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Elbridge Hardley - Self-Reflection While the others enjoyed a well-earned moment of respite, Elbridge slipped behind the bar and walked up the stairs to the manager’s office. It was just a single flight, and yet...after all of this, it felt so much longer than that. Here he was, trying to save all of reality from some place far outside of it. Everything they’d fought for, everything Rick had died for. They were at the end of this particular yellow brick road. It was time to meet the wizard. The wards on the stairwell surely had something to do with it. Anyone other than Elbridge himself would have climbed those stairs to find only more stairs, higher and higher without end, until they gave up, turned around, and found themselves back on the ground floor as if they’d never begun. The door wasn’t locked. Why would it be? Elbridge simply turned the knob and walked inside to face himself. “Oh, good,” said El-two hollowly. “Not an Outsider.” He was seated at the desk, nursing a glass of tequila and poring over a stack of typewritten documents. His forearms were burnt and blistered - he’d been awfully-close when the book had gone up in flames, and he’d dressed them with sterile bandages but little else. Every square inch of the walls was covered in spattered ink and writing. Elbridge couldn’t tell where the annotations ended and the spellwork began. El-two wasn’t doing much to not project the appearance of utter madness. “Not for lack of trying,” Elbridge said. “They seemed a bit testy out there - almost like something had them all riled up.” It had been the book, and they both knew it. “Got you here, didn’t it?” El-two shrugged and waved, and a chair slid into position across from him. “Make enough of a racket, someone’s bound to take notice.” Grumbling, Elbridge took a seat. “You have a plan,” El-two said, matter-of-factly. “Otherwise you’d never have come.” “I have this,” Elbridge said, and dropped the envelope with the seedpod on the desk. “The Summer Lady found out what her mother had done. Apparently, they had rather a difference of opinion.” El-two blinked. “That is…” “From the world-tree itself.” Elbridge nodded. “Plant it in the right spot, and a new branch will grow to sustain your timeline.” El-two was silent for a long time after that. “You know,” he said at last, “I was expecting more of an ordeal in getting something like this.” “Bloody hell,” Elbridge swore, “I didn’t say it was easy!” “Hrm.” Another long, uncomfortable silence. “...that’s Warden Cole’s sword,” El-two said, glancing at Elbridge’s hip. “Why are you carrying Warden Cole’s sword? Wasn’t he with your group?” “He didn’t make it,” Elbridge said flatly. “I see,” El-two said. He stared at the sword with that blank, wide-eyed expression that Elbridge knew to mean he was using the Sight. “Roqueza.” “He didn’t make it either,” Elbridge said with a note of grim satisfaction. “One down…” El-two poured a second shot and slid it across the table to Elbridge, and then a third, which he slid to an empty place for the absent Cole. “...and Lord knows how many thousands to go,” Elbridge finished, taking the toast. “Dresden’s methods may have been gruesome, but they were certainly thorough.” “Harry Dresden?” El-two arched an eyebrow. “Yours actually got off his arse and cleaned up his mess, then?” “Bloodline curse,” Elbridge confirmed. “The Red King meant to use it on his family line. Dresden just took their ritual and…” he patted the sword at his hip. “...finished it for them.” “Ah.” El-two nodded. “So you’re saying there’s little chance of us reproducing it?” “Not unless you can get a newly-turned vampire to Chichen Itza and cut out its heart on a stone altar,” Elbridge said. El-two was silent again for a while after that. Elbridge could tell that he was considering it. “And you?” Elbridge asked. “Where’s your Warden Cole? Why is the bar so heavily-warded against mere infectees?” “The Fellowship of St. Giles never had a strong presence here,” El-two said. “You know that as well as I do - Nerissa wouldn’t have it. The only infectees that have tried to get in weren’t here for Happy Hour.” “And Warden Cole?” Elbridge asked, noting the elision. “...Nerissa caught him,” El-two said at last. Elbridge felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. “She made him drink?” he asked. He didn’t want to hear the answer, but he had to know. “Yes.” “Then the Boleyn Collar killed him?” “...” “It’s a simple question, Hardley.” “It really isn’t.” El-two glanced at the third glass he’d poured, placed where Rick would have been sitting. “Death tends not to take here any longer, and since Rick and the parasitic Phage are distinct entities who’ve both been alive and dead at varying points in the cycle...it’s hard to tell which version of him we’ll get at any given moment.” “So he’s Schrödinger’s Vampire,” Elbridge said, summarising. “We’re all in Schrödinger’s box here,” El-two replied. “The only question is, what will come out when it’s finally opened?” “No vampires, I should hope.” Elbridge paused as something else occurred to him. “Nor Denarians. Where’s Yoziel?” “In the cellar, beneath ten feet of foundation, in the exact centre of a perfect sphere of wardings.” “Well.” Elbridge took a drink of his tequila. “That must have taken some time. Wouldn’t the coin’s position reset from time to time?” “No, no.” El-two waved his hand. “Nothing inside the bar. The whole building is enchanted against every malign influence I could think of, and a few that I couldn’t. Anna Beaumont was quite some help there - she and her circle watch over a storeroom full of provisions a short distance from here, which does reset, or else we’d all starve. Speaking of which…?” He arched his eyebrow again. “We brought the things on your list,” Elbridge confirmed. “Oh, thank God,” El-two