Chapter V - Brimstone

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn crossed her arms ponderously. "I would imagine that seeing the possibilities of yourself interacting could help you understand how we work so well together and what that could mean for you," she speculated.

***

Taking Loren's prompt, Aspasia glanced up at the map and flicked her ear curiously. "Is there some new real estate being repurposed or something in those locations on your map? I haven't heard anything about such projects at the Chamber of Commerce in Hope. We restaurateurs typically keep abreast of such developments," she inquired.

[IamLEAM1983]

"I'll be the judge of that, if you please," replied Wormsworth, who stood up and headed next to Aidan, Raguel and Aislinn. The Latino angel, on the other hand, flashed a toothy grin at the others. "Be right back," he said.

From the core group's perspective, nothing happened. One instant, Herbert looked as self-important as ever, while his entire posture changed in the next heartbeat - with no observable transition. The arm he'd kept close to his body with a hand tucked in one of his pants' pockets was now raised, fingers curled as though he'd wanted to touch something. His big eyes refocused on the room, and an inkling of something new passed over his face. Shock, perhaps, quickly smoothed over by millennia of defensive ego-stroking.

"Well," he said, "I'll admit to not expecting something quite like this, if anything," he said, doing his best to keep his tone conversational, even if his voice did break slightly. "I'll, um, I'll just go and ask Abdiel for another one, shall I?"

Tom, in the meantime, hid a knowing snigger behind taut lips and a smirk. "Angel Time's what Lovecraft would've written if he'd designed Cosmicism to focus on unadulterated hope for the universe, instead of abject despair. I haven't taken a trip before, but I know others who have. It's, um... It's something, to say the least."

Three's face had gone white, in comparison, and he looked like he couldn't figure out if he wanted to smile or cry. He ended up picking a seat on a sectional next to Vernon, the Fae Lord almost immediately laying a hand on the young man's back. Drake's hands went to his face, as deep, shuddering breaths followed. He was trying his best to steady himself, and not being entirely successful.

"I'm not even sure why we're afraid we might fail, anymore," he finally managed to say, the words barely more than a whisper. "I... I don't know why I was afraid. All the ways we might succeed..."

* * *

From the travelling trio's perspective, things were altogether different.

It all began with the strange sense of something having gone askew in the room. It'd be a few moments before they'd be able to piece things together, but time had effectively stopped for all but the three of them. Abdiel was still giving Herbert a level gaze, Vernon was still expectantly watching the entire process with a raised eyebrow, Anton looked as bored as ever - but the angel, demon and selkie were seemingly trapped in a suspended instant. Details no living eye ever spotted about the moving, living world suddenly became visible. The club's entire floor was covered in glowing motes and tiny solar flares - dust motes reflecting light in that precise instant, frozen into place. Rainbow coronas flared into view out of the glasses and bottles behind Abdiel, the plume of Tom's lit cigarette looking like a curlicue of gray lace suspended in mid-air. A single note, clear and pure, seemed to slowly swell out of the frozen room. A never-ending chime caught in the note's apex. The note grew steadily, even as plumes of snow-white smoke caressed Aislinn and Herbert's arms. If the roane looked to her side in that instant, she'd see Raguel with his wings in full view, the now tendril-like appendages of light and smoke radiating with something more noble than his usually coarse attitude suggested. It wasn't quite telepathy, so much as an unspoken notion surging along the roane's nervous system - like ASMR given a clear purpose.

You're safe, said the deep tingles along the roane's back. Everything's going to be okay.

Wormsworth seemed to have experienced something similar, with sudden and pointed displeasure immediately giving way to grudging acceptance. In the end, he looked reasonably serene, except for the slight frown that bracketed his closed eyes. The frown deepened as he squinted, expecting something massive or otherwise painful.

Then, it happened.

The lounge and the world beyond seemingly exploded. With nary a whisper, Aislinn would find her entire sensorium shifting, as her five senses were seemingly replaced with something different beyond all measure. Aislinn the roane was effectively gone, as was Hope - leaving free reign to Aislinn the Intellect. Somehow, on a level she'd understand to be commonplace for angels, her body mattered little. Her mind had all authority over it and in this place - or in this place outside of all places - it had authority over all that was. There both wasn't much to perceive, and altogether too much. Stranger still, she wouldn't find anything alarming about that. She could think like an angel for now, and could perceive Reality as such. The world she and Tom lived in was a tiny droplet, a single brush stroke in Creation's greater canvas. Where others would have found that dismaying, the starfield of all that could be seemed to sing with endless beauty. The idea of her fingers could stroke the harp of Possibilities freely, each Could-Be or Might-Be singing its own little song of hope, death, despair and rebirth.

