Chapter V - Brimstone

[IamLEAM1983]

December 24th, 2025

Archie's heart swelled at the sight of the decorations that had slowly crept around the mansion. Low, golden lights and Christmas trees, decorative boxes in gleaming wrapping paper and topped with artful bows, his mother's carefully preserved collection of porcelain dolls now artfully scattered around the offices and remaining sitting and reading rooms, mistletoe scattered here and there - and mostly strategically placed around archways and doorways...

Of course, what tempered his fondness for the season was the fact that work was now increasingly split between Holden Hall, Magnus Tower and the now recently-christened new headquarters for George Gammell's Toybox. Tom's highrise was large enough to justify the creation of a few fairly well-stocked security points, staffed by either one of the incubi or one of Melmoth's own men. If you drove down to Magnus Tower and stuck to the first twenty floors, you'd be forgiven for assuming that the spot was an otherwise mundane confluence of shops, condos and rental offices. Go any higher, and you started to spot horned heads or Eldritch features - notably that of Saroise Lachlan, also known as Sariel - Seducer by birth and licensed therapist by trade. Several of the previously scattered odds and ends in town now had a foot in there, starting with Bob's Garage now operating in the parking space below the tower, and Ephesian and Associates having been made to establish a satellite office just below the city's newest and closest analogue to Mertown.

In a sense, Holden wasn't sure if his mansion would continue to serve as sufficient space for those he now called his friends and family. To compound the issue, his home was now linked to Vernon Haskill's Frosthall, which meant even more space to get lost in. Anjali's games of hide-and-seek had briefly taken a turn for the agonizing, a run that would've started in the library ending in Haskill's billard room. Both were technically in the same physical space, but the little girl's ease at crossing planar barriers consistently stood as a reminder that the ambient cheer was a thin veneer spread over the increasing tension the local vigilantes and the cops were the only ones to feel.

Possession events hadn't stopped, they'd only grown more frequent. Infernal runts poking through someone else's flesh and blood to taunt the do-gooders and count down on the hearings' end, the Goat more than relishing in his now agreed-upon sharing of Ephesian's body, sometimes caught smiling a too-slick smile for the cameras after a day spent in the courtroom, Ephesian's conscious mind surfacing ever more infrequently and ever more violently... The Goat wasn't used to someone who could kick him into the ropes, but it also exhausted Leonard's young and imperfect grasp of his new abilities. When he resurfaced, it was usually to drink or smoke. He didn't exactly take to a Buck-worthy level of despair, but he'd certainly grown cynical and bitter. Never towards his friends and would-be saviors, thankfully - but towards the world at large and the newer perspectives his nature allowed for.

Sometimes, they'd all get lucky. Sometimes, Jubal Whitney emailed them from Nacogdoches, telling them of a confused and seizing man or woman who'd wander into town and into his, his son's or his wife's arms, voice distorted by demonic power - and despair. The Gentlemen's Southern Sanctuary now harbored five confused souls who'd somehow managed to flee the Pit without knowing to reach for Hope or Tom Magnus, and who'd fallen in with the first helpful crowd they'd found, shivering and starving. Sometimes, that happened in Hope. Demons who buckled and contorted the flesh they wore not out of some desire to shock or scare, but because they didn't know any better and desperately needed to cry out for help. They joined Sariel's clients and were inspected by Bob for the sake of truthfulness and security.

Some of them failed. Some tried to kill those outstretched and helping hands. Enemy spies revealed and quickly dispatched.

Joy to the world, indeed.