said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll see that they’re taken to the storeroom - after six years on the same menu, we were all going a bit mad. Madder,” he corrected, glancing out the window. “We’re going to fix this,” Elbridge said pointedly. “That is our best-case scenario, yes,” El-two said, nodding along. “Where is Narcissus?” Elbridge asked, pushing past the implied vote of no confidence. “You indicated that he’d died, but that he’s stayed dead…” “Oh, he doesn’t,” El-two said with a wave of his hand for emphasis. “He comes back like the rest of us, and every time he does, that mob is right there to lynch him again. For the first year or so, you could actually set your clock by it.” “Charming,” Elbridge said flatly. “So that’s why you need Hugues - for his necromancy. Where’s yours?” he asked. “Vanished,” El-two said, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen nor heard from him since the Solstice. I can’t even locate him with scrying spells.” “That’s…” “Ominous, yes,” El-two finished. “As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you to look with your…favour from Mab.” “Ah, yes. That.” Elbridge pulled out the cloth bundle and delicately unwrapped the faerie mirror. Its surface was crystal-clear despite the summer heat, and it was perfectly-intact despite the rough trip into New Orleans. “Marvellous,” El-two breathed softly. “You saw me through the mirror on the VFW’s ceiling...it can peer across thresholds, wards, and even dimensions?” “As long as there’s a suitable mirror nearby and you can make the incantation rhyme, yes,” Elbridge said. “It has its limits, I’m sure - possibly a mind of its own, but under the circumstances…” “Something about gift horses and mouths, yes.” El-two glanced again at the third shot of tequila, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “You never answered my question, by the by.” “Which?” “Why are you carrying Warden Cole’s sword?” Elbridge blinked. “I explained-” “Why are you carrying Warden Cole’s sword?” El-two repeated with more inflection. “Wouldn’t it suit Turner better?” “That’s...well, he’s already got the one…” Elbridge mumbled, feeling suddenly lightheaded and unsure of himself. “Hardley…” El-two crossed his arms over the desk. “...why did you drink Cole’s shot?” Elbridge had a retort about not wasting good tequila, until he realised that he’d drunk it without even noticing. He glanced down and saw that the sword was out of its sheath. He didn’t remember drawing it. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he’d never really looked at it - not properly, not the way he should have as soon as Breenfjell had returned it. He closed his eyes and looked.
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Oct 12, 2017 20:25
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The Blame Game Scene: El’s Gato Negro Elbridge Prime came out from behind the bar at that point. He was slightly red-faced, and had more-properly affixed the sword at his hip, as if it belonged there. In his other hand was his yellow spiral notepad, the most strategically-relevant details of the briefing scribbled in shorthand on its pages. “Hello again,” he said, not quite meeting the others’ eyes. Briskly, he moved to pour himself a tall glass of seltzer from one of the taps. “Have Wizard Minsk and Lucy Evans returned yet?” It was precisely then that the door opened, and Lucy and Talia Minsk walked in, carrying cake and balloons. “Welcome to New Orleans!!” Lucy yelled. From the depths of his padded chair, Rupert chuckled. Minsk gave El-two her most cheerless glare. “Your airlock still takes too long, and there is a half-melted demon in a bottle on the doormat.” “That’s Murrazonoth,” Elbridge Prime said. “He’s an obnoxious little shite who invited himself along, and the thought of him in a bottle amuses me to no end.” “The latter is the point of the former, Talia,” El-two said with an air of extraordinarily-poindextrous sagacity. “Remember what happened when it let Cole in.” Marcine had fallen silent after his first mention of Rick. “He’s been turned, hasn’t he?” she said quietly, her glance flicking to Drou. “With the resets on death…” “It’s like that Brad Pitt movie,” Drou said. “Where it turns out Ed Norton was Brad Pitt all along, or Brad Pitt was Ed Norton all along. I don’t fuckin’ remember but it’s like sometime’s Renfaire Rick’s in the driver’s seat and sometime’s it’s Murderous rear end in a top hat Brad Pitt trying to crash the car.” Marcine noticed the liquid shaking before she realized her hand, clenched around the glass, was causing it. She gritted her teeth. “Hasn’t he loving been through enough?” “I told him to come,” Lucy said, unboxing the cake and setting it on the bar. “But I don’t know if he will. He’s kinda… distant. But he’s been doing better, lately. We’re trying to figure out if there’s a pattern.” She held a hand out to Marcine. “Nice to, er meet you? I’m Lucy.” “Lucy here is our last best defense,” Minsk said. “Her magic’s the only magic that works on Outsiders.” “Really?” Marcine forced herself to let go of the glass and managed to steady herself when she accepted the handshake. Given the rest of the reactions she’d gotten, she didn’t expect much from this, either. “Marcine.” Peter’s work? wondered Rupert. Shrugging the thought away for now, he leaned forwards and waved to Lucy. “Hey.” “...Rupert? RUPERT!” She jumped the bar and charged him, pulling him up out of his chair into the most awkward bear hug. “This is so weird, it’s like… like you’re snapped back but…you don’t snap back right so that’s impossible!” Once he recovered from the sudden hug, Rupert wrapped his arm around her, a look of confusion on his face. Quietly, he asked, “What happened?” “There’ve been some fights,” she said quietly. “An Outsider’s touch is poison. And if they’ve hurt you… the wounds stay. Even on a reset.” “If