Her sensory array was a fractal matrix, spanning a small and yet immense corner of her native universe's infinite possibilities. As before, in a way that would be both new and intimately familiar, Raguel's own intellect brushed against her and beckoned her towards a specific knot of potential Reality. Raguel's guiding hand (or the Idea of it) gently pulled her through the fractal geometry of events to come, threading her through like a needle, making the billions of tiny choices to come seem oddly clear to her. Every little thing, it seemed, changed Reality. As a selkie and a mortal, she was one of God's innumerable bristles on a paintbrush of cosmic proportions, pulling and pushing things along without so much as being aware of it. The fractals faded, turned flat and opalescent - and mortal senses returned, albeit feeling slightly different to her. It'd feel as though she was both removed from everything that was reforming around her, and still intimately linked to it.

The haze faded, sound coming back as a single note, which faded into a cheering crowd. A Jazz orchestra playing Auld Lang Syne to a boisterous Big Band rhythm could be heard. Sight returned, as a tuxedo-wearing Tom dipped a sheath dress-wearing Aislinn under a massive banner hanging by the club's baywindows. He kissed her deeply, the banner overhead reading Happy New Year 2030. Outside, Hope looked both much like itself, and also starkly different. Small parks gleamed with fissures of Celestial Light and Hellfire alike, the city's count of skyscrapers having increased. Some were lit from underneath by the gloom of tightly-controlled Hellfire and Brimstone veins, others sported swerving searchlights and decorative accents that glowed with the gentle golden radiance of Celestial light. Most importantly, the Centennial Tree was floating, still very much alive and reaching down into the earth, but with its base hovering a good three meters above the ground. Around it, and floating around the canopy of Hellfire and Light-infused leaves, stones etched with naturally occurring runes lazily spun around, like asteroids around a gaseous giant. The air felt positively heavy with magic, something that had seemingly made technology surge forward to keep up. Outside, what looked like hovering sedans and cabs crisscrossed the city at various altitudes, flight corridors planned out by little floating beacons. Dragons could be seen gliding along their offered paths, and she'd even spot an angel's wings briefly reflecting the streetlights' provided illumination. Even from indoors, she'd be able to tell that the air outside had grown cleaner, somehow.

In the group, a strangely ashen-gray anthro goat with horns that curled too high and for long to be Leonard's stood out. Yet, the eyes fit. They were as gold-green as the anthro lawyer's currently were. He raised a champagne flute, a tiny bit of power allowing his voice to rise above the fading Jazz.

"And a happy fourth year to Ephesian and Associates! Let's not forget, Wormy here took his first Pro Bono case back in May!"

Another Herbert Wormsworth stepped forward, to the partially mocking and mostly encouraging oohs and aahs of the rest of the group. He began by grasping his lapel and affecting an intentionally pretentious pose, which led the assembly to either quietly chuckle or smirk. "I'd like to thank me, myself and I for the perseverance, support and opportunities..."

He then parted with something that looked like his first smarm-laden smiles, but that now managed to feel earnest. It was something in his eyes, perhaps - something in the way they looked less distant, as if he made an effort to actually behold those he was addressing. "...but I couldn't have persisted if it weren't for the exasperation, anger, frustration and potent disapproval of a handful of mortals here, some of whom I'm even proud to count as friends, now."

Another Archie in the assistance quietly chuckled, so this was meant as a good-natured joke. Wormsworth went on. "A few years ago, I couldn't so much as fathom a life that wouldn't revolve around my own self-gratification. I'd grown out of loathing what I barely understood and had traded it for pointed annoyance, but I couldn't accept the notion that I'd need someone else. I spent months after the invasion, loathing every other social event Leonard here had us attend, seeing as nobody in the city's glitterati managed to meet my stratospheric expectations. It took our mutual and bitter acquaintance's late attempt at desperate revenge for things to coalesce. With my employer in Intensive Care and almost all of two legal firms on my shoulders, something finally broke past my burden of Pride. I... regret what I said and did when the levee finally broke, but I was afraid. Afraid, and desperate."

