Chapter IV - Earthly Delights

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris clicked her tongue and shook her head at Spector's response. "Never say never, Archduke. It is those Drakes and McConmaras in the world that push for more progressive ideals. I once viewed the Void Weavers as the stuff of nightmares, but I conceived a son with one, and his father still cares for me, despite time and distance. It's never easy, but it is possible."

"If angels, demons, Animates, and Void Weavers will one day walk the streets without veils or Flesh Masks, then I think it will be possible for cross-clan marriages and acceptance of a White King to occur as well. This is what they mean by a leap of faith. I imagine that's what Oberon was doing when he introduced you to the Hearth, showing you the same form of compassion that Mr. Haskill did for Mayhew."

* * *

Sariel would hear Aislinn quietly muttering,"For fuck's sake's, Paimon..."

The selkie then spoke more audibly into the phone, some of her own characteristic ire seeping through, "Sariel, Paimon can borrow my Netflix password and watch NCIS: Miami and whatever other crime dramas he wants on my spare tablet until we get the tv replaced. It's currently in the downstairs office. Make sure he doesn't break it; consider that as behavioral training lesson one."

[IamLEAM1983]

Spector canted his head in allowance. "I suppose. I don't mean to disparage the Lord and Lady's decisions, but being connected to the seat of Winter's power doesn't seem comparable to what they've chosen to endorse. At least, not to me."

Vernon shook his head in allowance. "I think I speak for both Eirean and I if I say we do not take offense, Agent Spector. Orders of magnitude simply do not need to factor, here. Meris' comparison seems apt, to me."

Naberius eyed his colleagues. "So we understand that Titania is going to see the actions of Hope's aristocracy as a needed sacrifice when faced with trying times, and as a marker of social progress. Our actions during the meeting will see it so.
- Well," interjected Agares, "there's a buncha tertiary variables and plenty of small details that could change - but that's the gist of it."

Amduscias smiled. "Seems to me like we've settled the issue, mates. Now, there's still the issue of what it means for the Heiress of Solomon to be out in the open - or at least out as such to the rulers of Faerie. Back in the old days, we'd be required to make a right shindig out of it."

Naberius winced slightly. "We're rather short on time, as things are. As much as I would love to convene the King and Queen to an official gathering, Israel's crown hasn't seen any need for grand balls or soirées since Antiquity. Solomon's marks of office are now more arcane markers of influence than the signatures of a Head of State..."

Agares winced as well. "Oy. We've had enough trouble mediating with the Hebrew mages in the enclave as it is. For all the progress the colonies have been making, the fortified city's basically a prettier take on Berlin in the late thirties: stylish, sectarian and increasingly irrelevant. No wonder we've got folks like Abe Zahavi trotting the globe in search of payouts that fit their ideals!"

Benson grunted in thought. "So you're serving a stateless monarch.
- We serve the ideals of a State that briefly existed," amended Naberius. "Our Heirs and Heiresses have been stateless for thousands of years, now. Insofar, Meris is the only one with some legitimate record of rulership; having been Dalarath's Queen."

Amduscias lightly nudged Naberius with an elbow. "Cromwell, mate.
- The less is said about that bleeding idiot, the better!" was the Steward's terse reply. He then adjusted his cravat and coughed, needlessly straightening his monocle, as well.

Still, he shook that unpleasantness aside and joined hands on the table. "Now then, Your Highness," he said, smiling amenably to Meris, "our being pressed for time suggests we ought to keep things to a mere retinue for your meeting. Nybbas is the only unavoidable member of all of our protocol-mandated detachments, you're free to pick whomsoever it is you choose, otherwise."

The doors from earlier, along with those from the far side of the room, both opened. In came a smattering of Infernal features, some of which Meris would now know fairly well. Samigina held to procedure and took his seat, but not without using his being ahead of the queue to briefly clasp Meris' shoulder with a wink. Passing behind Amduscias, he reached over the chair and handed the King of Hearts one of his rum bottles. A few words were exchanged, but he otherwise didn't keep the others from sitting down.

Vassago looked about the same as before, and looked a bit annoyed at being forced to leave his library behind. Dumpy, frumpy and a little musty, he clashed against the more foppish or roguish types with his staggeringly average looks. Behind him followed someone who looked like a blue-tinged relative of Melmoth's own Doug Heathcliff, if a little on the taller side and a little more warmth in his electric-blue eyes. A rather buff-looking anthro cat in a tank top and jeans followed, an odd top hat-and-monocle birthmark making a patch on his calico black hair grow white against his right biceps.

