"I could probably develop some sea legs, Coach. From what I heard, the fauns of yesteryear could sometimes be found out on the open ocean. so why not me? Besides, I'm a quick learner, and I could likely pick up the maritime ins and outs easily enough, if I wanted," Aspasia responded. "Still, having some helpers aboard would be beneficial."
She then looked back to Arkham. "I think a boat with a max of three other people besides me, Coach, and Miranda would be feasible."
***
Aislinn shook head in disbelief and nodded in agreement with the new cephlapod version of Archibald. "He's right. I don't want to tempt fate by us learning too much about a future timeline and be overwhelmed by it. For now, let's just stick with the three of us meeting Chauncey, Deadline, and our future selves without the universe hopefully imploding," she said, scoffing in amusement.
Chapter V - Brimstone
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
"That can't happen anytime soon," replied Raguel, his voice sounding from ahead of the group. Another group was crossing the mansion's reconstructed wing and soon came into view. A second Raguel - the one who'd spoken - came into view, and smiled at his past self.
Past Raguel smiled. "Damn," he said, looking impressed even though not much had changed, "I clean up nice!"
Future Raguel smiled toothily. "That's the ol' Latino Angel charm for you, hombre - although, we both know change doesn't score big on the list of angelic necessities."
He looked to his own group. "Aidan, meet Aidan. Aislinn, here's Aislinn - and Herbie? Here's Herbie."
The trio's future selves looked like many a superhuman or supernatural being tended to look after a decade would've passed. Something about their age was more visible in their eyes than in their skin tone or hairline, Drake and McConmara still showing rather youthful heads of hair well into their thirties. Aidan's future self shook his head in amusement. "I remember thinking this'd be confusing - and I remember thinking my future self looked like-
- A douchebag, yeah." completed the past's incarnation of Aidan. "What's with the blazer and the loafers?"
Future Three's smile grew a bit more patient. "We've had ten years to expand, our threats have multiplied and, well - we can't all consistently answer the call. We've had to learn to train younger gifted and emerging practitioners, and delegate responsibilities. We still cover local stuff, though, and everything the American Watchpoints decide we should be the ones to tackle. We've just put the old superteam business back on the map - with less secrecy and no capes.
- Watchpoint?" asked Three.
A figure walked forward from behind Raguel's future self, looking like a more reservedly-dressed and younger Nereus. Only vague crow's-feet at the corners of his big, almost phocine eyes eluded to a more advanced age, the Void Weaver's corpulent stature giving him airs of a tentacled and bald cherub. Two layers of tweed covered a beige shirt and were also accented with a bowtie. His voice felt familiar, yet unknown. It wasn't quite Nereus', not quite Cole McConmara's registry either - and it felt like the Trans-Atlantic accent turned nerdy and sprinkled with the last remnants of a Dutch accent...
"Basically Shield surrogates," said the Squid, his features excitedly animated. "We're the patient, long-suffering parents and places like Shield San Francisco are the wailing kids going Mom, the Society of the White Lotus stole our lunch money again! which leaves us to sort of pat them on the back of the hand and remind them that they're big boys who actually CAN handle Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles rejects on their own."
He smiled and extended a hand. "Chauncey McConmara - Meris' long-lost son. Pleased to meet you. You might have to give my body a good thrashing and stick my soul in Sariel's therapist chair-thingy a couple times, but you'll put me back together for sure. I, uh - I do a little of everything around here. Linguistics, engineering, mnemonic combat-"
Future Aislinn smirked. "He's our resident Sleep Apnea case and our head researcher in the Darkhallow.
- Sixteen-hour workdays and not a lot of exertion!" joked Future Three.
Aislinn's future self looked like she'd found out a few sartorial tricks to make her normal attire more lab-worthy. Her black blouse was probably a little too fancy in its cut to be strict lab fare, but it seemingly looked like it did the job just fine - and she'd embroidered it with a set of runes made out of charcoal thread on top of the black fabric. Her present-day self would feel how confidently the wards' lattice had been put together, making it clear that her skills would only grow over that future decade. Future Aislinn had raised a weird pair of goggles past her eyes and still wore black Nitrile gloves... Perhaps she was still working as a tattoo artist? Something about the coat's bulging pockets seemed to suggest otherwise, as did the goggles. The roane would've never needed to zoom in onto finite details of a design before - but maybe the future would force her to become acquainted with electronic microscopes and ever-shrinking patches of skin...
Who knew? She'd have to ask herself to find out.
Chauncey, however rolled his eyes at the pair. "I'd like to see either of you feel all nice and peppy after spending twelve hours in what's still technically REM sleep! I go to bed exhausted on some days, my work requires that I sleep, and I'm still exhausted afterwards! After that, Percival still wonders why I have no patience for dieting!"
He shook his head. "In any case, I'm one of the head researchers here. I like to bridge the gap between George's efforts and Lucian's, so to speak. Oh, and uh, the Loyalists think I'm some kind of sacrilegious abomination, which is why I've had to more or less kick Amaxi in the butt. Twice."
* * *
Arkham seemed satisfied. "Good - that narrows it down some. The same procedure works here: we open a file, I mail or email you suggestions, you schedule meetings and we stop whenever you'd like us to - either with a purchase or by putting the whole thing on hold, up to a certain point. In cases like yours, we also tend to broker financing agreements...
- Why wasn't it offered to me?" asked Ajax, which left Harrison to look vaguely indisposed.
"Well - it's delicate, but the Bucks aren't in the position to finance anything, at present. Since I'm only a broker, I can't negotiate piecemeal payment plans. The Fisheries are in the red, they'll stark docking your salary soon - the Bumble Bee deal is likely to be the local empire's last gasp before they negotiate their own purchase."
He shrugged. "It's either that or the plant's manager strikes it rich and buys the fishery out of Eliphas' hands. Or, well, Zebediah finally stumbles onto something concrete and actually patents it or sells it instead of hoarding it like any other practitioner. I don't think you'll be out of a job, mister David - but you're likely to be under new management sooner rather than later."
Past Raguel smiled. "Damn," he said, looking impressed even though not much had changed, "I clean up nice!"
Future Raguel smiled toothily. "That's the ol' Latino Angel charm for you, hombre - although, we both know change doesn't score big on the list of angelic necessities."
He looked to his own group. "Aidan, meet Aidan. Aislinn, here's Aislinn - and Herbie? Here's Herbie."
The trio's future selves looked like many a superhuman or supernatural being tended to look after a decade would've passed. Something about their age was more visible in their eyes than in their skin tone or hairline, Drake and McConmara still showing rather youthful heads of hair well into their thirties. Aidan's future self shook his head in amusement. "I remember thinking this'd be confusing - and I remember thinking my future self looked like-
- A douchebag, yeah." completed the past's incarnation of Aidan. "What's with the blazer and the loafers?"
Future Three's smile grew a bit more patient. "We've had ten years to expand, our threats have multiplied and, well - we can't all consistently answer the call. We've had to learn to train younger gifted and emerging practitioners, and delegate responsibilities. We still cover local stuff, though, and everything the American Watchpoints decide we should be the ones to tackle. We've just put the old superteam business back on the map - with less secrecy and no capes.