An eyepatch-wearing Gabriel opined from the crowd. The Pride lawyer looked down and swallowed hard. "This still feels strange to me. Once you calmed me and saved me from my own recklessness, you showed me I had no need to carry the weight of the world upon my shoulders. Responsibility is no glorious mantle - it is a burden we must all carry at one point or another. I know that, now. In the end, Randolph's verdict held its sway and my old nemesis and erstwhile boss was condemned to a mortal existence. This was the first time I'd ever experienced true pride. Thinking of it still leaves me dizzy..."

Future Wormsworth chuckled. "I remember repressing my gratitude for two weeks, not knowing what it was. My heart swelled, I felt like crying out, somehow, and had no idea why. Then, following Shen Long's advice, I... embraced the void, so to speak. I jumped feet-first into the unknown - and emailed many among you. Silly little things, really. 'Thanks for the coffee, Aidan' or 'Thank you for the LinkedIn recommendation, Nereus'..."

He paused.

"And the most important of them all. Thank you for saving my life, Meris. Thank you for saving so many others, so many of my friends."

He parted his hands. "Ladies, gentlemen of the jury... You find me ready for my first hug."

Another Meris, one who looked both weathered by recent hardships and more serene than ever, left the side of a large and pale Void Weaver who looked onto the whole scene with big, dark eyes brimming with fondness and that exact form of constructive pride Herbert had so recently discovered. Toned and lightly scarred arms embraced the demon, Herbert squinting his eyes shut out of reflex action in the first heartbeat. He then forced himself to relax, giving the Archmage the sort of brief squeeze to be expected of friends. Still, Aislinn's ancestor apparently opted to surprise the lawyer, by planting a peck on his cheek. Wormsworth's rust-colored skin turned almost to the shade of molten lava, his head briefly dipping between his shoulders out of a sudden onset of bashfulness. More whoops followed. Herbert gave himself a few moments to recover and then shook an index finger, going back to his affected vanity.

"Now, now," he said, "let's not get hasty, here! Someone merely forgot to bring the heating down a tad! You know me, I couldn't possibly blush at this! I've standards to maintain!"

Another pause. Some people seemed to know the gist of this routine and still smirked, others looked honestly sad to see the lawyer's supernatural ego rear its ugly head again, after so much progress. Luckily enough for that last group, Wormsworth then laughed easily, the sound a teensy bit Machiavellian. Someone had clearly studied from the Magnus School of Antics and Shenanigans... "Aw, I love you people," he said, "so earnestly gullible at the best possible times..."

He raised his champagne glass. "To my friends! Might we all have a few months' worth of damnable peace, for once!
- TO FRIENDS!" called close to thirty voices, many of which Aislinn would recognize. From Nereus to Meris, to Lucian and George Gammell, Ciaran, Neasa, Archie, Crystal and many, many more - all looked like the passing years had forged that exact thing Meris and Nereus had frozen inside a picture frame, in their projected demesne.

A family.

* * *

Arkham glanced at the map. "Oh, that? It's nothing - an old family pipe dream," he said, gesturing dismissively. "Go back to right after Elysium and five of these points were either severely damaged or wrecked beyond repair. The core is Centennial Park - I've always wanted to invest there, somehow. The donators' club is something of a closed circle since the seventies, it's mostly Eirean McHale and a few local bigwigs around Hope. I understand they're a bit wary of fat cats coming in with fatter checks to try and redesign the area's zoning to engender more profit at the expense of the Tree's welfare."

He shrugged. "I've pitched in for Brown, I'd like to do the same for the old Buck U; maybe purchase and redesign some of these spots to try and recapture some of the pre-war spirit of it all..."

[TennyoCeres84]

The celebratory scene both humbled and elated the selkie, struck as she was in the change of demeanor from Wormsworth. If he could sense her presence, he would likely feel her apologetic mood, far different from her initial snippiness. There was a sense of marvel to her as she saw them all gathered together in joy and camaraderie, not to mention the notable changes to the Tree and Hope. If this was a potential outcome, what could have led to it exactly? She knew that there could have been any number of events that led to this favorable outcome, with all alive and truly happy. Herbert would also pick up on her understanding that he would eventually become part of their motley family, that it really did make sense for this to happen.

The roane didn't know if telepathy worked in the same way it did in the mundane world, but she opted to try it with him, Raguel, and Three. "What do you think?" she directed at their newest member.

***

Something didn't sit right with this explanation, and Aspasia could feel it at her via-unperceiving core. Why would a possible Squid have an interest in trying to renovate near demolished areas of Hope? Especially when the center of it was one of the largest nexuses on the Eastern Seaboard? These questions were turned into a mental note to check with the Countess and Sophia herself, to delve into why these five areas were so special and why they were probably being protected from outside influences like Arkham.

