Chapter II: Gravity

[IamLEAM1983]

Relieved, Three set to work looking for any inferences that could be made between their currently-available data and Lambert's personal archive. In the meantime, Tom considered Meris' words.

"I understand that meditation is supposed to close off my mind somewhat and I have been giving it a shot even before the episode that sent us to Hell, but what little control I have has been a long time coming," he explained. "Aislinn saw what I used to be, back when Melmoth took me under his wing. I wasn't much more than a... bundle of urges saddled with a conflicting conscience. I've gotten to the point where I can sit down with you all and have this conversation without being overwhelmed by your respective sensory inputs," he explained, looking at the group, "but make no mistake: I'm still an incubus. I'm still infatuated by each and every one of you on a level you couldn't understand."

Archie shrugged. "So? What if you only happen to be missing practice and time? You clearly have resisted the urge to, shall we say, ravage us all since we first met - I believe it is within your power to exert more conscious control over your arcane weaknesses, if you would only give it a decent effort. Furthermore, Aislinn is still presentable and she is sitting right across the table from you. Why haven't you provoked us all by lunging across the table for her, by now?"

Tom started to reply that he had some measure of self-control, only to realize mid-sentence that Archie was right. So was Meris: he had what he needed to at least give a decent shot at the prospect of isolating his unconscious mind from unwanted invaders.

Holden smirked. "Never apologize for being who and what you are, Tom. As heterosexual as I may be, I am lucid enough to realize that being in the crosshairs of a socially responsible incubus - a rarity, of all things - can be construed as a rather lopsided compliment," he explained, holding one of his coat's lapels in mock pride. "We must be doing something right to warrant your continued efforts to collaborate with us, hm?"

The warthog parted with a relieved and slightly bashful smile, an odd sight on a face that had displayed cool self-confidence and a smidgen of congenial arrogance until now. "Thank you," he then said. "I guess working in a team after centuries spent working solo is a bit of an unknown to me. You're the first mortals I know who extended trust towards me without it feeling like it was grudgingly offered."

The spy smiled gamely. "With artificial boundaries having been knocked away, I can at the very least remind you that both Shamus and myself are both readily available sources for research into meditation or overall mindfulness. If you'd like to dig deep with Aislinn, it could be useful for you to figure out how to go digging on your own, first."

Tom seemed surprised. "You didn't strike me as the meditating kind, boss," he admitted. "I thought that would've been more Mary's trick or Aidan's, to be honest."

Intentional false modesty pushed through the Clank's sobering pout. "I've, er, been known to use the violin to center myself on occasion," he explained, "and my time spent in Japan introduced me to a few experts on the matter. My take on it isn't terribly Oriental, granted, but that's more Shamus' area of expertise. Colonial Zen would be mine, to coin a phrase."

Being apparently amused, Naberius parted with a brief smile. "And what does Colonial Zen imply, mister Holden?
- Oh, the usual: Chopin and new bowstrings, fresh logs and a lit fireplace; a glass of brandy while watching the shadows dance along the wallpaper... I could practically count each and every one of my gears, once mindfulness sets in."

[TennyoCeres84]

While the matter was being discussed, Aislinn had also been deep in thought over a possible idea on how to start a suitable meditation for Tom's purposes. She looked over at the warthog and sent to him, "I think I have an idea we can try together soon, once we have some quiet time. It'll be intimate, but I think what I have in mind should give your mind something to focus on, instead of bouncing from one item to another."

"I tend to listen to various medleys of music from different time periods throughout history," Meris acknowledged with a smile. "It's good for helping me relax and focus, as well as gaining inspiration for my own work as a bard."

[Karl the Mad]

"I usually have to burn off a little energy before I can do any meditating," Mary remarked airily. "But Archie's right, music does good for setting ambience."

Preston thought about it for a moment. "Space out sometimes, doing repair work or whatever," he said. "Soldering, coding. Concentration." He shrugged uneasily. "Comes out b-better than usual, after. Can't replicate it; can't do it consistently. Meditating? Maybe."

[IamLEAM1983]

For all of his talk of lacking self-control, Tom didn't exactly pull out a Tex Avery-esque wolf whistle at the prospect of greater proximity with the roane. Telepathically, his combined relief and smidgen of carnal interest were both obvious, however.

"Thank you," was what he sent her. "As much as I'd like to give you as much time off from my urges as you deserve, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't already looking forward to more of what happened earlier today..."

