The dryad shook her head solemnly and looked to her home and source of life. "I have heard about the stolen artifacts, but I wish I knew who the thief or thieves were. It could be for an assault on this Tree or connected nexuses. With the Tree's via levels ebbing and flowing, Darkest Winter will be on the move. Sir Percival will already have been monitoring that, but why would they need arcane artifacts? The Fae are deeply intertwined with magic. Some threat is coming; that is for certain. Hope needs a group of champions to stop this, like it did in the Battle, but it will need to be done soon. I loathe to think about what will occur if there are no champions can be found and Mayor Doherty's hand will be forced to a last resort."
She then turned back to the young man. "I hate to sound morbid, but I'm deeply concerned about the Tree and Hope. It's my duty to protect them, but I cannot do it alone."
Chapter I - Sword and Shield
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TennyoCeres84
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Three nodded. “Yeah. Dad's not exactly a City Hall regular or anything, but he hears things from mister Griffin. There's pressure from a few civilian groups and from a few isolated police precincts. I think they're afraid of what it could mean to the mundane force if the city relaxes the ban on vigilantism. We've been going on for about thirty years without anything your average SWAT team couldn't fix, so most of my generation has no real clue of how things used to be for Francis Quigley or Chief Alderan.
There's that and, well – the local Clanks. They're in favor of stronger action, but that's seen as a biased point of view by most mortals. They figure turning Archie and Bucky back on is going to bring back some sort of golden age – and the cops doing some pressure don't want that.”
He sighed. “The economy's down the crapper, so anyone who gets special treatment is seen as a scab of sorts. It's no secret that there's a lot of folks who got it in their heads that Archibald Holden is basically a glorified one-percenter who doesn't deserve the attention he gets.”
There's that and, well – the local Clanks. They're in favor of stronger action, but that's seen as a biased point of view by most mortals. They figure turning Archie and Bucky back on is going to bring back some sort of golden age – and the cops doing some pressure don't want that.”
He sighed. “The economy's down the crapper, so anyone who gets special treatment is seen as a scab of sorts. It's no secret that there's a lot of folks who got it in their heads that Archibald Holden is basically a glorified one-percenter who doesn't deserve the attention he gets.”
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Are you kidding me? Show me whatcha got."
More money, sooner. Look eager, better impression. Most important-
Explore.
More money, sooner. Look eager, better impression. Most important-
Explore.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
The Pilus gave the Blueskin a bit of a perplexed stare for a moment, and then chuckled. “You'll have to excuse me,” he said, “You're the first person to apply here who's actually anxious to get started immediately. I've never had to compose with that kind of enthusiasm before and honestly?”
Another grin. “That's, uh, kind of refreshing, actually! Keep it up, miss Zainall, and I might think I've got a keeper on my hands!”
The gaze he gave her felt equal parts bossy, hopeful and friendly, if such a thing were possible – and he cocked his head in the store's direction. “Alright, let's get you to your new friends, then...”
The conversion kits had obviously been opened before, the packaging covered in gaudy kanji and hilariously incorrect English. Best Performance for Harmony of Driver! Earth Friend Plasma Intake – Save Planet! Go, Green Friend! Go!
As Frank had explained, most of the packs were missing framing elements that would keep the miniaturized plasma nacelles in their proper position along the side of the former engine block in most converted cars. You didn't need to have a doctorate to figure out that the kit had a few obvious limitations that certain car models couldn't cover. In fact, it seemed fairly clear that this was being designed according to sedans, and then quickly and cheaply altered to fit on other car standards.
Of course, if Tam had gone to a more legitimate garage, she maybe would've seen legal conversion kits designed with all the right parts to have them fit in most, if not all car models. People tended to go on the cheap if their car wasn't all that precious to begin with...
Another grin. “That's, uh, kind of refreshing, actually! Keep it up, miss Zainall, and I might think I've got a keeper on my hands!”
