Chapter III: The Fall

[Karl the Mad]

Wandering back inside about midway through the conversation, Charles and Abraham were quick to add their support. "Hope always needs folks what c'n throw in," Charles said reassuringly, acting as if he hadn't just sent the anthro's former ally to an unspeakable end beyond the pale.

Abraham nodded. "You could come to our place if you would like to pursue additional training and skills development," he said.

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

After hanging up, Mary informed Auntie and the others of her plans, then went for the shuttleport. All things willing, she'd be with Tom and the selkies in half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes.

[IamLEAM1983]

"I certainly hope so," noted Tom, suggestive eyebrow waggle included, followed by one last scarfing-down of half a slice and the draining of his beer can. "Right," he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them, as if to pep himself up a tad. "Cold shower first - not too hot, or all that cheese and dough's going to leave me snoring in the shower stall... That, a change of clothes and power switched on one floor below and we'll be ready to raise some Cain. Dibs on the penthouse's shower stall. That leaves the both of you with either the last connected shower head in the penthouse's shed, the washrooms here in the club, or the temporary installations we set up for the summoning floor. Weasel's guys finished the mezzanine yesterday, so chances are the post-summons celebrations might take place there."

Indeed, the floor where Frost's office had once stood had been redecorated, its smaller size making it easier for a small team to thoroughly redesign in a small amount of time. Dark wood paneling partially covered the walls, along with imitation slate appliqués that had a touch of industrial ruggedness, if not vague cavern-like airs. Unlike a cave, however, the space was still very well lit, Tom having only just pulled the bubble wrap off of one of Weasel's personally-added indulgences. A dark wooden table graced the corner of the mezzanine, round and inlaid with both steel insets and LED strips. Its edge had been decorated with a combination of Tom's favored Near-Eastern motifs and specifically Orcadian ogham, old Hittite formulas and markings common to Aislinn's branch of the roanes both declaring the table and its wall-hugging sectional couch to be a place of peace and diplomacy.

According to Magnus' wishes, the mezzanine and VIP space would be where all sensitive transactions between other principalities of Hell or inquiring minds in Heaven would take place. He'd wanted official business to be private enough for a discussion to take place, and still public enough to force all potential players to remain at their best behavior.

As he'd spoken, he'd headed back towards the club's elevator and called the cabin. "We've all spent two days looking like home improvement gurus - now's the time if you feel like classing yourselves up a tad," he said, winking at Aislinn. "I am not bringing up Hell's moral crème de la crème looking like Tim Allen's overweight anthro neighbor with a thing for tool belts. If we're oozing bad vibes tonight, we're doing it in style, my friends!"

* * *

The fox seemed interested. "Is your training recognized by the powers here?" he asked Abraham. "I remember being told to mock the mortal plane's love for procedure, although I no longer know if this would be wise."

Xavier pursed his lips together. "Before we move too hastily, however, I'd like to secure this... young man's hold on this new life of his. I'm given to understand Holden Hall has a knack for finding the gold nuggets in Hell's wastelands of iniquity, but this one's disappearance will be noticed. We should sever the link, first. At least, that's based on what Rabbi Horowitz tells me of the Kabbalah. I remember him telling me he saw golems remember their sometimes disreputable origins, and turning rogue."

The incarnated Pitspawn was naturally in a position to make a few needed inferences faster. "You would baptize me," he said, his throat working past a knot of fear. "You would baptize this conjured flesh and my damned soul."

Curran nodded. "Yes, my son. Unless I'm remembering my seminary backwards, even Hellspawn are born of God. I don't know what mister Drake did to you to make you so corporeal, but I'm not one to deny anyone of flesh and blood the chance to live out their life. Now, the sooner we do it, the sooner we can delay your enemies realizing they've lost an operative."

As a Catholic priest, Xavier could keep to a fairly casual dress when not in service. His gray and artfully unkempt flat-top was raked through with a hand, and he then stuck both hands in his jeans' pockets. He exchanged a look between Jenkins, Abraham and Aidan.

"I'll need a witness, a godfather, and a name. Gentlemen?"

[TennyoCeres84]

"Well, you're the ones doing the summoning part; I'm just here to play bodyguard, essentially," Ciaran scoffed, wiping his mouth with a napkin and getting up from the table.