Tinsel might've overtaken the workplace, work proper didn't cease. It had taken a while for Three to get used to having both Volker and Mister Kramp around, one of them a hard-bitten cynic with a chip on his shoulder for every new caseload that came with a need for a degree of force, the other a gleeful sociopath only held in check by Oberon's yoke and the bond currently keeping him within Meris' good graces. The Christmas Demon looked like he would've enjoyed the raid from earlier more than the sometimes rather strange cases of supernatural social case-work that now routinely followed along with Holden Hall's schedule for the day. Anjali was the only one who'd barely noticed anything, Archie routinely returning to both her and Crystal for support. Holden hadn't forced the young incarnated soul on the werewolf, either, Crystal's involvement initially framed as casual and then left to deepen on its own. The Bhatia girl really wasn't hard to like or get along with, her decent grasp on maturity allowing her to express enough self-reliance to not entirely rely on the Deputy Chief for further mothering. While she genuinely liked Crystal, it was clear that the girl still was the stick to Archie's glue, the slightest downtime being used to cadge a smidgen of attention from the Clank. Her childlike games could've been expected, but some of her questions were tantalizingly mature in tone. While innocent, Anajali looked to be the type to lose that innocence not in successive traumas, but rather in a gradual sense of understanding. All three Clanks in the mansion delighted in that curiosity, the girl sampling everything from entry-level ethnobotany books in Jocasta Holden's room, Bagley's bookkeeping ledgers or Bucky's dog-eared copies of the Hagakure and of the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. She'd sit by Neasa and the steam-powered samurai and listen to them talk, sometimes smiling at one of Shamus' turns of phrase while pretending to read something of her own.

The merger might not have happened in any official capacity yet, but it would've been hard to notice it if you'd been anyone between one of Meris or Archie's friends. Demons and angels came and went from the Hall, the Frosthall and Magnus Tower as though they'd always been there. Someone with a pair of horns or wings was always around to ask for additional details, provide a situation report or simply check in on the only mortals in the tri-State area with any real ability to do something in the face of the coming turmoil. They weren't always who you'd have expected, either...

* * *

Three didn't look like he knew what to make of what had been asked of him. His eyes flitted between the beaked gargoyle that sat in the chair opposite his desk and his computer's screen, the struggling and plodding pace of his thoughts almost visible between his furrowed brows.

"So, let me just make sure I've gotten everything down correctly, here," started Aidan. "Your boss, who used to be the Goat's fashion counselor before we blew up the Spire and torched his wardrobe, tried to possess a fashion designer over in Milan, and you missed the transplanar window that would've allowed you to materialize in Italy in time to make sure Gianni Versace pulled a Reagan McNeil. Your boss' plans consequently failed, and he took it out on you."

The demon's voice was a series of croaks. "I don't know who Reagan McNeil is, but I think your assessment is correct, mortal.
- Try Mister Drake, thank you... So you missed that window, and Dantalion used Melmoth's Eldritch pay system to dock your, well, pay. In this case, your basic power base. You're arguing that he's knocked you past what qualifies as indigence for a low aristocrat, and effectively forced you to use Club Ishtar's portal to come here. By foot."

The demon bobbed its beak. "Naked. In the cold. Without boots. I'd like to know if I have a case on my hands. And, er, where I might claim sustenance for the next several days."

Three blinked. "Human hunger's settling in?"

The demon nodded. Three sighed. "Well, for starters, you kinda blew a major load once you brushed off Tom and Aislinn's attempts to help you, Nickar. I wouldn't have advised pulling the Aaaargh, wretched mortals! card in front of an armed security detail when you barely have enough power left to spook a cockroach. That said, you never were in with Tom's friends, so I understand you didn't know any better."

Nickar's beak clicked. "I have never been so humiliated before in the past six thousand years. I find it displeasing. I did not expect to suffer the Glorious Circle of the Security Detail's wrath."

Three had to blink at that. "Paimon coined that, right?"

Another nod. Another sigh.

Nickar looked up. "Do I have a case, mister Drake? More importantly, does someone have a towel? Modesty is proving to be a new, if rather strange concept..."

Tom had spared as many Club Ishtar uniform sets as he'd could, but Three had quickly taken to stopping by the dollar store to pick up an armful of inexpensive fleece towels and bathrobes. He reached behind himself and handed Nickar a folded bundle. "You're likely to turn into another case file on Judge Mantus' Night Court waiting list, your former boss' boss loves chewing the scenery. We're two weeks past the final summation's delivery date and he's keeping the jury hanging."

Nickar grunted, his spaded tail swishing nervously. "Well, he is a goat, after all.
- Ten to one that he has Mantus call for a hearing on Christmas Eve and that Hell comes down on midnight sharp."

