Chapter VII - Healing Pains

[TennyoCeres84]

Of course, the rhino had hung up the call before Alastriona could respond to his response. Billy seemed like he had a definitely rough, if somewhat likeable personality.

Brought back to the two batmen, the dryad nodded kindly to them and noted their respective actions to the possibility of the boon. Once a Malk, always a Malk, indeed, as she saw Gubbin's tucking away of that favor.

Alex nodded in agreement to the Winter Lord's assessment of the Tree's branching out. "I most definitely appreciate that, Vernon. My understanding of Hope's layout from Sophia's memories is significantly outdated due to the incursions and the rebuilding efforts. My knowledge of the city needs to include the physical landmarks, as much as it does with the metaphysical ones. Hence our trip to see Lucian."

She sighed. "I really hope I can get along with Billy, at least to a degree. It might help in the overall relations between him and the rest of the household, for all I know. There's also the benefit of being on agreeable terms with a wild card like he appears to be."

She gestured to her adoptive father that they had better get going.

***

Hanako hummed faintly. "As it should be. Lord Haskill is a better representative of than what's needed from Mab's lot. That directness balances out the season's self-destructive traits. I'm sure McHae is a somewhat reasonable sort, but I wouldn't be surprised if she would try to pluck at that string again to see if she could fray it when Lady Alastriona has only been in Hope a short time. The Tree's planted, but the first few years after a tree's rooting can also be its most vulnerable," the nekomata acknowledged.

She smirked at the Countess and the others. "Though, after seeing Lady Alastriona, she's a Summer dryad certainly, but she also has enough of Winter's edge that would make many Fae take pause and treat her with some trepidation. Her dual upbringing by the both of you is a sizable boon in her favor. She's only getting started, but I sense that She will start on a path that's been mostly unheard of since our earliest days."

Matriel could be seen in thought, as though recalling some earlier memories. "Ah, yes. The days when the Old Laws were still in use, when there wasn't as quite as neat a division between the Courts and the Seasons as there is now, when even the earliest Titania and Oberon were still young."

Speaking of the teenager, Miranda emerged from the bedroom she shared with Aspasia and Coach. Abilgail's design resembled a sleeveless pencil dress with a high low hem that caused the back hem to flutter slightly as she proceeded toward them. The dress's base color was an orange-yellow ochre with a forest green trim on the edges of the garment. Slightly sheer stockings shimmered slightly as she walked toward them with a bounce in her step. Similarly to the former commander, she wore copper and green jeweled ear tips.

Indeed, the party ahead of them brought out the more youthful aspects to her personality, which had been buried after weeks and months of war and reconstruction efforts that had forced the young Fauness to mature personalitywise than anyone knowing her would have wanted her to.

Seeing the girl's joy, her mother sincerely hoped she would be able to enjoy herself at least some of the time, and perhaps she would get to experience that with the Changelings who were the guests of honor. Speaking of which, it didn't take long to put on a suit, and the older satyress wondered how long it would be before they saw the former Scapegoat again.

***

With her background as an Archmage, Meris could easily feel Nereus' warring emotions as she prepared for the event's festivities. The commissioned dress was donned after some freshening up, the green and copper tones becoming more obvious as it was put on.

Her years of never staying in one place for very long made the task of getting ready a quick affair. A bit of light eyeshadow and mascara made her eyes pop against her pale features, while the dark pearl earrings went on without a hitch.

Like most of the guests, the selkie was also bringing her own means of self-defense. As she watched the former Augur meditate and focus his thoughts, she wandered near him and waited for him to be at a more clear-headed time before speaking.

The teardrop-shaped pendant hung down just past the dress's neckline, and it showed up somewhat against the varied hues of her garment. With his multidisciplinary background, he would be able to tell she had concealed something within its confines. He would be able to see that she had stowed her magical staff within it through a use of runes and wards that would only allow her to retrieve it if needed.

***

Fake Meris nodded, understanding why it would likely be easy to find boat pilot to take them where they needed to go without them snitching to the authorities. "Transportation's a valuable commodity no one can do without, so we shouldn't have too much trouble catching a ride."

She was still concerned about the unlikely chance of the automaton being transported to some distant shore. She eyed Fake Nereus with a bit of trepidation. "Is there any way that we could conceal a length of rope or anything else that I could use to latch onto you, in case things were to go awry? I'm an excellent swimmer and strong enough to pull you back. My sealskin was modified so it's now more like a wetsuit than the traditional version."

[Karl the Mad]

"Semtex, huh?" Charles replied, checking for the objects in question. Sure enough, the little yellow bricks were right inside, in what he assumed was a warded pocket. "Damn. Wonder if we're gonna need 'em." He admired his appearance in the mirror while checking the rest of the gear, and found it to his liking. Especially the DEs. "Good lookin' out, Nick."

The scarred vet turned to Herbert and put his game face on. "So, we ready ter kick ass 'n look damn fine doin' it?"

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

"Like Lucky said, the only real risks are on the operating table, and the period of adjustment afterward. Once you're passed that, and assuming your body doesn't reject the implants outright, you're in the free and clear," Mary explained, preening slightly at the attention.

On a whim she followed Eirean over to the other conversation, curious to see what could be overheard. "Those old-school Fae shouldn't be surprised when we mortals curse them back," she added, sparing a nod for Miranda's approach. All kinds of eye candy tonight! But she kept that to herself of course.

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

"Don't sod off yet!" Preston said sharply. "Fix Archie, get asses kicked, THEN you sod off!"

He was his usual self otherwise, ordering Archie around in clipped sentences, not afraid to make him do a little heavy lifting when necessary. A series of antiquated adapters were dug out of the debris pile the two jokers had going, and soon enough the wrecked console was jury-rigged to a rat's nest of wiring and an old Blackberry PDA he just happened to have on him.

"Now sit," he said at last, gesturing Archie to sit down and submit to the impromptu diagnostic session.

[IamLEAM1983]

"I'd say so," approved Wormsworth. A few more thanks were exchanged with the stylist and his cohort, they gathered themselves and made towards the closest door in order to use it as a Gate - only for it to fly open as a bearded, elven-eared, hook-nosed and scaly humanoid barged in, stopping just long enough to remove a mostly-chewed-through bit of stogie from his mouth, yelling "STOP THE PRESSES!"

The studio's bustle stopped as if on command, even the backing track of diffuse Eurobeat that seemed to be marking the Photography team's work stopping abruptly. Nickar gave the demon a mildly annoyed look.

"Agares - so nice of you to drop by," he said, his sarcasm obvious. "Your presses and your muckrakers are four doors down, old friend, this is my workshop. Not the best place in which to deliver one of your scoops, I'm afraid."

Agares looked like J. Jonah Jameson if the man had gone homeless and let hair grow out for several years, and had also picked up a truly horrendous case of eczema. A demologist could've pointed out that Solomon's crier and chief spymaster was usually conflated with a crocodile and usually was represented as an old man riding an alligator or a crocodile, all depending on the illustrator - but the clothes he wore were more fitting than the rest of his appearance, the usual rumpled dress shirt and semi-tied-down necktie of a perpetually-overworked Editor-in-Chief, with slacks that managed to look modern while still appearing more than a little distressed.

"Vassago can't keep up," he said, panting, "today's important. As in, really important. All my guys line up with him on this - Pride's left us with a power vaccuum. Today's when the powderkeg blows up. I don't know how and I don't know exactly when, but your bringing him over," he explained, gesturing at Jenkins, "means one of Vassago's potentials is right. It could set off the dragons, the older Fae, those newfangled vampires - even extrasolar interests."

Herbert's mind remained focused on the immediate. "Is London safe, then, Your Grace?"

The way Agares looked, not many people still remembered he was Duke in the Court. A fleeting smile touched his features, but he didn't let his ego take over. "For mundanes, sure. If you're of the Fae or someone close to the Fae, you're about to get sucked into a whole world of hurt. The mundanes are done suffering for now, but the World's Breath is still reconfiguring - and now there's demons and angels living openly on all continents. The Fae aren't a major power anymore."

He then seemed to catch onto their new attires. "You're headed there, aren't you?
- I figured Charles would appreciate some old-world intrigue and it seemed a waste for Pride's new visage to remain unseen at the Fae's highest seat - considering how one of the Thrones is to be present."

Agares drew in a sharp breath and paced about for a few moments, revealing a crocodile's tail affixed to his otherwise mostly human appearance. When he looked back at the pair, it was with a look of intense concern - and renewed focus.

"Alright - be safe, you two. There's people out there who realized just how fragile the world's supernatural community is, after the war, and you're about to join a massing of nearly every Who's Who in the same room."

He then stopped on Jenkins. "It's a kill box waiting to happen, son. Not a lot of sightlines, but all you need is one guy on the inside."

* * *

Mary's remark was a fair bit of welcome levity, to be sure, and Eirean welcomed it with a smile. "I'm right there with you, there's been many times where I wanted to question why one of my peers hexed this farm girl or that cobbler; some of us forget to take mortal temperaments into account. As far as I'm concerned, Hell hath no fury like a mortal scorned, gender be damned."

* * *

Archie didn't need to be told twice, and settled with removing his stovepipe as he sat down. First came a second's worth of self-soothing as he re-checked his cane and tailcoat's positions in the room, and he then exhaled sharply and allowed his gaze to turn distant for a moment.

"We don't have an original Alkaev console on hand, so I've just enabled UDP access and wireless tethering. You'll need to summon a terminal window on your PDA and access the following IP range and port numbers. Once you're past authentication, you can enable hardline access from the console and then use this barrel jack to connect to my servicing port, here," he explained, pointing at the back of his neck. Take one of these fools' plastic pry tools and lift the plate at the base of my skull. You won't damage it, it's held in place by a combination of magnets and rubber seals. You'll encounter some resistance, but I'm confident you won't break the seal permanently if no metal tools are involved."

In short order, Preston had hardline access granted and Holden hunched a bit more in his chair, to make accessing the port a little easier. Then, the moment the plug was inserted, the spy hunched a little more. There'd be an instant's worth of realization - some sort of sub-audible hum that was part of the armature's coil whine was now gone - followed by the sound returning, now accompanied by a few soft snores. They didn't last, however, the third inhale turning into a slight snort as the body straightened in the chair, the eyes' LEDs now glowing blue. The voice that left Holden was curiously female and distinctly American.

"Diagnostics Mode confirmed. External display located. Enable Verbose Mode? Please note: Verbose Mode does not limit this Maintainer package's ability to respond, but its language model is limited to technical queries. If your concerns are related to the mental or emotional well-being of this armature's user, please refer to a qualified mental health professional. You may query this Maintainer package for servicing inquiries, debugging, Core Function Integrity tests and General Diagnosis."

Its gestures being fittingly robot-like, the body lowered its head and squinted its eye-flaps, mimicking deep thought for an instant. "The Alkaev SoulTrust Quick Scan has returned two critical errors. An additional error flag will remain, but is tied to the use of this unit's Diagnostics Mode. Exiting this mode will resolve it. Listing scan results onscreen."

