Chapter III: The Fall

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom walked out of the elevator's cabin perhaps a few seconds short of Mary arriving, clad in his usual purple three-piece with charcoal accents. He'd picked a slightly flashier jacket, however; with slightly darker lapels and the kind of microscopic pinstripe effect that usually ended up being murder on sub-4K screens. Cufflinks and a few charged rings had been included, with every sparse item of male jewelry carrying some level of protective magic. The pinky rings would help him ground loose Hellfire, the tie clip could project a medium-sized personal shield able to accommodate a few people, and the one ring he'd slipped on an index finger carried a single-use, if powerful charge for a sleeping spell of his devising. If anyone turned violent, he'd at least be able to subdue one attacker.

Failing that, he'd turn it on himself if any triggered sense of giddiness prevented him from sleeping tonight. Even warlocks could afford to be practical about things.

Otherwise, he'd groomed himself as impeccably as usual, continuing in his ability to make his porcine girth evoke self-assurance and confidence. Also as usual, he had enough class not to elaborate on it.

"As usual, Aislinn, you manage to turn a criminally short deadline into an excuse to look ravishing," he said, briefly cinching her waist with an arm. "I feel like the luckiest warlock on the planet, and I hope your brother knows he's the luckiest selkie ever."

He smirked and winked at the male roane. "One of these days, Mister Man, you'll be taking your Sophia up to my bar. Then you'll be even luckier still."

Tom then rubbed his hands together, wrung them for a few seconds as though arcane proficiency had to be pressed out like juice, and then steepled his fingers.

"Just a quick disclaimer, from a practitioner to a Muggle... Once we go one floor down, you'll feel bad. Guaranteed. Alwyn Frost's murders have permeated the area, and I've spent a few minutes each day pulling from the Pit, making sure there's even more negative potential for us to draw from. I want to make it perfectly clear that none of these bad vibes are directed towards you, Aislinn, Mary, or anyone else here, including those who aren't with us yet.

If you feel like bolting or going invisible prematurely, know that I'm going to take that negative potential within a few minutes of the summons beginning. I'm going to bundle it up and use it to turn those five simultaneous summons into a curse lobbed at our dear friend the Prince. Once it'll be used, it'll be gone, alright? I've already set some water bottles by the elevator doors, down there. If you feel yourself hyperventilating or just panicking, take a few sips, alright? Stay centered, stay focused. Once it's all over, we'll all get to the saccharine goodness involving my frustrated dancer of a friend trying her first pas de deux while looking out of my bay windows at the city outside."

He briefly squeezed one of Ciaran's shoulders. "The day I'll hex you is the day you'll have betrayed Aislinn's trust or mine in some unimaginably profound way. Like, say, forgetting her birthday or my summons' anniversary," he said, clearly joking.

The warthog seemed to have a sudden burst of inspiration. "Think of this as a Pettiness Party. Warlocks are terrific at being petty towards their rivals and enemies, and a summons like this is the equivalent of taking our successes of the last couple days and just rubbing 'em in the Goat's face but good. This is immaturity at its most literate and verbose, and it'll admittedly be Aislinn and I at our least humble. It's all part of the ritual, and it's not meant to be seen as commentary on you or other practitioners."

* * *

A few minutes later, they'd find Father Curran by the altar, with no Bible in sight - but with a small and slightly conch-shaped bowl at the ready. Water rested in it, more than likely blessed hours ago and simply lifted from the holy water basin near the entrance. Marko stood at the ready in front of the altar, looking almost as taut as an Olympic athlete before the start signal. His body language made his combined expectation and apprehension rather clear to see, as freedom would more than likely come with one last exposure to what was the bane of most Pitspawn.

If the fox was still one by definition, then he'd react unfavorably. If he'd accepted his newfound status, however, chances were nothing unexpected would happen.

The former marathoner whispered something to the effect of the liquid still only being water. Marko replied that faith mattered on a level few of the plane's faithful truly understood. If Curran believed holy water could ward off evil - and if Marko had any doubts as to his status as a turn-coat - chances were the fox would be seriously injured.