The demon's beady little eyes blinked. "Are you ready?
- We've been ready for the past two weeks," replied Drake. "There's a garrison of angels twiddling its thumbs a plane away and right outside Club Ishtar, and we have intel showing there's Infernal massings where we expected. Lyman's intel is good. We're ready.
- What if he lies to you?"

Three smirked at that. "Lyman? He's gained sixty pounds in three weeks and spends his time greasing the same palms the Goat's looking to corrupt. He's too attached to his creature comforts to risk losing it all. If he shafts us, it'll happen well after the merger's stabilized. If the Earth goes Blasted Hellscape, he's losing out on the bi-weekly double gnocchi plates at La Donnola's and he's literally burning his sociopolitical clout. For now, we're thick as thieves."

Nickar looked outside. Right across from the Hall, a doomsayer in ragged clothes was shaking a poorly-written sign, howling extreme misinterpretations of Shield's efforts and casting them as signs of the End Times: the Summer and Winter houses planning a wedding in spring, Holden Hall receiving dividends from the Arcane Stock Exchange to fund hitherto undisclosed programs, hedge Infernalists making a comeback and the city now supposedly sheltering shadowy beings...

To someone with a partial and distorted view, the recent events might've seemed prophetic. Nickar replied to that sight with a look of unease.

"How safe are we, really?" he asked.

Three looked outside for a moment and shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. All I know is we're doing our best-"

The soldier stopped, frowning as some sort of clamor grew near the front door. Bagley was trying to keep someone calm, someone else was grunting, and Bucky was trying to explain things - and failing. All that really jumped out at Drake was when the Clank called out for Neasa.

"Um, Ness - a lil' help, here? I'm tryin' to give the rundown to Captain-"

A grunt and the sound of an attempted jab. A wordless grunt he somehow recognized as Azardad's.

"Peter Smirnov," said the first voice. "Sandhill P.D. My boys caught this thing nosing around Goliath's industrial park; I figured he might be one of your demons."

That was enough to make Three's eyes go wide and bolt past Nickar. What if the Israelian Void Weaver had blown a gasket and lobbed some Black Speech at what effectively was Hope's least orthodox police captain?!

[TennyoCeres84]

Equally alarmed, Neasa bolted for the entryway and made a beeline for the man she recognized as Azardad. "Jeeze, Azardad, cool your fucking heels! He's on our side!" she exclaimed, doing her best to pin him against a wall and keeping him from the police captain.

[IamLEAM1983]

Anton only briefly tensed against Neasa and then let go, looking past her to cast a withering glance at the precinct captain. "If you'd started familiarizing the locals, this dolt wouldn't have confused me for Infernal runts! Not only that, but I was looking through Goliath's biological waste, seeing as I had a contact of mine flag a crate of designer nootropics as a candidate for disposal-"

Smirnov, a reasonably-built anthro German Shepherd, grimaced and adjusted his glasses, one hand favoring the ribs Azardad had probably punched. "All I'm hearing is theft and breaking and entering, honestly.
- Do you think John Smith gives a rat's ass about what's in that industrial park?!" asked the Void Weaver, to which Smirnov shrugged.

"That park's company property. Ergo, this is still theft. The CEO's supreme lack of care won't rewrite laws for your convenience, mister Azardad. You're only here because you spent the last twenty minutes in my car, either reminding me you could, and I quote, erode my sanity down to the bone with a few words if I didn't let you out, and then designated Archibald Holden as the owner of attenuating evidence."

Three sighed in expasperation. "What is this, Anton?
- You're due for your priming," grunted the Squid. "Jenkins is off to God knows where, Zahavi didn't stay to help, so we're short two men just as Hell looks about ready to make their move. I can't physically give you another recruit, but I can at least put you in Meris and Delmar's shoes with this," he said, fishing out a small glass ampule and a needle from his pocket. Smirnov's eyes went wide, as his men probably hadn't seen the Squid pocketing a dose before cuffing him.