A few more seconds passed, followed by the BlackBerry's terminal beginning to scroll with text. "Error One: Failsafe maintainer package is active. For maximum proprioceptive control, the failsafe should only be activated by the user for the first four to six weeks of the armature's active use. The failsafe AI package has been active on this machine for 247 days. Error Two: The Failsafe maintainer package's checksum no longer aligns with expected values. Checksum invalid. Data table corrupt. Re-flash and Etheric re-seating required. Warning: do not flash memory package with an active etheric engram in use - doing so could result in fatal corruption and engram loss."

Judging by the way the two idiots hung about, the Malk and Hound were now full of questions. Preston was free to use the BlackBerry as a interface, but Alkaev had apparently gone all-in on conversational AIs, as the spy's armature turned towards him, arms kept low and hands joined in its lap - in a posture that again seemed more feminine than anything else. Some engineer's idea of someone looking earnest and ready to assist, then. Judging by the blinking cursor on the terminal, Hauser could also settle with typing in a response.

* * *

The pair headed out, magic lightly shimmering around the Winter Lord's form as he stopped to take in the early summer air. Its warmth always felt distant to him and he couldn't quite accede to its demands for lighter clothing, but he could at least look a little less ostentatious, if they were about to take public transportation.

As she still stood close to him, Alex would realize Vernon's clothes hadn't actually changed; he'd merely applied a partial Veil to himself that was designed to leave his head and face bare. The sight of light linen slacks, a modern two-piece with a lilac necktie, and his gibus being traded for a plum-colored tartan newsboy cap wasn't entirely focused, but anyone standing about a foot away wouldn't have been able to see his eternal overcoat, the scarf he almost immediately brought closer to his chin or the leather gloves he'd reset as soon as they'd been outside. Mundanes with no arcane sensitivity wouldn't be able to see through it at all, which still made for most people.

The walk up to the maglev terminal was uneventful, and so was the ride. Alex would have ample time to size up the local denizens, which were now more varied than ever before. Fae women wearing magic-inscribed Haute Couture nursed paperbacks, their pinna twitching at every pair of electromagnets the car passed over, perking when the PA system announced stops. Various anthros from all manner of origins, freely mingling with the larger human population. An elderly male alligator spared her a nod and a toothy smile as he led his human wife, equally wizened and hunched-over, to a pair of seats. A few kids sporting the latest entry-level augmentations gave the Fae women unsubtle glances, their eyes gleaming as they likely sized the pair up on a private chat channel and divided some of their attention to a streamer's string of donations on their phones. Two exhausted-looking demons who likely worked in Belial's Administrative offices, one of them starting to snore rather loudly as soon as he'd sat down, the other pulling at its necktie and giving Vernon an apologetic look. Standing out like a sore thumb in the back of the car was an angel, his radiance kept as low as possible if not entirely extinguished, wings Veiled away into nothing as he sported a too-new Spandex-and-cotton cycling outfit and clip-on cycling shoes that would've cost a fortune if they hadn't just been willed into existence. His bike was another telltale sign - so clean it looked more like a prop than anything else, with the cyclist's hair looking rich and firm despite the presence of an equally expensive-looking helmet.

Through the window at the back of the car, Alex would see five or six Void Weavers huddled together, none of them exactly looking the part of operatives looking to blend in. These were difficult days for the Squids, with one of their figureheads and a few of its allies now living openly for what they were, but with threats still remaining in place. Plenty of Weavers still wore Flesh Masks out of habit, in the assumption that Loyalists would have a harder time picking them out in a crowd if they didn't sport tentacles. Those that didn't wanted to exercise their newfound freedoms but also tended to be acutely aware of the targets they'd painted on their own backs. The one closest to the window was playing with a D20 while waiting for his stop, the die floating atop its outstretched palm and spinning around, its facets pushed outwards in a microscopic detonation and the tiny fireball then resolving into nothing as the D20 was willed back into being. He apparently noticed her looking, and raised his hand into view. There was a slight winking of light, a minuscule flash, and the game piece lightly fell into Alex's hand from another point of light that had manifested above it, the cephalopod's cheeks lightly dimpling as he smiled behind his appendages. The piece was faintly warm and a little soft to the touch, the ghost of a glow remaining in its core as its constituting plastic cooled down. Pressing down on a few sides would obviously deform it permanently, ruining it unless another Squid fixed it.

In the meantime, Vernon mostly did as he'd usually done during carriage rides, and allowed his gaze to turn vacant unless prompted by someone or something. The Maglev seemed to more or less rock him into light slumber, which was interrupted a few seconds before their stop. Nothing much happened as they exited the platform, safe for the turnstiles' guard recognizing Haskill from the Battle of Hope and insisting that he and the dryad be allowed to pass free-of-charge.

Leaving the station took them to within a stone's throw of Centennial Park, the memorial to Sophia clearly visible from a long distance and a few artifacts from the Battle having been preserved as exhibits in weather-proof cases. Alex's own Tree being an extension of herself, she'd sense the smallest of radiola reaching towards the park, tiny wisps weaving through the earth and not yet thick enough to be called mature roots. Like trees often did, part of the dryad now reflexively reached out to the dead tree and would likely use its still-living roots and the attending fungal network to eventually broaden its reach across the entire city. One of the Vanguard, on Paradise, had likened this to the slowest handshake in existence, trees speaking their tree language in sentences reaching from the flashbulb moments of sensory information to long, patient exchanges of chemicals taking place over centuries. Alex's Tree was still young and still unused to the speech of Terran roots and mushrooms, but it still would do as all trees did. It would learn, snaking its roots where food and connection waited, and grow.

They'd soon reach Lucian's house, Vernon quirking an eyebrow at the addition of steel bars across the basement's windows, and of a front door of which the wooden sheen struck him as being suspicious. He'd stopped to use his umbrella's pommel to knock on the door, only to let out a circumspect "Ah," at the sight of the Griffin Security logo, carefully hidden in an artful whorl of faux-carved roots and flowers. He dropped his Veil and rested a hand against the panel, adding a slight moue of assessment to his monosyllabic. The door wasn't just designed to close and lock, steel bars laden with runes thrummed under the panel's surface, designed to unlock using what probably was a keypad code. There was a standard key lock in plain sight, but he suspected it was some sort of dummy hiding an RFID scanner.

Why buy an industrial product like this, even custom-made, when you were a Squid and an Archmage?

As expected, the entire door buzzed almost audibly, the inner mechanism let out a surprisingly low thunk, and assistive hydraulics hissed as a striking middle-aged Mulatto woman opened the door, her features given a severe cast by a mixture of exhaustion and obvious worry. It didn't last, however, Astra Rothchild's features quickly warming up at the sight of the dryad and Winter Lord.

"Vernon, Alastriona - welcome," she said, nodding as she stepped aside to let them in, Vernon returning the nod.

"You look as radiant as ever, Mrs. Rothchild," complimented the Fae, but Astra being gifted, her slight smile suggested she didn't quite feel glowing and had effortlessly seen through the compliment. "You're too kind, mister Haskill. I thought things would ease up now that the war's over, but-"

She didn't finish and instead glanced at the passage leading into the kitchen, probably eluding to some unseen basement door.

Vernon's old roots did have their perks, on occasion. He said nothing as he removed his overcoat and scarf with a single hand, his other one never letting go of Astra's hand. He then kindly loomed over her, an amusingly outdated Victorian holdover protectively offering shade to a woman trying to hide her emotional strain with cosmetics and a flowery dress, and then removed his gloves, also putting them aside on Astra's sofa as if he owned the room. He then raised a hand and gently pinched her chin with his thumb and index fingers.

"Upon my word," he said, his Mantle investing his words with power and all the kindness he could muster, "you shall sleep soundly tonight, and awaken refreshed."

The sensitive felt power rush from Vernon to herself, a mixture of shock and relief working past her barriers and ripping a few tears from her. She wiped them off and tried to deflect with an uncertain smirk. "Doesn't that usually come with a price I won't like?"

Vernon now merely looked amenable, having more or less pocketed his Mantle as he slipped his hands in his pockets. "I'll start with a cup of tea and work up to your firstborn in oh..."

He made a bit of a show of pulling his fob watch out and pretending to consult it. "By the time said firstborn has three or four bouncing little ones of their own, let's say. Now, how long has it been since you've seen Charles?"

If not for the succor he'd offered her, Astra would've probably cracked again. "Three weeks. Billy's never this long, usually - he doesn't even stay to pay for whatever damage he causes around town or what he eats or, well... Charlie has to work up a tab and then head back home from God knows where in town. He wakes up in motels, sometimes with other women and, well..."

Haskill nodded in understanding. Nevermind if they were sharing bodies, it would've put a strain on any marriage. Astra probably kept picking up someone else's scents on her husband's own clothes. The Winter Lord sighed. "From what I've seen of him, your William is exceedingly headstrong. Scraps he's started against Allocer's security detail were instrumental in certain operations, during the occupation."

The woman nodded. "I don't doubt that. Lucian says Billy's probably Charlie's past frustrations, sort of packaged up into a cogent personality by something the Squids told him. He wasn't ever particularly showy, and it's important in his line of work. When you deal with supervillains, career criminals or just the occasional violent schizophrenic stuck in an episode, you can't let your feelings get in the way of your treatment plan."

Haskill smirked as they headed for the kitchen, and glanced at the equally-reinforced door to the basement. "House Christmas has a saying: beware the morning frost, for it heralds the storm. I am as I am because I represent a particular Fae lineage, and Billy is as he is because he likely always existed, somewhere within Charles. He showed up every time he kissed you, every time he went against a pre-established plan to trust his gut instincts - or yours..."

* * *

Eirean was old, but not that old. What Matriel eluded to was the stuff of legend to her; the days that had seen Fae curse entire mortal bloodlines, if not burden single lives with impossible misfortunes the likes of which the world didn't often see outside of curses like Samoset's. Of course, the selfsame days had seen Fae take up entire mortal bloodlines under their wing, bestowing health and prosperity to generations. Shadowy and bright-smiled financiers or show-stealing Evil Aunts and Uncles that had seeped into fairy tales, Mantles misconstrued for witchcraft or wizardry...

Miranda's arrival broke her out of her thoughts, underscoring how she wasn't of these older Fae who signed deals by demanding offerings of blood or took Changelings away. Her enthusiasm for the girl's dress was palpable, even if she settled with simply stepping closer with an emphatic "Wow, Miranda! That looks so good on you!"

Like any father, Silas was relieved to see his daughter be freed of the world's sometimes difficult burdens, however briefly. His face briefly shone into view atop his skull's bones, blue werefire faintly underlining his fingers as he gently gripped her shoulders to hold her at a distance. He gave her a once-over and smiled, emotion making him dip back into his native period's vocabulary.

"Jehosaphat, Mira - seeing you like this feels good. Damn good."

He'd certainly sensed how freeing this was for the girl and was more than relieved for her. He then carefully pulled her into a hug, in case her dress proved to be more fragile or precisely put-together than it seemed.

He then parted her with a touch of false regret. "I'm a tad disappointed, though; I always thought you had more of my chin than your mom's," he teased. "I guess cowboy lich genes can't carry a torch to lookers like your mother, huh?"

One of the passage's side doors creaked open and out came Azazel's head, looking unsure.

