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Imagine Four Tacos At The Edge Of A Cliff Scene: El Gato Negro The vestibule in the Black Cat was an uneasy reminder of Elbridge and Marcine’s experience in the other timeline. Some of the flyers and advertisements on the wall had been changed, and the blackboard advertising the daily specials had a pastel orange pumpkin drawn on it, but otherwise it was exactly as it had been in the ‘airlock’ of the fortified storefront: all the same stains, smudges, and cracks in exactly the same places, varnish peeling from the interior door exactly as they’d seen before. But this wasn’t the darkest timeline, and the vestibule wasn’t an airlock. Elbridge opened the inner door, and on the other side was a warm and inviting scene, replete with delicious smells and a steel guitar wailing a Latin ballad over the radio. “Hey, you two!” Maria waved to them. “I’m tending bar tonight, so Shauna will be taking care of you tonight. Table for two?” she asked. “Three,” Marcine said, taking off her completely unremarkable fall jacket. No point wearing the fancy coat to a casual meal. “And not a booth.” “...I always ask for a booth,” Elbridge protested quietly once Maria was out of earshot. “Nobody wants to sit next to a stranger, which would put us across from him,” Marcine said. “We’re going for ‘friendly neighborhood Warden offering helpful advice,’ not ‘Inquisition.’” “A booth feels more professional,” Elbridge grumbled, but didn’t complain further. Their new server, Shauna, led them to the table with a smile and asked if they wanted anything to drink before they ordered. Elbridge almost ordered ‘the usual’ out of habit before remembering his professionalism and asking for a club soda instead. Marcine ordered an iced coffee, and took out a pen and notebook to stare at the song she’d been working on. Which meant a couple lines of musical notation, and most of a page of flowery designs she’d drawn instead of making progress. She picked back up on a leaf rather than the staff. The front door pushed open again as Gorden stepped in, pointedly un-baseball-capped to reveal a head full of white hair, contrasting strangely in the light with his skin. He stepped over to the “please wait to be seated” sign and consulted in whispers and points with the server--”party of three, I’m meeting--oh, she’s already here? May I...thank you.”--before stepping into the dining area and draping his bookbag over the unoccupied chair. “Hello for the second time today,” he said with a (nervous?) laugh before sitting down. “Hello again, Mr. Maxwell,” Elbridge said. Marcine did a double-take when she saw his hair. She’d noticed a bit around the edges of the cap, sure, but she’d assumed it was some highlight dye job, not a whole head dye job. That was certainly a look, and not even a bad one. She smiled. “Welcome to food. Enjoy your stay.” The butterflies in Gorden’s stomach dispersed on the promise of free spicy pork mole. “I think I will, thank you,” he nodded as he looked over the menu. “...is there something on my face?” Marcine laughed sheepishly. “Your head, actually. Is your hair dyed?” Natural pale blond hair would be very unusual, but not impossible. “Hmm...I guess you could say one day I woke up and my hair was like this,” Gorden joked. Well, it wasn’t wrong, was it?! “So, no, it’s natural. Lucky me, otherwise I’d have to bleach it every day to keep up my mad science cred.” “Happens to us all eventually,” Elbridge said, settling on the molcajete caliente for himself. Marcine held up her hand and created the small image of his demonstration from earlier from her perspective, with three people holding onto a glass. “You made a convincing argument regardless.” “Ah, and speaking of mad science,” Elbridge said, eying Marcine’s illusion. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you. Subjects on which it’s important to be up-to-speed.” “I know it’s supposed to be natural, but I was thinking--” Gorden started, before being distracted by Marcine’s projection. “Whoa, photo-manipulation! That’s super cool. Is it only ‘from life’, or can you create an image of anything? How fine is the resolution? Ooh, can you do lasers?” “Subjects such as your curiosity,” Elbridge said, clearing his throat for attention. “Under any other circumstances, an admirable trait, but I don’t believe that you fully appreciate the risks involved in experimentation with magic-” “Maybe you can do it at even further distances!” Gorden continued, still ignoring Elbridge as his mind processed possibilities. “Does it take longer to change the image if you do it further away from you? Or does it happen at the same time regardless of distance? If you think something and you make the image display your thoughts, and the change to your image is time insensitive, you could transmit information faster than light! How cool is that?!” Marcine waited until he had to pause for breath before she asked, “Did you get through all of that pamphlet?” “Oh, yeah, the, uh, ‘laws of magic’ thing,” Gorden said sheepishly. “Don’t kill people, don’t turn people into newts, don’t do the Persona mind invasion thing, don’t telemarket to dead people, don’t talk to Cthulhu. Sounds pretty simple.” “You seem to have missed one or two,” Elbridge noted. “Do not control another’s mind, and do not subvert the flow of time.” “Yeah, Persona includes some screwing around with people’s minds with rumor seeding and demon psychosis beating,” Gorden began. “And the time flow thing...given how we define the flow of time, that seems to suggest, like, using magic to clean your room is a violation of that, which...makes no sense.” “Excuse me? Yes, hello, Shauna.” Elbridge flagged down their waitress. “I think I’ll be having the usual after all.” “Double shot of Highland Park 12?” “And keep them coming,” Elbridge sighed before returning his attention to Gorden. “The Sixth Law refers to acts of time-travel. History is meant to be a one-way street. Go into reverse, and you’re liable to cause a twelve-car pileup at a minimum - which, in this metaphor, would mean a fatal temporal paradox.” “And if the Law said ‘don’t screw over your friends with time shenanigans’, that’d be a perfectly good interpretation,” answered Gorden, “but the ‘flow of time’ is literally defined as the direction of time in which entropy generally increases. They’re connected but they aren’t the same thing; you can decrease entropy locally over time, and that isn’t time travel.” He stopped to take a sip of his drink. “Heck, even nature disobeys that concept at some levels--forces and energies on particles work perfectly well with time running forward as time running backward, for reasons we’re still looking into. If the Law said ‘don’t be a jerk to your friends with time’, I’d have no complaints, but as is, it says ‘don’t play with entropy, which is what defines the flow of time’. Which has a bunch of issues.” “Mr. Maxwell, it’s all well and good to cite quantum physics,” Elbridge said exasperatedly, “but the manifest fact remains that the flow of time is also defined by a linear progression of cause to effect, and when that flow is interrupted, causality breaks and nameless monsters crawl through the cracks in reality to eat us.” “If this is about what Danny was talking about, I’m not blind to the idea that ‘breaking time’ can hurt people. I mean, sure, winding back a person’s information entropy gives no guarantee they’ll be the same person with the clock runs forward again. Doing that on an even bigger scale, even more chaotic results show up. That hurts people. I get it. But I resent this idea that just because I want to understand what’s happening here on a deeper level, I also want to turn my neighbor into my servant by reversing the information entropy of his brain or whatever. I don’t even know how that would work!” That was her area of expertise, Marcine thought grimly. That was oddly specific, but maybe it was a clue to the scope of what he actually thought he was doing. She thought she’d heard hints of intention in all the technobabble. “What are you trying to do with all this?” she asked, genuinely curious.
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Jan 1, 2019 01:53
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In Defense Of Mad Science At the sound of Marcine’s calm and interested question, Gorden took a deep, slow breath. What would happen if he screwed up explaining this? Probably something very, very bad. He’d have to be very calm and very certain going forward. Kinda like defending a thesis. “Okay, so. I have magic powers,” he started, obviously. “I can’t exactly ignore them or pretend they don’t exist; that would be betraying everything I’ve worked on for the past decade and a half. So a lot of things in how the universe is believed to work have to change, to accommodate the existence of such things, like you said at the Para-net meeting. That means I need to be able to understand just what it is I’m dealing with. Extraordinary claims need extraordinary evidence, and I'd need to understand, from the ground up, something really extraordinary. “Maybe magic is the dark energy astrophysicists have been searching for. Maybe the fact that electronics keep breaking when I try to examine magic with probes means our understanding of electromagnetism needs to change. Once I have even an inkling of what’s happening when I use magic, I can explain it to others, and they can explain it to others, and instead of just me scribbling in the margins, entire laboratories can study the subject. And then everyone at that Para-net meeting won't need to hide anymore. Shirley won't need to drop out because rear end in a top hat professors victimise her and no one would believe her if she tried to get help. You won't need to...nerve gas fish-heads that kidnap people, because it would never get that far. “I guess…” he shrugged. “...what I'm trying to do is...make magic part of the world?” “Magic is already part of the world,” Elbridge said. “Part of several, in fact. Scientific study is extraordinarily-difficult for multiple reasons, some of which I addressed at the seminar, but the lack of public awareness has less to do with those than it does with the simple fact that most humans don’t want to know. Knowing would impose an obligation to do something. The public already prefers to remain ignorant of human trafficking and college professors victimising their female assistants. Magic has nothing to do with that.” “You’re not wrong,” Gorden acknowledged grimly. “And, yeah, apathy hurts the world’s non-magical problems too. But the world’s a little less apathetic about poo poo like starvation and ethnic cleansing than it was a decade or two ago. And on the scale of that magical organization you mentioned? Those wizard requirements that hadn’t changed in nine centuries? Nine centuries ago raiding the next tribe over and letting them freeze in the snow was considered a just and proper fate for the poor victims. I’d like to think things are different now, nine centuries later. Maybe if magic were revealed and accepted tomorrow things wouldn’t change the day after, but nine hundred years after? You gotta start somewhere.” “And that is a laudable ambition, but time magic in particular has a way of going badly-awry,” Elbridge told him. “I’m not trying to discourage you, I’m trying to warn you. Don’t you think that the researchers at Los Alamos would have preferred to know about radiation poisoning in advance, before they had to experience it firsthand?” “Of course I’m sure Daghlian and Slotin would have wanted that,” Gorden answered, “but there is a difference between ‘this topic requires caution, so research and experiment with it using proper PPE and isolation equipment’ and ‘this topic is forbidden, and we will literally kill you if you attempt to look into it.’” He had every reason to believe Danny was being dead serious when he said that, and now the misgivings that had started at the Para-net were coming back. Why was he so easy to bribe with free food?! “So research it in a controlled way,” Marcine said. She gave Gorden a somewhat apologetic smile. “We just dealt with the fallout of time travel going bad, so it’s a touchy subject right now.” Understatement of the century, right there. “But you have a point. They ought to have some working knowledge on the subject after all this time that could be used as a guideline for being responsible.” There, she thought, was the key word. But the Council didn’t have a great track record of actually understanding the things they were afraid of... “Yeah, Danny mentioned something like that,” Gorden grimaced. “He said a lot of people died. But it would be just as irresponsibly hosed up if they magically teleported the city to the Pacific Ocean or Europa, and not bothered with the time aspect at all--” “Gorden.” Elbridge held up his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. In the process of changing history, the divergent timeline would have overwritten this one, along with everyone in it. The death toll was in the thousands, and we were fortunate to keep it so low. Had we failed…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Teleportation magic is also dangerous, yes. It can be misused. However, its dangers are well-understood. That is why the first lesson an apprentice learns regarding portals, before they are allowed to even attempt one, is to never open a door that they can’t close. Mr. Maxwell, I just...want to know...that you understand.” “...yes, I understand,” Gorden answered after a long pause. “I guess science has its own risks and laws--chemical experiments making poison gas, medicine done without consent from the patients. And yet…” he turned to Marcine for just a second, as if to draw strength from her, before turning back to Elbridge. “...let’s go back to Los Alamos for a sec. You might have heard that when they tested Trinity, the scientists made a bet about whether the bomb would ignite the nitrogen in the atmosphere and destroy the world. That’s kinda true but also kinda not--the bet was a joke, they’d worked the math beforehand and determined the numbers didn’t add up. You've just mentioned something similar--teleportation has risks, but they're well known and are not infinite. Presumably, someone, at some point, crunched the numbers on what would happen if, say, someone tried to, I dunno, open a portal to deep space. Or maybe someone actually opened a portal to deep space. Doesn't really matter. If there were a Law that said 'do not attempt to fold Space, on penalty of being killed,’ would you understand its hazards, and how to avoid them, as well as you do now?” “There are several points in that statement that demand edification,” Elbridge said. “Most portals do not work by ‘folding space’. They open into the Nevernever, a parallel realm where distance is a function of sympathetic connection, not of geometry. They are sustained by magic, and close when that magic is broken. Thus, it is very difficult to open a free-standing rift to another point in space, and if such a rift leads to someplace hazardous, it will almost certainly collapse as soon as said hazardous environs kill the ritualists foolish enough to have opened it.” “Fair enough!” Gorden said, lifting his hands off his drink--how come the ice cubes hadn’t melted yet?--to acknowledge the point. “But then the Law could just as well say ‘Don’t attempt to contact-slash-interface with the Nevernever, on pain of death,’ could it not?” “Why would it?” Elbridge asked. “Mr. Maxwell, you seem to be under the impression that the Laws are arbitrary decrees, or acts of legislature. They’re more akin to laws such as universal gravitation, or thermodynamics. The misuse of magic in any of those seven specific regards will change a magician in deeply-unpleasant ways. Moreover, many of those exceptions and limitations you describe are already known. Time magic is not forbidden. Altering the past is. You can adjust the speed so long as you don’t attempt to change its direction.” “Like laws of nature…?” Gorden blinked in confusion before clearing his head. “I’m...guessing they weren’t figured out by experiment. But, uh...if I’d had tried to dodge those nerf balls by letting them hit me, figuring out their path from that, then rewinding their energy state so they were back in flight and then stepping out of the way, would you have killed me?” “No more than if you reversed the energy states of our cold meals to reheat them,” Elbridge said. “Which you should do, by the way. Now, if you’d reversed their progression through the medium of time separately from the medium of space, such that they’d appeared alongside their past instances...well, I wouldn’t have killed you. You would have killed yourself. Nature abhors a paradox, and the simplest way to resolve one is to simply kill the instigator. The instance of yourself who’d sent the balls back in time would cease to be, overwritten by a copy with knowledge of their future trajectory but no epistemological basis for that knowledge.” Melancholy, Elbridge stared down at his reflection in the whiskey. “No observers would have been able to tell the difference...save for the ones that exist outside of time and space altogether. You really don’t want to catch their attention.” He swirled the glass, and his reflection dissolved. He hoped that his double had perished when the meteors hit. If he hadn’t… As if snapping out of a trance, Gorden shook his head in confusion and looked at the placemat in front of him. How long had that plate been there? What kind of powers did Elbridge have to make him miss dinner being put in front of him? “Uh...time separate from space? Erm…” He’d been thinking so long in terms of combined space-time that separating them out again in his head was...difficult. “Well...I’ve heard of what you’re talking about, but it’s usually used to talk about philosophy and ethics in, like, sci-fi, teleportation stuff. That’s a real thing? You’ve seen that?” Unconsciously he’d picked up his spoon and started stirring the mole sauce on his plate--someone watching very closely might have noticed wisps of steam creeping back into the sauce. “And the ‘ones that exist outside of time and space’--that’s the Cthulhu stuff from the other Law, right?” “Correct on both counts,” Elbridge said. “I understand that all of this must be terribly-confusing to you, coming from your background as a physicist. It’s difficult to explain, as well - I know quite a lot more than most people, but I don’t pretend to know everything…usually. To wit - what you’ve been taught accurately describes the laws of this world...but there are others that overlap with or intersect it to a lesser or greater degree, and they have their own laws. When those laws come into conflict, things get...complicated, to say the least.” “Like GPS?” Gorden said, with a little quirk in the corner of his mouth that suggested it was supposed to be a joke. “...okay, that was just the first thing I thought of where you have to correct stuff using a completely different paradigm, but it’s not like I’m not familiar with trying to make sense of multiple sets of completely different observable laws. Half of the department loves to go on about string theory, but I’d like to see them work magic into their vibrating strings,” Another joke? Would Elbridge get it, laugh, get off his case a bit? “They’ve already predicted the existence of groups of monsters in other dimensions,” Elbridge said, drily-amused. “Apparently, it takes a professional moonshiner such as myself to find them.” Strings vibrating across all possible worlds...was that how Marcine had manage to reach him in the Void, he wondered? “Did...did you just make a monstrous moonshine joke?” Gorden felt his jaw drop. “I did.” Elbridge nodded and finally tucked into his own meal. “And at that, I hope that I’ve impressed upon you that I’m not just some overly-cautious old fogey who doesn’t know what he’s on about. If you’d like to get into the weeds on the subject, I recommend speaking with Wizard Cantor. He has a great deal of knowledge both theoretical and practical on the matter.” Now there was a conversation that would be entertaining to eavesdrop on, Marcine thought. Cantor...another math joke from the universe? “That really anxious guy from the Para-net meeting? Uh…Nicholas?” “The same,” Elbridge confirmed. “Wizard Nicholas Cantor is one of the foremost experts in his area of study. He simply, er...has a certain habit of…” “Not meeting your standards,” Marcine said, in a tone that suggested she didn’t necessarily think that was all Cantor’s fault. “He’s made progress of late,” Elbridge sighed. “He just doesn’t handle pressure very well.” “Yeah, I noticed with the balls,” Gorden observed. “But, hey, no matter how anxious he is, you call him 'wizard’. You don't call me that. So that's something he'll have going for him when we talk.” He looks down at his almost untouched plate. “...maybe we should do it over something that doesn't get cold.” You’d have to stand him on his head for that, Elbridge thought. “A prudent choice for another time,” he said.
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Jan 1, 2019 01:55
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Oh, Yeah, That Too “Yeah, another time, maybe--” Gorden was on the verge of getting up when he suddenly slammed himself back down in his chair and bowed his head in his hands. “poo poo, I just remembered I had something to do!” He looked at them with renewed vigor. Uh...Elbridge, Marcine, do either of you know anything about a Professor Reuben Lancaster, Doctor of Biology at Tulane? It’s...kinda important.” “Only what Ms. Quinn has told me,” Elbridge said. “Rick had intended to deal with his transgressions, but someone allowed her to call him, and when he learned she’d escaped captivity, he burned down his laboratory to cover his tracks.” “He did wha--son of a--they told us that was a formaldehyde fire!” Another hand to the forehead as Gorden took stock of the situation. He closed his eyes, and began to mumble to himself. “He came back to teach three months ago! Said it was a sabbatical! Would he have kept a record of the people he’d hurt? If I could read--” He remembered his demonstration at Danny’s house. “Maybe…?” “He’s back at work?!” Elbridge asked, aghast. “The Physics and Biology groups have this semi-formal rivalry for, like, lab space and funding and stuff, and I didn’t know anything about this, but, yeah. He’s still on the faculty rolls. I don’t know what classes he teaches or where or when, but he’s there.” Gorden grimaced at the idea that one simple thing kept Shirley living in fear at Danny’s house. “I hope the bastard has ashes on him…” “Why would he…? Ah! You mean to reconstruct the evidence he destroyed,” Elbridge surmised. “Mr. Maxwell, I strongly advise you against confronting Lancaster. He’s a known warlock, and while we know little of his powers, he is most-assuredly more experienced than you.” He grimaced. “As we’ve seen, he’s also prone to drastic measures when cornered.” “Sounds like a job for the Warden,” Marcine observed. “Indeed,” Elbridge sighed. “I do fear that I shall require a sword sooner rather than later.” “Won’t have to ask me for it now, at least,” she said. Assuming that Rick is willing to involve himself in Warden business again, Elbridge thought. “First, surveillance. I should wait for an opportune moment, with minimal chance of collateral damage, and I’d like to document the full extent of Lancaster’s crimes at any rate.” “Give me a day, and I’ll email you his class schedule so you can raid his place when he’s cutting open pigs with undergrads,” Gorden offered with alacrity. “And then we can--wait a sec, why would you need a sword?” “His crimes are many and nefarious,” Elbridge said. “They evince both premeditation and conscience of guilt. It all depends upon what I find in the course of investigation, but with reform such a dim prospect, I doubt that any in the Council would be willing to risk the Doom of Damocles on his behalf.” He shook his head and took another gulp of scotch. “Most likely, I’ll have to execute him.” “Uh, wait, wait, hold up, he might really loving deserve it but you can’t bring a sword onto campus! We had enough problems doing Cosplay Day last year--you come around with a sword that clearly isn’t Cloud’s Buster Sword and the whole university will go into lockdown! And then he’ll get away again.” “Do pay attention, Mr. Maxwell,” Elbridge said, exasperated. “I already said that surveillance would come first, along with identifying the right time and place to accost him. This is detective work, not a John Wayne movie! Honestly, who gave you such ideas?” “You’re the one who just said you were gonna need a sword,” Gorden answered defensively. “Can you blame me for thinking you were going to bring it with you right off the bat?” “Yes!” Elbridge said. “Yes, I can, because that’s patently ridiculous! If you had a wanted criminal in your class, would you expect the police to burst in on the lecture with guns drawn and blazing?” “Well...maybe? I dunno, with some police departments I wouldn’t be surprised but...I guess not normally.” Gorden admitted. “I have so much damage to undo,” Elbridge groaned. “Let’s just see what turns up in the course of investigation. I can’t in good conscience ask you to involve yourself, but if Lancaster doesn’t yet know that you know...hrmph. Observe and report where you can, and I’ll see to it that he’s dealt with appropriately.” Gorden shrugged. “Too late. I’m already involved.” “But do try to stay safe,” Elbridge told him. “Do you have a phone number or email I should contact you both on? And what should I send over?” “Er...right, I should set up one of those. The mail accounts, that is,” Elbridge explained. “Ordinarily, it would be impossible, but...ah, that’s a matter for another time. For now, here.” He wrote down the number for his ancient rotary set and passed it to Gorden. “Although, it may be simpler to use one of these.” Elbridge produced a jewel case from his pocket and opened it up, revealing two miniature brooches shaped like silver swords. “A Deputy Warden’s pin! Part of a set - hold one and focus on another, and you can speak through it like a telephone. And on that note…” He presented one of them to Marcine. “I’ve been meaning to give you this for some time now. Blast it all, I’d wanted to make more of a presentation of it, but there simply hasn’t been a good time…” “I'm flattered,” Gorden answered, holding his offered brooch up to light, “but...is there a reason you can't use a cell phone? Around here a piece of jewelry like this would stick out a bit more…” Marcine smiled as she accepted it. No more borrowing someone else’s pin. She hadn’t used it a lot, but after she returned Ada’s, she kept wishing she had something like it for her other friends. It was just so convenient. She looked over at Gorden with a raised eyebrow. “You remember all that stuff about magic frying tech, right?” “He's got a phone,” Gorden observed, tapping the paper. “It’s, er...not the latest model,” Elbridge said sheepishly. “It’s a rotary phone,” Marcine said, amused. “And not a retro one.” “Huh.” Gorden looked at Marcine's smile with mirrored amusement mixed with surprise. “And here I thought he had an eighties brick. Alright, if you aren't home I'll use the brooch.” He leaned in slightly towards Marcine to lower his voice. “Does Elbridge have a car with a hand crank too?” “He walks,” she answered. “I ‘walk’ from here to Edinburgh in about two hours,” Elbridge said defensively. “Portal magic is one of the greatest and most-essential disciplines taught by the Council for a reason.” “He walks in style,” she corrected. He’d already heard a lot about teleportation from the earlier conversation, so somehow Gorden wasn’t surprised to hear that. “Can you go to Edinburgh only or anywhere? Cause if you can go to Aberdeen, I have a colleague at the university who gets really loud voice mails from his brother to come home and visit…” “There are many roads to many realms,” Elbridge said. “More than any one of us can walk even in a wizard’s lifetime. Next time I’ll bring along my staff and show you. It’s easier to understand once you’ve seen for yourself.” “I think I'd like that.”
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Jan 9, 2019 00:25
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Jimmy I New Orleans City Hall stood, a towering glass edifice in the city’s center, a towering monument to local government with the words “City Hall” emblazoned atop one facade, a sign that no-one who could see would be able to miss. It was, all in all, a very ugly building in James’ opinion - an absolute eyesore, he mused as he straightened his tie - he’d had to clean up - black suit and polished shoes, his shaggy blonde hair tamed and slicked back, a red tie and an flag pin to complete the outfit - the very image of an obnoxious political aide, ready to cause problems. He’d even programmed a dummy contact into his cell phone labeled “Bobby J (Gov)”, just in case someone was stubborn. It would have taken far too long to actually break into City Hall for the records, after all - getting blueprints, finding out where they were stored, tracking schedules and everything else would have taken days, if not weeks of preparation, especially for a solo operation, so it wasn’t an option - so he’d dug his suit out and stepped back into the roll of Jimmy I, obnoxious political douchebag. It reminded him of the old days, back before he’d ever found out about the magical world. (James creates a disguise aspect, “Slicked Back Hair, and a Flag Pin too” with a Deceive roll: /+// +4 = +5.) - He strode through the entrance to City Hall, head held high, walking with purpose. It was amazing how many people would avoid someone if they looked like they belonged somewhere - nobody wanted to be the one who got in the way of somebody important, after all - even more so if they seemed to know where they were going - there were more than a few apocryphal tales out there of spies getting rumbled because they stopped to ask for directions, but the Internet had solved that particular problem. Two lefts, then a right, and he reached the door bearing a plaque, “Records Office”. James took a deep breath. Game time. Time to still if he still had it. He shoved the door open. There was a plain wooden counter blocking the visitor’s portion of the room from the staff’s, behind which sat a middle aged Korean woman with short hair and square glasses. Seoyun Park was printed on the nameplate in front of her. She didn’t look up from the paper she was reading when he came in, but after a moment she set it down and gave him a once over. “Can I help you...?” she asked, fishing for a name. “Yo, Jimmy I. Aide to the Governor. Look, can we make this quick? I was supposed to be on a week’s vacation, see, but I’ve had my cell blowing up all morning ‘cause the boss has had some concerned citizens gettin’ real annoyed over some music hall sale, so I’ve gotta cut my vay-cay short to look into it for him,” he said, channeling every obnoxious politico out there, “Huge pain, ya’know.” (James, Deceive: +/-+ +4 = +5 Park attempts to Empathy to resist it: (-bbb)+3 = 2, nope!) “Quick is fine with me,” she said, nodding sympathetically. Ms. Park knew all about unreasonable time demands when she was supposed to be on vacation. “What music hall are you referring to?” “Uhhh, Gilded somethin’,” said Jimmy, glancing down at his cell, “Gilded Lily. City’s selling it off, so I need any paperwork on file for that.” “Oh that old thing,” she stood up and walked to one of the dozens of filing cabinets behind her, opened a drawer and started to flip through the files inside. “I was surprised it had been sitting on the books for so long already, almost like… well, never mind. Not sure why people are bothering the governor over it. Property auctions are all locally handled. Ah here it is.” “Somethin’ about how some of their kids got scouted while playing there or what have you. Either way, they’re the sort of folk that the boss don’t want unhappy right before the election, if ya’know what I mean.” “Ah,” she put a finger alongside her nose. “Donors.” Jimmy winked back, “Can’t be sayin’.” The file she set down wasn’t particularly thick and everything in it looked new. “The Gilded Lily has an interesting history. It’s an old building, but not old enough to qualify for historical protections, so the city hasn’t got a reason not to sell it to the highest bidder regardless of what they plan to do with the property. Kind of a shame though, there aren’t enough places willing to rent out to the local scene outside of the French Quarter and they charge a fortune.” “Sure sounds like a waste to sell it, then,” replied Jimmy, flicking through the file, looking for any clues as to who authorized the sale - and who was bidding. (James, Notice on the file: +-+- +4 = +4) The authorization was from the city council which had only voted to go ahead with the sale last month. There were building plans and property lines drawn meticulously along with several plans for what must be the new hotel that Rotana planned to put up. As of right now they were the only bid and the amount was paltry compared to what the property was probably worth. It was a sweetheart deal as long as no one else tried to compete with them, and given that the auction was closing next month, there wasn’t much time left. There was one American phone number listed, in addition to several international ones, for contacting the Rotana representative. Jimmy slipped his cell out of his pocket and tapped the phone numbers, plus a few other details, into the device, his thumb flying across the screen. After a moment of rapid note taking, he looked up from the files and grinned, “Thanks, there’s a few things I can look into further, but if nothing else, there’s some council members who’re going to catch someone’s ire.” “Maybe if we’re lucky someone with money will complain loudly enough,” Ms. Park said, not sounding like she particularly believed it. “New Orleans already has too many hotels for tourists, and not enough places for locals to enjoy.” Jimmy shrugged, “Who knows how it’ll go.” Slipping his cell back in his pocket, he added, “Thanks again, hopefully I can wrap this up quick and get back to my vacation.” “Good luck,” Ms. Park said, winking at him. “Maybe lose your phone somewhere if you want some peace and quiet.” “If only,” he replied with a grin as he swung the door open. Stepping out of the records office, James headed back out the way he’d come in, careful not to to look too much in a hurry or out of place. It had gone well enough, even if there wasn’t a smoking gun pointing at a shady government official - there was no way the music hall was worth only the low six figures they were bidding, so this Rotana group was getting one sweetheart deal on the place. But the phone numbers were a lead, he just needed to turn them into a name - and somehow, he doubted they’d be listed in the phone book. --- James stood atop the multi-storey parking garage, next to his boring hatchback. He’d wandered around a while, trying to find a working payphone downtown, but urban blight and the forward march of technology had foiled him there - the few still standing had seen better days a long, long time ago, so he’d grabbed a cheap looking phone from his trunk, from in amongst the heavy kitbag filled with his judogi - a clean burner. Leaning on the stone wall, looking out over the city, he dialed the local number - no sense in going international first, after all. It rang five times and clicked over to a default answering service message that asked him to leave his name and number. He promptly hung up without bothering to leave a message - this burner wasn’t going to be around long enough to get any return calls. This agent, whoever they were, didn’t have a secretary or assistant answering their phone - probably not some corporate bigwig, then. He tried again a few more times, each time hitting the answer service. On the fifth attempt, a man picked up. “Who is this, and how did you get this number?” The voice was as smooth as chocolate pudding, with just a hint of irritation. Improvising quickly, James shifted his voice slightly, channeling every obnoxious frat boy across the nation, “It’s CJ, bro! My boy Goldy gave me this number, told me to call if I needed anything! Who you, bro?” The phone gave off a strange muted dial tone, and the smell of burning plastic made James pull it away from his face. Fwoosh! It went up in flames. “poo poo!” exclaimed James as he hastily dropped the burning phone onto the concrete floor, stepping back from the burning Nokia. Flicking his hands to fling away the remaining smouldering ashes, he ducked down against the concrete wall out of sheer instinct, peeking out at the surrounding buildings for a sign of anyone watching. Luckily no one was. Standing, he glanced down at what remained of the old Nokia - it really was a burner now. And, to make things worse, it seemed like Rotana’s agent had some magic on his side - he’d have to get Ada to handle that lead. After carefully scooping up the remnants of the cell into a spare ziplock bag, he left the parking garage, pondering who this new player was.