you get eaten, you don’t come back,” Edward added. “But when you’re close to one of them you can hear voices… Like, I don’t think getting eaten is really the same as dying.” “And my counterpart has been out there fighting them, alone?” muttered Rupert under his breath. “Danny helps, me, and Ed, and Cole sometimes… Some others.” Lucy bit her lip, and glanced towards Hugues. “You saw what became of the city outskirts,” Elbridge said darkly. “They assimilate the things that they eat. The one that accosted us...that wasn’t how it always appeared. Its features were a composite of the boys in the dormitory.” “Oh, bloody hell,” El-two swore. “They know?!” “It posed as a survivor, then refused to let us into the city unless I’d bargain for passage,” Elbridge said crossly. “We’re rather past the point of secrecy here!” “You made a deal with it?!” El-two said, aghast. “More of a wager,” Elbridge said. “A contest to see who can gently caress over whom harder within the terms of the contract. Business as usual, really.” “You must have a messed up view of 'business as usual’, Elbridge,” said Rupert, glancing over. “You careless, amateurish imbecile!” El-two spat. “How could you even let that thing find you?!” “I didn’t exactly place a personal ad!” Elbridge shot back. “I had a slight moment of clinical death, and it was waiting on the other side!” “Oh?” El-two said archly. “And how did things come to that in the first place?” “Rick and I were off slaughtering our way through a vampire encampment because someone couldn’t be arsed to kill enough before he dropped off the face of the sodding earth!” “And whose fault was that? Who let Narcissus twaddle about in the power vacuum instead of moving to secure the city in your blessed absence of vampires?” “There were two more Armageddons to deal with! Back to back! Those didn’t exactly take a loving number!” “SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!” Nicholas Cantor stood up from where he’d been watching the exchange in the back corner. He threw his glass down at the tile floor and it smashed into a million pieces. “It doesn’t m-matter whose fault any of this is! We just have to fix it! We came all this way, and it’s all been just awful, for everyone, out there and in here and everywhere! So f-for fucks sake, figure out what we have to do next!” “...Stripe?” Minsk said, utterly dumbfounded. Nicky straightened. “Y-yes, Talia. I never stopped looking for a way to get you back, so… so here I am, and we’re going home. All of us.” He looked at the pair of Elbridges. “Right?” “Such as there’s a ‘home’ left to us, yes,” El-two said, utterly-unmoved by Cantor’s outburst. “And as a matter of fact, it does matter whose fault this is,” Elbridge Prime pointed out, “because we’ll need to go find him in the city park so that Hugues can tear the vital details of his ritual from his corpse.” “So shut up and do that,” Marcine snapped. She gulped down the remainder of her drink and pulled her coat back on. “Now.” “Preparations are underway,” El-two said calmly. If Elbridge Prime’s mental defences had been like a wall of ice, El-two’s were like solid granite. There was no emotional openness whatsoever - once his tirade at the other Elbridge had abated, to Marcine’s empathic senses, it was almost as if he didn’t exist. “If there are no further questions regarding the other Ms. Sterling, we can proceed to-” “We need to retrieve her,” Elbridge Prime said. “I swore an oath upon my power to her father.” “...unwise,” El-two said without further comment. “Here, Seth,” Elbridge Prime addressed the man. “I suspect we’ll have better luck talking her down after we’ve saved New Orleans from oblivion.” “I suspect you can do whatever you drat well please, but I’m going to this ‘Angel Tower’ and I’m getting my daughter back.” He flipped his empty glass over and set it on the bar. “One way or another.” “Not alone you aren’t,” Marcine said. “We need to at least find out what the drat problem is before we make any further decisions.” She sighed. “More likely to listen if you can give her a plan.” She wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t listen, but this version of herself didn’t sound like they were the same person anymore. “She’ll listen to me,” Seth said. ((Compel on Marcine’s Lawbreaker- Let your Dad run off into certain death, or just a little nudge?)) Marcine knew her father. He wasn’t going to listen to reason on this--not after six years, this close, feeling more trapped than the rest of them. Maybe he was right; she had no idea what the version of her running a cult was thinking. But what scared her was the idea of him finding an Outsider on the way. Or vampires. Or whatever else all the wards on the bar were meant to keep out. She’d left Rick behind, and he was dead. She couldn’t lose her dad, too. She couldn’t lose anyone. “Maybe,” she said, and wove her will into her next words. “But I’m not worried about that part. It’s too dangerous to go there alone. We’ll be safer together.” She felt his resistance--he didn’t want to wait. It would only take a little nudge to clear his mind of desperation and make him see reason...so she gave him one. “...safer?” he repeated. If Elbridge, either of them, had said those words, his defense would have been absolute. But Marcine’s compulsion slipped through, her genuine concern lowering his guard just enough that the idea found purchase in the depths of his psyche. “You’re right, I… I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ll go together.” He looked at El. “The park, then the apartments. Deal?” “Deal,” Elbridge Prime said, briefly wrong-footed by Seth’s sudden acquiescence. “Glad that you’re seeing sense here,” El-two concurred, very pointedly not looking at Marcine. “Er… So what are we waiting for?” Nicky asked. “You to sweep up that mess,” Maria said, pointing at the broom in the corner.