- Watchpoint?" asked Three.
A figure walked forward from behind Raguel's future self, looking like a more reservedly-dressed and younger Nereus. Only vague crow's-feet at the corners of his big, almost phocine eyes eluded to a more advanced age, the Void Weaver's corpulent stature giving him airs of a tentacled and bald cherub. Two layers of tweed covered a beige shirt and were also accented with a bowtie. His voice felt familiar, yet unknown. It wasn't quite Nereus', not quite Cole McConmara's registry either - and it felt like the Trans-Atlantic accent turned nerdy and sprinkled with the last remnants of a Dutch accent...
"Basically Shield surrogates," said the Squid, his features excitedly animated. "We're the patient, long-suffering parents and places like Shield San Francisco are the wailing kids going Mom, the Society of the White Lotus stole our lunch money again! which leaves us to sort of pat them on the back of the hand and remind them that they're big boys who actually CAN handle Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles rejects on their own."
He smiled and extended a hand. "Chauncey McConmara - Meris' long-lost son. Pleased to meet you. You might have to give my body a good thrashing and stick my soul in Sariel's therapist chair-thingy a couple times, but you'll put me back together for sure. I, uh - I do a little of everything around here. Linguistics, engineering, mnemonic combat-"
Future Aislinn smirked. "He's our resident Sleep Apnea case and our head researcher in the Darkhallow.
- Sixteen-hour workdays and not a lot of exertion!" joked Future Three.
Aislinn's future self looked like she'd found out a few sartorial tricks to make her normal attire more lab-worthy. Her black blouse was probably a little too fancy in its cut to be strict lab fare, but it seemingly looked like it did the job just fine - and she'd embroidered it with a set of runes made out of charcoal thread on top of the black fabric. Her present-day self would feel how confidently the wards' lattice had been put together, making it clear that her skills would only grow over that future decade. Future Aislinn had raised a weird pair of goggles past her eyes and still wore black Nitrile gloves... Perhaps she was still working as a tattoo artist? Something about the coat's bulging pockets seemed to suggest otherwise, as did the goggles. The roane would've never needed to zoom in onto finite details of a design before - but maybe the future would force her to become acquainted with electronic microscopes and ever-shrinking patches of skin...
Who knew? She'd have to ask herself to find out.
Chauncey, however rolled his eyes at the pair. "I'd like to see either of you feel all nice and peppy after spending twelve hours in what's still technically REM sleep! I go to bed exhausted on some days, my work requires that I sleep, and I'm still exhausted afterwards! After that, Percival still wonders why I have no patience for dieting!"
He shook his head. "In any case, I'm one of the head researchers here. I like to bridge the gap between George's efforts and Lucian's, so to speak. Oh, and uh, the Loyalists think I'm some kind of sacrilegious abomination, which is why I've had to more or less kick Amaxi in the butt. Twice."
* * *
Arkham seemed satisfied. "Good - that narrows it down some. The same procedure works here: we open a file, I mail or email you suggestions, you schedule meetings and we stop whenever you'd like us to - either with a purchase or by putting the whole thing on hold, up to a certain point. In cases like yours, we also tend to broker financing agreements...
- Why wasn't it offered to me?" asked Ajax, which left Harrison to look vaguely indisposed.
"Well - it's delicate, but the Bucks aren't in the position to finance anything, at present. Since I'm only a broker, I can't negotiate piecemeal payment plans. The Fisheries are in the red, they'll stark docking your salary soon - the Bumble Bee deal is likely to be the local empire's last gasp before they negotiate their own purchase."
He shrugged. "It's either that or the plant's manager strikes it rich and buys the fishery out of Eliphas' hands. Or, well, Zebediah finally stumbles onto something concrete and actually patents it or sells it instead of hoarding it like any other practitioner. I don't think you'll be out of a job, mister David - but you're likely to be under new management sooner rather than later."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn gaped at Chauncey and her future self. "Twice?! We're worried about just beating Them once. How is that possible? What are you, some kind of demi god born of Nereus and Meris?" she blurted.
She calmed herself and focused on her older self. "What will we end up doing in the future? You're wearing the same sort of gloves I use for tattooing, but you also look you spend a lot of time in a lab somewhere."
***
Aspasia shrugged. "A new employer is better than a lost job, Ajax. If nothing else, we might be able to help you out somehow, " she offered.
She calmed herself and focused on her older self. "What will we end up doing in the future? You're wearing the same sort of gloves I use for tattooing, but you also look you spend a lot of time in a lab somewhere."
***
Aspasia shrugged. "A new employer is better than a lost job, Ajax. If nothing else, we might be able to help you out somehow, " she offered.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn's incredulous reaction seemed to leave the Squid looking pleased as punch, his hands going up to his jacket's lapels and his chest broadening. His grin couldn't get any wider behind his tendrils, but he let his version of Aislinn speak first.
"You'll always be a tattoo artist first," offered the future roane, "but the merger's going to offer you new opportunities, especially as a practitioner and Warlock. Some missions require that we keep our wards as compact or stealthy as possible. I've had to work in low-contrast situations or sometimes cram entire shielding spells on a spot that's about the size of a beauty mark."
Future Three held up his right hand, pointing at what looked like an ordinary off-center mark on the back of it. "I haven't needed to prime it yet, but that's in case I can't use the White Speech to shield myself. It's mono-filament black pigment over a brown base."
Future Aislinn beckoned the group forward. "Come on, we'll show you. The short of it is from there to printing electronic circuits directly on someone's skin, all you really need is a basic understanding of how circuits work. Hiram can't telepathically link with anyone, being an android and a distributed intelligence, but I've designed contacts and earbuds with Deadline's help and some manufacturing from Goliath. We can see what he pushes forward for us to see and hear him while out in the field."
Present Three looked around. "So Archie's father is like Bagley used to be?
- Not exactly," replied Future Three. "He has his body, but he's also a distributed intel. Basically, the tech-based version of a genius loci. He's connected to both our central mainfame and Paradise's, and he has access to all of our Watchpoints. We've had a few other armatures installed between here and Sydney, so Hiram's always right where we need him to be."
Archie's father looked pleased. "It makes heavy workdays a bit easier to process. While one of my selves is working hard on an off-site support assignment for our Hong Kong allies, I am both here with you and also taking five minutes off on the balcony of our Greek facilities. It's still a funny thing, being able to focus on starlight and shimmering waves that lie half a planet away..."
They entered the tesseract-like wing of the mansion, some sort of cacophonous Art of Noise track blaring forth, like a mix between Aphex Twin and Death Grips' acoustic works. Hiram grimaced at that and gave the group a weary look.
"Apologies," he said, raising his voice over the din, "this'll be over in a jiffy - MISTER CONNOR! DEADLINE! WOULD YOU PLEASE TONE IT DOWN?!"
No response. Hiram eyed his son and rolled his eyes. "Ugh - alright, then..."