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Jan 9, 2019 16:26
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The Youngest Jewel of… Winter? Scene: Winter “Safe” House Winter’s delegation to New Orleans had immediately bought an old warehouse and converted it into an ice skating rink, making it the only one of its kind in the entire city. They were not trying to be particularly subtle. In fact, being as obvious as possible and thumbing their noses directly at Summer was kinda the whole point of them being there. Not that they would ever admit to such a thing. About a block from the rink was a nondescript blue house. The bushes that lined the front yard had a thin veneer of frost on them, and the grass was brown and dead. The temperature dropped by several degrees when you passed through the front gate. You could immediately see your breath, and your fingers started to go numb by the time you got to the front step. No one outside the gate noticed this unless they were supposed to, and they also didn’t notice the short, equally nondescript young man in the plaid cabbie cap standing just on this side of the gate with a scowl on his rosy cheeks. “Waiting on someone?” Ada asked, as she stepped up to the gate. The Lytle’s new home wasn’t anything fancy - but then again, that was rather the point. Even knowing they were here was something of a privilege. The guy gave her a sideways glance. They were about the same height. “No. Whatcha want?” “Seeing the people inside. Me and Ruby Lytle go way back.” She crossed her arms. “You some kind of watchman?” “You some kind of idjit? No visitors.” “I got an invitation. You gonna be the one to tell them you turned a guest they were expecting away?” He grinned, revealing buck teeth. “Why miss, that’d jest make my day.” The front door of the house opened and Ruby, (or Emmy, it was hard to tell,) called out to her, beckoning her to come in with a wave of her hand. “Ada! Don’t pay any attention to him. Hurry up and come inside!” “Coming!” she shouted back, then turned back to the guard. “Told you,” she said, smugly. “If this is how hard you stonewall everyone, then they’re in good hands. What should I call you?” “Lago,” he said, still grinning. “This house is under the Queen’s protection. Guest or not, you’d do well to remember that.” “Don’t worry,” she said, nodding. “I will.” In a way, Ada mused as she headed for the Lytle’s temporary home, it was almost refreshing, talking to someone as direct as him. It took so much effort to get past everybody’s hangups that sometimes, this kind of frankness made for a good change of pace. But now she could talk to two of the only people in this world she didn’t have to hide anything from. Why wait? “Hey Emma,” she said, pulling the Lytle sister into a bonecrushing hug. “Sorry I didn’t come by earlier. It’s been crazy busy since we last talked. Did you guys make any cookies for me?” It was almost impossible to tell them apart just by looking at them...but only when they were standing still. Emma had a cheerful energy that Ruby had learned to hide behind practiced fairy poise. Even when she didn’t need to do it, old habits died hard. ((That was the result of an Empathy roll to discern which sister was which! A +7 means Ada has no issues telling them apart.)) “Calling them cookies is being generous,” Emma said with a heavy sigh. “Even Lago won’t eat them and I’ve seen him eat rocks for fun...” The interior of the house was nothing like the outside. Well, other than it still being cold, that is. If the place had a heater it had never been used. There wasn’t much furniture and what there was looked cheap and temporary. A very few things were familiar though, things Ruby must have squirreled away from the old house all the way back in the thirties. There were some framed black and white photos, a grandfather clock, and somehow, Ada realized as they went into the dining area, the entire kitchen table set. Ruby was sitting at it, her delicate hands tracing the lines of a newspaper article. “Something caught your eye?” Ada asked as she leaned forward to kiss Ruby’s cheek, then grabbed one of the nearby chairs to take a seat beside her. “Oh, just work,” she said, with a sly smile. She’d been scanning the obituaries. “Trying to make sure your predictions are still accurate?” It’d been a while since she’d last heard Ruby predict anyone’s death. Could banshees go for very long without doing so? “Predictions are never completely accurate but trends…” She paused and laughed at herself. “Oh, nevermind, you don’t want to hear about mortality probability rates. They’re dull and depressing. Cookie?” She reached for a snowflake-patterned ceramic plate that was piled with small, white frosted cookies. They looked completely normal, but there was something… off about them. As though an aura of despair hovered over the festive plate, warning away hungry hands. “If you eat one you’ll die in horrible agony,” Emma said. “I don’t need banshee powers to tell you that.” “Um...Ruby?” Ada asked, hesitantly. “Why does it feel like your cookies are trying to give me the evil eye?” Ruby looked worriedly at the plate. “They are? But… I thought that batch came out really well...” In spite of her misgivings, Ada couldn’t say no when she had that look on her face. Mustering her courage, she leaned forward, grabbed a cookie, and gave it a bite. It tasted really good, for about ten seconds. Then her tongue went numb. Followed by her face. And the rest of her body. “Ada!” Emma and Ruby yelled in unison as she slumped off the chair, all her muscles having gone limp as a rag doll. --- Cool, pale snow brushed against Ada’s face as she stirred. Where was she…? A bright glow coming from above caught her eye. She was lying at the bottom of a snow-covered mountain, its peak shining so brightly it made the moon crowning the starless night sky seem dim by comparison. “Right. The mountain.” Pulling herself up, she stumbled forward, the wintry chill biting into her flesh. No time to rest now. The light, she had to reach the light. Anything else was death. “Stop! Where do you think you’re going?” A hooded figure shouted out, stepping in front of her. “You can’t come here. Find another path.” Her bones ached, her muscles were cramped up from the cold, and there was nowhere else to go for miles. What choice did she have? The knife was in her pocket. She took a step forward, drew it and slashed. The stranger fell to the ground with a muffled thud, blood staining their clothes a dark red as she walked past them. The mountain was just up ahead. Each step was labored, uncertain. Sometimes, she had to drop on all fours and climb like an animal just to find her footing. More people whose faces she didn’t recognize got in her way, and all met the same fate. It was a curious thing, though — every kill came easier, and with each one, strength flowed back to her body. She was bleeding from her own cuts and scrapes and covered in bruises, the result of trying to make the climb, but she felt no pain. If anything, she felt revitalized. Before, she’d stumbled and crawled. Now, she was running and leaping, finding the way up on instinct. The peak was close now, casting its cold, harsh light down upon her. It wouldn’t take much longer to reach the mountaintop. Out of breath, she leaned against the snowy ground, taking a moment to gather her strength before the last leg of her journey. That’s when she saw their faces. In the dark, it had been impossible to see who they were, but with the light behind her, there could be no mistakes. Her mother. Her father. Rick. Emma and Ruby. Even those closest to her hadn’t managed to get away. They’d all tried to change her course. To save her. And now, they were all dead. Hah. It was crazy. What idiots they were. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. Why did they even try? The laughter spilled forth from her lips unbidden, as she watched the sacrifices she’d left behind on her long climb to the top. “Hah. Hah. Hahahahahahahahaha…”
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Jan 11, 2019 05:07
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“...Aah! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” The first thing Ada noticed when she woke up was the contact - someone was touching her cheek. The second thing she noticed was that she was screaming, so loudly her throat was starting to hurt. Only after understanding that did the haze of sleep slide from her eyes - and she realized her hands were around Ruby’s throat, desperately trying to choke the life out of her, and that Emma was trying as best as she could to pry her off. It took her brain a second to make sense of what she was seeing, but as soon as she did, she let her go, and collapsed backwards against a pillow, resting on the shoulder of the couch. Trails of ice crept down her arms. Her fingers had gone totally red and numb with frostbite. “No! It’s fine, I’m fine!” Ruby croaked, rubbing her neck vigorously. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Are you sure?” Emma asked, leaving Ada to rush to her side. She turned on Ada, furious. “What the hell was that about?!” “Bad dream,” Ada replied, as she tried to wipe the ice off her arms. “Real bad. Think it turned me into a real live wire.” She was panting like a locomotive, but forced herself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Ruby...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “But it’s my fault!” Ruby cried, burying her face in her hands. She looked so pale suddenly, as if all the colors were leaching out of her hair and skin. ((Ada’s startled reaction earns her the ire of the house, and forces her to make a Physique roll at difficult 6. A 5 barely doesn’t make it, and a raise to +8 via Under Queen Mab’s Protection forces her to take a Mild Consequence as the frost refuses to peel off so easily, Frostbite. This is a result of her compel on Life Is A Fairy Tale earlier, persuading her to eat the nightmare cookie.)) The ice would just not come off, no matter what Ada did — it clung to her, like a second skin. She had to get rid of it, fast, but taking care of her best friend came first. “It was the cookies, wasn’t it? They looked kind of...strange. Ruby, what happened with them?” she asked, as she leaned forward to pull her into a reassuring hug. Ruby pulled away. “Don’t touch me!” “What…? Why? I’m not gonna hurt you again. Promise.” “I’m the one who isn’t safe,” Ruby said miserably. “I thought I had it under control but…” “It’s her wing-dust,” Emma said, still shaken by the whole ordeal. “It must have got in the cookie batter somehow. I was only joking about them being bad, honest!” “...Wait, that was your dust? It wasn’t anything like this last time you hit me with it, though. How did you lose your grip on it?” “It’s Winter,” Ruby snarled. She wiped her tears away and her delicate hands balled into fists. “My dreams have been turned into nightmares, my peaceful death into a cold, lonely thing. I can’t stand it! This isn’t what I wanted!” “Stop. Slow down.” Ada said, raising her hands. “You mean you don't get to choose who you're going to be when changing courts? That doesn't make any sense. It's not like anybody's forcing this on you.” “Ada…” Emma cautioned. “Maybe just leave her alone for a minute? I need to go put a hot water bottle on the stove for your hands before your fingers go black.” That was Ada's cue to look down. Emma wasn't kidding - her fingertips were starting to turn blue already. She was so used to the sensation of pain that she'd forgotten that sometimes, the absence of it was just as dangerous. “Point. Can't go losing limbs willy-nilly. It'd hurt my image.” Standing up, she followed Emma to the kitchen - and once she was sure they were out of Ruby's earshot, spoke to her in hushed tones. “I really don't get it though. I saw a court transition once and the fairy it happened to change completely because we forced it on him. Why is it doing so...so…” she struggled to find the right word to describe the changes Ruby had spoken of, but nothing came to mind. “...so much to her?” “She hasn’t accepted it yet,” Emma said, filling a rubber bottle with water and setting it in a cast iron pot to boil. It took her a moment to check if the burner was going, as she wasn’t entirely comfortable yet with modern technology like electric stoves. “You can’t follow Summer and Winter Law at the same time. If you saw a faerie transition all at once, then you saw them surrender to being bound by the opposite law. It’s pretty fast once they make up their minds. Right now, Summer has expelled Ruby, and Winter has offered her a place, but she’s afraid of what taking that offer will do. So she’s doing it in little pieces, like… like tearing off a bandage very slowly. It’s torture and I wish she’d just rip it off all the way. Without Summer’s power she can’t stay how she was no matter how much she wants to.” “And just telling her it's OK and we'll be there for her isn't really making a difference, either. Hmm.” For a moment, Ada rested her chin against her hand...then quickly pulled it back, as soon as the chill hit her. “There's gotta be something in particular she's afraid of. She said she thought she had her powers under control now. Did she have an incident before this?” “I guess that depends what you’d call an ‘incident’,” Emma said. She took one of Ada’s hands and cupped it between both of hers, rubbing gently. “But she got really scared after her last job, I guess he wasn’t the kind of client she’s used to.” Emma’s touch couldn’t wipe away the frost - but the contact still helped keep Ada’s mind off it anyway. “Yeah? What happened? Ruby’s never told me much about her gigs.” “She didn’t tell me much either, but it’s not like her to be upset over work. She’s been doing it for a long time.” The bottle was done, and Emma got up to wrap it in a hand towel and handed it to Ada. “‘He struggled.’ That’s all she said.” It wasn’t much to go off of, but even that little nugget of information was enough to help things start to make more sense. Ruby had always taken pride in being the banshee of gentle deaths. Seeing someone fight their end when she was there...it must’ve been a hell of a shock. As she wrapped the rubber bottle around her frostbitten hands, it suddenly occurred to Ada that she probably would’ve felt just as scared if her magic had totally shorted out on her out of the blue. Its gradual disappearance had made its loss easy to bear - but Ruby hadn’t had that kind of luxury. “Think she’s feeling good enough by now we can get back to her?” she asked, shooting the kitchen door a look. She couldn’t keep a grimace off her face as sensation returned to her fingers - and with it, all too familiar pains and aches, like electric jolts - or perhaps more like a million sharp little stabs. At least it was something she was used to. Emma nodded. “I think we’d better.” --- Ruby was lying on the couch, all curled up into a ball. She was clutching one of the pillows so hard the fabric was starting to tear. When the other two entered the room she sat up, looking hard at Ada’s hands. “Better?” she asked, worried. “Lots,” she replied, sitting beside her. “Still hurts like hell, though,” she admitted, allowing herself to wince. “How about you?” Ruby just shook her head. “Yeah. Thought so.” The next question was going to be a delicate one. She was gonna have to be real careful about it. “It’s not just the cookies that got you feeling so down, is it? Did something else happen when you started to change?” Ruby nodded. That was Ada’s cue to keep going. “When I fought my duel with the witch Circe, I had to make a choice too, but I never told you what it was.” She looked away. This kind of confession couldn’t be made face to face. “I killed someone innocent. It was my last test and I passed with flying colours. I didn’t sleep for weeks, but that wasn’t the worst of it - it’s that something inside me woke, or broke up, or...something. I don’t know what.” She drew a deep, deep breath before continuing. “I’m not half as good a girl as everyone thinks I am. I didn’t wake up screaming from that nightmare because it got too crazy for me. I woke up because it got too real, because it was showing me a part of myself I don’t want to see.” “What part?” Ruby asked quietly. “The monster I carry with me. The one that gives me the strength to look the devil in the eye and spit in his face. The one that doesn't care if everyone I love gets hurt, as long as I get what I need. Is that what embracing Winter feels like to you? Like stirring the monster awake?” “A little,” she said, also looking away. “I always knew I was a monster, even though my nature led to a kinder death than most. Death is still death, I am of it, and it of me. No one had any expectations otherwise. I was chided for being weak, letting my targets linger… But as long as Summer offered me a place I could afford to do my job as I chose. The Morrigan could not ask me to be swift and brutal, that was not my death. Now though, I’ve lost that shelter. My new assignments have been of Winter, people who struggle and cry. People who hated their lives and yet cling to them. Their spirits no longer welcome me to take them home, they curse me and spit at my feet… The death I am becoming is miserable and alone, unfulfilled, and hunted.” “Like you felt before we went back to the past?” Ada asked, struck by inspiration. “I am not unaware of the similarity,” Ruby said, gritting her teeth. “That's not who you are now, though. I bet these transformations don't come out of thin air. If humans can choose who they become, then so can fairies too. You just need to get in contact with another part of you.” “What part of me can live as a Winter fae that is not steeped in darkness? There is no way out of this. Even my cookies were twisted.” “The part that hid herself for a hundred years to protect her loved ones,” Ada countered. “You said that the people you saw died kicking and screaming, and the deaths of Summer were peaceful. If Winter is a source of strength then don't fight it, embrace it. You're strong enough to represent a death more dignified than that.” “I don’t know, Ada. This is such a departure. A death of one’s own choosing, facing darkness in defense of others… These deaths will be violent and painful, and often futile.” She raised her head and looked Ada in the eyes. “Is that dignified?” More like pointless and stupid. It's the exact kind of death Rick had, and the one I've been trying like hell to get away from. Those were the thoughts that crossed Ada's mind as she pondered Ruby's question, fueled by anger and spite. But her reply was different. “Yeah. We all wish they didn't happen, and I'm working towards making sure no one has to go like that...but until I can make it happen, everyone who dies like that will have died a good death, especially if you're there for them.” She smiled. “I'm just gonna have to put you out of a job ASAP so you don't have to see it too often.” “You’re lying to me,” Ruby said, her eyes welling up again. “If it was a good death, you wouldn’t shy away from it so. I could not bear it if I were the avatar of a death you despise.” Dammit. She knew her too well. There was no way to lie to Ruby and make it sound sincere. A sigh escaped Ada's lips as the realization sunk in. “What's a good death like, though? When you die, there's no more laughing. No more love. Not even pain from thawing out the frostbite to tell you your fingers are alright. Death's the end of every good thing even if you go out on top of the world. I couldn't even tell you how I want to go, because I just don't want to. I wanna spend time with the people I love until the stars go out.” Kicking her legs out, Ada sank into the couch and stared at the ceiling, as if she could see the sky beyond it. “But I know something, and it's that you're one of those people I want to spend so much time with. I don't care what you take up as your duties to Winter, Ruby. If there's a good death out there, you'll always be the one for me.” “Part of the reason I befriended you was that I knew that my death would never be yours,” Ruby admitted, staring squarely at her lap. “I have no wish to be the one who comes for you, Ada. But now I am afraid. Those who cursed me and clung to life would say much the same as you just have.” “Some people just won't go quietly,” Ada agreed, nodding. “Instead of hearing the announcement of their deaths and coming to terms with it, they'll take it as a challenge.” Maybe that was it, though. It was kind of a longshot, but there was nothing to lose from asking. “Ruby, has a banshee's prediction ever turned out to be wrong?” Ruby nodded. “A prediction is merely a probability, of course there are people who defy the odds. Not many, though.” “How'd you feel about taking that job then? The death that challenges. Don't just look for the people who don't want to die - look for the ones that will beat the odds and escape their dooms.” Ada smiled again - this time, much more warmly. “Like you did going back in time to save your family without losing yourself.” Emma sighed and crossed her arms. “That’s like deciding to be the janitor of the cleanest bathrooms, or the salesman at an empty store. It’s just being lazy and dodging the work.” “She’s right,” Ruby agreed. “I’m sorry Ada I don’t think you can help me this time. This just isn’t something you can relate to.” “Yeah, well, tell me something,” Ada said, crossing her arms in turn. “You ever met anyone who enjoyed life and still would've chosen to die anyway? I'm not alone here. Death isn't something people want. It's just something that happens…” She trailed off mid-sentence. Something that happens. That wasn't wrong, but it was missing the bigger picture. Death wasn't just something that happened, it was something that had to happen, completely unavoidable no matter who you were. “Maybe that's it,” she mumbled, then raised her voice. “Wait a minute. Ruby, why does death have to happen? Humor me for a second on this.” Ruby sighed. “How can I answer such a question? I’m no god.” Ada waved her hand, dismissively. “Gods can buzz off. They wouldn't understand why this is so hard for us anyway. I was just thinking...I was right. No one *wants* to die, but it happens anyway. Maybe it's because you've lived too long, maybe it's ‘cause someone wants you dead, maybe it's just sheer bad luck, but no matter what, the end result is the same. Things end, because it's time for something else to take their place.” “Progress is a mortal concept, given urgency by death. It may seem cruel, but without it humanity would never have come so far so quickly.” Ruby said. “The immortal are not fond of change.” “Yeah, exactly. Can you imagine if people could age forever without dying? You'd end up with the world ruled by old dinosaurs forever, just because they got there first.” Exactly like the White Council, now that she thought about it. “If every death is a change, maybe asking how to keep it gentle is the wrong question. What kind of change do you want...no, what kind of change do you NEED to see?” “That’s certainly a novel way to think of it,” Ruby said. She didn’t sound sure but it had at least piqued her interest. “It’s something I’ll have to consider carefully before answering.” “There's no rush,” Ada said, nodding in agreement. “I think it's the way to go though. Death is the end of the road for the one on the receiving end of it, but the world keeps on rolling. It's better to focus on that than trying to soften the blow.” “Maybe… But in any case, advising me with my Winter troubles was not why you came.” “What, you don't like it when I look after you?” Ada asked, flashing her a positively malicious grin. Ruby flushed. “Ada, I am two hundred years your senior, not a lost kitten.” “Alright, grandma, I promise I'll try and respect my elders a little more.” She gave Ruby a little time to pout before continuing, now serious. “I got things underway. Pitched my ideas for kicking the powers that be off the throne to a mortal crowd. I think they bought it, but we're still really short on people and support. Pontchartrain has to go, but if we're gonna make it happen we'll need fey support. You know anyone who might be up for turning their backs on him if given the right incentive?” “Oh wonderful, on top of everything else you want me to plan a coup.” She sighed. “Luckily this is an easy one. Anyone who held power under Narcissus and wants it back would be more than happy to plant a dagger in the River King. Of course, throwing in with traitors means trusting people who will have no qualms about betraying you too, when the wind changes.” “Right. Which means making sure they can't do it. Is there any other way of binding a fairy besides having them give their word?” “None save cold iron, which you must not do. Little brings the courts together save for punishment of someone who abuses the Bane against us.” She touched her arm gingerly, the scars left by her encounter with Yggdrasil were still a puckered pink against her pale skin. “Which means I gotta do things the hard way,” Ada said as she rubbed her temples. “Why am I not surprised?” So most summer allies would at best support her out of convenience, at least at first. If she wanted to prevent any backstabbing, she'd have to keep them on a tight leash. “What about Winter's delegates? Meet any of them that might be interested? If we can get people from both courts in on this, that might help keep them both in check.” Ruby considered it. “If you throw in with one it will be much harder to approach the other,” she said after some thought. “There are fewer of them and they are not as strong, but their interest in undermining Pontchartrain is more…” she trailed off, not sure how to finish. “Certain? Simpler? Less like to lead to an immediate civil war once we've toppled the old man?” Ada volunteered. “Honest,” Emma supplied. “And the River King just led a coup himself, you’d be crazy to think he’s not watching Narcissus’ former lieutenants like a hawk. You start talking to them and he’s gonna notice.” Ruby nodded. “Ada, you should talk to Marcine about this. She would know more about Summer’s current movements than we, and she has friends that are still at court.” “Yeah. I'll see what she thinks about all this and work out an angle. Is there anything I should know about dealing with fairies I may not be aware of?” “I could fill books with what you should know about dealing with faeries dear one,” Ruby said, smiling a little for the first time since Ada woke up. “But it would only muddle the issue. Be true to yourself and don’t get caught up in courtly politics. Politicians serve only their own interests, no matter how much they may claim to align with yours.” “You do realize I pretty much count as one now, right?” Ada said, briefly grinning back before giving her a nod. “But yeah, I hear you. I won’t let my guard down.” Seeing Ruby's frown turn upside down had lifted a weight from Ada's shoulders. Her problems weren't over yet, not by a long shot, but knowing what kind of help her friend needed meant she had some sort of direction to follow now. How was she supposed to help her get used to her new role, though? Emma and Ruby had been right about one thing - death did not belong with her, at all. What kind of miracle had taken place, for her to end up with a banshee as her best friend? For the first time, it felt like there was a gap between them. Just as one had formed her and Rick, between her and her father... ...She couldn’t keep herself from shivering. This wasn’t a first step up the mountain. She couldn’t let it be. There had to be a way to keep everyone close to her without cutting them with a knife’s edge, and she’d find it. Hopefully.
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Jan 11, 2019 05:08
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How Does Your Garden Grow? Reaching Ash’s grove in the bayou was now somewhat less of a casual trip for Elbridge. When he’d lived at his shack in the swamp, it had just been a matter of stepping into a canoe and paddling through the channels. Now he lived across town, and getting a boat meant rental. His transport was halfway rusted-through and reeked of tobacco, beer, and bodily emissions. A flat-keeled fanboat would have made for easier navigation; with his staff, he could have opted for one, but that would have meant twice the cost and twice the odour. Elbridge knew his way around the swamp. For now, he’d row, just as he always had. He wasn’t sure it would be safe to take this route forever. Wizards were vulnerable on the water, and the Fomor were raiding further and further inland. So far, the worst things he’d encountered were hungry gators and drunken Mardi Gras tours, both of which he could handle, but it felt like only a matter of time until he ran into something he couldn’t. Perhaps Ash knew a better passage through the Ways. Then again, with all that he knew of Summer’s terrible secrets, perhaps the Ways wouldn’t be safe forever either. Weary, Elbridge resolved to take his crises one at a time. For now, it would simply be good to see her. He paddled his boat around a particular hummock, thrice clockwise, twice counter, then clockwise again. When he completed the final circuit, there was a stand of trees on the island that hadn’t been there before. He disembarked to pull his canoe up the embankment and stepped ashore. She was waiting for him there, in the center of the ring of trees, running a comb made of white antler through her pale hair as she sat. Autumn leaves were tangled in it but they were too beautiful to be anything but ornaments. When he stepped onto the land she smiled. “Welcome, my friend. The days grow short, the nights long and dreary. It is a good time for visitors.” “It’s good to see you again,” Elbridge said, smiling and taking a seat beside her. “I was afraid I might not have the chance.” “I’ve missed you,” she pouted. “Must you live so far away?” “When my work demands it,” he sighed. “Presently, it does. I’m hoping to find an easier form of commute…” “I fear there isn’t one,” she sighed. “If I leave a back door for you, it could be found by others, and while the last True Moly is in my care I dare not risk it. Work traps the both of us, it seems.” “I suppose that relocation would be quite the ordeal for you,” Elbridge said with a smirk of mischief. “If I planted a new sapling in the park by the apartment, you might be able to move in about...oh, fifty years or so.” She laughed, light and musical. “Why young man, are you asking me to make like a tree, and leave?” “I worry for you!” he laughed. “Spending all of your time in the company of disreputable mangroves - just imagine the scandal!” “Don’t let the mangroves hear you say that,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But no, my roots run too deep, and I have always preferred a wild place with a fresh wind to a trimmed lawn under the care of men.” “Perhaps if I’m ever allowed to retire, I might join you there,” Elbridge sighed wistfully. “There’s always something that demands a wizard’s attentions, but if I do this job properly, it won’t always fall on my lap.” “Are you sure?” she asked. “You have taken to seeking more things to demand your attention, of late.” “All my life, I’ve been putting out one fire after another,” he said. “It’s my hope that a proper fire department will mean less of that going forward. Miss duSang is trying to improve the situation in her own way. If I can simply resolve these crises with Midas and the Fomor…” “There is nothing simple about those crises,” Ash chided him. “Though I should be of some help with one of them, at least.” “Ah!” he exclaimed. “The moly is ready, then?” “Soon,” she nodded. “A few weeks at most, just in time for Halloween. It is not a large crop but I can spare enough to restore the Phrygian’s captives.” “That’s excellent news!” Elbridge said. “Midas has taken so many…” Such as Benjamin Frisk, he realised. It wasn’t certain that Midas had done with Frisk what he’d done with his other captives, but if he had… “Have you had any trouble with the cultivation?” Elbridge inquired. It struck him suddenly that if Frisk had been turned into a statue, then Ash wasn’t just growing a cure. She would be the only thing standing between Midas and the mayor’s office, and that was a perilous place to stand. “Not at all, the bees were very cooperative.” “Oh! Ha ha, I meant...that is, has anyone, er, given you trouble lately?” “Over the True Moly? No one knows I have it save you and your friends. I have kept it quite secret. Of course, your rescue mission will reveal that the plant still exists, and I have been trying to prepare for that…” she trailed off, worriedly. “I see,” he said. “I am trying to be discreet in this matter. For your sake of course, but also...well, I expect it’ll be messy regardless. That said, Midas seems to have kept his prisoners off the books. The fewer people know what he’s done, the less scrutiny when we rescue them.” He sighed. “The True Moly can’t stay a secret forever, I know. But I might be able to buy you a few years more. Long enough to get it growing in a few more places.” “Redundancy will be key once I have enough to spare,” Ash agreed. “Trusting my sisters to keep silent is the difficult part. It’s too dangerous to be left to grow wild, men will burn it out if they find it again, as they used to. Each patch will require a caretaker, and at that point the secret is no more. I’d be better served asking the Summer Lady for help, if she can find the time.” “Has she had the time?” Elbridge asked. Summer politics...there was another topic he wasn’t quite prepared to confront. He cared deeply for Ash, and in his least-guarded moments, he might even be able to admit that he loved her. He trusted her. But would putting this on her be kindness, or cruelty? It was bad enough to risk putting her in the crosshairs of Midas and his ilk. To force her to risk the wrath of her own court… “Not of late,” Ash said quietly. “The Queen is gone, but her duties remain. Too many at court are pointing fingers rather than doing anything to help. Winter’s shadow looms over all of us. It’s good the River King has returned, his strength is all that holds the fae of New Orleans together. “I worry for you,” Elbridge said again, without laughter this time. “I don’t know how, or even if I can help without risking another crisis like the Vampire War, but if there’s anything I can do to make things easier for you, then please don’t hesitate to ask.” “Visit more often!” she said, twining her fingers between his. “Or if you cannot…” she looked away, blushing pink. “You’ve given me purpose, which is rare for one of my kind. It’s too precious a gift, I cannot ask for more.” He put his other hand on hers, holding her tightly with both hands. “Not even five dollars off at a friendly local dining establishment?” “I do love when you take me out for Home Depot.” “You’ve always said that theirs is your favourite humus recipe.” She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s so smooth, just the right amount of clay.” “I’ll be around more often, Ash,” Elbridge told her. “I don’t know that it’ll be sooner rather than later, but I’ll be back. Little by little, we’re making a difference.” If they could only find Frisk and get him into office, so many of New Orleans’ other problems would begin to solve themselves. It was an enticing prospect, but her hesitation bespoke a different sort of concern. Or if you cannot… “Do you worry that it might become too dangerous?” “Not for me,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ve weathered as many storms as have come my way, but you step into a dead man’s boots as though they were meant for you, and some days I’m afraid that you’ll leave and not return.” “Some day, eventually, I won’t,” Elbridge sighed. “That’s just how it is with us mortals, isn’t it? Right there in the name and everything. But trust me -” He pulled her closer, into a tight embrace. “- I mean to put as many days between now and then as possible. And I mean to spend as many of those days as possible with you.” She kissed him gently on the cheek, and then hungry, on the lips. Elbridge returned her kiss and then some. He had that canoe for the rest of the day, anyways.
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Jan 12, 2019 02:29
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Gone Home Scene: Nicky’s Flat There was a smiling middle-aged woman waiting for Nicky in a beat up old Cadillac in the parking lot when he left the meeting. She waved enthusiastically at him and he waved back as best he could while carrying a plate of desserts and cradling the sword in both arms. (He didn’t have a belt on, and had been aghast when Marcine suggested he borrow hers for the day.) He got the car door open somehow and sat down, tucking the weapon in between the seats. “Hi Michelle,” he said, awfully glad to see her. Getting around New Orleans without a car was expensive unless you had friends. “Hey, Nicholas. Where’d you get that?” “I won it in a r-raffle,” Nicky said, cringing. “It’s just a toy… er, a replica? Something like that.” Michelle looked at it thoughtfully. “Really? I swear I’ve seen it before...” “Brownie?” Nicky offered her the paper plate as a distraction, which she accepted gladly and they started to chatter amicably about nothing important as she pulled out of the parking lot. --- Rick, stuck in the sword in-between the seats (as it was still the middle of the afternoon,) was sure he’d heard Michelle’s voice before but he couldn’t remember where. He also couldn’t see her from his position, which didn’t help identify her at all. The drive back to the office took some time. Michelle kept asking Nicky questions about what Edinburgh was like which he seemed more than happy to answer. He asked her in turn about her family and how her children were doing and Rick started to tune all of it out. It had been a very long day for him, and as much as he hated to admit it, he only really felt whole while he was inside the sword. He relaxed, letting his mind wander, and soon drifted off into something like sleep. --- He started awake under the wan light of the fishbowl lamp. Had he fallen asleep at his workbench again? The lab didn’t look right… boxes and furniture everywhere, you couldn’t even get to the containment circles. When had he done that? He tried to push away from countertop and his hands phased right through it. He stared at them in confusion for a second before his memory caught up to the rest of him. “Oh. Right.” For just one moment, he’d almost been able to convince himself it had all been a bad dream. He brushed his fingers against the cuff of his favorite shirt, hanging over the edge of a tub full of clothes. He’d told Nicky he’d go through things, but now that he was standing there, staring at the stacks of boxes that held everything that mattered to him, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Clearly though, someone else already had, and that made a little knot twist in his stomach. He would have liked to have opened a few boxes, to make sure everything really was still there, but even fully manifested he wouldn’t be able to touch anything. The inventory would have to wait. That just left the stairs. He grit his teeth and started up them, two at a time. Some bandaids just had to be ripped off. The door at the top was shut, but he phased through that and into the main office with no trouble. Then he stopped short and stared at a room he barely recognized. “I… what...” There was an ancient, pedal operated sewing machine sitting where his desk used to be, a half-finished shirt still tucked under the needle. The phone table by the back window was missing, and that whole area of the room was taken up by a huge loom. Bolts of cloth and bins of thread filled the space where his filing cabinets used to sit. The old couch where he’d spent all those nights snuggled up to Ada had been replaced by an honest-to-God spinning wheel. Next to that was a round rack of finished scarves, jackets, and shirts, all with dangling price tags. A counter had been set up with a cash register next to the front door. The gold letters on the smoked glass window that used to read ‘Warden’s Office’ had been removed and replaced by a new name in a flowing metallic pink script. “A Stitch in Time - Commissions, Alterations, and Repairs,” he read aloud. “Mrrow,” said a fluffy orange and white cat, curled up on the window ledge next to the loom. Rick stared at it. The cat stared back at him with bright green eyes. “Cole? Is that you?” Nicky emerged from the kitchen, wiping dust onto a pink plaid apron he was wearing over his clothes. “What did you do to my office?” Rick said, stunned. Nicky didn’t give any indication that he could hear him. He looked around the room at every place except the spot where Rick was standing. “Er, if it is you, can you give me some sort of sign?” Rick didn’t answer. He couldn’t believe this. Every trace of his existence here was gone, even the peg where he used to hang his cloak had been taken off the wall. A black hole opened in his chest and threatened to swallow him. Nicky had been absolutely right. This wasn’t his home anymore. He didn’t have a home anymore. “Mrrr,” the cat said, threading between his legs. When had it gotten off the ledge? It leaned against his boot and looked up at him expectantly. “What do you want?” he asked it. Everyone knew cats could see ghosts… Had Nicky really gotten one just to keep tabs on him? But when had he found the time? The cat pawed at his pant leg. He could feel the warmth of its fur, but the paw went straight through him. It was an odd sensation. Nicky sighed, frustrated, and opened the basement door. The stairs creaked as he headed down, and it wasn’t long before Rick felt his hand on the hilt of the sword. It was a light touch, like having someone tap him on the arm to draw his attention. “Are you awake?” Nicky’s voice echoed up the stairs, and also in the back of his head. He could always hear what was happening near the sword if he concentrated. “I’m here,” he called back. No point pretending to be invisible, as long as Nicky held the sword in hand he could see and hear Rick perfectly well. The stairs creaked again. “Oh! Finally, I was starting to get worried.” “Why?” he glanced out the window, now noticing that it was fully dark out. “It’s only been a few hours.” Nicky blinked at him. “Cole, it’s been two days.” “No.” Rick shook his head. “We were just in the car…” “Two days ago, yes,” Nicky said. “I er, I asked Hardley what to do when you didn’t wake up that night and he said to just let you sleep it off. So I’ve been getting the house ready.” Rick clutched his head and stumbled as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He’d lost time again, like he had right after his awakening. Was this how things were going to be every time he got tired? Slipping out of consciousness for days, having no idea how long the gap would be? “God… drat it.” He couldn’t handle this all at once. Without thinking, he turned towards the other staircase. The bedroom would help ground him. His bed and dresser weren’t in the basement so they must still be up there, and seeing something still in its place, even just one thing… “Cole, wait!” Nicky shouted, chasing after him. “You can’t-” Rick ignored him, but when he put his hand on the bannister it shocked him as though he’d just touched a live wire. He yelped in alarm, and only then saw the glowing cyan runes ringing the stairwell. He turned on Nicky, clutching his stinging hand. “You warded the loving stairs?” “Y-yes!” Nicky squeaked. “There’s no reason for you to go up there. It’s just my bedroom and the WC, and you don’t n-need either of those.” “That’s not the point!” Rick yelled. “I’m not going to spy on you in the bathroom, Cantor!” “Well I should hope not! B-but I don’t have to worry about it this way, and it just makes me feel safer to have my own space!” He paused to calm himself and took a deep breath. “I won’t go downstairs unless you ask me to, if you’d like.” “I don’t want to divide up the house,” Rick said, shoulders slumping. He looked down at the floor. “That’s not what I wanted at all… I just… Did you have to get rid of everything?” “Cole…” Nicky shook his head and sighed. “I haven’t gotten rid of a single thing, I swear. It’s all there. But I wanted to discuss it with you before I started dragging the furniture back upstairs. I don’t know what matters to you and it’s all heavy!” “...you did?” “Of course!” He threw up his hands. “What did you think I was going to do? Shut you in a cupboard somewhere and not let you have any say in things? I know we aren’t very good friends yet but please do think better of me than that.” Rick’s cheeks flushed. “Well if warding the stairs and buying a cat are how you get the house ready for a ghostly roommate, what am I supposed to think?” “Don’t you drag Marmalade into this.” Nicky wagged a finger at him. “He’s been here for a month and I’ve got his adoption papers to prove it.” “Mrrraow,” said Marmalade. The fluffy orange beast looped around Nicky’s legs once and then went back to weave through Rick’s as if he would like it very much for them to stop yelling at each other. “You don’t get to talk. You’re an accomplice,” Rick scolded it. Then, the ridiculousness of the conversation caught up to him and he started laughing. It was a shallow, helpless kind of laugh, but it helped him let go of some of the tension he’d been holding inside since he first saw the box piles. After a moment he went down on one knee and offered his hand for Marmalade to sniff. “Sorry, cat.” Marmalade sniffed amicably and then flopped over on his back to demand belly scritches. Rick obliged. His hand didn’t disturb the cat’s fur, but it started purring all the same. Nicky watched the cat’s acceptance of Rick thoughtfully. “You know, the stair wards weren’t what I meant by getting the house ready.” “What did you mean then?” Rick asked, standing up again and brushing off his hands. Nicky turned towards the kitchen and waved for him to follow. It wasn’t a very large kitchen but Nicky had made the most of his space. Green glass bottles, iron filings, basil, and a few other ingredients were set on one side of the counter next to a jumbo sized mortar and pestle. On the other side was a mason jar half-filled with an odd looking sparkling green dust. “Is that what I think it is?” Rick asked, staring dumbfounded at the green glassware. It was also known as Vaseline glass, or Depression glass, and was famous for having trace amounts of Uranium in it. “Raw materials for ghost dust,” Nicky confirmed, smiling. “It’s so much easier to get legally on this side of the pond! Still, not the easiest recipe, and inhaling ground glass would be a frightful way to go so I’ve had to work slowly for safety. But I’ve finished enough to paint the doorknobs and the light switches already.” Rick stared at the kitchen light switch. It didn’t look any different... Or was there a faint sparkle that hadn’t been there before? Hand shaking, he reached for it. flick The lights went out. flick They came back on. He could touch it. It was real and he could touch it. His fingers burned slightly, ghost dust in large quantities would ignite when exposed to a spirit, but just a little was enough to make something tangible. flick. flick. flick. flick. “Why go through all that trouble?” he asked, reaching for one of the kitchen drawers. It slid open when he pulled on it, and his vision blurred. “I don’t need the lights… I can just walk through the doors… So you didn’t need to...” “Because people ought to be able to turn on their lights and open their doors,” Nicky said, as if that were obvious. He picked up one of the green bottles and looked into it. “My brother… had Lou Gehrig's disease. As it progressed, he lost the ability to do even the smallest things for himself. At first he couldn’t walk down stairs, or carry his groceries. Then he couldn’t shave. Eventually he couldn’t even open a door, or flick a light switch. So I made him things to help cope. I saw how much it hurt him to lose that. To feel helpless and crippled, like he wasn’t even a real person.” Nicky set the glass down. Hesitantly, he offered the sword to Rick, hilt first. “Everyone ought to be able to move their own body.” Rick stared at him, not daring to hope. “What did you do to me?” “I had the leather treated and rewrapped,” Nicky said. “Go ahead. Take it.” Rick’s hand closed around the grip of the sword and he drew the blade himself for the first time since he’d died. He tried to choke back a sob, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The whisper of steel was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “Cantor… Thank you.”
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Jan 12, 2019 02:31
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No Rest For The Warden Scene: Elbridge's Apartment It was almost midnight when Elbridge Hardley decided to turn in for the night at Hydrangea Place. His had been a productive day of chasing down leads and reaching out to contacts. The Wardens had never had a proper dragnet in New Orleans, but Elbridge intended to change that. Little by little, he meant to establish an intelligence network that would keep him apprised of matters all along the Gulf Coast. Perhaps he’d seek out the pixies next - they’d seemed fond of Turner, and with Summer in disarray, Elbridge expected that they might want some protection. That was when his Warden pin began speaking. “Elbridge? Can you hear me?” Ada asked. “Ajja?” Elbridge spat a glob of toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out his mouth before he spoke again. “Is that you?” “Yeah, it’s me. I’ve been looking at these reports on the supernatural population of New Orleans. These estimates are yours, right?” “I’ve handled the Council’s census here for some time, so yes, they should - wait.” Elbridge blinked, tilting an eyebrow at his own reflection. “How did you even get those?” “Asked my sources if they knew where to find this kind of information. I’m pretty sure the Council’s got some security holes they need to work on.” “Clearly,” Elbridge said, aggravated. “Why do you ask?” “Because if these numbers are right, we’re in trouble. Black Court vampires aside, every other faction has us outnumbered at least five to one. Even if every last one of our people was a hardened combatant, we can’t compete like this, and they aren’t. We need more people, and fast. You know anyone who’d be interested and hasn’t been scooped up by another team already?” “It’s not a long list,” Elbridge sighed. “The shifters have largely stayed aloof from the other blocs, but other than them…” “Yeah. We don’t have any real alternatives.” There was a pause. “We have to get the weregators on board. I don’t even know if they’re willing to deal, but failing to persuade them is not an option.” “I can’t imagine they’d be happy with the Fomor invading their swamps, nor with the climatic havoc that would follow Summer and Winter escalating their war.” Elbridge thought on the question some more and realised that he was missing the obvious one. “To whom are you referring when you say ‘everyone else’?” “This is about bringing human order to New Orleans. Human order’s a contract - the moment we’re born, we all sign on to play by society’s rules. Until we can make every last supernatural in the city do the same, any laws we draft or promises we make aren’t worth beans.” There was a pause. “I don’t know if any faction will be interested in playing ball. It’s asking them to change the way they’ve done things for millennia. So until they prove me wrong, I’m assuming we’ll have to make them agree with us the hard way. If there’s one thing every monster understands, it’s that the rules are made by the strong.” “The vampires and the ghouls certainly won’t give up their feeding grounds without a fight, no,” Elbridge said, “but treating the entire supernatural world as a monolith would be a grave mistake. Not all of them are hostile to humans; you’d do well not to change that. Summer is in a particularly-vulnerable position at the moment. I believe that with Narcissus and his court out of the picture, they might be open to co-operation.” “I don’t. El, who was there at the Superdome for us? Who took action to stop Narcissus when the Ripple was wrecking the city? I don’t care what they think is convenient right now - none of these groups value things like mercy or justice or fairness like we do. They’ll work with us until they don’t have to - so I’m going to make sure that time never comes.” For a moment she fell silent. Then, he heard a tired chuckle. “My best friend’s a banshee. I wish I could believe the people in charge are as nice as her. But I can’t. Things have been too awful for too long for me to believe in any of them anymore.” “The sylphs came to our aid at the Superdome. There were...I’m not entirely-sure what they’re called, but a group of diminutive cat-faeries helped us to fight off a Fomor raiding party and seal one of the breaches in the Veil.” Elbridge laughed softly at the memory of the cats and their enormous turtle. “Our enemies have made plenty of enemies of their own. Find them. Work with them. Establish trust. Help them to see the value of a permanent arrangement.” “It’s not a bad idea. If there’s something all our enemies have in common, it’s that these groups are beneath their notice. They’re too small and too wonderful, and the people we want to oust all lost their sense of wonder a long time ago. First though, there’s something we’ve got to take care of. El, you know why the gators disappeared from the city, right?” “Before my time, I’m afraid. I’d always gathered that it was something to do with Nerissa, but beyond that…” “Not exactly. The core of the weregators was a shapeshifting clan that used to be a power within the city. When they tried to seize control of New Orleans and entrench, they clashed with another ancient family — and when they lost, they were exiled beyond the city limits.” “Let me guess: The duSangs?” Elbridge speculated. “Bingo. There wasn’t enough room for the both of us, apparently. The family’s records don’t have all the details, but it’s pretty clear there was bad blood between them. So bad, I couldn’t find any hints as to where they’d set up shop. It’s apparently been a secret ever since.” There was a pause. “I can’t think of anyone else who could do a better job at rooting out where they are so I can talk to them than a diviner. El, can you find them?” “Given your family’s history, are you sure that you want me to?” Elbridge asked, quizzical. “Even if I didn’t, I don’t have a choice. Without them, we’re not a faction, we’re victims. If I have to, I’ll crawl over broken glass to bring them to us. There’s no room for ego when you’re out to change the world.” “I’m not concerned about ego, but that they might decide to kill you out of hand.” There was a long pause, and then: “So be it,” he sighed at last. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve found something.” Which wouldn’t be until morning at the earliest - later, in all likelihood, with the rest of his caseload, but it would be a start. “Good to hear. I’m gonna focus on gathering some intel of my own, too. Is there anything you’d really like to know about the Fomor?” “If we can find any way of tracking their movements - wait.” Elbridge paused again. “How is it that you expect to be in a position to learn about them?” “I’m gonna schedule a meeting with them tomorrow. As far as they know, I’m still interested in buying slaves from them. Being business partners’ as good an in as any.” “Ada.” Elbridge set down the bottle of mouthwash; unbidden, he felt his hand creeping toward a certain other bottle he kept at the edge of the vanity. “I strongly advise against any sort of contact with the Fomor without at least a plan, two contingency plans, and extensive backup.” “I know. It all hinges on where I can convince them to meet up at, but I’ve got some ideas. It’s our chance to start pulling everyone together and convince them we’re going to get the people the Fomor took back. We’ll have to go over who’s trustworthy once the meeting’s been arranged. Can’t bring in any rogue elements who might go off on their own instead of sticking to script.” “It’s also a chance for them to abduct you, implant you with brain-parasites, and then puppet your lobotomised husk for fun and profit!” Elbridge snapped. The bottle was in his right hand now, the Warden pin in his left. It would just take a few seconds to set it down, unscrew the cap, and take a drink. “There are better ways to get information. Please don’t do this. Speaking to the were-gators is risky enough. This is suicidal.” “Who’s better qualified for this?” Ada asked back. “Actually, no— better question. Who’s skilled enough to get valuable information quickly, but not so important that they can’t be considered expendable if they fail? I’ve been thinking about this and I don’t see anyone, Elbridge. We can’t run espionage on a group we know so little about. Even if it’s risky, the opportunity to enable access to safer ways to get intel is something we can’t pass up. You heard what happened in Florida. If our cold war with the Fomor goes hot, we can’t be unaware of how to answer them. I won’t let anyone ruin the city because they can’t see anything but desperation moves.” There was a quiet intensity to those last few words. It wasn’t just the people that made this revolution worth fighting for. Sometimes, other things were just as precious. Will she ever stop finding buses to throw herself beneath? Elbridge had the uncapped bottle halfway to his lips when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was an ugly look on his face, and it made him seem as if he’d aged another two decades in an instant. If he could just have a little to take the edge off… ...the problem would still be there afterwards. “Don’t let them set the timetable.” His hands shook as he set the bottle down, hard enough that some of the contents spilled over the rim and into the sink. “Pretend to accept, but then find an excuse to reschedule. Whatever location they’ll allow is a place where they feel secure in their power.” He replaced the cap and gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles went white, waiting for the tremors to stop. “Stall. Give me time to scout the meeting place. Let me prepare an exit strategy in case it’s a trap.” “Got it. I can buy time for weeks if we need to.” There was another pause, a brief one. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m trying to take this seriously. Only fools rush to trade queen for pawn.” She knew he couldn’t see her, but the smile on her face was clear from her reassuring tone and the warmth in her voice. “I’m glad that you understand that,” he said. The expression on her face said that she did understand. “I’ll have a report on the gators for you by the end of the week.” “Thanks, El. And sorry for calling you so late. Next time, I’ll pick a better time to give you a heads-up.” “Thank you, and good night.” He tapped his pin to close the connection, then waved a hand at the mirror. Ada’s smiling face disappeared, replaced by his own, haggard visage. There was an unhealthy pallour to Elbridge’s face and a pronounced twitch under one eye, but he’d made it through the call without a single sip of duSangria. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Later, perhaps, he might work on his paranoiac need for control. Later. He’d take his bad habits like he did his caseload: One problem at a time.