The gaze he gave her felt equal parts bossy, hopeful and friendly, if such a thing were possible – and he cocked his head in the store's direction. “Alright, let's get you to your new friends, then...”
The conversion kits had obviously been opened before, the packaging covered in gaudy kanji and hilariously incorrect English. Best Performance for Harmony of Driver! Earth Friend Plasma Intake – Save Planet! Go, Green Friend! Go!
As Frank had explained, most of the packs were missing framing elements that would keep the miniaturized plasma nacelles in their proper position along the side of the former engine block in most converted cars. You didn't need to have a doctorate to figure out that the kit had a few obvious limitations that certain car models couldn't cover. In fact, it seemed fairly clear that this was being designed according to sedans, and then quickly and cheaply altered to fit on other car standards.
Of course, if Tam had gone to a more legitimate garage, she maybe would've seen legal conversion kits designed with all the right parts to have them fit in most, if not all car models. People tended to go on the cheap if their car wasn't all that precious to begin with...
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"You can just take your time," Katherine replied without missing a beat, happily pulling a seat and bringing her smartphones out and off to the legal-business races! Some of them Spanish, even.
Never a lack of things to do in the land of Starr.
Never a lack of things to do in the land of Starr.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Those ten minutes passed fairly quickly, as they're wont to do when you're a bit of a pressured and passionate career-oriented individual. Being reminded of her turn by the secretary, Katherine was free to step around the desk and step through the double doors – which in and out of themselves were a bit odd, even if Hope's central precinct was one of the oldest buildings in town. She'd have passed plenty of Colonial kick moulds and coffered ceilings, but the needs of Central obviously made it so closed rooms were a rarity you probably could only find down in the basement. Most of the ground floor was made up of a small sea of cubicle dividers and individual workstations, with a gaggle of front-desk officers managing traffic near the entrance.
Those double doors, however, were different. The white wood looked a bit more weathered than the rest of the station's stately-if-functional arches, as if conflicting climates on both sides put some stress on the panels of treated organic material. She wasn't exactly a pro at renovating living spaces, but even Katherine would know what a quick interplay between hot and cold spots could do to wooden structures. Wood was something that had been part of a living, breathing thing, and these ubiquitous surfaces expanded and contracted as needed. The white paint looked like it had been maintained frequently enough, but it hadn't stopped the grain from developing a cracked appearance over the years.
Opening them, she'd feel the now ordinary tension of a Gate to Faerie. The wood groaned ever so slightly as what waited on the other side of the panels changed, balmy springtime air mingling with the canned office-space atmosphere of the station. Soft sunlight that was too kind on her eyes to be of this world filled her vision for but a second, bringing the whiteness of sudden adaptation, but none of the pain or discomfort.
The Viscount's office in Faerie was a few floors underneath the Countess' apartments in the central tower that dominated Evergloam, a single circular room characterized by several wide-open arches that led to a balcony. In a sense, he seemed to have elected a kind of oversized minaret for himself, if Arabian details had been swapped for unmistakably English refinement. The lands of Summer being what they were, it was obvious that there was never anything like an unwanted breeze to disturb Percival's papers on his desk; never anything like strong showers to bring unwanted stains to sensitive files or precious furniture items.
On the few walls that weren't punctured by a regal archway, shields, bucklers, morningstars and claymores waited. Only one wall segment broke this rule, showing a rather large fireplace Starr could have practically elected as a small apartment. Atop the mantelpiece waited a curiously flowing Impressionist scene, showing the pastoral details of some gently sunlit rocky mountainside. Artfully placed off-center, a rather simple but solid-looking stone manse waited, the painted plumes of white smoke actually moving. Framing the house's door and leaning with both hands on a sturdy tree branch fashioned into a walking stick was someone that might have looked like Sir Percy, if you'd given the Eldest Gruff of Hope a few additional centuries of open warfare. That grizzled fellow simply stared straight ahead, his eyes coincidentally boring into Katherine's with a look that also resembled Percy's stern and noble mien – but with more wisdom tacked onto it, and perhaps the ghost of a contented smile. This was an instant captured with magic and transferred onto canvas – Father waiting for his son after a long morning in the field. A little more, and Starr might actually swear she could smell cooked meat on a spit and bundles of herbs left hanging over the cauldron...