The Squid's eyes narrowed. "Since when is a captain taking time off from his managerial duties to drag a perpetrator halfway across town, anyway?!
- Holden's with Central's Deputy Chief," replied the anthro, "I figured I'd get answers straight from the source. Half of what you're doing doesn't involve the local police force anymore, the mayor's getting antsy - he'd like to know if you've got anything planned for the confluence of doomsday preppers and apocalypse evangelists we've got rolling into town. Half of Old Hope is riddled with impromptu bunkers, the local distribution centers can't keep up with the demand in water and non-perishables..."

Bucky shrugged at that. "So? Mundane crime's at its lowest point in the past sixty years; can't you trust us?
- Not when a man with Thomas Quint's exact genetic makeup is using mob money and untraceable sources of capital to fund what's probably the largest and swankiest bunker in history since the Atomic Age. Don't think we didn't dig around looking for ways to figure out your Tom Magnus - all we know is he could be Quint's twin, and he's tied with the Russian mob and Hong Kong's Triads, without mentioning Weasel Biggs' suspected local cartel."

He then pointed a finely-clawed finger. "Oh, and Judge Mantus. A celebrated jurist and professor, popping out of nowhere with more credentials than most legitimate professors across the country's Ivy League institutions, passing the DA's posting and settling with the local courthouse - with some of your recent clients getting a fast pass to a night court I can't find briefs for; only camera footage. Even then, the via dampeners are suspiciously cut off every night when court's in session; all my boys ever picked up was garbled audio."

Smirnov then pulled out a fat, bulky e-cigarette from his jacket's pocket and took a pointed drag, the smell of glycerin and nicotine exiting his nostrils in a plume of vapor. "The more time passes, the less your outfit looks like the vigilante action group we funded and the more it looks like a ragtag collection of international criminals and carefully-crafted phonies with hearts of gold. Forgive me if my sense of duty's been screaming down my neck for the better part of the last year."

He clicked his tongue and pointed at Azardad with the smoking tip of his e-cig. "More to the point, what is he?"

[TennyoCeres84]

"There's a reason to why we're seeming like chic anti-heroes or something like that," Neasa explained, then clicking her tongue as she looked Anton's way.

"Simply put, he is a Void Weaver. You could consider them to be the real life inspiration for H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulu Mythos. We selkies have known about them for centuries, as they have been our literal boogiemen. However, that's not really the case with all of them. Even with his lack of social skills, Azardad is on our side and essentially good. Simply put, Void Weavers are humanoid cephlapods with a language that can technically break minds and originally lived in the deepest part of the ocean."

[IamLEAM1983]

The dog's ears went lopsided. "And the reason as to why nobody outside of selkies have heard of this is..."

Drake crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Actually, you can phone the Bucks about that. Eliphas still treats it as folklore, Zebediah knows it's true.
- The local drunk having all the answers," stated the anthro with a roll of his eyes. "How very Lovecraftian.
- That doesn't change the fact that the Bucks inherited a known Archmage's journal from the family's tormentors. There's a lot more going on that the Civil and Penal codes can't cover, Captain. We've had to act outside the law to increase the city's chances. No amount of foot-stomping from the mayor will ever change the fact that we've been pushed past tending the local gangs."

Peter gave Aidan a level gaze. "I'd like to be the judge of that, if you don't mind. Absolutist claims or the current unrest don't change the fact that we have laws in effect - and an entire species slipping past the radar violates the Vienna Accords in ways I doubt they have paperwork for."

Anton managed a snarl despite his lack of an upper lip. "Look, Sherriff Objectivity, I'm sorry my existence and the currently parlous times aren't terribly convenient, but you've realized there's a reason as to why this place isn't closed down at this time of year. They'd all rather be back home panicking over unwrapped presents, but I can't stress my words enough if I say that the world as you know it is about to end."

The dog briefly rubbernecked inside, noting the orgy of tinsel that covered the mansion's surfaces and walls. "You've got the décor down pat, but I've got councilmen cynically observing that you're probably pulling double-tens to shore up disappointing performance reports."

That left Three looking dubious. He thought things over for a moment and then stepped aside. "Come on in, Captain. We can show you a few things - as to what you'll do with them, that'll be up to you. You can un-cuff Anton, he's with us. Technically."