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Jan 23, 2019 04:38
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Opening Lines Scene: Apartment Complex Hydrangea Place was quiet as Ada approached Elbridge’s house. No other bystanders could be seen walking through the street. This must’ve been one of the reasons El had picked the place as his new residence - that, and the low cost of rent. Though the elevator was in working order, she took the stairs to the fifth floor instead. These days, quiet moments were getting rarer and rarer. Making the most of them was key to keeping the pressures of her new path from weighing her down. Stopping in front of a dull-black wooden door with a plaque reading ‘5A’ on it, she rang the bell and waited for the unit’s tenant to appear. After a moment the door opened, revealing the tired face of a blonde woman with large round eyes. It was a stark contrast to the professional, lawyer-like appearance she’d had when Ada had met the Fomor Servitor, back at the Christmas in June charity event. Now she was wearing a thin blue robe over a long grey shirt and sweatpants, with her hair pulled back in a fraying ponytail. “Am I required to invite you in?” she asked. Ada shook her head. “No. I’d appreciate it though. You OK? You look pretty ragged.” Her eyes blinked, slowly, but she didn’t say anything. That wasn’t too encouraging, but Ada didn’t let it deter her. “If you got any complaints about the apartment, we can fix them. Elbridge didn’t mention anything, but I got the feeling he’s been pretty hands-off with you.” She shrugged. “He has given me everything I asked for.” “Except what’s most important,” Ada ventured. It didn’t take a genius to realize why she was so apathetic. “You still want to go back?” She looked at Ada directly, a wary sort of hope in her eyes. “Are you here to release me?” “It’s not a decision I can make alone — but I want to talk with your old masters. If they’ll have you back, maybe we can negotiate a release. First, though, I need a way to reach them. Can you lend a hand with that?” “Is that an order?” “No, but what do you have to lose from helping us open lines to them?” Her stare was piercing. “You want to use me to hurt my family. I can’t stop you, but I don’t have to help you.” Crossing her arms, Ada gave the thought a kind of dismissive shrug. “You’ve got me confused with the old guy in the grey cloak. What I want is for them to stop coming after mine. If I can do it by getting through to them, I’d rather go for that than stick a knife in their chests and rip their guts out. Or do you think it’s gonna be us or them and I shouldn’t even waste my time trying?” “Do you think I can be bought?” she said, standing straighter. She was taller than Ada, though not by much. “Your threats are as empty as your offers of freedom. You only came because you wanted something. If, as you claim, I am not required to invite you in-” she moved to shut the door in Ada’s face. “If you help me reach your masters, I swear on my power I will ask them if they’ll have you back, and what your freedom is worth to them,” she said, slipping one foot in the door and holding it back with her left hand. “I won’t promise to free you for nothing any more than they’ll think about giving up my people just because I want them back. If that’s too mercenary for you, you can rot in here until you die off.” The concern from before was gone, replaced by a cold glare. “I won’t make a better offer than this, and neither will anyone else. What’s going home worth to you?” “Less than keeping them safe from you.” She met her cold glare with hot hatred. “Where is the boy? Why hasn’t he come? I’ve abided by the terms!” “He skipped town. Don’t ask me why. It’s like this place was just a pit stop for him.” Ada answered through gritted teeth. “Guess he didn’t bother to say goodbye to you either.” It still stung, waking up one morning with the wounds of Rick’s death still fresh to realize Hugues was gone. “I thought Elbridge had told you. He was supposed to pick up the slack as your caretaker.” She blinked again, and her eyes widened as she thinks over the implications. “Please, come in,” she said, opening the door. As she came into the apartment and took a seat, Ada stayed silent. In hindsight, the reasons for all that hostility were obvious. Of course the Servitor’d had reasons to suspect foul play. Inwardly, she cursed herself for being so inattentive. Helping Zia out of her shell had taken up all the time she could spare for the rescuees, but that was still no excuse to not have looked into what had happened to the others. Other people could be forgiven for it, but it was her job to care. “I owe you an apology.” She said, at length. “I should’ve come here the second he went away.” The front door clicked shut. For a second, she just stared at it. Then, she stood up and charged the door, smashing a booted foot against the wood near the doorknob.
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Jan 26, 2019 09:45
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To The Sea Scene: Streets of Nawlins The Servitor’s mind raced as quickly as her bare feet, slapping on the stairs as she rounded another landing on her way down. Third floor, second… The ocean, she had to reach the ocean. But which way? She burst out of the lobby door, blinking in the bright sunlight. Her heart pounded in her chest. She had a minute at most. But she didn’t know where she was. Elbridge hadn’t told her, hadn’t let her leave the apartment… It didn’t matter. First she needed to get anywhere but here. She took off down the sidewalk to the right, ignoring the stares of passers by. ((Servitor gets a free success on the race for sneaking out while Ada wasn’t looking.)) Ada wasn’t far behind. She landed on the ground floor in a crouch, having leapt down from landing to landing for the last floor for the sake of speed. The obsidian knife was in her hand as she darted out the door, using the eyes of the bystanders as a clue to pinpoint the direction the Servitor had taken. As she gave chase, she barely resisted the urge to growl. How dare she walk away like that, from her? This wasn’t just capturing an escaping prisoner anymore. Now, it was a hunt. The street names were all unfamiliar but the Servitor didn’t dare stop running. She discarded the bathrobe in a bush, the t-shirt and jogging pants were less likely to draw attention and she wouldn’t be able to swim with it anyways. Hope stirred in her chest, and she found herself smiling as she ran. Getting out of that apartment at last was incredibly… freeing. ((Servitor gets a 4 on her first leg.)) It didn’t take a genius to understand where the Servitor was headed for — home. And no matter how she looked at it, Ada couldn’t see a path that could get her to the Fomor too quickly. Thus, instead of going full blast, she paced herself. Her quarry would tire out soon enough. That’d be her time to strike. ((Ada also gets a 4. It’s a tie! Current status: Ada 0, Servi 1.)) There was a chubby black and white motorcycle parked just ahead of Servitor, and a police officer standing next to it resolving a small traffic incident. The woman running past in jogging clothes with no shoes on made him pause and look up. ((New Scene Aspect! Nosy Cop)) “Hey,” said Officer Muldoon, driving his motorcycle alongside Servi as she ran. “You okay lady?” “No! There’s a crazy woman after me!” Servitor shouted, pointing behind her. “Please, red hair, four foot something, she wants to kill me! Help!” He parked his bike and looked back, and sure enough, about thirty seconds later a four foot something red haired girl came barrelling down the sidewalk looking like she was gonna stab someone. Muldoon turned on the lights. “Hey you! Stop!” ((More rolls occur! Ada rolls awfully and gets 3. All Servi has to do is roll neutral to tie or better...aaaaaand she gets a 2 instead. But she raises by invoking Nosy Cop, planting an obstacle in Ada’s way.)) With her prey still on the run, Ada only had a few seconds to ponder what to do about the man that was now in her way. Talking was out - the Servitor would be long gone by the time she was done explaining what was going on. Just running past him wouldn’t work either, not with the bike he was on. That left only one option. Without a second thought, she dived over the top of the motorcycle, slamming into the policeman shoulder-first and knocking him off it with the force of the impact. As she came out of a roll and got back up to continue the chase, Ada couldn’t keep a grin off her face. Gonna need a hell of a lot more than that to keep me off your trail, fish bitch. ((...So of course Ada raises by invoking her Lawbreaker Aspect, The Killer Rush for like, the first or second time ever. 5 beats 4!)) Servitor didn’t stick around to see any of that. All she knows is there’s a bridge coming up. A bridge over a canal. A sudden burst of energy hits her. She flings herself over the railing into the water below! ((Servi invokes her HC, Leader of the Loyal Flock as a counter-raise! She just wants to go home! 6 beats 5...)) As soon as she saw the bridge up ahead, Ada stopped saving energy and started sprinting at full blast. The distance between them shortened quickly. Thirty feet...twenty feet...ten...but it wasn’t fast enough to grab the Servitor before she went over the edge. Inside her, the sleeping beast that had begun to stir with the Servitor’s cowardly escape roared. She’d reached the water, their domain. She was safe now. No. You’re not safe until I say you are. I bought you, Belle. YOU’RE MINE! “HAAAAAAH!” She screamed, as she leapt into the water after her. ((gently caress that noise, what Ada wants, Ada gets, even if it means outswimming a fish in the water! Invoking On Top of The World Or Buried to take home that first win! Status: Ada 1, Servitor 1!)) The Servitor was taking a breather below, feeling safe now that she was in water. Big mistake. The knife bit into her ankle as Ada came into the water and pounced onto her, grabbing her arm. ((Ada tried to create an advantage here, using Physique. She gets a 3, which is bad, and Servi gets a 5, which is worse. On Top of the World or Buried’s free invoke is used to match, Servi raises with her Leader of the Loyal Flock aspect, and Ada counter-raises with Last Heir of House duSang to match at 7. It’s a tie, and the boost Blood In The Water is created.)) Servitor exhaled bubbles in a muffled scream of panic, and suddenly the already dirty canal water was full of pitch black ink, as though Ada had just startled an octopus. She wrenched her arm free in the confusion and kicked away, and as soon as she was in open water, she was gone. She kicked her feet together like a mermaid and pulled herself forward with both webbed hands, fear lending her added strength. Ada was weighed down by her shoes and clothing and had no chance of catching her. She could only watch, eyes burning, as Servitor vanished into the murk. ((Two can play that game. Servitor tries to create an advantage using Deceive and gets a +7 to Ada’s 2, granting her two free invokes. Then, the rolloff comes, and with the aid of her Slippery as a Fish-Woman stunt, which raises her Athletics Overcome by 3 when in water, Servitor rolls a 9. Ada can’t match that, and an SWS gives her the win here.)) Ada was shaking as she pushed herself out of the water and onto a walkway underneath the bridge. Not from being soaked in the chilly autumn cold, but from anger so hot and terrible it felt like it was burning her up from the inside. She’d lost her. Lost her! She’d only taken her first steps as a leader and she was already demonstrating weakness from being unable to keep her prisoners locked up. She wanted to scream, but she knew that if she did so, it would be so raw and vicious there would be a crowd of onlookers waiting for her back on the streets. “gently caress!” She slammed her foot against the wall. Never again. If she couldn’t catch a runaway again, she’d kill them before letting them escape her grasp! “This isn’t over yet, fish bitch,” she muttered darkly, gripping the knife until her knuckles turned bone-white. Up above, the distant wail of police sirens could be heard. “This city’s mine and you’re part of it too. You’re never getting away from me again!”
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Jan 26, 2019 09:49
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Grappling With The Issues Scene: Chateau duSang By the time Ada returned to the duSang estate, her mood had turned even fouler than it already was, if that was even possible. Bitterly, she slammed the main gate shut behind her. The murderous rage had subsided, primarily due to not finding a decent outlet for it, but her mind was still filled with thoughts of what she wanted to do to everyone involved in the Servitor’s escape, none of them good. As she stared at the entryway, her hands balled up into fists. Her clothes felt cold and miserable in the chilly autumnal air and she needed to change out of them, but she really wasn’t looking forward to her mother’s questions about why she’d arrived home in that state. Instead, she walked around the edge of the house, towards the gardener’s shack on the far end. She needed someone to talk to, and there was only one person on the grounds who knew exactly what she was feeling right now. Circe was outside working, wrapping the rose bushes in burlap to protect against the chill. There was a frost warning in effect, which was almost unheard of, and the plants had to be carefully prepared for it. “You watered the rosebush yet?” Ada asked as she stomped up to Circe, fists clenched. She knew it looked childish, but the extra emphasis on each step helped give the feelings bottled up inside her some release. “They’re not looking too good.” “Watering them in this cold will do more harm than good,” Circe said, without stopping to look up. “You smell like dead fish.” “I wish,” she muttered through gritted teeth. Dead fish would’ve been a lot easier to swallow than a live fish she hadn’t been able to catch. “What did it feel like when Richter tried to get away from you? How did you make sure he couldn’t?” That made her turn around. “Regretting allowing him to leave after all?” For a moment, Ada was seized by a powerful urge to shout at her, but she fought it back. Circe had given her an honest answer. She couldn’t ask her to read her mind. A tired sigh escaped her lips as she sat down on the grass beside her. “Yeah. I feel you. A prisoner got away from me today because I was too stupid to see an obvious trick coming.” She dug her fingers into the dirt unconsciously, as though trying to use the earth to anchor her feelings. “I can see why you were so pissed back when we first met. I wanted to rip her to shreds for thinking she could get away. How did you calm down after that? Feels like I’ve got a fire burning inside me that refuses to die out.” “Ah, not him then…” She paused, thinking about it. “I was angry, but not at Richter. At myself. The prisoner is only doing what comes naturally to one in his position. If you are his captor, then he has no power unless you grant it to him. Unless his will is broken, he will always use that power to run. I held a piece of Richter’s soul in my hand. He could run to the ends of the Earth or the Nevernever, and I could follow, and I made sure that he knew that. I didn’t need to chain him, only remind him that he wore a leash he could never break. And I yanked that leash from time to time so he never forgot it.” “Remind your prisoner that they’re still chained and it’ll rankle them, but it’ll also make them realize how powerless they truly are and stop struggling,” Ada mused. “Is that it?” “Partially… There is another thing to consider. If you only show cruelty then they have no reason to obey you. They may stop struggling but only out of despair. That sort of prisoner is useless as anything but a bargaining chip and even then is worth very little as their kin will resent you for their treatment.” Her face darkened, as though remembering something from long ago. “Kindness is another tool, but one that must be used sparingly. If your prisoner is a fool they may fall for traps of friendship, but if they aren’t then they will see it for what it is, that you are sparing the whip in return for obedience. It’s always a transaction, there can be no trust because the sides are unequal. Richter played that game very well, but given enough time he would have become accustomed to giving me what I wanted. Struggling is much harder than acquiescence, especially when one knows that the rewards are praise and comfort as opposed to pain and hunger.” Ada nodded slowly, letting the witch’s lessons sink in. She was silent for a time before she spoke up again. “I must look like a fool to you. You know how I treat those I have power over firsthand and it’s nothing like that.” Circe laughed. “Do you consider me your prisoner?” “It’s close enough, isn’t it? You belong to me, and what’s a slave if not prisoner to their master?” “I stay willingly, as penance to my Goddess,” Circe said, bowing her head. “I have no desire to leave here, so this is no prison for me. It sounds like that wasn’t the case for your little lost lamb. But humor me a question. What power over them did you give away, and why?” “I gave her the benefit of trust. Tried to deal with her honestly - like she wasn’t a prisoner, but a possible ally.” She slammed her fist against the grass. “Idiot. I should’ve known she’d assume there were catches. And when I lowered my guard, she took her chance and ran away. I gave her too much kindness, showed her a weakness she could exploit, and now she’s gone.” She looked up. “How did you learn to set the boundaries? Did someone get away from you?” “You ask questions you know the answer to,” Circe snapped, her eyes narrowing. “Or should if you thought for a moment before babbling out the first thing that came into your head.” “Just because I can guess doesn’t mean I’m a mind reader,” Ada shot back, pushing herself up. “It’s not the answers I can come up with that can teach me something I don’t know, it’s your stories. But you’re not going to share them with me unless I force you, because you don’t respect me,” she said, glaring upwards at the Witch of Aeaea. “Am I wrong? Do I need to ask more of those questions you hate so much?” “You ask me to share my pain, my grief, as though it costs me nothing. So let me see what lesson, if any, you’ve learned. Were I your prisoner, what would you do if I refused to answer?” The Witch was a full two feet taller than her, and just as imposing a presence now as she had been when she still had her goddess’ blessing. Both of them had lost their powers since then, and the gap between them remained as wide as ever. In many ways, nothing had changed...except for one detail. She was not scared of Circe anymore. Ada leapt forward and upward, tackling Circe to the ground. “Done being kind,” she growled, wrapping her hand around Circe’s neck. “Time for the whip.” Circe’s eyes lit up in surprise and delight. “Good! You can learn!” She rolled over, whipping Ada into the cold ground. The grass softened the impact, but a shock still spread throughout Ada’s body as the witch began to push her down, trying to cut off her airflow. Circe had a massive reach advantage, but in spite of it, she wasn’t strong enough to just toy with Ada or take risks, and pinning her down carried an unavoidable one: her arm was within Ada’s reach. She twisted around, wrapping her legs around it near the shoulder, and pulled back, reversing their positions. Before the witch could recover, she wrapped her arms around Circe’s chest and began to squeeze. There was no elegance to it, but fights for dominance were not supposed to be elegant in the first place. Circe was a witch of the old school, before wizards had forgotten how to fight without relying on their magic. As the pressure tightened around her chest, she began aiming knee bashes at the back of Ada’s head, not bothering to hold back. One of them connected, filling Ada’s vision with stars, but that only made her laugh. Finally, finally a way to work the anger out of her system! Shifting back and forth, Ada endured the next few strikes, looking for an opening as Circe rolled them through the garden, trying to shake them off. Then, when she was sure of Circe’s rhythm, she released the pressure around her chest and reached out, wrapping her right arm around the back of her knee and forcing her to bend the leg forward at a painful angle. Before Circe could recover, she leaned backwards, using her weight to turn the witch’s body around, and climbed onto her exposed back. In a single instant, she trapped her painfully overextended leg underneath her body, then slammed the back of Circe’s head with her left hand, forcing her face into the dirt. “Hah...hah...So? That enough discipline?” she asked, panting, smiling, finally feeling a little more at peace with the events of the day. “For now,” Circe purred contentedly. “If this is to be my punishment, I shall have to be disobedient more often.” “Don’t enjoy it too much. You’re gonna fool me into thinking you’re actually happy to be here,” Ada joked as she peeled off and rubbed the dirt off her face. Now she definitely needed a change of clothes and a hot bath. And yet… “I think I get why you do things the way you do now. It’s so much more natural, isn’t it? Like this is supposed to be the way problems are solved.” “Of course.” Slowly, Ada’s breathing settled down. As it did, her joy gave way to thoughtfulness. “...I’m trying to do something much bigger than I thought,” she mused, looking at Circe with distant eyes. “Our world doesn’t run the way it does because the nonhumans can’t change. They just don’t have any reason to do it, because the laws they follow feel right to them. They won’t just fight me to protect their power, will they? It’s gonna be about protecting their whole world and way of living, something much more precious than any crown. Circe, could you live in a world where it wasn’t right to settle things with strength anymore?” “How would you enforce such a peace? With strength. You propose a fantasy.” Ada nodded. “You can’t rule in any other way. But that dream changes everything. Inside that fantasy, it’s not power that matters most. It’s selflessness and kindness, being willing to make sacrifices for the sake of everyone else. Isn't it worth chasing a fantasy that won’t die even when it faces reality head-on?” Circe sighed. “If that is your cause, then you must be very exclusive in who you invite to live under your protection. It will only take one betrayal, one person to put himself above the others, to destroy everything. You seek to mimic the cooperation of a hive, where all work for the good of all, but a hive is one entity with many bodies. Sacrificing some for the good of others is a choice of the collective. That’s not so with individual minds.” Ada looked away, troubled. “...I don’t know how. The bigger my revolution grows, the more those kinds of people will be drawn to it. Traitors to the goal. Feels like it’ll fall to pieces unless I keep my grip on it. I can try fixing the cracks as they start to show, but I’ll never be as good at it as a queen bee.” She drew the knife from her pocket and caressed the scaly obsidian blade. “...And I’m not going to live to become a tenth as old as you either,” she admitted, letting a little bit of fear creep into her voice. “I just know.” “One thing at a time,” Circe chided gently. “Seizing power is hazardous enough, ruling well is another matter, and considering your legacy a third. What I told you before applies to this as well. Kindness and cruelty are your tools as long as you hold power over others, as their jailor or as their queen. Reward obedience, punish disobedience. Make examples early, but not so brutal that the rest revolt. Banishment perhaps, rather than death. This age is so soft...” “And I’m a product of it. But at least I have the right advisors to toughen me up.” Still, though, she couldn’t accept it — not all of it, anyway. Monstrous strength needed to be balanced with deluded human kindness in equal measure. It seemed like an impossible task, but wasn’t achieving those exactly why she’d chosen to arrive on the scene? “I was cruel earlier. Now’s time for the kindness.” Before the witch could react, Ada took a step forward, and pulled her into a different kind of hug. “You think I’m a fool and you’re still willing to teach me. Thank you, Circe.” “I prefer your punishments!” Circe said, laughing. She gave Ada a pat on the head and gently pushed her away. “Now go bathe before you catch cold. I must tend the roses, if there are any left.” “Someone has to tend to the garden so it can bloom,” Ada said, nodding in agreement as she began mentally preparing an explanation for her sorry state that would leave her mother satisfied. “And until I can find the time to take lessons on that too, I can’t think of a better choice.” Transient People fucked around with this message at 10:52 on Jan 26, 2019 |
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Jan 26, 2019 09:51
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Campaign Central Location: Frisk Campaign HQ Downtown New Orleans was beset by a hungry throng at midday as they ventured out upon their lunch breaks, descending upon the city center in search of sustenance, which gave James - dressed in smart casual - ample chance to keep an eye on Frisk’s campaign HQ before he ventured in. The place seemed busy still, as if everyone inside were avoiding acknowledging their candidate’s absence. Drinking the last of his coffee, he tossed it into a nearby trash can , sliding through the crowd and heading into the office. No one seemed to notice him. About half the people in there were busy phonebanking and the others were all running back and forth with papers and coffee and stacks of yard signs. There was a big whiteboard in the back with canvassing assignments laid out. In short, you couldn’t tell anything was wrong by looking. Snagging a flier from a stack perched near the door, James casually wandered through the office, stepping aside to allow any of the busy staffers passage as he meandered through the desks towards the back of the HQ, where the biggest office was - probably Frisk’s. The blinds were drawn but also old and there was enough of a gap to see inside. The light was off, the computer monitors covered in the snaking tubes of their default screensavers. There was no one in there. Trying to ignore the problem by shutting the blinds and hiding it away, mused James in his head leaned against the door casually, jiggling the handle with a concealed hand to confirm that it was, indeed, locked. Wandering away from the door, he casually looked around the office for someone mid-level - important but not too important - and agreeable looking. There was a middle aged man folding pamphlets at one of the large tables who looked promising. People kept approaching him with questions and he’d direct them where they needed to go, as the pile of folded pamphlets slowly increased next to him. He wasn’t running the office, but he looked like he knew what he was about. Drifting up to the table, James said casually, as if making small talk, “Hey, man. I’m new in town, thought I’d wander in, check what Mr Frisk is about, y’know?” “He’s about lifting up the common man,” said the man, offering him a hand. “The name’s Mike, you here to lend a hand or just looking for a reason to cast your vote, son?” James shook the man’s hand firmly, “I’m James. Moved here a few months back to run my Uncle’s business. Just figured I’d see what the politicians ‘round here are like. ‘Sides, I’m not sure an ex-PI would be much help to a campaign, y’know?” Mike grinned widely. “Oho! A small business owner! Those are our favorite kinds of people in politics, dontcha know.” His accent wasn’t local. It reminded James of home a little bit. “You’d be surprised, though. Ex-PI means you know how to talk to people, get to the truth. That’s a valuable skill when you’re knockin’ on doors, son.” (James, Empathy to get a read on Mike: /+// +4 = +5.) “Never really looked at that way,” replied James, running his hand through his hair and scratching his head, “Always just seemed like an endless stream of people who couldn’t manage to stick to their wedding vows, at the time. Half of why I quit it, if I’m honest.” “Not humanity at its finest, eh?” He shook his head. “Well the good thing about this job is while you get to see a lot of the truth, and a lot of it’s ugly, you also get to hear what people really need, what gets ‘em through the day, and how you could help ‘em. Makin’ a difference is a wholesome thing. Everyone can use some of that.” “Fair point,” replied James with a nod, “Glad to know there's at least a few people in politics who care about folk. Mr Frisk not in today? Wouldn't mind meeting the man, sounds like he inspired you.” “He sure did, son…” Mike trailed off, as if looking for the right words. “I’m afraid he won’t be in today though. He’s been ill, unfortunately. He’ll be back soon, maybe as soon as this weekend! It’s hard to say…” “That's a shame,” replied James, acting disappointed, “I hope he gets well soon. Tell you what, you've got me convinced a bit. Gimme a few fliers and I'll see if any of the guys at the gym or dojo are interested. Guess I could probably leave my card too, if you think you'd need me for anything.” “Sure, sure,” Mike hands over a stack of pamphlets with Frisk’s logo on them. “Can always use more boots on the ground.” The suspicion in his eyes is palpable, despite the smile. He knows you know something. Or he thinks you might, anyways. James exchanged the stack of pamphlets for his business card, nonplussed at the suspicion - it was a look he was all too familiar with. “Thanks. I’ll see if anyone’s interested in these. Maybe stick a few on my desk in the store.” “That’d be swell,” Mike said, nodding. “Every vote counts.” “Sure,” replied James with a nod, heading out the door with the stack of fliers in hand. The people in there are clearly worried, but they’re trying to ignore it, hoping Frisk’ll turn up again, which probably means he’s not been gone long enough to start people panicking he mused as he walked through the crowd, back to his car, He probably wasn’t grabbed here, either - campaign HQ’d have too many witnesses, and the office, while abandoned, looked normal. Might get lucky and have Mike call for help when they start getting more worried, but otherwise, this place is probably a dead end.
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Mar 7, 2019 03:40
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Yellow Fox Marcine had been hearing bits and pieces of things happening among the fae, but Rick and her apprenticeship had been good excuses to avoid looking into it. She hadn’t had anything to do with the Summer debacle directly, not to extent that Ada was involved, but she still hadn’t wanted to deal with that. But she’d ignored it long enough. It was about time she learned what was going on in the aftermath. She drove out to the woods and called her violin to hand. Good thing she only needed to play for a moment; she’d turned the heat on in her car, only to not get any. Wonderful. She made her way to the log where she usually met Topaz and played his song. It wasn’t long before a brown nose emerged from one end of the log. Topaz took a tentative step out and then wriggled free. He looked bigger than Marcine remembered. A little thinner too. “Marcine, Marcine! Look!” He circled the log and jumped up in her lap, wagging his tails. All four of them. “Wow…” She grinned and gave his neck a good, rough scratch with both hands. “Way to go. Congratulations!” He flopped down and leaned into the scritches, enjoying all the attention. It took him a moment to remember to ask: “Why did you call for me?” Marcine settled for rubbing his neck so she wouldn’t distract him as much. “Can you fill me in on what’s going on with the Courts?” “Hmmm… Things are not good,” he said, ears laying down against his skull. “The Summer Queen is missing, and no one knows where she went. If she doesn’t come back the Queen of Winter will make war on us, and probably win. It’s got all the lords and ladies on edge. Even some of the oldest enemies within Summer are starting to call for pacts of truce until the Queen is found. Otherwise there’s not too much to tell, since Lord Pontchartrain has taken firm hold of the court locally. He got rid of most of the rules that Narcissus put in place. ‘Faeries for the faeries,’ he says. ‘Do what’s natural.’ It’s caused some, er... disagreements.” “What kinds of disagreements?” Marcine asked. “His folk are wilder than the court is used to. They like to have parties and sometimes they like to invite people without sending them home.” Topaz looked uncomfortable. “But it’s not all like that. I think the main idea is that the faeries here have grown too close to humans and he wants us to stop being so civilized and toothless. To spend less time on this side of the veil and more time running free in the forest and the swamp. It’s very fun! But I don’t want to say goodbye to all my human friends, so I’m not so sure about it.” “I don’t see why those should be mutually exclusive,” Marcine said. She hunted when she felt like it, no apparent reason why fae couldn’t hang out with people when they felt like it. But that wasn’t the important part here. She frowned. “How many of these parties are going on?” “Most nights, on the riverboat,” Topaz said, shrugging. “Lord Pontchartrain really like parties.” “People are going to notice the missing if he keeps that up.” Among many other problems, but she was talking to a fae, here. “That’s why Lord Narcissus didn’t let them,” Topaz agreed. “Some of the courtiers are using the parties to bring in human soldiers, since there might be a war. It’s because they’re afraid, I think. Afraid enough to put their pride aside to bolster our numbers. It’s gotten that bad.” Marcine sighed in irritation. “What good is a fae war going to do when we’ve already got the Fomor on our asses?” “It won’t do anyone in Summer any good,” Topaz said, sighing. “But without the Queen it’s probably inevitable. Ten thousand years of winter, if nothing changes soon.” She’d never heard him sound so down. She scratched his head, thinking. Sounded like Summer was on the back foot entirely. Only Winter would benefit from a war...but Winter only cared about itself anyway. Mab had been willing to accept their help, but that was in the face of the world getting destroyed. “I think I should meet the Winter delegation,” she said, eventually. “What will you say to them?” Topaz asked. She shrugged. “I plan to get to know them first. Emphasizing the Fomor seems like a first step, though.” She sighed, remembering the meeting. “It got so bad in Florida they dumped a toxin into the gulf, which I’m sure killed fae as well as Fomor and God knows how much wildlife and how many humans will suffer from the fallout… We can’t let it get that bad here.” Topaz wrapped a tail around her arm. “I know you want to help Marcine, but words can’t stop Winter from coming.” “I’d still rather take my chances with the ones that might want to kill me over the ones that definitely want to kill me,” she said dryly, and fluffed his ears. “It’s time to scout, not come up with some grand scheme. Don't worry about me.”