The android raised a finger to his right temple, lowered his upper ocular shutters in focus, and then somehow managed to suggest a slightly mean or self-indulgent smile as the music was abruptly cut off. The sudden silence seemed to be enough to jolt the group's two engineers, a sudden mix of German swears and a single, pointedly American "FUCK!" sounding through the building. Clambering noises were soon heard as a strangely not-lambent lich bounded down the second floor's stairs, followed by a cybernetic rat clad in Grunge wear worthy of a Nirvana photoshoot. Both men seemed irate and railed at Hiram at once. The android made it clear he wasn't having any of it and raised a hand.
"Might I ask how it is that Herbert - our Herbert - hasn't hexed you yet?
- He's using the bone conduction earphones I got him for Christmas," explained the rat. "He's off humming to Chopin and drinking some of that godawful civet coffee three floors up. I'll go get him."
The rat made as if to turn and leave, while Hiram lightly pinched his tail. "Tsk. Manners, boy. We've guests."
Travis looked annoyed. "Yeah, it's Aislinn and Drake - I just met 'em down the hall not fifteen minutes ago. So what?
- Their past selves have manifested," reminded the android, using the sort of tone you would've used with a child. That made Connor stare at them and widen his red-on-black optic sensors. "Shit, that's today?! I totally fucking forgot!
- Yes," snidely commented Holden Senior, "imagine my surprise..."
The rat's hackles looked partially raised, his ears looking partly flattened. "Anyway... Um. It's weird. It's um, nice meeting you two. Again."
He then gave Hiram the look of an impatient child. "Can I go, now? I know Herbert's made progress, but his whole corner of the building is still just... Affluenza Central," he said, making a face. "The less time I have to spend there, the better I'll feel."
Present Three seemed worried. "So he hasn't made any progress, then.
- Quite the contrary!" replied Future Archie. "It's simply a case of some traditions needing a bit of TLC... Not every holdover of Pride can take to the sight of a fellow member of the Damned leading a humbly productive existence in our borders, so now Herbert tends to swaddle his markers of luxury in the sort of congeniality he should've displayed from Day One. He's certainly rich, but he's more of the Richie Rich alumni, now, and less a parody of your average high-stakes corporate lawyer. Ironically, his situation keeps improving the more empathetic or considerate he becomes."
Present Herbert looked miffed. "I am no mere parody, sir. I am a product of Pride's breeding.
- Truly," noted Hiram, "and compared to our own Herbert, you would be but a pauper... Make of that what you will."
* * *
Loren went for a more gracious and teasing exploration of Ajax's former militaryman's ego. "Keep helping me," he commented, smirking, "and you'll end up tying my shoes at this rate!"
Coach could tell Ajax wasn't quite so defensive this time, and shrugged the matter aside. "Eh, we spent eight years tying Miranda's shoes; we've each got our Postgrad thesis on shoelace-tying."
"You'll always be a tattoo artist first," offered the future roane, "but the merger's going to offer you new opportunities, especially as a practitioner and Warlock. Some missions require that we keep our wards as compact or stealthy as possible. I've had to work in low-contrast situations or sometimes cram entire shielding spells on a spot that's about the size of a beauty mark."
Future Three held up his right hand, pointing at what looked like an ordinary off-center mark on the back of it. "I haven't needed to prime it yet, but that's in case I can't use the White Speech to shield myself. It's mono-filament black pigment over a brown base."
Future Aislinn beckoned the group forward. "Come on, we'll show you. The short of it is from there to printing electronic circuits directly on someone's skin, all you really need is a basic understanding of how circuits work. Hiram can't telepathically link with anyone, being an android and a distributed intelligence, but I've designed contacts and earbuds with Deadline's help and some manufacturing from Goliath. We can see what he pushes forward for us to see and hear him while out in the field."
Present Three looked around. "So Archie's father is like Bagley used to be?
- Not exactly," replied Future Three. "He has his body, but he's also a distributed intel. Basically, the tech-based version of a genius loci. He's connected to both our central mainfame and Paradise's, and he has access to all of our Watchpoints. We've had a few other armatures installed between here and Sydney, so Hiram's always right where we need him to be."
Archie's father looked pleased. "It makes heavy workdays a bit easier to process. While one of my selves is working hard on an off-site support assignment for our Hong Kong allies, I am both here with you and also taking five minutes off on the balcony of our Greek facilities. It's still a funny thing, being able to focus on starlight and shimmering waves that lie half a planet away..."
They entered the tesseract-like wing of the mansion, some sort of cacophonous Art of Noise track blaring forth, like a mix between Aphex Twin and Death Grips' acoustic works. Hiram grimaced at that and gave the group a weary look.
"Apologies," he said, raising his voice over the din, "this'll be over in a jiffy - MISTER CONNOR! DEADLINE! WOULD YOU PLEASE TONE IT DOWN?!"
No response. Hiram eyed his son and rolled his eyes. "Ugh - alright, then..."
The android raised a finger to his right temple, lowered his upper ocular shutters in focus, and then somehow managed to suggest a slightly mean or self-indulgent smile as the music was abruptly cut off. The sudden silence seemed to be enough to jolt the group's two engineers, a sudden mix of German swears and a single, pointedly American "FUCK!" sounding through the building. Clambering noises were soon heard as a strangely not-lambent lich bounded down the second floor's stairs, followed by a cybernetic rat clad in Grunge wear worthy of a Nirvana photoshoot. Both men seemed irate and railed at Hiram at once. The android made it clear he wasn't having any of it and raised a hand.
"Might I ask how it is that Herbert - our Herbert - hasn't hexed you yet?
- He's using the bone conduction earphones I got him for Christmas," explained the rat. "He's off humming to Chopin and drinking some of that godawful civet coffee three floors up. I'll go get him."
The rat made as if to turn and leave, while Hiram lightly pinched his tail. "Tsk. Manners, boy. We've guests."
Travis looked annoyed. "Yeah, it's Aislinn and Drake - I just met 'em down the hall not fifteen minutes ago. So what?
- Their past selves have manifested," reminded the android, using the sort of tone you would've used with a child. That made Connor stare at them and widen his red-on-black optic sensors. "Shit, that's today?! I totally fucking forgot!
- Yes," snidely commented Holden Senior, "imagine my surprise..."
The rat's hackles looked partially raised, his ears looking partly flattened. "Anyway... Um. It's weird. It's um, nice meeting you two. Again."
He then gave Hiram the look of an impatient child. "Can I go, now? I know Herbert's made progress, but his whole corner of the building is still just... Affluenza Central," he said, making a face. "The less time I have to spend there, the better I'll feel."
Present Three seemed worried. "So he hasn't made any progress, then.
- Quite the contrary!" replied Future Archie. "It's simply a case of some traditions needing a bit of TLC... Not every holdover of Pride can take to the sight of a fellow member of the Damned leading a humbly productive existence in our borders, so now Herbert tends to swaddle his markers of luxury in the sort of congeniality he should've displayed from Day One. He's certainly rich, but he's more of the Richie Rich alumni, now, and less a parody of your average high-stakes corporate lawyer. Ironically, his situation keeps improving the more empathetic or considerate he becomes."
Present Herbert looked miffed. "I am no mere parody, sir. I am a product of Pride's breeding.
- Truly," noted Hiram, "and compared to our own Herbert, you would be but a pauper... Make of that what you will."
