Chapter VII - Healing Pains

This is what you came here for. Adventure, intrigue, murder, mystery and action - plus a healthy dose of boring everyday stuff. One continuous story-line, broken up into smaller themes for easier consumption.
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Too late to be of any use, Preston's earpiece was suddenly filled with warnings of the oncoming convoy, but he could only snarl silently and look on as Gutierrez and his entourage made their appearance. "Knew he'd make a move. Wasn't sure when. Probably needed Biggs in the open. Should've guessed on today. Sorry," he sent to the others over their communal connection. "Maybe fill crack dens with concrete instead?" he added for Biggs' benefit. When Alex appeared he merely nodded in greeting, but kept his eyes on the drama.

For his part, Marius just cracked his knuckles and rocked back on his heels, outwardly quite at ease. The Noise, however, was generating a sort of tactical breakdown, telling him how many of the white-suited goons he could take down before Gutierrez could react properly. Which, if he used one of the Speeches to disable him temporarily, could be all of them. Food for thought, he reckoned, watching passively for now.

Charles, on the other hand, had put a hand on Randolph's shoulder to warn him to stay back a few paces, then went on ahead by himself. "Relax, Hauser, relax. No panic attacks, you'll make us look bad," he sent, joining the now confused crowd of onlookers and media reps and blending in, like he'd been there this whole time.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Tula offered the gathering a nod, as if the proceedings depended on her good graces, and Hector didn't bother tempering her gesture. Their hired goons merely held their ground, respectfully keeping their hands close to themselves and maintaining a few feet of distance from the rear of the crowd. At the very least, the newcomers apparently had some sense of how unwanted - or poorly received - they'd been. It didn't exactly seem to bother them, however.

Wallace did his best to withdraw and recollect, allowed himself a more charged and definitely sobering cough, and carried on, refocusing on those who had every right to be here.

"Now, this will be old hat for most of us, I'm sure; but I would like to take this occasion to ask of our colleagues in the written profession to temper their enthusiasm. Our new ward has only been with us for a short while, and she's only just begun to stretch her legs and roots, as it were. All of us are new to her, as is this city. I ask that any questions are submitted as concisely as possible, and as humanely as possible. There will be no rush, and I believe I speak for the Lord and Lady in saying I won't brook, neither tolerate intimate questions in the dryad's name at this time. In her own way, she is as bereaved as we all are. She also is a stranger in a strange land for now, and requires patience."

He paused for a moment, stepped aside and then gestured for the curtains. "Alastriona - the floor is yours," he said.

The curtains parted, the immediate chatter concerning the strangely purplish and red undertones of the tree's bark and leaves, as well as how strangely big it was, for something that had apparently been fit for a re-planting job across two Lagrange points in space. Alex's first host and the trunk of the tree wasn't quite as big as Sophia's old and massive oak, but any botanist could've noticed how the specimen still was young and that being properly tethered to the new Nexus would take its three or four generations of natural life up to several centuries, if properly tended to - if not far more. It didn't quite have the look of the usual capstone for a local focal point of arcane forces, but it certainly looked like something that had been shaped by other forces, likely the nebula-tinted and gas cloud-patterned Warp and Weft the Vanguard so adeptly used. A few keen eyes would've noticed how a few pebbles in the decorative stones placed in the mulch around the surface roots were floating just so above the ground - maybe by a few hairs at the most, and that a few leaves had the strangely animated quality of the Vanguard Queen's skin, like greenish-purple flashes of starlight pressed into a physical object that had the shape of a leaf. Only very keen eyes could've noticed how these particular leaves were slowly fading, the usual texture expected of leaves and exposed tree bark emerging at a snail's pace. The clamor then focused on Alex's apparent lodgings and how both modern, Classical and thoughtful they seemed to be - and finally zeroed in on the young woman herself.

As expected, Wallace's polite exhortation wasn't strictly followed. Finley Wyle of the local news network, a goblin noted for his very radio-worthy delivery and his well-pressed suits, lightly pushed a pen-shaped recorder forward.