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Mar 9, 2019 21:39
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Discreet Investigations Location: Tulane University, Biology building “‘Professor Reuben Lancaster, PhD, Biology,’” Gorden read off the brass nameplate on the door. The Bio department may have been a short walk from Physics, but there’d been precious little reason for an astrophysicist to come here after undergrad (short of aliens talk), so the building had a bit of a “foreign country” air, down to the faux wood paneling and shaded lights. But he’d gotten a copy of the professor’s teaching schedule, and this was one of the few times in the week he wasn’t holding office hours or teaching labs in his office. If there was anything in there to find connecting him to Sharene and Shirley’s woes, this was the time to search it. He briefly checked up and down the hall, then, not expecting much, tried the handle while shoving his shoulder up against the door. He’s not sure what he expected. Of course the thing was locked. He wondered idly whether the door was made of actual wood or just a cheap veneer, before throwing up his hands, checked the hall one last time, and--remembering the odd times his dorm decided they wanted to play Call of Duty with Nerf Guns and door breaches--snap kicked the door just above the lock. (Physique roll: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+2 = (+---)+2 = 0) “ARGH! Gah...sss...ouch!” Okay, definitely hardwood! Screw it! Change of plans! He grabbed hold of the locking mechanism and focused on the bolt inside. At some point in the past or some point in the future, it would be in its alternative equilibrium state of an open bolt. Just need to fix its local energy to that point… (CEKing the door open, nuts to this! @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (b-bb)+4 = 3) With a click and a pop, the bolt drew back, letting Gorden into an untidy office that smelled like mud and mold. There were samples of both sitting on the man’s desk. It wasn’t that much different from his own office, otherwise, though the piles of books and papers were on different topics and there were test tubes of dirty water in a stand against the window. Gorden threw the bolt back into the “locked” position behind him as he examined the office. Bigger than his own, though just as messy. And the biological samples gave the place a strange, “Frankenstein” like air--the smell reminded him of grave dirt, even though he knew they had to be swamp and wetland samples. Undaunted, he began to step around the papers and books to behind the desk, looking for ashes or some other destroyed evidence. Notice: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+5 = (bb++)+5 = 7 “There!” Under the desk! A paper shredder, yes! A year ago, he’d have approached this problem like an undergrad, being saddled with any other giant pile of uncollated data. Dump all the paper on a desk and sort through them slowly, with tape and time. But now he could focus on the papers and unshred them just like that. Well, maybe not just like that--even if whole, legible papers were what he wanted, a bunch of whole papers with the strips all assembled wrong was still more ordered than a bunch of confetti. Still, he had to try. As he was preparing to make a large mess of the paper shreds, someone knocked on the office door. “Reuben? Was that you? Is everything alright?” A woman’s voice, not one Gorden recognized. She must have heard him yell earlier! Oh shoot! Gorden searched the room--any place he could hide he’d be found out easily. Who was this woman? He hadn’t seen anyone in the halls before entering the office! Was she one of the other professors, or one of the office assistants? “Uh, campus delivery! Professor Lancaster asked me to bring up his, uh--” poo poo, why was biology 101 so long ago?! “--artificial polymerase in the chemistry department, really crazy handling requirements with a long manufacture time, asked me to bring it back to his office before the prokaryotics break down in the heat of the labs, you know, with all the ventilation problems of being in the basement!” That didn’t explain the noise, though. “Uh, knocked over one of his books on…” he read the titles off of one of the stacks of paper. “...’Large Animalia Biodiversity In and Along Semi-Urbanized Environments’, just put it back! Sorry if I scared you!” If she wasn’t a biology staff member she might have bought that, but if she was… (Deceiving, possibly with He Blinded Me with Science? @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+1 = (bb-+)+1 = 1) “Oh?” The door jiggled. “Why’ve you locked yourself in then?” “Oh, automatic response on my part, ma’am! Always return other people’s stuff to its original position after you’re done with it!” he answered with the force that it said it might actually have been normal procedure. “This time I just did it coming in instead of going out. My bad!” (This is suspicious, so I spend a GM FP to bump the base difficulty to 5. Gorden Invokes You Can’t Scare Me, I’m a TA, because this is totally the normal procedure for delivering things to offices, honest.) “Oh, I see. Carry on then,” she said. But Gorden doesn’t hear her leave. “No problem!” Gorden called through the door. “Uh, this might take a little while, though! Need to plug in the cooling pump and make sure the temperature’s stabilized! “ She doesn’t answer. Maybe she left? But maybe not… Well, he must have bought himself a little time, at least! Gorden starts to sort through the paper shredder’s bin, keeping an eye on the door in case someone with the key came by. >Need a roll to de-shred the papers. Q: would papers need to be reshredded or does moving them forward in time return them to their original state? (Using CEK to try to reassemble the papers: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 assembling shreds = (++--)+4 = 4 . That’s a very interesting question! I’d like to say that because the papers were already shredded, moving them forward in time will return them to shreds--but how long that takes depends on how long it’s been since they’ve been shredded. If they’ve been in strips for a while, they’ll return to strips more quickly than if the Professor jammed them in just before heading out for lunch today.) The more recently shredded papers reassembled more quickly. Most of them were junk mail. A few school-staff related emails. One large photo of a wet kitten. Ahah! A study guide for moss growth rates under different moisture conditions! It all seemed useless, and Gorden was about to give up when he noticed handwriting on the back of the study guide. ‘Sending you Nguyen, Bakersfield, and Indra tomorrow at 4:00pm.’ -KC Judging by how quickly it un-shredded itself, this paper was destroyed recently. A few hours ago at most. It could just be a student project, or a study session… Gorden ran his eyes over the stitching papers (who actually printed out lolcats?!) before stopping on the paper on moss growth. It definitely wasn’t his field, but it was the only science-related item in the bunch. And...jackpot! He slid his grimoire out onto the table and took out a pen to transcribe the message. He’d already gotten a couple of pictures with his phone as the paper assembled, but it was good to have backups in case the snaps turned out blurry and illegible. “Indra” was a bit weird, and “KC” could be anyone, but “Nguyen” and “Bakersfield” had to be surnames. And if this was only shredded today, then he still had a good 24 hours plus to protect three people from whatever batshit insanity Professor Lancaster and “KC” were planning. Gorden stuffed the papers back into the shredder bin, the “stitching” of the papers already coming undone. Now, how was he going to get out of here? He listened at the door again, wondering if whoever was talking earlier had left. She was strangely quiet. Or she’d left. Gorden quickly scanned the desk and office one last time, wondering if the professor was the sort to keep a spare key around. (@Davin_Valkri: 4dF+5 = (+-b-)+5 = 4, FP on You Can't Scare Me..., this isn't Gorden's first messy office.) There was a key in the second drawer of the desk that looked similar to his own office key, buried under some papers and mixed into a pile of drawer detritus (tacks, paperclips, sticky notes…) It might not be missed immediately, if he was lucky. With this, Gorden could at least exit without arousing suspicion from magicking the lock back into place. As for how to go from there… well, the first thing was to get out of here. Then inform Elbridge and company by text and silver pin thing. With a deep breath he pulled his head down and opened the door out of the office. Davin Valkri fucked around with this message at 03:20 on Mar 26, 2019 |
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Mar 24, 2019 03:33
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So Much For A Low Profile Scene: Tulane University, Biology Building The woman was waiting for him, leaning against the wall directly opposite the door. She was pencil thin with secretary glasses and short, wispy blonde hair. She had on a green sweater over a flower print dress and she had that air of smug academia about her that usually meant ‘tenured.’ “Everything where it should be?” she asked, giving him a piercing glare. “Mr…?” Oh crud, she hadn’t left. Gorden immediately pushed his eyes downward as he turned to lock the door, leaning hard into the “harried and stressed out grad student” barely-a-stereotype. “Uh, yep yep! He asked me to put the stuff in one of his cabinets to keep the light off the chemicals, but I had to move a bunch of stuff around to get in there! Everything’s fine, no problems!” He tugged the visor of his hat, hoping there wasn’t any white hair sticking out from the back. “Don’t open any of the cabinets for 36 hours before it stabilizes, or the sudden change in ambient light will make it stink really bad! See you later!” He chucked the spare key back under the door, and gave a polite wave to the woman without turning to look at her, still trying to hide his face. Her arm shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could stop her. “Stop,” she said. For just a moment Gorden felt a pulse of something rather like static electricity jump between them, and he instinctively knew this woman was- somehow- much more intimidating than she looked. In that instant her expression changed from suspicious to furious. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” she demanded. “If you’ve left something in there to harm Reuben I’ll skin you alive. Have you?” There was a tug on the back of his mind, like a fish hook reeling the truth from his brain to his tongue. Even the thought of deceit yanked painfully on his mind like an angry angler. ((The strange woman tests Gorden’s will by trying to magically force him to answer her questions. Mentalism +/// +7 = 7. Gorden defends with Will, ///- +5 = 4. Gorden invokes “You Can’t Scare Me, I’m a TA!” to make his roll +6 and take it out of SWS territory. Strange woman responds with an FP on her aspect “Power is Meant to be Used” to make her roll +9! Except this isn’t the first time Gorden’s had his mind read by a ridiculously powerful magic being--because he’s seen “...The Way the World Ends!” So he invokes again for a +8, and just marks the first stress box!)) “Nnng...gah…!” Gorden winced at the woman’s touch. The only comparison he could think of was like the worst static discharge he’s ever felt--the kind that really hurts and even makes a lightning discharge in the air. “I...I didn’t--ah!” he yelped, still trying and failing to keep his face hidden. “I didn’t leave anything to hurt him! I swear! Let go! Who are you?! Ow!” He tried to pull away from her as best he can, even though it hurts it hurts it HURTS! “None of your business,” she snapped, tugging on his arm as though she thought that was all it would take to force him to comply. “You’re coming with me, somewhere I can question you properly.” There was no way she could be legitimate staff, Gorden thought to himself. And after the static jolt her grip seemed...not the strongest. With a sudden burst of desperation, he pulled himself away and turned to run for the emergency exit. “I’m not going with you anywhere!” Athletics to try to get away, as an Overcome action: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +3 = (--++)+3 = 3 Invoking New Age Anti-Retro Millenial to get to +5 “Well then we can just stay right here,” she snaps, stretching out an arm. The walls shift and the floor grinds under Gorden as the hallway folds up like a dream building in Inception. When it stops there’s no way out, just four blank walls, a floor and a ceiling. (Will to set up “Prison of Dreams” +//- +4 = 4.) Gorden skidded to a stop as his intended flight path suddenly becomes a plain concrete wall. He turned back to his captor, and stood up straighter, leaning his hands back against the wall. “Sorry, I have an appointment.” Will to break out of this dream prison...or try to. @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +5 = (+b+-)+5 = 6 Shouldn’t have used unreinforced concrete as your wall pattern for plainness, lady--the engineering department always complains about how quickly it falls apart! He imagined the wall disintegrating under rain and time, heard the wall explode behind him, and (hiding a giggle at the movie moment) stepped back out to the office hallway. “With the undertaker,” she says, stepping over the same rubble as it dissolves into nothing. The stairwell at the end of the hallway stretches away from Gorden until it seems like miles instead of a few short yards, and that hook in the back of his mind yanks hard enough that blood starts leaking from his nose. (Mysterious Professor rolls Provoke for a straight psychic assault, /-++ +6 = 7! Gorden tries to resist with Will: +-/- +5 = 4. SWS! She deals two stress and inflicts “Infinite Hallway” to prevent him from escaping.) Gorden was just about to start running when the hallway begins to stretch...and stretch...and stretch...into something that Zeno would have laughed at. He staggered to a stop, blinked, and grabbed his temples as his head felt fit to burst, spilling a nosebleed onto his labcoat. He had no clue how far it was to the exit. He didn’t know if he could make it before she caught up or he got tired. ...but he DID know how far it was to her. Still holding his nose with one hand, he spun on his heel and grabbed the metal case around the little bit of iron hanging around his neck, rewinding the celestial running down before hitting play and aiming the hole in the case towards her. A purple light projected out from the collimation, spasmodically shifting in color as the fusion inside formed heavier and heavier elements, and all of that energy was aimed directly at his aggressor. Screw it, Gorden’s going physical! Attacking with CEK @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +4 = (-b++)+4 = 5 ...or he thought he did. As soon as he raised his pendant, her eyes went wide and the hallway stretched between them, but even the extra space didn’t give her enough time to get completely out of the way of the laser. “Yeaaargh!” she yelled, and when Gorden could finally see again through the black spots he realized that she couldn’t. The blast had scorched her cheek and completely blinded her, and the tips of her hair were actually on fire. (Professor attempts to dodge, poorly. Athletics -+-/ +2 = 1. She uses the invoke on Infinite Hallways to bring that to a 3, and takes 2 stress, plus 2 weapon damage for four. Has to mark first box and her mild, “Blinded By Science”.) Even though she couldn’t see, she stood there, slightly smoking, in the center of the hallway, and raised her hands as though she’d caught hold of an invisible rope. “Get BACK here,” she growled, yanking on it like a mime pretending to play tug of war. Pain exploded in Gorden’s skull, light and sound were suddenly too bright and too loud, like an instant migraine. (Professor gives Gorden a good mental lashing, Provoke: +++/ +6 = 9! :O Gorden defends, Will: +/+- +5 = 6, invokes the tag on Blinded by Science for an 8. Professor raises with 2 FP on her concept, Sorceress of Art History, and Power is Meant to Be used for a total of 13, which deals 5 stress and takes Gorden’s Mild Consequence, “Instant Migraine!”) Only by catching himself on the wall rail did Gorden keep himself from falling on his face and staying there. Blood flowed freely from his nose and his eyes felt bloodshot--if he didn't get away right now his brain was going to ooze out on the linoleum. What the hell was this woman's deal?! Migraines, telekinesis, spacial manipulation...was she some kind of...magic eye illusionist? That stuff always gave him a headache! He grabbed hold tighter on the rail, trying to focus the seemingly infinite back to finite perspective. Miraculously, the emergency exit seemed to fade back into view...but the odds of him getting there fast enough without this woman giving him a stroke seemed...thin. Maybe she couldn't affect what she didn't have clear sight lines to? Gorden held his arm up against the wall and concentrated, finding the space between studs and insulation, growing micro fissures all the way up to the ceiling... CEK to create advantage “Dropped Tile Ceiling”: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +6 = (b-b+)+6 = 6 As a large, and possibly larger than Gorden intended, chunk of the ceiling comes down between them, scattering dust and debris and probably asbestos everywhere, the woman shrinks back, still half-blinded. With the mess in the way, it isn’t safe for her to chase after him, but she squints hard and shouts: “Tell me your name!” Sadly, thanks to Gorden learning Magic from First Principles he never learned not to give his name to warlocks...or maybe as a New Age Anti-Retro Millennial he’s just kinda overshare-y. Either way… As Gorden broke for the emergency exit, he almost laughed out loud at what had happened. He’d clearly come face to face with some strong magic--but he’d gotten away more or less intact, with the damning evidence in tow. He flashed his distinctly marked Tulane ID badge for the door, turned and called back “Tell your friends you got cold-cocked by Gorden Maxwell, the physicist!” before he exited the building as fast as he could. “Well I hope you’re better at physics than you are with magic, Gorden Maxwell,” she muttered darkly. mistaya fucked around with this message at 03:36 on Mar 24, 2019 |
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Mar 24, 2019 03:34
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When Life Gives You Ada, Make duSangria Scene: Canal Street, en route to Hydrangea Place “...and it’s as Mr. Maxwell said - he’s back in town, teaching his old class as if nothing had happened.” Tap. Tap. Tap. El’s staff beat a steady rhythm against the pavement with every other step, his other hand resting upon the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword at his hip. “Ms. Quinn can’t even bring herself to set foot on campus, not while he’s still strutting about with impunity.” “That’s pretty brazen,” Rick said, shaking his head. “We’ve confirmed he’s not Council, right? I couldn’t find any trace of him when I looked, though I guess he could be going by a pseudonym.” It was early evening, the sun just a faint orange glow on the horizon. Rick was starting to feel oddly like himself again after a few days with Nicholas, and when El came to ask if he was willing to help with the Lancaster case he’d agreed to come along. It was technically ‘unfinished business’, after all. “If he was, he’s buried his past remarkably-well,” Elbridge admitted grudgingly. “We’ve had a few Wizards Lancaster, but only one living at present, and she’s a woman. No relation,” he added. “Already asked. Unless he’s a liche...blast Turner for skipping town when he did.” “I wish I could have said goodbye,” Rick said, after a moment’s pause. Hugues up and leaving on them had been a huge shock, one he still hadn’t come to terms with. “He doesn’t even know I’m still around.” “You’ll see him again,” Elbridge reassured him. “And when you do, you’ll have something new to bond over.” “I guess there aren’t too many people in the ‘survived your own death curse’ club,” Rick said, giving El a side eye. “It’s not too late for you, ya know.” “Alas, only other peoples’ death curses for me,” Elbridge sighed. “Although that last one was...quite memorable.” He shivered slightly, and it wasn’t anything to do with the unseasonable chill to the New Orleans air. “Do duplicate selves from other timelines count?” Rick had to think about that one. “Not unless they’re cursing you,” he decided. “I still can’t believe I missed all that.” “Be grateful that you did,” Elbridge said. “The things we saw...the things our duplicates had done...if I could forget them, I might.” They continued in silence for another block. “Except for the moment with the giant worm at the end. That was rather excellent.” “One big problem off the list,” Rick agreed. “How’s the repair job on the Nevernever going?” “The Veil is mending at an admirable pace,” Elbridge told him. “The conditions which led to the breach…” He sighed again. “It’s an absolute nightmare. Summer’s in chaos, nobody can find their Queen, and Winter’s already rattling their sabres.” He stared forward, numb, his gaze hollow. “I still see Ash regularly. She doesn’t know what’s happened. I don’t know if telling her would do her any good, or just horrify her and put her in danger.” “Probably all of the above,” Rick said. “It’s not a bad idea. She’s older than you are, El, even if she doesn’t look like it. Plus, she’s in on half our schemes already, so it’s not like she’d run off and tell the rest of the court. Are you two still...” “Dating? Yes, Rick, we are. Aren’t you a little old to play coy about these things?” “I didn’t know if you’d made it official! It’s not like you ever talk about her outside of the work context.” “I try to compartmentalise my personal and professional lives, Rick,” Elbridge said. “That’s usually a good thing! Why did you think I was conflicted in the first place?” He gripped his staff just a little tighter before letting out his breath in a hiss. “Fine. You’re right - I should tell her. It’s not as if my enemies have ever respected that divide, and she’ll be better-prepared if she understands the dangers she’s facing.” “C’mon. Did you even have a ‘personal life’ before you met her? Be honest.” Despite the topic Rick was enjoying himself. It was kinda fun to be the one ribbing El instead of the other way around. “I’d planned to clean my basement after the war end- wait, no,” Elbridge cut off. “That was just work I’d taken home with me, wasn’t it?” “Yeah, that doesn’t-” Rick paused mid-sentence. There was a police cordon on the sidewalk ahead of them, just a block or so away from Hydrangea Place. “What’s that about?” “I don’t - wait.” Elbridge squinted against the strobing lights, staring at something draped across a starbush next to the ground entrance. “Is that…” He paused as one of the uniformed officers marched over to the bush and took a photo before handing the cloth to an annoyed forensic tech. “A bathrobe.” Rick felt a shock of alarm through the hilt of the sword. “That’s the one I gave to the Fomor captive.” “How do you know for sure?” Rick asked. “The hem’s frayed, and it has an absinthe stain on the right breast,” Elbridge said. “I’m sure. Rick...Ada said she’d be by to speak with the captive today.” “...I take it that didn’t go well.” “Evidently not.” Elbridge made it for another half-block or so before he was stopped. A heavyset officer, face red and sweating even in the autumn chill, accosted him and shoved something in his face. “Excuse me! Sir!” the cop demanded, holding up a composite sketch. “You recognize this woman?” Rick facepalmed. “Never seen her before in my life officer.” “She...looks like the hostess for Bingo Night,” Elbridge said, affecting an air of doddering senility. “At the senior annex.” He smiled witlessly. “Always calls my numbers...is that woman blonde? I think the hostess is blonde…” “You have a nice evening, sir,” the officer said, brushing Elbridge aside. “Please get home safely.” Elbridge and Rick entered Hydrangea Place and made it all the way to the stairwell before El dropped the act. “loving bollocks!” Elbridge swore. “Now now, grandpa, let’s get you upstairs and make you some porridge. You know how upset you get without your afternoon porridge.” Rick mimed patting him on the back. “I take mine with no sugar and two scoops of up yours, pissant.” Elbridge sighed again. “Let’s go survey the damage.” It was fairly-obvious which room had housed the Servitor. It was on the top floor, and the only room with an open door, to put it mildly. The door looked as if it had been torn partway off of its hinges, and splinters littered the carpet from where the deadbolt had held but the wood itself hadn’t. “Which one do you think did that?” Rick asked, sobering slightly at the sight of it. “Coin flip,” Elbridge said, and stooped to inspect the scene. There was a solid imprint on the inside of the door, left by a blow forceful enough to gouge away the black varnish on impact. What remained was a clear imprint of the undersole of a work boot. A familiar-looking scrap of black fabric had snagged on the jamb. “Hrm. It was definitely the captive who kicked out the lock. Ada was standing next to the door, close enough to be caught by surprise when it happened. I suspect that the captive made a break for it, and Ada gave chase.” Elbridge stepped inside and pulled the door shut in case anyone else on the floor was watching. “That much is clear,” Rick said, staring thoughtfully at the imprint on the door. “But I’d know those size five’s anywhere. I bet Fishy tried to sneak out, and Ada took it badly.” “If that’s true, then she’s paying my security deposit,” Elbridge grumbled. “I must say, this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. If this is how she handles a simple interrogation…” “Is it though?” Rick looked unsure. “Ask her before we make a bunch of bad assumptions. We need to know if she’s alright, first of all, and she can probably tell us what happened to the ex-prisoner.” “Don’t cut her slack on this, Rick!” Elbridge snapped. “She aspires to rule this city! She’s no amateur. I trusted her with access to a valuable intelligence asset, and the asset escaped. If this were Edinburgh, she’d spend a full year on shite-mopping detail for this.” “El, I came along to help out with Lancaster, not whatever this is. It looks like she messed up, fine. If you want to try to take her to task for it, be my guest. I don’t have a dog in this race anymore.” “Hrmph.” Elbridge’s nostrils flared. “With everything else on our plate, Lancaster will take some time. I don’t want to tip our hand until we’re ready to move - ideally, he shouldn’t even know that we’re pursuing him until it’s too late. Never a sure thing with a warlock, but the less time he has to prepare, the better.” He began to tidy up the apartment, diligently scrubbing it of any trace of the captive he’d held there. “We’re still waiting on Mr. Maxwell’s report, at any rate.” Rick sat down on the couch, feeling somewhat useless. Watching other people clean made his hands itch. “Why’d you bring him in so fast, anyways? Feeling short-handed?” “Among other reasons, yes,” Elbridge admitted. “Commander Santiago’s methods left a great deal to be desired. He never troubled himself to build any kind of trust or rapport with the community - just popped over to cut off some heads every now and again and called it a day. The rest of the job - the actual work - he preferred to delegate,” Elbridge said sourly. “You have to admit, sometimes it felt as if we were trying to bail out the Titanic with a teacup.” “...yeah.” Rick felt cold suddenly. Mention of the Titanic brought up thoughts of icebergs and freezing water and… He felt his focus slipping. “Still better than rearranging the deck chairs though, right?” “Perhaps,” Elbridge said from the bathroom, plucking hairs from the comb and otherwise scouring for stray bits of DNA. “I suppose that after a certain point, one might as well sit back and admire the view as freeze one’s fingers off in futility...er, Rick?” He paused as he emerged and finally saw the state Rick was in. “Are you...feeling alright?” “Maybe we should talk about something else?” he said, reaching for the sword. “Ah, yes. Forgive me,” Elbridge said. He unfastened the sword from his hip and passed it to Rick, hilt-first. “I should have considered…” Rick took it and sat down, laying it across his lap with one hand on each end. He felt much better almost immediately, and let out a sigh. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Nicholas said it’s like scar tissue, everything around my last few moments is damaged so reminders are like, picking at the scab, so to speak.” Bit of a mixed metaphor, that, Elbridge thought. “It should improve with time,” he said, optimistic. “As for the other reasons I deputised Mr. Maxwell...well, he’s a time mage. It behooves me to train him. Keeps him close at hand, and makes a fiasco like the Solstice far less-likely. With enough practise, he may even be able to help us to learn what became of Lytle.” “You mentioned that before,” Rick said. “But if JR was sent back in time, wouldn’t a rescue mission be a lawbreak in and of itself? That’s what Cap- That’s why Future-Bellworth kicked my rear end, remember?” “The Sixth and Seventh Laws do pose some difficult ontological questions,” Elbridge said with a grimace. “If it’s forbidden for humans to even engage with the subject matter, then what are we to do when someone else makes a hash of it?” “Not make a worse hash of it, I guess. I’m not any happier than you are to let the universe sort itself out but that’s what we’re supposed to do.” Rick frowned thoughtfully. “If you send someone to the past though, you can always pull them out again right after they got sent, can’t you? Since they weren’t meant to be there. It’s not like… I mean technically, whenever JR is, he’s living his life- but he’s already lived it and is long dead at this point. So a rescue mission can always just scoop him up five minutes after he landed and erase all of that and…gently caress I hate time travel.” “Never again,” Elbridge concurred. “But I believe that, if nothing else, Gorden and Nicholas might be able to help us find some answers to these impossible questions.” “Yeah. I hope Gorden works out, he seems like a good guy. Nicholas…” he smiled and shook his head. “It takes a while but he kinda grows on you.” “Like a fungus,” Elbridge said. “He’s...improving, at least.” He sat back on the couch beside Rick and stared up at the plaster ceiling. “Rick, what do you think of Ada’s chances?” he asked point-blank. Rick sighed, irritated. There was no getting away from her. “I told her she’d be walking over bodies the whole way and that just made her more determined. You probably know more than I do at this point, I’ve been out of the loop for weeks. What do you think of them?” “I think that she’s her own worst enemy,” Elbridge said. “I think that she tries to justify her mistakes after the fact rather than learn from them. I think that her thrill-seeking and other behaviours remind me of a compulsive gambler - she can’t cut her losses, only double down. I think that she prefers to live in a fairy-tale of her own imagining, and that this is a laudable trait for a writer or an actress but a terrifying one for a leader.” Presently, Elbridge realised that while he spoke, his jaw had become clenched and the muscles in his neck were so taut that they hurt. He was clutching the sofa’s armrest in a death-grip; when he removed his hand, several clumps of mouldering fabric came with it. He let out his breath in a long sigh. “I think that I see far too much of Titania in her, Rick, and that scares me.” “Okay. But what do you think of her chances?” Rick asked, leaning forward enough to rest his chin on one hand. “No worse than those of any other hopeless ideologue or megalomaniac, would-be tyrant in this God-forsaken city.” “At least she’s our hopeless megalomaniac.” Privately Rick thought he would rather continue the discussion on the Titanic. “The way I see it her mind’s made up. She’s gonna take over the city or die trying. You can either help her, get out of her way, or stand in it. I’m keeping my nose out of this unless she starts crossing lines. Maybe that makes me a coward but honestly, I don’t give a drat. She’s not my problem anymore.” “But what do you think of her chances?” Elbridge echoed sarcastically. “I think she’s going to do it,” Rick said simply. “Problem was never ‘if’. Problem is ‘what it’ll cost.’” “Quite,” Elbridge said glumly. “So, Lancaster?” Rick said. There was no point brooding over something they couldn’t fix when there were plenty of things they could do something about right in front of them. “We’ll get the bastard,” Elbridge assured him. “As soon as Gorden reports in, it’ll be time for a good, old-fashioned stakeout.”
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Mar 24, 2019 03:36
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Café Society The coffee shop Ada had chosen for her rendezvous with James looked out of place amid the tall, elegant hotels of Poydras Street. Everything about it, from its name, French Truck, to its size, to the surprisingly quiet atmosphere made it seem like a fish out of water. But the inside was surprisingly elegant and tasteful, the atmosphere warm and inviting -- and the smell of fresh coffee that permeated it was positively divine. For this outing, Ada had chosen a black, white and red halter dress that looked like a long-lost descendant of Audrey Hepburn’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s getup. Between it and the boiling-hot espresso resting on the table before her, no one would’ve been able to guess she was there to meet a former intelligence spook for vital information. Knowing she had such a secret up her sleeve made the wait very enjoyable -- it was almost like a private little mystery game between her and all the other people going about their business. What did they see when they looked at her? And was it enough to piece the truth together? James hadn't been sure what to expect with a café named 'French Truck’ - the bright yellow exterior was certainly unique, while the prices, written in chalk above the counter, reminded him of some of the more upmarket places back in NoVa. The scent of freshly brewed artisan coffee hung in the air as he glanced about the place, a manilla folder tucked under his arm. Spotting Ada waiting at a table, he paused for a moment, feeling somewhat underdressed - slacks and an open collar shirt didn't seem nearly as classy enough, all of a sudden. Swinging by the counter to order a cappuccino on the way, he slid into the seat opposite Ada and asked with a grin, “When are they expecting you back on the catwalk, then?” “Not sure yet -- right now, I’m considering my options,” she said, flashing a sly smile right back at him. “How’d digging up dirt go? Struck any gold yet?” “Found out who's doing the buying - Rotana, hotel group out of the Middle East. They're getting one nice deal, too,” James replied, leaning back in his seat, “Any chance you'd got a few hundred thousand spare, just to outbid them?” A sigh escaped Ada’s lips. Thinking about her family was depressing enough that she needed the kick of a nice, long sip of coffee before she could answer. “I wish. Money’s tight at the moment. It’s not exactly poverty or anything, but fighting money with money’s out of the question. You got any idea why a foreign hotel chain is getting such favorable treatment?” “Not sure,” he replied, pausing for a moment as a waitress set a steaming cup of cappuccino in front of him. Flashing her a smile in thanks, he continued as she walked way, “The city council approved the sale, so it's something to do with one politician or another.” “I bet we can narrow down who’s behind it. You got a list of names I can look at?” “The file didn't have the voting numbers, but I doubt it was a close vote. What I do have, at least, contact numbers for the person handling the deal on Rotana's end,” he explained, sipping his drink, “That's where I hit a snag, though.” “Go on.” “You ever hear of anyone using a spell over a cell phone call?” “Not humans, that’s impossible.” Ada shook her head. “Wizards can barely use a cellphone without frying it from passive hexing. Maybe a nonhuman could, but magic gets harder and harder the farther away you are from your target. What kind of spell was it?” James slid the manilla folder across the table - inside, along with printouts on the Rotana Group, was the twisted, burnt remains of a cellphone, inside a ziplock bag. “Turned my burner phone into, well, a literal burner.” As she studied the slag that had once been a phone, Ada’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure you weren’t being watched when this happened?” she asked, glancing up from the remains. “Reasonably so, yeah,” he replied, “I suppose it’s possible they could have set a watch on City Hall, picked me out of the crowd, tailed me to my car and set up with a view on the top of a parking garage, all without being made…” with a pause for effect, he added, “...but it seems unlikely.” “Point.” She nodded in agreement. “What did the caller sound like? Any distinctive cues?” “Male, real smooth voice,” replied James after another sip of cappuccino, “Also, answers his own phone, so he doesn't have an assistant or secretary, at least on that line.” “Hmm. So the guy who took the call is probably the one who fried your phone, and he burnt it to a crisp in retaliation for bothering him.” Ada closed her eyes and thought about it, taking another sip of her Belle Noir as she did so to let the coffee’s heat stimulate her mind. “Feels like Summer magic,” she said, after a moment. “One of the powers their domain gives them is control over heat and flames. We don’t have enough to go off of just yet, though.” She clicked her tongue, annoyed. “Wish I had some contacts in the Middle East. If only there was someone we could ask if the fairies are involved in the Rotana Group...” “Work out if there's any new Summer heavy hitters in town?” James proposed, “With the sweet deal they're getting, they’d need to make things even and pay whatever politician they're working with back, right?” “Probably,” Ada said, nodding in agreement. “I’ll have to ask around. If the local court’s involved, then there’s a lot more to this deal than meets the eye.” There were a lot of pieces still missing, but if there really was a local supernatural liaison involved and pushing for the deal, then getting to the bottom of the backstage politics behind the Lily’s auction had suddenly jumped several spots higher on her priority list. “For now, though, we’ve got other things to worry about. Remember the Fomor that got mentioned during the group meet?” “Yup,” replied James with a nod. “Making sure they stop taking our people is priority one. I need you to look into them and see if you can find any way to contact them,” she said, sliding the melted down burner phone back at him. “I’m not sure if they’ll be willing to negotiate a peace treaty, but I’d rather exhaust all other options before we start gearing up for all-out war. Think you can take care of that?” James shrugged, “I mean, I can keep an ear to the ground, but without any leads, it'd be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or a field of haystacks. Without something to go on, you'd need to do something reckless like having a known mage wander about waterside bars every night until they got jumped, and hope your bait hooked the right people.” There was no response for a while, as Ada tossed the idea around and drank her coffee. Eventually, she downed the rest of it in one big gulp and set the cup down on the table, hard enough to make it sound out. “Well,” she said, shaking her head to shake off the heat going down her throat. “I guess I always did want an excuse to go bar hopping.” James just blinked in response, momentarily speechless. Pressing a hand over his eyes as he tried to comprehend why anyone would go with such a reckless plan, he sighed and gave her an incredulous look, “...what?” “The Fomor want mages, we need an attractive bait, and odds are pretty good they don’t respect me enough to not have the balls to come after me when I’m vulnerable.” She didn’t bother mentioning that it was because she’d been dumb enough to let a prisoner slip away. The details didn’t matter -- only whether they could turn a momentary weakness into a potential advantage. “My support network’s mostly shot too, at least from the outside, and a cute little girl who’s downed several bottles of beer’s usually easy pickings for normal hoodlums with thirsts to quench, never mind supernatural thugs embroiled in a human trafficking scheme.” Resting her chin on the back of her hands, she gifted him a dangerous smile. “Looks like easier money than a bill off the sidewalk if you don’t know all the details, doesn’t it?” James scratched his temple, still trying to process everything wrong with this plan. Finally, he replied, “There are so many flaws in this I don't even know where to begin… With an Op like this, you need a support team, handlers, surveillance, backup, an actual plan, stuff like that. It's not the sort of thing you just decide to jump into and play by ear. And even with all that, it's still an incredibly reckless plan you'd save for a last resort, because odds are you'd just end up killed - or worse.” Pausing, he asked, “Look, if you have some sort of death wish, can you let me know now so that I can get away before we end up like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?” “Other way around. If I find a way to live forever, you bet your rear end I’m taking it.” Her voice was hard now, and her green eyes bore no hints of humor. “You don’t seriously think I’d be up for this if I didn’t have ways to stack the deck in our favor, do you? Let’s see...a diviner keeping an eye out to act as an early warning and control system disguises and camouflage can’t fool. A guy who knows his way around the shadows to find good surveillance sites and make sure we can hit hard and fast when the squids show themselves. Literal eyes in the back of my head to make sure no one who slips past the surveillance network can jump me. No chance of getting drunk off the booze I’ll be taking because a blood mage doesn’t get drunk,” she enumerated. “And if what we need is muscle to make sure the squids don’t try anything funny, I’ve got some ideas of where we can get that too. If I was in the Fomor’s shoes, I would keep picking off mages one by one until the last few stragglers realized they were being hunted and amp up the forces I’d send out to bring them in. Why wait until the Fomor send out too many people for us to handle instead of acting while they still think we’re weak and in disarray?” James scratched his head, thinking, “It could work, and you’re right, we don’t exactly have time to do it the slow way and keep trying various trails until we finally find the right one - they’d grab too many people in the meantime. But… you’d need more than two people as support. One or two people inside the bar - besides whatever trick you’re using to watch your own back - plus someone watching the cameras - and your diviner friend’s probably going to be too distracted working his mojo to do either. Plus you’d need a set of wheels, incase we need to tail anybody.” “We'll have those wheels. Finding the right people to put inside the bar's going to be harder, though.” Ada rested chin on the back of her hand, thinking. “They have to be capable in a scrap and not obviously connected to me, right?” James nodded, “That, and they need to look like they belong in the bar. If they stick out too much, it'd tip people off.” “Tch. Two out of three's easy. Finding someone who ticks all the boxes is going to be a pain in the rear end.” As much as she didnt want to admit it, her first and foremost weakness was becoming a problem: not enough capable people she could trust. “...There's someone I can ask to cover my back. Extra backup's gonna be an issue though...” Suddenly her eyes widened. “...Of course. I know who to call for this.” She nodded, firmly. “Don't worry, James. We'll have a crew we can count on.” A wistful smile spread across her face as she spoke, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Man,” she murmured, leaning back. “Can't believe I have to call on them again. It's been a long time…” “If you trust 'em and think they can manage, I'll work with whatever crew you can put together,” replied James, leaning forwards, “I should be able to handle cameras - either we can piggyback on the bar's system or stick up a few cheap webcams. Gives us a few more eyes.” “Good thinking. That’s, what, five different safety nets? If the Fomor manage to pull a fast one on us in spite of it all, they honestly deserve that win,” she joked. “I really think this can work, though,” she added, after a moment, more serious. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that, right?” “Ah, it's nothing,” replied James with a embarrassed shrug. “First step of setting this up is getting Elbridge on board. Do you think you’ll have some time tomorrow? He’ll take this more seriously if you’re there to offer your professional opinion instead of me just making the salespitch all alone.” “Asking the Warden to act as muscle?” “No. Asking the diviner who fought in both World Wars to practice his specialty. Just because he’s supposed to carry a sword around doesn’t mean fighting’s all he does.” James raised an eyebrow, “The more you learn about people, I suppose. But sure, I can tag along if you think it'll help.” “I’ll let you know as soon as he commits to a meeting then.” A thought crossed Ada’s mind as she began running over her mental checklist of preparations. “Is there anything I should keep in mind when we go fishing? Better to know what to look out for early rather than late.” “Work out as many signs that you know of that show someone is a Fomor agent beforehand, that way you can tell them apart from the average bar scuzzball trying to take advantage,” he replied, “And think up some non-verbal signals, too.” “Ways to let people know something’s fishy.” She nodded. “I can do that.” A smile spread across her face. “Not a bad bit of planning for a first draft. You want anything else from the bar? It’s my treat. Least I can do for all the help.” “Nah, I gotta get back to work soon. But if you know anyone who's in the market for antiques, well, send 'em my way.” Ada gave the idea a slow nod. “Antiques, huh? You’ll have to show me your wares someday. If there’s something I’m always up for, it’s learning something new from the past.”
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Mar 24, 2019 03:39
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Veteran Rookies Scene: Zia’s Haus “Hey Blaise. You there?” “Yo Ada, long time no see. What’s goin’ on?” “Man, where do I even start? ...Actually, I think I know. There’s a meetup going down at Zia’s place tonight. Fly and Rhea are coming too. How’s dropping by and catching up sound?” “Sounds like trouble.” “Yeah. But it’s also a chance to get back at the fuckers who took Zia away from us a while back. You in?” “Never said I wasn’t. I’ll swing by after work. Hey, Ada?” ”Yeah?” “It’s about time we did something.” --- From outside, Zia’s second story flat looked like a dump. The front’s paint was peeled off, exposing the bare bricks underneath, and there were damp spots here and there on the way up to the unit’s door. The building was neglected and much too quiet for a place that was supposed to be inhabited. Its atmosphere was tense, almost grim… ...Which was exactly why the color inside the apartment was so surprising, once you opened the door. The tiny flat’s walls were adorned with spray-painted drawings, chronicling the journey of a city-dwelling bug from caterpillar to butterfly, in quiet defiance of the decay outside. The furniture was relatively spartan, cheap and mass-produced, yet it had been customized and taken care of. And though the cracks in the walls were still there, they didn’t seem out of place, somehow -- rather than indicating that something was broken, it was almost like they formed natural separations between Zia’s designs. This was the place Ada had helped her find, years ago. It was amazing how far it had come since then, just like her. Just like all of them. “Hey Rhea,” Ada said, getting up from her seat around the little round table that dominated the living room to embrace the tall woman with close-cropped hair and razor sharp eyes who’d just come in. “Sorry I called so suddenly. Is Jake staying with his grands today?” “Yes, and hopefully they manage to get him to sleep before I pick him up.” Rhea St. Claire hugged her back, more like a sister than a friend. “He’s been a little terror since he started walking.” “You get it on video? I really gotta see how much of a little dynamo he is for myself.” “What kind of Mom would I be if I didn’t?” She pulled an old cell phone out of her pants pocket and swiped open her photo gallery. A smiling toddler wobbled towards the camera, laughing. A warm smile spread across Ada’s face. “Amazing. There’s diamonds out there less precious than him. How’d you find yourself someone as lovely as him?” “I didn’t find anything, I made him myself,” she said proudly. “He’s a lot less lovely covered in dirt though, which is most of the time nowadays. Three can’t be as bad as two, or God help me.” “No way it can be,” Ada said, nodding in firm agreement. “If you’re not past the worst of it, I’ll eat a hat. And speaking about the worst, the hell am I doing keeping you up like this?” Turning around, she beckoned towards the table. “C’mon, we’re keeping the others waiting.” Fly was already pulling back one of the chairs for Rhea without being asked. She winked at him in appreciation, and in response, he smirked. He got along well with everyone, but those two in particular had always been close. Probably helped that they both were used to having to manage people and keep things running smoothly, even though you wouldn’t be able to guess from comparing the stained mom jeans and the three-piece suit they wore. “Always a gentleman...” Ada remarked, as she went back to her own seat as well. “You ever gonna take cues from him or anything?” she asked, shooting the towering man beside her a look. “I hear manners earn lots of points in most peoples’ books.” “I’ll leave the high society gig to you two,” Blaise said, over the top of his blue-tinted sunglasses. He leaned back in his chair, quietly observing the full table for a second. “Been a while since we all got together like this. How’s everybody doing?” “Better,” Zia said, looking up from a sketchbook she’d been doodling on. Her eyes were still shadowed but she didn’t look as tired as she had even a few weeks ago. “Finally getting back to the way things were.” “Did the playlist help?” Fly asked, squeezing into his chair between her and Rhea. Zia tapped the earbud hanging from her left ear. “Yeah, it has! Thanks, Fly. I never would have thought to drown the song out with white noise. I’m finally starting to get some sleep again.” Fly beamed at her. “How’d the deposition go?” Rhea asked him. “Oh we pinned him to a wall, you’d have loved it. I mean, we had him dead to rights for the chemical dumping so all he could do was squirm under oath.” “Good poo poo,” Blaise said, offering a fist for a bump over the table. “You come here straight from the courts?” Ada asked, leaning in. “That briefcase you brought looks like it’s ready to burst.” “Yup! Traffic was murder. The worst part of working downtown, I swear.” It was amazing to think of how far he’d come since the old days when she’d had to spill Rook’s blood to save him. He wasn’t a scared kid anymore. The others had grown, but Fly had done something different. He’d changed. That makes two of us, then. Their younger selves wouldn’t recognize them if they went back in time. They’d come far since then… but there was still lots to be done. “Alright. Now we’re all here, let’s get to it. You guys hear about the Paranet meetings the spellcasters of Nawlins hold every month?” “Beaumont’s knitting circle? Yeah, I heard of it,” Blaise said. The others nodded. “I dropped in last week to test the waters. Wanted to see how they felt about teaching the monsters this place ain’t their hunting ground. They’re open to it, but they need some proof this is all gonna work out and they ain’t getting in over their heads. So I wanna bait some Fomor out of hiding, lure them with easy pickings and take ‘em in. I got some people who can run surveillance for this, but we’re gonna need some boots on the ground to watch my back. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have looking out for me. What do you guys think?” Blaise frowned. “You know we’ll always look out for each other, Ada, but why take ‘em in at all? Seems like a lot of risk for some prisoners those fish fuckers won’t much care about. They ain’t going to send in their brass as bag men.” “Not at first. If a couple goons go missing, they won’t think of much of it, but what about when it’s twenty or thirty soldiers? And what if we manage to deprogram them and help them get back to society again?” At this, she shot Zia a look, inquiringly. “It’d take a long time,” Zia said, looking away. “You’d need places to keep them apart from each other. When we’re close together it’s hard. It’s like they put tuning forks in the back of our heads that just keep humming… Even without the logistical issues you’re talking about people who are so far gone they’re hunting their own for the Fomor. I don’t know, Ada, they’d definitely take notice if you started catching their dogs but anything more than that might be wishful thinking.” “Still, we owe them a bloody nose for what they did to you,” Rhea said. “It’s worth doing as long as we aren’t putting ourselves at too much risk. Which is where I’m not sure about this.” She looked at Ada, worried. “You’re putting yourself out there again, and there’s always a chance things go wrong. We almost lost Zia to those creeps. Are you sure you want to chance getting dragged off to fishtopia, Ada? There’s gotta be a safer way to do this.” “If you got any ideas, I’m all ears. This isn’t just a chance to hit the Fomor and save some people, though. It’s about hope.” Something glinted in Ada’s eyes, bright and forceful, that they knew well. “The people at the pizza party were interested in what I was saying, but I don’t think they’re ready to believe yet. Talk’s cheap. Actions speak a lot louder. If we show them that we can protect each other if we work together, we won’t have to do this all alone. Every sting we pull off will add up, mean something. Even if we can’t save everyone, showing the other people in the know that they’re protected’s gonna make all the difference in the world.” “Hope means a lot,” Fly said. Everyone was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. Finally Blaise sat forward in his chair, his dreads swinging over his shoulders. “I’m in. When and where?” “And who,” Fly added. “You said you had backup with the knitting circle?” “Yeah. Remember the old Warden’s posse? They’re interested in this too.” The words sounded alien in her mouth. It hadn’t been that long that Rick was still alive. But she shoved the feelings aside and focused. “And one of the new guys has practice running surveillance, too. He’s willing to lend a hand keeping everything hush-hush so the Fomor don’t catch on until they’re missing a solid chunk of their footsoldiers.“ “Are they going to listen to us?” Fly asked. “I mean, sorry to say this Ada but you haven’t really been bringing us into things lately. I don’t want to get involved in something this big if we’re just soldiers taking orders.” “If they don’t, they’re not part of the team,” Ada said, firmly. “We do this together or not at all. I’m not gonna work with people who can’t deal with being part of a coalition without being in charge.” “Says the lady in charge,” Rhea remarked. Ada broke into a wide grin. “Finally someone who understands me.” After a moment, however, she shrugged. “You get what I mean though. We get enough being treated like second class citizens by the jokers who eat people. We can do better than that when dealing with people who are just like us.” Blaise nodded. “Maybe we should meet up ahead of time, if we’re going to be working together. Hard to trust people when you’ve never met them.” “Fair. I’ll call and set up a meeting. How’s the House of the Rising Sun sound to you guys?” “Man that place takes me back,” he laughed. “Good place for beginnings, as long as someone else is buying.” “Drinks are on me, but I’m broke as hell,” Ada said, joining him in laughing. “Any of you OK with paying for my pizza tonight?” “How are drinks on you if you can’t chip in five dollars for a pizza?” Blaise asked, both eyebrows raised. “Waters all around,” Zia said, smiling shyly. “Aw hell no!”