A reminder of home for the Viscount, then, or perhaps of simpler times.
Then, the low, regular clatter of the gruff's horseshoe-laden cloven hooves hitting the balcony's stone floor...
What stepped through the archway and into the office was huge – an anthro goat on some sort of unholy mix of steroids and growth hormones. His muscles were large and powerful, cultivated on the battlefield as opposed to a gym, his white fur covered in small line-shaped areas of naked skin that crisscrossed his entire frame irregularly. She'd recognize the old puckered marks of bullet wounds, the long and wicked slashes of sword strikes, the welt-like marks left behind by very old fire-related injuries – as well as the faint, spiderweb-like marks of slightly darkened fur where old traces of the Bane remained. Long story short, the city's other Chief of Police was on par with Aldergard in terms of how battered he looked – and she'd apparently caught him shortly after a refreshing trip to what had to be some sort of water basin, outside. He wore nothing other than his brown leather pants, laced in an unquestionably Medieval style.
Seeing her, he grunted – the architecture reverberating the sound he produced and adding to the imposing figure he projected. His face was a bit difficult to read if you weren't used to inhuman dour types like Aldergard, but Katherine wouldn't have too much trouble sensing the Viscount's mild embarrasment.
Nevermind that he had nothing to be embarrassed about – he was so inhumanly ripped that he would have caused most mortal bodybuilders to plainly and simply give up.
“Hmph. Thou finds me mortified, Solicitor Starr. I spent this morn entertaining the feral prides of Morgana's envoys. Thou surely know how the depths of the Wilds carry tropical humours. Deepest Summer brings wretched heat and baneful insects wherever it treads. As per our latest treaties, this year's warmer months will be theirs,” he summarized, sighing in a bit of frustration. “I needs must ask of the burgomaster that he opens Hope's water valves for the youths, if heat waves are to be planned for – and the one called Old Jack should be notified of Pickman Sound's pithy harvests to come...”
He quickly walked away and retrieved his customary chainmail shirt and green sleeveless shirt to be worn on top. Judging from how impossibly wide the difference was between his waist and his shoulders, you'd have wondered how he managed to stay balanced as he lowered himself onto the Roman-styled curved bench that served as his office chair. He briefly rested his elbows on the table, but then seemed to remember something.
“A chair!” he called out – or rather, commanded to the foliage that stuck to the sides of the tower. Creaking noises could be heard, followed by thick vines bursting like pseudopods into the room. Instead of grasping Katherine as if she'd been Faye Wray in another King Kong remake, however, they slipped just short of where she stood and wreathed themselves together in the shape of a curiously comfortable-looking retro egg chair. That is, if sixties' egg chairs had been suspended atop living vines and made out of vines and still-green wood.
For now, Percival of Evergloam said nothing else, and merely inclined his head, politely urging the lawyer to sit down.
Those double doors, however, were different. The white wood looked a bit more weathered than the rest of the station's stately-if-functional arches, as if conflicting climates on both sides put some stress on the panels of treated organic material. She wasn't exactly a pro at renovating living spaces, but even Katherine would know what a quick interplay between hot and cold spots could do to wooden structures. Wood was something that had been part of a living, breathing thing, and these ubiquitous surfaces expanded and contracted as needed. The white paint looked like it had been maintained frequently enough, but it hadn't stopped the grain from developing a cracked appearance over the years.