"Um, do Archmages come with experience on what you're supposed to do with a tail when your pants don't have a hole for it? I also kinda murdered my bowtie. It's my claws, I..."

* * *

Meris and Nereus left the room just as Azazel had popped out, which made the Void Weaver chuckle. He immediately covered his tentacles with a hand. "So sorry, son - I didn't mean anything by this, I just-"

The hairless caprine demon looked down on himself. "I know, Mister Marinos. I know how it looks."

Opting to save face, Nereus wedged his cane under an armpit and stepped forward. "Here, let me make it up to you. I'm no Archmage, but there aren't two molecules I can't glue back together - or holes I can't open."

"Phrasing!" slurred Zeb, adding a chuckle. The former Augur rolled his eyes. "Hm - we'd better blunt those claws, too, or else you'll need your own Squid as a fashion-focused attaché every time you put a shirt on and I don't know about you, but I don't have that kind of time..."

The Scapegoat smirked. "I get that it was bad between you two, but what was Chambers sort of supposed to do for you on paper, exactly?"

Nereus shrugged as he pressed the bowtie's torn seams back together and used his lower vocal chords to trigger the Speech while answering with his upper ones. "You get to a certain level of fame, Azazel, and suddenly everyone figures you can't handle your own timetable. You can't handle your own menu selections, you can't handle your own car selection, the company you keep or, if you were a celebrated sham like I used to be, not even the kind of people you'd invite to your glitzy Los Angeles ashram. My job was to make it all seem as earnest as could be, while also acknowledging that I had close to zero control over the grift Christopher and I had supposedly began as partners."

He then fixed the demon's bowtie on more mundane terms, and refocused on the trapped tail and the offending pants leg. "There's only one Meris, of course, but so many people out there are Meris-like, in aspiriation or in personality. I wanted to pack my ashram with all the Meris-alikes of the world, all the beautiful, vibrant and kind souls I've been given the chance to guide spiritually - but Chambers wanted washed-out Hollywood has-beens so I could stir the flame of their waxing talent and provide Tinseltown's rags with bold stories of now-mature thespians rising from the ashes of their own predicaments."

Azazel lightly jumped as his pants were heard ripping - and then knitting themselves back together seamlessly. "So, you were serious, then."

Nereus looked up as he used a rather mundane method to fix the tail issue, and merely hooked a finger through his created hole, near the coccyx region, and fished out the demon's still-mangy tail. "My boy," he noted, feigning arrogance, "I'll have you know I am an ordained Buddhist Lama with six doctorates in Theology and two complete rounds as an Associate in London's Applied Metaphysical School."

Carrie seemed amused as she used more common terms. "You're like a Muggle who would've gone to Hogwarts on a special immersive program, then."

Nereus didn't seem offended. "I might not be an Archmage, but if the most important woman I've ever known now is one, I feel I owe it to myself to be able to follow along if things turn technical. She handles the quasi-physics of magic, I can blow past all the ASMR Reiki content you'd care to see and show you just how some things aren't quite as purely scientific as you'd think."

He pointed to Mary. "Why do you think your ports are where they are, Miss Jameson? Mobility concerns, perhaps, or power draw? I'll give you something simpler - meridians. The ley lines we all share; the arcane veins of the average bipedal body plan. Each of these ports corresponds to a node, and true practitioners could probably solve the occasional hardware bug by laying hands on you. You're from Hong Kong, I'm sure you've had Gua Sha done on you in the past, right?"

Lucky snorted. "Meridians are bullshit, cabron.
- How else do dryads react to threats located miles away from their Tree?" countered the Void Weaver. "Plants, animals, humans, anthros, anything alive - we're all walking, talking and reasoning, sentient range-finders for local dryads, extensions of a greater network. Even mundanes are connected to the World's Breath, they simply can't act on that connection."

* * *

Shamus had settled with a shrug. "We're headed for some docks; I reckon we'll find more rope there than we'll ever need. If they're as mendacious as Apophis says, I figure our ferryman won't mind if we have him charge us for a coupla extra yards."

Followed another trek through to the slave quarters, with Aatxe sparing a quiet snarl for his former cage as they walked past it, and the retainer leading them to a dock that would have little in common with Meris or Nereus' tales of Dalarath's resistance. It looked wooden, as wooden as any other dock, and the stone corracks were gone - now replaced with a few fishing boats with strangely-designed engines. The one they'd picked had two units and bore a bilingual name - the head-scratching and flowing native script and an English translation on top - Deadwater Hound. It had to be a fairly small ship, one with a fairly small hold the captain probably filled with shrimp or mackerel; anything appropriately small. They'd spy a figure clad in unsual clothes so close to Prelates that milled about - a moth-eaten wool shirt, a black felt greatcoat, green waxed dungarees and sturdy workboots. The man turned his head, exposing three tentacles of uneven length and the cauterized stumps of two others, with one rheumy and scarred eye and a look you also didn't see often down there - lucidity. If he was a believer, he clearly wasn't an avid practitioner...

Apophis tried for a clumsy "Ho there, captain!", which got the scarred Squid to step into view as he marshaled a loose line back into a neat bundle using hands clad with fingerless gloves.

"Help you?"

No deference, no obsequiousness - Neasa and Bucky's Veils may as well have been absent, judging by the look his one good eye gave them.

"Kneel, fisherman, for the Augur and his Consort have chosen to-"

Apophis couldn't finish that the Squid turned his head and spat something in the water. "Can it. No courtiers ever make it down here, I'm bloody Dar-Larath in the flesh if you're royalty" he said in English. "Don't drop those Veils yet - I'll take thirty Platinum bars. Each."

From declamatory, Aphophis turned to supplication. "Please, sir; these were expensive Veils, obviously - my friends surely cannot-"

The captain raised a hand, more or less willing Apophis to stop. "Get on the boat, all of you. Not another word until I've closed the helm's hatch and blacked out the doors, got it?"

Aatxe sniffed. "What do we call you?"

The fisherman sniffed, crossed his arms against his chest and then pointed a finger at the boat's railing - likely eluding to the name printed on the boat's side.

Bucky tried his luck. "We're awful late, Mister, uh, Deadwater, and our friend here wants to reach safe harbor, if you catch my meanin'."

Bucky's accent coming out of Nereus' mouth seemed to amuse the Squid, who let out a mean chuckle. "Maxie's tits; I'd probably pay you to keep that Veil along with that voice!"

Deadwater then extended a hand, giving Neasa a somewhat amused look. "Ladies first."

[TennyoCeres84]

Her mood having been boosted by the many, diverse sights in their trip to the Rothchild household, Alex was pleased that the newer denizens were mostly settling in, albeit angels and demons still had their own quirks in adapting to the city. The Voidweavers she briefly interacted with were finding a balance in their surface lives as well, as she mused they had more of a chance to adapt since Earth had technically been their home for a very long time.

She was relieved that people didn't fuss over her too much; after her talk with Vernon previously, she had been mildly concerned that the citizens might attempt to go over and beyond what was necessary for for them, save for the turnstiles' guard.

Oh well, she mused. She couldn't be responsible for every person they crossed and hoped that Hope's citizens would continue to treat her in a respectful and casual manner.

As they passed the memorial to Sophia, the dryad could sense that her Tree already reaching toward its predecessor's root and fungal system in a very slow fashion. As much as she would've wanted to have a full understanding of the city, she knew this process wasn't quick and would take many years to complete.

She lightly frowned at the sight of the Rothchild residence's barred basement windows and knew who they were for. Many of the other security features piqued her curiosity. Perhaps Lucian could fill them in soon enough.

As they were led into the kitchen, she listened to the conversation between her adoptive father and the human woman. Billy's statement was counter to Lucian's claim that he was the same person as Charles. Was he mistaken, or was he trying to manipulate her to be on his side? Also, why was he remaining in an active mode for so long? Besides just being a party-loving type, was there some deeper reason he was there for longer? If the Winter Lord was correct, then did Billy sense some reason to remain, to be on the defensive?

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rothchild," she greeted the empath with a smile. She glanced at the equally secured door and arched a brow at her. "I assume Mr. Rothchld is with Billy now? I'd like to speak with them both."

***

"Thank you so much!" Miranda exclaimed, doing a bit of a spin. The material fluttered some as it followed her movements, but it appeared both delicate and durable at once. Thankfully, the seamstress had included an opening for her tail in the back of the dress, but it draped flatteringly enough that it didn't create any awkward wrinkles in the garment.

It appeared Abigail had made their garments to follow the complex movements Fauns could be known for, especially in case a conflict broke out at the gala. Ironically enough, the dress had been made in such a way, it didn't catch on the Joyful Death's scabbard she had on her hip.

***

While Nereus worked on Azazel's clothing, Meris offered to see what she could do about his claws. Having already dressed, the selkie didn't exactlly have a nail file on her. Upon looking at his hands, she could tell his hand hygiene would be different from hers and equally any Fae's.

With regard to the former Augur's rebuttal to Vargas, she nodded. "Meridians do exist; some of what you find in New Age circles is accurate, albeit muddled with nonsense. If Alex was here, she could give you more of a rundown about the interaction of a dryad's awareness of the beings around them."

Her tone became somber as she recalled a memory. "I remember hearing of one fellow who lost a leg to gangrene in WW!, but his family was able to afford a Clank body for him when it affected the rest of him. He still had phantom pains where his joints used to be. The meridian lines remember significant events like those, and specialists had to be brought in "manage" his pain, even there wasn't actually a specified source for the pain itself."

Given that she wasn't entirely sure how short she should make the Faun's nails, she called Hanako over.

Glancing down at his claws, the nekomata frowned. "I would keep them fairly short. Not so short to look human, but blunt enough to not snag on his clothing," she acknowledged, then seeing the Void Weaver fix the hole on Azazel's pants and making a thoughtful sound.

"Each group of WyldFae has their own hygiene requirements, especially if they have tails. It's typical for clothing to be left without a tailhole unless requested. Some trolls are born with them, while others aren't. Malk and Hound chiildren will typically have holes stitched into their clothing until they can learn to control their form with age. The Gruffs sometimes keep their tails tucked into their armor and make adjustments as needed, being as self-reliant as they are."

Hanako glanced back at the cheerful teenager and the others near her and then back at Azazel. "I've heard of some bugbears getting pedicures as a status symbol, but for the most part, it'll become common knowledge on how to care for claws and clothing for yourself in your new life, Azazel," she noted, a bit of a hidden doting nature slipping through.

Meanwhile, the Archmage used a minor wind spell to trim and smooth the former Scapegoat's claws to a blunt but fashionable length. To him, it felt like a handful of small puffs of wind curving over and around his claws. After a few minutes, they appeared trimmed, smoothed, and buffed, giving them a slight sheen.

"There you go, lad!" Meris said, taking a step back to look at her work.

***

Grateful the situation seemed to have been taken care of to a degree, Fake Meris took his extended hand and hopped onboard. She landed on the deck with a surefootedness that indicated she had plenty of experience with being on a boat. No shaky land-legs here.

"Thanks, Mr. Deadwater," Neasa responded with a Northeastern American accent that probably didn't seem as comical as the Oklahoman's voice had sounded with his veil, even if the skipper would have expected something more Orcadian in accent.

