Katherine nodded slowly. "I'll hand Magridge off to Greene, then," she remarked. "I'll speak to the cops and try to reach the Viscount, but if the Commission bosses aren't aware of what their own men are up to, shouldn't someone bring it to their attention?" Not specifically her, granted, but someone anyway.
-----------------------
Meanwhile, Charles was making the sale. "Y' won't find better mileage in this year 'n model anywheres," he insisted earnestly, giving the trucker the full benefit of his weighty blue eyes. "Sure she looks a bit nobbled, but that ain't nothin' a Maaco can't fix!"
"I- I dunno," the man said doubtfully. "I'd like a test drive, that okay?"
"Sure it is," Charles replied jovially. "Abraham?" The Israeli nodded and withdrew the keys from his pocket, gesturing for the man to climb up into the rig as he went around to the passenger side.
Chapter I - Sword and Shield
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Karl the Mad
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Inside, Frank's felt like a cross between the busiest and most crammed pawn shop ever to exist and Mos Espa's junkyard, from The Phantom Menace. A few items were placed away from the others, sufficiently conspicuous in their nature to make it clear they weren't for sale. A half-emptied soda bottle, an opened can of beans on another countertop, a battered old diagnostics multitool she'd recognize from Gilese's neighborhood; along with a small assortment of various stepladders and curiously small hydraulic load lifters, all placed in odd locations. Some were pressed against a shelf that was at a level with her head, others waited on the side and seemed ready to be positioned as needed. The local Hard Rock radio station fought for auditive dominance of the local airwaves with what looked like a pirated ESPN broadcast, showing a round of theriomorph-enabled soccer. The players, ostensibly one-trick mages with a bigger focus on green and yellow cards than grimoires, alternated between kicking the ball around or swatting it away from the opponent with everything from a shapeshifted bull's horn to an expertly placed leopard's paw. Judging by the jerseys, this was a Brazil VS Italy rerun – probably a highlights reel from last year's Mundial.
“Just a minute!” called a voice from somewhere low behind the counter. “Be right there with you, these refurbished cells are murder to get to stack up properly!”
It wasn't quite a Russian accent, but neither was it American. It wasn't Eastern European, either – carrying that distinctly foggy Eurotrash accent someone from pretty well far away from the Old Country tended to pick up when they learned English from someone who had roots in the Western Bloc. Judging by the voice, the man had to be somewhere in his late forties, with the kind of chest and throat to really give off that vaguely Balkanized basso. At the same time, the syntax was perfect. The guy didn't speak Dostoievsky's tongue to save his life, then, and had spent most of his time around foreigners speaking English.
What stepped out from behind the counter completed that auditory portrait in an oddly fitting way. Picture a rubbery, brown, slightly deflated and hairy beach ball with something like Gonzo the Muppet's nose and a tailored suit jacket that absolutely screamed “sleazy businessman”, and you'll have a good idea of just who Frank Brenner was. He was obviously a Pilus, one of the newer nonhuman additions to Paradise's diaspora – if by new you meant that he'd possibly have roots in the station for the last two generations. The alien's mouth was twisted in a bit of a friendly snarl by the imported Paradise stogie that he was chomping on, and he didn't have much more to show than four snaggle-ish molars. His tie, shirt and suit didn't fit – and it felt as though that was a bit of a deliberate choice on his part. Of note was the alien's rather oversized belt buckle, which produced a rather simple effect Tam would recognize instantly.
He was wearing a combination shield and gravity field generator. Considering how the Pilus were literal windbags and were so light a five year-old human could have picked up an adult, it made sense for Frank to try and artificially weigh a little more – and to protect his fairly flexible and fragile hide. If Tam caught him with that thing turned off, she'd be able to kick him around like a beach ball without putting the least bit of effort into it.
Brenner gave her a toothy smile, his boneless arm bending to grip at his stogie. He was smoking a nutrient delivery device rather than a nicotine dispenser, so the smell wasn't quite cigar-ish. Maybe more akin to something like burning cliantro.
“Ah,” he said, seemingly seeing more than just a fellow Drifter in her; “a conoisseur, eh? I knew that bike's engine didn't exactly sound like Earth vanilla the moment you idled in front of the store. Would I have the honor of addressing someone who knows her dihydrogen injection manifolds from her plasma nacelles?”
The way he'd asked his question, and based on the way he was grinning, he seemed to have a fairly good idea of the answer to it. “Well, you'll find everything you need in here, sweet girl – provided you aren't too picky!” he added, laughing a bit.