Naber nodded to each of them. "Meris, might I present Procell and Sear, Ministries of Agriculture and Engineering for Solomon."

The suit-clad demon nodded as he sat down. "A pleasure, Your Highness," he said, a slightly terse Midwestern accent coating his words, even if his face remained fairly warm.

The anthro cat made his chair squeal as he pulled it closer. "Ma'am," he grunted, the word coming out in burr close to Jubal Whitney's.

Procell undid his jacket's buttons to be a bit more at ease. "I used to be one of Matriel's Lesser Chants - one of the subroutines of sorts he used, early in the Universe's creation. Stability being reached rendered me useless, and I didn't appreciate being relegated to the Host's libraries and archives. I took my anger out on the mortal plane, caused tsunamis and earthquakes, until Solomon wrangled me and brought me in. After civilizing me, he placed on me the task of civilizing his kingdom's waterworks, to find a way to ensure Rome's eventual descent into leaden madness wouldn't touch Israel. I did my best for several decades. If only we'd have had access to Hyperborean magic, archaeologists would find modern waterworks deep below the walled city's current network. I've never made it a secret that I wasn't satisfied with what we could do with our time period's combination of magic and technology."

Samigina patted Procell's shoulder. "Eh, I says ye did the best ye could, matey. Sures'n we couldn't keep all there bacteria out the citizens' drink, but Israel done never saw a single case o' Minamata's blight. Y'woulda needed a deal with Matriel hisself t' spare an antique city like ours from me gal's harsher nature. So many microbes, so many blights an' diseases... Wouldn't have been natural or proper for a city t'live like one o' the modern ones, well inter th' Bronze Age."

Sear blinked slowly, arms crossed in front of him, and gave the pair an inscrutable gaze. He might as well have looked amused or annoyed - or both - but he looked back to Meris.

"I'm Sear. I handled the aqueducts, back in the day, an' all o' Israel's hydraulics. I wanted t'make a race of my own, back in the day, Clanks from way before Greece would pick stuff up from us to animate their statues. Per fuckin' usual, God didn't say shit while Uriel and two thirds o' the Host raised a stink. I levied the dragons' creation o' the anthros as an example, but I sure as shit lost that debate..."

He shrugged. "Helped the old man steal a coupla things from Hyperborea and the Pit, way back when. Once he kicked it, I passed time by blessin' the occasional ambitious cutpurse. First-ever gentleman thief summoned me for pointers. I leave distinction to the self-absorbed pros," he said, teasingly nodding his head in Naberius' direction, "I'm more into technique. Last one I helped was Hope's own Nigel Griffin. He prob'ly remembers me as his first dodgy manufacturer for his early tools."

Sear dug into one of his pockets and laid a small business card flat on the table, charging it with a little magic so it wouldn't flutter or bounce off of the bronze surface as he slid it across for Meris to pick up.

"I'd give him a call, one of those days," Sear said. "We're a long ways from lockpicks and mechanical tumblers. You never know when freeing Hubby might result in your needing to crack a safe or two."

* * *

"Duly noted," replied Sariel. "I'll wait a bit, to be honest. I think direct interactions matter more than respect for household appliances, at present."

She was then heard briefly speaking away from the phone. "Paimon, Aislinn is prepared to give you a means to keep watching television until we finish moving you over. What did I say about people doing kind things for you?"

Paimon stopped kicking the slag around. "Tell the seal-woman I am to feel grateful.
- No, you're supposed to be grateful. It's a kindness she's extending to you, Paimon. Come and say thank you. Don't break this phone, though."

The Duke grunted and could be heard fumbling with the comparatively small smartphone the Seducer was using. He dropped it, which caused Sariel to interject - "No, your hands are too big for this one - use it with two fingers." - and the Duke to let out a vaguely aggravated snort.

"I... am... grateful, Seal Woman.
- Use her name, Paimon...
- I am grateful, Aislinn," said the Duke, his voice having the obviously robotic qualities of someone who'd alienated empathy as a base concept, and who was only now rediscovering it. He was then heard addressing Sariel.