A flat look and another pair of lopsided ears followed, along with Smirnov putting his e-cig aside long enough to produce a small pen knife. Azardad's zip-ties were cut, which left the Void Weaver to walk in while rubbing his wrists indignantly.

Just as he walked in, a brown-skinned little girl half-heartedly bounded down the main hallway's large stairs, her dark eyes looking troubled. Her Gumball long-sleeved tee and aqua blue pants had probably been put together by Crystal, as Archie still had trouble not seeing his daughter in dresses and hairbands.

"Neasa," started Anjali in that particular lilt impatient and slightly desperate children sometimes used, "I can't find my angle finder anywhere!"

Archie had opted to keep his adoptive daughter a bit more patient in the face of Santa Claus' impending arrival by purchasing a few cheap, if useful toys and tools for her to use. The girl rejoining the mortal plane had been a bit poorly timed when it came to having her integrate a school in a fully legal manner, so the best course of action had been to homeschool her through to January. Geometry wasn't really a concern of hers for now; she'd spent the day using the angle finder and compass as a sort of impromptu spirograph, using it to etch complex, if meaningless geometric whorls across blank sheets of paper. Archie had forbidden her from running around the mansion with a compass' pointy bits laid out in the open, but the basic plastic semicircle of the angle finder hadn't received similar restrictions. Odds were she'd misplaced it somewhere.

Eirean McHale's massive tuft of red hair floated past them in the same heartbeat, uncharacteristically attached to sneakers and a pair of jeans. "Did you cross over into Frosthall again, squirt? I don't think your father would like it if we end up with two Victorian mansions to comb through for a piece of plastic...
- I wanted to take the angles of a few snowflakes!" pleadingly replied the girl, briefly working her words' syllables with her father's Kentish accent.

Eirean smiled. "I was just passing through to see if anyone had Scotch tape left somewhere," she told Bucky. "Vernon's having the help sew and tie everything together for Christmas, like he used to - but I'm a lazy girl." She then looked back to Anjali. "I doubt anyone's got good enough eyes to read individual angles off of a snowflake, sweetheart - and I'm Fae. Even I can't see that well."

Anjali looked a little miffed. "Well, I can if I focus!"

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa's annoyance was taken away by Anjali's query and childish mannerisms. She smiled at the girl and crossed arms speculatively. "Are you able to retrace your steps and remember where you last had the angle finder?"

She then shrugged. "Try your best to find it, but don't worry about it too hard. You're not cutting fabric or wood where precision matters. I think that Matriel would forgive if the angles on your snowflakes aren't perfectly straight."

Crystal also happened to be spending time with her adoptive daughter. "Neasa is right. Try to remember where you left it, but don't fuss too much over it. I'm a werewolf, and I think they look beautiful."

The deputy chief then noticed her coworker and the doctor. "Something afoot, Captain Smirnov?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Anjali gave Crystal a vaguely distant look, as she peered past the werewolf and retraced her own steps in her mind. "I think I lost it in the blue room with a big fireplace, the one that smells like pine trees. Where is that?"

Eirean smirked lopsidedly. "Someone's been poking past our Gate again... What did Vernon and I tell you about Frosthall's help, Anjali?"

The girl looked down and away, rocking on one foot a tad sheepishly. "You told me they don't have time to keep a Lost and Found box, miss Eirean...
- And what did I say about time dilation?"

The girl looked back, seemingly apprehensive of it. "T-That faeries only let time flow normally for those they invite in. Tresspassers could be gone for centuries.
- Now, I'm not angry," reassured the Lady, "but I wasn't around to give my consent. Neither was Vernon. If someone had found you without Mayhew or Gubbin knowing, you could have been kept away from Archie and Crystal for a long, long time. It's like everyone here knows, now: if someone from our side needs help, they find Gubbin. If you need help, you find Mayhew. Permission is what makes us good neighbors."