[Karl the Mad]

Preston took a second to go over the hackneyed apparatus he had constructed to let him interface with Archie's inner workings. The engine from the helicopter had been scavenged and was puttering along, so that the alternator could be used for power, and was feeding current into a battery of Leyden jars; Dork Number One had been sent off under threat of the worst beating of his life to bring back some kind of fuel, be it diesel, jet fuel, kerosene, mineral oil, even lantern oil. Anything that could combust, really, that engine wasn't especially picky.

Attached to the jars was a rat's nest of wires, capacitors and progressively older adapters, with some wires branching off toward Archie and some wires branching off toward Preston, the Blackberry, and the salvaged console. Dork Number Two had been given a fire extinguisher and was stationed in the center of the mess, under strict orders to keep any fires from starting. "No magic," Preston had growled while threatening Dork Number Two with, again, the worst beating of his life if he failed in this exceptionally simple task.

All in all, he was quite surprised it hadn't caught fire already. He followed the spy's final instructions, plugged into his body and shortly had access to the internal processes.

As the onboard AI spoke its piece and the analysis began filling the screen of his Blackberry, Preston cocked an eyebrow. Would it really be as simple as a defrag and a system reboot? Actually, did he have any anti-virus software loaded onto either of these things?

"Run defrag and anti-viral subroutines," he instructed out loud, attention flicking from Archie's body to the various sections of his rat's nest and back again, sparing a glare for Dork Number Two of course.

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

Self-centered as she was, Mary couldn't help but preen slightly at the attention. "Meridians, huh?" she replied, doing her best to follow along. "You're right about one thing though, I've had Gua Sha done a few times, along with acupuncture and good old massages. You'd think they wouldn't help with hardware issues, but surprisingly enough they do. That or I was just exceptionally stressed out and the sheer relief made me think it had helped. I'm no expert."

She made eye contact with Eirean again and winked. "I give a decent massage myself, I've been told~"

Feeling overwhelmed, Marius broke off from the rest to look for Three. The Noise was acting up in his head again, dropping cryptic warnings and making him jittery, and he didn't especially want to be around squishy people if something set him off.

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

Elsewhere, Charles was getting ready to leave when Agares barged into the room and brought everything to a stop again. "Who're-" he started to ask, but Nick answered that before he could finish.

And the more the newsman talked, the wider Charles grinned. "One man on the inside, yessir," he agreed. Clearly he planned on being that one man, and damned if he hadn't just been given a shitload of explosives to fuck shit up with.

[IamLEAM1983]

"Of course, Alastriona," noted Astra, who looked like she understood why the dryad made this request, but who also didn't quite seem thrilled to accede to it."

The basement was finished, fully-furnished and well-appointed on the whole, as you might've expected of Lucian Rothchild and his family of adopted human and anthro sensitives. The main room was a place where you clearly sat to watch TV or read, with a few seating zones set aside for more intimate conversation, and a big wall-mounted filter located close to the ceiling, in a corner. Judging by the small pipe rack waiting on the table underneath it, this was where Lucian nursed a pipe from time to time.

Next to the entertainment center waited two more doors, one opening to what looked to be some sort of workshop, and the other sporting a combination fingerprint reader and keypad. The logo for Griffin was also visible there, and Billy's voice could he heard animatedly pushing the elder Void Weaver's buttons.

"...but that's the thing, see? The Loyalists only see me and people like me as a means to an end - but the fact is we're free, Lucy-boy. Free to act and free to be, without conscience or conventions or propriety or any other of the self-effacing lies you people keep telling each other. If I hate the guts of someone or something, they'll know - they'll know right quick, believe me. If I like something or someone..."

Billy's lecherous little chuckle left little to the imagination, which made Lucian sigh. "Even if I wanted to give credit to this charade of yours - and I do not - you would be arguing in favor of a State of Nature, as it were, that simply isn't compatible with existence in a developed society. I've hunted members of the Béan Sidhe that had gone insane in some dark and desolate corner of Scotland's moors in 1887, and I saw no freedom in these women's eyes. Nothing but endless sorrow and rage, an originating pain playing on a loop in some corner of their conscience - and their pain had cost innocent lives. I would let you go if I had any guarantee you wouldn't put anyone else under duress, but as things are..."

Billy's tone had gone from suggestive to threatening. "So that's what I am to you? A euthanasia waiting to happen?"

Rothchild was heard sighing. "Architect preserve me..."

Billy was heard haranguing the Squid as the door opened. Out came the Architect's Patriarch, still as rejuvenated as he'd been during the Battle of Hope, but deep weariness now clung to his eyes. Still, they immediately softened at Alex's and Vernon's sight, and momentarily checked on Astra, who'd followed behind them.

"He's not budging?" she asked. Lucian't tentacles drooped and went still, something that was as close to a pout as you could imagine. He looked to have been expected of the woman that she be a little more vulnerable, but she dispelled his unspoken query with a nod. "Mister Haskill here sort of worked his magic, I guess," she said.

"You have my thanks, Milord," said Lucian as he shook Vernon's hand. He then refocused on Alex, his tentacles curling again as he smiled for good measure.

"Thank you for coming, Alastriona," he said. "I would've wished you could meet some of the more delicate souls under your protection under better auspices, but something tells me Winter and Summer made you strong."

In the back, Billy was heard straining somewhat, more for effect than out of a serious attempt to break free. "And I'd say welcome, but someone here thinks I'm better off in a repurposed S&M gimp's chair covered in two metric fucktons of wards than in any sort of welcoming party. Come on in, whenever you're ready! The water's fine, I've set some canapés in the oven, turned the lights down..."

There was an obvious pause. "Nah, I'm pulling your leg - I'm actually tied up, I've got a massive itch on the right side of my back and a tentacle-faced hypocrite tried using his gifts to merge me with the Doc again."

Vernon raised an eyebrow. "Again?" Lucian, in response. "My domain is the preservation of the world's natural laws, and the violation that was imposed on Charles somehow refuses to heal. I've spoken with the Gentlemen's scholars and they suggest that the natural order has changed, with allowances for cases like Billy's. Hence his mention of other people like him out in the wild, other Jekyll-and-Hyde dual identities."

Billy added a somewhat disdainful chuckle. "Everyone's got a Billy Hyde, Lucian. The catch is it's all tangled up in your Jekyll with no real sense of Self. The idiot Loyalists thought they'd unleash super-zombies à la 28 Days Later, but test cases like me are kinda conclusive: sapience is sort of hard to get rid of - but you can add animal cunning to the mix."

As they headed towards Billy's prison, Lucian pursed his tendrils together. "I wouldn't give in, William - I couldn't. Not with the responsibilities I've earned, the mantle I have to carry. You can ask Lord Haskill, even he would agree that being in charge of a population comes with restrictions."

In response, the rhino watched them come in, gave one look at the Winter Lord, badly repressed a chortle and then broke out into laughter. "Oh, this is rich - you're expecting the Yule King to weigh in on the side of self-policing? Rothchild, man, seriously, sometimes you're as blind as a bat. If the Loyalists ever got to Ebenezer Scrooge, here, we'd be in for a disaster-level yearlong blizzard, while he'd kill, steal, gorge on and fuck whatever catches his pretty blues' attention. Remember your own stories about Banshees - they'd make me look like a choir boy."

The chair Billy had mentioned had probably been genuinely sourced from a sex shop, with original attachment points for what had originally been flimsy leather straps. Padded metal bracers had replaced the straps, with each inch of the chair's original black lacquer having been stripped away to allow for inscription. Wards in several languages now covered the reinforced wooden frame, designed to weaken and incapacitate whoever sat in that chair. In it sat an anthropomorphic rhinoceros with perhaps a close human relative waiting in his gene pool, as a closely-cropped and nearly-shaved patch of brown-black hair covered the top of his skull. He had the relative roundness to be expected of anthro rhinos, with clear signs that he actually was the picture of middle-aged health and vigor for this particular subspecies of Humanity. The chair seemed to cause him to perspirate and had elevated his heart rate, but Billy looked quite lively underneath what would've been a look of sheer exhaustion on anyone else.

It was the eyes that sold his difference. Darting, somehow both focused and drawn to sources of movement all at once, giving the impression that he couldn't focus on anything until his nostrils flared and his eyes locked with Alastriona's. Rhinos might've been obligate herbivores in nature, but they also ferociously defended their herd. Billy felt like if someone had genetically modified one of these ponderous grazers to have the hunting instincts of a lion.

"Well, now - a new scent! You'll have to excuse me if I don't get up, young lady - I'm, uh, a little tied up, here..."

* * *

"Welcome, sweetheart," replied the faun's father, warmth and amusement obvious in his tone. "Sword like that at a gala, though? It'll be fun to pick out the locals' reaction. I'm just hoping they're not Excalibur exclusionists."

Nigel the forest troll had perched himself atop one of the lounge's recliners and was seated atop the back, his pith helmet balanced next to him. "I wouldn't worry overmuch, mister Robertson, my having been saved from Morgana's influence allowed me ample time to take in perhaps not the full spectrum of this strange century of ours, but at least how inclusive it seems to be. You'll find deathless fussocks claiming up and down that the only real Archmage worth his salt was Merlin, but they're mostly drowned out by the droves of more welcoming souls - even among the Wilds and in Winter."

Carrie seemed amused to hear the transformed hunter say this. "I have to admit knowing you went from one of Archie's acquaintances to somersaulting around while firing a blunderbuss carved out of living wood was inspiring, and kind of fun."

Woodford parted with a sardonic little chuckle, even if it was obvious he held no ill will against Silva for her opinion. "I'll be sure to tell Morgana's toadies your sentiment on the matter, young lady, the next time they hold me on-point with their blowgun darts and I'm forced to respond with grape rounds."

* * *

Azazel gave Hanako and Meris uncertain glances before glancing down at his hands. Someone with a similar body plan, like the Black Goat, would've made this look preening or vain. The former Scapegoat, however, looked very much like someone who was unaccustomed to not only grooming as a trait of basic hygiene, but also to compliments related to his appearance. He flexed his fingers, a nervous smile touching his features as he realized he cloud ball up a fist - or perhaps manipulate objects - without his claws getting in the way. "Thank you," he quietly said, looking too emotionally frail to speak up. He reached up and gingerly touched the bowtie Nereus had fixed, realizing he could manipulate it without risking tears or rips.

While Eirean had replied to Mary's playful suggestion with a quiet, if envious groan and asking if she could book her for a session, her attention was briefly brought back to Azazel. Summer Lady or not, she certainly was sympathetic to the clumsy demon's awkward start in life, and offered him a radiant smile and a good round of handclaps that were just a little too enthusiastic for the "golf clap" requirement.

"Yay! Look at you, Azazel! Honestly, if your horrible former patron has any hint of sapience left, I hope some cruel Warlock with a good sense of justice lets him take a good scry at this. You look good, and you've always deserved it."

Perhaps it was something in Hanako's caring nature or the way she'd reassured him, but Azazel found himself blinking as his eyes welled up, and he thoughtlessly reached for Hanako's hand as he stood beside her.