His demeanor changed almost immediately, his slightly bulbous eyes narrowing in thought. “But, um, I'm wondering something myself... Would you happen to have what I need – namely, one good pair of arms for hire that you wouldn't mind using to reach into old rust buckets for me? I'd so it myself, mind you, but I'm somewhat height-challenged to coin a phrase, and more than a little deficient in terms of reach...”
He grimaced. “That and the last helper I had thought Drifters were a little too lax. Damn ingrate made off with my safe's contents! Five hundred dollars gone, all because that young idiot was aching to go and buy the latest rights removal device Microsoft patented. He couldn't shut up about his military shooters for weeks – oy, my aching head!”
* * *
Three kept cutting for a while, trimming here and pulling weeds there, too immersed in the relatively thoughtless tedium of his work to realize he was inching closer to Sophia by the second. Looking up and to the side as he stood up, he made a brief double-take and tensed up just a bit.
“Holy Sh- Sorry, Sophia. I just didn't see you there. I, uh, I figured I'd take the East wing.”
His brief burst of fear vanishing, he looked over one of the dryad's shoulders and sighed. “Gus went off to sleep again,” he said, his disappointment palpable. “I thought supervisors were supposed to keep an eye on their team's guys; not the other way around.”
Not wanting to force his own morose thoughts onto her, he quickly changed subjects. “Fieri wants a whole new landscaping job by the Eastern gate. He hasn't sent anybody official over to let you know yet but, uh, you should definitely expect to see heavy-duty landscaping hardware around by mid June. That means diesel fumes and fucking noise – same as usual.”
Having never really known the dryad, Aidan always felt a little awkward around her. It wasn't so much a question of her being a supernatural being as of her being a city fixture that had turned into postcard or tourism ad fodder over the years. People knew Sophia on a fairly shallow level, but very few people actually had the balls to come up to her and strike up an honest conversation.
At best, the dryad could always count on the Landscaping division's employees to gradually warm up to her over the season, and she could always fall back on the other local social landmarks.
That is, when they were active. Her friends Archibald Holden and Shamus Wallace were still reduced to simple exhibit status at the Holden Hall Museum, both for posterity and to reduce wear and tear on their bodies until such time as they'd be needed. Failing those two, she'd have a few local vampires and at least two Commission members to at least occasionally speak to.
All things told, being that much crucial to a city's prosperity meant you didn't make much friends. People tended to be afraid they'd somehow “break” her or disrupt her oh-so-arcane status as the living focus for the entirety of the city's via output.
* * *
Aldergard had already looked away, appearing to reply absently. “Ach,” he dismissively agreed, “someone. Yes.”
The Frigid Boss routine never stuck long with her, though. In a manner that was oh-so-very Aldergard-like for whomever happened to know him, he smiled with his eyes while keeping everything else as stern as could be. It was a slight little thing – a sudden small pucker in the scales on his bottom eyelids followed by a change of light in these yellow eyes – but it was there.
Even as he reached for his phone to handle some other detail on another case, he mouthed I love you to her, adding Work well with a split-second's worth of hesitation and within a breath of addressing his phone call's recipient.
More split-second body language followed. For just long enough for her to notice it, he gave her as tender a look as he could manage. That same look then frosted over with a suitably affected professional distance, cocking his muzzle at the door as a means to nonverbally let her know she could see herself out.
“Just a minute!” called a voice from somewhere low behind the counter. “Be right there with you, these refurbished cells are murder to get to stack up properly!”
It wasn't quite a Russian accent, but neither was it American. It wasn't Eastern European, either – carrying that distinctly foggy Eurotrash accent someone from pretty well far away from the Old Country tended to pick up when they learned English from someone who had roots in the Western Bloc. Judging by the voice, the man had to be somewhere in his late forties, with the kind of chest and throat to really give off that vaguely Balkanized basso. At the same time, the syntax was perfect. The guy didn't speak Dostoievsky's tongue to save his life, then, and had spent most of his time around foreigners speaking English.