The fauness casually looked from the map to the well-built agent. "I see. Pardon any potential obtuseness on my part, but what would "some of the pre-war spirit" entail? If the donators' club is so keen on keeping it out of others' pocketbooks, why bother attempting to renovate them at all? Hope could grow vertically and horizontally, and you could easily find places to financially instill what you're wanting to convey," she mused, tilting her head.

[IamLEAM1983]

Herbert's presence was as immaterial as Aislinn's own sense of Self, in that moment. "I don't know how to process this," came his voice, after much hesitation. "My body is gone, people are walking right through me as we speak - and the idea of my attaching importance to you, to all of this, is..."

He stopped. Oddly enough, Aislinn would have a clear, almost physical sense of Wormsworth's burden of Pride. It felt like she'd been admitted underneath the soundproof dome of the demon's own ego, with these new notions hitting the outer limits of the demon's current ability to emotionally relate with others. He hadn't lied when he said he couldn't, and she'd feel an odd sense of warmth about him - almost oily or viscous. Her own ego was a gentle candle that warmed her entire sense of self and helped her to connect with others, while his was a kind of insulating substance. Like motor oil, it probably lubricated Herbert's decision-making processes, in a sense. Having a supernaturally strong ego more than likely helped him bounce back after setbacks, but that single positive aspect was overshadowed by obvious vanity.

That said, it felt like someone had thrown sawdust onto that proverbial motor oil. The Infernal lawyer's ego held, but Aislinn would feel it buckle under pressure, as if it had been some physical organ in her own body, some aspect of her own heart. A pang of anguish that wasn't hers birthed in her chest, the demon's anxiety coming in on a sharp wave.

As expected, he tried to recoil. "No. No - To attach importance to others is to open oneself to deception. In being alone, I see my clients and business partners for whom they truly are. Emotional connections are a waste - the only thing that matters is my Pride! I can weather anything, thanks to it!"

Three's voice felt similarly shaken, but much more earnest. "Herbert, I -"

He hesitated. "Herbert, I've just seen Carrie in the crowd. I saw a woman who looks just like her. Right past Neasa and Sarah. She's alive, she's real, and she looks happy."

The demon snapped at him. "What of it?! How does this relate to me?!"

Three's voice seemed to try and latch onto its old steel. "I'll do anything to make as much of this future come to pass as possible. Anything. Not everything about this revolves around you, Herbert. Nothing ever did, and nothing ever will."

Future Three wrapped his arms around Carrie's waist, on the dancefloor, and kissed the young Portuguese-American woman fully. The woman had thick eyelashes to go along her dark eyes, features that could seemingly shift between martial focus and a smidgen of Latin sensuality. Carrie Silva looked to be - or have been - a tomboy trapped in a well-toned body. She smiled, speaking with a slightly scratchy voice. "At ease, soldier," she teasingly said. "We're up for a few weeks' worth of solid leave, after this - we've got time.
- Are you heading back?" Future Three asked her.

Carrie nodded. "I've still got a lot to learn, and the new biolabs in Dalarath are going to need their Security Officer. We're close to cracking it, Aidan - we'll be able to stabilize every Animate out there with a simple shot, like a vaccine. A single payload, to correct thousands of different DNA strands. Can you imagine Gammell having eyes within four to six weeks?"

Future Three scoffed in amazement. "Wow. Not half-assed photosensitive cells or compound eyes? Real eyes?
- Real eyes, upper facial plate and everything. Eyebrows, forehead and all, or at least a ridge where eyebrows would be."

In the back, Aislinn would hear a strangely rejuvenated Lucian Rothchild speaking to Meris about the progress made in hunting down Loyalist cells. Judging by the tone of the conversation, the tables had completely turned. God and the Architect's followers were now in the majority, with Amaxi being relegated to the world's darkest and most remote corners. It made Her dangerous, however - as dangerous as the old ciphers of Mab and Sharpe's own faithful - and they had an entire solar system to crawl across, billions of fissures and cracks to disappear into. Mars was the new problematic frontier, based on Lucian's banter, and Luna was also reporting disturbing events.

* * *

"That's true," allowed Arkham, "and I do know that there's already plans being considered for something close to Hong Kong's own planned extensions of Kowloon. Sophia's latest project's freed a lot of loose soil and rocks, and Hope's Urban Planning division is thinking of designing a shelf or extension of the coast, south of Mertown - a sort of concrete-lined and borough-sized boardwalk, in essence. With the structure laid down, we could see artificial islands pop up around Rhode Island's isthmus within ten to fifteen years."