"Finley Wyle, Miss. Haskill; ECNN. I understand you've only just arrived, but so has someone else who seems poised to try and impose some sort of theme to your tenure's early days. I think I speak for everyone if I say this wasn't what you'd expected - but is there anything you'd like to say to Mister Gutierrez, regarding his arrival?"

Wyle was cut from different cloth than Wyndham, less Jazzy Schmaltz and more like the newscasters and journalists of decades past. He was well-known to look for information and factual data, rather than for buzzwords or exploitable content. He hadn't tried to bait a reaction out of her, and something to his fittingly goblin-esque people's eyebrow suggested the content of her take interested him more than any outbursts he could've egged her towards to feed viewership metrics during Primetime news.

Unfortunately for Alex, however, some other journos and muckrakers didn't have Wyle's tact, and pushed smartphone-controlled camera drones her way, along with decidedly asinine questions. How had her stay in the Cradle been? How was she finding Hope? Had she had time to figure out one or two favourite spots? How strange was it, to be a dryad raised by two semi-immortal dignitaries?

Perhaps sensing that Doherty was on the verge of slipping, Nybbas coughed politely and took the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press; I'll remind you that Mayor Doherty has stated his terms quite clearly. There will be order, or mark my words, I'm closing this greenhouse down with Alex inside it and blotting out the glass panels with a spell until this front yard is vacated. Was this in any way unclear?"

One of the nightcrawlers starting to formulate a question regarding Vernon and Eirean's private life, to which the Heiress' protocol officer replied with a sharkish grin and a deceptive look of camaraderie. "Stevens, right?" he asked, pointing, a chummy chuckle hiding behind his words. "The Daily Globe, right? Astroturfed Fae drama, superhero has-been stories, puff pieces about Karthian nanotech maybe going haywire in the 2030s, weight-loss routines for life-challenged vampires, right?"

Stevens looked a little chubby and a little under-dressed for the occasion, with an oversized fanny pack fit for a DSLR camera's accessories and a Hawaiian shirt he wore over a plain Hanes white tee. The poor guy allowed himself a hesitant smirk in return, as if Nybbas had actually been congenial. As for the demon, his creased features abruptly shifted to a blank look.

"Don't make me hex you," he said. "I want your film roll on my desk tomorrow morning - and don't make me teleport over to that sorry excuse for an office you happen to have!"

Nervous and equally amused peals of laughter ran around for a few seconds and tension seemingly left the assembly, as another of the cooler heads opted to try their luck. An anthro shorthair raised a finely-clawed hand and tapped a stylus to her tablet.

"Deirdre Lancaster, Associated Press," she said. "There's been rumours of other important arrivals in town, as well - and we're well over four months since the apparent vanishing of Rupert Isaacs and Gregory Rendell. I'd like to know, Alastriona, if you see yourself as contributing to this city's measurable safety, or if you're still at a juncture where you'd say you're to benefit from it, at first. I'll admit to not being a dryad behaviorist and I assume Sophia had her fair share of coping mechanisms for unforeseen variables - but what about yourself, in this context?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The young woman who stepped out from behind the curtain would be recognized as a relative of Sophia's, albeit with much different coloration. A shock of greenish-white vine hair was styled mostly down with the rest of it carefully braided into an artful bun. The predominantly light gray bark still had the purplish-red tones of her host tree, while her eyes glowed an emerald green.

Her attire took notes from both Haskill and McLeod. She wore a light green three-piece suit with an embroidered waistcoat. Two vines entwined up the front, one with flowers reminiscent of the Summer Court's favored hues with the other being that of Winter's. The coat had short tails on an otherwise modern women's blazer and was paired with a standard white button-down shirt; the trousers stopped at her knees and included decorative gold buttons on the outside of the pants legs. Oddly enough, a grayish-green parasol hung from her right arm. Chances were that garments were imbued with protective qualities in case anyone got funny ideas about trying to assault the dryad.

Wylie's question had her pause as she thought of a response. However, the muckrakers' onslaught of questions caused her to refrain from speaking to the goblin with a quick apology and give a tight smile to the interviewers.