* * *
Loren went for a more gracious and teasing exploration of Ajax's former militaryman's ego. "Keep helping me," he commented, smirking, "and you'll end up tying my shoes at this rate!"
Coach could tell Ajax wasn't quite so defensive this time, and shrugged the matter aside. "Eh, we spent eight years tying Miranda's shoes; we've each got our Postgrad thesis on shoelace-tying."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Present Aislinn quizzically quirked a brow at the cybernetic rat. "I think you'll be fine. Affluenza's not like damned chicken pox," she groused, waving amicably enough at him.
She then shifted her raised brow at the non-lambent Deadline, having heard of him after the kerfuffle with Vlastos. "Hey," she offered as a greeting, not sure what to expect from him.
The young Archmage then eyed Hiram, justifiably seeming a bit annoyed at the flippant behavior of the rodent engineer. "The sooner we meet your version of Herbert, I guess the sooner Connor can get back to blasting his music."
***
Aspasia smiled at her "old comrade" and nodded in agreement with Coach's assessment at their handling of Miranda's shoe-tying years. "We had our share of bumps along the way, but we passed with flying colors."
Her gaze sobered some as she looked back at Arkham. "Is there anything else we need to discuss for either us or Ajax?" she asked.
She then shifted her raised brow at the non-lambent Deadline, having heard of him after the kerfuffle with Vlastos. "Hey," she offered as a greeting, not sure what to expect from him.
The young Archmage then eyed Hiram, justifiably seeming a bit annoyed at the flippant behavior of the rodent engineer. "The sooner we meet your version of Herbert, I guess the sooner Connor can get back to blasting his music."
***
Aspasia smiled at her "old comrade" and nodded in agreement with Coach's assessment at their handling of Miranda's shoe-tying years. "We had our share of bumps along the way, but we passed with flying colors."
Her gaze sobered some as she looked back at Arkham. "Is there anything else we need to discuss for either us or Ajax?" she asked.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
"Agreed," noted Hiram, not without a smidgen of palpable regret. He obviously hadn't adapted quite completely to the modern world, whereas Archie had already started for the elevator at the back of the ground floor. They crossed what effectively seemed to be a kind of combination Archmage's den and engineer's workshop, and then were spirited upwards in a glass tube. The second floor was briefly visible as a tangle of thick cabling and hanging multi-monitor displays overlooking what Three could only guess were computers, a few shelves with discarded parts visible here and there. All the while, Deadline proved to be a slightly anachronistic, if decidedly animated chap. With a baggy yellow jacket ripped straight out of the early nineties, a white belt over a black shirt and pants, neon-green Converse and a loose, hot-pink necktie, he certainly looked like the type of guy you would've found as a toy in a Burger King Kids Club meal from 1994.
"Hey," he said, his accent untraceable, hailing from somewhere between England, France, Eastern America and the Scandinavian countries, "I hope you liked my work with the vamp guy; me and Nosferatu Ops run a long way back. Helsinki's Nexus fried my brain or something so I kinda-sorta forgot most of who I am, but I didn't forget all of my roots! The Squid-bros might run linguistic coding and Travis handles the hardware logistics, but I'm in this wicked-cool posture where I get to teach Meris about micro-electronics and how you can lash via to all sorts of stuff if you've got the right amperage! See, mages are used to the idea that bigger's always better - but electronics work in reverse. Spend long enough tryin' to go Gandalf, you'll never figure out how to pull in less than a nano-angstrom of arcane radiation per second. The way I do things, I could graft Paradise's Central Core to Sophia that she'd barely notice the power drain!"
Herbert rolled his eyes. "Ugh - let's entertain the notion that we so much as understood that, Mister Deadline - or cared to. How does this better our cause?"
The lich pushed his pink shutter shades up his nasal ridge. "Well, Squaremeister, the bad guys aren't against using information warfare against us. Actually, ask Meris or the Good Squids, and all they actually do use is information. It's all semantics, all code, all verbalized intent and mnemonic fuckery that makes your local hackerspace look about as pointless as a Mensa Society meet-and-greet! What I do is I take all the shit people forgot about - analog transmission, tape piracy, dead-drops or fuckin' Usenet portals - and I weaponize it. I can't throw fireballs for shit, but my zombie networks fist the fuck out of Chambers' lamer Loyalist hubs across the Dark Web. While the rest of you were focused on bleaching out the Darkhallow - or you will be - the Squids are gonna take to the darkest, filthiest, remotest corners of the Web - and they're gonna root and breed there. They'll come pretty fuckin' close to infesting Paradise with an AI dump of Amaxi's core consciousness, you'll make 'em fail, and they'll want to repeat the procedure with our own World Wide Web."
Herbert still looked unimpressed. "So?
- So?!" scoffed Deadline. "No Internet means no access to the Bar's database, which means no swanky legal practice, which means no office for you - and that means you're high and dry on your ass! Or maybe you wanna Charles Dickens it and physically schlep your demonic ass to hard-copy court case files!"
Wormsworth parted with that side-glance of his, the one that indicated grudging acceptance. "Yes, I suppose that would render the whole process rather cumbersome..."
Deadline rolled his tiny eyelights, barely more than twin little blue motes in the dark pits of his eye sockets. "Holy shit, man - I think I like our version of you better. No offense."
Having idled for a while by the elevator, the group stepped out to a floor that had its own lettering on the wall. The words Legal & Acquisitions were affixed to the wall in thin all-caps Sans Serif script, each letter cast out of what looked like aluminium. Past that currently-empty front desk and its partition was a waiting area, the doors beyond currently lying ajar. Judging on the quiet, if tunelessly content humming beyond, Future Wormsworth was poring through books while listening to Chopin's Nocturne Opus 9, Number 2.
"Now, now," he was heard telling himself, "where are you, you naughty little case precedent? Where is it that one of Ruthven's fits of ennui that saw him leak some of Raven's Weapons Development charts online?"
A few steps forward and he soon came into view, looking much the same. If anything, his suit looked even finer than before, a vague shimmer in his necktie's fabric suggesting gold thread had been added to the fabrication process. He'd added a vest and a decorative fob chain, along with black obsidian cufflinks. More importantly, he quietly radiated pride - enough to make his present self stop and stare, jaw agape.
Somehow, Herbert J. Wormsworth would eventually rival the Goat in his self-confidence - all the while balancing it with a palpable bedrock of breezy humility. This wasn't Pride as a sin, then - it was the sort of pride you'd have expected of someone possessed of the incontrovertible proof of the moral value of their actions. Pride light enough, then, that someone else could afford to butt in. Chauncey did just that.
"Top shelf, third volume from the right," he said, pointing. Wormsworth looked up, lightly flinched and then chuckled, pausing to carefully peel off a red plastic headband from his forehead. wires trailed from it and disappeared inside his jacket.
"Chauncey - my, but you've scared me! Thank you, I would've kept searching for hours, otherwise!"
Present-day Wormsworth barely managed a croak. Future Wormsworth looked over his shoulder with a smirk, as his wings carefully propelled him to the top shelf along one of the office's walls. "Hello, Me. Looking positively turgid, I see - as we so often did as a newcomer to this plane..."