Taking notice of this, Nereus' expression darkened slightly, even if he smiled for good measure. He telepathically reached for Meris. "I have half a mind to try and accede to the Lady's suggestion, Meris," he sent, his anger and indignation obvious. "Poor boy - thousands of years a slave and anyone who could've shown him kindness dead and gone generations ago."

Without meaning it, he also sent images that were obvious fantasies - Nereus gripping the Black Goat and Azazel's wrists and using the Black Speech to transfer the second one's endured pain and suffering to the first.

* * *

Marius would find Three next to Carrie, but something to the vampire's appearance seemed to clue the soldier in. "Give us a sec, hon," he told her, "we'll probably be out of here in five, anyway."

Carrie looked back to Marius and took the hint, offering the vampire a smile. "Sure - you two go ahead and process things a little. I'll stop by once we'll get the green light."

That said, Drake gave Vlastos a beckoning side-nod and headed for the same balcony Hauser and Archie had briefly occupied. Once they were there, the soldier gave the vampire a good three minutes of relative silence, apart from the Faerie city's ambient noise.

"It sure is something, isn't it?" he then asked, looking at the mashup of architectural genres and the way it all felt like a chunk of the outside world, while the collection basin's impossibly far walls still curved upwards, fading away into illusory blue sky. "I never thought I'd ever get to see something like this, let alone be a part of it."

He scoffed self-derisively and then leaned into the corner. "Go back fifteen years and you've got a confused teenager, mundane as balls, with no fucking clue as to how you're even supposed to live. Add everything that's happened, and now this and, well..."

He looked back at the corridor for a moment and then refocused on Marius. "How do watershed moments feel, when you're poised to have, like, ten or fifteen in your lifetime? Like, when you Spoke to help rebuild Magnus Tower, for instance. Does the Noise affect your appreciation of it?"

* * *

Herbert seemed to share in Charles' appreciation of their predicament, but verbalized it only as a mellifluously appreciative grunt, his spaded tail swishing like a cat casually watching fish in a pond. "Then comes the matter of our entrance. I suppose we should-"

Agares cut him off. "Don't join the main group - not yet, at least. Head to London if you want, but Vassago says cutting off the rear guard first is your best bet. More control over the kill box, the usual. You'll need a boat first - one of the side Gates to London-Upon-Faerie is Winter turf - in Redcap territory."

Wormsworth nodded. "Winter Fae, that lot - particularly murderous sorts. Former highwaymen, now disaffected immortals running underground casinos and fight rings in other parts of the old city's unused sewer network. Disaffected youth centuries old, with scraps of Mantles passed on to them by sympathetic Winter Knights with a hand in Mab's pot. They hit hard, fight hard and normally kill quite quickly..."

He sent Charles a look. "I'll get you in and distract the rubes. Get as deep as you can, you'll find signs directing you to the Fae capital. Faerie willing and its yen for space compression being present, you won't have to trek across a dozen waystations and will only be leading armed goons in for a few hundred feet. I'll then join you, and..."

He paused and looked back to Agares. "I presume our captain for the day would be the Marquis?
- If appropriately clothed, yes," noted Nickar. "You need a ship, his fleet has one just like it, guaranteed. One small yacht, small enough to slip past the Metropolitan's attention and to let a high-roller and his plus-one in for a few rounds of Baccarat."

Herbert's mean smirk remained in place. "I'm sure Sam won't mind beseeching his precious lover that she floods the tunnels in after us and claims the lives of a few greedy Unseelie..."

Still, something crossed his mind. "Wait - if Matriel is a man, how can Samigina be convinced that the Capital-S Sea is a female entity? It doesn't quite-"

He then stopped himself, realizing, perhaps, that this line of questioning was absurd. "Nevermind, I'm overthinking something that has no need for it - let's go make ourselves sea-worthy. Or, well, river-worthy, as it were."

* * *

The captain nodded at the pair, his brief moment of levity fading back into dour seriousness as he watched the cabin's doors be closed. The engine was then started and the boat then guided out of the docks, before Deadwater's tendrils began to lightly undulate as he quietly Spoke a bubble of air into being, around the watercraft. Water could only flood the sphere's bottom half, thereby keeping the boat buoyant as it sank beneath the surface. Apophis soon grimaced lightly and pressed a hand against the side of his head, to which Deadwater responded with a glance, a gesture and a few other words. A look of brief shock and relief washed over the Abomination's features as the increased pressure on his eardrums abated.

"We can talk, now," the Squid then said, his voice given an odd resonant quality by the curving wall of water that surrounded the ship, pierced only by the deck's fog lights. "I'm not part of the resistance - not officially, at least," he explained. "Them spies and assassins on your side knew they'd be better off keeping me in the dark, same reason the Loyalists do, too."

He shrugged lightly. "I just take people to where they need to go. Brine pools, shorelines, whatever. I don't ask questions. It's kept me safe and it's done good for her people," he explained, looking at Neasa and referring to the Meris-shaped Veil that covered her.

"So you'll take us to Respite Point?" asked the serpentine chamberlain, to which the captain shrugged.

"You couldn't pay me, obviously. I never was much for Dalarath's catechism, so I don't have the skills to force you. Asked too many questions in my time," he explained, pointing to his scarred-over tentacle nubs. "Either I take you there or we sit here singing some of your surface-world campfire songs 'till a bullsquid decides to play with us and drags us down and out of this bubble. Seeing as I gather none of you feel like dying..."

He didn't finish and didn't exactly need to, either.

* * *

Confirmation flashed onscreen, with a very DOS-worthy trail of asterisks standing in for a bracketed progress bar. Seventy-five percent in, however, a trail of error messages began to appear, scrolling by too fast to be heard. Letters eventually gave way to hexadecimals, and eventually to a string of binary.

The terminal jumped for a line-break, and a few words were printed onscreen, all in capitals.

INTRUSION DETECTED.

The armature produced a light snort and straightened itself, the Diagnostics Mode's open posture turned rigid - and the optics' LEDs switched to red. The head turned towards Preston, the recessed flaps standing in for his eyelids nearly fully closing and rotating, suggesting a mean and scrutinizing glance.

"No threats detected," it then said, in a voice that could've been Archie's or Arthur Holden's if either men had been American by birth, the statement sounding almost mocking. "Checksum still unresolved. No header present. Still."

That last word oozed resentment, and the armature balled up a fist in frustration. It didn't strike, however. Instead, it produced a sigh. "Switching to verbose mode," it said, resentment oddly obvious in what should've been a simple statement.

"Who am I?" it then asked Hauser. Before it could go any further, however, the LEDs flickered between red and Archie's golden-brown, finally settling on the spy's color, malice swapped for confusion.

"Have you started? It seems like I've dozed off for a moment, but..."

[TennyoCeres84]

Alastriona's eyes met the rhino anthro's with their own catlike quality. The tree spirit's glowing green gaze was equally watchful, albeit tinged with a strange eeriness that was not typical for a Summer dryad. They seemed young and old all at once, being thoroughly unafraid.

Her scent was marked by similar cues thanks to Sophia's genetic inheritance, but there were notable differences. The first one was that a distinct off-world smell. Hard to place, but her previous residence had only partial qualities of Earth's ecosystems, as though terrestrial soils had been vaguely touched by something counter to via. The arcane influences smelled of bright, warm weather with sunlight filtering in through branches, but they blended together with a stark contrast of chilled air, darker nights, sumptuous feasts, and an underlying current of survival.

The dryad's physique matched Sophia's curvy yet stately one, but her coloration was different. She didn't have the variety of greens and beiges marking her facial features. Instead, light gray filled in her forehead and cheeks with only the occasional tinge of green. The same thing went for her hair, mostly silvery white hair vines were pulled into a partial bun style, while shades of emerald were only seen along her hairline and the tips of her hair hanging over her shoulders. The curling horns were also a dark shade of gray.

Her hands were stuck in the pockets of her beige breeches, while she casually looked at him in the stance befitting a teenager. She scoffed. "Well, yeah, you said during our brief chat that you'd let yourself be restrained when Vernon and me visited. Though, I don't know if you were just humoring Lucian by doing so, apart from you wanting to head out for fun. Would there be any difference if you were allowed to stand?"

She cast a glance back at the Void Weaver and sighed. "The Gentlemen scholars' statement of the natural order changing is true, and it's partially related on why I wished to speak with you. Angels, demons, and Void Weavers live among mortals now, and the network of the World's Breath is rebuilding itself. Supernatural politics are also changing. I suggest you stop beating your head against a wall in a futile effort to merge Billy with Charles and save your energy for aiding me."

"I've already noted some problems that could prove troublesome soon and down the road. However, my Tree's root system is nowhere near capable of keeping tabs of what's going on in Hope. I thought perhaps poking around what exists of the Shadowloands could prove useful, but I can't exactly do that when I'm not directly connected to the local via network."

***

Miranda frowned. "I don't think swords are meant to indicate who should be the once and future king of Faerie or Britain," she said with a light scoff, obviously referring to Excalibur's purpose. "Especially since it was presented to me by a dragon."

That last addition had Aspasia click her tongue. "It's hard to say about that factor. There may be some purists who will frown upon that, but what matters is that you're a suitable wielder of it, Mira. The less picky ones would likely be impressed by that."

The older saytress looked thoughtful at Woodford's comment and mused, "I'm sure there'll be some Fae politicking at this event, but I'm curious as to which of Morgana's ranks will be trying to throw their weight around. The Southern Fae might be an issue, but with the likes of Gutierrez in Hope, I have to wonder if we will also have to be concerned with any Fae ties he has in Central and South America. Seems like that'd be Morgana territory as well."

***

"Perhaps so," Meris mused at the suggestion, then frowned concernedly at the former Augur. "As much as the Goat would deserve it, he's barely sapient as he is. He was violated by someone, and he was left catatonic from it. We aren't entirely sure, but evidence points toward Tom. What his specific goals were for doing so are unclear, but since then, he's no longer himself and has withdrawn unless absolutely needed. Aislinn's obviously been affected by his behavior change and has been stressed."

While it might've seemed uncharacteristic of the mostly cool-headed nekomata, Hanako lightly squeezed Azazel's hand while gently patting the top of his offered hand. He'd find that she had slipped two soft items into his palm from the voluminous interior of a kimono sleeve. One was a simple handkerchief for drying his tears, and the other was an omamori that seemed to have originated from an Eien-no-Yuki shrine.

A small and purple brocaded silk bag dangled from a white cord with an ornate knot. The amulet featured embroidered flowers and snowflakes, as well as the shrine's logo. He'd feel a piece of paper tucked in its confines.

"It's for prosperity and protection. You'll need it going forward. Keep it on you and don't open it," she addressed softly. "As joyous as the Choosing is meant to be, we're all vulnerable and need to be on our guard."

The yokai then discreetly pressed a similar-looking amulet in the Summer Lady's hand. "Protection for you," she whispered, knowing of her expecting state and the threats she would face given her relationship with Lord Haskill and their progeny.

Matriel watched his wife give the amulets to the demon and the Countess and sighed. "Indeed we will need to be vigilant. I looked ahead, and what takes place here will be of such significance that it will somehow shift the power balance. It's unclear what will happen, but there are plenty of foes invested in causing havoc for everyone involved here, particularly the Fae."