He shook his head. "Despite that, I'm interested in these precise spots because of what they once meant for the city's Silver and Golden Ages. We're remembering Seraph and Sterling Starr with postage stamps and commemorative plaques, but Green Island has a bad history of revisionism, following the war. We've lost entire swaths of Hope's Art Deco and Brutalist history, and a good chunk of Renton's early Post-Colonial architecture. Not to demean the Karthians' involvement, but their fixation on glass and living materials doesn't carry what once was, about Hope."

He removed his glasses. "I just think you, of all people, should deserve a chance to look at a bit of what stood there, before it was bombed away or otherwise demolished in the Reconstruction."

[TennyoCeres84]

"No, this is an accumulation of all our hopes and other potential outcomes coming to fruition," Aislinn vocalized her realization to the men, watching the scene play out with them. "The defeat of the Others, but also the smaller battles yet to be fought. Wormsworth, this is showing your future collaborations with us, even if they're not directly related to you. It may hint at your coming to care about us, whether you currently realize it or not. That prideful shield's not going to protect you forever."

Even the bit about Gammell's eyes, we already know the Countess got some genetic material from Aspasia to compare and hopefully aid the Animates. He may eventually be able function like we do, rather than depending on the Architect for his health. I don't know how, but you might even be able to be with Carrie, Three."

***

Aspasia nodded her agreement to Arkham. "I certainly would like to see that. I consider Hope to be my home, and part of that means understanding all the areas of the city and even the ones that are currently no longer there," she admitted, leaning back in her seat.

Despite the allure of Arkham's potential plans, she was leery of falling prey to the project. What could he have to gain from donating to it? Recognition and admiration? If Arkham was who they thought he was, how would a Void Weaver turn that situation to his favor? If he wasn't the type to follow the typical thrall model, how would he benefit from it? Was there also some ceremonial significance to the placement of the locations beyond just resurrecting Hope's old hero-centered and historic locales?

[IamLEAM1983]

"Who's to say it won't?" replied Herbert. If he'd been physical, it would've been easy for Aislinn to imagine him giving her a defiant thrust of his lower lip, followed by a sleek avoidance of her eyes with a well-timed side glance. As per usual, Three took to humor to try and weather the emotional payload he'd been forced to endure.

"Heh," he said, "I didn't know demons could subscribe to the Tsundere archetype...
- Neither of you are annoying per se," allowed Wormsworth, "but this mortal insistence on collaboration and empathy is - well, it's making me squirm! I, for one, enjoy having a supernaturally resilient ego!"

Three chuckled. "Says the guy who feels the need to defend himself at every comment... Are you sure you're not the one in need of representation, Herbert? My ego can take a beating, all I've heard from you is your harping up your resistance to insults while insisting that you need to prop up your sense of superiority.
- I'm not sure I like your tone, mister Drake...
- Too bad, 'cause it's us or the Goat."

Three's palpable amusement remained, while the demon's sense of self seemed to float away by a few inches, to maybe try and sulk while trying desperately hard not to look at the happiness that surrounded him. Raguel, however, could be sensed somewhere in the back, looking at the scene with the same air of levity Drake had. "You guys would make the worst angels ever," he lightly chided, "the only one I'd trust with wings right now is Aislinn."

Drake didn't seem like he minded it. "Didn't exactly go for the Air Force, Raguel. I'm not sure I mind not having trans-temporal-travel-enabling whatsits that just happen to look like big feathery lumps - I've still got a fear of heights.
- And I've got my own pair, thank you very much," snidely replied Wormsworth. "Now, is that all, or do I need to take in more of this saccharine nonsense of yours?"

Raguel seemed pensive. "I've got one last trick up my sleeve, hombres. Seeing as you just had your first shot at Angel Time, now there's a timeline where Future Wormsworth owes his new-and-improved self to our little jaunt, here. Howsabout we had ourselves a little paradoxical action, huh?
- What in Lucifer's name do you have in mind, Cherub?"

Raguel could almost be sensed smirking. "Y'ever read A Christmas Carol? Imagine the whole ghosts thing, but in reverse. I'm thinkin' the Multiverse can survive one instance o' you three meeting the contented versions o' yourselves... My own future self's already onboard, I can take you three back to Holden Hall, circa 2032. Of course, if you'd rather chicken out on this, it's fine too. It's gonna happen anyway - just with other versions o' yourselves."