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Apr 7, 2019 01:45
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The Stakeout Scene: A Residential Neighborhood Rick and Elbridge waited for Gorden to report in. And waited. And waited. Eventually Rick suggested they wait somewhere more useful, like Reuben’s house, and Elbridge relented. There was some discussion over how exactly to stake out the place. The dragon van was out, it was way too recognizable and it stuck out like one of El’s shirts. So El called in a favor with Bill Bigsby and he brought over a mostly-new Dodge pickup that he used for hay baling. It was only after he left that Rick asked, “So, do you know how to drive this thing?” “I understand the theory behind it,” Elbridge said. Rick facepalmed. “Well, I’m going to need to borrow your uh… well you. And hope to god we don’t get pulled over.” “...I fear that my operator’s permit may have expired,” Elbridge said, sucking in his lower lip. “And it was a forgery to begin with.” “So much for the concept of personal boundaries,” Rick said, once they were both sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck. “Okay we start at 10 and 2, and this one’s the gas, that’s the brakes...” “The one that Miss Hirsch never used, you mean?” “Technically I remember her flinging a brake drum at that demon at Mitsuo’s place, after her car exploded.” “Well, if we come across any demons on this trip, I’ll know what to do, then.” Rick pulled the truck out onto the road, fighting against Elbridge’s death grip on the wheel. “...Let’s just try not to hit any pedestrians, okay? We can work on your combat driving next time.” --- A few awkward minutes later, they were outside Reuben Lancaster’s yellow-sided single-story home. It was in a pretty average suburban neighborhood in Metairie. Kids rode by on their bikes a few times and people were out walking their dogs. Nothing about it seemed weird, which ended up being the weird thing. Rick drove past the place twice before they realized he wasn’t miscounting the address numbers and the place had a spell of anonymity on it. It wasn’t a very strong one though. Once they realized it was warded the illusion broke and they found it easily. The curtains were all drawn on the windows, and no light came from inside. It was nearly six-thirty at that point, and dark enough for Rick to move around freely. “So, how you want to play this?” he asked, parking across the street one house down. “I can’t get inside without an invitation unless he’s blown his threshold straight to hell, and if he has I don’t think either of us wants to.” “I’d like to avoid alerting him in any way that he’s under surveillance,” Elbridge said. He looked around, taking in the suburbia. “That would make it difficult to get inside, and if I leave a scrying beacon and Lancaster finds it, he’ll have enough to identify us, and then it’s so much for the element of surprise.” He glanced at the postbox and the bin on the curb outside of Lancaster’s home. “Going through his mail and his rubbish might prove informative.” Rick nodded. “You think he’s home? I can’t tell.” “Ringing his doorbell wouldn’t be terribly-discreet of us,” Elbridge sighed. “But if someone is at home…” His eyes slid to a set of windchimes hanging from the awning. “My,” he said, “that hook looks flimsy.” He made a slow, swooping motion with two fingers, and the chimes followed along, jangling in the wind until the cord slipped off the hook and the entire arrangement fell to the porch with a cacophonic din. They waited a good five minutes but no one showed up. “I’ll take that as a ‘nobody’s home’,” Rick said. “And that he’s not on friendly terms with his neighbours,” Elbridge added. “If they could even hear it through that ward.” “...I may want to reconsider the wards on my own apartment,” Elbridge admitted, donning a pair of transparent latex gloves. “Now, let’s go rifle through his mail.” “Go ahead, I’ll check the backyard.” Rick split off from him at the sidewalk, phasing through the chain link fence at the end of the driveway and disappearing around the side of the house. Stealth -+/+ +2 = 3 to just walk up and snoop through Lancaster’s mail. Between the roll and Lancaster’s own anonymity ward, that’s a success. It was mostly junk mail, but there was something odd. The electric bill was addressed to a Katherine Chesterfield. A quick double-check against the house number showed it hadn’t been misdelivered. “Hmm.” Elbridge replaced everything exactly as it had been, then wrote the name in his notebook. It wasn’t anyone he’d heard of before, but if the utilities were addressed to her, then Lancaster was likely her tenant rather than the other way around. Whether she was anything more than that remained to be seen. As quietly as he could manage, Elbridge went to the curb and rolled the rubbish bin back inside the bounds of the veil before he opened it up. There was nothing obvious at first. Eggshells, coffee grounds, old newspapers, meat packaging… All the ordinary things you’d expect in someone’s garbage. Cleaner than most people’s, given there was no trace of anything a mage wouldn’t trust in the rubbish bin for exactly that reason. But what was odd was how many opened hamburger packages there were. Even if there were two people living there and they ate something with burger as the main ingredient every night there were still too many, and they were the bulk packages too, the kind you’d need for a large group, or something else that consumed meat in quantity. “Oh, dear,” Elbridge said. “That’s no good. No good at all…” Scrunching his nose against the smell, he put on a second layer of gloves before he parsed the contents in more detail, looking specifically for packaging labels and receipts. If Elbridge could learn when and where Lancaster made his purchases, he’d be able to piece together the professor’s schedule. The few receipts he located were a soggy, eggy, mess, but the packing labels said Dorignac’s, which was a large grocer on Veteran’s. “There we go.” Elbridge put back the garbage in roughly the reverse order in which he’d removed it, then changed his gloves. He didn’t discard the old ones yet, and he’d have to wait until he stepped off the property until he cast a cleansing spell. He’d been lucky that his trick with the wind-chimes hadn’t tripped any alarms, but using magic within the bounds of Lancaster’s wards would be an even bigger gamble. Instead he just wiped himself down with isopropanol and replaced the chimes for good measure. And stopped. There was something special about these chimes, a powerful tingle of electricity that ran up his arm at the touch. They were enchanted! He lifted them by the cord, spinning them slowly in midair to inspect the spellwork. The pipes were engraved with fluted spirals, rather like Celtic knotwork. Exactly like Celtic knotwork, in fact. This wasn’t some teenaged rebel’s half-hour tattoo, however. It was the real deal. Old magic. Druidic. They were tied to a braided loop of twine strung through a metal frame, woven with mystically-potent herbs. The spacing of the chimes followed principles of sacred geometry, and the frame itself was a magic circle. Lore: Wardings --// +4 = 2 to study the chimes. FP on “The Grayest Warden” plus Elbridge’s stunt “The Things I’ve Seen…” gives him six-dice-take-four on the reroll for… /-/--/. A -1 result, so 3. Botspite is real today. Another FP on “I Know You Know…” to bring it to 5. The sweet smell of mallow clung to the assembly, and after he replaced the chimes, Elbridge followed that scent, peering over the gate to see a garden in the back of the property. It was carefully-tended, grown dense with the sorts of herbs, roots, and flowers that Laverne Bellafonte wouldn’t sell to you without a background check. Perhaps Lancaster or Chesterfield were customers of hers. It wouldn’t have been the first time she hadn’t vetted her clients as closely as she should have. “Rick,” he said, calling Cole over. “There’s more to this than we knew. Lancaster isn’t working alone.” “Shh,” Rick said, hovering over to the fence. His eyes fixed on the corner of the house, on something out of Elbridge’s view. “He’s here.” Elbridge’s eyes went wide. Where? he mouthed silently. Rick pointed. “Big shed, brand new, one of those kits you can get at Home Depot. Light on under the door and I’ve seen shadows. Something’s in there, and I’m getting major bad vibes off it. A lot of animal corpses buried in that garden too. Even saw a few flashes of dead pets. This place is wrong.” “His garbage is full of packaging for raw meat,” El whispered. “More than any two people could eat in a month.” “Fun. You got what you wanted? I don’t want to risk-” The metallic creak of a shed door opening interrupted him. “Okay time to go!” Heart racing, Elbridge marched at a brisk pace toward the curb. Once he reached the street, he’d be just any other stranger in a Metairie neighborhood. He’d cleaned up after himself, replaced everything as he found it. He hoped. He truly hoped. Gloved hands, clean clothes, no stray hairs or open cuts, treadless sandals and he hadn’t stepped on the grass, rubbish bin and wind chimes replaced - sub]El rolls Burglary to make sure he doesn’t leave any evidence: --+- +2 = 0, ick. Another FP on “I Know You Know…” to reroll: ++++ +2 = 6! That’s more like it! Elbridge FP at 2.[/sub] He turned on his heel and darted back to the front porch, removed a sanitary wipe from its packaging, and swabbed a tiny trace of egg yolk and beef blood that had transferred from his gloves onto the metal. Elbridge gave a brief nod of satisfaction, then half-walked-half-ran off of the property. When he reached the Bigsby’s truck, he checked to ensure that Cole had made it. Rick was already there, in the passenger seat. The pair of them watched as Reuben Lancaster unchained the back gate, exited the yard, rechained it, and walked into view for the first time. He was a small man who bore some resemblance to Mr. Rogers as far as his sweater and slacks attire and his dark hair with white wings on the side. His face was pinched though, and his horn rimmed glasses were too large for his thin face. He scratched his cheek as he looked over the front yard, but didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. After a minute he continued up to the front porch, stopping to tap the wind chime, which jingled pleasantly. He unlocked the door and went inside. Rick and Elbridge weren’t at a good angle to see into the darkness beyond the door. “Can ghosts have heart attacks? Cause you almost gave me a heart attack.” Rick said, leaning back in his seat. “Not as such, although undue stress can change ghosts in unpleasant ways,” El said absently. His eyes were still fixed on the front door. “This may be more-serious than we realised.” “Yeah I can’t think of any reason to need large quantities of meat on hand that don’t end badly,” Rick agreed. “I’d have checked the shed but there were detection wards all over it, I couldn’t have got in there without being spotted even if he couldn’t see me himself. After dealing with that mirror in Ada’s basement I’m not real keen on the idea of trusting the ghost-thing to keep me out of trouble.” “He’s planning something, that’s a certainty,” Elbridge said grimly. “It’s curious, though - his home itself didn’t seem nearly so secure. I suppose that he doesn’t want to accidentally kill the postman, but whatever he’s doing in that shed...hrm. There’s someone else involved. One Katherine Chesterfield. According to the utility bills, this is her house.” “Then whatever’s in that shed might be hers, too. Though… if it was constructed recently, maybe not. Reuben had to skip town right? Maybe he’s just crashing here temporarily. We don’t know if ‘Katherine’ is in on it or just someone he’s taking advantage of.” “Not yet, no. We ought to investigate her as well.” Elbridge dropped his gloves into an airtight bag and sanitised his hands before scratching his chin. “Rick, were you able to tell what sort of wards were on the shed? I mean the specific rituals used.” “Symbols drawn in animal blood, or what I hope is animal blood, anyways. Didn’t see any other human ghosts so they probably haven’t moved up to people yet.” It was always a matter of time, as far as the Wardens were concerned. “Not runes, lot of squiggles I’m not familiar with. Kinda reminded me of Celtic stuff but not exactly. I can’t feel a ritual out anymore, so… sorry, not much help there.” He frowned, clearly unhappy about that. “But the eye-representations drawn in blood were pretty dang clear. There were some other things, I can probably draw them for you back at the office. Nicholas set me up with a pen and a notebook.” “That would be helpful,” Elbridge said. “The wind chimes were enchanted, too. Old druidic magic. The protections on the shed could be of a kind, but I’d like to be certain of whether we’re facing one warlock or two.” “Come on, come on…” came the buzzing of El’s silver pin. “...I need to put an indicator on...hel...El, can you hear me?” “Mr. Maxwell?” Elbridge asked, holding the pin to his ear. “Is that you?” “Yeah, yeah! It’s me!” Gorden’s voice sounded distinctly nasal, like his nose was pinched. “I got into Professor Lancaster’s office while he was out! And he shredded a message: ‘Sending you Nguyen, Bakersfield, and Indra tomorrow at 4:00pm. -KC’. That’s in 21 hours, we can save them!” “‘KC’,” Elbridge echoed, and shook his head at Rick. “Accomplice, then. Er...Gorden, are you quite alright? Your voice…” “Huh? Oh, yeah, just a nosebleed. I had a run in with someone who was throwing a ton of crazy magic outside the office. Had to drop the ceiling to get away. Gave her as good as I got, though! Uh, do you know anybody who can do tricks with, er, perspective, concrete?” “Perspective?” Elbridge said, perplexed. “Do you mean optical illusions? Stage magic?” “Kinda? She made the hallway look like it ended at a blank wall, and then she stretched it out so it looked like it went on forever. Like, uh, spatial manipulation, x equals x squared transforms i real life and stuff.” “Manipulating space with that level of precision, without the use of ritual magic, is quite unlikely. Invading your mind to make you see something that isn’t real…” Elbridge covered the pin and cursed softly. This was only meant to be a simple observe-and-report, and instead he’d exposed Gorden to the sort of magic that could do irreparable harm. Irreparable, unless Marcine can put theory to practise… “...have you lost her?” Elbridge asked, uncovering the pin again. “Yeah. I had to drop the ceiling on her, but I got out of the building alright. I fed her a line about stupid biochem and she bought it, so I don’t think she works on campus...and I’m pretty sure I caught all my blood on my labcoat…” “Good,” Elbridge said. “Where are you now?” “Physics library, conference room. You need to pass through, like, three different badged doors to get in here.” “Good, that’s - “ Elbridge stopped as he realised the implications of that sentence. “Gorden. Are you wearing your ID badge?” “Uh, I couldn’t get in here if I wasn’t?” “Get off campus now,” Elbridge hissed. “Lose your badge. Get a new one made, if you must. Meet me at the same place as before. It will be public,” he stressed, indicating that he meant the Black Cat and not Mary’s Voodoo shop. “We need to talk.” “I thought you told him to be discreet?” Rick said. “He does know what that word means, right?” “We’ll compare notes over tacos and a cleansing ritual,” Elbridge said through gritted teeth, and let Cole take the wheel again.
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Apr 7, 2019 23:41
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When It Rains… Scene: Driving to Gato Halfway to the Gato, a woman’s voice came through the Warden Pin, loud enough to startle both Wardens. “Elbridge? Can you hear me?” The truck swerved half a lane and then self-corrected. “Son of a-!” “El, it’s Ada. Come in. It’s important.” “Important enough for me to take this call in traffic?” Elbridge asked. “Wait, traffic? I thought you didn’t drive,” she remarked, momentarily taken aback. “He doesn’t!” Rick said. “She can’t hear me can she? Ada can you hear me?” “Rick?” The surprise carried through the pin, clear as day. “What are you doing? Wait, don’t tell me. Are you giving him driving lessons?” Rick forced a laugh. “Yeah, they’re very hands on. What’s so important?” “I’ve been talking to James from the meeting. We’ve got plans for a Fomor catfishing operation nailed down but we need someone who can provide advance warning to hedge our bets. You in?” “A favour for a favour,” Elbridge said without even missing a beat. “If you’d like, you can pay for this one in advance. Meet us at the Gato Negro if you’re amenable.” “Gotcha. Be right there.” --- Once he was certain she was off the line, Rick jerked El’s head up to look at him in the rear-view mirror. “This is not what I signed up for.” “Rescuing Lancaster’s victims?” Elbridge asked, quizzical. “I’m surprised, Rick. I’d have thought this was exactly what you-” “Not that, the other thing,” Rick interrupted. “Catfishing the Fomor? Who’s the bait?” “Probably herself,” Elbridge sighed. “I’d have tried to stop her, but what’s the point? At least this way I can supervise.” El’s fingers squeezed the wheel until the knuckles went white under the liver spots. “You could have asked me before just inviting her along.” “Are you worried that she’ll compromise the mission?” Elbridge asked. He sighed. “No, El. I’m not worried that she’ll compromise the mission.” “What is it, then?” “Because she’s my ex-girlfriend and I’ve been trying really hard to get past that and I can’t do it if I can’t manage to go five-loving-minutes without hearing her name!” He was yelling by the end of it, and he just kept going. “Not everyone is as good as you are at keeping their private lives out of their professional ones, El! I am kinda going through some poo poo right now!” “Hm.” El made a small, quiet noise, almost-inaudible after Rick’s outburst. “You know, not two years ago, I’d have said something caustic and cruel in response to that, attempting to shame your feelings back into line. I would have asked what you were expecting, because you knew the mission and you knew me.” He was silent for a few moments, watching as it began to rain and droplets of water spattered against the glass and slid down the windshield. “But I’m beginning to appreciate that my upbringing was, as you Americans are fond of saying, hosed up. I don’t want this to turn into another row. I haven’t told her the mission, yet. I can still sideline her if you wish.” Rick pulled up to a red light and flicked the wipers on. “Well, two years ago I was a good little soldier boy who’d have let you shame me into it, and look what that got me.” He sighed, letting all the bitterness out with it. “El, has she told you that she lost her magic?” “She has not,” Elbridge said. “How long has she been without it?” “Before the Ripple,” Rick said. “Probably ever since the maze. It took her a long time to even tell me. She’ll kick my rear end for snitching, but if you’re going to watch out for her on this Fomor thing, you need to know.” “Quite,” Elbridge said, with a note of incredulity. “Does this mean you’ll tolerate her involvement?” “Yeah. If I can’t get distance then I need to get over her without it. Lancaster was my responsibility and I’m seeing it through, Ada included.” The light turned green. “And after this?” Elbridge asked concernedly. “That’ll depend how things go. I’m not sure if I’ll be any use on a mission yet, El. I want to help but if I’m just a spectator then there’s not much point in coming along on these things.” He sighed and looked out the side window at the puddles forming on the grass. “Maybe it’s time for me to go haunt someone else.” “Alright, now I might start being caustic and cruel.” “Fair.” Rick laughed quietly. He seemed a little more at ease after making up his mind, though. “The future’s kind of a scary prospect for me. I don’t know if I have a month before I fade away or forever, so I’ve been trying to go one day at a time.” “Knowing isn’t always a comfort,” Elbridge said. “Leave it to the Diviner.” Briefly, Rick wondered if his card had changed, but he decided he didn’t want to know. There were worse things to be than the Hanged Man. As he pulled into the Gato parking lot and gave El back his limbs he sighed. “Well, here we are. I hope you were paying attention.” “Just you watch. I’ll be destroying cars like Jenny did before you know it.” “Heaven help your insurance company.”
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Apr 7, 2019 23:58
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Irregular Customers Scene: El Gato Negro The bell over the door jangled to announce Rick and Elbridge’s arrival. “Hi there!” said the hostess, chipper. “How many in your group today?” “At least four,” Elbridge said. “Possibly a fifth.” So she sat them (or at least Elbridge, since she couldn’t see Rick in his current condition) at a booth and asked if he’d like anything to drink before the rest of the party arrived. “Yes, please,” Elbridge sighed, relieved. “A Gin Sling, and keep them coming.” “You have to drive home, you know.” Rick said, sighing at him from across the table. “Driving is such a chore,” Elbridge protested. “Why can’t I simply open a wider portal and roll through that?” “Because they haven’t put highways through the Nevernever yet, and even Bigsby’s truck isn’t going to handle a faerie swamp very well.” He paused, glancing at El’s hand on the table, finally noticing the subtle tremors that had probably always been there. “One for nerves, maybe, but it’s hard enough back-seat driving with you sober.” “Noticed that, did you?” Elbridge asked with a weak smile. A bead of sweat was trickling down his face, despite the October chill and the air conditioning. “It’s been... an adjustment,” he admitted, “much like everything else.” That was when the ringing of the bell announced the opening of the door once again. Moments later, the two of them heard a familiar voice. “Hey. Long time no see,” Ada said, taking a seat on the opposite end. “Any trouble getting here? Feels like traffic’s been a mess lately.” A chill ran down her spine, like someone had just poured ice water over her. She flinched reflexively for a moment, but then a different kind of heaviness settled in on her chest. “Rick? Are you there?” “Hi to you too,” Rick said, visibly appearing next to her in the booth. He still wasn’t quite solid, but he seemed a little more so than he had at the meeting. “Traffic was pretty light on our end, everyone’s headed the other direction this time of night.” “Lucky.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “I thought you were done,” she said, shooting him a look. “You came here because El did or…?” “I was helping the Warden with some unfinished business,” Rick said, shrugging noncommittally. “Lancaster, that Warlock who was messing with Shirley and some other college students. He’s back and he’s got friends.” “At least one friend,” Elbridge clarified. “Along with a shed haunted by animal sacrifices with warding sigils painted on the sides in blood. I don’t want to speculate as to what’s inside, but I doubt he’d call it a friend.” “It never rains but it pours, huh?” Ada said, resisting the urge to sigh. “How hard do you think it’ll be to bust up their operation before they take it too far?” “As-yet unknown,” Elbridge said. “We’ll know more once Mr. Maxwell arrives. One of Lancaster’s allies is evidently a proficient mentalist.” “You called him in too? Good thinking. He knows the circuit Lancaster used to frequent. James is coming to lend a hand with the details of the plan too. You tell anyone else to drop by?” “I sent word to Marcine,” Elbridge said. “I do hope it wasn’t any sort of interruption.” “Nah, might as well,” Ada said, with a shake of her head. “She’s probably interested in what we’ve got to say anyway. What’s the house’s best?” “Tequila.” “Sounds good.” Raising her hand, she called for the hostess. “Tequila, one glass. And if you got burgers or anything else juicy, one of those too.” “You’re supposed to drink Tequila as a shot,” observed James, overhearing Ada’s request as he approached the booth - the bell on the door long since lost in the bustle of the bar, “With salt and a lime wedge, ideally.” “At that point, you may as well stop fooling yourself and order a margarita,” Elbridge said. “Hello, Mr. Ivarson.” “Evening,” replied James with a nod, sitting down next to Elbridge, “Could be worse, I could stick to the stereotype, order a Vodka Martini and then get it watered down a bunch.” “If you did, I might have to harm you.” Elbridge felt for his pin. It was still a cold, inert lump of metal. Was Gorden alright? Had he made it off of campus safely? “We’re waiting on Mr. Maxwell,” he explained. “He has rather a lot to report.” “Sending untrained assets into danger, are we?” replied James. “He was only meant to observe,” Elbridge said, a notable chill to his tone. “The situation seems to have escalated since then.” “It usually does,” Rick said. “But we’ll get to him in a minute. What exactly did you two scheme up and how are we supposed to help with it?” “James is the expert here,” Ada said, making a magnanimous gesture with her hand. “I’ll let him do the honors.” Nodding in response, James glanced around the booth, making sure nobody was listening in before he started, “Given what we currently know about a certain group’s operations in New Orleans, we don’t really have the time to do things the slow way - that’d give them time to kidnap even more people, after all. But we can use those very kidnappings to our advantage by running a sting operation. Leave an enticing enough target somewhere public and vulnerable - like a dive bar - under concealed surveillance and then grab whoever takes the bait. Even if it’s just a henchman, it’d slow the kidnappings down, maybe even give us something useful in interrogation.” “Perhaps,” Elbridge said, sceptical. “Fair warning, however - the Fomor are far more likely to take umbrage at your presumption than to retreat in the slightest. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill lowlives. They’re organised.” “Ideally, they don’t find out it was us that grabbed their goon. And if not…” James shrugged, “...At least they’re gunning for people who can defend themselves, rather than innocents.” “No, them finding out it’s us is the point,” Ada intervened. “We want them to realize there’s another group staking out a claim on the magical practitioners of New Orleans. If they realize we exist, we can bring them to the bargaining table. So either they never notice, and we keep picking them off one by one, or they do and we get to see if there’s any way to solve the problem between us without bloodshed. Either way, we win.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Elbridge said sharply. “They will, in fact, quite certainly know of you already. Negotiation is a stalling tactic at best, and you’ve lost that advantage.” In response, Ada clicked her tongue, dismissively. “I don’t care. If they aren’t willing to deal, we’ll grind them into the dirt like we’ve done every single other thing that went bump in the night and got too big for its britches. If we point out the ledge they’re on and they still choose to take a ten-story fall instead of walking away, the loss will be theirs.” “How?” Elbridge asked. A simple question, a single word that nevertheless felt as cold and heavy as a glacier. He steepled his fingers together over the table and stared at Ada, unblinking and unflinching. “This power struggle’s a competitive game,” Ada said, leaning back on her seat. “Every time one of our people gets caught, we don’t just lose someone, they gain another soldier as well. But that goes both ways. The Fomor got no idea of what we’re planning -- they don’t have a reason to believe we’d set up an operation like this. Far as they’re concerned, we’re still disorganized and scattered, just a bunch of vigilantes bringing the fight against them when they get too big and obvious. So until they realize their lost soldiers aren’t just freak accidents, we have the chance to turn back any captures we make. Ten people can’t do that much in an all-out war, but what about forty? Or eighty?” “And you’re that confident in your ability to manage any prisoners taken?” Elbridge asked, with a faint but audible stress on manage. “When I know all the details of how we’re keeping them locked up?” The look on Ada’s eyes was piercing. “Yeah. Pretty drat sure.” “Sounds like a plan,” Elbridge said, suddenly withdrawn from the standoff. “Do keep me posted if there are any developments.” He took a long, slow sip from his drink and set it down on the table. “Is everyone else ready to order?” “Hold on a minute,” Rick said, giving El a side-glance before turning back to Ada. “You can’t honestly think you’re going to convert a bunch of ex-cultists to go against their religion in any kind of useful time frame, if deprogramming is even possible for all of them. Where are you going to put all these people? Remember you can’t house them in a group or they just get worse not better, with that whole chorus thing.” He frowned at her. “You’ve got a big house Ada but it’s not that big. If you’ve thought this through then fine but don’t start something you can’t finish.” “That’s what I’ve got an R&D division for,” she said, shooting Elbridge a meaningful look. “The way to cancel noise is to send out a signal the mirrors it, right? If we can get our hands on some Fomor, we can start looking into ways to silence the choir. We’ve got a bunch of safehouses we can use to stash POWs at, too. And if those run out, I’m pretty sure the mirror in the second basement doesn’t have a space limit. It doesn’t matter if we keep most of the prisoners together if they can’t get away.” “Interesting,” Elbridge said in a tone that didn’t really suggest it. “Mr. Ivarson, your thoughts?” “I mean, where to begin?” replied James, “For a start, for somewhere safe to stash someone hostile, you'd need to make sure that each one of your safehouses is secure and has enough amenities to make it habitable. And you'd want guards, too - at least six, ideally. That's not even getting into the actual reprogramming - which is, as Mr. Cole suggested, a giant pain to do on a single person, nevermind en masse, even if you had someone trained to do it. With a single prisoner you just wanted intel from, you could make do with a shipping container out in the sticks… but you're asking for something exponentially more complicated.” “Yeah, I am. You know any clued-in deprogrammers who’d be willing to lend a hand, James?” James rolled his eyes, “Oddly enough, no.” “What about the Venatori? They’ve got to have people who’ve dealt with this kind of thing before,” Rick asked him. “Who?” asked James, flashing Cole a quick and nasty glare, “That some ally you Council types have?” “Really?” Rick deadpanned. “You’ll tell everyone about black site containers in the swamp but the secret society is going too far?” “The clue's in the title, man,” replied James with a sigh of defeat, “Secret Society. Besides, Hollywood's already shown most of the rest.” “I knew you hadn’t gotten those organizing skills from throwing a bunch of parties,” Ada said, crossing her arms. “Question still stands, though. If you don’t know anyone, do you think you can find someone who does or is that a dead end?” “Uncle Sam taught me all the spycraft, actually. The Venatori mostly just trained me to hunt monsters,” replied James with a shrug, “I can probably request whatever intel they've learned while dealing with any previous prisoners, but unless we've got a high value prisoner, I doubt I have the pull to get someone trained to come here.” “And that’s why we don’t get any deprogrammers working on our payroll,” Ada said, nodding decisively. “We’re trying to build something out of nothing here. Working with improvised tools, little cash, no support… that’s not a setback, it’s gonna be our default for a drat long time until we get the ball rolling.” She paused for a moment to sigh, and all of them could feel the exhaustion and worry piled onto that single release of air. When she continued, though, her voice was as strong and focused as ever. “It’s not fair to ask you guys to work like this, but I’m not trying to be fair. I’m trying to turn the people into a power, no matter what it takes.” “Well, I think we need to do two things,” Rick said, after a short, uncomfortable silence. “First, someone order nachos so I can live vicariously. Second, Elbridge do a reading. The cards might have some answers to a few of those ‘ifs’.” “I thought you’d never ask,” Elbridge said.
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Apr 28, 2019 00:10
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A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to El Gato Negro Scene: Just outside the restaurant Elbridge better be paying for dinner, Gorden thought as he pulled his cheap car into the driveway. The replacement ID cost thirty bucks! Were wizards expected to pay their way by turning stuff into gold?! And how was he even supposed to get into the building without it, break a window and get busted by campus security? He continued his distracted grumbling as he switched off the engine. As Gorden walked through the parking lot towards the entrance to the restaurant, he heard a noise. *Tink, tink, tink…* A can rolled between the parked cars. No, not a can. A canister. LAN parties of CS: Source gave him an inkling of what knocked into his sneakers, but by the time he recognized what it was, it was too late to even close his eyes. It burst open in a blinding flash of light and disorienting sound, and the sound didn’t fade, or maybe it did and that was some other high pitched shrieking? He clutched his hands to his eyes, trying to force the washed-out rods and cones to rewind themselves, but nothing happened. It just felt like someone decided to do impromptu laser eye surgery with a laboratory laser. He was still trying to figure it out when something hit him over the back of the head, and then he wasn’t doing much thinking at all. --- Marcine pulled into the parking lot of the Gato just as a black SUV pulled out of it, tires squealing. She barely caught a glimpse of the driver, a large bald man in a turtleneck sweater, as he almost ran her off the road and lurched off down the street. Her car bumped to an abrupt stop when she turned her attention back to the parking lot. Faint smoke was drifting away in the wind, and a moment later, she picked up the smell of sulphur. She almost heard the bang and gunshots that had accompanied the last time she smelled that. She parked without care for tidiness and scanned the ground. There - hidden under a bumper and only visible because of a streetlight, she spotted the canister, dented but mostly intact. Like the one that had gone off in the the other El's cabin. She didn't sense a disturbance, felt nothing aggressive nearby, and so all but ran into the El Gato Negro to find out who was missing.
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Apr 28, 2019 00:20
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The Wheel Scene: El Gato Negro, interior It took three passes of cleaning and polishing before Elbridge would set his cards down on the table. They were lacquered and supernaturally-durable, yes, but he’d treated them with the utmost care and respect since the day he’d first begun to read from them, and he wasn’t about to break that habit now. “Rest your hands on the side of the case and focus on the questions most-pressing to each of you,” he told the others. “Only questions pertinent to our plans, please,” he clarified. “The narrower the query, the better the information this will yield.” James tentatively put his hands on the case - while he’d read everything he could find about Divination magic, this was the first time he’d ever seen it done in person by someone who actually knew what they were doing. Hopefully this one wouldn’t end in a scrap with vampires, at least. Pushing his doubts away, he focused on a question - “What third parties could interfere with this Op?” There was room for only one question in Ada's mind. They had the manpower, the skills, the tools and a target to aim for. If put into the right places, the people she'd recruited for the sting would ensure its success. So it was her job to set them up, and consequently her question was a simple one. “Is there anything I still need to account for?” Rick frowned at the box between his hands. He’d done this before, so he knew what it felt like to have a question accepted by the deck… and it just wasn’t hearing him. “Oh,” he said, looking up at El. “Can you touch it to the sword for me?” “Of course,” Elbridge said, carefully touching the box with the pommel of the sword and not its enchantment-destroying blade. “Thanks,” he said, sighing with relief. Now he could feel the hum, not just in his hands but all over. It was a bit like sitting on an idling lawnmower. He glanced around the table, wondering if it was too small, and too selfish a question, but there was really only one thing he wanted to know. “Is this my fight? Or should I stay out of this?” He nodded to El when he was done. “The query has been made, and the cards shall answer.” Elbridge lifted the lid on the box and began to shuffle, left hand to right and back again, cutting, splitting, and fanning the cards across the table before sweeping them together into a single deck with a flourish. “Our first card, that of the querent...or querents.” He flipped it over. X: The Wheel of Fortune. “An unusual omen...but fitting, I suppose. Everything about our plan is a gamble. Next, our opposition.” El turned another card and set across the Wheel at a right angle: V: The Hierophant. “Unsurprising.” “What’s unsurprising?” asked James, curious. “They’re a cult,” Elbridge explained. “The Hierophant is the card of religious authority.” “Organized religious authority,” Rick added. “Probably with a singular leader for each church. It’s a rigid card.” “It comports with what I’ve learned,” Elbridge said, with another side-eye at Ada. “Third card - root cause.” He turned it over and set it beneath the first two. Two of Swords, Inverted. “Interesting. Conflict borne of fundamental differences. I say that it’s interesting because the Two of Swords does not imply irreconcilable differences. It may be that this can end...well, I wouldn’t say ‘peacefully’, but perhaps not as it did for the Red Court.” Rick crossed his arms and stared hard at the card. “Er, isn’t their goal to eventually summon Cthulhu or something worse? That seems pretty irreconcilable to me.” “In the abstract, yes,” Elbridge said with a shrug. “The laity, I gather, are simply searching for hope and meaning in a miserable and dreary existence.” “People searching for a purpose like that are often recruited into questionable activities,” observed James, “They sound like any extremist movement in that regard.” “Fourth card: Internal conflict. That which is past, casting its shadow on the present.” El flipped the card and did a slight but noticeable double-take. IX: The Hermit. Rick snorted and tried really hard not to laugh. “Something funny about that card in particular?” Ada asked, shooting him a questioning glance. “Oh nothing, just the Hermit was El’s personal signifier until recently.” “Caution, secrecy, and esoteric wisdom...it would appear that I am being, as the youth are wont to say lately, ‘called out’.” Elbridge tried not to look too sour as he presented the fifth card. “Our goal in this endeavour.” Two of Cups. “Also unsurprising. This is the card of communication and mediation. It isn’t Temperance, but it’s a start - an opening of the floor to dialogue, if you will.” “It’s the goal, not the result,” Ada pointed out. “Makes sense it’d be open-ended.” “Indeed,” Elbridge said, “and it tells us that this lot is cast in truth. I’d worried that such a complex issue might snarl the threads, but apparently we’ve no such problem. Our sixth card - a confounding factor.” XV: The Devil. “I'm no expert when it comes to tarot,” said James, “But that seems ominous.” “The Fomor are working with demons?” Rick asked. It didn’t feel right but he couldn’t think of what else it might be. “I doubt it,” Elbridge said. “They’ve plenty of other allies. The Devil is chaos. They represent transgression and rebellion. They will not be governed.” “No,” Ada said, never taking her eyes off the table. “That can't be right.” “Ada?” “This card doesn't make any sense,” she muttered, tapping the table right beside it. “I ain't there yet.” “Ada, that die was cast the moment you spoke out in the Voodoo shop,” Elbridge said, sighing and regretting that he’d only ordered the one drink. “I did try to warn you. Now, the cards are trying to warn you as well. If you’re a potential obstacle to your own plan…” he trailed off, slowly pivoting to face her directly. “How do you intend to act as bait?” he asked suddenly. “Hm?” She looked up. “Feigning weakness. Only way to make a good catch. It's pretty easy to pretend you're plastered and helpless when you don't get drunk and nobody knows that fact. Why?” “I mean to say, ‘how do you intend to act as bait without your power?’” Elbridge asked. “The Fomor can sense magic. It’s what draws them to their targets. Without that, why would they take an interest in you in the first place?” Very, very slowly, Ada turned her head and shot Rick a look. It wasn’t a look of anger or disappointment, but one that broadcasted one message very clearly. Don’t think I don’t know what you did. So much for getting to share it with the others on her terms, huh? For once, Rick didn’t look away, matching her look with a tight-lipped one of his own. I gave you three months. Somehow it never came up. At some point, the look turned into a glare. Under the table, one of Ada’s hands clenched into a fist. “My magic isn’t gone,” she said, eventually, unwillingly turning her eyes back to Elbridge. “Not exactly. It’s more like it’s locked up. Isn’t that enough for them to notice it’s there?” “Let’s find out.” Elbridge offered his hand as if to shake hers. When she took it, it was...more than nothing. But the sensation was muted, as though he was wearing thick, insulating gloves. A buried ember. A thready pulse. The instant Ada’s hand clasped El’s, she felt his power -- it was like touching a pane of glass, cool, smooth and carefully crafted. The sensation faded after a moment, giving way to the more mundane feel of his wizened, callous hand, but there was no mistake. “All good on my end,” she said. “Yours?” “Your power’s still there,” he confirmed. “But it’s buried quite deeply. I doubt that the Fomor would recognise you as a mage on sight, and...I don’t expect that they’d trouble themselves to help your recovery.” Ada’s face twisted into a scowl. “Tch. So we need someone else to step up and be the bait? That makes everything a lot more complicated.” “I suppose that I could fashion a charm that would give its wearer the proper aura, but…” Elbridge shrugged. “At that point, why risk yourself at all?” “Because everyone else who could do this would have to put themselves at greater risk or might not have practice making people see what they wanna see to make the fomor think it’s an easy score. We got any other decent actors who can hold out against a bunch of goons if jumped in a back-alley before everyone else gets there?” she asked, glancing at the others inquisitively. “I could,” said James, “But I'm not sure if they'd be interested in someone with my level of magical ability.” “James, you’re basically a viking,” Rick said. “If they go for you they’ll probably call in backup and we should try to avoid that.” James grinned, “I guess it's no good if they turn up with half a football team when they try and grab me, eh?” “I doubt we have the capacity to hold that many, yes,” Elbridge concurred, and revealed the seventh card. “The present context, and a suggested course of action.” VII: The Chariot. “Well! That is interesting!” “Is this a reading or a Nike ad?” Rick asked. “Why would it be - ah. Advertising slogans.” Elbridge tapped his brow. “You have been paying attention, haven’t you?” “You guys ever gonna come out with what this means in english or are you planning on just keeping us waiting?” Ada said, arms crossed. “I'm starting to think being unnecessarily cryptic is part of being a Wizard,” mused James. “You can pick up a beginner’s Tarot book for like a dollar at basically any used book store,” Rick said. “It’s not that hard guys.” “Try finding time to read when you sleep four hours a day to stick to schedule. It’s easier to catch a falling meteor in your hand than that.” “If something matters you make time for it,” Rick sniped back. “Not that learning was ever-” A loud bang from outside interrupted whatever he was going to say. All three of the boys flinched hard, and a waitress dropped a platter which only added to the confusion. Poking his head up again, James said, “Geez, must be someone with some dumb exhaust mod out there.” “Was that a car?” Elbridge asked. “It sounded like…” “A grenade,” Rick finished, standing up. “Maybe I should go check.” The door jangled noisily. Marcine ignored the desk and hurried straight to their table. “Who are we missing?” she demanded. “Gorden,” Elbridge hissed. Hastily he drew the last three cards, memorised them, and swept the whole setup back into the box, nearly spilling the deck as he tucked it away and dashed for the door. Grabbing Cole’s sword and tucking it under his arm, James ran off after Elbridge. “What did you see?” Rick pressed Marcine, as they followed suit. “Van nearly ran me over as I was pulling in and I smelled sulphur,” she said. “Hope he had the pin with him.” “Did you get its plate?” asked James. “Gone too fast.” Elbridge snatched a travel brochure from the stand at the entrance and mumbled a hasty apology to a confused and indignant Maria on his way out the door. Outside, he opened the pamphlet to its map of New Orleans, tossed his own pin on the map along with a complimentary mint, and drew a circle around all three in table salt. ”Vindate asmakam savayas!” he said, and the dinner mint began to move. Divination -+// +5 = 5 to track Gorden. Moving target + improvised spell sets the base difficulty at 7, so Elbridge Invokes “The Grayest Warden” to meet that total. Elbridge FP 2->1.. “It’s headed for the docks,” Ada said, leaning in to have a look. “No two ways about it. Anyone here need three guesses to guess who the kidnappers are?” “Guess now we know who’s good bait,” Rick said. “We’re not going to beat them there in the cars.” “We’re not taking a car,” Elbridge said. He held out his arm, and his staff leapt from the flatbed of the Bigsby’s truck and into his hand. <O secret paths that wind between the spheres, infinite branches of the tree that is all places at all times…> He struck the butt of the staff against the asphalt. <Open to our tread, that we may reach our destination in time.> There was a grinding noise from a nearby alley, like brick sliding against brick. “Show off…” muttered James under his breath as he popped open his hatchback’s trunk. Pushing aside a gym bag full of Kendo gear, he grabbed a small backpack stuffed under an old jacket, along with a pair of reinforced eskrima sticks and a sheathed katana. “I’d have thought you were more of a gun-guy,” Rick said from directly behind him. “Sure, but I’m not reckless enough to just stash a spare gun in my trunk,” replied James, slinging the backpack on, grabbing his weapons and shutting his trunk, “That’s just asking for trouble.” Marcine’s trunk slammed shut and she eyed James as she buckled her belt with its holsters, then held out her hand. “Sword, please.” James handed her Cole’s sword, “Here. Not like I can swing two swords about anyway.” “Actually, the only one swinging this around is me,” Rick said, taking the sword out of James’ hand before Marcine could get to it. Marcine blinked, hand still outstretched. “Oh. That’s new.” She retrieved her hand to her belt. “Yeah, Nicholas has been a big help believe it or not. I’ll tell you about it later.” He turned to James as they walked towards the alley. “You sure you’re up for this? We can always use the help but you might be signing up for more than you bargained for.” James nodded as he walked, “I already got signed up for stuff like this years ago, back when I was willing to be honest to Uncle Sam about spotting a Demon. Besides, from what I’ve read, the Nevernever sounds like a weird and wonderful place, and who doesn’t want to see somewhere like that?” “Don’t say things you can’t take back,” Marcine said.
