affluenza-obsessed Social Media influencer's version of distressed leather and shabby shirt design in coarse linen. The jacket was almost an overcoat with how long its hem was, and looked to have been sliced off the back of a still-living crocodile, with supple scutes still glistening in the studio's light. The leather had been intentionally scuffed and torn in a few places, letting a dark green silk lining poke through. Charles' pants were now made of the same impossible leather and were tight enough to be suggestive, probably just short of actual discomfort. His shirt was anything but uncomfortable, however - looking coarsely knit but feeling smooth and cool against his skin.

"For all your storage and weapons-carrying needs," explained the tailor demon as he reached inside his own jacket, "see your average mage - or your cartoon villain of choice." Nickar then proceeded to pull out a good third of an entire broadsword from a space that would've normally contained a billfold. "I'm a bit old-fashioned and I'm partial to bladed weapons alone, but I slipped in a few modern essentials while you weren't looking: a karambit, a Bowie knife, some piano wire, two Uzis, two Desert Eagles with hollow-point iron tips - don't forget to account for their heavier profile whilst aiming - six packs of Semtex and two detonators, a few pre-registered and fingerprint-operated smart grenades from our friends in Paradise - and a bog-standard Swiss Army knife."

He shrugged lightly. "I imagine our pointy-eared friends will be more than happy to loan you longer bladed implements if need be - or you'll just snatch one for yourself, I'm sure."

Nickar didn't sound like he was judging Charles, and instead seemed like he approved - even if it was a bit hard to tell.

* * *

"Oooh, should be fun," purred Billy. "I'll even do you a solid and let ol' Rope-face here restrain me for the occasion. Toodles..."

He hung up before Alex could catch the essentials of Lucian's stunned response - physical restrictions seemeed to be difficult to impose on the alter ego if he hadn't agreed to it... This left Vernon to let out a sigh. "All this so an Archmage sends you or I to the Demiplane for a spot of sleuthing. Sometimes, I wonder if the mortals aren't those with complex rituals and if we haven't oversold the importance of Oaths, in comparison."

"In any case," noted Bagley, "I must urge caution. Gubbin and I shall see to the banquet; hopefully Milord your father should be able to make his case against the older MacHae. I fail to see any of this happening if Billy Wynn takes you on a wild goose chase, however."

Haskill reset his stovepipe atop his hat. "We'll be careful, mister Bagley. Yours and mister Gubbin's assistance in these matters is invaluable. House Christmas owes you a boon - or at least some tea and cakes."

Bagley not being of Faerie, it stood to reason he settled with a slightly dismissive hand gesture. Gubbin, however, looked like that hypothetical boon had been squirrelled away for later, as to be expected with a Malk. "Will you be using our Gate again?" then asked the android, to which the Winter Lord replied with a polite nod in the negative.

"I'd rather we didn't - I've shown Alastriona my domain and my side of Evergloam's streets; she still has yet to experience Hope's. If her Tree has to grow roots in any significant capacity, improving her lay of the land is capital. I've also yet to try out the rebuilt elevated train network, so two for one."

* * *

Silas gave Aspasia a knowing chuckle. "That's good; she hasn't had the chance to really act like a teenager in a long while. I hope the same'll still go for the Changeling kids."

He left the grimmer half of this unspoken, but war rarely allowed kids to mature at a normal rate.

Hanako's reports were both surprising and not entirely unexpected. Once a Malk, always a Malk, and Eirean knew Hanako's wider peers sometimes brought in secrets, both petty and dire, like housecats do flotsam from outside. The difference obviously consisted in the size of the involved prey - and in Hanako's unquestionable professionalism. Eirean looked concerned, coming out of her discussion with Mary, but not exactly alarmed.

"I'm confident in Vernon's abilities and I've already explained his absence to Queen Titania. Alastriona's fairly capable as well, I'm sure we can expect a full report once we retun to Hope - or at least an update."