What stepped out from behind the counter completed that auditory portrait in an oddly fitting way. Picture a rubbery, brown, slightly deflated and hairy beach ball with something like Gonzo the Muppet's nose and a tailored suit jacket that absolutely screamed “sleazy businessman”, and you'll have a good idea of just who Frank Brenner was. He was obviously a Pilus, one of the newer nonhuman additions to Paradise's diaspora – if by new you meant that he'd possibly have roots in the station for the last two generations. The alien's mouth was twisted in a bit of a friendly snarl by the imported Paradise stogie that he was chomping on, and he didn't have much more to show than four snaggle-ish molars. His tie, shirt and suit didn't fit – and it felt as though that was a bit of a deliberate choice on his part. Of note was the alien's rather oversized belt buckle, which produced a rather simple effect Tam would recognize instantly.
He was wearing a combination shield and gravity field generator. Considering how the Pilus were literal windbags and were so light a five year-old human could have picked up an adult, it made sense for Frank to try and artificially weigh a little more – and to protect his fairly flexible and fragile hide. If Tam caught him with that thing turned off, she'd be able to kick him around like a beach ball without putting the least bit of effort into it.
Brenner gave her a toothy smile, his boneless arm bending to grip at his stogie. He was smoking a nutrient delivery device rather than a nicotine dispenser, so the smell wasn't quite cigar-ish. Maybe more akin to something like burning cliantro.
“Ah,” he said, seemingly seeing more than just a fellow Drifter in her; “a conoisseur, eh? I knew that bike's engine didn't exactly sound like Earth vanilla the moment you idled in front of the store. Would I have the honor of addressing someone who knows her dihydrogen injection manifolds from her plasma nacelles?”
The way he'd asked his question, and based on the way he was grinning, he seemed to have a fairly good idea of the answer to it. “Well, you'll find everything you need in here, sweet girl – provided you aren't too picky!” he added, laughing a bit.
His demeanor changed almost immediately, his slightly bulbous eyes narrowing in thought. “But, um, I'm wondering something myself... Would you happen to have what I need – namely, one good pair of arms for hire that you wouldn't mind using to reach into old rust buckets for me? I'd so it myself, mind you, but I'm somewhat height-challenged to coin a phrase, and more than a little deficient in terms of reach...”
He grimaced. “That and the last helper I had thought Drifters were a little too lax. Damn ingrate made off with my safe's contents! Five hundred dollars gone, all because that young idiot was aching to go and buy the latest rights removal device Microsoft patented. He couldn't shut up about his military shooters for weeks – oy, my aching head!”
* * *
Three kept cutting for a while, trimming here and pulling weeds there, too immersed in the relatively thoughtless tedium of his work to realize he was inching closer to Sophia by the second. Looking up and to the side as he stood up, he made a brief double-take and tensed up just a bit.
“Holy Sh- Sorry, Sophia. I just didn't see you there. I, uh, I figured I'd take the East wing.”
His brief burst of fear vanishing, he looked over one of the dryad's shoulders and sighed. “Gus went off to sleep again,” he said, his disappointment palpable. “I thought supervisors were supposed to keep an eye on their team's guys; not the other way around.”
Not wanting to force his own morose thoughts onto her, he quickly changed subjects. “Fieri wants a whole new landscaping job by the Eastern gate. He hasn't sent anybody official over to let you know yet but, uh, you should definitely expect to see heavy-duty landscaping hardware around by mid June. That means diesel fumes and fucking noise – same as usual.”
Having never really known the dryad, Aidan always felt a little awkward around her. It wasn't so much a question of her being a supernatural being as of her being a city fixture that had turned into postcard or tourism ad fodder over the years. People knew Sophia on a fairly shallow level, but very few people actually had the balls to come up to her and strike up an honest conversation.
At best, the dryad could always count on the Landscaping division's employees to gradually warm up to her over the season, and she could always fall back on the other local social landmarks.
That is, when they were active. Her friends Archibald Holden and Shamus Wallace were still reduced to simple exhibit status at the Holden Hall Museum, both for posterity and to reduce wear and tear on their bodies until such time as they'd be needed. Failing those two, she'd have a few local vampires and at least two Commission members to at least occasionally speak to.
All things told, being that much crucial to a city's prosperity meant you didn't make much friends. People tended to be afraid they'd somehow “break” her or disrupt her oh-so-arcane status as the living focus for the entirety of the city's via output.
* * *
Aldergard had already looked away, appearing to reply absently. “Ach,” he dismissively agreed, “someone. Yes.”
The Frigid Boss routine never stuck long with her, though. In a manner that was oh-so-very Aldergard-like for whomever happened to know him, he smiled with his eyes while keeping everything else as stern as could be. It was a slight little thing – a sudden small pucker in the scales on his bottom eyelids followed by a change of light in these yellow eyes – but it was there.