Once Nybbas countered Stevens and the other reporters' abrasiveness, Alastriona waited patiently for them to simmer down and then answered the anthro shorthair, "Ms. Lancaster, everyone, dryads aren't much different from mortals, when it comes to discovering coping mechanisms. Depending on the situation, I imagine I might have some tea, or take a stroll to confide in friends I hope to make in the coming weeks and months. Sophia's method of confiding in trusted friends really isn't that different, from what I remember."

Sweeping her gaze over the crowd, she placed her hands on the lectern and continued, "I'm well aware that I have my work cut out for me, with potential threats known and unknown to me. I plan to do my best to adapt to my new home and the city as quickly as I can."

"However, a dryad's ability to protect a territory is only as good as the support they receive from those close to them and the greater population. Most are familiar with the formative qualities saplings need to grow, but that approach extends to even when we're up and mobile and separate from our host plant. Our demeanor and capabilities reflect the treatment we receive. My older brother Jack would likely agree with this."

"So, whether you have superpowers or are the most mundane of mundanes, you have a part to play. The overall course of Hope's recovery depends on how things are managed as a whole. If one or more upstarts has enough sway, that influence can affect whether Hope prospers or suffers."

As for Hector and Tula, it was likely the young dryad was merely adding them to list of concerns she would have to deal with and now seemed equally unbothered over their abrupt and inappropriate arrival.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Preston eyed Stevens with a raised eyebrow, and muttered something indistinct into his earpiece. And perhaps a minute later, Stevens would find his newsman's gear had been picked off him as neatly as could be, and just as neatly replaced with an identical recording device that instead played a child's giggling without recording anything at all. And if anyone bothered looking, the pilfered gear would neatly show up in the pockets of one of the other muckrakers in the press area.

"She's handling them rather well," Marius said quietly. "I couldn't be half so graceful if it was me up there..."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Alastriona's response had been something of a rhetorical battering ram, the press junket having likely expected something more sophomoric in tone and content. That full second of stunned silence made Vernon rock ever-so-slightly on his heels, posture flush with fatherly pride. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't another journalist that broke ended this silence, but rather a carefully and sedately beaming Herbert Wormsworth. That sort of smile would've been of ill omen on the Black Goat, but the locals had had time enough to realize that the new Prince of Pride might as well have sailed across the massing on burning wings to deposit a kiss on the dryad's forehead. Herbert didn't just approve, but likely also felt like he'd taken the young woman's entire measure in an instant. More importantly, he'd liked what he'd seen.

"Such lucidity!" he said, raising his voice over the few errant camera clicks left. "I, for one, thoroughly find closure in such strong and measured words."

He bowed his head slightly. "Herbert Mallory Wormsworth, Esquire and Prince of Pride; Miss. Alastriona - exceedingly pleased to make your acquaintance. I would be delighted if you were to place me on your docket. Tea, I believe?"

A different kind of shock seemed to run through the crowd, less of outrage and more of stunned surprise. This wasn't the sort of approach you kept for a public appearance, but then again, what else could you have expected out of the Prince of Pride? The way Eirean reacted suggested that for at least two people, this was probably a smidge too much, too fast - the last they'd heard of Wormsworth, he'd been a self-imposed Pride exile not exactly willing to bend the knee in front of his old boss, but also not yet given to expend kindness to those who'd effectively saved him. Eirean had heard of Herbert's progress and later official defection from the Goat's legions, but she'd missed the part where this misfit speck of manifested Ego had grown a heart and a conscience... Incidentally, the red-haired Fae was the only one to stare daggers back at the demon. That made Herbert cant his head to the side, smoothly tossing in an addition.

"That is, of course, pending the Lady's approval..."

Nybbas was seen briefly glancing at Eir and etching a soothing gesture with one hand. Taking the cue, McHale reined in her disapproval and replaced it with a picture-perfect smile and nod.

"We'll discuss it soon," she said, all gracious smiles, "in my office."

Judging by Herbert's slight bow, he took to it as humbly as could've been expected. "I shall await your summons with bated breath, then - but I insist on bringing refreshments."

Judging by Vernon's smirk, the Winter Lord had an easier time spotting the big softie hiding behind the Princely glitz. "Finger sandwiches sourced from Pride's very kitchens," he commented. "I hope your demesne is more effective than the Goat's in handling its natural gas reserves."