The Archmage groaned softly with frustration at the Throne's insights. "Never a dull moment, is there," she muttered. She flicked her eyes toward Nereus. "I'm sure such events in all of these potential timelines are probably keeping Vassago and Agares going at warp speed to keep up with developments, so much so they couldn't let me know."

The angel pursed his lips and lightly shook his head, keeping his voice low, "Apologies for us to be the bearers of bad news, but if information gets out too much, the enemy could readjust their plans, which would send the timelines splitting off even more than they already are," he explained.

***

Neasa-as-Meris's lips pursed and nodded in response to the trailing words of the skipper. "That's our only option, since we'll need to find a way to where we need to go after that," she said, then looking to the serpentine Animate.

"Do you have someone you're supposed to meet in Respite Point? I'm sure the infrastructure changed significantly since Meris left, so I'm not sure if there's anyone there who you've been in communication with," she noted.

"Not to mention, we're probably not known there, and you're the only connection we have to vouch for ourselves."

[Karl the Mad]

That was alarming. Preston wondered what it all meant, if he'd have to coerce the red-eye mode into coming back on so he could figure out who it was and what they wanted. "Three people inside," he said tersely when Archie woke up. "One, you, nice, gold. Second, female, helpful, blue. Third, male, not helpful, red. Gotta talk to red. Go back to sleep?"

New theory: get Red-Eye to come out, act non-threatening, distract with talk while Processes were running in background. Too bad Preston sucked at talk. Oh well, sink or swim! "Seriously. Go back to sleep."

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

"Fixing that tower felt pretty goddamn good, if I'm being honest," Marius replied, latching onto the distraction gratefully. "And the Noise comes and goes. Sometimes it gets worse, like just now, it seems to think something's about to happen."

He looked out over the city, but with a critical eye instead of an appreciative one. "I swear, it's aware of things before I am. I wonder what it senses right now?"

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

"After you," Charles said, waving ahead.

[IamLEAM1983]

Lucian didn't respond to Alex right away, knowing Billy would want to take the spotlight. The rhino's unnaturally keen gaze swept across the assembly while something darkly mischievous glinted in his eyes. "Lucy here's poweful but old; I could probably make it to the other end of the basement before he Doctor Stranges me in some prison or another. Scrooge here would probably freeze me in place - but you, Alex? You're an unknown quantity..."

He exposed a few more teeth. "I'd say I like these odds - especially with the missus - but there's clearly something bigger afoot. I'd normally love being a thorn in someone's side, but none of you especially smell of demonic conceit or Squid self-righteousness."

The wink he sent Alex was possibly suggestive, although it would've been hard to tell with someone like Billy. "Let me go and I'll purr like a kitten."

If anything, Vernon seemed more amused than offended. "You remind me of some of my wilder constituents, Billy - or of Mab's more sedate supporters. The verve, the feral cunning - and the willingness to emotionally torture a spouse from the milder ends of Faerie. Alastriona is under my care, and the body you inhabit belongs to a married man."

In response, Billy rolled his eyes and aped a yawn. "Once again for the slow people in the back: I'm not the shrink. I'm not stupid enough to go after a debatable minor," he explained, narrowing his eyes at the dryad, "especially not someone who's not experienced enough to make it interesting. I'll just let you gab away and plan, pretend I'm not paying attention - and then I'll figure out if your plans need a bit of spice."

He nodded to Lucian, who gave the assembly a bit of a doubtful look for a second, and then gestured at Billy's restraints. The glowing wards winked out, the manacles opened and the straps fell away. Billy slowly climbed out, his gestures reminding Vernon of an alert male Malk's from Mab's ends of Winter than of an anthro rhino. As he did so, Lucian turned to his own involvement in Alex's project, his face wrinkling in amusement.

"Ley line-based spiritual contact is a tad outside of my old wheelhouse, I'll admit - I dealt with troubled spirits and other independent arcane emanations or natives of the Shadowlands. I did assist Meris a few years ago for a similar project, however, and the remnants of Sophia's root system are still quite active..."

He fell silent for a second. "Hm. If Lady Eirean were present, I would perhaps ask that she use her Mantle to bolster the formation of mycelium across the city's substrate layers, to hopefully patch your Tree with the older roots that much faster, but it could be that I am not thinking this through from the right perspective. Penfield and his colleagues could perhaps Speak or Sing the mycelium substrate into overdrive, or..."

He produced a clicking sound from behind his tentacles. "Two birds with one stone: I've been wanting to check on our friend the Warlock and I'm not particularly fond of the way Aislinn was left to her own devices. Tom could perhaps be convinced of the fact that joining us for this could further his own occult pursuits, and it would give the city's most powerful couple a bit of fresh air. He could probe for the ends of the city's ley lines and she could use her own abilities to patch in Ethereal strands of via and essentially patch you through. Past that, I could perhaps solidify this connection and gently coax your own Tree's root system into following it."

Astra narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't know about the part where Tom would collaborate; Alphonse Biggs - the gargoyle - says Magnus is practically a recluse. He has his groceries delivered, Club Magnus hasn't been opened for a gig in weeks, he's even let the club's alcohol license fall through - Aristide Duvivier says the ritual circle in the club's basement is always active, but nothing's come through. It feels like Tom is workshopping high-level spells, preparing defenses for something - but he won't say what."

Lucian shrugged. "All the more reason to try. If he's currently work-minded, I could impress the importance of the situation on him. It might do him and Aislinn a tremendous amount of good."

* * *

"It certainly would," noted Nigel; "I've observed the emergence or return of particularly ancient forest trolls in the Wilds - although unfortunately, Yucatec Mayan isn't one of my linguistic strengths."

Silas couldn't quite repress a whistle, as impressed as he was. "I'm guessing you laid low some; huh Nigel? A troll raised out of a gentleman hunter from India's years under British rule... Same species or not, they would've been tempted to draw parallels with Conquistadors."

Woodford winced and nodded in the affirmative. "I laid low, indeed. I'm already saddled with Mab's permanent disapproval for maintaining my mortal soul despite the physical changes that occurred, I don't think I would
ve survived being riddled with blowgun darts and run down with stone hammers..."

Nereus frowned at the group. "Don't the Quetzalcoatl speak Yucatec?
- They certainly do," confirmed Nigel. "That's at least one avenue of approach between the Fae and the South-American dragons' criminal elements. I'm still getting the hang of Spector's own channels, but the DEA's long had its eyes on Hector Gutierrez - and on a few Mesoamerican Fae. It would be in their right to be present today."

* * *

Nereus' glance was taken to one of the corners of the room and his eyes narrowed. The roots of his tentacles bobbed as he quietly whispered in the Speech. Meris would recognize what he'd just conjured, even though it wasn't visible. He'd just coaxed the photons that reached them from the light sources around them to continue on their path on some tiny percentile - just enough to make out the shadows of someone that was likely getting closer to their common room. Concern was a brief glint in his eyes, immediately fading away as something seemed to disprove his apprehension. The silhouettes he'd just seen probably didn't fit those of Travers or of Loyalists, or the Fae that were walking towards them didn't read as threatening - but whatever the case may be, he looked back to Meris after a steadying sigh, seemingly reassured.

"I'll help them if I can, once we get back," he sent her. "Magnus isn't the only one with experience in cultural and institutional paranoia. Considering what you've just told me and with the Void Weavers' past experiments in Infernalism, I have a few theories. I'll share them with you later, now isn't the time."

In the meantime, Azazel lightly squeezed the charm's small pouch, his thumb then lifting away from it, almost as if the omamori exuded something that could be felt, like a small forcefield centered on the object. It might've been that with his distant Middle-Eastern origins and his long eons spent as a demon, Hanako's form of support felt particularly novel to him. Eirean, in the meantime, seemed to be more familiar with the concept of these charms, and settled with briefly feeling the pocket's contours before slipping it into one of her own, looking grateful. Judging by the way her hand lingered over the spot in her dress' waistline that held the pocket, she could sense the omamori's gentle power - like a small source of warmth pressed close to the skin.

He looked back up to Hanako with a small smile. "Would I be acting out of turn if I hugged you? This is - thank you. I could sort of speak Japanese back when I was under the Goat's influence - he made me bear the burden of guilt from all sorts of people, including Japanese warlords and fighters from World War Two - but it's slipping away from me. I guess that means I'll be able to learn it properly, this time around."

Nereus then refocused on Matriel. "There's no need to apologize, Matriel. Restraint could improve our chances, at this point - and I'm convinced Vassago and Agares didn't just sit by and panic. You might not want to dip ahead too much, but I've got faith enough as it is."

He smiled behind his tentacles and looked to where Three and Marius had briefly isolated themselves. "You're good people to know," he said. "I'm glad life brought Meris and I to you - all of you."

The common room's main doors finally opened, with Kay and a few other Fae hounds stepping inside. "The guests are being seated. Those of you who still want to converse can remain here for a few minutes longer, I shall stay and wait. Whenever you're ready, my men will take you to the Great Hall."

* * *

Apophis briefly etched a smile. "No, you're not. You forget the White Brotherhood splintered off into the Gentlemen, but the separation was never complete. The last few months' events also ended with our ending exceptional support from someone you'll recognize, I think."

Bucky winced slightly as the increased atmospheric pressure made his internal furnace strain, but immediately followed it with a steadying hand for Neasa. He was still alright, but was still slightly unnerved by the ship's groans and creaks. With the panels down, Deadwater navigated seemingly through habit alone as his craft didn't so much as have a sonar in place. The reverberations shifted as they seemingly passed through a narrow stone tunnel underwater, and all parties would soon feel their ears pop as they emerged into Respite Point's smaller cavern.

"There we go," said the Void Weaver, "out in one piece, as promised. Now, let's-"

He didn't finish, as the sound of grinding stone and falling rubble grew closer to the craft. Deadwater lifted the window's blinds and exposed what looked like a village-sized offshoot of Dalarath, without the culturally and cognitively noxious influence of the Black Speech being present. They'd followed technological developments more readily than Dalarath had, however, the smooth stone of the main city giving way to conjured paving, sidewalks, the obvious signs of a largely buried electrical network, and more boat-compliant docks than Dalarath's focus on small ramps for their stone corracks. The water levels had also risen since Meris' time, as Respite Point now resided in its own air pocket. The rule for self-imposed silence had seemingly been abandoned, but it had only given way to a sense of generalized discretion. The Squids they'd see walking up and down the streets leading to the docks had a more open posture than the Dalarath natives, but were also less boisterous. Nods seemed to suffice, or the occasional tipping of a hat.

The source of the noise was revealed to be a somehow moving bulge in the pavement and asphalt that was heading for them at speed, even if no-one else seemed particularly alarmed. The bump stopped just in front of the docks and then burst open, the pieces that should've torn up the ship or even shattered its windows or injured the group instead clumping together. In an instant, the clump went from looking like nothing at all to having a vaguely humanoid shape, to then resolve in the shape of Sir Cuthbert, former Knight of the Order of Saint George and current avatar of Hesediel, Throne of Earth. He took a second to fix his necktie as grey slabs of stone and compacted earth approximated wings along his back for a brief moment, before they fell away and seemingly disappeared in the compacted stones of the docks' asphalt cover. Smirking behind his tendrils, he stepped forward and picked up a coiled line, then waiting for Deadwater to step out.