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Apr 28, 2019 00:25
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Coral-Lined Scene: Nevernever There was a hole in the wall. It looked as if it should have opened into the building next door to the Gato, but instead of a studio full of confused yoga moms, on the other side of the hole was a grimy tunnel, slick with petrol, lined with a reef of bleached coral like skeletal fingers grasping for passers-by. The BP disaster of the previous year was still strongly-felt here on the other side of the Veil. A chill wind blew forth, ruffling coats and dresses. “Spooky,” muttered James, staring through the portal with awe. “Do not stray from the path,” Elbridge warned. “Not for any reason. And don’t touch the coral. It’s hungry.” “Noted,” replied James. Marcine focused her magic into stillness that settled over them like a light blanket, dampening the sound of their breathing. From outside the veil, they were nonexistent, concealed in an illusion that warped their surroundings and pushed the eye away from them. "And don't get away from me," she warned. The edge of her range looked a bit hazy. "I can only hold this so far." “It gets narrow enough that we’ll need to go single file. I’ll take point,” Rick said. “James, you’re on rearguard.” Once everyone had sorted themselves into a loose queue he stepped through the gateway and into the cold damp of the Nevernever. It was much darker inside and he held up a hand to let their eyes adjust before they started moving. His own snapped to clarity almost instantly, though he staggered under his own unfamiliar weight for a moment. His ectoplasm body was more like a physical glamour than the real thing, and it felt strange to have to breathe again. But being solid, even temporarily, was well worth it. “Stay close,” he said softly, motioning them all forward. The coral-lined tunnel sloped gently upwards. It was nearly round and ridged, and El’s floating green werelight cast odd shadows on the cracks and shelves. They were forced to climb a few times, using the sharp ridges as handholds and trying to avoid the spines that jutted from all angles. But the tunnel wasn’t very long. It soon opened out into what could only be described as an ancient seabed. The dim light drifting down from above rippled as though through the water’s surface, and all around them swam the spirits of the Great Inland Sea. The coral reef surrounding them stretched miles in every direction and hundreds of feet high. There was no path here, no guide save the werelight and Rick’s intuition. For a second he paused, trying to reach out with senses that were no longer there, but in the end he didn’t need magic to find his way. He’d been through here before, and the great coral forest hadn’t changed much in thousands of years. The bone-white shell of a turtle big enough to live on gave him his bearings and he struck out for the docks with as much speed as he judged the others could safely manage. The ground crunched under El's foot as he trod upon something brittle under the sand. Marcine reached out and put a hand on his arm. The veil folded closer around him, muting even the rustling of his clothes, as she gave him a small but calming smile. Gorden wouldn't get saved any faster if Elbridge got ahead of himself out of worry. "Heel-toe." Elbridge drew in his breath sharply, waiting for something to stir in the dark, but the only answer to his misstep was the rolling echo. He glanced back at Marcine, and gave a slight nod of approval, which was Elbridge for effusive praise. It seemed as though they were safe, but… Elbridge sent his werelight ahead with a wordless gesture, watching as it traced the outlines of gnawed bones and other, disturbingly more-active things buried in the silt of the seabed. Gleaming fish followed the wisp in ones and twos, daring probative bites at the ethereal sphere. None of them found anything tasty, but their interest drew others to approach in turn, which drew larger creatures yet to bite at the smaller fish. The effect was as if a disco ball had descended, casting strobing flashes across the shelf. Then a bony valve the size of a manhole cover opened up and a nest of tendrils shot out, scooping the entire bolus of fishes into the growth’s maw before the valve slammed shut again. Only the eerie, green light remained, as if none of the unfortunate little fishes had ever been. Elbridge resumed his march at a more-deliberate pace, giving the shivering mounds as wide a berth as time would permit. James wandered along, keeping to the middle of the pack - while he was moving with surprising stealth for such a big man, his eyes kept straying from the path ahead, wide with awe at the surreal landscape surrounding them, a constant distraction from something best done with focus. Flinching as the tendrils snapped up the fish, his hand tightened around the blade at his hip’s hilt, giving the thing a wide berth as he edged along the path. “Almost makes me wish I could paint or something,” he mused quietly, “You’d never be short of something to inspire you in here.” The valve quivered slightly. Elbridge shot James a sharp glare and a wordless gesture. C’mon, man, head in the game, thought James, trying to refocus himself and stop gawking. Marcine followed behind the group to make sure everyone stayed within her spell’s reach. She followed the advice she’d given Elbridge, moving so quietly that her veil would render her silent even to the others inside it. Inwardly, she wished she’d left her apartment faster, gotten there a little sooner, and maybe she could have prevented this… No point worrying, she knew; but that didn’t stop her. She’d let them know in time to react about as quickly as they could have. Just had to get everyone there. ---- NeverNever Stealth Challenge Maths: Marcine rolls Illusions for a group veil CA: (++-+) +5 = 7. Two tags on “Stealth Field.” Rick rolls Lore: Portals for a pathfinding CA: (++++)+4 = 8. Two tags on “Been There, Spelunked That.” Elbridge rolls Divination for a willowisp CA: (+/--)+5 = 4. 1 tag on “Stray Not From the Path” Stealth Check of 5! Rick rolls 3, tags “Been There” once to get 5. Marcine makes the 5 with Stage Illusion. James rolls 3, invokes on “A Smile in the Shadows” for a +2 (FP: 6->5) Elbridge rolls 2, invokes on “Stray not” and “Stealth field”. Ada rolls 0, needs 3 tags. Tags Stealth Field and Spelunked That, then invokes on the latter using an FP to pass. (FP 2>1)
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Apr 28, 2019 00:28
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Make Your Choice Scene: Nevernever Seabed A little further on they passed the hulk of an old oil tanker and Rick stepped to the side, waving Elbridge up to the front. “It’s pretty much a straight shot from here and I want to make sure we’re not followed, take over for me?” Elbridge gave a sharp nod of assent but otherwise kept quiet; he wasn’t about to make another sound before they reached their destination. “We’re past most of the nasty things’ hunting grounds, the rest is easy.” Rick fell back to the rear, keeping an eye behind them for any fishes that looked too curious for their own good. Moments later, he saw Ada gradually slow down her pace until she was walking right beside him. “I wanna know something. The guy we’re gonna rescue… he’s the same one who had a close encounter with a warlock earlier, right?” Rick gave the area a quick once over but there didn’t look to be any immediate reason they couldn’t talk a little. “Yeah he was on his way to meet up with us afterwards. Looks like they knew where he was going somehow, and ambushed him right before he could get to us.” “Got any idea how they could’ve pulled that off? Seems really specific when you think about it.” “I mean, we’re tracking him right now, so my guess is they got something off him in the scuffle. Hair, blood, that kind of thing. Don’t really want to think about alternatives.” “You guys sent him off without teaching him to clean up after himself? I thought you were used to this already,” she said. Her words carried a hint of surprise, and a truckload of meaning. Rick gave a frustrated sigh. “We did, Ada. If he listened, well, that’s another thing. He was supposed to scout, not get into a fight with one of them. He was planning on doing it before we told him what to look out for anyways, so it’s not like we just sent him out there to get caught. It was the least dangerous thing we could convince him to settle for.” “No, I mean, why not teach him to use his magic to dispose of his traces?” she insisted. “You’re used to teaching people about that already. Can’t be worse than it was with me, right?” “I’ve met the guy twice, why is he suddenly my responsibility?” Rick bristled. “You sent him out,” Ada said, shrugging. The staccato rhythm of her heels hitting the stone floor masked the moment of silence before she continued. Thanks to Marcine’s stealth field, none of the creatures all around them noticed. “If you didn’t think he was ready, you should’ve yelled at El until he was willing to talk some sense into him.” She shot him a sideways glance. “You really oughta drop the don’t-give-a-drat bullshit by the way. It doesn’t suit you.” “I’m here aren’t I?” They were starting to fall behind the others a bit more than he liked, but he didn’t increase his pace. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to share. “Yeah, and trying to pretend you don’t really care as much as you do. If he isn’t your responsibility, why even bother going through the Nevernever to try and save him?” “Of course I care.” Rick glanced down at her, flustered. “But this isn’t my job anymore. I’m not going to take responsibility for every stray that walks through El’s office. He’s the Warden Commander, he can deal with it. I’m here to take care of one loose end, not to get suckered into cleaning up one Council disaster after another.” Taking a deep breath, he looked away from Ada and focused on the spectral aquarium around them. “I don’t know what you want from me.” “Do I need to have a plan?” she asked, in that bizarrely honest way of hers. “I’ve got my own plans for once, thanks.” “Yeah? Like what?” “Like-” Something glittered in the air ahead and he recognized the danger and pulled Ada up short just in time. Hair-like fibers brushed against them like the bristles of a soft broom, gentle and questing. The giant jellyfish was as clear as glass, tentacles draped over the path like the boughs of a willow tree. It had slipped between them and the others with no warning at all. “Like not getting eaten by Jelly-fae. We shouldn’t be talking here.” He touched her shoulder to move her off the path and onto the deeper sand. There were dangers there too, but they didn’t have much choice. “We have to go around. It’s not much farther.” “God, I hope so. These shoes really weren’t meant for a beach trip,” Ada said, glaring at her feet. The heels had sunk into the sand, making every step she took an absolute chore. She didn’t say more out of respect for Rick’s travel advice, but the conversation wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot. As they moved past the hazards, her hand unconsciously drifted to her shoulder, to the spot he’d touched earlier. I forgot he’s still real here. It’s like he never left at all... “You might want to invest in some flats if you’re going to keep coming on these things,” Rick said, but his tone had softened to teasing. “Whatever happened to not trading queens for pawns?” “I’m not planning on sacrificing myself here. If things get bad, I’m doing a runner and leaving you all to deal with this mess,” Ada said, flashing him a grin. “In that outfit?” Rick said, shaking his head. “I can just picture it.” Now it was his turn to grin, even as he held a hand up to ward them away from a cluster of suspicious-looking clams, and back onto the path the others were still following. Ada raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t want a piece of this anymore. Changed your mind already?” “No.” His smile faded as he met her eyes. “Sorry. Old habits.” Her smile shrunk as well, but didn’t totally disappear. It was a little sadder now, but also more sincere. “That’s why I didn’t like seeing you so uncaring, you know,” Ada said softly. “Joking around and getting flustered’s a lot more like you than trying to play tough.” “It used to be,” Rick said quietly. “What do you mean?” “I mean maybe it's time for me to stop joking around, stop being flustered, and grow up. I’m not trying to play tough, I’m just trying to keep my priorities straight for the first time since… God since before the war. There’s something I need to finish, and that means I can’t be around every time Gorden- or whoever- falls down the well. Sometimes I am going to need to say no.” He let out a ragged breath. “I have to make some distance or I’ll never have time for myself. It’ll be just like before, one thing after another. Always someone needing help. Always my door they’re knocking on. Because you’re right, Ada. I do care. Too much.” “I always liked that about you,” she said, her smile widening just a tiny bit. “It’s alright. Taking care of everyone’s supposed to be my job now. What’s that thing you need to be doing?” “You’ll laugh,” he said, looking away even more flustered than before. “I promise I’ll take it seriously,” Ada said, and her expression reflected that. “C’mon. Try me.” “I showed you some of my cartography work a long time ago, remember? Well I was writing a thesis. Not just how to use the Ways but how to forge new ones and… well a bunch of technical stuff. Predictive mapmaking, explaining how the Nevernever grows and changes in response to the real world… It was supposed to be my life’s work, and it was the whole reason I joined up with the White Council to begin with. They had all the books on what had already been discovered. Then they put a sword in my hand and gave me a cloak and everything I’d worked for went into a box and you know the rest.” “Yeah. I think I get the picture,” Ada said, nodding slowly as they worked carefully through a bunch of eerily sensitive sargasso. “So you wanna pick it back up then? Change the face of pathfinding forever?” “Yeah,” he said, absolutely serious. “I told you I had a plan.” “Sounds good. And besides…” It looked like she was about to say more, but then she stopped, pursing her lips. “Hm?” “No, it’s just… you’ve got a body here,” she said, looking at him, head to toe. “So long as you don’t leave the Nevernever, it’s like you can be alive again. That’s on your mind too, isn’t it?” “I’d be a liar if I said that wasn’t part of it,” he admitted. He reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her cheek, falling into old habits one more time. “But I’m vulnerable here too. Ghosts don’t bleed when you hurt them, they lose parts of who they are. Their memories, experiences… Maybe I can heal where they can’t, but I never want to go through that again.” “Yeah. You collared yourself once. It’s not like you to not learn from it.” There was an awkward silence between them for a moment. And then… “You won’t have to come help with the sting once we’ve got Gorden. I’m not dragging you back in when you’ve got things to do,” she said, all of a sudden. “That’s up to the fates,” Rick said. “I asked the cards if I should get involved. They’ve got three more chances to answer.” “No,” Ada said, firmly. “They ain’t gonna. Aren’t you forgetting something?” “If you mean that whole ‘fateless’ thing, it was only because I was supposed to be dead and wasn’t. That problem’s been solved.” “No. What you’re forgetting is we broke your fate once, and I went back in time and changed someone else’s future. El can read the cards all he wants, but I don’t believe in fate anymore. There’s no fate but the one we make, so don’t leave your decisions up to anyone beside yourself. Do you wanna change Nawlins with me?” she asked, staring him dead in the eyes. “Or do you wanna stay here in the Nevernever and finish that thesis instead?” On some level he knew this was the choice she’d broken up with him to give him. If they were still together, he never would have been able to make it fairly. “Changing New Orleans is your dream Ada. It’s about time I followed mine. I’m staying.” She grinned and it was a fierce thing, hurting and furious and, most of all, proud. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” she said. Then, she took a step towards him and pulled him into a hug so tight it hurt, her nails digging into his all too real back almost to the point of bleeding. I hate this, she thought. It’s like having to break up with him all over again. But it wouldn’t have been right to fight against this, and she didn’t. Sometimes, loving someone meant knowing when to let them go. “Let’s get this job done, Rick,” she said, and her voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear it. Better that way, too. If she tried to raise it higher, it’d probably get choked up. “We’ll get Gorden back and then you can go.” “After we deal with Lancaster,” Rick corrected gently. “I’m not bailing on Elbridge halfway through when this was my mess to begin with.” He didn’t return the embrace, patting her awkwardly on the head and then pulling away instead. It felt wrong, but if he held her like that again he might never let her go. He was already rethinking his answer as a little voice in the back of his head screamed at him to just take the girl and forget about everything else. But that voice was an idiot, and had already gotten him killed once. “I’ll be home between trips you know, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. There’s usually more writing and documentation than expeditioning if you’re doing it correctly.” “Since when does anyone I know do things correctly, though?” she deadpanned, pulling back as well, looking calmer now. The moment of weakness had passed. No matter how much it hurt, she could deal with the rest. “Since we started doing the things we ought to have been doing all along,” he said. “Or that’s what I’m hoping, at least.” It was a subtle thing, and other people might’ve missed it -- but Rick saw her hands slowly ball up into nervous fists. “Yeah. Let’s hope so.” Transient People fucked around with this message at 01:54 on Jul 27, 2021 |
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May 1, 2019 01:55
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Chasing Gorden Scene: Dockyard The portal opened out of the side of a shipping container, one of the hundreds stacked in this area. There were still claw marks in some of them from the last time the group had been by, fighting against Enme and eventually taking him captive. It had been a victory, a big one, and Rick was hoping they could go two for two. Of course, this was where the big cargo ships were loaded. Any passenger vessels would be launching a short hike north of here along the river. “Did we make it?” Rick asked, as he reappeared a moment after vanishing when they left the Nevernever. It was a little rough going straight from weightless to solid to weightless again but he shrugged off the vertigo and tried to focus. Elbridge checked his pocketwatch. “We’ve made it,” he announced. “Even at top speed, they can’t have beaten us.” “Then it gives us time to set up an ambush, get someone up high, maybe,” remarked James, glancing at the towering stacks of shipping containers. “Did you bring a rifle?” Elbridge asked. James shook his head, “Just got a sword and some Eskrima sticks.” “Then please stay on the ground, or else this lot will be apt to use you for target practise.” Elbridge looked around, taking in the docks. He couldn’t see the marina from where he was, but if they kidnappers meant to deliver Gorden here… “Go in at ground level. Quietly. I want eyes on the marina so that our rescue operation isn’t interrupted.” James nodded in response, peeking around for a good route toward the more populated parts of the docks, “Got a cell number I can signal you on?” “Er…” “No point asking a wizard for a cell number,” Marcine said, and gave him hers. “Ah, that whole hexing thing, right,” muttered James, repeating Marcine's number a few times to memorize it. Satisfied he had it, he set off towards the passenger dock. --- A few minutes and one hole in a fence later… The marina was closed for the evening, and the parking lot was empty. There were no lights on in the harbor master’s office, and the boats floated peacefully in their docks. It was never truly silent this close to the river, what with the sound of water sloshing off hulls and the cries of birds. Several of them had been here before, actually, the ill-fated Raith yacht party had kicked off from here just about a year ago. “Marcine.” Elbridge addressed his apprentice. “Do you see the vehicle that took Gorden anywhere on the street?” No high-profile headlights were in sight, and the parking lot itself was empty. “No,” she said. “Then we move to intercept,” Elbridge said. “The Harbourmaster’s office blocks the view of the boardwalk from the marina - we’ll strike there. A silencing spell would be helpful.” --- Leaving the others behind at the edge of the marina, James tied the sword onto his backpack and headed in, towards the foggy docks, setting up a makeshift disguise as he went - shirt untucked, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up and his hair even more tousled than usual, he looked every bit the cocky party yacht type as he walked, full of swagger, toward the dock. (James, Notice: /--/ +4 = +2, Invokes on “Venatori's Loose Cannon” for a +2, FP: 5->4) It didn’t take long to spot the boat he was looking for. It was a medium sized craft, suitable for maybe four or five people with an enclosed cabin. The engine was puttering softly, idling, and it looked like there was only one rope tethering it to the dock. There was one guy inside the cabin, (presumably the driver) and one guy standing on the back, watching him intently. The watcher was as tall as James was and thicker, wearing a black turtleneck sweater. He looked like a bouncer and the way he was standing screamed ex-military. Alas, the goons were too competent to leave the getaway driver alone on the boat, and so James veered off down a parallel dock, staggering slightly as if just a bit too drunk to remember where his boat was. Slipping his cell out, he quickly tapped out a text to Marcine - “Two goons on boat, ex-Mil, turtlenecks”. --- Marcine read the message out, and sighed. “loving military,” she muttered. Not too surprising, given the flashbang, but she could have hoped that was some weird fluke… “Er...by ‘turtleneck’, he does mean the style of sweater, yes?” Elbridge asked. “I would assume so, but as the Fomor are most-likely involved…” “Does it make a difference in this case?” she asked. Whether it was the sweater or actual people with turtle necks, that seemed less alarming than the other part to her. “So...what, I put a veil on and try to shoot them?” “Miss Sterling!” Elbridge exclaimed, alarmed. “There are cameras trained on the boardwalk!” She blinked at him, then shook her head and looked back down at her phone in case James sent more information while she waited for an actual plan. This was out of her wheelhouse. “So knock ‘em out,” Ada said, suddenly, her eyes fixed to the entrance. “Hex their truck too as it comes in while you’re at it. It won’t hurt Gorden, but it’ll rattle them enough for us to follow up. Marcine, you can make them feel something, right?” “Define ‘something,’” Marcine said. “Pain. Lots of it. Like you just got stabbed through the eyes, if you can.” “Ada, I’m not going to hex their truck while it’s moving and Gorden’s inside,” Elbridge sighed, interjecting to spare Marcine from having to answer that. “I’ll cast an ice slick once they’ve parked. That should give us time to move in and neutralise them.” He frowned in the direction of the office blocking their view of the marina. “I’ll hex the cameras as well, but if there are any casualties, we’ll need to steal their van. Won’t do to leave any bodies lying about.” Marcine glanced toward the water. The office building blocked the view, but that wasn’t really the main problem. “And we hope we do this fast enough that the other group doesn’t hear anything?” “Just because we play nice most of the time doesn’t mean we can’t be vicious when it’s called for,” Ada said, baring her fangs. “They were open to a prisoner exchange before,” Rick said, keeping an eye on the entrance. “This is going to send a message, Ada. You’d better make sure it’s the right one.” “Try not to kill them if you can,” Ada said, nodding in agreement. “But if it looks like they might be able to do something, don’t hold back. They might be brainwashed pawns, but that doesn’t mean we can afford to get ourselves killed for the sake of being soft-hearted.” “Notify Mr. Ivarson,” Elbridge said. “Tell him to keep eyes on the getaway crew, and to intercept them if they approach the lot. Then I want veils up at once. On my signal, hit them hard. Our advantage won’t last long.”
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May 24, 2019 00:43
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Ambush! Scene: Marina Parking Lot It didn’t take more than another minute or two for the large black SUV to pull into the parking lot. Two men got out of the front and headed towards the back of the vehicle, opening the door. Gorden was bound and gagged in the back and appeared unconscious. There was a third man sitting in the back with him. Elbridge had seen this type of fixer work plenty of times. The leader was the grey haired driver, the other two were younger but looked similar enough that they might be sons or nephews. Professional militia types, with black tacticool shirts and cargo pants. None of them appeared to be carrying guns on them right at that moment, but he could make out some rifle cases in the back of the SUV and it’d be foolish to assume they hadn’t got anything concealed. He didn’t see any obvious biohazards like the Fomor usually packed, but Gorden’s wrists were chained with silver, which meant they had backing from someone. From their hiding spot opposite the Harbourmaster’s office, Elbridge wordlessly gestured to the spot on the boardwalk where the goons would just be leaving the marina’s field of view, and then brought his fist down on an open palm. Hit them there, with overwhelming force. As she had in the Nevernever, Marcine bent the sound in the air around them, visualizing it like a ball forming a pit of silence in the middle. Even gunshots wouldn’t be heard through this one. (Marcine’s Illusions for the veil: (-++b)+5 = 6.) The militia boys picked Gorden up with a standard two-man carry, with him in a seated position. The one in front had his legs and the one in back had his arms locked under Gorden’s armpits and across his chest. Thus arranged, they headed for the dock. Marcine’s veil muted all sound, so none of them heard the incantation Elbridge whispered, nor did they feel the vibration as he touched the butt of his staff to the sodden boardwalk. Their first inkling that anything was amiss, beyond the eerie silence, was the sudden loss of all footing as the planks were coated in a frictionless sheet of solid ice. (Elbridge rolls Elementalism to create a Zone Aspect under the goons’ feet as they pass behind the yachts: /-++ +6 = 7, Success with Style! CA: “Climate Denialism Kills”! Puck to Marcine.) As the ice caught them all by surprise, Marcine focused on the man carrying Gorden under the arms. He’d trip up the one carrying his legs, distract the guy in front, slow up the whole process and draw their attention backward instead of where they needed to be looking. Not for long, but she trusted that her friends weren’t about to give them much time to realize what was happening. And not letting them know what was happening was the best way to keep them under control. She brought the mental hammer down on his unsuspecting mind while he struggled for footing and left him sliding to the ground with the worst migraine of his life. (Marcine attacks with Mentalism: (bb-b)+3 = 2 vs thug’s flat defense due to the zone aspect: (+++b) = 3. Tagging “Climate Denialism Kills!” and invoking on Voted Likeliest to Survive the Zombpocalypse to bring that up to 6 and give him the Mild consequence “A Militant Migraine.” Puck to Ada.) With the soldiers distracted and off-balance, Ada had the opening she needed. She leapt out of cover, quick as a thought, and slid on the frost towards them. The second she was close enough, she leapt onto the leader, mauling him. (Ada attacks the leader, getting a roll of 3. Using Climate Denialism Kills’ invoke and invoking The Killer Rush takes it to 7. Versus 0, that inflicts a Mild Consequence and ticks off his fifth stress box. We’ll call it Slammed by a Scarlet Bullet. Rick followed her up by slamming the pommel of his sword into the side of the leader’s head, dropping him as fast as he’d dropped Gorden not an hour ago. (Rick rolls his Poltergeist skill, boosted by his Warden Sword megastunt. +-+/ +7 = 8, tagging Scarlet Bullet to bring that to 10, at W:2. 12 shifts KO’s the guy outright. END OF ROUND. Round 2 start! Puck back to Elbridge.) The soldier at the back was dazed and reeling, about to break under the combined onslaught. Elbridge snapped his fingers and enspelled a mooring cable to leap from the yacht and hogtie the hapless goon; after what Ada had done to the father, it was as much for his protection as theirs. (Elbridge attacks the rear goon with Arcane Force, and since he’s affected by one (1) aspect El place with magic, the attack gains W:1 from El’s “Hazard Payoff” Stunt! El rolls ++-+ +6 = 8 to hit, goon defends with Athletics and gets /+-/ +4 = 4. El tags “A Militant Migraine” and that’s all she wrote - he’s Taken Out! Puck to Rick.) Rick pointed his sword at the last goon standing. “Drop the legs,” he said. The moonlight shone clear through his spectral form, and the goon’s boss (and potentially Dad or Uncle) was lying in a heap at his feet. The guy dropped Gorden’s legs and put his hands up. “Please don’t kill me! It was just a job!” (Rick rolls Provoke with his manifested bonus, //++ +7 = 9. Spooky! Last thug rolls Will to defend, +++- +3 = 5… yeah he’s just gonna concede here. Better than letting Ada have at him next turn.) ---- James peered out over the rows of boats at the two goons, keeping close to the boat he'd "drunkenly staggered" onto after a meandering wander back and forth. The pair seemed to be getting agitated, and since they'd presumably long since lost interest in his drunken yachter act, the delivery men were probably late. As he watched, one of them pulled out a cell and dialed. --- The phone attached to the belt of the Militia Leader started ringing. “You failed to secure him properly,” Elbridge told the goon, gesturing at Gorden. “He surprised you with a spell, took your keys, and ran for the van. If they hurry, they can still catch him. This is your script, now answer.” The phone rang one more time before Rick changed targets, pointing the tip of his sword at the downed old man. The last guy’s eyes bulged. “Fine! Whatever you want!” He dove for the phone, putting himself as much between Rick and the old man as possible. “H-hello? Yeah, no nothing is okay! He took our keys and he’s running for the van! No, you go get him!” With that he threw the phone over the edge of the dock. It plopped into the marina and sank. His eyes flicked to Elbridge. “Smart man,” Elbridge said, and snatched a flashbang from the unconscious leader’s belt. “Fish.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the van. “Barrel. Ah, please do warn our friend to let them pass.” Marcine texted “Trap set, follow when they take it” to James. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone taking up the rear. “Nnn...mmm...I’ll have the fish tacos, they smell great…” Gorden murmured as his eyes fluttered open. Wait. This wasn’t the restaurant. And what was that weight around his wrists? He pulled himself to a sitting position, wincing halfway through at the effort, and looked at his hands. “...the hell?” “Shh.” Elbridge put a finger to his lips and narrowed his eyes somewhat. “Discretion.” “I was totally discreet!” Gorden hissed back. “Spent thirty bucks on a new card and everything!” If this was connected to that woman in the biology building, she could have sicced her CS:GO goons on him as he left the building, Gorden thought to himself. Elbridge’s only response was an expression like that of a man being struck in the face by a brick in very slow motion. “It’s okay, I got this--ACK!” Gorden’s reassurance was cut off by a quacking sound as he winced even harder, pulling the chain of the shackles taut in pain reflex. “...okay, then...anybody got a thin metal rod…?” --- James glanced up from Marcine’s text not a moment too soon as the goons ran along the dock, their heavy boots pounding along the wooden surface like a drumbeat. Slipping off the boat he’d temporarily occupied, James crept after them, considerably lighter on his feet than the pair. (James, Stealth: /+// +4 = +5) --- “No time,” Elbridge said, hastily frisking the leader and stopping when he heard a jingle in his front pocket. “There.” The key was made of the same metal as the chains; it wasn’t much of a stretch to surmise that they went together. He undid Gorden’s shackles with the deft alacrity of a man who’d done far too many magic tricks at children’s birthday parties. “Now let’s move - ah.” He glanced at Cole. “Keep that one dishonest, if you wouldn’t mind?” Rick nodded. “Go.” He set the sword down where it wouldn’t be too obvious and vanished from view. “Who the gently caress are you people?” asked the remaining goon. Gorden rubbed his wrists quickly as he stood up. “Thanks, El!” he whispered as he tried to pick up speed. (Attempting to beat Athletics 4: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+3 = (+--+)+3 = 3) ...and promptly slipped and fell on his face. “People who let you all live,” Marcine informed the hapless goon. She grabbed Gorden’s arm and hauled him, sliding, to the edge of the ice, then tugged him to his feet when he had traction and didn’t let go until they reached the building. (Marcine rolls Athletics: (+bb+)+4 = 6. She invokes “Voted Likeliest to Survive…” to make that a SWS at 8 and drag Gorden along. Everyone else makes the check to get back to the SUV in time, although Elbridge spends his last FP in the process.)
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Jun 25, 2019 03:53
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Hostile Diplomacy, Round 1 Scene: Marina Parking Lot The two Fomor Servitors barely stopped to look at the downed goons. Though one barked out “Which way?” to the still conscious one. He just pointed in the direction of the SUV, and off they went. --- Unnoticed by the oblivious goons, James crept along the dock behind them, almost silently stepping his way along the dockfront. Clutching his eskrima sticks in one hand, he split off as they rounded the corner into the parking lot, slipping behind the prefab building that served as the harbormaster’s office, stopping next to Elbridge. Elbridge held his breath - no easy feat for him, after that sprint - as the two servitors ran past the Harbourmaster’s office, pressing flat against the side with the others. If they looked back too early, the situation would turn messy. Thankfully, they didn’t, dashing for the van to secure their prize. When James slid next to him, Elbridge pressed the pilfered flashbang into his hand, pointed to the open rear of the vehicle, and gave a wordless nod. Weighing the grenade in his hand, James glanced across the parking lot to judge the distance before he pulled the pin, heaving the flashbang in an overhand throw to land with a thud between the two goons standing at the SUV. (James, Athletics (or Combat?) to throw a flashbang: ///- +5 = +4 Goons defend with Notice: --+- +4 = +2. Creates Advantage, “Welcome to cs_nawlins!”) It landed, spinning, right between their legs as they looked down at it, surprise barely registering on their creepily identical faces before it went off with a high pitched squeal and a burst of blinding light. Elbridge wasted no time. Opening his eyes and uncovering his ears, the instant after detonation, his staff was in hand, firing beams of blue, ethereal magic. Where they hit the vehicle or the pavement, patches of frost formed in an instant as the temperature plummeted, sapping all heat from whatever they struck. Except… (Elbridge rolls Elementalism to put some hurt on one of the servitors; -+-/ +6 = 5) The ice beam slapped into the man on the left as he stumbled and shook his head, freezing his arm and shoulder solid… or it should have anyways. What happened instead was rather strange. An eye opened on his back, perfectly round and bright orange with a black center. Steam curled up from the frozen patch on the man’s arm as something shifted, and the moonlight revealed what could only be an octopus riding his back. The eye closed as quickly as it had opened, but for a brief moment, Elbridge had felt the will of something else out there, unraveling the spell itself as it flew. The creature had somehow counterspelled his attack! “Well. That’s new.” (Puck to the target of Elbridge’s spell! Target fails to defend but is IMMUNE so El gains a Boost instead: “Cold Shoulder”) “Five,” the man said, turning around fully to face Elbridge and the others. “We were told there was only one.” He didn’t seem afraid of the group of wizards, but he wasn’t attacking them yet either. “Rescue party,” said the other one, still rubbing his eyes. His voice was much softer, though he was just as large as the first guy. “Is the old man with them?” “Yes,” said the gruff one. He reached for the combat knife at his belt. “You have us outnumbered, but your magic is useless and we are not helpless. You have your man. We will walk away if you will.” "You tried to kidnap me and now you just wanna pretend that didn't happen?!" Gorden spat in confusion. The servitor’s beady eyes resting on Gorden for a moment. “We were only here to pick you up, your kidnappers are unconscious on the pier. Clearly you have more value than any of us were told.” The situation teetered on a knife’s edge. This was the make or break moment. Briefly, Ada considered their options. They could just let them go, with a message even. But would there be any point in doing that right now? The fomor didn’t play by the rules of society. Words didn’t really have any value to them. The only laws they followed were those of the jungle. The strong preyed upon the weak, and that was that. No negotiations. No agreements. No mercy. They’re not our friends. They’re opponents. “Yeah. Turns out we go out of our way to protect our own,” she said, taking a step forward. Her grip on the obsidian knife tightened, her knuckles turning bone-white “Pity when you’re gone your masters won’t say the same thing about you.” “Does that one speak for you, Warden?” The gruff servitor asked, his grip tightening on his own knife as he took a defensive posture. “I take her words under advisement,” Elbridge said, deliberately-noncommittal. “As should you. The Council’s patience for these antics wears thin, to say nothing of the general populace. For whom do you speak?” “Hands don’t speak,” said the soft-voiced servitor, blinking his eyes clear. “We serve at the behest of the Chorus of the Eighth Note.” There was almost a lilt in the way he said the title, as though it were meant to be sung instead of spoken. Also, it was more than a little odd to hear such a giant linebacker of a man say the word ‘behest’. “So what did the Chorus tell you about me?” demanded Gorden, sliding a finger down the chain still on his neck. “Must be important if they thought they had to flash me in a parking lot!” The gruff servitor crushed what was left of the exploded flashbang under one massive boot. “Amateurs,” he grumbled. “We knew only that you were gifted and-” the soft-voiced servitor actually chuckled a bit, revealing a row of pointed teeth, “-being gifted over to us. As we said, your kidnappers are not our kind. Whatever they were told, I expect the answer did not include ‘has friends’.” “The offer was not theirs to make, nor yours to accept,” Elbridge said sternly, tightening his grip on his staff. “And while we are open to a more-diplomatic resolution, I would be remiss to open negotiations while you are still taking people. Is the Chorus willing to halt its raids, pending negotiation?” “Warden, you know very well that the offer was theirs to make and ours to accept. You may not like it but a man with no Council ties and no Lord’s protection is fair game,” said the gruff one, unwilling to let that go unchallenged. “The raids will continue until the Key is found. There will be no negotiation until then,” added the soft-spoken one. “Try to understand. We are recruiters, not killers. The people we take are not harmed or mistreated.” He looked frustrated for a second, as though he couldn’t quite wrap his head around why anyone would object to what he was doing. “We are not thralls or slaves. We serve the Chorus of our own will. We are a family. The Shepherds will mourn us if we don’t return, despite what that one thinks,” He pointed at Ada. “A point of order:” Elbridge took out his pin and gestured for Gorden to do the same. “Deputy Warden Maxwell is very much under Council protection, and this trespass demands redress. I intend to exact it, one way or another.” “Then you should be interrogating the men on the docks,” said the gruff one, quietly seething. “Who tried to sell us on a lie. If we had known that in the first place we wouldn’t be here.” “If the offense is theirs, then they are mine,” Elbridge posited. “Remove yourselves and let us take custody, and that will satisfy the Council’s interest in this…particular matter.” “You weren’t the only party offended,” growled the gruff one. “Give us one and take two.” “No chance,” said Ada, glaring at him. “If this key is so important it’s worth kidnapping people to find, maybe you should come clean about what it really is. You think we’re gonna let you stomp around acting like you own the place if you don’t?” ((This is a provoke attempt to get the Servitors to spill the beans about the Key. It goes terribly at first with a ----, yuck. Fortunately, even though Ada is out of FP, she still has her On Top of the World or Buried invoke, and a reroll gives a +7 result. Much better!)) Gorden is halfway through frantically pulling out his pin when he hears one of the aggressors make the offer. He looks at Elbridge. He’s got no love lost for the people who tried to bag him but… these guys are with the Fomor, right? The kidnappers? He’s not seriously considering their offer, right?! The servitors shared a look between themselves, then the soft-spoken one broke into a toothy grin. “There is one Key in all the world that opens the gates of Heaven,” he said. “It’s no secret. Any of the lost sheep could have told you that.” “We don’t want your help,” added the gruff one. “It will be found by our hands and ours alone, even if we have to bring the tide all the way to Kansas.” Slowly, Ada turned her head to shoot Elbridge a glance. These people were fanatics. Negotiating with them was probably not on the table -- at least, not right now. “Then until that changes,” Elbridge sighed, “I fear we’ve nothing further to discuss. As before,” he told the others. “Alive if possible, dead if necessary.” The soft-spoken Servitor put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. It wasn’t just loud, it was… odd. Those that had fillings in their teeth could feel them vibrate. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” grumbled the gruff-voiced Servitor. Then he charged forwards, swinging his combat knife at the loudmouth red-head who’d wanted this so badly. Ada threw her arms up defensively, and blood spattered on the concrete. A light cut, but then, that’s how it always started when it came to knife fights. (Gruff guy attacks with Combat! +++- +5 = 7, W:1! Ada defends with Physique! -/// +5 = 4. SwS! Gruff downgrades to 3 stress and takes a boost: “Upper Hand”) Marcine had drawn a pistol when Gruff charged. Her lip curled when he struck Ada, and she fired at him nearly point-blank, the shot muffled by a veil. He saw the gun come up and twisted away. He was fast enough to keep the shot from hitting center mass, but she still got him in the arm. (Marcine attacks with Combat: (b-bb)+5 = 4. Gruff defends with Athletics: (---b)+4 = 1, and tags “Upper Hand” to deny the SwS. Takes the third box.) Seeing the flash of knife blades and gunshot, Gorden’s brain scrambles into adrenaline-driven response, dropping the pin back to his shirt to retrieve his grimoire. He looks around and sees a light pole illuminating the parking lot, and in pure fight or flight panic, focuses on the bolts he knows has to hold it upright, hoping he can drop it close to the bastard attacking Ada. (Rolling CEK to create something big and loud for Gruff and Soft to respond to, instead of defending themselves. Dropping a light pole on them by rusting the bolts seems appropriate. @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +4 = (++b-) +4 = 5 The loud creaaaaak of straining metal fills the air as the pole begins to teeter and the light short out. Creating the advantage Impending Collapse, and passing to Soft The soft-spoken servitor hissed and ran to the other side of the SUV, putting it between himself and the group and clear of the light pole. Once there he punched through the passenger window, popped the locks, and went rummaging for a proper weapon, trusting the militia goons to have packed at least one weapon that wasn’t exactly street legal. It didn’t take him long to pop the rifle case open in the backseat (which was, unsurprisingly, not locked or secured in any way.) “Amateurs…” he muttered again, checking to see if it… yes, loaded. He would have rolled his eyes if he had time. Since he didn’t, he popped the front door open and took aim over the hinges. (Soft-voiced servitor CA’s with notice to find a weapon! ++// +3 = 5! Gains “Pilfered Rifle”. Pass to Ada to finish the round.) Between Marcine’s shooting and the collapsing pole, Gruff had a lot on his plate to deal with already, and Ada was quick to take advantage of that. Before he could strike, she ran up and slashed him with the knife. The sooner he was taken care of, the easier this would be. ((Ada tries to beat the tar out of Gruff with a Combat attack. A result of 5 vs 4 makes it a hit, and raising to 7 using Impending Collapse makes it so he has to spend a FP on his high concept, Fomor’s Foot Soldier, to avoid dying. He marks first box. I’ll take it!)) The gruff-voiced servitor leapt backwards, cursing as the electric pole came down directly between himself and Ada. Blood ran down his forearm in a mirror of the slice he’d given her a moment ago. “Not bad,” he said, grinning and reversing the knife in his hand. (“Impending Collapse” changes to “Live Wire!” There’s now electrical lines all over Zone 1, moving from zone 1->2 will now require an Athletics check. END OF ROUND.)