Herbert's teeth flashed, mirth glinting in his dark eyes. "Our gas ranges have been thoroughly modernized, you'll find. No tea of mine shall ever smell of sulphur, nor any pastry taste of Brimstone, Milord."

Infused with a tiny measure of Winter's power, Vernon's chuckles carried easily across the throng. "Then my daughter and I shall do the honors, I believe. Er, all depending on her schedule, of course," he said, looking back to the dryad with a look that combined fatherly pride and a tiny smidge of personal awkwardness.

Near the Prince and Aislinn, Tom allowed himself a few words slipped from the side of his mouth. "I've never seen your cooks," the incubus said, his voice low. Indeed, Herbert hadn't yet given obvious signs of Princely largesse. He had an apartment Patrick Bateman would've probably killed for, but still cooked by and for himself. In response, Herbert kept his eyes on Alastriona and smiled what possibly had been the gooiest of smiles since before Tim Curry's stroke - and also lightly elbowed Tom in the ribs.

Telepathically, Wormsworth didn't spare much in conveying his sarcasm. "Why yes, Tom - I've never cooked for myself but once, you see, and spent the whole of our siege using my tail to lower bushels of raisins to my lips like a fattened Roman potentate. Of course I've cooked, you sadly sympathetic old dolt; I began life here as a deposed Infernal clerk forced to get used the realities of a corporeal existence!"

Sarcasm was then replaced with mere self-defense. "I'll manage the basics well enough, I think, and then I'll zshush things up a tad using a bit of my power. The Goat borrowed the old Endless Cauldron trick, some Gallilean fellow turned water into wine, and I'll turn corner-store triangle sandwiches into something Julia Childs probably would've vaguely been in approval of. An off-kilter use of Pride's Mantle, I'm sure, but you can't make a world-crushing army out of finger sandwiches, at least."

Weasel lowered his glasses slightly, probably needing the top half of his bifocals to give Herbert a straight look - even if it gave his disbelief a bit of a comically serious look. "Guy's in to scare generations o' capos straight and he can't cook. Worms, my man, you're lucky no Roman Catholic grandma ever heard ya - you need some help, looks like - and stat."

This apparently was enough for Nereus to laugh a bit more heartily than should've been expected. It was his turn to awkwardly realize he had the crowd's attention - and also likely Alex's. He allowed himself one sobering harrumph.

"I'm, um, I - it's complicated. It's partly due to what you spoke of with Herbert and what he's scheming in the back of his mind to hide his, er, somewhat surprising lack of formal culinary training. Part of it was telepathic, you probably didn't catch it and, well-"

He looked around, realizing that most of everyone else was staring. "Oy, here goes my plan to eventually change my face to fully cut myself off from any pursuers, I imagine - hello everyone, by the way - I'm Nereus Marinos, also known as part of the reason why you have a gaggle of tentacle-faced people like me on your side, and Meris and I have been either in love or pursued by our enemies or forced into hiding or crippling self-isolation for, oh, long centuries, by now. Also, I'm rambling. Sorry, it, er, comes with being on the lam a lot, lately."

* * *

While all this unfurled in front of Marius, a new presence settled next to the aged vampire. The fellow was an anthro iguana, as elderly as Vlastos himself technically looked, but bolstered by something altogether different from the curse of undeath. His smooth golden-brown eyes had the look of an expensive Japanese vat-grown job, and he didn't show any signs of wearing an exosuit underneath his jacket, cardigan and shirt. Fine symmetrical lines ran across his face, too perfect to be mere scars.

If anything, the man radiated the exact opposite from Kukulkan and Tula: clear and present danger, aimed at someone that wasn't Marius or anyone else obviously present - except the dragons themselves. If his target noticed him, both the iguana and his quarry would have a very bad day. Still, with no weapons-related bulges and nothing close to the scent of blued steel on his person, the anthro felt more like a counterpoint to Gutierrez' presence - a complementary note that said I've got your number. Be smart. Gutierrez probably had a case of regular old paranoia and didn't have a Noise of his own. The Alexandrian's own passenger would understand they weren't in any immediate danger.