* * *

"I'm glad to hear that," nodded Arkham. "Not that it's germane to your interests or mister David's, however."

He then sighed and refocused on the matters at hand, digging inside his desk's drawers for the paperwork needed to open a new file. "Alright, Ajax," he sighed, the sound workmanlike and slightly chipper, "here's the boring part: I'll need to know where to mail any informational packets I'd like you to review, if there's any way I can reach you by email, and what your yearly averages are, both in terms of gross revenue and intake for the Buck Fisheries. The crucial stuff's all marked with an asterisk - everything else, you can add in at a later date. We know emails change, people sometimes like to use P.O. boxes for our kind of paperwork instead of their own address - so on and so forth..."

While the false Faun got to work putting in what had to be largely fake info, Arkham refocused on Aspasia and Coach. "Now, you two... We started this with Lily mentioning to me that you'd like to make a more personal investment, as well. What kind of pleasure craft are you looking for, exactly?"

Somehow, the last sentence Harrison had spoken seemed to shyly trigger some of the Faun's new defenses. Hesitant and warbling tones matching with the pitch and tone she'd selected earlier seemed to meld in with his words, to the point where she might actually end up thinking it was more of a weird bout of tinnitus than an actual attack. At least, initially. A cursory look at Coach would reveal his eyelights hadn't wavered. Either he hadn't heard the offending sounds, or he hadn't processed them.

[TennyoCeres84]

The almost dismissible ringing didn't escape the fauness' attention while she looked at Arkham as he spoke. That was all that she needed to make a mental note to broach the subject once they would leave and have more privacy. While his words had been filtered by her mind's defense software, Aspasia had a sense of what he was asking and knew that they had to keep the ruse going with a relevant response.

"Well, I was thinking of something manageable by two-three people. Perhaps a luxury houseboat for a small family?" she suggested, then looking to Coach to see what he thought of the idea.

***

Aislinn couldn't help but scoff and chuckle. "Even if I'm a baby Archmage/Warlock? I don't know Uriel, but I'm sure he'd give you the most withering look ever," she joked.

"Though, we've already gone down the rabbithole, so why not venture deeper? I'm game," she answered to his invitation.

[IamLEAM1983]

Raguel's amusement radiated around and through the three combined intellects. "Never liked spying on parties, anyway," he said. "Bein' the life of one's more my style."

Again, the nightclub exploded into fractals, Raguel threading the group through events great and small, until the sixth of May of 2035 unfolded around them. They stood in front of a starkly renovated Holden Hall, bacteria-laced Karthian glass merging with what looked like a partially destroyed East Wing. From afar, it looked like Modernist architecture and Victorian grandeur had been merged together at the hip, the blasted edges of the original wing melding with reinforced steel spars and disparate stretches of dark wooden railing. With only those wooden accents and the three concrete floors showing tan wooden tones, the rest of the space was taken by sandwiched panes of glass. Some sort of nanotech had to have been introduced with the cyanobacteria, as the opaque sections of the wall seemed to strive to affect the texture of a brick wall, when inner movement wasn't forcing it to shift accordingly. It more or less looked like a third of the mansion was alive, windows forming or being reabsorbed into the false brick layout depending on the inhabitants' needs.

"With your offices at Magnus Tower, there's a wing's worth of extra space left," informed Raguel, who also faded back into view. "You won't have an official presence here by 2026, but Archie likes havin' you folks around. Everything business-wise is done at the tower by 2035, but research and development happens here. You an' Tom are gonna have your own dedicated space there," said the angel to Aislinn. "It helps that the Hall is more or less its own mini-arcology by that point in time. The entire island could go dark that Holden'd still have power. He needs it, too, since he's workin' closely with the Gentlemen, by that point in time."

Three frowned. "What's Archie got to do with the White Brotherhood? It feels like Nereus would be more of a decent fit, by that point...
- It figures that you'd say that," replied Raguel with a smirk. "All I can say is this: prepare to be shocked."

Raguel knocked on the front door, a new Clank the group hadn't seen before opening it. The simplistic facial design and hands placed it as some sort of modified Maintainer armature, in what to be either a complicated legal import or a brazenly illegal one. Based on its ascot and pie-tailed coat, Three hedged a bet.

"Archie? Is that you?"