Standing back up, Eirean briefly placed a hand on Neasa's shoulder. "You've got my permission to go take a peek with the girl," she told the roane. "The fastest way to our meeting hall's through Hiram Holden's reading room - the blue one in the west wing, with the books and potted ferns. I'd check along the western wall's windows; even my Mantle can't completely defrost them."

That simple act - the idea of giving permission - would feel to Neasa like a fine, tingling webwork of arcane power pressing against her skin for just an instant. As Fae Gates relied on intent, she now effectively was her own gate and key through to Faerie. That is, within Holden Hall's limits and as per the need to recover the child's geometry tool.

Bucky looked a bit expectant. "Can I come with?
- What, haven't had enough of a chance to rubberneck around yet?" teased the Summer Lady. Seeing as Shamus fell for it, her smile broadened.

"Permission granted, old friend," she said. "No temple swords in my house, though, got it? I've only just gotten a few corners of the place to feel like a place worthy of a McHale, and that involves a fair few artifacts and glass cases."

The big samurai blinked, the Lady's smirk proving difficult to dislodge. "Over two hundred years, Shamus Wallace," she said ruefully, "and you still can't pick up on hyperbole when it comes from me."

In the meantime, Three lightly approached Lowell and Smirnov. "I was about to show the Captain here what we're trying to accomplish," he said. "He's right to say we haven't been forthcoming, but most of what transpired in the last few months wasn't publicly discussed. We have a lot to go over," he said, gesturing for the dog to follow, "and I don't have a lot of time, so I'd rather get the shock out of your system first. You'll see what I mean once we get to my office."

The dog went for a more conciliatory tone. "Listen, Drake; I know you and the others here probably picked up on things that blow the local Crips and Bloods chapters out of the water by several thousand miles, but the city doesn't just sleep while you're off into Faerie or Paradise or wherever it is-
- Not Faerie or Paradise," corrected Drake. "Try Hell."

He opened his office's door, the next few seconds ending with Nickar leaping to the ceiling like a startled spider, hissing all the while, even as Smirnov yelped and went for his service revolver. Miffed, a slightly sweaty-looking Anton used a bit of exerted will to keep the Captain's arm down and the gun's trigger static.

Aidan exchanged a look between both groups. "Nick, meet some extra mortals. Mortals, meet Nick. He's Case Number Sixty-Three by now. Betrayed by the Pit because of a perceived inadequacy or weakness and left to die in the city's outskirts. Captain Smirnov, this is a marooned demon. Nickar's lost all but his title and had only just enough power to choose: either he picked one last shell to possess and faced Extinction via Death by Cop, or he conserved his energy to barter for the right to pass through to Club Ishtar from the Pit. Lucky for him, Aislinn and Tom are in the welcome wagon. Unfortunately for him, the security detail doesn't mess around with lowbies who pass through while looking to make a scene."

The dog's ears were pinned back, his lips curled in a fearful snarl. "T-This isn't real. This can't be real-!"

The gargoyle hissed and spat. It snarled something in some dead language no-one in the room could've hazarded to translate, Three choosing to interpret it as an insult. "Come on, Nick," he said, "we talked about this!"

The feline tail swishes and the weird spatters of either Proto-Indo-European or Aramaic both ended abruptly. "Oh. Sorry, mister Drake. I forgot in all the excitement."

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa smiled at the Countess' permission and gently grasped the girl's hand with her right and Bucky's respective hand with her left one. "Come on, let's stick together and find your angle finder, Anjali."

She led down the way and guided both toward the appropriate area.

Meanwhile, Crystal laid a reassuring hand on the German Shepherd's shoulder. "Steady, Smirnov. This is quite real, and it's the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what Shield has been up to," she stated quietly.

"You should know by now that Hope attracts the weird stuff, but this is going to be on a whole other caliber. Try to remember your training and calm down."

[IamLEAM1983]

Smirnov's steady look at the now gingerly descending creature could've charitably been referred to as looking repulsed and confused, but his left hand moved away from his holster and came to rest at his side. The situation wasn't easy for him to accept, but he understandably had no choice.