Silas rested his hands at his waist. "That doesn't solve the general unrest with the Winter Fae.
- You couldn't solve it anyway," explained Eirean. "There's a bastion of conservatism in Evergloam that has nothing to do with the mortal plane's politics and that really thinks things would be so much better if we got back to cursing wayward mortals and forcefully inducting Changelings. For these people - like Lyle MacHae - it's the Old Ways or bust."

Her smile was a little bitter. "I honestly pity MacHae. I'm of Summer - I can charm a rock into dancing a jig if needs be - Vernon's nature makes him far more direct. He's no brute, obviously, but he represents something Mab only wishes she could emulate."

* * *

Seeing Meris busy herself brought Nereus back into focus, but his own telekinetics were a bit less graceful, as his eyes kept returning to the selkie's shapely physique. Comparatively, while he had indeed lost a lot of weight over the centuries, he'd merely gone from being morbidly obese at a point where Amaxi's will alone maintained him, to being simply obese. He obviously lacked perspective enough to acknowledge his own progress, the ways in which his shoulders had emerged from the previously engulfing mounds of fat and how his cheekbones could now almost be guessed at. He had even less in the moment, as his urge to snatch Meris by the waist and to do - something, one of several conflicting things that crowded the forefront of his mind, was unmistakeable.

He wanted to take Meris, body and soul. He wanted to take her hand, whispering that they still weren't safe, and that they'd be so much better if they ran off - together, this time - in the final realization of their initial plans. He spent a few seconds wanting nothing to do with Shield, with the Fae, the wider world, the Chamberlain and the machinations that came with everything - and wanting to get away from it all with the Archmage. She had power now, plenty of it. Disappearing would be so easy!

Instead, he drew on the training Chambers had expected him to abuse, on his own days in Indian ashrams and Buddhist monasteries, and deliberately used his hands to fix his new suit's necktie, making the gestures slow and deliberate, coinciding with slow and steadying breaths.

He wasn't Meris - he had no vasque of water, no Thrones to call, and he especially didn't want to call up another half-naked demon. So, he settled with putting his hands on the dresser's top and fixed his gaze on his own reflection in the mirror that rested on the wall, forcing himself to focus on the room they were in and its relative peacefulness.

"Om shanti, shanti om," he quietly said. "Peace. Peace in body, peace in mind, peace in Speech and spirit."

* * *

As soon as the palace's doors had closed and they had sight of the city from the stairs' offered promomtory, Apophis answered Neasa's question by pointing. "The passage Meris and the slaves used to take is at the end of the lake. The Loyalists had it flooded and Respite Point's boundaries are now further in, in the old tunnels."

Aatxe seemed displeased. "This is unfortunate, my reports indicated you were not an agile swimmer, señor Wallace."

Fake Nereus sighed. "Nope, but it ain't a problem. Ness here's gonna follow you, I'll just hop off of the corrack or boat or whatever a little ways away from the cavern wall. Assumin' there ain't no trench so close to the edge, I should be able to just walk up to you."

Apophis looked a little concerned. "There is no current in the depths if no brine pool is being used as a portal. If one is in use, you could very well be sucked in and emerge in any number of locations along the world's shallows."

Fake Nereus rested his cane on his shoulder. "I won't let it happen. Besides, these Squid portals don't stay open forever, right? I'm guessing there's some sort of Port Authority operating around here, they'd keep an eye on the lake's water line."

The snake-shaped servant nodded as they were led down towards the city. "There is. Most pools only remain open for a few moments, the lake's fauna runs the risk of being disturbed by oceanic salt content. Your current Veil would not last long underwater, however."

Aatxe kept his eyes ahead. "All the more reason to get out of sight quickly, then. I've seen where the Word Houses hang their loaned tunics and surplices out to dry; we should be able to make you pass for Prelates from a distance. We then pick a stone craft from the docks closest to the Slavers' Quarter. Can you pilot one of these boats, Apophis?"

The Abomination nodded in the negative, but didn't look discouraged. "No. The Navigators are so essential to us they fear no reprisal, however. We'll find someone greedy or rebellious enough, and I'll offer payment."
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