Not that there was any turning back, however.

"I'd normally open with a few lines from Romans, and might sketch a sermon based on baptism's protective and symbolic values, but we're dealing with someone who was born - or made - outside of all known terrestrial cultures and traditions. Seeing as I can't turn this into a Seminary class, I'll settle with saying that baptism is an admission ticket into God's greater family."

He glanced at Abraham. "The exact specifics of one's faith don't matter to our Lord; only the content of our character does. He accepts all those who seek love, peace, tolerance and justice in this world, and all those who would fight for these things. You could've gone to Rabbi Horowitz and asked for this child of God to undergo immersion in a Mikveh, or asked Imam Jarrah to offer the Shahadah to him. You could've asked miss Holloway to bless this child of God by the Four Corners, or followed Summer Fae tradition and spoken his name to the rising sun. You came to me, however, and so it falls to me to induct him into our flock; the one for those of us who cherish the peace we share that can be so callously and so suddenly ripped away from us.

Where some would see baptism as a profession of Catholic or Christian faith, we of Hope have been tempered by war and loss; by our victories and defeats. We know better than to impose a single, unified truth. As my friend Khalid once reminded me, nothing is true. Everything is permitted. As to whether or not we act, and how we do so, that is for us as mortal and moral men and women to decide. For us of Hope, baptism is one threshold among many, one of the several potential archways leading to freedom. We're gathered here today to set this child upon this path."

Curran looked to Aidan. "Aidan Patrick Drake, you've consented to act as this boy's godfather. Will you honor that promise?
- Yes, Father.
- What is to be his name?"

Three took in a breath, sensing how this was the moment several practitioners had dissected; the exact moment where Faith touched the Arcane - and graced a young newborn with the first etchings of a True Name.

"This is Marko Joseph Jenkins, Father."

The young fox took a step forward, swallowed hard, and bowed his head. Curran slowly poured the holy water between his folded ears.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I baptize you, Marko Joseph Jenkins."

The first drop of water touched the fox's head with the faintest of sizzling sounds, and he could be heard wincing. However, tension gradually left him as the remainder of the small trickle of water simply moistened his fur. He lightly gasped as his name was pronounced, and couldn't stop himself from lightly patting at his right breast.

"Is something wrong?" asked Three.

Marko looked up, smiling faintly. "I think you've done it. I feel... alone in my body. I feel like... Like this is mine. I'll know for certain once I'll have had some time, but I'm certainly safe for now. I feel... protected, somehow. I think I'll be able to tell you more."

As for Curran, he seemed quite satisfied. "Then I'm glad," he said. "There's hope yet, especially for an old friend."

That made Marko look concerned. "You mean the attorney. I'm sorry, Father, but the Prince won't let him go. The only way to beat him at this point is to glut him with his own pride. To do that, you'll have to lose once."

[TennyoCeres84]

At his compliment, Aislinn beamed proudly. "If this summoning requires a certain amount of presence, I figured I might as well go all out," she answered.

Ciaran smiled wryly. "So, this is the up to eleven and beyond version of what you did for Eliphas Buck," he summarized.

"I think I'll be okay, but thanks for the consideration, Tom. Since the events with Frost, I've been practicing with my invisibility so I won't have to disrobe and keep the gun hidden, too. It takes more concentration, but hopefully, we won't need firearms for any reason. On another note, I'm happy you and Aislinn found each other. You got her out of that damn workaholic mode she's been in for a while," he stated, chuckling. "I hope the work done here tonight and this club will serve as the biggest middle finger to the Goat ever."

[IamLEAM1983]

"If Hell's going to invade anywhere, it's as socially responsible individuals," summarized Tom. "We're going to show the Pit's fat potentates what a bit of class and consideration gets you through, and what kind of rewards you can expect to reap from that. I don't expect them to get the message, but everyone who's suffering under the Princes' boot will."