He seemed to catch himself, however, a sobering addendum cutting off his mentally projected interest and appetite. "Well, up to and excluding the part where I dragged you to the Pit, that is. That, we could do without. I meant the parts where you let the mildly scared and comparatively powerless immortal vent his fears and commiserate on his weaknesses for a bit. Feeding the Warlock ego is exhausting; it was nice to be able to put my guard down entirely."

There was a brief pause. "I haven't felt so safe in years, Aislinn. You made me feel safe."

On an outward level, his response was much less revealing. It didn't matter, Aislinn would know he had high expectations regarding their common safety and their shared moments. "If the local luminaries are telling me that'd be foolproof," he said, sighing gamely, "then we could give it a shot. I work on keeping my mind still first, then we get something going in common."

Aidan, in the meantime, settled with confirming Preston's example. "I think your idea fits, Preston. You've rehearsed all those gestures, so you don't need to think too much. It's the same with Jenkins and with me, when we both get to field-stripping the arsenal. There's no need to think at all, past a certain point - whatever anxiety I had before starting to work on the guns usually just goes away once I get going."

Archie shrugged. "Music, detailed maintenance, quiet contemplation... If there is one thing I learned from Japan, it is that there are as many ways to meditate as there are opportunities to consider. Why, my own uncle fastidiously orders old coins from various corners of the globe, constantly seeking to improve an already-flawless classification system."

Three scoffed amusedly. "Isn't Forsythe from the Ordo Dracul, Ruthven's bloodline?
- He indeed is," confirmed the Clank, "and he comes with the same propensity for ritualistic behavior that gave rise to the myth of Dracula and poppy seeds."

Seeing as that anecdote didn't seem to draw understanding from the young man, Archie sighed. "Vampires from the Blood of the Dragon are control freaks, to use a modern turn of phrase. Everything must be regimented, ordered, accounted for, generally neat and tidy. Considering this, the saying goes that if you throw a bag of poppy seeds over your shoulder in the presence of one such as my esteemed uncle, they will be hopelessly compelled to count the grains one by one."

Naberius coughed politely, seemingly being just about to politely steer the discussion back to the subject of the Black Goat, when the front door was heard opening and closing. Someone parted with an industrious sigh and started to walk across the lobby, wingtip shoes sharply slapping against the marble floor. The man took a few steps, hesitated, and then briskly walked back until he faced the arch leading to the dining room. The space was only sparsely lit in order to allow for a more intimate dining experience, as only the table's chandelier was lit, with a few candle-holders providing more light around the table.

Francis Quigley came into view, his usual accouterments making him appear overdressed by miles.

"What the Hell is this, Magnus?" he asked, his voice too soft and too quiet to not actually be expressing a titanic amount of shock.

Naberius' congenial dispositions seemed to flake away, a frown and a bit of a moue creeping onto his features.

"Wonderful," he deadpanned, "the Second World War's prodigal son graces my table, yet again."

Sensing the sudden buildup of awkwardness as an almost tangible thing, Three tried for a falsely casual cough. "You've met Amazo before already?
- Indeed I have," replied the canine demon on a now glacial tone. "If the current exchanges have proved enriching thus far, I had found this... charlatan to be lacking all of the King's expected graces. Humility not being the least of them."

The snake raised a gloved hand at Archie. "See? See?! This is what I was afraid of! Demons at your table, esoteric gatekeepers being called up like it's just another Saturday project-
- Cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria?" supplied Three, being unable to pass up the opportunity for a good pun and movie reference.

Quigley responded by pointing a finger at the young soldier. "Watch it, Private First Class America - you're risking a hex or a slap from one of your elders!"

[TennyoCeres84]

Feeling quite happy after Tom's agreement to her idea, Aislinn had sipped a bit of wine and finished off the last of the onion bhaji on her plate, listening to the discussion about meditative techniques and Ordo Dracul vampires. Her pleasant demeanor faltered when she heard Amazo's telltale footsteps echo through the vicinity, groaning faintly.

Neasa and Ciaran also recognized the anthro cobra's approach and sighed, feeling like they were about to have a front row seat for a very awkward show.

Not expecting Quigley, Meris felt her muscles tense involuntarily, as though she was subconsciously waiting to see whether the incoming person was a threat. She relaxed somewhat and looked ever so slightly miffed at the snake's entrance and behavior.

Rolling her eyes, Aislinn stood up from her chair and strode toward her other mentor, keeping her irritation bottled for now. Her jaw slightly clenched, she said as calmly as she could, "Francis, you need loosen your bowtie and relax. Tom and I invited Naberius for a very good reason; we wanted to present an applicant to him who would be capable of balancing things out on the demonic front and have some more allies against the Others with the help of Solomon's Court."