Opening them, she'd feel the now ordinary tension of a Gate to Faerie. The wood groaned ever so slightly as what waited on the other side of the panels changed, balmy springtime air mingling with the canned office-space atmosphere of the station. Soft sunlight that was too kind on her eyes to be of this world filled her vision for but a second, bringing the whiteness of sudden adaptation, but none of the pain or discomfort.
The Viscount's office in Faerie was a few floors underneath the Countess' apartments in the central tower that dominated Evergloam, a single circular room characterized by several wide-open arches that led to a balcony. In a sense, he seemed to have elected a kind of oversized minaret for himself, if Arabian details had been swapped for unmistakably English refinement. The lands of Summer being what they were, it was obvious that there was never anything like an unwanted breeze to disturb Percival's papers on his desk; never anything like strong showers to bring unwanted stains to sensitive files or precious furniture items.
On the few walls that weren't punctured by a regal archway, shields, bucklers, morningstars and claymores waited. Only one wall segment broke this rule, showing a rather large fireplace Starr could have practically elected as a small apartment. Atop the mantelpiece waited a curiously flowing Impressionist scene, showing the pastoral details of some gently sunlit rocky mountainside. Artfully placed off-center, a rather simple but solid-looking stone manse waited, the painted plumes of white smoke actually moving. Framing the house's door and leaning with both hands on a sturdy tree branch fashioned into a walking stick was someone that might have looked like Sir Percy, if you'd given the Eldest Gruff of Hope a few additional centuries of open warfare. That grizzled fellow simply stared straight ahead, his eyes coincidentally boring into Katherine's with a look that also resembled Percy's stern and noble mien – but with more wisdom tacked onto it, and perhaps the ghost of a contented smile. This was an instant captured with magic and transferred onto canvas – Father waiting for his son after a long morning in the field. A little more, and Starr might actually swear she could smell cooked meat on a spit and bundles of herbs left hanging over the cauldron...
A reminder of home for the Viscount, then, or perhaps of simpler times.
Then, the low, regular clatter of the gruff's horseshoe-laden cloven hooves hitting the balcony's stone floor...
What stepped through the archway and into the office was huge – an anthro goat on some sort of unholy mix of steroids and growth hormones. His muscles were large and powerful, cultivated on the battlefield as opposed to a gym, his white fur covered in small line-shaped areas of naked skin that crisscrossed his entire frame irregularly. She'd recognize the old puckered marks of bullet wounds, the long and wicked slashes of sword strikes, the welt-like marks left behind by very old fire-related injuries – as well as the faint, spiderweb-like marks of slightly darkened fur where old traces of the Bane remained. Long story short, the city's other Chief of Police was on par with Aldergard in terms of how battered he looked – and she'd apparently caught him shortly after a refreshing trip to what had to be some sort of water basin, outside. He wore nothing other than his brown leather pants, laced in an unquestionably Medieval style.
Seeing her, he grunted – the architecture reverberating the sound he produced and adding to the imposing figure he projected. His face was a bit difficult to read if you weren't used to inhuman dour types like Aldergard, but Katherine wouldn't have too much trouble sensing the Viscount's mild embarrasment.
Nevermind that he had nothing to be embarrassed about – he was so inhumanly ripped that he would have caused most mortal bodybuilders to plainly and simply give up.
“Hmph. Thou finds me mortified, Solicitor Starr. I spent this morn entertaining the feral prides of Morgana's envoys. Thou surely know how the depths of the Wilds carry tropical humours. Deepest Summer brings wretched heat and baneful insects wherever it treads. As per our latest treaties, this year's warmer months will be theirs,” he summarized, sighing in a bit of frustration. “I needs must ask of the burgomaster that he opens Hope's water valves for the youths, if heat waves are to be planned for – and the one called Old Jack should be notified of Pickman Sound's pithy harvests to come...”
He quickly walked away and retrieved his customary chainmail shirt and green sleeveless shirt to be worn on top. Judging from how impossibly wide the difference was between his waist and his shoulders, you'd have wondered how he managed to stay balanced as he lowered himself onto the Roman-styled curved bench that served as his office chair. He briefly rested his elbows on the table, but then seemed to remember something.