Present Wormsworth stammered. "How did you - How can you-"
His future self sighed. "One step at a time, old boy. As with everything else in life: one step at a time. You see, Tom is of a breed that must free itself from its burden. We, however, are of one that cannot fully extricate itself from its own. Everything that thinks and feels projects Pride in some form or another. To have no pride is to be a slave to someone else who has a glut of the thing, in essence. The trick is to practice awareness, as opposed to wanton self-idolatry. The Scion of Pride who wields his true potential whilst shielding his heart from its poison becomes truly powerful. You'll begin as a resenting lackey to Ephesian, of course, but play your cards right and you shall rise as his equal."
He paused. "Well, at least in terms of inner-cabinet respectability. The boss can keep the restless dead's cases, the prideful and arrogant are mine."
The present self blinked. "How can you stand to not step above this... admittedly well-intentioned rabble?"
The future self coasted down, volume in hand. He nodded at Archie and spared a wink at Future Aislinn. "They're my well-intentioned rabble, and not a day passes by that does not have me relish the opportunity to collaborate further. You claim to know Pride, yet have never been proud to call someone a friend."
He smirked. "Just wait 'till you feel that particular hit," he said, pointing at his own heart. "There is nothing sweeter than the pride of friendship - or love."
* * *
Arkham parted his hands amenably. "Unless you have specific constructors or floor finishes in mind or you plan on visiting particular locales, I've got the essentials here. Of course, mister David's case will be worked on faster than yours," he admitted to Aspasia. "Not only is commercial boating more active, his situation makes sense for me to attempt to rush his order."
Ajax nodded. "That's very kind of you, mister Arkham."
Harrison settled with a humble nod. "It's called Customer Service, mister David - there's nothing to it. Now, I might not be the one to call you back or to follow up on either of your cases; I've got people for this. That said, considering the nature of the Robertsons' order and yours, well..."
He handed the couple and disguised Karthian a business card each, from a holder in front of his desk. "If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to call or email me."
That one last move seemed to surprise Loren. He kept it off his face, but the telepathic channel he'd opened earlier quietly buzzed with his disbelief. If Arkham was so dodgy, why was he so forward at the same time? He already had the Robertsons' numbers on file and he'd eventually realize Ajax David didn't exist, so why keep up with these appearances of earnestness? Aspasia would feel the ghost of the alien's frustration, as outright probing his mind would've been easy and satisfactory. It also would've been needlessly dangerous.
"Hey," he said, his accent untraceable, hailing from somewhere between England, France, Eastern America and the Scandinavian countries, "I hope you liked my work with the vamp guy; me and Nosferatu Ops run a long way back. Helsinki's Nexus fried my brain or something so I kinda-sorta forgot most of who I am, but I didn't forget all of my roots! The Squid-bros might run linguistic coding and Travis handles the hardware logistics, but I'm in this wicked-cool posture where I get to teach Meris about micro-electronics and how you can lash via to all sorts of stuff if you've got the right amperage! See, mages are used to the idea that bigger's always better - but electronics work in reverse. Spend long enough tryin' to go Gandalf, you'll never figure out how to pull in less than a nano-angstrom of arcane radiation per second. The way I do things, I could graft Paradise's Central Core to Sophia that she'd barely notice the power drain!"
Herbert rolled his eyes. "Ugh - let's entertain the notion that we so much as understood that, Mister Deadline - or cared to. How does this better our cause?"
The lich pushed his pink shutter shades up his nasal ridge. "Well, Squaremeister, the bad guys aren't against using information warfare against us. Actually, ask Meris or the Good Squids, and all they actually do use is information. It's all semantics, all code, all verbalized intent and mnemonic fuckery that makes your local hackerspace look about as pointless as a Mensa Society meet-and-greet! What I do is I take all the shit people forgot about - analog transmission, tape piracy, dead-drops or fuckin' Usenet portals - and I weaponize it. I can't throw fireballs for shit, but my zombie networks fist the fuck out of Chambers' lamer Loyalist hubs across the Dark Web. While the rest of you were focused on bleaching out the Darkhallow - or you will be - the Squids are gonna take to the darkest, filthiest, remotest corners of the Web - and they're gonna root and breed there. They'll come pretty fuckin' close to infesting Paradise with an AI dump of Amaxi's core consciousness, you'll make 'em fail, and they'll want to repeat the procedure with our own World Wide Web."
Herbert still looked unimpressed. "So?
- So?!" scoffed Deadline. "No Internet means no access to the Bar's database, which means no swanky legal practice, which means no office for you - and that means you're high and dry on your ass! Or maybe you wanna Charles Dickens it and physically schlep your demonic ass to hard-copy court case files!"
Wormsworth parted with that side-glance of his, the one that indicated grudging acceptance. "Yes, I suppose that would render the whole process rather cumbersome..."
Deadline rolled his tiny eyelights, barely more than twin little blue motes in the dark pits of his eye sockets. "Holy shit, man - I think I like our version of you better. No offense."
Having idled for a while by the elevator, the group stepped out to a floor that had its own lettering on the wall. The words Legal & Acquisitions were affixed to the wall in thin all-caps Sans Serif script, each letter cast out of what looked like aluminium. Past that currently-empty front desk and its partition was a waiting area, the doors beyond currently lying ajar. Judging on the quiet, if tunelessly content humming beyond, Future Wormsworth was poring through books while listening to Chopin's Nocturne Opus 9, Number 2.
"Now, now," he was heard telling himself, "where are you, you naughty little case precedent? Where is it that one of Ruthven's fits of ennui that saw him leak some of Raven's Weapons Development charts online?"
A few steps forward and he soon came into view, looking much the same. If anything, his suit looked even finer than before, a vague shimmer in his necktie's fabric suggesting gold thread had been added to the fabrication process. He'd added a vest and a decorative fob chain, along with black obsidian cufflinks. More importantly, he quietly radiated pride - enough to make his present self stop and stare, jaw agape.
Somehow, Herbert J. Wormsworth would eventually rival the Goat in his self-confidence - all the while balancing it with a palpable bedrock of breezy humility. This wasn't Pride as a sin, then - it was the sort of pride you'd have expected of someone possessed of the incontrovertible proof of the moral value of their actions. Pride light enough, then, that someone else could afford to butt in. Chauncey did just that.
"Top shelf, third volume from the right," he said, pointing. Wormsworth looked up, lightly flinched and then chuckled, pausing to carefully peel off a red plastic headband from his forehead. wires trailed from it and disappeared inside his jacket.
"Chauncey - my, but you've scared me! Thank you, I would've kept searching for hours, otherwise!"
Present-day Wormsworth barely managed a croak. Future Wormsworth looked over his shoulder with a smirk, as his wings carefully propelled him to the top shelf along one of the office's walls. "Hello, Me. Looking positively turgid, I see - as we so often did as a newcomer to this plane..."