"Is this grounds for one of the Fair Folk's life boons? In which means am I to offer repayment?
- You're going a little fast," cautioned the Seducer. "Let some time pass, first. Some favors don't warrant repayment among mundanes, and others do. I could borrow a cup of sugar from Tom that he wouldn't expect two more from me a few weeks down the line.
- Then how is honor rendered accountable?"

Sariel sighed. "That's a whole other can of worms, Paimon. The short of it is that it isn't about what you say, with the mundanes and supernaturals - it's about what you do. Honor's palpable, perceptible."

Paimon grunted. "The Warlock and Seal Woman are curious ones, indeed.
- They're also still on the line."

Tom chortled at that, which Paimon thankfully didn't seem to notice. "You never heard me," he instead said, as if Tom and Aislinn could oblige.

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris took the business card and pocketed it. "That's very true. I'll keep Mr. Griffin in mind for the future. My grandson Ciaran studied under him for a while, since he also has the gift of invisibility and a knack for sneaking around."

She then looked back to Eirean and Vernon. "As to who else I take with me as part of my retinue, that depends on the logistics side of this meeting. Showing your earnestness and compassion are important traits, but having some idea of a plan on how we're going to ease the transition of the planar merger and the influx of arriving refugees is another thing to consider."

* * *

Aislinn couldn't help but smile silently at Tom's chortle and then said, "You're welcome, and it's fine, Paimon. I'll give you the password, and you can watch shows to your heart's content. All I ask is that you don't cause any further damage to the appliances and tower itself. This isn't a means of repayment, but just a request like when Sariel told you to not break the phone."

She then requested for Sariel to grab a pen and paper to write down the password so that it wouldn't be forgotten.

[IamLEAM1983]

Judging by the looks Meris received, her stating a very apt fact behind the meeting's purpose didn't change the fact that she was the one who'd need to pick the members of her detachment.

"Y'want we called Nybbas in right now, lass?" suggested Samigina. "It might do good to have the guy who handles these things around - all I've ever been good for is pointin' me cannons at whomever you told me to."

Agares shrugged. "Well, the Team Magnus expats and the converts to follow won't need an explainer. They'll follow along, help rebuild whatever it is the merger might jeopardize, and generally make their corner of the world livable. As will we, honestly. That's one thing I don't need Vassago's prescience to confirm - Solomon wiped us clean of anything resembling misanthropy ages ago."

Naberius nodded and leaned forward. "There is the matter of our location, to be honest. We might be safe here, but if Meris is to be one of the key players in the merger and reconstruction - if we are to so much as join the Vienna Accords - we should relocate to the epicenter of her efforts."

Vassago stammered. "W-We can't leave the mesa, it's been our home since the mundanes turned Megiddo into an archeological site!"

The canine sighed in response. "Things change, old friend. I suspect you simply never paid attention to these specific signs. The ideals we hold cannot be held aloft effectively, here. Israel's Nexus is old and exceedingly stable, and we already know it shall never be the subject of direct attacks from Pride's forces. Their eyes are affixed on Rhode Island, old friend."

Procell adjusted his glasses. "Any relocation efforts would be long and costly. What do you suggest?
- We should assist in the final construction and leasing of Magnus Tower's living and working spaces. There is room enough there for my shop, and a skybridge connects to another skyscraper from the twenty-second floor. There would be room enough for Agares' newsroom, and ample leasing space for your accounting work, Procell. Come to think of it, you could come to join Melmoth and the Arcane Stock Exchange. I suspect mister Heathcliff would appreciate your sobering influence."

Amduscias parted with a slow smile. "Gimme space enough for a recordin' studio someplace safe, maybe a talent agency a few doors down, and I'd be hunky-dory..."

Naberius raised a finger. "Gentlemen - keep in mind that this is only a pretense, a means for us to further reinforce Hope in its most trying time. It is not to be a joy ride, of that much I am certain!"

Captain Sam shrugged. "Gimme a berth in Mertown's Shadowlands an' the Dutchman's sound as a bell. Martal-side, all's I need is a houseboat o' some persuasion - somethin' I can link t' Tortuga the way the Fair Folk do their houses. I'd reinforce Hope's coasts jest fine, I would; assumin' Matriel don't raise no stink."

Sear grunted. "Never worked too well with the law; all I'd need would be a warehouse someplace discrete. An alias and a face."