Hiram Holden's voice came out, looking notably more chipper than he had in the Darkhallow, and laced with that slight electronic buzz he'd heard before in the back of Bagley's throat. "Ah, Aidan!  I see where you would make this mistake - alas, I am but my son's father. As strange as it might seem, as we've already met multiple times before - I understand this is the first time for you. Hiram Holden, very pleased to meet you! Raguel, miss McConmara - right on time, as expected! I'm sorry you've missed Bagley, one of our newly-formed joint teams in Montreal was in need of further training. He sends his regards, of course!"

They headed in, a dark-skinned young woman in her late teens walking briskly past them, her thick hair marshaled in a ponytail. A graphic tee hid behind a slightly more stylish alternative to a lab coat, and her Converse sneakers squeaked cheerfully against the waxed floor. "Hiram, I need you get the latest batch off of our Hong Kong servers," she said, Anjali's British Indian accent almost completely subsumed by her new American life, "the Squids off of Acidalia Planitia are throwing another semantic curveball my way. I can't keep up if I don't have the latest definitions onhand-"

She stopped, stared at the group and then beamed, removing her smart-glasses as she did so. "Ohmigod!" she exclaimed, "I thought Raguel was messing with us when he said we'd get visitors from the past! I'd almost forgotten!"

The Indian woman then hugged Aislinn tightly. "I'm so glad you came, Aislinn," she said, "this is exactly what the past needed! This is where everything really comes together!"

* * *

 Arkham nodded. "Perfect. Let's make it five people, just to be on the safe side. It won't always be you two and your child, I'd imagine."

Coach seemed hesitant for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, that'd work.
- That puts us in the smaller category of fully-furnished yachts, unless you're looking for something that's more of a house and less a boat."

The lich hesitated. "Like they do in the Netherlands, right?
- Right," nodded Arkham. "On the other hand, that would negate the opportunity to travel."

Coach opted to go for an indecisive look and gave Aspasia a glance that suggested he was asking for her opinion. Harrison slightly withdrew in his chair, looking like he'd seen the need for a couple to talk things through in front of him more than once before. Still, his glance towards Aspasia looked a tad calculative, as if he were expecting something to happen. Ocular tremors, perhaps?

Loren brushed against her mind. "We'd better give him what he's expecting. If you'll please pardon the intrusion..." 

Suddenly, Aspasia would feel the way she more than likely did when her finely-tuned biology failed to counteract the occasional night out's effects. Focusing seemed a tad difficult, with everything and everyone in the room earning a slight halo. It'd be a few seconds before she'd realize her eyes were twitching, the muscles of her eyelids pinging her awareness at every other breath. The migraine and discomfort were missing, however, suggesting that Loren had more than likely deliberately impaired her visual cortex's ability to combine her eyes' provided images.

That seemed to reassure Arkham, whose features went back to good-natured patience.

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn reflexively felt the need to return the embrace of the young woman, despite her partial disbelief that this was, in fact, Anjali. "What do you mean? I mean, you're obviously nearly grown in this year. And when and how did Hiram enter into the situation?" she asked, having not been aware of the developments in the Darkhallow. "And where's your dad?" she asked.

"I'm sorry I'm blurting out all of these questions, but I feel like we're missing on a lot of information here," she explained.

***

In response, Aspasia grunted faintly as she felt her eyes twitch. She shook her head lightly and rubbed the inner corners of her eyes with a thumb and index finger. "Ah, sorry. Don't know what got in my eyes just then," she feigned as an excuse.

Once her vision returned, she hummed thoughtfully. "I was really hoping that we could have something like a boat, so that Miranda could see more of Rhode Island's coast than just what's around Hope. However, if you feel a vessel for five people to man it works, then I suppose we could go with something like that," she mused, looking to her husband. "What do you think?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Hiram lightly extended a hand. "Of course, I do recall Chauncey mentioning you had never joined Meris on her sojourn through the Darkhallow..."

He shrugged lightly, the gesture having an almost Milt Kahl-esque swagger to it. "Oh, well - can't be helped. The short of it is Archie projected me into being in the Void Weavers' mental construct, freed me of the constraints imposed by his memories of my conduct, and then spent a few years with my consciousness backed up in a corner of his own mind. Following our group's escape to Paradise, injury-related synaptic seepage forced us to confront two problems: his phylactery was badly damaged and the act of storing me was excruciating the problem. I was extracted, then placed in this Maintainer armature - which has since been customized. Still dying, and faced with the compounded issue of the Chamberlain having begun work on Paradise-grown Void Weaver clones of yourself and your friends, the station's authorities allowed us to conduct a raid on a derelict Elysium facility that had been taken over by Renewal faithful."