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Oct 13, 2017 22:09
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Operation Bellend Scene: New Orleans City Park “Now I know it’s the apocalypse,” Jenny commented, as she pulled out behind the identical copy of the dragon-van. “Elbridge’s double learned how to drive.” Elbridge gave a long, wheezing laugh that doubled him over and which he promptly disguised as a coughing fit. “You okay?” Jenny asked, quietly. She gave him the sideways eye. “You’ve been a little distracted… ever since you went and met yourself.” “It was a distracting experience,” Elbridge grumbled, sober and surly once more. “Is there a normal way to respond after meeting one’s double from an alternate timeline?” “I wouldn’t know,” Jenny said tersely. “Mine’s not here.” --- They left the vehicles a few blocks from the park. It was hardly recognizable. The cement and blacktop on the streets around it had cracked and giant roots spread in all directions. Trees that dwarfed the buildings around them formed a canopy that led into the darkness, making it impossible to see inside. Bushes and flowering plants choked the ground beneath, and soft green moss lined paths that snaked inside. But there was nothing welcoming about the greenery of this place. It was about to get even worse. Their vehicles had parted ways shortly after crossing vampire territory - Talia Minsk’s veils were potent things, but their sophistication came at a price, and no sooner had they passed the last checkpoint than the spells had expired and the two nondescript clunkers turned back into flamboyant dragon-vans. El-two and the other locals went around the side, parking out of sight in a shaded glen. When they climbed out, they were wearing black ski masks and riot gear. “There’s a gap in the outer wall, two-hundred metres distant,” El-two said, muffled by his mask. “They haven’t found it yet, and it’s not guarded. Even so, wait for our diversion before you go through.” Marcine heaved a sigh that lasted several seconds. “Seriously?” “Less grousing, more sneaking,” El-two chided her. “Sneaking. Right.” Jenny looked at them all with a raised eyebrow. “I can cover your exit,” Seth said. He licked a finger and held it up. “No wind, of course, but that’s not too hard to make on my own. If need be I can blow that whole damned forest down. I’ll need some prep time out here.” “It’s a good idea,” Angie agreed. “Though try not to blow it down until we’re out.” Seth just smiled… but it faded quickly. “Scratch that, actually. We probably shouldn’t leave anyone behind. Don’t know what I was thinking.” Marcine bit her lip. The compulsion shouldn’t have stuck, just gotten him to calm down. And this after she’d just learned her other self was a repeat lawbreaker… “Um. It seems like it should be fine as long as no one’s too far away.” “I can’t just let you walk into that viper’s nest without me,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll be better off as a group.” She was going to have to check on that later. When they weren’t surrounded by other people. “Yeah.” --- Two hundred metres to the barest fraction, there it was - a patch where the brick curtain wall around the park had crumbled away. A cypress had grown up directly inside, and where the roots had lifted away from the soil, the wall had gone with it. From the inside, it would look only like a dense tangle of roots and undergrowth in front of a solid barrier. After tonight, the Fae would know differently. They’d only have one shot at this. Figuratively speaking. From the sounds of the diversion going up, Drou and the others had brought rather a lot of actual ammunition. The pop-pop-pop of semi-auto fire and the roar of shotgun blasts gave way to the hue and cry of alarm and the ringing of blades...then the deafening noise of a pipe bomb exploding, which they felt more than heard. The blast and the ringing in their ears drowned out the screams, but even from here, Marcine could feel pain. “I’d reckon that’s our cue,” Elbridge Prime said grimly. Jenny stepped forward and cracked her knuckles. With a grunt of effort and a gesture, the tree blocking the way very suddenly wasn’t anymore. “Watch for thorns,” Angelique said, drawing her handgun. “And follow me.” Rupert nodded and added, “Just avoid touching the plants as much as possible, really.” The forest was strange, in more ways than one. It was clearly larger on the inside than on the outside. They passed a playground that had been overrun by strangling vines and bushes, a picnic table that had been uprooted and was hanging from a large tree, and numerous other signs of humanity long gone, but no faeries came to meet them. The sounds of battle were far distant, muffled by the trees. Angie led them through without pause, in as straight a line as she could for the center. Every few yards she marked one of the trees with her long knife, leaving a trail to lead them out again. But when they passed the same table they’d seen before she stopped and gave it a dark look. “We’ve been here. Look.” The tree was marked. “Oh, lovely,” Elbridge deadpanned. “It’s one of those forests.” He drew a chalk circle on the tabletop and placed a very gently-curved stick in the centre, such that both ends could pivot like a compass needle. A short incantation for the pathfinding spell, and… ...the dowsing rod spun and just kept spinning. Because they were Outside, and time and space meant nothing here. Right. He sighed, resting a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip as he thought on the puzzle. A free-standing spell such as this, ward or illusion or otherwise, must be anchored to something. That anchor couldn’t be far from here, and it would have to be insulated somehow, or the magic would rapidly bleed away. The most-common way to contain and channel a spell was… Elbridge blinked, glancing down at the dowsing rod twirling on the tabletop. A circle. El flipped the table unceremoniously and there it was - a woven braid of grass cord, leaves, dirt, and twigs, tucked under the lip. The twisting plant fibres looped as endlessly as the path, arranged into a Möbius strip whose outside became the inside became the outside again. He drew the sword and snipped it. Elbridge wasn’t even sure that it was the enchanted silver that broke the spell - a pair of garden shears might have sufficed. “...mystery solved,” he announced. “One of them, at least.” Angie said. As soon as Elbridge had cut the cord, the forest around them shifted. They were now standing in a clearing with four identical picnic benches and four identical marked trees. “Oh, come on,” Elbridge groaned. “Well then,” Hugues cracked his fingers. “Lost Woods, here we go.”