Present Wormsworth stammered. "How did you - How can you-"
His future self sighed. "One step at a time, old boy. As with everything else in life: one step at a time. You see, Tom is of a breed that must free itself from its burden. We, however, are of one that cannot fully extricate itself from its own. Everything that thinks and feels projects Pride in some form or another. To have no pride is to be a slave to someone else who has a glut of the thing, in essence. The trick is to practice awareness, as opposed to wanton self-idolatry. The Scion of Pride who wields his true potential whilst shielding his heart from its poison becomes truly powerful. You'll begin as a resenting lackey to Ephesian, of course, but play your cards right and you shall rise as his equal."
He paused. "Well, at least in terms of inner-cabinet respectability. The boss can keep the restless dead's cases, the prideful and arrogant are mine."
The present self blinked. "How can you stand to not step above this... admittedly well-intentioned rabble?"
The future self coasted down, volume in hand. He nodded at Archie and spared a wink at Future Aislinn. "They're my well-intentioned rabble, and not a day passes by that does not have me relish the opportunity to collaborate further. You claim to know Pride, yet have never been proud to call someone a friend."
He smirked. "Just wait 'till you feel that particular hit," he said, pointing at his own heart. "There is nothing sweeter than the pride of friendship - or love."
* * *
Arkham parted his hands amenably. "Unless you have specific constructors or floor finishes in mind or you plan on visiting particular locales, I've got the essentials here. Of course, mister David's case will be worked on faster than yours," he admitted to Aspasia. "Not only is commercial boating more active, his situation makes sense for me to attempt to rush his order."
Ajax nodded. "That's very kind of you, mister Arkham."
Harrison settled with a humble nod. "It's called Customer Service, mister David - there's nothing to it. Now, I might not be the one to call you back or to follow up on either of your cases; I've got people for this. That said, considering the nature of the Robertsons' order and yours, well..."
He handed the couple and disguised Karthian a business card each, from a holder in front of his desk. "If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to call or email me."
That one last move seemed to surprise Loren. He kept it off his face, but the telepathic channel he'd opened earlier quietly buzzed with his disbelief. If Arkham was so dodgy, why was he so forward at the same time? He already had the Robertsons' numbers on file and he'd eventually realize Ajax David didn't exist, so why keep up with these appearances of earnestness? Aspasia would feel the ghost of the alien's frustration, as outright probing his mind would've been easy and satisfactory. It also would've been needlessly dangerous.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn smirked over at the present version of Wormsworth. "See, Herbert? You've been able to survive and thrive while working with and befriending us," she noted. "And no Resting Goatface coming in to harangue you, either," she noted. "It's obvious it's not going to be an instant transition, but you'll eventually get there and be all the better for it."
***
Aspasia held off from poking at Loren's mind and smiled gratefully to the agent. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Arkham," she responded, taking the card and quickly slipping it into her bag. "We'll be in touch. You have a good day. "
She then looked to Ajax and Coach and rose from her seat, indicating that it seemed like a good time to leave. She figured they could discuss what they had found in the car, and the former commander could put forth her own thoughts on what the disguised Squid's intentions were.
***
Aspasia held off from poking at Loren's mind and smiled gratefully to the agent. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Arkham," she responded, taking the card and quickly slipping it into her bag. "We'll be in touch. You have a good day. "
She then looked to Ajax and Coach and rose from her seat, indicating that it seemed like a good time to leave. She figured they could discuss what they had found in the car, and the former commander could put forth her own thoughts on what the disguised Squid's intentions were.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Future Herbert shrugged lightly. "I can't honestly call myself the most humble man in our group," he admitted, "but I've learned to redirect that same Pride Paimon so struggles with. There's always a component of Ego to it, of course - but mine becomes an Ego that's glad to reach outwards and include others. I've given you legal and executive power over a generous arm of the refugee Damned here on Earth, and that professional boon has only bolstered what was already mine."
Present Herbert looked more uncertain than annoyed, but still felt inclined to push the matter away for now. "I see. You mentioned love, however? We've tried to form couples numerous times before, as you no doubt remember. Who is the lucky woman?"
Future Herbert smiled slowly, adding perhaps just a dash of deviousness to it. His hands went behind his back. "That, esteemed colleague," he said, "would be telling. Being what I am, I value myself enough not to tell you."
His present self looked frustrated, and settled with crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking slightly bewildered. "Anything to prevent me from making sense of this, I see...
- She deserves better than spoilers," added his future self. "You'll see. Thankfully, she doesn't actively work among this group of ours. She jumps in from time to time, but still maintains her own pursuits."
Present Three took a stab at it. "Another worldly type like Meris?
- I shan't dignify that with a response," replied Future Herbert, a smirk bringing human warmth to his admittedly still slightly self-satisfied obfuscation. Somehow, he managed to make the act of looking down on Aidan look more impish than snobbish. "Please, if you do work it out - keep it to yourselves, no matter how much my old stick-in-the-mud self asks you for pointers. Raguel will tell you timelines are difficult to irreparably damage, but I'd say poor Herbert here deserves to fall in love the old-fashioned way. No good omens, no signs, no portents of fate."
Three seemed to agree. "I can accept that. Serendipity does have its perks."
Future Raguel smirked. "You'll like it, though. He goes all Rhett Butler - maybe a little Gomez Addams, too."
Aidan laughed easily at that. "Okay, this'll be fun, for sure!"
* * *
Ajax David didn't leave the way for Martin Loren until they were a good klick away from Angell Street, once he was sure Arkham wouldn't pick up on distant telepathic patterns as they shifted. That done, Loren looked back to Aspasia in the rear-view mirror.
"Are you alright, miss Robertson? I'm glad to see my countermeasures held up, but didn't anticipate his waiting for physical cues of absorbed cognitive damage..."
He sighed, the sound suggesting a sort of disappointment with his own performance. "I should've anticipated this, perhaps included modified optic payloads in the injection... I almost gave us away!"
Present Herbert looked more uncertain than annoyed, but still felt inclined to push the matter away for now. "I see. You mentioned love, however? We've tried to form couples numerous times before, as you no doubt remember. Who is the lucky woman?"
Future Herbert smiled slowly, adding perhaps just a dash of deviousness to it. His hands went behind his back. "That, esteemed colleague," he said, "would be telling. Being what I am, I value myself enough not to tell you."
His present self looked frustrated, and settled with crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking slightly bewildered. "Anything to prevent me from making sense of this, I see...
- She deserves better than spoilers," added his future self. "You'll see. Thankfully, she doesn't actively work among this group of ours. She jumps in from time to time, but still maintains her own pursuits."
Present Three took a stab at it. "Another worldly type like Meris?
- I shan't dignify that with a response," replied Future Herbert, a smirk bringing human warmth to his admittedly still slightly self-satisfied obfuscation. Somehow, he managed to make the act of looking down on Aidan look more impish than snobbish. "Please, if you do work it out - keep it to yourselves, no matter how much my old stick-in-the-mud self asks you for pointers. Raguel will tell you timelines are difficult to irreparably damage, but I'd say poor Herbert here deserves to fall in love the old-fashioned way. No good omens, no signs, no portents of fate."
Three seemed to agree. "I can accept that. Serendipity does have its perks."
Future Raguel smirked. "You'll like it, though. He goes all Rhett Butler - maybe a little Gomez Addams, too."