Even as he reached for his phone to handle some other detail on another case, he mouthed I love you to her, adding Work well with a split-second's worth of hesitation and within a breath of addressing his phone call's recipient.
More split-second body language followed. For just long enough for her to notice it, he gave her as tender a look as he could manage. That same look then frosted over with a suitably affected professional distance, cocking his muzzle at the door as a means to nonverbally let her know she could see herself out.
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Tam took a brief, but thorough, look around the shop from where she stood, before answering the Pilus fellow, presumed 'Frank'. It had the look of a decent-enough junk shop, and if there were illegals here, they were properly stowed well below notice. The selection was- potentially tasty. And there was the element of not being a complete outsider, with a fellow running the place...
"What are your terms?" she asked, taking hands out of pockets and setting them in easy sight on her hips. That simple inquiry opened up the initial moves of the Deal, as it tended to be practiced on Paradise, and the old motions came back to her easily- curious but not invested, calm but not to be put readily at ease.
"What are your terms?" she asked, taking hands out of pockets and setting them in easy sight on her hips. That simple inquiry opened up the initial moves of the Deal, as it tended to be practiced on Paradise, and the old motions came back to her easily- curious but not invested, calm but not to be put readily at ease.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Frank wasn't exactly physiologically able to match Tam's posture with the expected humanoid analogue for Deal-makers, the most he could manage being a sense of keen interest – the very clear sense that he was willing to discuss those terms if need be. To the more recognizably strong or nimble species went the luxury of pouting lips or standing their ground with physical emotes. Not to mention that even as far as his parents had told him, the Pilus weren't in the habit of trying to muscle their way through a barter. Their physical frailty had informed much of their culture, turning them into expert wheedlers and general social benders rather than forceful negotiators.
“They're generous enough, I'd say,” he said, pinching his cigar with two fingers. “If I were just any other joe selling stolen TVs and hawked religious paraphernalia, I'd maybe sit at, oh, sixteen dollars an hour. That's my standing offer – unless you're fine with handling sensitive hardware. In that case...”
He gave her a toothy grin. “Well, in that case, there's a sizable premium. Do well, and you'll earn a nice commission on top of your hourly wage – courtesy of the off-planet Russkies and Japs. I trust I don't have to tell you how the Game works, eh? I'm a Paradise expatriate, you're a Paradise expatriate – we both know Terran legality isn't exactly profitable for either of us.
If you're wondering why I'm making this offer to you; well – I've got an eye for trustworthy people who won't talk to no boys in blue about what goes on here. If my eyes are wrong, I've got the means to set my eyesight straight, so to speak. Get blemishes removed.”
Despite that obvious threat, he'd remained casual in his tone. Another obvious Paradise tell. “Still, I've met my share of expats who were trying to make an honest living. An honorable goal, even if it's not one I could pursue. If that's your case, we're back to Square One. Sixteen bucks an hour, half an hour for lunch – and you won't ever have to touch anything illegal. Scout's honor.”
Another easy grin. “I hope I haven't scared you, Blueskin. Have I, or do you know a road to fast and easy cash when you see one?”
“They're generous enough, I'd say,” he said, pinching his cigar with two fingers. “If I were just any other joe selling stolen TVs and hawked religious paraphernalia, I'd maybe sit at, oh, sixteen dollars an hour. That's my standing offer – unless you're fine with handling sensitive hardware. In that case...”
He gave her a toothy grin. “Well, in that case, there's a sizable premium. Do well, and you'll earn a nice commission on top of your hourly wage – courtesy of the off-planet Russkies and Japs. I trust I don't have to tell you how the Game works, eh? I'm a Paradise expatriate, you're a Paradise expatriate – we both know Terran legality isn't exactly profitable for either of us.
If you're wondering why I'm making this offer to you; well – I've got an eye for trustworthy people who won't talk to no boys in blue about what goes on here. If my eyes are wrong, I've got the means to set my eyesight straight, so to speak. Get blemishes removed.”
Despite that obvious threat, he'd remained casual in his tone. Another obvious Paradise tell. “Still, I've met my share of expats who were trying to make an honest living. An honorable goal, even if it's not one I could pursue. If that's your case, we're back to Square One. Sixteen bucks an hour, half an hour for lunch – and you won't ever have to touch anything illegal. Scout's honor.”