He eyed Aislinn. "As to your sister... She's going to patch me up but good, someday - and I'll repay her by bringing out her inner party animal," he said, turning to lightly pinch the female roane's chin between two fingers.

The warlock then headed over to where the bar's unfinished counter stood, paused, walked around it, and gave it a circumspect look. "Hrmph," he grunted, seemingly amused, "let's leave Biggs' boys to wonder who connected the water lines and the circuits. I feel like speeding things up a tad..."

Humming, he ran a finger along the countertop's quartz slab and then bent down to fish out a crate packed with what had been Frost's selection of spirits, along with a few recent additions from Tom. He spent a few minutes seemingly fiddling around behind the counter with no tools in sight, and then straightened himself. At the final bar of his wordless and slightly debonair rendition of Nothing Compares 2 U, he snapped his fingers. As if on cue, the bar's counter straightened itself out. The loose parts making up the sink levitated out of their boxes and fell into place of their own accord, something in the bar groaning as water pressure suddenly rushed into the new pipes. The underside's LED lighting flickered to life, as did those of the wall-mounted and frosted-glass drinks cabinet behind Tom. The bar's fridge also slid into place and plugged itself on its own, its compressor quietly humming to life, even as its door opened to receive a procession of levitating milk, cream and alcoholic cooler bottles. The other bottles rose up to the drinks counter and slid into formation as an alphabetic and size-based sorting of the types of spirits available.

Tom then reached for a glass - one of those that had slipped out of their foam packing and slid into their overhead rack of their own accord.

"White Russian, Aislinn?" he then asked, winking.

[TennyoCeres84]

While she understood the point of speeding things along with regard to the electronics and drinks, Aislinn quizzically raised an eyebrow at him. "Um, sure? Is this part of prepping for the summoning?" she asked. Given that they were about to call five demons into bodies, she had to wonder why they would start drinking when they would need to concentrate on the task at hand.

[IamLEAM1983]

"You could say that," evasively replied Tom, "but it's more a case of curbing stress a bit, making sure nobody here focuses too much on the bad mojo. Warlocks don't intricately measure their connection to the World's Breath or adhere to protective standards or rituals - they feel their potential. They trust their gut while everyone else focuses on plugging into the right ley line and never drawing too much. If it feels like we'll need more, then we'll take more - and never apologize for it."

He smirked. "Hence the drinks. I need you loose, confident - and maybe a tad arrogant. I don't need the careful Scribe who placed all these runes across the tower's floors, I need the passionate practitioner ready to dip her toes into the Unknown. I need Kickass Aislinn."

He eyed Ciaran. "The first of our two knights in shining armor's going to need something to up that spunk of his, in case a chunk of the wildlife slips through and decides attacking the first mortals in sight is a good idea... What was it, the last time you came here? A Moscow Mule?"

The warlock shrugged. "By the way, considering the position of my friends' hideaway in Hell, what's most likely to slip through unbidden isn't so much Infernal spies or Princely toadies, but more things with too much teeth and potentially corrosive breath smelling mortal flesh for the first time. Bottom-drawer-tier Fiends belonging to Wrath and with something approaching the average intellect of a Serengeti lion or cheetah. Warrior - the scrappier of all my friends - will have cleaned out the perimeter by now, but no amount of pre-emptive culling is going to dissuade anything lean and hungry from trying to jump through to here."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn clicked her tongue and nodded, smiling. "That makes sense. Sort of like when I first entered Asmodeus' bordello, I had no problems shoving your assailants out of the way. A White Russian will just lend a breezy edge to that sort of attitude," she mused.

Ciaran nodded. "Yeah, I had a Moscow Mule. Should be just enough to take the edge off without messing with my aim," he noted.

[Karl the Mad]

Charles didn't like the thought of losing, but he left it alone for now. "So what else c'n ya tell us now?" he asked, steering things back to strategy. Or trying to.

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

About two and a half minutes after the text, Mary walked into the club, pizza in hand. She found her way to the others quickly, after that. "Sorry I'm late!" she called, never mind that it was an Estimated Time of Arrival. "One genuine Bronx pizza, hot 'n ready as it'll ever be!" and she plonked it down on the bar by the others. "We got any plates? I'm starving."