As he'd been talking, Hiram led the group along to one of the East Wing's reading rooms. "Archibald's original armature and phylactery have both been utterly lost, I'm afraid. As for his consciousness, well..."

He knocked on the door, Archie's unmistakable voice beckoning them in. What Hiram revealed made Three stop dead in his tracks.

Almost perfectly fitting with the pale wainscoting and dark blue wallpaper, a cerulean-skinned Void Weaver looked up from his book, golden bifocals perched on his slight nasal ridge. His tentacles were on the short side and slightly curved upwards, exposing a bit of their bright yellow underside. Holden's verdigris eyes were set in these alien features, animating them with a fairly Archie-worthy light surprise. He wore a dark beige seersucker suit that verged on yellow, with a dark brown vest and matching Oxfords, a canary-yellow bowtie with discrete white dots waiting at his throat. Seeing them made him briefly look down to consult his fob watch, and then back up.

"My," he said, "but I'd forgotten the date! Friends from the past, come to see the fruits of their labor!"

Wormsworth lightly sneered. "The next few years won't be too kind to you, it seems, Holden..."

The Squid waved the matter aside. "Third body - I've gotten used to it. Besides, I've taken to liking this one quite a bit: my intellectual faculties have developed in a number of interesting ways, since our returning to Earth... I shan't qualify for Augurship, but I do believe you could consider me a more spry take on the average Arbiter. Add a developing grasp of the White Speech and of the Architect's boons, and I've found myself quite a few toys to experiment with. It also gives something of an outlet to my previously casual interest in the sciences."

Three hesitated. "So, you're going to die?"

Anjali sided next to her father, picking his book up and replacing it on its shelf. "He was an Automaton, Aidan. Unless you shatter their phylactery and let them Ascend or Fall, they can't die. He's just stopped existing as a Clank."

Archie seemed amused by that. "Feel free to ask me something only I would know, or to try and prod me into using one of your computers. I might not be a complete Luddite anymore, but I still don't harbor much love for the things."

The vat-grown Weaver stood up. "Otherwise, I believe the program called for your meeting yourselves. That said, I think you'll want to meet Deadline and Chauncey. The second one said something to me about the timeline requiring someone to have a working knowledge of his origins. Meris finding her son apparently rests on a temporal paradox - one we'd currently be in the process of crafting."

Three seemed surprised. "We're supposed to know who Chauncey is?
- The Curator we first met, back in our fateful trip to the Darkhallow... Remember him? That, though, matters less than you getting the upper hand on his body."

Anjali nodded. "I've worked with Meris and Vassago on a few potential timelines. The Curator learning he's Meris' son is fairly straightforward, he'll just need a while to warm up to the idea. The body can't be reached in your timeline yet," she explained, "but it'll be reachable once we rebuild after the invasion. There's going to be some casualties in Hope Uni's faculty, and your sister's going to need a new thesis director..."

The girl's face turned hard. "Nicholas Billings is Nikolaas Buck, but you won't be able to prove it. Not with your current tools, at least. You'll need a necromancer - and bait."

Drake followed along. "And where do we find a necromancer? They don't exactly advertise in the Yellow Pages.
- In your time," said the girl, "Tom's sent out feelers for a few friends. One of them can't answer. You'll have to travel to Louisiana, in Phineas Sharpe's backyard - after fighting the Goat. A few criminal organizations are starting to crack Angel Time, now that the planes have merged. I'm not at liberty to say more, but time travel makes guaranteed foresight a tricky thing. If we've got foresight, so do our enemies. The only way to keep our plans secure is to limit what we divulge to time travelers like yourselves."

Archie raised a placating hand. "Let's not overload our friends here, sweetheart! This is as much as we can afford to safely say - our priority should be to ensure you meet those you'll eventually remember meeting - including yourselves."

* * *

Coach pouted thoughtfully. "Most of it's automated, nowadays. We won't exactly need an all-hands-on-deck approach.
- Don't forget the failsafe manual systems," warned Arkham. "Putt-putting around Mertown's docks won't require much, but if you fancy going down the coast, you'll want to make sure you have at least two or three passengers with decent sea legs."

The lich scoffed amusedly. "That's unfortunate, I'm a Missouri native. There isn't much in the way of open sea, except maybe horizons packed with tilled fields. One look at my wife's legs will tell you she's a mountain girl."

Arkham shrugged. "There's hirelings around Mertown, I know a few good people who could give you the instruction you'll both need."