Naberius nodded. "That's the long-term settled, but I'd much prefer it if we were to have Nybbas nearby to address immediate concerns," he said, looking down to his fob watch-slash-smartphone. "Hrmph. He's not picking up... God forbid, could he be-?"

A few flicks of his thumb resulted in a blue-green mist leaving his fob to hover above the table. In its core bloomed a white light - and out of it soon fell what looked like an excessively out-of-shape male Blue Chimera, along with a few musty bottles, crystal flutes and golden goblets. Some three hundred pounds of flab, chest hair, cloven hooves, loose silk shirts, beige pantaloons and gold-lined red frocks slapped onto the table, the man essentially looking like a dandyfied relative of Aspasia Robertson who would've more than seriously let himself go, starting in the mid-1770s. He had as much of a hook nose as the Fauns of old could've displayed and sported small and curling horns that almost blended in with his old Rococco mullet of greasy brown-black hair. The impact made him grunt, but he otherwise went right back to snoring profusely. The white void flashed as a pale white arm slumped out of it and rolled past Nybbas' form, petticoat and disturbed corset following, the girl looking like she could've come straight out of Marie-Antoinette's ladies-in-waiting. Moaning, she lifted her head, stammered in French, and seemingly revved up a fittingly terrified scream. Naberius allowed himself a split-second long look of utter rage in Nybbas' direction before hurrying to the young lady's side, his clothes again shifting to the ornate frocks, jodhpurs and powdered wigs of the decades that had preceded the Terreur.

At best, Meris might understand that her Steward was trying to convince the poor girl that she'd been goosed up on absinthe, was hallucinating and needed to climb back into that glowing portal atop the table...

While most at the table had looks that evoked various forms of consternation, Naberius and Amduscias smirked wryly. The King of Hearts grunted gamely as he removed his feet from the table and stood up.

"Alright," he said, winking at Meris, "time for the ol' Reverse Lullaby trick..."

* * *

"Thanks, Aislinn," reiterated Sariel.

"Thank you," added Paimon, still sounding like the very picture of self-centered ungratefulness.

A few more pleasantries were added, and they finally hung up. Tom shook his head and smirked at the thought of the work that lay ahead of them. Still, as he looked past Aislinn, something made him stop and refocus on her. He lightly gripped her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length.

"Looking at you with these new eyes is..." he said, seemingly unable to finish his statement. He shook his head instead.

"All these little scars and beauty marks," he said. "Is this how mundanes see the world? If I don't focus on anything, things feel sort of flat. Then I focus on something - like yourself - and the details come in again. They don't trigger me like they used to, though. You used to be a perfect alabaster statue to me, and the slightest blemish I'd find made me ache all over, so much as I wanted you. I saw the world in Quad HD, more or less - with so much to take in it all just blended into one another into this expression of pure titillation."

He scoffed. "Now? Being able to see you as beautiful without feeling the need to melt to the floor is... It's a bit freeing, honestly. You are beautiful, and I understand now that I don't need to punctuate this with anything more than my own earnestness."

He blinked a few times. "Beauty without an erotic charge... Now I understand why I envied you so much. There has to be a hundred dozen things you look at each day that take up your attention only so long as to strike it with their beauty - and they never overwhelm you. You appreciate them for however long it lasts, and then you move on. You function. You live. You only rarely find something so beautiful, so moving, that it actually hurts you."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn smiled at the incubus' observations and gently squeezed one of his hands. "I'm glad you have the sort of clarity that I have. You're likely in for more headspace to think over things than you could've ever realized."

She then looked down at their disrobed states and easily pulled out of his grasp. "Still, I'd feel more at ease if we cleaned up and got dressed. Sariel's probably right in that we might have some unwelcome visitors soon. We need to be ready to kick them out the door."

"I won't be long," the roane said, heading for the master bathroom. She grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans to slip into afterward and hurriedly showered. In contrast to the pre-ritual purification bath, the shower didn't have the slow and deep contemplation. It was merely a matter of removing the physical memory recalls of the time that they had shared with each other. Her mind felt more lucid now than just a little while ago, so her body needed to be in sync.

After drying off, she dressed herself and returned to the bedroom.

* * *

A look of mild bewilderment and then amusement fell upon her face at the sight of heavyset caprine demon. She nodded to Amduscias and smirked.