Another easy grin. “I hope I haven't scared you, Blueskin. Have I, or do you know a road to fast and easy cash when you see one?”
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Karl the Mad
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Katherine smiled back at her boss, gave him a nod that said everything words couldn't, and turned to walk out the door, all business once again. "Greene's in his office?" she asked curtly of the secretary, who gave her an affirmative nod without interrupting the flow. She nodded back and went down a few floors, striding purposefully across the halls for her erstwhile understudy. Greene, a promising law student, had made the mistake of catching Katherine's attention perhaps six or seven years ago; he'd since been snapped up by Wyvern's legal department, and despite his ability usually ended up with whatever mundane cases Starr had on hand whenever a "special project" came down. Not much was known about her; for all the younger workers knew, she'd been around as long as Kuhn had.
"Let me guess," the put-upon lawyer blurted out with a sigh before she could even knock, "you've got something important from the Big Guy and Magridge'll just get in your way, right?" He glanced up with a bored expression, by now immune to Katherine's Aryan haughtiness. "Just... leave the damn file here, will ya?"
"Zat's no vay to tok to hyu boss," she replied with a glower, waltzing inside and dropping the (relatively thin) file on Greene's desk. "Eef hyu vant ze beeg bugks...?"
"I gotta put in 'ze beeg hours'," he finished, rolling his eyes. "Seriously Starr, I know good and well you can talk straight, drop the damn accent already."
"But it amuses me," she replied with a smirk. "Now do goot vork und Hy vill put hyu name in vit de Boss tonight!" She blew him a kiss and walked back out, headed for the elevators; Green rolled his eyes again and opened the file, although he already had a good idea of what it entailed...
----------------------
"How'd it go?" Charles asked when Abraham came back into the office. "I'm a' guessin' 'er went good?"
"Yes, once he had a feel for the vehicle he was quick to make the purchase," the Israeli replied, "although he was still grumbling about having to get it resurfaced and re-detailed."
"Meh, fuck 'em," the blonde vet replied dismissively. "Got somethin' good 'ere." He stood up and went around the room, making sure blinds and windows were shut and doors were secured; Abraham did likewise, and they met back at the desk. Here, Charles reached under and retrieved a rifle of some sort, although anyone who knew guns could tell straight off it didn't belong anywhere on Earth. "Beauty, eh?"
"...we could all get arrested if that thing was misplaced," Abraham said slowly, reaching out a hand but not quite touching the dangerous weapon. "Where did...?"
"Best ya dunno, Abraham," Charles replied gravely. "Point is, it's gotta be fixed."
"But we do not specialize in..."
"'Xactly. But I knows th' fix 'er needs 'n I knows a coupla nifty tweaks t' really bust shit up, but 'er needs parts we ain't got," Charles went on. "Knows anyone?"
"I will have to make a few calls," the Israeli replied slowly. "Give me perhaps an hour...?" He turned and went for the phones, aligning in his mind what bits of information he would need to procure what needed procuring.
"Let me guess," the put-upon lawyer blurted out with a sigh before she could even knock, "you've got something important from the Big Guy and Magridge'll just get in your way, right?" He glanced up with a bored expression, by now immune to Katherine's Aryan haughtiness. "Just... leave the damn file here, will ya?"
"Zat's no vay to tok to hyu boss," she replied with a glower, waltzing inside and dropping the (relatively thin) file on Greene's desk. "Eef hyu vant ze beeg bugks...?"
"I gotta put in 'ze beeg hours'," he finished, rolling his eyes. "Seriously Starr, I know good and well you can talk straight, drop the damn accent already."
"But it amuses me," she replied with a smirk. "Now do goot vork und Hy vill put hyu name in vit de Boss tonight!" She blew him a kiss and walked back out, headed for the elevators; Green rolled his eyes again and opened the file, although he already had a good idea of what it entailed...
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"How'd it go?" Charles asked when Abraham came back into the office. "I'm a' guessin' 'er went good?"
"Yes, once he had a feel for the vehicle he was quick to make the purchase," the Israeli replied, "although he was still grumbling about having to get it resurfaced and re-detailed."
"Meh, fuck 'em," the blonde vet replied dismissively. "Got somethin' good 'ere." He stood up and went around the room, making sure blinds and windows were shut and doors were secured; Abraham did likewise, and they met back at the desk. Here, Charles reached under and retrieved a rifle of some sort, although anyone who knew guns could tell straight off it didn't belong anywhere on Earth. "Beauty, eh?"