"Ho there, captain!" he teasingly called out as he tossed the bundle to the Void Weaver. "I had a feeling you'd show up with precious cargo today, Amos!"

Deadwater glared at the former Knight as he tied up the boat. "Shouldn't you be lighting up stars with Abdiel or messing with the fault lines or whatever?"

"Gift of ubiquity, my friend!" called out the younger Throne. "God Almighty wouldn't get much done with His Tools if we couldn't be in several places at once! I'm currently double-checking on Bételgeuse, Abdiel wasn't sure the star was producing the right amounts of gaseous iron. I'm also three galaxies away, working on a new planetoid and making sure Matriel's erosion patterns are tempering early shale cliffs correctly - it'll be important if that world's primordial soup has any chance of developing properly in its undersea chemical vents."

Bucky stepped out. "And you're also here, helping old comrades-in-arms off a fishing boat."

William narrowed his eyes for a moment, showing how his tentacles now looked chipped and cracked - but not exactly in a way that looked sickly. It felt like he instead had living and motile stalactites that sometimes gave way to flesh. He then smiled again. "Heaven preserve me; is that you under there, Shamus? I'd voice doubts about you making a convincing duplicate for Nereus, but..."

Wallace chuckled. "You'd be a lot less chummy if Angel Time had clued you into someone getting wise on us, I'd wager."

The former Paladin's eyes twinkled. "I'm not at liberty to confirm or deny anything, but I can at least make like a Jesuit and bless your arrival, dear friends. Come on - we'll wash those Veils clean off, and I'm sure at least one of you here is hungry for something that comes from something less grotesque than a Loyalist kitchen. A few short bites, then you're off to London."

As a former conman, Bucky could recognize slip-ups when they happened. He settled with giving William a finger-gun, the Order's usually bank-account-wielding warrior raising his hands in front of him as if in self-defense. "Two points: I'm still new at this and mistakes happen. Secondly; God's will, mysterious ways, generally impenetrable even to us Thrones, ad absurdium..."

"So that mistake was bound to happen, free will is a myth and you're as much a machine as the Loyalists say you are," noted Deadwater.

Cuthbert's mood didn't falter and he added a wobbly gesture with a hand. "Eh, metà ragione e metà torto," he replied in Italian. "The truth is somewhere in there and God would probably say you're being silly for debating semantics. I do what God compels me to do, but only after giving it some thought. God's not a Throne, after all, I'm a Throne. I know my form and function, all God is is someone who sends me broad, sweeping requests. Remove the Thrones from the equation and you've more or less tied God's hands behind His back. The rest of the Host could keep things going for a few billion years, sure, but they'd be far more likely to advance things towards Entropy."

Bucky stepped on the dock. "Guessin' you're familiar with Uriel, now?
- Would that I wasn't," sighed the Squid. "He expresses my point perfectly. The Loyalists and I want the same things; they just want them a little too much."

Deadwater frowned as he cleaned up his end of the line. "Complete chaos?
- No, Amos," replied William with a chuckle behind his words. "The same amount of chaos we've already got. That's what does it for me. Enough chaos for rotting fruit juice to stabilize briefly into excellent spirits, or for a star to nurture life in its Goldilocks zone for several billion years. Enough chaos for a symphony to rise out of discordant instruments with a guiding hand - and especially enough chaos for foolhardy idiots like Uriel to not be the statistical norm. Chaos enough for one of God's sacred Tools to stand before you in the guise and persona of an ally."

Apophis slithered past Bucky and the Throne pointed at him. "Apophis - you didn't tell them, did you? That would've spoiled the surprise."

The Abomination smirked. "My lips were sealed, O Throne, though I do wonder if that was one of your God-given edicts or just yourself acting like one of your old Jesuit warrior-priests..."

"Come on," lightly chided William, "I'm supposed to be the most down-to-earth of all Thrones! What am I supposed to do, tell mortals in exactly which direction the Law of Probability appears to be pointing?"

Apophis kept slithering away, which left William to refocus on Neasa. "To cover the last few centuries and especially the last few months, let's just say Respite Point paid especially close attention to the idea of a Void Weaver gaining divine favor and petitioned qualified third parties to, well, pray to me, knowing their own prayers would've probably reached the Architect, instead. I got their message shortly after acceding to Thronedom, if that's a thing, and elected to keeping an instance of myself down here. With Delmar gone, the locals were itching to have a reminder of the good Void Weavers can do, and I didn't exactly feel like abandoning my origins, either."

Deadwater scoffed. "Failing to mention the two weeks where you tried to grow hair..."

William looked away, looking briefly self-conscious, before he refocused on Neasa. "I'm a new angel, nearly everyone up there is either human or some variety of anthro, and I was supposed to show up looking like Chtulhu wearing a pair of downy white wings? I got self-conscious and, er, tried to look human. Gabriel held it in for my meeting with the Host and my first communing with God, but by the time he'd accompanied back down for drinks, he was practically pissing himself - saying I looked ridiculous. He called me-"

Aatxe couldn't quite repress a self-satisfied grin as he stepped forward. "My company heard the rumors; it was one of our few sources of levity before we surrendered. He called you Donald Trump's morally-correct cousin, but with the same bad hairstylist."

* * *

Three took a steadying breath. "Well, your vampire sense, if you want to call it that, is probably picking up the same things I have. It's in the route we took, the added security, the new concerns Faerie have and the upstarts back home - the Fae are long-lived, like you are. If some Mab supporters want to make a scene, they can either crash this party or blindside us back in Hope. Like it or not, our attending this is tactically unsound - about as unsound as our staying in Hope would've been. Two points to cover, two avenues of ingress - at least two that I can see, if I'm honest. Archie's probably picked up on a few things, and I'm sure you have, too.

He then rolled his eyes in reluctant allowance of another point. "Add Tom out-Magnus-ing himself to the mix and Randolph - Rhadamantus himself - coming to us to share his concerns about him and Wormsworth, and you're left patting your proverbial pockets, double and triple-checking for your keys and wallet. So to speak."

A smile then played on his lips before it bloomed into a sardonic grin. "I'm worried that I'm not worried enough, which is where your Noise would probably say I'm right - but I'm also thinking that at this rate, this is just another Tuesday. Being worried about something and trying to compensate for it's pretty much defined everything we've done since the incursions."

He shook his head in self-derision. "I'm just reminded of my mid-High School years, back when we're taught the specifics of each vampire subspecies and how we're supposed to treat them like equals. My Ethics teacher had a week's worth of panels lined up. Matthias d'Aubignier took questions about the Guildmates, Arthur spent two hours jump-scaring teens who only knew about True Blood and Twilight and told us about the Freaks' supposed gift of insight... I know the School Board tried to get Mister Grimley to stop by, instead, but the Circus was still mobile back then and they were way the fuck out in Florida, back in 2001..."

He paused. "You were still dodging, back then, so the Board tried to get Alexander Ruthven to leave his penthouse, for once. We thought nobody would pick up our offers to be paid to take questions from curious teenagers fresh out of Biology class. Then the shoe drops: our own vice-principal was Ordo. Another vampire had signed up for a last-ditch siring program for terminal cancer patients, and he'd turned our vice-principal, Mister Fincher, about fifteen years back in the mid-nineties."

Aidan grinned. "Everything made sense, now. Fincher was an asshole; short, stocky, bald - and the chemo interfered with his transformation. He couldn't go full nocturnal, not like you, but he also didn't need to take enzymes. He had to down ibuprofen by the bottles, though, especially once Daylight Savings Time kicked in, every year. He was always in pain and it made him ornery as Hell. We thought it was all just a big power trip for him: his own little budget Dracula production in the school halls, with him playing the warlord and everyone else being a terrified peasant or something. No running in the halls, no kissing in public if you had a sweetheart, no being in the halls period, unless you had a pass, detention slips by the dozens each day and for the slightest offences - Principal Danvers was always downplaying Fincher's more excessive rulings, saying most of it came from, well - the blood. The Noise, basically. His had fixated on us, on the school. We just didn't know, back then."

Aidan fell silent for a second. "I was a wallflower. Shit grades everywhere, except Math - and I was scrawny. Small. Got picked on a lot. Kevin Davis had flunked his last year twice and was an immature kid stuck in the body of a college-age bum, and he ran with a bunch of idiots who thought they'd be able to bullshit their way into varsity football. I ace a test during one of these show-and-tell periods with vampires, and Davis decides that earns me a beat-down. He corners me, throws me to the ground, starts kicking and-"

He smirked. "In comes Fincher. He tosses Davis, who's about twice as tall as him, against the wall like he's a sack of potatoes. He starts laying on him like I've never seen anyone do at that time - but he's still young, still a stripling. He's lacking your restraint, but he's also so young he doesn't have one-eighth of your strength. No broken bones, but the idiot is covered in bruises by the end of it - and it was fast. Fincher lets him drop and then just looms overhead. "No-one touches my kids," he says, and part of me understands it's the paranoid, possessive aspects of the Noise that kicked in - but another one also knows that was him saying he cared. He'd dragged me to class, shoved cafeteria plates in my face when I felt like skipping lunch and he called me to his office on one-on-ones to fume at me about how I was wasting my potential; and that's not just something who's only just possessive does.

So the shoe drops, like I said, and Fincher sits down with the usual disclaimer. He's reliable for the mechanics and general traditions for when two people with your blood meet. He takes all the usual questions, and even tosses in some humor by plastering a terrible Transylvanian accent on himself and saying that 'He, too, could love' and that he would 'love again' - Bram Stoker would've rolled in his grave but it got us laughing - and then he tosses a curveball. He says he'll walk in the classroom's rows and touch the shoulder of those people who he thinks would make good vampires, once they're of consenting age or have parental approval. By that point, I'm starstruck. Fincher saved my fucking life, from my point of view as a teenager, so I'm hoping beyond hope that he picks me. I watch the five or six people he's touched either turn scared or swell with pride and I'm just angry and confused and-"

Drake glanced out at London-Upon Faerie. "He makes a second pass, and stops at my desk, then placing a hand on my shoulder. He leans in to whisper to me - the entire class is freaking out, at that point - and he whispers "My gut tells me you'll be special on your own, Drake. It's not you who's unworthy; it's the Blood that's unworthy of you."

The soldier added a disbelieving chuckle and briefly parted his arms to indicate how difficult to parse this must've been. "I guess I've worked to cultivate my own sort of Noise, ever since. I know what our variables are and how to work those problems, but I don't want to think in terms of the worst things that could happen to us. I don't want to lay my arms down and say You're right, everything sucks and everyone is suspect.

He then added another shake of his head. "My Noise, if you can call it that, says that there's always going to be something difficult, something painful, something we couldn't have caught in time, that's looming somewhere ahead - but it also says that we've got this. We'll make this work, whatever this is. We'll hurt, we'll cuss, scream and kick and claw our way out of it, probably hating every second of it as it happens - but we'll be better for it at the end of the day. I wouldn't go through Najeeban again if I could avoid it, but I did go through it. I am who I am today because of it - and at least partly because of my vice-principal."