Gentle power filled her voice as she began humming a few bars. Given his French attire, Meris recalled a work song she had learned from some French washerwomen back in the day. It went on for a few minutes, as though she was trying to gradually rouse him.

Finally, she ended the song with the sung English words, "It's time to wake up, Nybbas. Your Queen calls you and the Court has convened..."

[IamLEAM1983]

A few moments later, a Naberius looking fitting of Versailles clambered onto the table, the handmaiden's hand in his own, and instructed her to ignore the odd display that was unfolding. Blue and flapping tailcoat hems disappeared in the white haze, reassuring Parisian niceties also fading as the Steward kept his subject's mind on track. He'd obviously be back soon.

Nybbas resembled the engravings that had been made of him on the cover for the odd book of drinking stories that had served as Akaios' mental template, back in Pride's Spire. His face was coarse, covered with a four-day beard except where the remnants of a goatee and curling mustache could be seen. Meris' ministrations made him stir, which briefly had him expose unfocused golden-brown eyes. A somewhat stentorian voice, like a missing relative of Nereus', muttered indistinctly for a few moments. Samigina straightened him out in a seated position, but he was back down in sleep's embrace by that point, a hummed rendition of Meris' song trailing off into more snores.

The captain snarled. "Jaysis, man; I know we haven't had much need for ceremony for the past two thousand bloody years, but ye'll wake up for yer Queen, ken?!"

Procell rounded the table and removed his jacket as he walked closer, then unbuttoning his right sleeve. "Nybbas was a little more presentable in Solomon's heyday, but only thanks to his busy schedule. Our first boss scrubbed him clean of Azazel's hatred, but the old Faun hidden underneath the Pitspawn was still a little too banged up... He's always been terminally irresponsible when it comes to himself, but he's a maestro when it comes to preventing feathers from being ruffled by others. As he'd say, he's a textbook example of Do as I say, not as I do..."

As respectfully as possible, Procell gestured for Meris and the others to step back. "I'm sorry, Your Highness," he said, looking at his ruler, "but you're about to get wet. So's he."

He then pulled his right hand back and squarely slapped Nybbas across the jaw, his right hand dissolving upon contact and turning into a large splash of water. The protocol officer produced a snorted shout upon impact, his eyes snapping open instantly. He blurted something to the effect of We barely kissed, Monseigneur! in French, and then gave a bleary-eyed look at his surroundings.

"W-Why am I wet?
- I slapped you awake," replied Procell, arms now crossed.

"I was in Paris; I told - I remember telling you I'd be in Paris!
- That was two hundred years ago, Nybbas," supplied Amduscias. "You've been bar-hoppin' across the Enlightenment the whole while.
- Where's the girl I was with? Was it Matilde? No, it couldn't have been... Aurélie, was it?"

Sear grunted. "Nabs took 'er back. You're staying here. You're needed.
- I had the finest girl in all of Versailles and you yanked me away from France like a common charlatan!"

Agares snorted. "You are a charlatan, Nybbas. You're an etiquette specialist without someone to teach to."

More disoriented blinks. "So we've ourselves a new King, then?" he asked, immediately focusing on Vernon. "I'm, er - terribly sorry, my liege - utterly beside myself, I am, as you can clearly see-"

Vernon nodded in the negative. "I'm afraid you're confused my, er, good man... You've a Queen, and her name is Meris," he said, nodding to the selkie.

The caprine demon grunted, his excess weight troubling him as he pushed himself off the table and onto his feet. The grunts turned into a low moan as he briefly touched the small of his back, and he focused on Meris as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. A smidgen of terror was then added to the mix.

"Please don't turn me into salt," he said.

* * *

As Aislinn had taken the shower, Tom took the bath. It'd be his first contact with water without his usual emotional charge, and the results both shocked and underwhelmed him. Warm water, as it turns out, did indeed bring  comfort to most mundanes and mortals - but it simply wasn't the silken and protective experience he remembered from earlier. It felt good, but being able to clearly assess that comfort felt alien to him. Bewilderment was thusly extended as he washed, rinsed himself off and waited for Aislinn to finish before he'd come out.

He could've added more to his comments to Aislinn, but dressing up was just as bewildering to him, now. The luscious, dark yet sympathetic pride he felt upon donning purple did manifest - albeit at a much reduced rate compared to what he remembered. If he previously could've been the type to easily self-aggrandize his Warlock status at the drop of a hat (despite his never actually doing so), his nature now struck him as being simply okay.