Aidan laughed easily at that. "Okay, this'll be fun, for sure!"
* * *
Ajax David didn't leave the way for Martin Loren until they were a good klick away from Angell Street, once he was sure Arkham wouldn't pick up on distant telepathic patterns as they shifted. That done, Loren looked back to Aspasia in the rear-view mirror.
"Are you alright, miss Robertson? I'm glad to see my countermeasures held up, but didn't anticipate his waiting for physical cues of absorbed cognitive damage..."
He sighed, the sound suggesting a sort of disappointment with his own performance. "I should've anticipated this, perhaps included modified optic payloads in the injection... I almost gave us away!"
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Aislinn chuckled. "My lips will certainly be sealed. You'll just have to fall in love like us mortals," she mused with a bit of an impish tone.
The tattooist then glanced over at their version of Wormsworth and sighed. "Though, while you're not like Tom is, I imagine that you'll give something of yourself to whoever this mystery woman is. Regardless of whether it's Lust or Pride, any relationship is give and take," she told him.
***
Aspasia sighed and leaned back in the front passenger seat. "I'm fine, Dr. Loren. If you're really concerned, you can check for any unforeseen damage, but I believe your software did the trick. However, you might need to make some adjustments to have such effects in case Arkham tries to pull something like that again," she responded.
"As to whether he's a Void Weaver, he definitely is. Though, I was able to pick up some insights into his character. He's not like the Void Weaver in McHae's tower; that guy is far more forward when he wants to get something done. No, Arkham is dangerously subtle, yet he seems like he's also tried to coax us into trusting him. He wants to build trust while also having clients be pulled under his sway for whatever machinations he has planned."
"And speaking of that, I think that project centered around Centennial Park is a considerable part of it. Those locations are too strategically placed around the nexus to be random, at least from my vantage point. I have to wonder if he's trying to garner admiration and affluence from Hope. He's not Rendell, far from it, but there's elements of a cult of personality to his approach. Also, given how discreet he's being, that makes it even more of a concern."
She rested her chin on her propped hand and looked out at the wintery scene that they passed. "I think consulting the Countess wouldn't be a bad idea, see if there's anything in particular about those locations on his map. If the Winter-aligned dryad that appeared last summer was any indication, the Void Weavers of any demeanor might have plans for the nexus, if only to gain an upper hand."
She then looked back at Martin in the rearview mirror. "What's your assessment of the situation? Do you think his behavior and attacks line up with what I'm suggesting?"
The tattooist then glanced over at their version of Wormsworth and sighed. "Though, while you're not like Tom is, I imagine that you'll give something of yourself to whoever this mystery woman is. Regardless of whether it's Lust or Pride, any relationship is give and take," she told him.
***
Aspasia sighed and leaned back in the front passenger seat. "I'm fine, Dr. Loren. If you're really concerned, you can check for any unforeseen damage, but I believe your software did the trick. However, you might need to make some adjustments to have such effects in case Arkham tries to pull something like that again," she responded.
"As to whether he's a Void Weaver, he definitely is. Though, I was able to pick up some insights into his character. He's not like the Void Weaver in McHae's tower; that guy is far more forward when he wants to get something done. No, Arkham is dangerously subtle, yet he seems like he's also tried to coax us into trusting him. He wants to build trust while also having clients be pulled under his sway for whatever machinations he has planned."
"And speaking of that, I think that project centered around Centennial Park is a considerable part of it. Those locations are too strategically placed around the nexus to be random, at least from my vantage point. I have to wonder if he's trying to garner admiration and affluence from Hope. He's not Rendell, far from it, but there's elements of a cult of personality to his approach. Also, given how discreet he's being, that makes it even more of a concern."
She rested her chin on her propped hand and looked out at the wintery scene that they passed. "I think consulting the Countess wouldn't be a bad idea, see if there's anything in particular about those locations on his map. If the Winter-aligned dryad that appeared last summer was any indication, the Void Weavers of any demeanor might have plans for the nexus, if only to gain an upper hand."
She then looked back at Martin in the rearview mirror. "What's your assessment of the situation? Do you think his behavior and attacks line up with what I'm suggesting?"
-
IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Loren again seemed frustrated by their predicament. "I can comment on ordinary hoodlums or the ne'er-do-wells from the city's Silver and Golden Ages, but the Void Weavers I've encountered haven't survived long enough to impart me with more than a cursory understanding of their culture. If anything, I've noticed he seems less inclined to fall into certain archetypes I've seen them ascribe to."
He sniffed. "I've seen slovenly slum lords, slave-driving Muscle Culture fanatics, unstable businessmen or bliss ninnies hiding a deep reservoir of mental instability - but never something like this," he said. "At best, I know the more driven ones fall in lockstep with the tenets of one of their particular gods, to the point of willingly obfuscating distinctive elements of their own personality."
Loren grimaced. "My people's Dominions at least tend to integrate the individual's core into the hierarchy, so that only core belief systems are telepathically strengthened. If I were to extend my power over you, for example, you would remain very much the same as you are now. The only difference is that whatever points of contention we currently have would be smoothed over. What they do is subsume themselves down to mere… stereotypes."
Silence stretched out, then followed with a nod. "So yes, I agree that Arkham's approach is dangerous. Perhaps moreso, in fact, than our own Anastasius Romanov's, in his heyday. Your former mentor at least has the habit of making his megalomania entertaining, in its architecture. This? This is worse."
Coach nodded. "I can sort of see that, yeah, but he's also a threat that doesn't want to get any worse. Or at least, not right now. If he's building his faithful, he's doing it at a dangerous time - and also an opportune one. If I wanted to rake in goodwill with the resistance without pissing off the Loyalists, I'd sit back, wait for Hell to go through its tap-dance number and then lend a hand with the refugees however I can. Then, with people claiming I'd have done good, it'd be easier for me to implement what it is I'm working towards."
He tapped on his steering wheel for a few seconds. "The way I see things, we have a choice. We can either go on the offensive now, with all of Shield's power behind our backs, or we use the current events the way Arkham would use 'em for himself. Once he extends a hand, we hold out ours - and we pull him in. Maybe Shield's looking for offshore installations or a boat of some kind or - I don't know. The point is, we need him where we can keep an eye on him; where we can take that project of his, figure it all out for ourselves and maybe, possibly, defuse it before it goes off.
- So we need to build on our advantage," noted Loren. "Should we see the Lady?
- We can," opined Coach, "but we also need access to the city's proposed development projects. We need to find out exactly what those restored buildings would be used for, or at least what their legal facade is intended to be."
Coach then sighed and looked back at Aspasia. "Looks like we're buying a boat, sweetheart..."
Loren rolled his eyes. "Am I going to have to keep up with mister Ajax David's utterly riveting existence?"
Silas smirked at the alien in the rear-view mirror. "Luckily for you, not exactly. The fun thing about working with Shield is you meet plenty of not-so-legal people. People who happen to be handy with passports, birth certificates or in Ajax's case, naturalization demands... All we need is for Ajax's paper trail to exist for a few weeks - and then we kill him off. Tragically, if possible."