"You still need to carry the theme, Ciaran," Aislinn teasingly chided with a smirk, as she closed up the pizza boxes for now. "Just wear that suit Mom bought you for the holidays last December. I'll have you looking like a Goth pallbearer before you know it. How about that?"

He feigned a dark chuckle and responded, "Heh, sure. You can even paint my claws black."

Her brother ventured off in the direction of one of the club washrooms, while Aislinn chose to go with one of the club's washrooms as well.

[Karl the Mad]

Abraham seemed unsure. "I may not be practicing, but I am still Jewish. Would it be proper for me to participate in a Catholic baptism?"

Charles thought about names for a second. "How d'ya like Marko Jenkins, pally?" he asked of the fox demon. "Feel like a name ya coul' stand behin'?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Curran smiled at Abraham's question. "You're asking the wrong person," he said. "The seventies' events taught us to keep our respective communities tightly-knit and to reject sectarian interpretations of our respective faiths. I believe in the Vatican's God, Father Parsons keeps to the Anglican denomination, Khalid Jarrah keeps to Ahmadiyya Islam - there's a few others, but the crux of the matter is that if God had objected to your attending this baptism, I would've received clear signs as to this being a bad idea."

The priest scoffed lightly in amusement. "Since Oberon and Titania signed the Vienna Accords, I've had to give an ear to Celtic Polytheism as well. Deirdre Holloway's asked me to hold masses for Imbolc, Beltane and Samhain. Your attending a baptism would be the least unorthodox thing I've had to entertain, mister Zahavi."

In the meantime, their newfound vulpine acquaintance seemed perplexed. "I've, uh, no objections to speak of. I know little of your mortal names, in that they typically don't give power to the summoner who uses them."

Three seemed amused. "They're handy labels, for the most part. Calling you Fox Guy wouldn't cut it for long. You're right, though - mortal names don't come with a supernatural GPS tag. Not like demonic or angelic names, at least. It might help me find you online, but then your putting it there becomes mostly a matter of courtesy. There's exceptions because of this plane's bureaucracy, but then you'd be offering them your name to have access to basic services. Stuff like social security, insurance policies, or just common everyday stuff. Registering for a library card, for instance."

The fox nodded. "So they know me by name and know who took books out.
- Exactly. The law needs your name to protect both yourself and everyone else. Some countries take it further than others, some abuse that - but things aren't so bad, here in America. Immortals being registered means us mundanes can rest easy in knowing anyone who oversteps basic boundaries gets punished fairly."

The fox paused for a few seconds and then nodded. "I think I could be this Marko Jenkins," he said, looking back to Charles. "Having never been of your family, however, I doubt I could live up to your standards."

Three smirked at that. "I doubt all Jenkinses are war-scarred veterans stuck with regenerative tendencies. There's probably a few more mild-mannered types in there."

* * *

Aislinn would've been preparing for a few minutes, when the lights in her washroom flickered. The small room's atmosphere became strangely moist, verging on being cloying - and her mirror fogged over spontaneously. With faint squeaking noises, letters traced themselves in the fog.

I should've invited you upstairs. The water's good...
- T.

[TennyoCeres84]

Upon seeing Tom's message in the steamy mirror, Aislinn's cheeks turned a deep red. She scoffed and then huffed out warm breath against the mirror's surface. The tattooist didn't know whether she'd be able to send a message back to him using the same method, but she tried it nonetheless.

You could always try some sensual action at a distance or take a rain check, lover boy. Your choice.

- A. ;)

[Karl the Mad]

Abraham listened to Curran's words, then nodded. "Very well. In that case, I shall be honored to witness." He gave Three his attention. "Since you brought him into the world and gave him flesh, you should be the godfather, Aidan Drake. It seems fitting, does it not?"

Charles just shrugged and grinned at the fox. "Even th' mild-mannered ones ain't gonna shy away from what's gotta be done," he said. "We'll show ya th' ropes, boyo. Marko." He clapped the anthro on the shoulder, gently in case he was still sensitive. "Now don't tell me y'all ain't never got none of us down th' Pit. There's been some real bad'ns in me family tree, y' c'n be sure a' that. But on th' whole we're just tryin' a' git by, yeah?" Of course, Charles wasn't gonna pressure Marko to fit the 'Viking-descendant psychos-for-hire' archetype if that really wasn't the sort of person he was, but he'd nonetheless be honest about what sort of family he was taking the name of.