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Jul 23, 2019 20:37
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Hostile Diplomacy, Round 2 Scene: Marina Parking Lot “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Tobin!” “You didn’t see it, rear end in a top hat, you were too busy falling over and getting hogtied.” Tobin, the youngest of the three men (and the one who’d made the phone call) was desperately trying to untie Ernie, who was his cousin by the way they were referring to the old man who was still out like a light as alternately Dad and Uncle Carl. Rick had made sure Carl was still breathing, but that was about as much as he cared to do for the man. He was starting to get worried about the others. Gunfire a few seconds ago and just now something crashing and glass shattering in the parking lot… It wasn’t encouraging. Sure, his friends were competent and they outnumbered the fomor servitors significantly, but the fomor were tricky and there were too many unknowns when it came to fighting them for him to feel confident about leaving his friends alone for long. “Well sorry! It felt like someone was trying to scoop my brains out from the inside!” Ernie protested, loud enough to draw Rick’s attention back to the two men. Tobin cursed and shoved a thumb in his mouth. He wasn’t making any progress on El’s telekinetic knots with his bare hands. As far as Rick could tell these two had no idea what magic was or what had happened to them. Maybe Carl did, but if he did he hadn’t told his boys a drat thing. “Oh just use that loving sword already!” Ernie grumbled. “We gotta get out of here before any of those nutcases come back!” “I ain’t touching that thing it’s haunted.” Tobin growled. “Sit still wouldja?” Ernie groaned and then got up on his elbows and knees and inched over until he was within arm’s reach of Cole’s sword, which was still lying innocuously on the ground, half-hidden by Carl’s limp form. “Leave it alone Ernie!” “Shut up, Tobin!” Ernie grabbed the hilt. “Hi,” whispered Rick, an inch from Ernie’s face. ---- (Round 2 Start! Puck to Elbridge) “MAXWELL!” Elbridge snapped. That downed line was going to kill someone! There’d be time for recriminations later, however (and oh, would there be recriminations) - first, to neutralise the threat. ”Sikata-tapana!” The asphalt shuddered and fractured - large cracks at first, splitting finer and finer until the patch in contact with the line was a morass of oily sand. It was a delicate spell to manage if Elbridge didn’t want to catch Ada in the mire. It took all of his concentration - concentration that he lost at the sound of shrill, panicked screaming from the docks. His control slipped, and the entire surface collapsed. The gruff-voiced servitor sank into the mess up to his knees. Ada sank to the same depth, which was rather higher than her knees. But at least nobody would get electrocuted. Elbridge rolls Elementalism to Overcome “Live Wire”! --/- +6 = 3. Bot spite is real, but Elbridge succeeds at a cost - “Live Wire” becomes “La Brea Carpet”. Puck to Ada This wasn’t good. With the sand up to her waist, moving was out of the question. The only way to avoid getting knifed was give Gruff so much to look out for he couldn’t possibly think to go on the offensive. Reaching into her pocket, Ada drew out her chain. It hadn’t seen much use since her magic had sputtered out, but right now it gave her something invaluable: reach on a more mobile enemy. “Marcine! I could really use some backup!” she said, as she lashed out towards Gruff’s face, trying to hold him at bay. ((Trying to CA gruff to set him up for a shooting using Combat. Roll is a +4, which he ties, so the boost ‘Putting A Lash On Him’ is created!)) She didn’t need to shout; Marcine kept her aim, holding her fire until she had a clear shot again. A few steps to the side gave her one that was better than hoping to miss Ada’s head. Gruff was too busy trying to fend off the chain to track her well. This time her shots slammed home in his side. (Marcine attacks with Combat and Range Regular: (---+)+5 = 3, vs Gruff’s Athletics: (b+++)+3 = 6. Marcine tags ‘Putting A Lash On Him’ and invokes “Voted Likeliest to Survive…” to boost that to a 7 and tag his 4th box. Puck to Gruff.) The gruff-voiced Servitor lunged for Ada, grabbing her in a hostage hold and whipping around to face her towards his partner, who’d been lining up a shot. In that moment, time froze. There was nothing she could do to stop the shot -- nothing that could deny the pain that was headed her way. All she could do was brace for it, and use it to fuel her stabs with rage and desperate strength. As the passage of time sped up once more, only one thought crossed Ada’s mind. Elbridge trapped me here. With friends like these, who needs enemies? (Gruff grabs Ada, Physique /+// +5 = 6. Ada defends with Athletics, -+-- +5 = 3. Mud Wrassled lands with 2 tags. Puck to Soft.) “Hold her still,” the soft-voiced Servitor grumbled. It wasn’t easy trying to keep a wriggling woman in his sights while not hitting his partner. He took a breath. Patience…. There! The rifle cracked. The moment before the shot was fired, however, Gruff made a mistake: in trying to keep Ada from moving, he leaned his superior bulk into her. Ordinarily, the sheer weight difference between them should’ve kept her pinned down, unable to move. It was a pity, then, that his prey was anything but ordinary. Sensing her opportunity, Ada twisted with all her might, dragging both of them face first into the oily sand. Better this than getting shot at. ((Soft takes aim, getting a 3. It’s then Ada’s turn to get hit...but Sidekick has other plans, as a roll of +8 forces him to burn both free invokes from Mud Wrassled just to avoiding handing her an SwS. Thank you dice!  ) Puck to Gorden.)“WHAT?! I KNOW WHAT I’M--” Gorden started to shout back to Elbridge over the battle, before the sound of the gunshot made him duck his head down in reflex. Okay, maybe he didn’t know what he was doing when gunfire was a thing. He looked up to where he heard the gunshot, and saw one of the kidnapper’s bosses leaning over the SUV’s hood with a rifle--where’d he get that?! Behind him he saw a squashed bit of metal on the ground that looked familiar. Like what he’d seen before getting clonked over the head and taken out here, except crushed and distorted. Well, he knew what to do about that, didn’t he? He concentrated on the bent bit of casing, imagining a whole and intact flashbang, before the magnesium inside was detonated...but after the pin had been pulled. The soft-voiced Servitor yelled as everything went white and his ears started ringing for the second time in ten minutes. This was just not his drat day. Trying to create an advantage for James to use by re-detonating the flashbang James used to kick things off, rewinding time until just before it goes off, then letting it explode again. Rolling CEK: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (+b+b)+4 = 6 . “Welcome to cs_nawlins!” was never tagged earlier, I think, so this gives it another tag and makes it good for use against these two? Tagging James! Setting off at a sprint, James swung wide around the knife-fight in the swirling quicksand, running at full speed around the grass verge that ran along the edge of the parking lot to come face to face with the now-dazzled gun-toting goon. Anxious at the time he was taking, he leapt forwards, across what was once the yacht club’s president’s personal parking spot. (James, Athletics to move to Zone 2: +//- +5 = +5, succeeds. End of the round, James passes to… himself!) --- Rick didn’t get to enjoy Ernie’s surprise for very long. At that exact moment, the water erupted into a geyser...and something rose with it. The moment the kidnapper fixed his eyes on it, his scream went up a full tone, at least until his cousin slapped a hand over his mouth and stifled it. Rick turned to see what could possibly have upstaged him and froze stiff as he stared into a maw full of teeth. Since when did sharks have ten insectile legs and the ability to crawl up on land?! Ernie whimpered and Tobin shook him hard to shut him up. The land-shark advanced on them, but then a gunshot rang out and it stopped, head swaying from side to side as if scenting for something. It turned and skittered towards the sound at a truly alarming speed. “Give me that!” Rick barked at Ernie, who numbly handed him the sword. The second it left his hand he couldn’t see Rick any longer, but the sword itself remained visible, pumping through the air as the ghost carrying it chased after the monster. “T-Tobin?” Ernie asked, his voice very quiet. “Yeah?” Tobin leaned over and pulled both of Ernie’s boots off, figuring if he couldn’t untie him he’d just have to get the ropes off his legs that way. Everything else that had just happened fell firmly in the ‘can’t do poo poo about it’ column and he was determined not to waste time thinking about any of it until he’d gotten himself and his family the gently caress away from here. “...who do you think’s gonna win?” “Shut the gently caress up, Ernie, and wiggle your legs while I pull.” ((Rick takes a compel on “Nobody’s Tool” to focus on the new shark over guard duty. Ain’t got time to sit around! Rick’s FP 3 > 4.)) Two goons were bad enough, two goons and a giant lobster-shark-from-hell? No way Rick wasn’t going to help with that. He had names on the militia goobers, if he couldn’t track them down later he didn’t deserve to call himself a Warden. Or ex-Warden. Whatever. He didn’t bother yelling at the thing since he wasn’t manifested anyways it probably couldn’t hear him. He just jumped, much higher and farther and faster than he ever could have when he was alive, and came down pointy end first right in the middle of it’s back. (Rick goes in for the monster slaying special jump stab attack, Poltergeist -+++ +7 = 9 w:2. Shark defends with Tooth and Claw, -+-/ +5 = 4, has Armor:2, so takes 5 stress) So far, so good. The shark’s back was vulnerable, and it didn’t really have any way of defending itself besides thrashing about wildly now that he was on its back. ...Or at least, that’s what it looked like, until a tentacle sprouted out of it and shot up to seize the sword. He wasn’t quite quick enough to get it out of the way. ((Landshark isn’t too keen about the whole stabby deathy thing, so it attempts to grapple the sword using a surprise appendage! It rolls Physique and gets +6. Rick defends with Combat, which is at 2, and gets +3. Ouch! He invokes his HC to deny the SwS, but still has the aspect ‘Got This One Wrapped Up’ applied to the blade with one free invoke.))
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Aug 21, 2019 13:48
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Hostile Diplomacy, Round 3 Scene: Marina Parking Lot Hitting the ground running, James barreled forwards at the dazzled Soft, smacking the goon’s left arm aside as he spun, ducking around the wavering rifle barrel, crashing into his opponent and driving him with a loud clunk into the SUV. Taking advantage of his foe’s disoriented state, James swung his eskrima stick downwards, smacking the goon’s thick wrist with enough force to send the rifle clattering onto the tarmac. Completing his spin, James stepped away, sliding the rifle away with a flick of his foot as he came face to face with his opponent once more - sans one firearm. “Not exactly fair to try and shoot a lady like that, eh?” he remarked. (James, Combat (using martial arts) Create Advantage to disarm Soft’s rifle, -/++ +5+2 = +8. Soft defends using Combat: ---/ +5 = +2. Rerolls using the tag on “Pilfered Rifle”: --/- +5 = +2. “No Rifle for you!” created with two tags. Puck to Elbridge.) “...better,” Elbridge acknowledged at Gorden’s improvisation, and made a complex circular motion with his staff as if stirring an invisible cauldron with it. The swirling quicksand followed along with his movements, churning and boiling before it began to solidify into asphalt once more. What was lightest would rise to the top; what was densest would sink. Ada wouldn’t be at the top of that arrangement, but hopefully she’d be close enough to take the final step on her own. And if that wasn’t a metaphor for their current arrangement, what was? (Elbridge rolls Elementalism again, this time with feeling: -/++ +6 = 7! Would be a SwS but the bungled attempt from last time ups the difficulty to 5. Still a single free invoke on “Infrastructure, Weak”. Puck to Ada.) “That’s what I’m talking about,” Ada murmured, as the ground beneath her began to rise. Standing up, she shook the sand out of her eyes. Now that she could move again, Gruff was a sitting duck. It was high time she gut this fish already. Raising the knife high, she took a breath and leapt down onto him with a blood-curdling cry. ((Time to bring the pain. Ada rolls Combat, getting a nice and beefy 7. Gruff tries to defend and gets a 6 -- good, but not good enough. Invoking “Infrastructure, Weak” is enough to raise the hit to 3 stress, which, thanks to rollover, inflicts a Consequence and ticks his second stress box! Calling this one “Fillet o Fish”. Puck to Soft now.)) “Well, you’re no lady.” Soft-voice grabbed the open car door and attempted to slam it into James’ smug face. Sadly for him, James was too quick on his feet and he easily stepped out of the door's path as the goon sluggishly swung it in his direction. (Soft Combat CAs vs James: ---- +5 = +1. James defends with Athletics: +-+- +5 = +5, gains boost from SwS, "Quick Footwork".) Though he clearly had the upper hand, James’ attention was taken up by his dismantling of Soft. He didn’t notice the skittering until it was quite close...and when he turned around to look, he saw some kind of tentacled shark on legs preparing to throw a familiar sword at him. "What, did you bring your pet for backup, too?" James quipped to Soft upon spotting the approaching creature. It threw the sword at him, dead-on...and yet, the shot mysteriously went wide, embedding the blade deep into the side of the SUV. ((Landshark comes to its master’s aid! It throws the sword at James...and gets a 2, just awful. It tries to reroll using “Got This One Wrapped Up”, gets denied by Rick, (FP: 4->3) spends an FP to invoke its HC of “Merciless Amphibian Abomination”, rerolls for real...and gets a 2. Welp! James gets a 6 and takes “Duck and Weave” as a boost. GM FP: 3->2, puck to Rick.)) Rick jumped off the shark and ran for the SUV. He’d only barely managed to get close enough to whack the hilt as the tentacle threw it, putting the creature’s aim off just in time to save James. That had been close. Way too close. He felt slimy and gross after having that thing’s suckers all over his sword and he was pretty pissed off too. He didn’t have much time to assess the situation, and honestly the only thing he really wanted to fight here was the shark anyways so he tugged the sword free and turned back to face it. The blank empty eyes of the monster focused on the moonlit blade as he raised it and charged. Fighting as a ghost wasn’t like fighting as a man at all. He didn’t have to dodge or block or guard himself any longer. He didn’t get tired or run out of breath. The only thing that mattered to him now was the cutting edge. (Rick goes for some more stabbing, Poltergeist: -/-+ +7 = 6 w:2, vs Shark’s tooth and claw: ---+ +5 =3 (armor:2). 3 stress! Rick ups the ante with a FP on Warden’s Restless Sword to take the mild, let’s call it “Fillet of Bigger Fish”) Okay, in street brawls Gorden definitely did not know what he was doing. Especially when they involved...shark squid chimeras from the ocean?! At least James and Elbridge’s spooky friend appeared to be handling him--he did not want to face that thing alone with a book and stellar iron, no matter how powerful. He pulled himself across the liquefacted asphalt mess that Elbridge created, aiming to get a hold of the one that had decided shooting a rifle into the melee was a good idea. And maybe he would stick out less to the shark squid chimera if he could get behind the car... Thanks to the aspect, rolling Athletics to change zones: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+3 = (++-b)+3 = 4, success! Passing to Gruff, so that Marcine takes the last move. The gruff-voiced servitor grunted, swinging his knife and stepping up onto firmer ground as Ada had to backstep with the cadence of their fight. His eyes were only on her and he could see her intent. She wanted him dead, no matter what the old Warden said. He didn’t expect to win any more, but he at least wanted to take her down with him. He lunged, missing by millimeters but stepping in close, close as dancers. She could pivot, sure, but it would force the others to wait until she did, which bought him precious time. Every second mattered in a knife fight. Gruff goes all in on the attack, Combat: -/++ +5 = 6! Ada defends, Physique /+// +5 = 6! As it’s a tie, he’ll take a boost, “Close as Dancers”. Puck to Marcine to end the round. Ada was too close to the servitor to get a shot. And then a giant shark showed up. Marcine glanced between them, then narrowed her focus on the monster bearing down on them. The thing's brain couldn't be that complicated. She reached for it, and it didn't take much to confirm that it wasn't. But it was strange. Unsure how to deal with it outright, she tried to force it to stop. It didn't want to stop. The command slid off. After an instant of mentally prodding it for a foothold, she lowered the gun to give it her full attention. She imagined pain from its trying to come closer. That time, it stuck, and the thing reeled in confusion. (Attacking the crab with Mentalism: (bb-+)+3 = 3 vs (+-b-)+2 = 1. Invoking Mind Games to force the consequence "Shark Repellant". Puck to Ada for the top of the round.)
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Aug 21, 2019 13:51
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Hostile Diplomacy, Round 4 No time to pay attention to the shark monster. If new enemies were joining the fray, the only smart thing left to do was thin out the ranks before turning to face them. Realizing this, Ada threw herself into the task of taking Gruff down, lunging forward with a vicious stab. It pierced his guard too quickly for him to react -- and then, pierced his gut, causing him to slump heavily against the knife’s edge. ((Combat roll vs Gruff, +8!! vs +2. He’s outta here! But then, Ada’s Lawbreaker aspect, The Killer Rush, is compelled. ‘Welp’.)) His blood dripped down the knife’s edge, strangely comforting in its closeness, like a long lost friend. She let the knife linger inside for a few moments, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat through the blade. Still strong...still healthy. He’d live through this if he got treatment. Wouldn’t that be a shame? Leaning into him, she plunged the knife deeper, and began to twist it around, tearing apart his insides. The gasp that escaped Gruff’s lips was the perfect encouragement. Slowly, she pushed the knife upward, letting his blood coat her hands. His heartbeat quickened as his lifeblood spilled, trying desperately to cling to life, even though all it managed to do was quicken his demise. She looked into her eyes and saw recognition, and fear. And then, with a deep breath, she shoved the knife upward, and pierced his heart. It was a matter of moments before he began to slow down, and went still. She shivered. It’d been a long time since she’d done something like this. Far too long. With a wistful sigh, she pulled the knife out, staining her dress with a fountain of red. There was still more work to be done, and two others who were yet to be reaped. Elbridge conjured a shield with a flick of his wrist and sighed as it became a solid wall of arterial red and visceral gray, undulating down in a disgusting wash of gore, like rain down a London window if it were choked with filth and - okay, like rain down a London window. The look in her eyes was...disquieting, to put it mildly. He’d have to discuss it with her when this was over. If she were to relapse, Elbridge didn’t think Rick had it in him to be the instrument of her execution. “The other one alive, if you will,” he called to James. “What do you think I’m trying to do?” replied James, darting away from the landshark’s many, many vicious looking teeth, and toward easier prey - the dazzled goon trying to blink away the after effects of a repeated flashbang. At almost a sprint, he closed the distance, lashing out at the goon’s right arm with a feinting stick jab before reversing course, circling around his foe while launching a barrage of strikes, swings and even a few kicks to the kneecap for good measure. Finishing with one last kick to the back of the goon’s knee, James darted away, putting the hapless flunky between him and the rows of teeth. (James, Combat Attack: /+-+ +5 = +6 Soft defends: -/-/ +5 = +3 Using one of the tags on “Welcome to CS_Nawlins!” and the boost from “Quick Footwork” for +4. Soft takes third and a moderate: “Fractured Kneecap” Puck to Elbridge.) Elbridge had fought one of these things before, and he hadn’t liked it - not one bit. Those teeth would chew through even the sturdiest shield spell, in time, and Elbridge’s was coated in grisly shark-bait. But those legs - Elbridge almost had to stifle a laugh at their absurdity. The arthropoid spindles grafted to its frame were comically-mismatched with the monster’s bulk. It likely needed all of them to even move on land. “Sikata-Tapana!” Elbridge spoke again, and the ground beneath the beast turned to more tarry quicksand. For a brute like the land-shark, the effect was like that of an enormous fly on an equally-enormous strip of flypaper. Elbridge rolls Elementalism to CA vs. Sharkie: /+-- +6 = 5. Sharkie defends with Athletics: -/// +4 = 3. Not quite a SwS, alas! Aspect placed on Sharkie: “Go Home Anatomy, You’re Drunk”. Puck to Rick.. Rick rushed the creature’s side, slamming his sword through one of its gill slits. This used to be hard, he thought, wincing at the sandpaper feel of the shark’s hide against the blade as he pulled back towards the tail. The blade caught on ribs and he had to use a sawing motion to keep going as viscera washed out of the gap in a red tide, mingling with the tar-pit the blacktop had turned into. The shark’s eye rolled back, and more tentacles sprouted, lurching mindlessly for him. But he wasn’t really there, and the weapon was too slick with gore to be caught by any physical appendage now. It tried anyways, tangling him up in a mass of suckers like a Kraken on a ship’s prow, but the damage was already done. The Land-shark gave one last monstrous wheeze, then it was over. (Rick rolls Poltergeist: -+/+ +7 = 8 against Sharky’s Tooth and Claw: /-/- +5 = 3. Armor 2 nulls Weapon:2. 5 stress, so Rick invokes on Go Home Anatomy, You’re Drunk and the Fillet of Bigger Fish mild sharky took earlier to push that to 9 stress which takes the moderate and overflows, thoroughly gutting dat fish. Puck to Gorden.) With one final grunt of exertion, Gorden pulled himself out of the mire and bounded...well, stumbled...towards the SUV. He caught hold of the trunk handle as James went all Bruce Lee on the one that originally had the rifle. The rifle...hmm… He forced open the trunk of the SUV--the shooting jerk didn’t close it fully after grabbing the gun--and dropped the bulky cases he found inside to the ground. The last one he carried in front of himself awkwardly. He heard James smash the bastard’s kneecap, watched him stumble away into the line of the shark chimera, and then back towards the SUV. NOW! He rushed forward and shoved the case into his former captor’s chest, driving him towards the SUV’s open trunk… Rolling Physique to shove Soft into the trunk! @Davin_Valkri: 4df+2 = (-++-)+2 = 2, and depending on how he rolls, I have Welcome to cs_nawlins, Fractured Kneecap, and No Rifle For You to add. Soft defends with a flat 5, vs the 8 with all the tags. So that’s a SwS and into the trunk he goes! With one last shove, Gorden slammed the would-be shooter into the back of the SUV, and slammed the trunk door closed. He ran a finger over the lock, and fifty plus years of saltwater corrosion rusted it shut in an instant. “How do you like being kidnapped, jerk?!” he mouthed through the window. The soft-voiced servitor shouldered the door- which didn’t budge, and then he went to kick the side window out. Except around that time he noticed two things. One, the Land shark was, at this point, very much an ex-Landshark. Two, the window was the only thing in between him and a blood and tar covered woman with a really big knife who was standing over the body of his buddy. He thought better of it and sat down. Combat ends!
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Aug 22, 2019 04:44
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Recriminations The fight was over. The home team had won. The final score was one dead Fomor, one captive, a slain beast of battle, and three hapless idiots who’d had the poor sense to meddle in the affairs of wizards. “There,” Elbridge said, wiping his spectacles clean. “Now for the other thre-” He cut off, registering Rick’s presence, and what it meant for the militia goons. “Rick. Where are the other prisoners?” “Halfway to Baton Rouge, probably,” Rick said. He was trying to get the sword out of the shark, but to say it was ‘stuck’ would be an understatement. “Um, can I get some help over here?” “You let them escape?!” Elbridge hissed, incredulous. “You at least destroyed their cellular devices, yes?” “How? I can’t exactly rifle through their pockets.” Rick shook his head. “Relax, I got names for all three, we’ll pick ‘em up tomorrow.” “We’ll pick them up NOW,” Elbridge said, unraveling the knot of mutated tentacles entrapping the hilt. The smell was horrid beyond description, but death had relaxed the suction cups, making the exercise slightly less of an ordeal. “I cannot permit them to inform Lancaster nor Chesterfield. As soon as we’ve disposed of the bodies…” The hilt exposed, he gripped it with a rag in hand and wrenched the silver sword free of the carcass in a spray of ichor. “...we’re going after them.” A heavy THUD interrupted him before he could put his plan into action. Turning around, Elbridge saw Ada, pulling her platform shoe back as she prepared to aim another kick towards the van’s corroded lock. Stepping around the vehicle in response to the noise, James darted forwards, imposing himself between Ada and the van. Staring her down, he said, "We kinda need him alive." “He’s not going to talk,” she said, launching another kick past his side, though thanks to his block, not anywhere meaningful. “Might as well get rid of him while we can. Move.” "Won't know until we try, will we?" observed James, "Besides, I find that people dripping in blood aren't exactly the people to listen to when it comes to how to handle prisoners." Shifting his weight slightly, he readied himself to intercept her next kick, "Now, stop it before I have to stop you." She reared her leg to kick again, but for a moment, no reply came from her, save for the soft spattering of blood drops upon the asphalt. Then, slowly, very slowly, Ada lowered her leg back down. “You ever dealt with religious nutjobs before?” she asked, breathing deeply — too deeply for the exercise she’d just gone through. "Sure," replied James, nodding. “Got anything out of them while you had them tied up and under surveillance?” "Sometimes," he replied, "Just need to find something they care about besides their cult - find whatever angle works on them." “Good,” she said, turning around, clutching the knife tightly. “You’re on deprogramming duty then. I’m gonna see what we can do with the bodies.” “Body,” Elbridge corrected. “Sanhri!” An unearthly green light wreathed the fallen servitor, glowing brighter and brighter before seeping into the corpse. The body turned an ashen gray, and promptly dissolved into flecks of dust, scattering on the wind and sweeping away on the tide. “Mme. du Sang. Mr. Maxwell.” He narrowed his eyes at the sword in his hand. “Mr. Cole. We need to leave, but as soon as we’re somewhere safe, we will be having a talk about operational security.” Something hot and dangerous flickered behind Ada’s eyes, but her response was a simple nod. “You got any ideas on how to get rid of that thing over there?” she asked, glancing at the landshark. "Leave it and let the authorities handle it," suggested James, "With any luck, it might cause them some issues, but if not, well, at least it might get some attention pointed at some local polluters." “Fine by me,” Ada said, after considering it for a moment. “Any objections?” “Normally, I’d welcome any pointed scrutiny directed at the Fomor, but no,” Elbridge said. “If this thing appears on the morning news, our targets will know that their team was intercepted. Cut a few samples for analysis and let’s push the rest into the gulf.” “That’s one man’s job. Rick, how long will it take?” Rick crossed his arms and shrugged. “How many samples do you want?” “Gills, leg grafts, a few more tentacles perhaps.” Elbridge sighed. “The brain would have been useful - nice to know how they’re controlling these things - but alas.” Even if Rick’s sword hadn’t scrambled the contents of its skull, brains didn’t exactly keep well outside of a living body. “I’ll be more interested to study that octopus-thing on our captive’s back. That was a counterspell it performed.” “Gimme fifteen,” Rick held out a hand for the sword, but before Elbridge could hand it to him he stopped and looked at Ada. He could see the barely contained violence vibrating under her skin. “Actually, scratch that. Give us fifteen. Tell her I want a hand.” “Ada,” Elbridge said levelly, offering her the sword. “Rick would like your assistance.” She’d seen him go to work before. Help was completely unnecessary for this. Which meant he didn’t actually need help. He wanted to talk. But what for? Shrugging, she picked the sword up with her free hand and began walking towards the stinking corpse. “So? How are we doing this?” she asked, trying not to breathe too much. “You swing, I cut,” Rick said softly. “Forget about the samples, just let it out. Redirection, remember?” The great hulk sat there, unmoving. With resentment still smoldering inside her from James’ intervention, it made for an easy target. Grabbing the sword in both hands, Ada took a step forward and stabbed the shark’s corpse, burying it to the hilt. Then she twisted the blade upwards, slicing through the shark’s back to tear it loose, and brought it down again with a U-turn in a smooth motion. And then, she spat at it, gritting her teeth. “This isn’t working,” she said, glaring at the body. “It’s pointless.” Rick couldn’t help feeling the same. While he’d been fighting the land shark he’d felt… alive was the only way to put it. Not like his old self, because his old self would have cowered behind a shield while the others did the dirty work. But like he was whole, like he was doing what he was meant to do… It was the same feeling he used to get when he worked magic. And he wasn’t getting any of that now. He gently requested control of Ada’s arms. With a nod, she let him take the wheel. He made a few thrusts of his own, just to see if the problem was that he wasn’t doing it himself. But no, there was no rush, no sense of fulfilment. Not even the satisfaction of working a training dummy properly. “Yeah, you’re right. This sucks.” With three quick slices he hacked off the bits El had requested and then let Ada have her arms back with a frustrated huff. Her hands tensed around the grip until Rick let out a noise of protest. Then, all of a sudden, she hit the carcass with a hard kick. “gently caress this.” She kicked again. “gently caress Elbridge and James for getting in the way, too.” Hefting the blade up, she brought it down in an overhead swing that nearly cleaved the shark in two. “gently caress!” she shouted, frustration, anger and pent-up tension mingling freely in her voice. She glared one last time at the worthless dead thing and turned around, wiping the gore-covered silver blade on the front of her dress out of reflex. “gently caress staying here. I’m going hunting.” “No,” Rick said firmly. This time, the excess pressure on the grip was not unintentional. “We’re going hunting,” he choked out.
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Aug 25, 2019 20:09
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Cause For Concern Scene: Marina Parking Lot Gorden had been alternating between staring at the chimera’s corpse in awe and making sure the one in the trunk didn’t try anything stupid--although Ada trying to smash his rusted lock made him flinch! At Elbridge’s mention of “operational security,” Gorden rolled his eyes. “El, me walking around on campus without my ID card is a lot more suspicious than the alternatives. So could you...not get on my back about that?” “Mr. Maxwell, do you recall what I said at Anna’s community meeting? ‘If it can be used to identify you, it can be used to curse you’.” Elbridge rinsed the slime from his hands and massaged his aching temples. “A name alone is a weak link...unless you happen to be wearing something with your name on it. How do you think they knew exactly where to find you?” He sighed again, blinking back a migraine, exhausted and exasperated. “Gorden, you were attacked and abducted. You could have been killed, or worse -” Elbridge gestured to the captive - “turned. If Miss Sterling hadn’t happened to witness the event, we would not be here to have this conversation.” “What did you want me to do, break into the closed City Hall and change my name after I was done?” Gorden countered. “I literally can’t get into my office without my ID card--which, by the way, has my name on the door! When I go get lunch at the dining hall, I pay with my ID card. I want to get into the labs after hours, I need to tap in with my ID card. I can’t even get onto my dorm grounds without my ID card. So unless you want me to go back in time and tell my younger self to call himself Emmett Brown, there’s nothing I can do about it.” “All inconvenient, I’m sure,” Elbridge said, “but far easier to replace than your life. Once you were discovered, getting to safety should have been your first and only priority. Taking time to acquire a replacement identification badge while you were being tracked by a sorceress was an astonishingly-reckless decision. Again, if we hadn’t arrived in time…” “I thought I was able to lose her after I got out of the building,” Gorden said defensively. “And I did throw away my old ID card. This is a completely different ID card and the badging office was deserted, and I wouldn’t have been able to get to my car without it. How could she track me with this one if she wasn’t around to see me pick it up?” “Wait, you just threw it away?” Elbridge asked. “You didn’t destroy it in the chemistry lab?” “There was a shredder in the library when I called you. Specifically for destroying expired credit cards and stuff. I put it through that.” “A willful act of destruction by its owner...yes, that would certainly break any sympathetic link to you. And a name alone wouldn’t have been enough for a tracking spell…” the coin dropped in Elbridge’s head. “...which means that she must have already had them in place to tail and abduct you. Aha - you found three other names in Lancaster’s office, yes?” “Nguyen, Bakersfield, and Indra, yeah. Why--wait, do you think they’re working with Lancaster already?” “Oh the contrary.” Elbridge shook his head. “I think this team was on standby to take them, and sending them after you instead was an act of haste and desperation. You’ve probably saved their lives.” “Are you sure about that?” Gorden wrinkled his face in confusion. “It sounded more like they had them already, and they’d made arrangements to give them to these bastards tomorrow.” “The phrasing was ambiguous,” Elbridge agreed. “When we recapture these yokels, I’ll ask them to elaborate.” “What about this guy?” asked James, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at the goon currently confined within the van, “Need to stash him somewhere, too.” “Ah, yes. You.” Elbridge rounded on the surviving servitor, flashing a grim smile through the fogged windows of the sedan. “You’ve lost. You must know that, and therefore must know what happens next, but since protocol demands it: will you offer your formal oath of surrender to me as a representative of the White Council?” He glanced back as Ada approached, still soaked from head to platform-shod toe in gore, holding Rick’s sword in one hand and her own knife in her other, breathing heavily and stomping with every step like she meant to murder the very ground. “Or will you entrust your fate to her?” For a few seconds he watched her approach, then turned back to the window. “If you mean to ransom me, then I will consider it. If you mean to imprison me as you did our sister, you may as well let your mad dog have me. Save us both the trouble.” “I’ll take that under consideration,” Elbridge said in his best ‘You’re in no position to make demands’ tone of voice. “You have until she reaches the car.” He waited, blank-faced, all the way to the very last moment. “Then I offer my surrender.” “I accept it. Ada! Good news!” Elbridge smiled at her. “You don’t owe me a prisoner any longer!” His smile wavered a little as he caught sight of Rick’s expression, and then the mutilated carcass of the shark. “My, good work on that…” He stopped. Her face was rictus-taut, sweating and ruddy. It wasn’t the look of overexertion in the Louisiana heat, and neither was the bone-white colour of her knuckles as she held the Warden’s Sword in an iron grip. She looked feverish. Sick. She looked like El had when they’d spoken in the mirror and he hadn’t had a drink in thirty-six hours. “Er...Miss duSang? Ada?” The glare she threw back at him was as withering as any other he’d seen, but there was something more there...a haunting look that he’d been trying to forget since their return from the alternate timeline New Orleans and their encounter with the still-living Red Court. Barely-concealed, intense hunger, aimed right at him. “Ada? Can you hear me?” Just like Bree. “...can you understand me?” “Heard you cracking jokes” came the reply through gritted teeth. “Got no idea why you think it’s loving funny.” She didn’t stop to chat as she passed by him, instead grabbing Gorden by his sleeve. “Those punks got away. We need to find them,” she said, tugging him along. “Come on.” “Whoa, whoa, hey, I’ll come along, you don’t need to drag me!” Gorden interjected. “I’ll keep an eye on them,” Rick said, standing protectively between Elbridge and Ada. “Can you take care of that one?” He nodded towards the SUV and the prisoner locked inside, who was watching all this with passive interest. “I suppose they could use an escort, but Rick - wouldn’t it be safer for us to recapture them together?” And for them, he did not have to say. Rick looked back at Ada, tilting his head slightly in unspoken question. There was a pause, and the pressure on the blade’s hilt lightened a little. It was hard to think while still so unsated, especially in the long term. But eventually she spoke. “No. They’re just panicky goons. We need answers on what that thing is and what he knows,” she said, pointing the sword at the shark’s remains and the van in turn. “Gotta be ready for their next move.” She was still using complete sentences, Elbridge noted, but that was little comfort - he himself could recite the entire alphabet backwards then count down from one-thousand by sevens while standing on one foot. He’d had lots of practise. “Ada, you’re not well. You need rest.” She shot him a look of disbelief. “Rest? Like this?” “You’re not in your right - you’re not focused,” Elbridge corrected awkwardly. “If you go as you are, you’ll put yourself and others in danger.” “El, this is nothing new.” Rick said, through his teeth. “I said I’d keep an eye on them. We can talk later if you want but those goons are getting distance on us, if they haven’t found a car already.” “...very well,” Elbridge said uneasily at last. “I’ll leave this in your hands, then.”
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Aug 25, 2019 20:56
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A-Hunting We Will Go Scene: On the trail As Ada and Gorden surveyed the empty boardwalk where Rick had left the three militia goons a few minutes ago, he hoped they were just wasting their time. Wasting everyone’s time tonight would be the best possible outcome. Despite Elbridge’s protests, he didn’t think that the goons were an existential threat to Gorden’s life, or that were in any hurry to report back to the woman who’d set them on this job to begin with. They just weren’t getting paid enough. And with Ada in the state she was in… well, as much Carl and his idiot nephews deserved it, Ada didn’t need any more blood on her hands. There were a few stray strands of the rope Elbridge had tied one of them up with but otherwise no sign of them. The back of the Harbor Master's office was to their left, the pier and the docked boats to their right, the dead shark and the boat launch behind them, and stretching some thirty or forty yards forward some empty grass that led to a fence marking the edge of the marina’s property line. “So, where do we start looking?” Rick asked Ada. He gave Gorden a sideways glance, still a little shocked the man had decided to come along after everything he’d been through tonight. The time-mage could neither see nor hear him, since he hadn’t manifested again. He could, if he focused hard enough, but it might mean another three day coma to recover and he didn’t want to risk it. Ada looked around before answering, half thinking, half feeling out the scene. There were no obvious traces of what the goons had done. That, in and of itself, was something of a clue. “No cars to steal,” she said, making a sweeping gesture all around them. “No boats taken either. They had to run. One’s old. One got tied up. One’s wounded. Couldn’t have been a clean getaway.” And they couldn’t leave through the front door without getting recognized. “That way,” she said, pointing towards the fence. “See what we can find.” “Nearest cars would probably be closer to the street,” Gorden offered in agreement. “But if they’re as bad off as you say...do you think they’d be able to climb out or would they need to use a gate?” “Not unless they had no choice. Last thing they’d want is to give us a trail of observers to follow. Even if they left through a gate, they’d try the fence first.” It only took a moment or two to get the fence, but as it was dark and there weren’t any trees or bushes to check for bent branches, there was no real sign of if anyone climbed it. There WAS a gate, a bit further left (towards the road) that lead into the neighboring parking lot of a Long John Blackbeard’s Fish Buffet, but as it was nearing midnight that was closed and there were only a few cars left sitting in the lot. “Well...there we go,” Gorden said, tracing his finger from the gate to the restaurant parking lot. “A disused gate...a nearly empty parking lot… I think that’s where they went. Ada, you agree?” She nodded. It made sense, but after a moment, something made her expression twist into a frown. They still didn’t have a direction to hunt in yet. “Problem’s what comes after. We didn’t leave them any weapons and they can’t fight while beat up. So what did they do?” “Crud, good point.” Gorden frowned. “Maybe they went crawling back to their masters? Or maybe…” he looked out towards the restaurant proper. Closed, of course, but was Long John Blackbeard’s really going to have the best security? “...they broke into the Long John’s and are hiding in the fish freezer waiting for us to leave?” “Or they stole a car out of the lot, or they called for a ride since we didn’t take their phones,” Rick added, somewhat unhelpfully. “...Dammit,” Ada muttered, gritting her teeth. Too many possibilities. Going after the goons like this would be a wild goose chase. They needed something solid, a real trail to follow. But they’d gotten here too late to find anything. Too late… “...You’re a time mage, aren’t you?” she asked, suddenly, shooting Gorden an intense glance. “There’s no way they didn’t talk to each other about what they were planning. Can you eavesdrop on the past to find out what they chose?” “Er, I wouldn’t quite put it that way…” Gorden looked a bit taken aback at Ada’s suggestion. “I rewind the energy state of things. If you pointed out a tire tread or a broken lock I might be able to reconstruct how it was to reduce the possibility space, but I’m not sure how I would hit ‘rewind’ over the entire street!” “Not the whole street,” she said, shaking her head. “Just the sound over a small area. Like a metal detector over the dirt, but sifting through a couple hours to find words.” It was hard to think of things that might apply in that moment, but she had to try. Suffer now for a reward later… “Soundwaves travel through air, right? So you could rewind the air to find out what they said.” Gorden stared at Ada for a few seconds, slowly turning his expressing from stupefied to amazed. “That...that’s brilliant! It’d be tricky as hell because there are so many ways for air molecules to be distributed, but I think I can try that! Hopefully they were talking about what they wanted to do next.” He turned away from the fence and began to walk back to the boardwalk where he and Ada had been standing a few minutes ago. The energy states of air were...statistically very large. But he had some idea of how human voices worked. The air vibrating from the sound of people talking would be at a very distinct state compared to the air around it--and that vibration would attenuate fast the further away from the source it travelled, especially if it was soft in the first place. But there were few ways for air to vibrate to form speech, and lots of ways to vibrate to make white noise. Playing hot and cold as he headed towards the fence line would be...tricky… Rolling CEK to try to eavesdrop after the fact! @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +4 = (-b-+) +4 = 3 . Grrr...I’m going to free invoke Magic from First Principles because I seriously doubt this is taught in magic school. I’ll spend an FP to invoke the Scholar who Leapt Through Time because this is the sort of experimental magic he was doing before he slammed into the future, and one more on Impossible Means I Get to Name It because it’s never been done before. So that’s a 9! “The speed of sound in air is...attenuate at...dB of...drat, it’s been forever since I did fluid mechanics…” Gorden muttered as he swung one hand left and right. The other hand balanced his dog-eared grimoire against his body, flipped open to the page on molecular entropy. “A sound that starts at...loses energy at the rate of...human speech frequencies are at...with harmonics at…” It took a while to find the frequency, and even after he had, turning time back to the first instance of human speech in the last several hours gave him the start of the altercation. “Please ---- kill me! It --- just -- job!” Gorden’s first attempts to tune his molecular radio were producing as much fuzz as speech. Tobin’s voice was faint, cutting in and out, but it was coming through and that initial success was all it took to start refining the technique. He looped the phrase a couple times until it was broadcasting clearly, but he didn’t have the time to play everything back at real speed. Instead he pushed ahead, looking for the next largest sonic event in the timeline. ”AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-!” The sound of a man screaming like he’d just seen a ghost echoed over the pier for the second time that evening, and Rick snickered. What came next was an odd sound. It wasn’t words, just a burst of static and noise. Apparently ghost-speech had nothing at all to do with air molecules, and was thus unintelligible. “Give me that,” Rick said, repeating his own words to fill in the blank. “It’s where I took the sword and started chasing the landshark.” “T-Tobin?” “Yeah?” “...who do you think’s gonna win?” “Shut the gently caress up, Ernie, and wiggle your legs while I pull.” There wasn’t much of anything for a bit after that, then a groan. “What fuckin’ hit me?” “Uncle Carl?” “Dad!” “What happened to the goddamn handoff?” Another burst of noise and static, the landshark in the throes of battle. “Fuckin’ wizards.” hock-spit! “No, no stop trying to- here.” Rustling and static. Anything that wasn’t speech was coming across poorly if at all, but there was a splash after that. “Probably the rope,” Rick guessed. “Follow me and stay fuckin’ quiet.” “What about my truck?” “gently caress your truck, son, that’s what insurance is for.” And that was it. Luckily for Gorden, Ernie specifically wasn’t as quiet as his Uncle had wanted him to be, and left a trail of grunts and mumbled curses as he headed for the fence. Marcine’s instant migraine was still paying dividends. Gorden’s next stop was the fence, where the men had paused, hopefully to make plans. “Gotten quiet over there.” “They’re wrapping up, we need someplace to lay low.” “What about that Long John Blackbeard’s?” “Son, where’s the first place you’d look for you if you was them?” “...Prolly Blackbeard’s.” “S’right.” They hadn’t said anything more, at least not there, and Ernie had stopped grumbling. For a moment it seemed like the trail had gone cold at the gate, which wasn’t locked. But there was one single metallic note in the airwaves that was just about the right length to match the creak of the gate when Ada opened it. “So far so good,” Rick muttered, looking around as they all stepped through. The parking lot was decent size, the last two cars in it were on the other side, near each other. This late it was unlikely they belonged to employees, but there were any number of reasons someone might have left a car here overnight- not the least of which was to sleep in it. It would be a bit hard to explain Ada’s current blood-drenched state to some poor idiot crashing in his (or her) car, but an unattended car might have been Carl’s choice to get himself and his boys out of there. “I want to check the vehicles,” he said. “Can you keep an eye on Bill Nye?” She nodded curtly. This was taking longer than she’d wanted it to take, but at least they were making progress. “I got him. Go.” Gorden had to admit that this bloodhound hunt act was actually pretty fun--listening to sounds made far in the past, their echoes imprinted in vibrations in the air. Of course it’d be a fair bit more fun if he wasn’t on the clock. If they didn’t find these guys, the three students that Lancaster had kidnapped would be in even more trouble. And sweeping the air for long forgotten waves wasn’t exactly fast. Work the sound wave trick with light? Cool concept, like those hologram things in the movies. But photons were a LOT more complex than sound waves. His headache from his fight at Tulane started to come back as he thought of it. “Focus, Gorden,” he muttered to himself. “You’re on the clock!” On the clock...wait a second. Could he not…? If he could go backwards a couple of hours he could follow them all the way to their hideout...or even stop them from getting away in the first place! Then again he’d only done that once, and in the other direction, and by accident, and… He chanced a look at the scar on his hand, the one left behind when he’d hurdled backwards to his start point in his dorm room. El said it was dangerous, but surely it’d be better to try this than to leave three people to their deaths, or even worse, right? He began to flip open his grimore to his initial notes...