His reflection in the mirror felt merely alright, and it didn't disturb him in the least. That, however, actually was disturbing. He felt like he'd still be able to pull out the usual ritualistic goose-stepping and chest-puffing if a ritual required it, but he had the distinct impression that part of it all would consist of theatrics. His pride still felt genuine, but the source of his genuine attachment to his craft had changed. It affected him in small ways, as he uncharacteristically skipped applying cologne on his wrists and on the sides of his neck. It somehow felt like it mattered less than he'd previously expected.

Did mortals truly spend certain moments of a day living out processes on a merely adequate basis? How could he feel like he still possessed self-love if his cologne suddenly didn't matter as much as before?

The penthouse seemed to smell less, as well, but he'd need a few minutes to realize his mind was blocking out some of the truly common scents in the house. Dust, his own sweat, the active non-scent of saliva - they weren't so much gone as he needed to focus onto their concepts for them to bloom into being in front of his snout.

Filtering. Optimization. An unconscious dedication towards effectiveness and sensory quality. These, then, made up a mortal person's sensory experience. Touch something often enough, he realized, and you stopped registering the details. Only someone else requesting a recall from you would allow these old details to come to the fore.

At the same time, he was an anthro. His ears twitched as the penthouse's air filtration system kicked in, distant fans adding a quiet and low layer of white noise to the silence. The sound would've enraptured him, previously. His skin tingled, expecting the usual heavy sensory payload. He could feel his hackles raising in preparation for a violent shiver that wouldn't come. He snorted like he'd done before, unrequited lust discharged orally - and it felt odd to him. It felt wrong, somehow.

No synaesthesia. No visual poetry. No quiet symphonies in the pops and cracks of the living spaces. Things simply were, and he could barely comprehend how right this felt.

Aislinn would find her beau lightly tapping the still-unwashed tajine lid, ears perking  and twitching as he changed keys by tapping up and down the lid's slope.

"It's nice," he told her, "it sounds clear!"

A meaningless sentence coming from anyone else, but this was Tom discovering the simple and free pleasures of life with no sensory commitments attached.

[TennyoCeres84]

At the slightly meek statement, Meris faintly scoffed and shook her head to reassure him he wasn't about to be turned into salt. "No, Nybbas, you'll remain as you are. I need your help, as I'm about to have an audience with the current Oberon and Titania. I need a plan on how to get them to accept Mr. Haskill here as incoming Lord in Evergloam, and Hope, Rhode Island. I also need to select another member of the Court to join the small retinue that should hopefully be sufficient to see them."

Given that the old Faun seemed to be somewhat akin to Rip Van Winkle when it came to current events, she sighed and manifested a small, warm breeze to evaporate the water on her business jacket and skirt. "I apologize for the long exposition, and this is going to be a lot to take in. However, I feel you should have some idea of what we're up against, so listen closely..."

Meris then gave him a rundown of everything that had transpired from the attack on Pride's domain and forces, Magnus Tower and Tom's endeavors, the planar merger, the assault on Vernon, Eirean, and Mayhew, along with the mounting pressure from Sharpe and the Dixie Fae.

"There's probably more that you'll need to catch up on, since you seem to have been out of the current timeline for a while now. However, that's where we stand, I'm afraid."

* * *

Aislinn chuckled at his tapping of the tajine. "I never knew you could play the musical scale on a lid," she joked.

"Though, it's good to see you so focused in a mundane way, Tom. It's like a reverse of when you first woke up in Hope General... A beautifully ordinary rebirth."

[IamLEAM1983]

Nybbas had been about to sit down that Meris' mention of a long exposition made him raise a finger. "Tut - not on an empty stomach, Your Highness! I don't do well with exposés if I've been left peckish..."

Naberius groaned at that, but otherwise didn't stop Nybbas as he pulled up a chair, hummed in a fairly operatic manner and gestured above the table. A red mist fell from his fingers, briefly coalescing into a glob of opaque smoke, and then parting away lazily and exposing what had to be a stag haunch, a plate of smoking and diced potatoes covered in herbs, some cut vegetables and another golden goblet. Something made him glance back at Meris in a self-conscious manner and then choose to transmute the alcohol into something that smelled a bit like carbonated mineral water with a bit of a berry-like accent to it. He then listened intently, using a two-pronged fork to pop some produce into his mouth and otherwise relying on his hands for his meat haunch. He nodded here and there, interrupted his monarch to ask her a few questions where relevant, but otherwise didn't stop the flow of information.