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Oct 13, 2017 23:44
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Reading Is Fundamental Scene: Somebody’s Empty House The cards lay on the home’s polished countertop, arranged in the traditional Celtic Cross spread. El-two had taken just enough time to orient them properly before vanishing again, presumably to meet up with Angie. It fell to Elbridge to explain. “The two in the centre...well, those are simple enough. The Hermit and The World. One of those is myself - was myself, until very recently, and it would seem to still be the card of my double - the other the source of vexation.” He scratched at his chin. “Given our mission, I do suspect that The World is a bit less metaphorical than usual. Now, as for the foretelling…” He tapped the leftmost card. “The left arm of the cross. It signifies the past, and provides context. The Seven of Coins signifies...well, failure. A particular kind of failure, I should say - frustration at every turn, despite all efforts. However, it also signifies patience and persistence. Its juxtaposition with the right arm - the Six of Staves, or Victory - is an encouragement. Sort of the divinatory equivalent of a ‘Hang In There’ poster. “The upper and lower arms provide context. They reveal things that colour the querent’s perspective. Here, in the upper position, The Star, a symbol of hope; again, I suspect, not so figurative in its meaning. No-one here has seen the stars in a very long time. Below, the Five of Swords. Another sign of failure - specifically, the failure of logic in the face of an illogical dilemma, and of bitter partings of ways.” “That seems more about him than anything else,” Marcine observed. “Of course it is, but the reading must be taken as a whole, or the meaning disappears,” Elbridge said. “The four cards of the staff provide the advice, which means that it’s guidance on his course of action, and why he passed it along to us. Here, the top card - the Two of Cups. Harmony of counterparts. Equivalent actors, but not identical ones. We’re meant to cooperate with our doubles. And your card, Strength, below that, indicates something that the querent cannot control. Yes, I can see his reasoning here...only Marcine Sterling can change Marcine Sterling’s mind. And the last two, the warning-” He stopped. The final two cards of the Celtic Cross were usually a warning - an inauspicious actor or action, and the most likely outcome if nothing were to change. They were the Inverted Chariot and the Tower. “...er. That...does not bode well.” “Grand. Why?” “The Chariot is my card,” Elbridge said. “Inverted, that means that it’s...crashed. And the Tower spells disaster. The last time I drew these two cards, the actor in question spent several days in a coma before being forced to run for his life. I think the manhunt for him is still on. Rick was still dealing with the fallout from his actions for months afterward.” “If the goal is to make this sound like a bad idea, you’re both doing great.” Marcine closed her eyes wearily and slumped against the back of the dusty couch. “But seeing as I’m the one no one saw coming, or no one controls, or whatever the hell I am now, this adds up to a ‘be careful,’ which we knew already.” “Which one of these is my card?” Seth asked. His eyes bounced from one end of the spread to the other like he was missing more than just that piece. “Or am I the only one being left out here?” “Hmm...you don’t seem to be accounted-for in this reading.” Elbridge opened the lacquered box containing the rest of his deck and offered it to Seth. “Draw one, if you please.” He took the top card and flipped it over. “The Magician. Drive and intensity. Single-minded pursuit of a goal, and a certain disregard for procedure where it stands in one’s way.” “Sounds about right,” Marcine said with a slight smile, while Seth looked unsure how to take that description. “Take heart,” Elbridge said with as much cheer as he could muster (which really wasn’t much). “This doesn’t mean you have no part in this. It means that your part isn’t pre-ordained.” He looked at that Inverted Chariot gloomily. “Unlike mine.” He took back the Magician and scooped up the cards on the countertop. One of them fell back down. It had been stuck to the bottom of the Chariot, likewise inverted. The Hanged Man. “...curious,” El said stiffly, before brusquely returning it to the box as well and latching the lid shut. Marcine frowned at the box. Knowing El, she wasn’t about to let that slide. “And that one meant...?” “Sacrifice. Frustration. Giving one’s all and getting little in return,” Elbridge said, and then… “...it was Rick’s card.” Marcine’s gaze slid down to Rick’s sword, in its duct tape sheath, and then to her hands, folded over her knee. “That sounds about right, too,” she said quietly. One hand curled into a fist. Wasn't fair… “Did it help any? What I said last night.” “It helped,” he said softly. As much as anything ever can when a friend has died. Except, as he’d seen in the Gato Negro’s upstairs office...no. It was too early to say what that meant, if it meant anything at all. Marcine relaxed a little. She hadn't wanted to make things worse. “I'm glad it did.” She stood with a sigh. “Forewarned is forearmed, or however that goes.” “Quite,” Elbridge said, nodding sagely. “And speaking of forewarned, if you see anything from my basement - anything antique-looking or such - do try not to touch it. Or look directly at it for too long. Or speak in rhyme.” “Business as usual, then.” Seth looked between his resigned daughter and the man with the reality-breaking basement collection, and dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. Marcine snorted. “It’s okay, Dad. You taught me enough to usually follow his advice.” “Let’s go before I decide to write myself a stern letter,” he muttered.
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Feb 9, 2018 22:36
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Roll Call 2: Tower of Illusion cont Scene: Sun Hill Apartments Marcine watched her three uninvited guests move across her illusory map of the first floor. “They woke me up for a repeat,” she said to her empty apartment, then pointed at her duplicate (wearing something she’d never seen before) and Elbridge (back to his awful shirts instead of the white get-up he’d taken to before she kicked him out of her life). “But this is original. I’ll give them that.” “Lies born of half-remembered dreams,” said her companion, gently. “Bolder than their last attempt.” “Maybe they’re going for ‘this is too weird to be made up’ and don’t understand how that works any better than they understand anything else. But if they got past the wards... Thralls?” She sighed. She’d been sleeping well a few minutes ago. That hardly ever happened. “Guess I’ll put in the token effort.” “Even if they are human, they may carry unpleasant passengers. Be wary.” “All the more reason to figure out how they got in.” No matter how convincing an Outsider looked, they always slipped something up eventually. And here she’d thought they’d finally given up on trying to out-people her. She dragged her finger across the map, between the image of herself and her ‘father.’ “No hitchhikers.” --- On the first floor, a deeply unsettling sense of vertigo hit all three trespassers as the sound of grinding stone deafened them. A thick wall slid up from the floor between Marcine and Seth, and neither of them were able to move before it slammed into place, separating them. Dust particles drifted down from the ceiling. The spectacle froze Marcine in her tracks, until reason caught up to her: There was no possible way she could build a real trap like that. She ran a hand over the wall. It felt solid, roughly textured, but that was to be expected. Tactile illusions didn’t hold up to force, though. So she kicked it. (Empathy vs Diff 5: (-/++)+5 = 6) It hurt. It actually hurt, as if she’d kicked a real wall. But something wasn’t quite right. Her leg swung farther than it should have and there was a slight delay, something that only she was sensitive enough to notice. The wall wasn’t real. But she wasn’t getting past it either. That...shouldn’t be possible, as far as she knew. Must be some kind of mix of the illusion of pain and solidity and...she didn’t even know. What she did know was they couldn’t afford to get separated. She whirled to lunge back to Elbridge. He wasn’t there. The room was larger than it had been, and cleaner: No broken pillars or piles of rubble where the front desk used to be. It looked like it had when she lived there. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered on. There was a cat poster on the wall next to her that proudly told her to ‘Hang in there, baby!’ “Really?” she asked, staring at it as she mentally searched for El. She had to find him. She had to somehow prove to herself that she wasn’t an Outsider. And convince her that she was from another dimension, and time travel, and world trees... She wouldn’t believe herself if she was in her shoes. Which she was. “I hated that thing.” --- “Er...Miss Sterling?” Elbridge said in a stage whisper, mindful enough to remember that they were unwelcome guests here. “Wizard *hic* Sterling?” They’d been at his side a second ago - at least, it felt like no more than a second. That flask of du Sangria at his hip felt awfully light, and so did Elbridge. He thought that he could hear her somewhere nearby, albeit muffled. Had there been a cave-in? Were she and her father trapped under the rubble? Elbridge could use his magic to free them, if only he knew where they were. A whispered spell of guidance pointed him directly to his right, and he turned and… ...walked directly into another wall. And through the wall. His face emerged through that insipid cat poster, followed by his lurid shirt, like a drunken, technicolour ghost. He hadn’t expected to keep going, and stumbled and fell, and soon discovered that the floor, at least, was real enough. (Elbridge has a Stunt that lets him use Notice instead of Empathy to counter Deceit! Thanks to “Just the Facts, Ma’am”, he rolls Notice -+++ +5 = 7 vs. difficulty 5 - success! He drunkenly blunders through Marcine-2’s carefully-crafted illusion.) --- Marcine eyed her map skeptically. “Can Outsiders get drunk?” “No, nor would they be able to feign it so convincingly.” A slight hesitation. “We still cannot allow them upstairs.” “Could have gotten a thrall drunk so they didn't have to fake it.” She leaned back on her couch, thinking. “I don't know what would happen if the guards killed them while possessed…” “You would probably need to make new guards. That one used magic, a moment ago.” “Elbridge,” she muttered, like his very name tasted bad. “Maybe his stupidity finally caught up to him. I don’t know what the gently caress is up with the other one. Trying to make the guards think it’s me?” She snorted, showing what she thought of that plan. “What can you tell me?” “Little from this distance. Shall I go greet our guests?” “Go ahead.” Marcine scowled at the map. “If he’s not possessed, he might actually have something important to say.” “I’m sure he thinks so.” Another slight pause, this one longer than the first. “The truth here may be simpler than you think. I’ll be back soon.”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:54
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Hold My Flask Scene: Sun Hill Apartments The weight of the sword in Marcine's hand felt heavier and colder with each step down. When they returned to the ruined hallway, her double went straight for the coat closet, and Shamsiel appeared leaning against the wall, looking amused by the whole situation. She put her back to the opposite wall and pointedly ignored him. She was an idiot. A basic compulsion should have faded, but her father was hiding in a storage closet. How could she gently caress up something that drat simple? Why had she even thought it was a good idea? She'd promised Rick, and even Bellworth, and here she was, not a day later. She held the sheathed sword out to Elbridge, glaring at the floor. "I don't deserve to hold this." “What, and I do?” Elbridge slouched against the wall for support, wiping his ruddy face on his shirtsleeve. “Granted, I’ve had a bit of practise, but that was ages ago...ah! Practise!” He nodded sagely (to disguise his nodding drunkenly). “Control of your magic takes practise. Like surgeons, cutting on dead frogs and then dead people before they move up to live ones. If you’re going to use it in such a fashion...well, first off, don’t, unless the fate of the world hangs in the balance - which it does, at the moment. But yes, you’ll need practise if you don’t want to make scrambled eggs of peoples’ brains.” “Yes, we’ve been over that.” “Alright.” Elbridge shrugged and reached out for the sword. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll take it for now. Probably mangle my other leg while I’m at it.” The blade slipped a few inches from its patchwork sheath, and Elbridge glumly eyed his reflection in the polished silver. “...don’t know that he’d be any prouder of me right now.” The one that Rick thought was the only lawful one in the group. Angie had related what happened in the van. “I’m the one that let an Outsider in the car.” “And I’m the one who let it into reality itself,” El reminded her. “Some problems...they’re older than us. Mistakes made before we ever had a say in the matter. And it’s bloody exhausting, having to deal with it all, but...there’s no sense in blaming yourself for things that were always out of your hands.” Marcine snorted in dry amusement. “Sounds familiar.” She pushed away from the wall and started pacing, avoiding the scattered debris and claw marks in the floor. “If they were in my hands, I could do something about them. And this one sure as hell was. So where do I decide when they aren’t?” “Well, when you find yourself going outside the Laws of Magic and giving causality a lethal hernia, you’ve probably