Not only that, but the iguana gave the vampire a sideways and slightly crooked smile as he settled in, hands behind his back.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, compa - you'd do fine," he told the vampire. "It's only the hardasses between the letter agencies and my old section heads in Nogales that still think you've got your own Doomsday button. You know the type, I'd say: mortals with their own Noise, eh? Sketchy types that wouldn't trust a fly if it didn't buy Lockheed-Martin bonds, vote Republican and secretly host gang-bangs in-between appearances on Fox & Friends."

His grin turned a bit sharkish. "I knew you'd turned a corner the moment the kids in Juarez stopped bringing blurries of you to La Santa Muerte. You don't mount schemes like you used to without making yourself a little menagerie's worth of enemies, no? Starting with the cartels, of course."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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With the stunned silence of the press, Allie sent a beaming smile at Vernon as she felt her pride well forth, if only temporarily.

Her attention was suddenly shifted to the Prince of Pride praising her eloquence and sending gooey smiles at her. Even with his more sedate manner, it was obvious how much of the demon's healthy and prideful aura seemed to surge after her speech. The girl had some reservations about trusting demons in general, but she was taken aback somewhat and didn't know what to make of him.

At his invitation for tea, she offered a slightly awkward smile that then relaxed into a somewhwat calmer one as Eirean added in her initial disapproval and then easing of her irritation at his forwardness. "As Milady said, we'll be in touch with you soon, Mr. Wormsworth, upon checking the schedule. I look forward to getting to know you better."

The last statement wasn't merely a formality. The head of Pride's demeanor had piqued her interest. Sophia's memory of Wormsworth was limited and without having seen his development of a heart and a conscience, this affable yet seemingly humane demon was worth familiarizing with over refreshments, seeming to come from his own kitchen. She had to wonder what Infernal-based renditions of finger foods and tea would taste like.

Her speculation was placed on hold as she watched Tom and Herbert trade sarcastic barbs about his chefs and cooking skills. Still outwardly showing a smile to those around her, the scent coming from the incubus was different from the baseline memories from Sophia. Her predecessor had trusted the warlock enough to give him a carefully grown length of wood to be used as a staff, but there was something...fundamentally different about him now and not in a good way. What had happened in the time between those memories, the War, and now? Given the number of people around her, she couldn't feasibly search for answers herself and understood it was another item to add to her growing list of concerns.

She recalled how Sophia had instructed to ask for Ciaran McConmara's help in case she picked up on something of note that needed discretion, as the selkie man was generally of a laidback and helpful nature, in comparison to his sisters or other members of Shield. Given Tom's proximity to Shield, the young man would likely be her best bet at finding out more.

The former Augur's addition to the conversation had the tree spirit politely nod her head to him. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Marinos. Sophia heard stories of you from Meris, so it's good to put a face to a name."

Glancing back at the crowd, she smiled awkwardly. "I think my statements likely sated the press's need to know more, so we could probably move these discussions inside, hm? If that works for everyone?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Marius cocked an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of the fry cook, but when he explained himself, he only shrugged. The Noise had no problem with his presence either, apparently. "I'm not exactly alone anymore, either," he replied, waving at the goings-on around them. "If I were, I wouldn't have been invited to all this."

He looked over at Vargas, taking in his appearance. "You probably don't remember the last time I visited your little diner, I was still under the angel's curse and all. But you seem to have had a little work done since then? Or maybe undone? Two out of three isn't bad, though; I've never been anywhere near that channel."

Watching Alex run circles around the muckrakers was amusing, and he allowed himself a chuckle at her composure. "She's definitely learned from the best, I'd say..."

Preston hid his smile, and waited for Stevens to notice his stuff was missing.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Not wanting to distract Marius from the goings-on, Gomez settled with a simple "Bioware," in lieu of an explanation. It'd do for now. Besides, his sedate little gambit was working: Hector's men could be seen rubbernecking and chattering into their earpieces, likely checking to see if the cyborg iguana was alone. The more dressed-up of them headed back to the limo after exchanging a look with the Veiled dragon.