"Well," he then said, wiping his mouth, "fret not, Your Highness. Live long enough, and you realize nothing really changes. Monarchs have their demands, the commoners seek survival and prosperity, and everyone thinks their little chunk of Earth is to last forever."

He gave Meris a sideways glance accompanied with a wink. "You and I both know how much of an endearing fallacy this is. The only things that ever last are magic, our baser urges and the stones we so love to plop around here and there."

Nybbas then rubbernecked to his right to look at Vassago. "I'll need a primer, Vassago my man - a run-down on the little foibles and proclivities of the world's politicians - specifically the current Fae rulers. As for fashion..."

The courtier stopped, glanced around and then half-lidded his eyes, then shivering violently, as if he'd just felt a cold gust across his shoulders. His frock shortened, the gold trim disappeared, a red tie snaked into being around his throat, his ruffled shirt morphing into a modern Business Casual shirt. A black vest followed suit. The double doors from earlier opened, and another instance of Vassago walked in, dropping off a thin little leather booklet in front of Nybbas.

"Ah! Splendid, dear colleague - I'll have to slip into your archives for a few minutes, gain a few hours' worth of headroom so I can study this before we leave. Right off, however, I'll request Naberius' continued involvement. You've nicely adapted, old bean - I adapt quickly, but you still have quite a bit of headway."

Nybbas then stood up, literally waved his table scraps and utensils away, and then approached Meris, a bit of Infernal prestigitation allowing him to pull a tailor's measuring tape from his right sleeve. "If you'll stand up for me, Your Highness...?"

The Faun then started pacing around her. "Hmm. Pain, hardship, loss in the dozens of instances; but also an adventuress' spirit. Splendid posture for an Archmage; and a nice and youthful glow to complement some well-deserved expression wrinkles. The pleasing curves of Orcadian women, with a bit of shading here and there - added definition. Our ruler is a fighter, she is..."

He bent down and kept moving around her, taking measurements here and there. "I won't ask Milord Winter to forego the old frocks and cravats, but we ought to ensure our Queen's outfit works in her favor... I say we should break a few conventions."

* * *

"I think the old bliss is still there," he said, tapping his temple, "but it's waiting for another slow dance with you."

As he looked at Aislinn, his irises expanded, his eyes briefly turning entirely red again. Languid innuendo slipped back into his words. "A quiet night, a few bottles, the right music..."

He sighed, the whites of his eyes then coming back into view. "I'd rather save it for later."

Tom then picked up the Moroccan bowl and began rooting around for plastic containers with his free hand. As he did, he kept talking. "I took a bath while you were showering. I thought things over and realized I was free to extend pride to you, now."

He smiled. "I've got a pretty badass girlfriend, as it turns out. Aislinn the Eldritch Asskicker."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn smirked and playfully put her fists on her hips, looking triumphant. "Damn right."

She then laughed. "However, don't worry. I'm not going to use any corny one-liners. I like to keep my sarcasm classy," she noted with a wink.

* * *

Meris did her best to remain still while the Faun moved about her and took her measurements. She curiously quirked a smile. "What are those few conventions that should be broken, Nybbas?" she asked.

[IamLEAM1983]

The protocol officer clicked his tongue. "It'd be a shame to hide those biceps," he said, "or the upper half of your chest, above your breasts... It would accentuate your profile, as you seem to be far more of a figure of direct authority than our Elder Statesman's rather conservative appearance suggested. If not a figure of authority," he said, then one of action for certain."

Naberius' aggravation had slid towards curiosity. "What is it you've got in mind, you old scoundrel?"

Smirking, Nybbas positioned himself in front of Meris. "Let's see, now..."