gone too far,” Elbridge told her. “Just look at what happened when Titania looked at her daughter’s death - senseless and awful, and stemming entirely from our Aurora’s own decisions - and decided that she could undo it.” “One of these things is not like the other.” She kicked a piece of rubble toward the entryway irritably. “Can’t hold to something simple for a drat day.” “They come from the same place,” Elbridge mumbled. “I believe - for whatever that’s worth - that what matters is a commitment to doing the right thing. Even if you cock it up. ESPECIALLY if you cock it up, because this bloody stupid world is too precious to let die for our innumerable failings.” He rested on the sword like a cane, sheathed point down. “Rick knew that.” Marcine came to a stop and laughed softly despite herself. “Can’t argue with that.” She touched Ada’s pin and the feathers beside it, and shot Shamsiel a sidelong glare. “Guess if I’ve got an actual angel still in my corner, I can’t be loving up completely yet.” “And where is he now, your angel?” Shamsiel asked, quirking an eyebrow up. “Leaving you to help yourself, again. Just remember, it’s my power you came looking for, in the end.” Elbridge glared up at the Fallen through bloodshot eyes. “And just who the gently caress are you again?” Marcine’s skin crawled at the reminder. He probably knew that his presence unnerved her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing it. “Just some prick.” Shamsiel smiled unpleasantly. “Why, I was Marcine’s first teacher. I showed her how to make scrambled eggs. She was quite the eager student.” Elbridge looked at Shamsiel, sizing them up, recognising the former angel for what it truly was. It took him another moment to parse the scrambled eggs remark through his fading buzz, and a third for Elbridge to make up his mind about him. “You’re a grasping little parasite who latches onto real talent like a Broadway producer so you can finally feel useful again. Say what you will about your prick of a brother, at least he carried his own loving weight.” Elbridge had the Fallen figured for a certain kind of predator - the kind that looked for a crack in one’s psychological armour, then worked to widen that crack. Give him an inch to work on this Marcine, and he’d take the entire bleeding mile. It was imperative not to give him that inch. “That’s against the rules,” Shamsiel’s smile never left their face, as they approached Elbridge. “If he’s meddling, then so can I. I can’t wait to see just how much damage I get to cause when I get out of here. When you help me get out of here.” “B-b-but daaaaa!” Elbridge affected a simpering whine. “Zophi did it first, so I can do it too!” He snorted. “Your brother’s not even here, and you still feel like you need his permission to be an insufferable cretin? Giving yourself too little credit, that. Or perhaps not - shouldn’t be surprised you’re hiding behind your little rules when you’re already hiding behind fortress walls, an army of thralls, and a woman whose smallest finger is more than your sad excuse for a backbone. The world’s coming to an end and we’re all very likely about to die, and this is what’s important to you?” Elbridge spat on the floor. “Go haunt a cathedral or some such. You’d fit right in with all the other monsters frightening children, and your father might actually care for once.” “HE IS NOT MY BROTHER!” Shamsiel shouted, as if that were the only insult in the entire tirade that had struck a nerve. The darkness in their eyes was terrible and full of promise, but a moment passed and nothing happened. The ground didn’t shake, the lights didn’t flicker, as if they knew that Elbridge would only scoff at such illusions. “You will regret those words, Hardley,” they added, very quietly, and then vanished. Marcine’s gut unclenched when they were gone and she laughed in nervous disbelief. “Goddamn, remind me not to piss you off.” “Never humour a monster that pretends at being a god,” Elbridge said, and there was real venom in his tone. “They need people to believe in them to do all of the other awful things they’re too cowardly to do on their own.” “Plenty of people don’t even know they exist. That doesn’t seem to stop them.” “No, I meant that they need people to buy into their aura of celebrity, and - oh, never mind.”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:58
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Minutes to MidnightElbridge Hardley posted:Attn: Senior Council --- Excerpt from pg. 246: posted:
--- “‘Operation Blue Sky is ready to commence,’” Elbridge said, quoting his double. “‘There will be no drills this time, and minimal preparation. In an hour, we will be staring down the maw of the dragon Factorax. If we fail, then our city is lost to the Outside. If they fail, then our entire world is lost with it.’” His lips drew thin. “He put a bit more inflection on ’our’, and looked right at me while he said it. I don’t think that he, er...trusted us all that much.” “They were not your priority.” Bellworth said. “We literally moved Heaven and Earth to find a solution that didn’t sacrifice an entire world to the Void, Laura,” Elbridge said. He didn’t sound boastful, or even peevish as he usually might. He was just...so very tired. “I would have hoped that counted for something.” “They say you are your own worst critic.” --- Excerpt, Cont’d: posted:
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Feb 13, 2018 05:10
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The Peanut Gallery Consisting mainly of: Rupert, Elbridge, and Marcine. Also present: Nicholas, Murrazanoth, Topaz, Hugues, and Jenny. “Bloody hell, they made it,” said Rupert, watching Ed and El-2 zoom out of the range of Tor’s breath just in the nick of time through a set of binoculars borrowed from the stash of equipment back at the Gato Negro, muttering under his breath, “Sitting back and watching this is nerve wracking.” “Yes.” Elbridge removed his spectacles and polished one of the lenses, moisture trickling from his eye on the same side. The glass was slick with a noxious, green-white residue. “Yes, it is.” He’d been observing the action from a slightly more-personal angle. The other Elbridge likewise had a view of his own position; they’d each swapped a single lens between frames before they’d left, so each could keep an eye on the other. “Cantor. How’s our window for entry?” The dragon’s coils were still looped around the gazebo, and hadn’t moved an inch since the fight began. There was still no way through. “Mostly good? There was a bit of a hangup when he burned a bunch of magic to regenerate that arm… if it gets too unstable we’re going to start feeling some effects even with the protection wards.” He twisted the tassel on the end of his scarf nervously. “Is there anything we can do to help?” “Without giving away our position...difficult,” Elbridge considered. Marcine scratched Topaz’s ear nervously. Watching herself get nearly murdered, even from a distance, did her nerves no favors. She