Figuring it'd be easier to save time, the tattooist gestured to the other guest and introduced, "The applicant is the archmage and our great-grandmother Meris of the Orcades."

Said archmage eyed the wizard squarely and folded her hands in a businesslike manner, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Mr. Quigley, if ye're quite done wi' yer hullabaloo, how aboot ye take a seat an' hae a drink rather than cluckin' around like a wet chicken, aye?" she asked, her mood letting her old accent slip through. Apparently, Quigley had at least caused the woman to take notice of him; however, it probably wasn't in the way he would have wanted such an encounter to happen.

[Karl the Mad]

Preston frowned at the interruption; everything had been fine until he showed up. "Better idea," he countered, pointing at Francis. "You. Leave. Ruining the atmosphere!"

"Troll in the dungeon," Charles muttered for Three's benefit, rolling his eyes.

[IamLEAM1983]

Taking the assembly in, Francis seemed to realize he'd blundered into something he would've rather been able to attend. He unfastened his cape and hung it from one of his folded arms for a moment. "What is this," he then asked, "Eldritch Woodstock? Did anyone summon Jim Morrison's ghost without telling me?"

Ignoring Preston's call for him to leave, he settled with taking his cape in both hands and whipping it forwards, as if it were a bedsheet being thrown into place. The black and red silk square fell over what looked like the outline of a chair, even if nothing of the sort had been there earlier. He then sat down in it, staying slightly away from the dining room table and its own chairs.

"I'd leave," he then said, looking at Preston, "but you kids got lost in an exposition dump and you're a few bends ahead of me. I'm not leaving until I know exactly what's what - and how it is we nabbed ourselves a bona fide Archmage," he said, pointing to Meris, after which he looked at her.

"Big fan, by the way. Loved your thesis on the linguistic roots of Orcadian Seraphic magic. Could've used more personal anecdotes and less diagrams, though."

Three smirked slightly. "This is our Arcane Arrogant Asshole, Francis Herbert Quigley."

Pulling his top hat off, the cobra nodded, head bowing in false modesty. "Fought the Nazis' Arcane division, hid an entire Nexus from a psychopath for five hours - I'm kind of a big deal.
- And yeah," added Drake, "I figure he still wonders why he never got the Ring of Solomon..."

Amazo shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "I can handle power; it's not like I went on a joyride the last time Sophia kissed me - that's more Zebediah's speed."

Naberius sighed. "And yet, I can clearly remember one summer evening in 1957: you'd had a caterer prepare an admittedly succulent Poulet Chasseur accompanied by an overpriced bottle of the decade's latest Chablis - and then spent all of three hours walking me through the Mystic Theatre's vault. As if imprisoned demons and renegade angels alone would suffice in swaying my opinion in your favor. You then paraded your latest conquests, flaunted your wealth and proved woefully ignorant of the reasons why I choose to appear as a member of high society."

To prove his point, Naberius directed his power inwards - and essentially made his clothes decay and wither away. Filth was now encrusted almost uniformly across his fur, his gloves weren't much more than a webwork of holes tied together by flimsy bits of linen. With a shattered monocle, suddenly appallingly greasy hair and a now wafting stench evocative of the closest sewer drain - Naberius still managed to look regal.

"I would crown the lowliest of beggars if his pedigree met my requirements," he explained. "I have crowned the impotent and sick, the elderly and the dying, the poor and the grossly indigent - all because these men and women would have honored King Solomon's legacy."

The filth and stench wafted away, aristocratic cleanliness now restored. "Note that I've seen it fitting to keep the Rod and Eye in your custody, mister Quigley. For all of your posturing, all of your arrogance - I can sense your heart is in the right place. Solomon's wealth, however, is more than pecuniary in nature. His power is more than arcane in its source. Lord Holden, with his rising debts incurred thanks to the unique nature of his body, is yet richer than you will ever be - unless you drastically change your life's course. Meris herself - as much of a vagabond as she has become - is wealthier than you by untold measures."