"...we could all get arrested if that thing was misplaced," Abraham said slowly, reaching out a hand but not quite touching the dangerous weapon. "Where did...?"
"Best ya dunno, Abraham," Charles replied gravely. "Point is, it's gotta be fixed."
"But we do not specialize in..."
"'Xactly. But I knows th' fix 'er needs 'n I knows a coupla nifty tweaks t' really bust shit up, but 'er needs parts we ain't got," Charles went on. "Knows anyone?"
"I will have to make a few calls," the Israeli replied slowly. "Give me perhaps an hour...?" He turned and went for the phones, aligning in his mind what bits of information he would need to procure what needed procuring.
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Now that *is* a pretty offer. But- let's start at sixteen, until you and I know each other better." There were advantages to being without the law. But there were advantages to being with*in* the law as well, and Tam wasn't all-together certain she wanted to get deeply involved with the shadier side. Not until she'd seen enough of how it worked here to understand if she could play it and not lose.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
The Pilus' grin widened a bit, a puff of smoke escaping his opened mouth. His free hand went to his shield generator, which he temporarily deactivated. Giving himself a bit of an upwards shove, he drifted towards the countertop in a slow leap that furthered the balloon-like properties of his physique. He slightly bounced and rolled around for a few seconds, before being able to right himself and reactivate his gravity amp.
Now at something that was at least halfway close to a level with her, he extended a knubby hand. “Very nice to meet you, Blueskin! Now you'd better give me a name, or this'll be one Hell of an awkward professional relationship, eh? I'm Frank, by the way. Frank Brenner.”
* * *
The Deputy Chiefs were known to be colourful individuals, but at least they still operated as people with their head screwed on straight. Chief Alderan had long since outclassed his own superheroics in terms of notoriety, winning the locals' hearts with pure and simple mundane tenacity. Seamus Mac Loch was a bit of a poster boy for the Vienna Accords and was so stubbornly and lovably Scottish he could give Winters' Irishmen a run for their money in terms of likeability – not to mention that his living outside of the Accords' afforded anonymity allowed the other local dragons to breathe and offered precisely one target for idiotic would-be slayers to gun for. No matter who wanted to take a pot shot at something big, scaly and sentient – Katherine could count on the fact that in Hope, at the very least, she'd only ever have to take care of a single potential victim. It made prosecution in the case of slaying attempts a veritable case of child's play. That still had been Aldergard's idea, however, and she'd had to fight to keep her beau from being the one saurian in North America with the license to go I am Dragon, hear me roar and spit acid. It had been a good plan, but Seamus was comparatively younger and more spritely. Whatever could happen, he'd be able to take it. On the other hand, Kuhn's immune system felt like the punchline to a bad joke, at his age. Even something as benign as summertime allergies sometimes knocked him out cold for several weeks. If a dragon's roar could sound fairly terrifying, a dragon's clogged nose producing labored sneezes and wheezing breaths wasn't anything other than plainly miserable.
Her own extended lifespan didn't really matter – she and the Black dragon still were the town's prime example of a May-December relationship.
Crystal Tala was different, however. Presiding over Green Island, she stood as a lupine theriomorph and one of the rare positive counterparts to Eliphas Buck's offered example of curse-based lycanthropy. Being very close to your average mundane, she was one of the higher officials in the force people reacted the best to, and kept a great track record with her captains, officers and those civilians that were generally under her protection. She was a full-time mom, too, so that helped just as much.
Then, of course, there was Feargus O'Sullivan. A mouthy Elf from the corner of Summer that hardcore pagans from the Emerald Isle still called Tir Na Nog, he might have been able to stand in Katherine's palm and the average handgun might have looked ridiculously oversized when compared to him – but he was still an Elf. That meant he possessed superhuman strength in relation to his size, an incredible amount of potential speed and endurance – and that watching him preside fundraisers and buffets felt like looking at a timelapse of food plates being bitten away. He had the truculence of his Irish forbears – enough to make Winters look like a big softie – and seemed to have the least amount of patience for the local criminals. Needless to say, the pint-sized but long arm of the law in Pickman's Sound and Old Hope was one of Mayor Doherty's favorites.
As Mab's agenda was the chief concern, however, sticking to the local powers that be would only give her a fraction of the portrait. She'd need to catch Sir Percival of Evergloam as well, Hope's Faerie doppelganger standing as the first available target to anyone and anything that could attack from the Black Ridge – technically Rhode Island's shores, in the real world.