"You're just lucky it was me that stopped by," he then admitted, the last of his tension leaving him with a sigh. "Captain Mac Loch, over in Mertown, is dealing with the Finman locals summoning their Servitors out of the Atlantic and calling them out to Hope. The island's getting overpopulated on land, and we're running out of houseboat docks. He seriously wants to know what's going on, and you know he never lost his Scottish streak," he said, looking to Crystal. He'd blow past the chain of command and chew you out if he had some reason to peek in here."

He then crossed his arms. "So... Nickar, was it? We already had one refugee crisis a little under a decade ago; you probably know why people have been flipping their lids..."

The beaked demon scoffed, his voice a bit nasal thanks to his throat and beak's design. "I'm terribly sorry, Captain, but my being a demon doesn't make me privy to the enemy's tactics. I wasn't of Pride, I wasn't a soldier or a guard - all I had were Pride's ridiculous assertions that we'd be able to take this plane without repercussions."

He gestured down at himself with his free hand, the other gripping the towel's knot. "Believe you me, I've suffered bloody repercussions. My idiot boss wouldn't have had the insane idea to try and turn Italy into the world's capital in Infernal fashion design if it weren't for the planar barriers having the consistency of gruyere cheese! It used to be you needed strength to pass through - you probably haven't even noticed how lower-order ecosystems are being altered by our own biosphere, as of the past few weeks!"

Three nodded. "We have, though. Dryads having computers and email makes environmental recon an easy task - all we had to do was ask Sophia to drop a line for her sisters and brothers in Bolivia and Argentina. Some Pit-borne insects are already slipping through and taking out natural predators or replacing them. Insofar, it looks like Pride can't control other demons of such low order, so they've more or less integrated the local biospheres instead of shattering them."

Nickar nodded. "You'll have new plant types growing along with Brimstone-infused soil patches within the week. Anything Pride won't think to control outright will simply adapt and integrate the local biosphere. The Prince only cares for those of us who are sapient enough to hold weaponry - and those of us who swear fealty."

Smirnov had to scoff at that. "That reminds me of someone...
- Pick a dictator," replied Nickar with a jaded-looking sniff. "Honestly, though - I feel ridiculous. Don't you have clothes on loaner or something?"

Three briefly smirked. "I'll do you one better. Melmoth knows his pay system was abused, so he's trying to make amends when possible," he said, as he sat down. Out of his desk's first drawer came a strangely Eldritch-looking checkbook sporting Wolfram and Associates' logo in gold filigree. Instead of the usual computer-oriented font outlining an account number, the check he ripped out of the booklet had some of Hell's own runic script.

"Just as Abdiel's given Melmoth power, Melmoth's given us access to his resource pool as authorized creditors. This isn't your average mojo dump, Nickar - it comes with a few obligations. If you take from the Broker, you're obligated to give back to the community."

Smirnov blinked. "If the Focus on the Family guys ever heard about this..."

Three snickered as he signed the check. "Some of the best people I know are technically Satanists, Captain," he said. "You stick with us, you'll realize there's jerks in Heaven and adorkable arcane nerds in Hell."

The dog blinked. "You're not writing an amount?
- Power's not measurable in monetary units. What Nickar needs right now is some clothes, some dignity and just enough power to get by on the professional level. Don't worry, Cap - it's weird for me, too."

Where you'd have written an amount, Three wrote Sufficient power for Clothes, Respectability and the Right to Practice. He then signed the check. "What'd you do for what's-his-name, again?"

"Dantalion," supplied Nickar, "I was his main sartorialist and tailor. I was the filter his raw hubris would pass through, or else the Goat would've preened in front of you in impractical runway material. My former boss used to think power was flashy, I always tended to run with the more conservative ends of the fashion crowd. Of course, in the Pit, high fashion means wearing flayed skin like a negligee and polished coprolites like twelve-carat diamonds - unless you're Pride proper. I brought things down to where merely looking antiquated usually flattered the Goat's ego. I honestly kept hoping all these Elisabethan tights would cut off the blood flow to his brain, at some point..."

Three laughed again. "You just missed Neasa - I think you'd get along well with her. She's a bit of a frustrated fashion maven, herself. It's hard to push boundaries when you're constantly needing to go for practical outfits. Punching out vault doors and keep walls isn't easy on designer fluff."