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Sep 13, 2019 02:35
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What Became of Carl Scene: Long John Blackbeard’s parking lot As Rick approached the car, he had to fight the natural urge to sneak up cautiously. It wasn’t like he had to worry about anyone seeing him coming. Still, old habits… well, you know the rest. There was a dark lump in the front seat, that as he got closer looked more and more like a person, slumped over the steering wheel. The back window was broken in as well, and Rick was starting to get a very bad feeling about this. “Ada!” Rick yelled back to her, though his voice emitted from the blade, tinny and slightly distorted by the distance. “Got someone in the car! Get over here!” He had no way to tell who it was, without being able to turn them over. All three of the men had worn similar tacticool outfits, though, and this was definitely one of them. She was there in a flash, blades in hand. One look in the direction the sword was pointing at was all it took. “What are the odds someone jumped them?” she asked. “No, wait. What are the odds they got jumped and whoever did it didn’t take the body with them?” “Depends. If they took the other two they might not have been able to,” Rick said. “Is this guy breathing or not?” “Only one way to find out.” Without another word, Ada began walking towards the car, keeping both weapons readied in case anything tried to get the jump on her. Nothing did, and the only sound was the rustle of leaves in the trees around the parking lot as a warm wind disturbed them. The driver’s side door was unlocked and when Ada threw it open, the man in the front seat slumped towards her. It was Carl, the oldest of the three goons. His eyes were open and bulging, face frozen in a mask of horror. There were strange circular marks puckering up in rows across his nose and mouth, and some kind of slime on his fingers. The round marks were also all over his hands. “poo poo,” Rick said. “Like he got kissed by an alien and fought back,” she said, quietly, heaving a sigh as she took the details in. Beaten to her mark again. The last thing she wanted was to go to sleep tonight without having slaked this thirst, unsure of when it would push her over the edge again “Never seen anything like this before. Dead without a wound...it’s like the shock killed him.” “Shock or whatever that stuff is,” Rick said, pointing out the slimy residue. “Some kind of poison?” She looked around the inside of the car, trying to see if there was anything they could use to collect a sample without touching it. “We can cut off his shirt and use it to get a sample. Doesn’t explain what happened here though,” she said, frowning. “He was inside the car, then he got ambushed and the window broke? Does that make any sense to you, Rick?” “The window is how he got inside the car. If you want to steal a car you bust out the back window so you aren’t sitting in a pile of glass,” Rick explained. “Then you can unlock the front door from the back, sit down, and start hotwiring.” He leaned over and sure enough the steering column was an open mess of wires. “It only works with older cars like this. They probably wanted a getaway vehicle, but your alien got to Carl here before he finished.” “So what the hell was an alien doing at a cheap diner?” Rick stared at the marks on Carl’s face again. The gruesome scene wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as it should have and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen something like it before. But when? Where? That bad, uneasy feeling hadn’t gone away, either. “Not sure. We don’t know where it is, Ada. Be careful.” “We’re not going to find anything important snooping around like this,” she said, taking a step back. “Let’s grab Gorden and see what he can find.” --- If Gorden had studied medicine, the sight of a dead body splayed across a car seat probably wouldn’t have affected him too much. Unfortunately, Gorden was in Physics, so the first thing he did when Ada showed him the body was take a few steps to the edge of the lot and throw up. “Wh...who would...ugh!” Gorden finally spat after he’d almost coughed up his stomach. “Okay...okay, let’s look at it again...urk…” He turned back and stumbled over to the truck again, steadying himself against the hood. “Guh...he looks like a chestburster ripped itself out of his mouth...what a way to go…” “Looks like great minds think alike,” Ada murmured, nodding in agreement. “This isn’t gonna be pleasant, but you can you look into his final moments and a little bit beforehand? I want to know what happened to his buddies and the thing that killed him.” “I think...ugh...I can try that, yeah.” Gorden answered between deep breaths. “Let’s...let’s check the back seats first...maybe it was someone’s pet cephalopod...and it jumped him out of...shock or something, I dunno...maybe wizards like keeping squids as familiars...” Trying to remember how he cast the original spell so he could conjure it again if he needed it, he tried the back door on the car. Conventional inspection with Notice gives @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +5 = (--bb) +5 = 3, and the magical inspection from the echoes spell gives @Davin_Valkri: 4dF +3 = (+++b) +3 = 6 . All Gorden could see was a messy car and a dead body. Turning away again, he held out his hand again to repeat the mental process that had brought him across the street… --- “When did this stop bothering us?” Rick asked Ada, watching as Gorden gave his eavesdropping spell another shot. “Think it was around the maze run for me,” she said, making sure to keep her voice low so Gorden didn’t hear. Closing her eyes, she tried to chase away the memory of what had happened there. “...I wish it hadn’t come to that, even if I’d do it again. What about you?” “Finch. You missed that one... Red Court skinned her alive.” He shook his head, hating how empty the words sounded. He glanced at Gorden again, struggling to focus despite everything. “Are we doing the right thing bringing him in this deep on his first night?” “They came for him already. I don’t think we have much choice about it. At least this way we can be there for him and help him make sense of everything. Besides,” she added, a little smile pulling up the corners of her lips, “Do you really want to see El keep trying to micromanage his life more?” Rick was about to say that wasn’t entirely fair but that was when Gorden’s past-radio crackled to life. The recording began with the sound of breaking glass, followed by mechanical noises and grunting. The goons weren’t talking now, probably trying to stay as quiet as they could before they made their escape. But then… a muffled cry. A brief struggle, the sound of kicking and gasping for air… and silence. No shouts, no curses, nothing. It didn’t fit with anything Rick had seen or heard from Carl’s boys so far. “That’s it?” “Maybe he was alone when he got surprised. Maybe they split up for some reason,” Ada said, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the radio, deep in thought. “But...why? They wouldn’t need to if they got a car to bail out of here with. It doesn’t add up.” She was about to say something more, but then stopped. “Unless…” Gorden shuddered as his magic faded into silence. The sound of someone dying like that was...not cool. At all. He turned to Ada as she wondered about what they’d heard. “...were they always planning on killing them after they were through with me?” he asked aloud. “Or he knew this place was alien territory and didn’t want the other two to come with him and put themselves at risk,” Ada said, nodding. “It’d be hard for you to hear the others if they were never here in the first place.” “The two younger goons left their uncle--or father--to die? I think we’d have heard them yelling and running if they were there.” “No. More like he told them to take a different route and go on without him. He must have known it wouldn’t be long before we realized they were missing, and that running away on foot wasn’t a good idea. If you were desperate to get away from a ghost and a wizard death squad, wouldn’t you think taking a risk with getting caught by an alien might be worth the payoff of getting a car to take your family out of danger with?” “But nothing we heard matches them stealing another car or catching a ride elsewhere,” Gorden observed. He looked purposefully at the Blackbeard’s. “Did they ignore Carl’s advice and try to hide in there? Better caught by us than...this?” “It’s a longshot, but it’s the best lead we’ve got for now.” Drawing a deep breath, Ada summoned the lingering flickers of anger and hunger and steeled herself with them. “Stay behind us, a couple steps back. If whatever killed him is waiting for us inside, I want to keep these blades between us..” With that, she began walking toward the Long John Blackbeard’s slowly, ready to leap back if something lunged.
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Sep 13, 2019 02:37
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What Does It Feel Like? Scene: Long John Blackbeard’s Parking Lot Nothing did. The front door was locked up tight and a slow walk around the perimeter of the building didn’t reveal any signs of forced entry. It looked like the boys had at least taken Carl’s advice on avoiding the restaurant. They spent some time combing the parking lot for clues and checking the road, but there was no sign of the two missing men. However, as they circled around to the car again Gorden did spot a half dried trail of slime that led directly to the nearest sewer grate and vanished into the running water below. “Uh, Ada…” Gorden exclaimed as he pointed at the slime trail. “I think I figured out where the chestburster went…” He traced the slime trail from the car to the storm drain. “So we’ve got monsters in the sewers now? Great. Just great...” For a moment, Ada looked at the drain, and then she shook her head. “Let’s get some slime samples and get out of here. I don’t need to both take a blood bath and go swimming in sewage all in one day.” And there went her last chance at finding her prey for now. “Goddammit…” she whispered, leaning against the car for support. This unsated hunger was like an unpaid bill accruing interest. Some day it’d come due, and probably very soon. Suddenly she felt tired. So tired… “A kidnapping, a fight to the death and then stumbling upon an alien murder scene. Hell of an introduction to the wider supernatural world, isn’t it?” She muttered, after a moment, looking up to glance at Gorden. “I guess it could be worse, could be the end of the--” Gorden started before he noticed Ada looking very weak all of a sudden. He reached out a helping hand. “You alright? You looked...really dizzy for a second there.” “Withdrawal,” she murmured, resting her weight against him. “Using too much magic takes a lot out of you. I can’t cast anymore, but I still got to deal with something like that.” Something born from that, even. “You ever felt something like this?” “I…” he stammered, remembering that feeling lying on the floor of his dorm room, stardust in hand and eyes replaying the beginning of a universe. “Once, but it was more...psychosomatic. I did a lot more research to fill the time. You sure you’re alright? Need a hand up?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta go home, take a long shower and sleep this off.” He was hiding something, but she didn’t press the point further. Whatever he’d held back must have been important enough to be worth protecting, and that meant according it the respect it deserved. Instead, Ada glanced at him with a curious look in her eyes. “What’s using time magic like? The only time mage I know tries not to go to the well too much, and he’s old-school.” “What’s it like?” Gorden looked a bit caught short at the answer. On the one hand they still needed to follow the other two henchmen, Ernie and Carl’s son; on the other hand Ada looked like she could use a break. So he slid his hands over his knees and thought about it. What was it like? Strange, unusual, but almost a party trick at first. Only after much experimentation did he see the possibilities, and then...seeing the birth of a new universe...made the enormity of its implications truly sink in. “It seems like such a small thing at first, I guess,” Gorden offered. “You aren’t making fire out of thin air or, I dunno, making giant plants spring up on the football field. Compared to them you’re almost playing with particles. You need to think through just how many particles you’re playing with, what that changes on the macroscopic level. That’s not really something that comes naturally, but once you can think that way…” How to describe the incident that had bleached his hair and scarred his hand without giving Elbridge a reason to want his head cut off? “...it’s like walking into the cosmic ocean, and finding out you can breathe water.” In spite of herself, Ada couldn’t help but smile. Even through the lingering rage and hunger, it was hard not to feel taken in by the wonder in Gorden’s voice. “Amazing. I wasn’t expecting a science student to take to it so well. You haven’t talked to Rick about it yet, have you? You’d get along like a house on fire with how much you both like magic.” It was at that moment that Ada noticed she couldn’t feel his presence. “Hold that thought,” she said, as a feeling of numbing cold spread throughout her palm, beginning with the part of her palm holding the Warden’s sword. “Rick, where are you?” she called out, raising the sword closer to her mouth so he could hear...and in that moment, she realized that frost was now coating the edge of the blade. “Well, I could just pretend it didn’t happen, but that--” Gorden started, before noticing that Ada’s attention was on the sword...which was very clearly beginning to ice up. Somehow. “Ada...what…?” “It’s fine,” she said, raising the hand that still carried the obsidian knife to forestall question. “Explain in a minute.” Focusing her attention on the blade, she listened, trying to hear his voice. “Ada…?” Rick’s reply sounded distant, distracted. When she looked for him he was standing by the sewer grate, staring down through the bars into the dark water. It was an effort to stand up, but she managed slowly. “What’s wrong? You OK?” she asked, taking a step towards him. “I should follow it, right?” He didn’t move, though, not even to look at her. “No real reason I couldn’t. But there’s… a lot of water, down there.” He shivered unconsciously. His appearance was shifting subtly, to something wetter, and more haggard. Ada’s lips pursed. Rick had died trapped under ice, ice he’d woven out of the water he’d been drowning in. Maybe being close to a pocket of contained water brought back bad memories. Carefully, she raised the sword up to her mouth once again -- and this time, she breathed on it and began rubbing her fingertips on the flat of the blade, spreading the warmth. “Ada!” Rick yelped, falling flat on his rear end. Even in the moonlight the sword took on a rusty copper color. “Come on, don’t give me that look,” she said, sparing him a deadpan expression for only a moment before she resumed her work. “I don’t know if ghosts can catch a cold, but I don’t wanna gamble on it. It’s better to be safe than sorry with this kind of thing.” “I’m completely fine, thank you!” He left the grate and whatever mysteries it might have held behind and rushed back to her side. That didn’t deter Ada one bit and he buried his face in a palm. “Come on, not in front of Gorden!” Ada made a tching sound, then slapped the blade lightly. “Cut it out. You’re acting like a teenaged schoolgirl. That’s my turf,” she said, before continuing on, with a very determined look on her face. “Should I turn away for this?” Gorden offered in confusion, watching Ada polish up the sword and call someone--presumably Rick--a teenage schoolgirl. Except going by the new patina on the sword she wasn’t polishing it at all. “Why’s Rick acting like a teenage schoolgirl?” “You can throw me in the sewer now,” Rick said from between his fingers. “Sometimes even swords need a pick-me-up. He’s not used to being one just yet,” Ada said, giving the blade one last rub before raising it up for a better look. “How are you feeling? All better now?” There wasn’t a trace of frost on the blade any longer, though it had somehow gone from copper to rose-gold. Rick sighed and put his hand down. “Yeah, I guess. But… Ada, you can’t keep doing this to me. It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time. What am I supposed to do with all of this...” A surge of emotion ran through the hilt. Hungry, needy, lonely feelings, that had all been buried in a shallow grave that she’d easily dug up. It was a subtle thing. The emotionless façade disappeared, leaving Ada’s expression neutral, yet filled with profound exhaustion. “...Yeah. You’re right.” Silently, she lowered the blade, lost in thought. There was so much she wanted to say to him...but not here, with Gorden listening in. Not now. “We’re not gonna find what we’re looking for tonight,” she said, with the look of quiet contrition of someone who’d crossed an important line and regretted it, but couldn’t find a proper way to make amends. “Let’s get that sample we talked about. I think it’s time we all went home.” “Ada,” Gorden said with a bit more firmness. Magic exhaustion he might not know, but he’s been around enough nervous, stressed out undergrads to recognize when something’s wrong, even if they don’t want to talk about it. “For what it’s worth, I just want you to know that…” he swallowed. Obviously Ada was a lot more experienced, but she really didn’t look that much older. “If you need anything, I’m here for you. So just...don’t feel like you gotta take on everything yourself, okay?” A little smile pulled up the corners of Ada’s lips as she took in Gorden’s words. “It’s appreciated. Really.” It reminded her of how things used to be a year ago. Life was easy when it didn’t feel like she was on the brink of losing control at any time. So much had happened in a year…would he still make that offer if he knew about everything that had gone down since that announcement at the House of the Rising Sun so long ago? ...Maybe he should know. “Has Elbridge told you anything about how we all came together?” she asked, her green eyes studying his face attentively as she awaited his answer. “I don’t think he did,” said Gorden. “Did it involve you all meeting in a tavern?” He tried to crack a smile at that. “Something like that. It all started at a bar known as the House of the Rising Sun…” she began, but then caught herself. “...But it’s a long story, and one that deserves to be told when we’re not tired and exposed and I’m not soaked in blood from head to toe. You wanna drop by my house in a couple hours? I’ve got a fireplace we can cozy up next to while I tell the tale.” “Yeah...yeah, I think we could both use a breather,” Gorden nodded. “Then we can get after the three students.” He licked his lips in thought. “...how did you get here?” “Took a portal through the Nevernever, the fairy realm. It was a one way ticket, though -- Elbridge was the one who opened it, and him and the others are probably long gone by now. We’re gonna need a ride. Can you hotwire a car?” “Why would I know how to…?” “There’s more to people than meets the eye. You wouldn’t have thought I’d be the type to gut an sharktopus back at the pizza party, would you?” She said, giving him a wink. “If we can’t find a ride out of here on our own, I know someone who can give us a lift.” Taking out her cellphone (which was miraculously unbloodied, protected by the pocket it had been placed within), she punched in a number she kept on speed dial. It didn’t take long for the man on the other end of the line to answer. “Yo,” said Blaise. He was clearly still awake, and there was heavy music thumping in the background. “Yo. Sorry about calling so late. Can you drop by the docks with the old Camaro? The Fomor tried another kidnapping. We kicked their asses, but me and the guy they went after need a ride.” “Aight, I’ll come taxi. But this isn’t a free ride. You been out of touch for a while, Ada. If you’re just gonna call when you need something that ain’t right.” “Yeah.” Life was a whirlwind these days. Felt like she couldn’t stay with anyone for too long to keep up. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try. “Gotta pay back love with love. You got something in mind?” Blaise took a moment to think about it and grunted an assent. “Swing by the rec center tomorrow afternoonish? Got a kid needs some sense knocked into his thick head. Figure he’s more likely to listen to you than me.” “Gotcha. I’ll be there. Oh, and Blaise?” “Yeah?” “We got two of the fish fuckers,” she said, a note of grim satisfaction in her voice. “Took one of them alive, too. Didn’t lose anybody either. When word gets out of what happened here tonight, it’s gonna make waves. It’s gonna take a while before everyone joins up with us, but we’ll get there.” For the first time since she’d sank her knife into Gruff, a little bit of relief and excitement shone in Ada’s eyes. “This is how it starts, man.” “Now that’s what I want to hear,” Blaise said, a little bit of the old gang-pride coming back into his voice. “Where you at? Half the west side is docks.” “Right outside the Long John Blackbeard’s. We’ll be waiting. Oh, and bring a towel. It got bloody and I don’t want to paint those leather seats red.”
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Sep 13, 2019 02:43
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The Downside of Good Op-Sec Scene: Hydrangea Place, Apartment 333 Yesterday had been a long day for Elbridge, between spying on Lancaster, planning at the Gato, rescuing Gorden, and accommodating their new prisoner. It had been nearly three in the morning by the time he finally got to bed, and he slept right through his usual alarm. It was almost eight-o-clock - fully ninety minutes later than usual - when he finally registered the blaring alert as something distinct from his nightmare of one disaster after another. Cursing, he half-stepped, half-fell out of bed and set about his morning routine. He was halfway through brushing his teeth when the rotary set on his desk rang. “Wisshard ‘Ardley,” he mumbled into the receiver through a mouthful of toothpaste. The only people with this number knew him by his full title. “Good morning, Hardley!” said a voice that was entirely too chipper to belong to anyone who wasn’t a morning person. “It’s Wizard Cantor, on behalf of Wizard Cole.” “‘N vehaff - ‘eg ‘ardon -” Elbridge stepped away to spit into his bathroom sink and quickly rinse with a glass of water. “Ah, yes. I suppose that he would require an intermediary. May I inquire as to the purpose of this call?” “He wants to come over, says he has a sample of… oh, that’s disgusting.. Uh, some kind of slime? Also to discuss what happened after you separated. When would be a good time to drop him by?” “The sooner, the better,” Elbridge said. “Shall I expect you at, oh, half past nine?” “I think I can manage that, yes. Will this be another late night or should I expect him home for dinner?” “Rather up to him, I should think. Oh, and do renew the scrying wards before you set out, if you’ve the time.” Elbridge peered through the blinds of his window at the city streets below. “One can never be too careful these days.” --- At nine-thirty sharp Cantor knocked on the door to 333 Hydrangea, with a somewhat passable veil in place. It was quite a lot better than the ones he’d been making before El started his re-training, and he seemed rather proud of it. “Can I come in?” he whispered, a bit too loud, when El answered the door. “You may,” Elbridge said. It wasn’t yet up to his own standards, but then Elbridge’s own standards were quite high, and it was more than sufficient to thwart casual observation. “Cuppa?” he asked, pointing to two steaming mugs on the card table. “If it’s not a bother,” he said, fairly running for the cup. He picked it up and scented the contents with a sigh of relief. “Why do they put so much sugar in everything here?” “The short answer is ‘agricultural subsidies’,” Elbridge said, taking an appreciative sniff of his own cup. “The longer answer could fill entire semestres at university. Ah! Rick, won’t you join us?” he asked, remembering the invitation. Richter appeared in the chair next to Nicky, looking jealously at the cup. “Mornin’ El. Sleep alright?” Or at all, was implied. “As well as could be expected,” Elbridge said. There were visible bags under his eyes, and a pronounced twitch in his hand. His cup held only tea, for now; Rick strongly suspected that after Nicky left, the next cup would have something stronger. “How did your search fare?” Outside, a car horn beeped twice, and Nicky stood up abruptly. “Ah, sorry. Have to run. Don’t want to know anyways! Thank you for the tea!” Rick chuckled to himself as Nicky gave a short bow and bolted for the door. Once it was safely shut, he turned to Elbridge. “We got a ride from the lady who runs the cat rescue across the street. I think they’re becoming an item.” “Ah, good on Cantor,” Elbridge said. “I do hope she isn’t a warlock or a monster in human guise.” “The cats wouldn’t stand for it,” Rick said, thinking of Marmalade. “They’re very particular.” “They can be quite perceptive,” Elbridge said, adding to his tea a dash of something from the cream container that definitely wasn’t cream. “But yes, what did you find?” Rick tapped the reusable grocery bag Nicky had left on the table next to the sword. “One body, two missing. The old guy got grabbed by something solo, had some kind of residue all over his face. Pucker marks too, I had Ada take some pictures but she won’t be awake yet. Figured you could tell us if it was poison or he just got choked to death. Not sure it really matters. Drou can run the plates off the SUV and tell us who Carl was and the other two will be obvious relatives.” “Well, that doesn’t bode well,” Elbridge said, sighing and taking a sip. Already, his grip on the handle was a little steadier. “I’ll pass the plate information along, although I’m wary of putting too much responsibility on Detective Drouillard. He’s over-exposed as it is, and with the rest of the department in Goldman’s pocket…” Rick raised an eyebrow, at both the creamer and the comment. “You think this is related? Seems small time for Midas.” “I think that Midas will only tolerate security risks such as Drou for so much longer,” Elbridge said. “He’s not even supposed to be investigating Frisk’s disappearance. If Midas finds him out, and learns that he’s been talking to me…” “He becomes a loose end,” Rick finished quietly. “But he’s kind of all we’ve got, El. Unless you can magic up a solution.” “Ash and I are working on that,” Elbridge sighed. “But once Midas is dealt with, we’ll still have the Fomor, and after the Fomor I expect it’ll be vampires, and once they’re under control, there are the slight matters of my book deal and a certain coin.” He slumped a bit in his seat. “All of this while keeping Gorden, Marcine, and Ada from destroying themselves. And this is just my work here in New Orleans.” “More than you signed up for?” Rick said sympathetically. “It would be nice if the disasters would wait in a queue.” Rick laughed once, there wasn’t much humor in it. “I’d have told you the job was a tar pit if I’d been around...” He looked down at Nicky’s empty tea mug. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you with such a mess.” “Ah, the mess was around long before you ever came to Louisiana,” Elbridge said with a shrug. “Like as not, it’ll be here after we’re long-gone. More than anything...I think it’s the lack of respect that wears me down.” “Respect?” Elbridge slouched forward a few more degrees. “I’ve been doing this for decades, Rick. More than a century. How many times must I prove my bona fides before I’m taken seriously? Before Ada stops gainsaying my every word? Until I don’t need to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of official support for what is, supposedly, my job?” His expression turned ugly. “Until pond scum like we faced last night recognise that, when I invite them to parlay, I am showing extraordinary generosity?” Rick opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again, looking thoughtful. As long as he’d known El, no one (except Bellworth) ever had taken him very seriously. Rick had, because Rick had seen… and there it was, the answer staring him straight in the face. “El, you made Nicky walk to your apartment under a veil ten minutes ago. No one knows about anything you’ve done because you’ve made drat well sure they didn’t. I don’t think you can have that both ways.” Elbridge blinked. “You’re saying...no-one truly knows? But they recognised me as the new Warden…” “Well yes, they probably know you’re the reason their raids have been failing all summer, but you’ve been teaching people defensive tactics right? How not to be caught in the first place, not how to drop Fomor bodies in the street...” “...or if they do, how to dispose of them discreetly,” Elbridge finished. “Incidentally, and not that it matters much to you, but don’t order the fish tacos at Krazy Karl’s.” “I can proudly say I’ve never ordered the fish tacos anyplace, and I guess now I never will. But thanks for the tip. Also please tell me you aren’t feeding fish people to the general public.” “That was a joke. I taught them circles against tracking magicks and salting and burning bones to be rid of ghosts.” Elbridge smiled - a rare, genuine smile. “The tacos are merely dreadful and the establishment unsanitary.” “That’s a relief,” Rick said, smiling back. “I think. Anyways, did you want to look at that sample?” “Ah, yes. Speaking of unsanitary seafood…”
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Sep 13, 2019 02:47
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The Great Pretender Scene: Vet Clinic Elbridge’s apartment didn’t exactly have a proper laboratory space, but Jenny had left him a spare key to her veterinary clinic, and Hydrangea Place was within walking distance. A little bit of awkward banter with the receptionist helped her to remember him as ”Jenny’s visiting specialist from out of town,”, and nobody else had taken up practise in her office while she was away - a tragedy for the cute and cuddly critters of New Orleans, but a boon for Rick and Elbridge. Normally, wizards didn’t mix with delicate lab equipment, but some of the boxes in storage held dated hardware that Elbridge could operate with two hands without causing an explosion. First, he took a scalpel to the bits of mutant landshark Rick and Ada had retrieved from its carcass, slicing thin cross-sections of muscle, nerve, organ, and tentacle and staining them in Petri dishes. After that, he spun the vial of slime through a centrifuge, draining it by fractions and subjecting each to a different drug test. “Just like frogs in formalin,” he told Rick, disposing of his gloves and taking a seat while the samples cooked. “I swear I’ve seen that slime before,” Rick muttered, hovering close to the machine so he could watch it spin. But he still couldn’t place it. Looking up again he glanced around the room. “Did Jenny really used to work here?” “Still does, as far as I know.” Elbridge shrugged. “I believe she’s on sabbatical.” “She landed her dream job in New York, El. She’s not coming back,” Rick said soberly. “Oh,” Elbridge said. “I...hadn’t heard.” “Singh’s grand-nephew offered her a permanent position,” Rick said. “Sorry, I thought you knew.” “People oft assume that of me,” Elbridge sighed. “It is my responsibility to know.” He didn’t seem boastful. More…resigned. “I still should have said something.” Rick sat down in the chair next to Elbridge. “You, me, Ada… we’re all that’s left from when this started.” “It would have been nice,” Elbridge agreed, “but it was never your duty to inform me that I couldn’t depend upon Miss Hirsch.” Rick frowned. Ever since he’d come back El had seemed off somehow. Harried, almost, in ways that he hadn’t been before. Rick had seen him upset but this was something else. It was like he’d lost his confidence or… maybe faith? “Is everything…” he shook his head. No. “Are you alright, Elbridge?” “...I suppose that I must be,” Elbridge said at length. That was not an answer. Rick put a hand on El’s shoulder, insubstantial as it was, and tried to project the same solid strength he’d always gotten from his friend. “C’mon El. You don’t have to pretend, not with me.” “I’ve too many disasters on my plate, Rick,” Elbridge said. “And...it’s not merely that I don’t have enough people. It’s that the people I do have tend to add to that plate rather than clear it.” “With friends like these?” Rick commented guiltily. “I warned Gorden to keep a low profile, and he broke into Lancaster’s office. Ada wants to turn the world upside-down, and she treats it the same way she does any of her adventures - a romantic lark. Do you know what the common thread here is, Rick?” “What?” “They both expect that I’ll be there to save them.” Elbridge rubbed his aching temples and cleared his bleary eyes, mindful of the sting of the sanitiser solution. “That I’ll be waiting at hand with a clever ploy, or an airtight argument, or a spell, or...Hell, Ada seems to expect me to bring her Council support. For her project to put the Council in a corner. Do you know how hard I’ve had to work to convince them not to abandon the city altogether?” “Yeah, I do,” Rick said pointedly. “But are you sure you aren’t projecting some of this? Gorden doesn’t seem the type to come running with his tail between his legs, and Ada…” It really did always become about her didn’t it? “From where I’m standing, you two want to get to the same place, you’re only arguing about how to get there. If you won’t back her, she’ll find support elsewhere. She’s not going to put all her eggs in one basket on this because it’s too important to her.” He stopped, gathering his thoughts. “I get it, El. It’s hard to be there for everyone, but it feels like you’re blaming them for making you care about them.” “Emotions are messy and chaotic and bloody stupid, and you lot have gone and inflicted them upon me.” “Well I won’t apologize for that,” Rick said, crossing his arms. “In lieu of an apology,” Elbridge said wryly, “I’ll accept some assistance in dealing with the cavalcade of nightmares locked in my pantry. Not least of which, a certain coin.” “Give it to the church!” Rick said, exasperated. “I still think it’s the closest thing to a solution you’re going to find. It’s a freakin’ fallen angel, El. The fact that it’s still in your pantry after all this time means that it has a reason to stick around, which is not good!” “Yes, thank you for reminding me of my mortal impotence in the face of ultimate evil,” Elbridge said sourly. “Perhaps the next time it escapes, we’ll stop it before its body count reaches double digits.” Rick sighed. “You’re trying to take responsibility for a cosmic being that has been murdering people since there were people to murder, El. If there’s any mess that’ll be around long after we’re gone it’s that one.” “Since when has mere impossibility absolved me of a task?” Elbridge groaned. “It’s not much comfort hearing that I’m ‘blameless’ when I’m stuck with the cleanup regardless.” Rick raised his hands in surrender. They’d had this argument before and he wasn’t going to win it. “Is there something else that I could help with that isn’t on a level of a higher power?” “I don’t know!” Elbridge said, his voice rising. “Are any of my problems not with higher powers? I thought that we mere mortals weren’t to concern ourselves with such things, but then Titania took that arrangement and she SHAT ALL OVER IT!!!” “Yeah she did,” Rick said, blinking at the outburst. “Turns out the people upstairs aren’t any better than the rest of us. Don’t tell me you’re actually surprised.” “They’re not meant to be…people, Rick!” Elbridge sputtered. “If Faerie Queens can break their oaths and the Senior Council are a pack of doddering arsewipes and the Angels of the bleeding Lord can gently caress off from their jobs without consequence then WHY AM I STILL DOING MINE?!?” He was wide-eyed by now, hyperventilating, his face red as beef and a violent spasm going through his left cheek. “Why should I be bound... to uphold an order… that clearly does not care to uphold itself?” There was a tapping on the door and the receptionist’s voice came through it muffled. “Is everything okay in there? I heard shouting.” “Listening to the game, sorry!” Elbridge called back, as calm and composed as he’d ever been. For Rick, it was like watching him don a mask - an extremely-convincing and lifelike mask, but for the fact that he’d just seen Elbridge put it on and knew full well what was underneath. “Did you hear that call? Inexcusable!” “Ugh! The refs are always in the Dolphins’ pockets, it’s awful. Okay then!” Her heels clicking in the hall faded into the distance before Rick said anything more. “What the hell was that?” “I said what I said, Rick. I just can’t see any value to my work if everyone above me is going to promptly piss it all away-” “Not that, the sudden and acute case of football fandom.” “Ah.” Elbridge sat, uncomfortably fidgeting, his shirt still sodden with sweat from his previous outburst. “You know, ordinarily I’d brush that question aside with a pedantic digression over what game is meant by football, but...that’s rather your point, isn’t it?” He sighed again. “But as I said - I suppose that I must be alright.” “It’s not enough,” Rick said, shaking his head slowly. “It’s just wallpapering over the mold until the walls fall down. I know you’re three times my age El but please trust me on this one. That’s exactly what I thought when I walked into that ring with Roqueza and it wasn’t enough.” Elbridge blinked, looking almost dazed at the response. “Rick…” “I can’t sit back and watch you make the same mistakes I did,” Rick continued. “It’s why… Do we have a little time still? Ten minutes?” “...more or less,” Elbridge mumbled, glancing at the samples as they changed colours. “Okay. Then I want to show you something at the cabin.” He gestured to the sword. “Alright, then,” Elbridge said, and drew the blade.
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Sep 13, 2019 02:47
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Going Places Scene: Rick’s Demesne Rick had brought Elbridge to visit once before, weeks ago when the cabin was barely started. The difference was incredible. The whole area was picturesque in the way that you only read about in books. The sunset felt pleasantly warm, and the breeze brought the scent of the fir trees and wildflowers and fresh grass. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked the chorus of late summer, and a nightingale was singing somewhere distant. They followed the path through the thick trees and crossed a stone bridge over a small river that bubbled underneath and led down to a lake with a mossy dock on it. Ahead, the cabin waited. A single room affair, it reminded Elbridge of Outpost E, in a way, except done up like a Thomas Kinkaid painting. The porch was covered, with a pair of rocking chairs for company, and there was a twist of smoke rising from the stone chimney. A gas lamp glowed softly behind the curtains in the window. The front door was already open, waiting for them, and Rick proudly led the way up the porch steps and invited him in. “You’ve been busy,” Elbridge noted as he stepped inside, impressed. “That brook wasn’t there before.” “Getting the sound right was the tricky part,” Rick said, grinning. Despite the reason he’d brought El here, having someone notice all the work he’d put into the house felt great. “I mean, I have to do something while you’re all sleeping.” Indoors the furniture was simple and mostly made of wood, other than the cast iron stove. But one piece stood out. Rick’s desk, the mahogany one from his office, was recreated in perfect detail down to the scratches on the surface, and on top of it there was a thick stack of papers that seemed somehow much more solid than anything else there. In large block letters on the top page were the words: A Conventional Guide to Unconventional Travel by Richter Cole. “Is that your thesis manuscript?” Elbridge asked. “I remember you’d had to postpone that, on account of the war.” Rick nodded. “The war’s over. For me, anyways.” “May I?” Elbridge asked, gesturing to the pages. “Of course.” Elbridge picked it up and started slightly at the weight. The manuscript didn’t just look solid - it was solid. It was made of paper and ink, not ectoplasm. “This is the original? But how did you even…?” “It’s been in a box in the basement since I moved to town. Nicky brought it in for me and I’m solid enough here.” Rick rapped his knuckles on the desk, which made a sort of metallic echo. “Er… Work in progress.” He glared at the desk for a moment, then tried again and got a solid woody thunk. “There we go.” “Is there an IKEA for ghosts?” Elbridge asked, raising an eyebrow. Rick laughed. “More like a swap meet. One ghost trades the memory of a soft chair to another for the memory of a warm hearth, that kinda thing. Not that I’d take that kind of shortcut. Everything here is mine.” “It’s good craftsmanship,” Elbridge acknowledged, and opened the manuscript to the first page. For Jenna, who made every new place an adventure, and for Rachel, who walks with me the paths untrodden. “I joined the Wardens for one reason, one person,” Rick said quietly. “She didn’t just die on me, she chained me to a promise to keep fighting, to make her death mean something. So I did. It cost me everything. Because I felt like I couldn’t walk away. I had to do my job, even if everyone above me or around me had given up on doing theirs. Hell, because they had.” “I...er..think that I can see some parallels,” Elbridge said awkwardly. “Oh, I’m not finished.” Rick reached for the table and a whiskey glass appeared, already half full and on the rocks. He picked it up, more for effect than anything, and leaned on the desk with the other hand. “So, yeah. Someone had to hold the line, and since I was there, it ended up being me. That’s why I didn’t leave the Wardens after the war ended, even though I was cured of the Red Court’s curse.” He looked… older as he spoke. More worn down. “El… think about it. New Orleans hadn’t had a Warden for forty years. It would have managed without me, and it would have managed after me. Bellworth had no right-” He stopped, biting off the rest and shaking his head. “Look, I’m not the guy with all the answers. I’m just saying, if you want to know my response to finding out that none of them are worth the paper their myths are printed on, it’s that.” He gestured the glass towards the manuscript. The ice clinked convincingly. “It’s going back to what I wanted to do, and not settling for what everyone else wants me to do. Even if that means...” “...crossing a few lines,” Elbridge finished, with half a glance at the whiskey and another half at the unfinished pantry. “Ruffling a few feathers.” “Leaving,” Rick said, looking away. “Oh.” Elbridge paused. “That wasn’t where I thought you were going at all.” “Where I’m going is nobody’s business,” Rick said gruffly. “What did you think I meant?” “Throwing out the script and settling problems my own way rather than waiting on ‘solutions’ we already know to have failed?” “I don’t know, that sounds an awful lot like something Ada would do,” Rick said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “You take that back,” Elbridge hissed. Rick laughed. “Make me!” “Then at least take me back,” Elbridge grumbled. “The specimens will be ready by now.” “Sure, as soon as you promise me you aren’t just going to follow my good little soldier boy act straight off the cliff.” He set the glass down and held out a hand. “Fine, no cliffs,” Elbridge agreed. As long as the same goes for Ada and buses, he thought.
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Sep 13, 2019 02:49
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