[IamLEAM1983]

Again, the lights flickered. The air impossibly wafted of toothpaste, pizza grease leftovers and Tom's preferred cologne. The roane would feel the skin of her throat crawl in a slow and exquisite manner, immaterial fingers brushing against the muscles of her neck. The minuscule sensory pings of the warlock's pointed fingernails gently ran down to her collarbone - followed by the acute sensation of Tom's teeth gently scraping her earlobe, barely suggesting a bite.

A hot breath that she couldn't possibly have felt touched her right ear, charged with both tumescence and delicate attention.

"Don't tempt a demon, padawan... You might not like what happens afterwards."

Magnus' signature dark chuckle touched her other ear.

"Although, maybe you would..."

A ghostly hand touched her midriff and traced her navel, another slow point of a wizardly fingernail gently tracing the scar's edge.

"Did you know certain arcane currents consider sex as a channel for via? There's a Greek name for it: Heiros Gamos. Intercourse as a sacred act. A union of willpowers and potentialities to create or devise - or destroy."

Tom's other ghostly hand completed the embrace. "Thankfully, warlocks pairing up willy-nilly went out of style eons ago... You know what I'd like? Once we open the club, on the night before the inauguration, we should have a date. A proper one. Just us, no capers, no impromptu deviations to save the world from some other perceived threat - just us."

He sighed, the sound having a wistful, or perhaps tranquil tone. "Then, once we'll have established the mood... We should have a crack at it. Slow and steady, just to find out where our limits lie. I think I could keep things between us; prevent Asmodeus' loyalists from soaking up that input. I wouldn't have the luxury of... complete abandonment, of course, but I've been wanting to offer you the best gift I have to offer for a long while, now."

She'd feel his sharp intake of breath close to her neck. "I want to make your nerve endings sing. I want you to cry tears of joy. I want you to look past this old pig's face and see how for all that I am, I desperately want to love you."

Another sharp intake. "I want the Nexus and Sophia to know it. I want the Pit to feel it. I want them to feel how close we are to changing things forever. The first time we'll lie together, Aislinn, it should be in defiance of everyone who's ever doubted of you, and everyone who's ever mocked me."

Tom's ethereal snout pulsed against her cheek. "It should be sacred. It should be powerful. The clarion call for a new age, where a couple like ours will be able to face the masses confidently."

* * *

"I can't say I got up this morning thinking I'd be godfather to a reluctant Fiend, but eh. There's worse out there in your average Modern Fantasy paperback novel," said Three, who smirked in amusement.

Curran seemed a bit less prone to witticisms, but he looked to be the sort to appreciate that kind of incredulity. "Mysterious ways, Aidan. Mysterious ways. Without the Battle, I'd never have known some of the most insightful members of the flock I've ever had the pleasure to meet. The Chimeras can be remarkably spiritual."

As for Marko, he'd more or less nodded in acknowledgement, looking as though he had at least some idea as to which cabal he was joining. "I've worked with some of your lesser ancestors before," he confirmed. "The illustrious ones escaped Hell thanks to the Marquis Samigina's connections with Israel's Elder Statesman, but evil touches even the laymen in most families."

He looked slightly uncomfortable. "You might end up fighting against some of them in the days to come. Belial had me forge several souls into weapons for his battalions to use."

[TennyoCeres84]

The sensory input from Tom's amorous teasing of her neck, ears, and stomach caused the roane to shiver pleasantly. Thankfully, Aislinn otherwise remained quiet in the washroom, given the proximity of her brother in the next room over. "That sounds like it'd be an amazing time, Tom. I look forward to it," she whispered mentally, her cheeks reddening with eagerness.

She added, "Just don't think I'm a porcelain doll that will break."

[IamLEAM1983]

A low moan rang in the washroom, followed by an equally low and slow snort. Hot breath, again on her cheek. Desire aching to be let loose.

"I would want... very much so... to see cracks in your veneer. To push as hard as I can..."

Aislinn would hear a loud and sudden snort, along with the sense that Tom had let go of her. The small metal bin next to the door rattled, as though someone had bumped into it.

Tom sighed, the sound now filled with regret. "I'm afraid I'd break you. You can't possibly know what you're asking. I'm at my best, my most responsible, when I remain gentle."