To emphasize his point, Naberius then directed his power towards all those who stood with him, safe for Francis. He didn't do much, except perhaps slightly magnify their appearances, making some sort of inner light shine forth. Preston would briefly feel as he had right after Tom's massage, and Mary would briefly feel her own concerns flutter away. Charles would feel his prosthesis briefly align perfectly with the rest of his real jaw, something in that slight shift making him seem more steadfast and dependable than he already was. Three's constantly denied understanding of his own worth now shone forth, something making him straighten his spine by a tiny margin. Aislinn briefly looked like a younger Meris, while Neasa's sturdier physique momentarily seemed to scream out her metahuman affiliation. For an instant, she'd touch something of the self-assurance comic book fans imagined Wonder Woman possessed. Ciaran would feel his invisibility kick in, something in the back of his mind seizing on the wealth of opportunities such a gift offered, even within the law-abiding spectrum.

That struck something in Tom. "Meris is fitting because she could work with us selflessly," he deduced, his own selflessness magnified by Naberius as plumes of smoke that rose off of him, Hellfire burning within as he briefly touched on something more intrinsic than his own lust: his desire to work with others, and for others. He was as proud as Francis could sometimes be, but something in the back of his mind now knew he puffed his chest and refused to part with his would-be evil laughter because that pride wasn't his alone: he was also proud of what they could accomplish together.

Three smiled. "Solomon knew his friends and advisors were awesome. He knew they were dependable. They knew he was, so they could all work together, and not just for their own personal glory. Solomon was proud of his people, so they were proud of him, too.
- Exactly," noted Naberius, who now was beaming. "None of you joined this group in order to seek glory, and while the call to adventure might have played a part in the way some of you chose to return after a leave of absence, there is something more that keeps you here, ready and willing to act.
- Besides the paycheck, you mean?"

This time, Naberius looked at Drake with an equally amused smirk. He knew quite well that the human knew what he was referring to. "The truth of the matter is that you are all fitting of the Court. I've known it since I began observing you all, but I had to be sure. Even if I'd had my doubts, your having been knighted under Lady Eirean's blessing was sufficiently telling."

He paused. "You care, even if your caring can sometimes be rooted in deeply personal quests," he said, looking to Preston for emphasis. "Furthermore, I'd even consider these personal endeavours to be worthwhile motivators! None should be made to suffer as some of you have suffered, and those of you who stepped forward despite no tarnishes on their record are all the more commendable for it. You have left the safety and predictability of full-time civilian careers and lives for something altogether more dangerous - but just as rewarding," he said, now looking to the roanes.

[TennyoCeres84]

"We wanted to protect our home, regardless of SuReCa's parameters at the time," Aislinn summarized, which earned a nod from Ciaran and Neasa.

"I'm still happy to work at my boutique, but I also felt a calling. And I might be speaking for my brother and sister, but I figure there's a certain part of us that wanted to show this city what supes can do instead of being cast as outright villains, like some of our predecessors have," Neasa noted.

Ciaran chimed in, "You're right, Naberius. Being a dockhand brought steady work and a dependable paycheck, but I have to say I've gotten more out of the last few months than I did years making sure cargo was placed safely within ships."

Feeling pride toward all her new allies, Meris beamed. After his earlier commentary on her work, she snorted. "I'm happy with the way that thesis turned out; it's generally my policy to not include many personal details. A cantor's training is highly reflective of their life, so a student would be limited on what they could learn with a fellow cantor's essays. Besides, I don't write theses for the "fans". Not to mention, I've lived a very dangerous life, so I'm hesitant to reveal that much. It would put others and myself at a greater risk than there already was."

She canted her head slightly, eyeing the reptile. "I'm sure you've done a lot of good for the world, Mr. Quigley, but razzle-dazzling people has never been a frequent arrow in my proverbial quiver. I've had to be discreet and stay below the radar for the most part. And I have been doing this for a little over five hundred years."

[Karl the Mad]

Like it always did, Charles looked bashful and slightly annoyed when Naberius implied he fit in, that he was a good person. Reliable, yes, but while he'd never describe himself as evil, per se, he constantly doubted his own goodness. Was it guilt? He couldn't say precisely what guilt felt like, so he didn't know. But he didn't comment out loud, he had made that particular rant already, so he just nodded and accepted the compliment. Preston just smirked as Francis was taken down a couple of pegs, reveling in the schadenfreude of the moment. He enjoyed the return of Tom's massage, however brief it may have been, and had another sip of wine.

"Hey, now," Mary chimed in, "nothing wrong with a bit of razzle-dazzle now and again, yeah? Keeps the common folk in line."

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris nodded in agreement with Mary's comment. "Indeed, it has its purpose. However, I'm speaking when I've done undercover work or had to avoid bringing the spotlight on myself; I had to blend in. Razzle-dazzle was particularly useful when I was in Darlarath as Queen of Weavers or creating a magical spectacle that was enough to intimidate my opponents," she replied.