“A chair!” he called out – or rather, commanded to the foliage that stuck to the sides of the tower. Creaking noises could be heard, followed by thick vines bursting like pseudopods into the room. Instead of grasping Katherine as if she'd been Faye Wray in another King Kong remake, however, they slipped just short of where she stood and wreathed themselves together in the shape of a curiously comfortable-looking retro egg chair. That is, if sixties' egg chairs had been suspended atop living vines and made out of vines and still-green wood.
For now, Percival of Evergloam said nothing else, and merely inclined his head, politely urging the lawyer to sit down.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Sophia sniffed indignantly, although her annoyance wasn't directly at the human. "Cycles repeat; this city will have to have another supe Golden Age for it to endure the coming threat. Besides, Bucky and Archibald are what the city needs. I know them personally; they're good friends of mine," she stated with a fond smile. "Yes, Archibald is of old wealth, but his character is morally upright. He'll do anything to protect others. Bucky is the same. People assume he's nothing but a bruiser, but I'd trust him with my life. I know my word is limited with today's generation, but this city will need the both of them soon. I bet my life on it."
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
This was not the first time Katherine had dealt with Fae, nor would it be the last. But she couldn't quite keep a gasp of awe from escaping her lips as she stepped beyond the double doors, and had to remind herself that the Fae liked to show off, however their intentions actually ran.
And then the goat himself came through, and she lost her breath. "Ah," she said, "what a, what a shame." Kuhn's lover or not, Starr was still a woman who could appreciate a well turned-out male, and Percy was certainly that; she caught herself on the edge of whining when she realized he was putting a shirt on, and noisily cleared her throat to get her composure back. The presence of a chair helped, and she sat down gratefully. "So," she began, stopping when she realized she'd forgotten what she wanted to say. "Um, so."
And then the goat himself came through, and she lost her breath. "Ah," she said, "what a, what a shame." Kuhn's lover or not, Starr was still a woman who could appreciate a well turned-out male, and Percy was certainly that; she caught herself on the edge of whining when she realized he was putting a shirt on, and noisily cleared her throat to get her composure back. The presence of a chair helped, and she sat down gratefully. "So," she began, stopping when she realized she'd forgotten what she wanted to say. "Um, so."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Three nodded immediately. “I agree; it's just that people forget that supes hanging up their capes and cowls for jeans and tee-shirts doesn't mean they lose their powers. It's part of the overall hypocrisy of human nature. Amazo gets a pass because he's walked Hollywood Boulevard with Maxim models, but Holden somehow doesn't because he's British or something. He doesn't have flashy and harmless little vices to make the TMZ guys handle him like he's some sort of charmingly lovable bad boy.”
He clipped a few more vines. “Plus, he's old wealth, like you said. Old wealth is conservative. Wallace Doherty has the keys to the two head Clanks in town and he still doesn't know anything about their investment portfolios. I'm pretty sure they're both as safe and just as careful as Kuhn is. No big money-generating transactions, no ballsy acquisitions, no Fortune 500-worthy news. People don't care – they disapprove, even. Word is a lot of people are convinced he's sitting on political blood money Queen Victoria pushed his way, way back when. I don't care, I know spy games aren't clean – but the flipside of the issue is that those folks who did grow up during the last Golden Age figure all our protectors should be as, uh, stalwart as Seraph used to be.”
Drake scoffed. “Nevermind that Seraph was pretty much a PR construct. It's real easy to act all high-and-mighty when you've got an approval rating that's higher than the mayor's at the time.”