Another shrug was added. "It could be that I'm reading too much into things, but I think that's what your own Noise is trying to say, too. You're apprehensive, maybe even seriously afraid on some level, but there has to be some sense of confidence in there, too. There's no sense on dwelling on what you don't have variables for, and we're about to head into a giant fucking room packed with Relative Unknowns. You'd be crazy to not be worried, Marius. Wait until you've got absolutely everything needed to make the right judgment calls. In the meantime, your Noise is just doing what it's meant to do - what anxiety does for mortals like me; because God fucking knows I'm anxious. The problem is, if I can't trust myself, or Carrie, or you, or Meris and Nereus or anyone else, who can I trust?

Remove yourself from the equation at least until you've got a seat in that Great Hall, and then your Noise will realize it's got ample data points to leverage. Can't mount defense plans if you haven't cased a joint."

* * *

The look Archie sent Preston was comically obvious - this wasn't the easiest of all requests, especially not now that he felt self-conscious, but he did settle with shifting in place, clearing his throat and briefly closing eyes.

"Alright. Try retracing your steps. Hopefully, this red fellow will take the bait again."

Having worked it out once before, Preston would quickly flit through the initial steps of the procedure, with the assistant having kept a log of his interactions. Soon enough, the spy was sound asleep, the assistant would have been even more helpful, and the same error messages would begin to cascade on the BlackBerry's screen. Once Red opened his eyes only to narrow them at Preston, Hauser would realize that something had changed.

"Priorities re-evaluated. Continuing this conversation seems paramount. Stand by, I'll isolate the imported engram."

It fell silent for a moment, until Preston would notice a readout indicating that the odd files that had been detected earlier had just been quarantined, albeit with a hacked deletion timer that stubbornly flashed hexadecimals instead of a time until permanent deletion. "The parent engram would undergo extreme stress if I allowed the firmware's security suite to delete them - possibly similar to grief amongst organics. The issue of slotting that particular engram in a new biological or robotic shell is still pending; deleting the files would be unwise. As for myself..."

The BlackBerry would flash warnings indicating that an unknown user was accessing memory dumps belonging to Archie. "I can't be a leftover copy of Bagley, I sound American. Tom Magnus' command of Infernalism doesn't go so far as to suffuse high-end armatures with a demonic presence, and my checksum seems valid... I could be a memory leak from the original Maintainer colony, an illegally-stowed engram Frank Brenner didn't spot when he prepped this armature for Archie's use, or I could be something new... Checking files on AI development..."

The BlackBerry beeped in the negative, which made Red grunt. "It wasn't unexpected, I'm in the body of an immortal eighteenth-century spy. I know he's picked up enough to be able to WireShark the occasional car that parks in front of the mansion back in Hope, but the chances of my finding something like an onboard instance of Kali Linux were obviously low. He's picked up what he needed to function in the 2020s, and nothing more."

He then glanced down and pulled out Archie's fob watch. "We're short on time, however. You'll have to keep quiet on the issue," he said, as he slipped off the chair and recovered Archie's tailcoat and hat. In the meantime, the Fae Hound mechanic seemed terrified, and stuttered as he asked what he was.

The armature canted his head sideways for a second, before adding "Red. Call me Red, for now. That said, I'd better edit RGB values for my optics so as not to concern anyone in the immediate," he said, his eyes cycling from red to blue to green and then to Archie's golden tone. "I wouldn't worry too much about Holden; I'll stretch my legs a bit too much, eventually lower my guard, and he'll pop right back in. I'll even keep a log for him to access so he's not left with retrograde amnesia - how kind of me..."

He took a few steps to leave, then realizing he was still plugged in. He turned around, a few flecks of crimson floating in Archie's golden ocular panels. "Come on, Hauser - unplug me. We'll have an entire ceremony to spend whispering about the nature of consciousness in order to ward off boredom, and something tells me a bloodbath is on offer..."

* * *

Solomon's tower might've been located in one of the most arid regions on Earth, it didn't stop his Court from Hammerspace-ing a boathouse at its base, its arch shimmering in a way that suggested the gates led elsewhere entirely. Finding Samigina had been the trickiest part but he, like Nybbas, was mostly attracted to his own creature comforts. Agares had found him swallowing files in a riverside pub in Delft, Netherlands - in 1543. Once sobered up by a little manhandling and being dunked in a barrel of murky water, he'd proven to be quite cooperative.

Sam started by turning some sort of arcane dial on one of the nearby walls to a particular glyph, fog eating up what had likely been the view of some shoreline in the Middle-East and parting to reveal mildly choppy and colder waters. Ahead waited the Flying Dutchman, of which crewmen could be dimly seen and heard lowering a brand new speedboat into place. The craft was piloted towards and into the boathouse, Sam then turning the dial again to change the scene beyond into a view of the Thames' open delta, just East of Southend. The initial pilot hopped out, looking like a golem made out of driftwood and barnacles, and in jumped Samigina, his clothes shimmering and warping as he touched. An eyeblink later, he looked like a mildly toothy and possibly unhinged modern boating enthusiast, but one that had nonetheless cleaned up well. The marine-blue jacket, London Fog sweater, paisley shirt and silk ascot went well with the massive Meerschaum pipe that had replaced his small sailor's pipe, and the blue-tinted glasses that lessened the familiar glare in his eyes. Jenkins might've earned madness of a different stripe, loving the sea as intensely as the Marquis did wasn't something you did with a sound mind...

"I thought you'd merely ferry us," noted Herbert. "Not to be especially prideful, but I was under the impression that I would signify Hell's presence during the Fae aristocrats' little token displays of humility..."

Samigina rolled his eyes and gestured dismissively as he guided the speedboat out of the boathouse. In the meantime, Agares watched them manoeuver while he fine-tuned their point of insertion to be actually within London's shores, but still out of sight. The outside view soon settled into the stern view of a large freighter that was docking into port. They'd appear right behind it and pretend to slip back into the marina only long enough to actually take to one of the sewer canals.

"Not to worry, Yer Highness," Samigina taunted him, "I've only got eyes for the five or six Unseelie and the occasional Fomor that could crop up. Nodin Thorn, Prince Nudd and 'is cronies, the occasional fish-faced Servitor or two... Throne might tolerate the occasional fool playin' lordling with his element, but I'm none-too-patient with those who use me bride as she weren't intended."

Herbert tried to go for a scoff, but he seemed concerned. "You're not suggesting that someone could bridge their way from the Far Reaches within London-Upon-Faerie's borders, are you?"

Sam pursed his thick lips together. "Nothin' quite so dramatic - yet - but a waterway's a waterway, laddie. Like it or not, the Fae's version o' London has one weakness: everythin' enters and leaves right through the tunnels beyond, unless ye consider the Gates people cross on foot. Real easy for someone with the right kit to hit once, hit hard, then disperse an' scatter usin' the buncha Gates the locals take for granted. Great Hall's glassworks're right in view of the river, too - dingy could just sail up the river a-ways, then someone pulls out an RPG, aims right..."

Instead of miming an explosion, Samigina hocked up some phlegm and spat it overboard. The loogey hit the water like something much heavier would have, and a dull thud was then sensed through the speedboat's hull. The conjured depth charge of a sort exploded and sent a wave against the rear of the craft, the engine finding more purchase in water as a result of it and making the craft lurch forward at an increased speed. Sam cackled in response, while Herbert settled with giving him a withering stare.

[TennyoCeres84]

Alex frowned skeptically at Lucian's suggested plan. "It might help the couple, but I sense that Tom as he is now is not the same person that Aislinn fell for. Sophia left me memories of when she was crafting Tom's magic staff, which would be attuned to him. During my brief time around him at the party, his arcane signature felt... off. I know war changes people, but my instincts are telling me to be careful around him. We considered consulting him about the same issues, but this is a very delicate situation that could end up with people hurt in one way or another."

"If Tom has done something that puts the city at risk, I have to keep an eye on him. The two other issues are Lyle McHae, who wants to take Vernon's seat as the local Winter Lord, and Hector and Tula Gutierrez, Quetzlcoatl dragons who are working on bringing the drug cartel to Hope. They decided to brazenly show up at my debut as a statement, so they're already likely pulling whatever string they can to make things as profitable as they can."

"If we can get my root system to connect with Sophia's old one, I can at least track their influences. Even with mundane problems like drug addiction, they can influence things like Samoset's curse and vice versa, Sophia's original reason for being planted. Not to mention, the miasma Sophia didn't want her roots to reach down into for fear of being tainted."

She then thought back to the rhino and the question that had been percolating in her mind since they had arrived. Billy might've wanted to play the unobservant type, but she knew he was paying attention to what they said. However, she made sure to treat him as an individual, rather than an anomaly.

Whether the others liked her directness or not, she asked regardless, "Billy, Astra mentioned something interesting earlier. Why have you been active in the body for three weeks? You were helpful during the incursions, and you're sticking around longer than usual, from what I understand. Anthros are usually more attune to via, even without being a mage or a supe. Have you sensed anything different recently? Obviously not every area can be watched, but I also doubt any threats decided to not take advantage of the weakened via network while everyone was distracted with rebuilding."

***

Meris nodded her response to their later discussion about Tom, as Kay indicated their invitation to the Great Hall.

Aspasia sighed as she looked around at their group as the Fae Hounds entered to escort them. Even in her grasp of languages, something like Yucatec was beyond her skill level. Having someone knowledgeable in it would be to their benefit. She then remembered they had a certain Throne in their company that could technically speak just about any language in existence, if needed.

"Should we cross any Mesoamerican dragons or Fae, I think language barriers shouldn't be too much of a problem," she mentioned to Woodford and Silas, glancing at the angel as he spoke with Nereus.

Matriel nodded at the former Augur's statement. "Beyond our collective skills, faith is what will carry us through whatever will transpire here, however you wish to interpret that."

He smiled genuinely. "Friendship can have more of an impact than fates or timelines can, despite what some ill-wishers may want."

Meanwhile, the faint smile Hanako offered the former Scapegoat almost seemed noncommittal, as though she might rebuff his request, but she slightly raised her arms to accept his hug. "Be quick about it, though," she murmured, having sensed Kay and the other Fae Hounds' approach. He would understand that the nekomata was concerned about appearances with his debut as one of the True Fae hanging in the balance, especially when friendly gestures between the Courts could be frowned upon.

***

Neasa ended up imagining the assumed guise on the paladin turned Throne and did her best to stifle some sputtered titters and chortles behind a fist, the Meris veil bending forward slightly as she tried to control herself. The selkie cleared her throat after a moment and then simply grinned at Cuthbert. "Sorry about that, but that's all the more reason to follow the saying of, "Come as you are."

"I doubt your fellow Thrones would judge you for appearing with your regular features. Maybe Heaven needs some diversity after God knows how long," she noted.

She nodded at his offering of food and then looked down at the white robe slash pencil dress with the gaudy and heavy jeweled chain she had been dressed in by the servants. "Is there anything you could do about this as well? I went from winter gear in Faerie to Consort wear, and it's really not the most practical when everyone's going to be dressed to the nines with possible threats on the horizon," she mused.