It all happened rather quickly, in a few finger snaps or hurried shucking-off gestures. First, her power suit's jacket went up in flames and burned to a cinder in a split-second, only vague warmth being left behind. She'd barely processed this that a few deft gestures of the courtier's tore her blouse's sleeves off, somehow sewing the shoulders back solidly into place in the same motion. Her pants grew ever so slightly tighter and seemed to shift in fabric, blue-green leather replacing the sedate gray linens of earlier. A few buffing gestures on her fingernails seemed to suffice in changing her nail polish to a shade of deep blue verging on mauve. Nybbas then briefly gestured for patience and left the room, returning with some kind of fabric mold for a purse of some sort - and with her own seal pelt. Again, without stitches or any sort of pain to her second skin, he molded the pelt into what looked like a surprisingly functional purse, which he cinched to a separate leather cord. Meris' currently unused seal eyes somehow served as a pair of snaps on the front, magic standing in for all the stitching or fastening that would've been required. In the meantime, Nybbas moved in such a way as though it seemed he'd duplicated himself, extra hands deftly applying some sort of dry shampoo to the Archmage's hair and then working the rejuvenated mass into a distinguished, if slightly roguish updo. If pins were involved, she wouldn't feel any of them come in or go out.

Another quick disappearing act, and he was back with a long and loose blouse stitched in luxurious blue-green Middle-Eastern patterns. A few gestures caused the weaving to shift and contort, Orcadian ogham appearing along the folds and hemlines. In his other hand waited a rather surprising item: one of the necklaces she'd been offered during her brief stint as Dalarath's queen, here altered with a few sword and staff-shaped silver charms.

"I went ahead and called upon an old friend of ours," he said, "Ereshkigal, apparently now better known as Erin Galbraith of Walpurgis, Texas. She's always had a yen for slightly martial or aggressive-looking items of personal beautification. Besides, I needed to further update myself on your current native locale's flavor..."

His Stentorian and garrulous Received British Pronounciation turned into a burr close to Sear's or Whitney's. "Looks like Nergal and her done found themselves a nice hideyhole, if I may say so..."

Back to his normal voice. "The Queen of Blades sends her regards. She and her husband have armed everything from Banshees to Valkyries for thousands of years, you know. She bade me offer you these small tokens as a sign of appreciation," he said, referring to the added charms on her necklace.

Spector scoffed amusedly. "That's a lot of queens..."

Nybbas looked at the Wisp as though he'd been fairly impertinent. "All women are queens, Mister Spector.
- And what does that make you?"

The courtier paused, then shrugged. "The Friar Tuck to Milady's Robin Hood, I'd assume. I already served as Solomon's more refined and intellectually pleasing take on a court jester, so this last turn of fates does not surprise me in the least."

* * *

Tom was about to reply with something, snark rather obvious in his features, when something seemed to shift in the air. Condensation formed on the living room's windows, covering the panes in the matter of an instant. As it did, the house seemed to be filled with a low and wordless moan. Tom's ears perked up and he briefly seemed to be anticipating something unpleasant, only for shock to manifest as nothing happened.

Another moan made the counter imperceptibly vibrate, a voice also rising in the air - coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Class... will not avail you. Come down, both of you. I wish... to see my son. My prodigy. My... poet."

A deeper, darker moan followed, Tom's features revulsing as the sound rang out. It felt as though a cloud of pure, undiluted filth had risen up from the elevator and had bloomed across half of the penthouse. Even if nothing had changed, both him and Aislinn would suddenly be irrepressibly disgusted by that tainted half of the living room. It felt as though someone had shamelessly and brutally worked through rape after rape on their own couch, as if someone had rubbed their sweat and spoor over their new belongings. Things that had looked new only a moment ago now struck Magnus as though someone had put the lamps or coffee table through wanton debauchery. It took everything he had for him to not simply summon a fireball and chuck it at their own possessions - he knew quite well this was what Asmodeus expected him to do.

"I thought you'd have class enough to wait for the opening," countered the warthog, looking rather self-conscious as he addressed thin air. The Prince of Lust chuckled. "Can't a father congratulate his son? Initiative. Commitment. The willingness to betray and endanger one's own... Such fetching qualities, really. I've lied to so many daughters and sons, so many of your siblings," whispered the voice, "when the only one I desired in my arms was the one who'd gotten away."

Tom's jaw stiffened. "Come and get me, then," he said.

The nauseating impressions faded, the voice now sounding like it had wrapped a bit of constraining humour around that charge of lust.

"I've already helped myself to your bar, son. I am as demure and chaste as I can be, the circumstances being what they are. Let us discuss, and I'll take my leave soon afterwards. You'll never have to see me again."