The demon seemed to mentally snag onto something. "Come to think of it; aren't you lot usually forced to go for the boorishly tactical? You don't exactly have the Gentlemen's enchanters and suit specialists on call, after all. The only one here with a bit of flair is Holden himself - I mean, not that you'd need to face Hell in tights and capes, but what if your average scrape didn't leave you needing to toss your current shirt in the trash?"

Three looked lightly alarmed. "I don't do John Wick, Nickar. I like my tee-shirts."

The demon chuckled and shook his head. "I'm guessing you like not having a reputation to manage, either. You looking the part would've saved your Governor weeks of work. The National Guard would already be up and running across Green Island, in preparation for the first attacks. There's millions of people out there who react better to a nicely fitted blazer than to any genuine good deeds, and it's not like the Apocalypse here is going to force them to change. Now, if that blazer were bulletproof and hid a tactical webbing..."

Three gave Nickar a sideways glance. "I'm guessing you'll need a studio to work, too. Employees.
- I took a page from the Magnus playbook and led a handful of sergers and seamstresses out to a few klicks from Club Ishtar's Pit entrance. If I don't send for them within a week, they'll assume you've killed me. They're fully qualified to pass their skills on to mortals who'd be eager to learn."

Three clicked his tongue. "Damn. Now I really wish Neasa had stuck around."

* * *

Passing through Hiram Holden's room, the woman, girl and Clank would be stuck with how the room's scent had changed. It used to be the bookshelves always smelled of Bagley having freshly dusted and aired them, a tiny bit of December's chill hanging in the air as stale air had been banished and replaced over an hour. Now, something sweet and woodsy - like grilled chestnuts - also hung close to the fireplace, which was never used. Central heating had rendered most of the mansion's stoves and hearths obsolete, safe for those one or two favored firepits Archie clung to obstinately. If the Hall's heating bill was so low, it was all thanks to Archie's adherence to old principles. He'd shut off heating around eight-thirty and then let the mansion go chilly, safe for either the Huntsman's Room or his own bedroom. The ghost of the morning cold still clung to the walls, Anjali tugging on both the Clank and selkie's arms as she raced for the fireplace.

"I passed through here! C'mon!
- Whoa there, sport!" called out Bucky. "I'm never gonna fit in there!
- It doesn't matter," replied the girl, "the Gates are all soft, now! You'll squeeze right through!"

Still, Bucky looked apprehensive. Without his temple sword, he was left to more or less scratch his outie out of perplexity, a few grinding noises following. He gingerly placed a hand on the mantle's underside, frowning as blue wavelets of via made the normally adamant stone give way like formed rubber under his light push. An odd wobbly noise even followed as the decorative frieze he'd pushed against recovered its previous form.

"I dunno, squirt," grunted the Clank, who looked dubitative.

Anjali smirked all-too-innocently in response. "It's Christmas season," she said. "Vernon said they'd start working on the menu. Maybe they'll have pease pudding ready."

However artificial Bucky's stomach was, growling sound still escaped it. "Damn you, girl," he groused, "you're gettin' better at this than Archie ever was!"

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa chuckled, amused at Bucky's chiding of the girl. "Come on, Bucky. Anjali can find her angle finder, and we get first dibs on whatever delectable comes out of Vernon's kitchen," she teased, adding onto to Anjali's persuasion.

*~*~*

"I'm sure Neasa, Anjali, and Bucky will be back shortly," Crystal reminded him, then appearing thoughtful and annoyed at the same time "If you are eventually planning to get a clothing upgrade that blends taste and practicality, you might want to take a page from the attire that the Chimeras wore back then. It won't make you completely invulnerable, but I'm aware that their armor and bodysuits kept track of vitals and protected them. Once Nickar has the available facilities, I'd suggest some protective clothing that's on the more practical side appearance wise and reusable after numerous battles," she mused.

She looked over at Nickar. "I don't know if Infernal fabric has any special properties that your standard nylon issue doesn't have, but I'd imagine it's fairly durable, at least," she noted.