If Evergloam was even glanced at by Darkest Winter, Hope usually felt it on some level. The two cities weren't so much mirror reflections of one another as twins separated by the Centennial Tree's via umbilical – essentially one and the same but with minute variations distinguishing each of them in tone and structure.
If anything, Katherine would have lived more than long enough to understand that in a world like this one, magic could have pervasive effects on matters as distant to it as organized theft cases or even general legal practice. Via was everywhere in Hope if you knew where to look – right down to residual deposits dribbling down from mortar lines, brick walls and ventilation shafts, touching the sheared organic matter of printed paper, potentially turning something as dreary as a subpoena into a tiny arcane flag. Magic was in what you ate, what you drank, what you listened to or slept with – and Evergloam's vague sense of Self could play with all these connections as if they formed some sort of vague nervous system.
In our world, the Butterfly Effect isn't exactly considered as being scientific. In Hope's? Well, Katherine would know enough to know that if the local Eldest Gruff needed to be involved, then these sometimes amateur-ish artifact thefts had to hint at something bigger.
Now at something that was at least halfway close to a level with her, he extended a knubby hand. “Very nice to meet you, Blueskin! Now you'd better give me a name, or this'll be one Hell of an awkward professional relationship, eh? I'm Frank, by the way. Frank Brenner.”
* * *
The Deputy Chiefs were known to be colourful individuals, but at least they still operated as people with their head screwed on straight. Chief Alderan had long since outclassed his own superheroics in terms of notoriety, winning the locals' hearts with pure and simple mundane tenacity. Seamus Mac Loch was a bit of a poster boy for the Vienna Accords and was so stubbornly and lovably Scottish he could give Winters' Irishmen a run for their money in terms of likeability – not to mention that his living outside of the Accords' afforded anonymity allowed the other local dragons to breathe and offered precisely one target for idiotic would-be slayers to gun for. No matter who wanted to take a pot shot at something big, scaly and sentient – Katherine could count on the fact that in Hope, at the very least, she'd only ever have to take care of a single potential victim. It made prosecution in the case of slaying attempts a veritable case of child's play. That still had been Aldergard's idea, however, and she'd had to fight to keep her beau from being the one saurian in North America with the license to go I am Dragon, hear me roar and spit acid. It had been a good plan, but Seamus was comparatively younger and more spritely. Whatever could happen, he'd be able to take it. On the other hand, Kuhn's immune system felt like the punchline to a bad joke, at his age. Even something as benign as summertime allergies sometimes knocked him out cold for several weeks. If a dragon's roar could sound fairly terrifying, a dragon's clogged nose producing labored sneezes and wheezing breaths wasn't anything other than plainly miserable.
Her own extended lifespan didn't really matter – she and the Black dragon still were the town's prime example of a May-December relationship.
Crystal Tala was different, however. Presiding over Green Island, she stood as a lupine theriomorph and one of the rare positive counterparts to Eliphas Buck's offered example of curse-based lycanthropy. Being very close to your average mundane, she was one of the higher officials in the force people reacted the best to, and kept a great track record with her captains, officers and those civilians that were generally under her protection. She was a full-time mom, too, so that helped just as much.
Then, of course, there was Feargus O'Sullivan. A mouthy Elf from the corner of Summer that hardcore pagans from the Emerald Isle still called Tir Na Nog, he might have been able to stand in Katherine's palm and the average handgun might have looked ridiculously oversized when compared to him – but he was still an Elf. That meant he possessed superhuman strength in relation to his size, an incredible amount of potential speed and endurance – and that watching him preside fundraisers and buffets felt like looking at a timelapse of food plates being bitten away. He had the truculence of his Irish forbears – enough to make Winters look like a big softie – and seemed to have the least amount of patience for the local criminals. Needless to say, the pint-sized but long arm of the law in Pickman's Sound and Old Hope was one of Mayor Doherty's favorites.
As Mab's agenda was the chief concern, however, sticking to the local powers that be would only give her a fraction of the portrait. She'd need to catch Sir Percival of Evergloam as well, Hope's Faerie doppelganger standing as the first available target to anyone and anything that could attack from the Black Ridge – technically Rhode Island's shores, in the real world.
If Evergloam was even glanced at by Darkest Winter, Hope usually felt it on some level. The two cities weren't so much mirror reflections of one another as twins separated by the Centennial Tree's via umbilical – essentially one and the same but with minute variations distinguishing each of them in tone and structure.