If there was one thing Sophia would know about Aidan's family, it was that for a small dynasty of mundanes, they paid very close attention to History. They weren't quite as old as the Bucks or Meers or Greenes, but they had been known for knowing Hope better than several ancestral natives. Gavin's grandfather had been from just south of the Hebrides, in the mid eighteen-hundreds' incarnation of the old Pict territories; but that hadn't stopped that one Drake's son, Orson, from becoming the first curator of the Hope Museum of Fine Arts' first permanent local exhibit.
Considering, it stood to reason that Aidan was on sufficiently solid ground to judge the fifties' and sixties' combination of innocence, self-righteousness and excess.
* * *
Percy canted his head sideways after a few moments, his vertical caprine pupils giving his gaze an uncommon weight. One of his ears flicked as he threaded fingers together on his tabletop. Maybe something like an amused smile played on his lips, but it might as well have been a hard line of bitter disappointment, too. As usual, it was rather hard to say...
“Mab,” he said, using the kind of tone a patient schoolteacher would employ to help a slower, but well-meaning student along. “Methinks thou spoke of an urgent need to ascertain the Darkest Queen's plans and whereabouts. Unless, of course, my aide's ears were deceived...”
His tone wouldn't have seemed like an appropriate place for Katherine to smile. Not one bit. Nevertheless, seeing her lack of reaction, it was Percy's turn to look vaguely bothered. “T'was a jest,” he almost muttered, adding something about needing to work on his sense of humor.
He clipped a few more vines. “Plus, he's old wealth, like you said. Old wealth is conservative. Wallace Doherty has the keys to the two head Clanks in town and he still doesn't know anything about their investment portfolios. I'm pretty sure they're both as safe and just as careful as Kuhn is. No big money-generating transactions, no ballsy acquisitions, no Fortune 500-worthy news. People don't care – they disapprove, even. Word is a lot of people are convinced he's sitting on political blood money Queen Victoria pushed his way, way back when. I don't care, I know spy games aren't clean – but the flipside of the issue is that those folks who did grow up during the last Golden Age figure all our protectors should be as, uh, stalwart as Seraph used to be.”
Drake scoffed. “Nevermind that Seraph was pretty much a PR construct. It's real easy to act all high-and-mighty when you've got an approval rating that's higher than the mayor's at the time.”
If there was one thing Sophia would know about Aidan's family, it was that for a small dynasty of mundanes, they paid very close attention to History. They weren't quite as old as the Bucks or Meers or Greenes, but they had been known for knowing Hope better than several ancestral natives. Gavin's grandfather had been from just south of the Hebrides, in the mid eighteen-hundreds' incarnation of the old Pict territories; but that hadn't stopped that one Drake's son, Orson, from becoming the first curator of the Hope Museum of Fine Arts' first permanent local exhibit.
Considering, it stood to reason that Aidan was on sufficiently solid ground to judge the fifties' and sixties' combination of innocence, self-righteousness and excess.
* * *
Percy canted his head sideways after a few moments, his vertical caprine pupils giving his gaze an uncommon weight. One of his ears flicked as he threaded fingers together on his tabletop. Maybe something like an amused smile played on his lips, but it might as well have been a hard line of bitter disappointment, too. As usual, it was rather hard to say...
“Mab,” he said, using the kind of tone a patient schoolteacher would employ to help a slower, but well-meaning student along. “Methinks thou spoke of an urgent need to ascertain the Darkest Queen's plans and whereabouts. Unless, of course, my aide's ears were deceived...”
His tone wouldn't have seemed like an appropriate place for Katherine to smile. Not one bit. Nevertheless, seeing her lack of reaction, it was Percy's turn to look vaguely bothered. “T'was a jest,” he almost muttered, adding something about needing to work on his sense of humor.
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Oh, right, Mab," Katherine replied, somewhat flustered. "Well, Mab and the Centennial Tree. My employer is concerned she may act against us once again, and there have been several artifact thefts and resales lately that could be connected. Not to mention the Tree itself seems to be stirring." She inclined her head. "Well. You understand how we would like to have as many pieces of the puzzle as possible."