As for Stevens, the muckraker finally moved to snap a shot, stopped and frowned as his DLSR made rather humorous noises, and patted the rest of his bag. Nybbas managed to grin with his eyes alone, the corners of his eyes squinting and lines appearing on either side of his mouth as he marshaled what probably wanted to come out as a big grin. Perhaps sensing the nature of the crowd, the muckraker gave the demon a withering look and shouldered his way to the rear of the assembly without much fuss.

Herbert had settled with a smile and a gracious nod, but the remainder of the junket wasn't easily sated. What was her opinion of the greenhouse? Would she feel comfortable there? Her parents wouldn't be as immediately close to her as they'd once been, would she be alright with it?! Doherty put a stop to it all with another measured cough.

"Now, ladies, gentlemen - you can all expect Alastriona to work with Shield in the same capacity as her predecessor. To that end, I'd like to kindly thank you all for coming one last time, and ask that you direct any further inquiries to City Hall's Public Relations department."

More questions were thrown out, a few relevant and most mundane. Nybbas stepped forward, conciliatory hands raised.

"I'll remind you all that Hope's dryads have tightly worked with all administrative and judiciary levels, and this calls for a level of familiarity that needs to be built upon. The sooner you let young Alex get herself acquainted with her surroundings as well as her new friends and colleagues, the sooner you'll be able to pen optimistic briefs for all arcane dabblers and researchers. If you want some flow, you've got to open up the proverbial faucet, huh? In a few weeks, she'll have all of her metaphorical knobs and wheels figured out, and you'll rest easy knowing that we'll have a rock-solid round of magic-enabled festivities planned for the summer."

A shadow passed on the assembly a few moments later; something or someone with a thick core and a wingspan to match. "I've got a question for the kid, if you're still taking some!" called a bold voice as the being banked left to lose altitude. The landing that followed wasn't exactly albatross-worthy, but it also wasn't as graceful as an angel - not by a long shot. The final three-point contact came with a grunt and a single, heaving breath, the demon briefly rubbing his hands together to rid them of any pebbles or particulates of asphalt he might've picked up.

Melmoth, administrator of the vaults of Greed, was as plug-ugly as before, if not for the fact that he'd perhaps lost ten pounds in fat and regained it in muscle - especially along his shoulders and neck. He carefully folded his wings, the appendages seemingly disappearing back through his suit's fabric and into his skin.

"What's your plan for that First Paycheck Ever?" he asked, something in his smile more or less daring Alex to abandon a bit of her professional behavior and to admit to at least one adolescent fantasy of hers.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Thankful for the muckrakers' questioning coming to an end, she was briefly startled by the sight of someone flying overhead. Once he landed, she recognized the demon as Melmoth and relaxed partially. His reputation for being predominantly friendly had her have slightly less of a cautious nature to the demon.

Smiling awkwardly, Alex hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure, but I thought about maybe buying some ingredients to try some cooking in Shield's kitchen, if they don't mind, or checking out a few restaurants and other eateries. I'm limited on how much I can eat, but I want to try more of Earth's cuisine. That, or maybe buy a few more clothes," she responded.

Her smile widened a bit. "I might use that first paycheck to see some of the sights or go see a movie in an actual movie theater! I've heard about them from milord and milady, so I'm curious about those, too!"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Preston continued to hide his smile, though he looked across at Nybbas and saw that he was also amused at the small drama before them. He'd been hoping for the boisterous newsman to react a little harder, perhaps do something worthy of being thrown out, but one didn't always get what one wanted. In any event, it seemed the event was about to wind down, so he murmured something else vague into his ear piece, and the five or so of his minions in the crowd stood up, ready to start chivvying people out when the final word was given.

"Bioware?" Marius muttered to himself, wondering what that could mean. It was safe to assume, he felt, that Vargas wasn't talking about the games developer. Some kind of enhancement, then? Melmoth's 50s-worthy appearance brought a chuckle, though, and distracted him from his thoughts. "Don't quit your day job, Mel, that's not quite the physique for those acrobatics..." he went on, still firmly under his breath.
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