If anything, Katherine would have lived more than long enough to understand that in a world like this one, magic could have pervasive effects on matters as distant to it as organized theft cases or even general legal practice. Via was everywhere in Hope if you knew where to look – right down to residual deposits dribbling down from mortar lines, brick walls and ventilation shafts, touching the sheared organic matter of printed paper, potentially turning something as dreary as a subpoena into a tiny arcane flag. Magic was in what you ate, what you drank, what you listened to or slept with – and Evergloam's vague sense of Self could play with all these connections as if they formed some sort of vague nervous system.
In our world, the Butterfly Effect isn't exactly considered as being scientific. In Hope's? Well, Katherine would know enough to know that if the local Eldest Gruff needed to be involved, then these sometimes amateur-ish artifact thefts had to hint at something bigger.
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Tam Zainall," she replied, and took his proffered hand with just enough strength to be firm, rather than squeezing the air from his nubby fingers like a stress-doll (she'd sometimes wondered if Pilus immigrants had used those as 'just like me' dollies for their kids, but figured those who wanted such things would find a way to make them).
"You want me to start right away, or you got a ten-credit tour you give to the rubes?"
"You want me to start right away, or you got a ten-credit tour you give to the rubes?"
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Frank shrugged. “It's not that big of a store, you can see most of it from here. Side wall there's all the tools, the back wall next to the corridor's all my empty fuel cells, behind the counter here is engine parts... Most of what I've got on the legal end of the spectrum doesn't go past three hundred miles an hour or offer more tensile strength than what you'd need to resist that kind of speed.
Most of the interesting stuff is out the back, really. Not necessarily illegal, but mostly things you'd use in transportation methods or projects the Terrans can't swallow just yet. I've got six space compression drives left to sell, for instance...”
He then seemed to think of something. “Here – why don't you carry me outside, eh? I'll show these to you, and I'll get to get a sense of how appropriately gentle you can be.”
Brenner gave her a quick glare. “It's nothing awkward, don't worry – I just want to make sure you can carry me without squeezing me. I don't think you'd hurt me much, but the smell syntax my last helper got out of me? Oy, I stank some of my best customers away because of him and I had to suffer the embarrassment of speaking gibberish in my mother's tongue!
Well – Her smell, technically. You speak, we, well – we fart. And don't you dare make a selling point out of that, alright? It's bad enough that human culture considers Pilus poetry to be a set of bad jokes from Adam Sandler movies! Some of our best minds work on ballads for decades on end, and here I am on Earth, hearing them sampled for gag reels!
I tell you, they're lucky they've mastered carbonation as well as they have.”
Part of that indignation was faked, obviously, as he seemed to be a bit of the bon vivant type, but it was still a fair problem. Brenner couldn't ever expect to be able to speak his native tongue in public, or else the humans and anthros would glare him out of town.
Most of the interesting stuff is out the back, really. Not necessarily illegal, but mostly things you'd use in transportation methods or projects the Terrans can't swallow just yet. I've got six space compression drives left to sell, for instance...”
He then seemed to think of something. “Here – why don't you carry me outside, eh? I'll show these to you, and I'll get to get a sense of how appropriately gentle you can be.”
Brenner gave her a quick glare. “It's nothing awkward, don't worry – I just want to make sure you can carry me without squeezing me. I don't think you'd hurt me much, but the smell syntax my last helper got out of me? Oy, I stank some of my best customers away because of him and I had to suffer the embarrassment of speaking gibberish in my mother's tongue!
Well – Her smell, technically. You speak, we, well – we fart. And don't you dare make a selling point out of that, alright? It's bad enough that human culture considers Pilus poetry to be a set of bad jokes from Adam Sandler movies! Some of our best minds work on ballads for decades on end, and here I am on Earth, hearing them sampled for gag reels!
I tell you, they're lucky they've mastered carbonation as well as they have.”
Part of that indignation was faked, obviously, as he seemed to be a bit of the bon vivant type, but it was still a fair problem. Brenner couldn't ever expect to be able to speak his native tongue in public, or else the humans and anthros would glare him out of town.
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Can't say I enjoy being on the receiving end of Pilus poetry, but I know how it goes. Come on, then," Tam said, leaning down the little bit and offering her arm to let Frank hop into her grasp. She'd carry him carefully, firmly enough to hold on like a beach-ball but not squeezing hard enough to injure or worse- embarrass.