Again, he looked back to Aspasia. "Arthur Holden's helping out with Sophia's new bunker and tunnel network. One of his folks stopped by the restaurant for a blood Martini and told me Horatio Grimley's in town - alone, shopping for real estate. On paper, the Circus wants to set up training facilities in Hope - clown school, acrobatics, the whole deal - but it takes one sewer rat to figure out another one's motives... Grimley wants a permanent eye here, someplace to reliably touch base. Either one of them could help us with the Ajax situation. Or both."
* * *
"And now I've been given an armful of unrequested ancipation, as well as unknown expectations to live up to," replied Present Wormsworth. His future self, for once, aligned with the present one's overall demeanor by crossing his arms together and giving his past self an oblique glance.
"Lucifer," he quietly swore, "and to think I spent several centuries as such a Negative Nancy..."
He then joined his hands together in a prayer-like gesture. "Dearest Former Self, might I suggest that you consider interest in your person by others not as a hindrance or an impedence of your own grandiose Ego, but rather as flattery? Off the top of my head, you are a snide, disrespectful, arrogant and boastful little man - and yet, these mortals still think enough of you to give you the time of day! It's a simple process, really: reach out to others, embrace that oh-so-irritating unknown, and you'll soon find yourself at the center of a wonderful little universe."
Future Three smirked. "I think you have empathy backwards, Herbert.
- Do I?" rhetorically asked the horned attorney. "Empathy feels good, ergo it's good for one's Ego. As I've been saying, I haven't tried to subsume my Pride - I've simply learned to open it to the outside world. It leads to an understanding of humility and tactfulness in a roundabout way, which is why you can tolerate me at my present levels of self-satisfaction. I know for a fact I'm the best of all demons in town - Tom included - but I know enough to understand that this doesn't disparage anyone's value. We still need one another."
Future Three eyed the visitors. "The short of it is he turns into a nice guy, but he won't ever go for the whole Saint Francis of Assisi schtick."
Future Herbert looked away, this time affecting a big of bashfulness. "Dear me," he said, "after ten years spent getting used to compliments being subtle, having something so boldly stated is, well…"
Deadline rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're a nice guy, Squaremeister. Don't let it go to your head."
He then gasped for show. "Whoops! Too late," he then said, going for a deadpan delivery.
He sniffed. "I've seen slovenly slum lords, slave-driving Muscle Culture fanatics, unstable businessmen or bliss ninnies hiding a deep reservoir of mental instability - but never something like this," he said. "At best, I know the more driven ones fall in lockstep with the tenets of one of their particular gods, to the point of willingly obfuscating distinctive elements of their own personality."
Loren grimaced. "My people's Dominions at least tend to integrate the individual's core into the hierarchy, so that only core belief systems are telepathically strengthened. If I were to extend my power over you, for example, you would remain very much the same as you are now. The only difference is that whatever points of contention we currently have would be smoothed over. What they do is subsume themselves down to mere… stereotypes."
Silence stretched out, then followed with a nod. "So yes, I agree that Arkham's approach is dangerous. Perhaps moreso, in fact, than our own Anastasius Romanov's, in his heyday. Your former mentor at least has the habit of making his megalomania entertaining, in its architecture. This? This is worse."
Coach nodded. "I can sort of see that, yeah, but he's also a threat that doesn't want to get any worse. Or at least, not right now. If he's building his faithful, he's doing it at a dangerous time - and also an opportune one. If I wanted to rake in goodwill with the resistance without pissing off the Loyalists, I'd sit back, wait for Hell to go through its tap-dance number and then lend a hand with the refugees however I can. Then, with people claiming I'd have done good, it'd be easier for me to implement what it is I'm working towards."
He tapped on his steering wheel for a few seconds. "The way I see things, we have a choice. We can either go on the offensive now, with all of Shield's power behind our backs, or we use the current events the way Arkham would use 'em for himself. Once he extends a hand, we hold out ours - and we pull him in. Maybe Shield's looking for offshore installations or a boat of some kind or - I don't know. The point is, we need him where we can keep an eye on him; where we can take that project of his, figure it all out for ourselves and maybe, possibly, defuse it before it goes off.
- So we need to build on our advantage," noted Loren. "Should we see the Lady?
- We can," opined Coach, "but we also need access to the city's proposed development projects. We need to find out exactly what those restored buildings would be used for, or at least what their legal facade is intended to be."
Coach then sighed and looked back at Aspasia. "Looks like we're buying a boat, sweetheart..."
Loren rolled his eyes. "Am I going to have to keep up with mister Ajax David's utterly riveting existence?"
Silas smirked at the alien in the rear-view mirror. "Luckily for you, not exactly. The fun thing about working with Shield is you meet plenty of not-so-legal people. People who happen to be handy with passports, birth certificates or in Ajax's case, naturalization demands... All we need is for Ajax's paper trail to exist for a few weeks - and then we kill him off. Tragically, if possible."
Again, he looked back to Aspasia. "Arthur Holden's helping out with Sophia's new bunker and tunnel network. One of his folks stopped by the restaurant for a blood Martini and told me Horatio Grimley's in town - alone, shopping for real estate. On paper, the Circus wants to set up training facilities in Hope - clown school, acrobatics, the whole deal - but it takes one sewer rat to figure out another one's motives... Grimley wants a permanent eye here, someplace to reliably touch base. Either one of them could help us with the Ajax situation. Or both."
* * *
"And now I've been given an armful of unrequested ancipation, as well as unknown expectations to live up to," replied Present Wormsworth. His future self, for once, aligned with the present one's overall demeanor by crossing his arms together and giving his past self an oblique glance.
"Lucifer," he quietly swore, "and to think I spent several centuries as such a Negative Nancy..."
He then joined his hands together in a prayer-like gesture. "Dearest Former Self, might I suggest that you consider interest in your person by others not as a hindrance or an impedence of your own grandiose Ego, but rather as flattery? Off the top of my head, you are a snide, disrespectful, arrogant and boastful little man - and yet, these mortals still think enough of you to give you the time of day! It's a simple process, really: reach out to others, embrace that oh-so-irritating unknown, and you'll soon find yourself at the center of a wonderful little universe."
Future Three smirked. "I think you have empathy backwards, Herbert.
- Do I?" rhetorically asked the horned attorney. "Empathy feels good, ergo it's good for one's Ego. As I've been saying, I haven't tried to subsume my Pride - I've simply learned to open it to the outside world. It leads to an understanding of humility and tactfulness in a roundabout way, which is why you can tolerate me at my present levels of self-satisfaction. I know for a fact I'm the best of all demons in town - Tom included - but I know enough to understand that this doesn't disparage anyone's value. We still need one another."
Future Three eyed the visitors. "The short of it is he turns into a nice guy, but he won't ever go for the whole Saint Francis of Assisi schtick."
Future Herbert looked away, this time affecting a big of bashfulness. "Dear me," he said, "after ten years spent getting used to compliments being subtle, having something so boldly stated is, well…"
Deadline rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're a nice guy, Squaremeister. Don't let it go to your head."
He then gasped for show. "Whoops! Too late," he then said, going for a deadpan delivery.