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom pointed. "Check the workbench, over there by the boxes of wall ceramic tiles. There's leftover Vegetarian and Meat Lover's and we've jury-rigged a temp plug for the microwave. Not that you'll need it, you didn't waste too much time in getting here. The pies should still be fairly warm."

He dug inside the fridge and pulled out a can of Coke. "One Rum-and-Coke sans rum - think fast!" he said, and then tossed the can to Jameson.

Magnus then sighed happily. "So, this is what Infernal money, mob connections and elbow grease gets you, Mary. Welcome to Club Ishtar, four or five months ahead of schedule. We're opening the first stage of the club's access point from Hell tonight, and I'm planning on using tomorrow's meeting to broker an arrangement between Matriel and myself. I'd visit one of the local churches and try and phone one of the more political types by way of a few Hail Marys - wink, wink - but I'm not looking to attract the attention of someone along the lines of Zealot McCelestial."

He snorted. "An incubus praying in a church? Yeah, right. That'd give some of the ignoramuses reason enough to resurrect the ol' flaming swords bit."

* * *

Marko took a few steps away and allowed himself a few moments to admire the dying daylight's effects through the glasswork renderings of the Cross Way.

"I know Gluttony has lost a spy. Frank Lambert is dead and was replaced by Ezekiel Lyman, soon to be a partner of Ephesian and Associates. He plans on impersonating Lambert for the trial, but not before leaking information. You've already acted on some of it, such as my team coming here. Lyman has reached this plane of existence with a transsubstantiated copy of the Goat's detailed plans for the invasion. A copy of it was offered to your Neasa McConmara, when she met with the local Summer and Winter Lords."

He eyed Abraham. "Lyman has no loyalties other than to himself. Ezemial, as is his True Name, exists to consume and devour, to savor without satisfaction or end. If Pride takes this plane's crown, all that he plans on supping on will be destroyed. He never had any interest in serving as a long-term assistant to Pride. Keeping the pressure on Lambert up until his demise sufficed.

If you can seat your Judge in time and dispense him this information, he will be within his right to call for a conclave with Celestial representatives. Not even Belial would dare to sacrifice his prize for the sake of some unproven theory; and yet the Goat would pierce the membrane of your Hole, here in this city. That Hole is near the Buck estate, and its keeper has been imprisoned. His plan is to flood you with the spawn of the Others by piercing the weak barrier of this Hole, and to present the Pitspawn as the force behind your salvation. Gratitude and geopolitical losses and tensions would demand that provincial rulers of Infernal extraction be elected. Pride, naturally, seeks to claim America.

The idea is to let a few generations pass, to allow you to go inured to the idea of living among us - and to gradually wrest all governmental powers from your institutions. The world would eventually belong to Hell, at which point Pride would be free to see it burnt to ashes."

Marko looked away. "We know your Tom Magnus wants something of a similar nature. Where Pride desires assimilation, however, your friend is striving towards symbiosis. Pride and Wrath see this as anathema."

[TennyoCeres84]

The twins waved to the razor girl."The pizza you brought will make a nice addition to what we brought. We already ate some to store up for the ritual and leave some for Tom's friends for them to have their first taste of mortal cuisine," Aislinn said, smiling. "We're getting to the summons shortly."

Ciaran eyed Jameson. "While they're doing the brunt of the work, I'll be invisible and spotting them in case any of Wrath's beasties slip through when Tom's friends arrive," he commented. "I figure you're up for helping with that?"

[Karl the Mad]

Mary thought about that as she plated herself some food. "I can't turn myself invisible, but apart from that, sure I can help out. Should be fun." She grinned at Tom. "Working with you is certainly interesting so far, Magnus. Keep it up, yeah? I get bored easily."

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"What were you saying before, about us having to lose once?" Abraham asked.

"Lure them boys inter false sense a' victory, I'm guessin'," Charles guessed.