had Angie’s rifle, but what good would it do? “Seems a Fallen’s not a match for a dragon,” she muttered. “Very few things are,” Elbridge said grimly. “To be honest, it’s remarkable that we - they - have survived for this long.” “Seems like they paid a price for it,” replied Rupert, lowering the binoculars so that he could wipe them clear of dust with his sleeve. “Then it’s a good thing the cavalry’s here,” said a voice that none of them were expecting to hear. “Sorry we’re late,” Angie added. “There was a detour.” Marcine jumped, but even if it was Rick and not the vampire, he’d be a stranger to her. She composed herself before she faced them and managed a smile for Angie. The rifle already felt lighter. “I’m glad you’re okay.” “Rick?” Elbridge asked, before he could catch himself. “Sometimes,” said the man with a smirk. His eyes played through the group as though he were sizing each of them up. “I’m Roger. Is that a problem?” “Only if we make it one,” Elbridge said, the renewed chill in his voice making it clear that by ’we’ he meant ’you’. “Right now my only problem is with the wyrm,” Roger said, his eyes flicking to Angie. “I was going to wait this one out until someone showed up with a dishrag full of shame and dragged me into it.” Angie just shook her head and crossed the space between them to Marcine. “There’s no time to go into details. We’re just here for my gun.” Marcine didn’t look at ‘Roger.’ Everything about him felt wrong. She didn’t like her last memory of Rick being him frozen in a block of ice, but this thing masquerading as him would be worse. And now Angie had to deal with him, a failure of everything she’d taught him… She passed Angie the rifle, then shifted Topaz to the side and hugged her with one arm. Not for long. She was right; there wasn’t time. So she didn’t say any of the things she wanted to say and just hoped that would be enough, because Angie was the one thing she’d miss from this miserable world. “Thank you,” Angie whispered, and it was about more than the rifle. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind Marcine’s ear. “It will be alright. Have faith.” Marcine laughed faintly. “Guess that’s easier than before.” She reluctantly turned back to the fight, wiping her eyes. “Even if I’m busy getting murdered over there.” “Not for much longer,” Roger said. He sounded extremely smug. “Anyone seen Lucy Evans? I have a present for her.” Rupert raised an eyebrow, “She’s with Talia and the others, but good luck finding her.” “She’ll find me,” Roger said. He glanced at Angie. “Ready to go?” Angie nodded. She gave the group a warm smile as she shouldered her rifle. “This is goodbye, my friends. I’m glad to have met all of you. Good luck.” “You too,” Marcine said, and her glance flicked to Roger before returning to Angie. “You know it’s possible now. You’ll find a better way.” “It’s been an honour and a privilege,” Elbridge told Angie. “Now let’s all go save the world twice over.”
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May 22, 2018 05:11
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Pew Pew Pew, ROUND 8 ACTIVE ASPECTS Tor: Indestructible Paper-Mache Armor (might claw, 1 tag) El: Going Under (mud scene aspect) 1 tag Lazer-Targetted 1 tag Marcine: Infernal Noise 1 tag Rup: Burning Napalm (1 tag) Tongue Toaster (consq. on Tor, 1 tag) There was a sound underneath the ground like something collapsing as the mud sank a good foot or more around the group. The scales on Tor’s back began to glow again, and the anomaly shone with eerie power, visible between the beast’s shoulders now that his head was buried. “Is he going to regen his arm again?” Ed asked. But before anyone could answer, Tor stood up. His back legs shifted forwards, and his massive tail moved for the first time in years. Trees that had grown over him shuddered and snapped as the dragon righted himself. He pulled his head out of the mud, towering over the party now, his head at least forty feet in the air. Now that they could see him properly, the damage was tremendous. Tor’s ruined face still burned in places. His jaw drooped open, not to breathe but simply unable to close anymore because the bones were broken. The wreckage of his tongue hung like a cooked caterpillar from one side. Behind him, the original Nawlins crew saw their opening. The dragon’s tail was still curled around the gazebo but only barely. They had their chance. In front, the dragon looked up at the dark haze above. He inhaled a labored breath, and under the stadium lights he looked tragic and sad, the last of his kind come to a pitiful, and perhaps inevitable end. “Mine!” he called to the darkness. “MINE!” And then he crashed down onto his remaining front paw and his shattered teeth glittered like prisms, as the one in the back of his throat began to glow. The runes in his hide lit up like LEDs as he drew all the power he could from the anomaly. Looking directly at him became impossible. There was nowhere to hide this time: he would bathe the entire track in front of himself with pure, deadly power. Elbridge could see it, so could Rupert. Shamsiel let out a cry of shock as they realized even Marcine’s wings wouldn’t be fast enough to save them this time. CRACK! A rifle shot rang out like thunder, and a pinprick of darkness in that blinding light opened as one crystal tooth was knocked free. A pool of shadow on the ground promised safety. They had seconds to reach it if they wanted to survive. Round 8 opens with the final half-a-stunt that had yet to be revealed. Temporal Smearing: Every four rounds, choose one: erase all stress track damage from a claw (this revives it if taken out), OR breath attack hits all zones, except one. Your safe zone is A2, front and center. Good luck, ladies and gentlemen. In the breath between nonsense lyrics, Marcine streaked into the shadow with a beat of her wings, where she crouched and eyed Tor’s monstrous hand. Shamsiel let a part of her mind focus on continuing the song, while she refracted the light around them into something just as blinding for Tor. She monitored where the others were, and created vague images of them running in other directions. It didn’t have to be accurate; it was hard enough to see already. The one she put the most effort into was an image of Rupert, blurred by his cloak and glinting reflections off his metal limbs, circling around for a better, desperate shot to try to kill the dragon before it killed him. He’d probably be doing that anyway, but all that really mattered was Tor thinking he’d do it from over there. (Marcine free moves to the safe zone and CAs with Illusions: (-+b+)+5 = 6, vs Tor’s Notice: (+--+)+4 = 4. Creates the aspect “Refraction” with one invoke. Puck to Elbridge.) All manner of hell was breaking loose in the dragon’s death-throes, and despite the best efforts of Ms. Sterling and Ms. Montes, there remained a non-trivial chance that Factorax would take them all with him. No matter. His tail was unfurled. The others had a clear shot at the gazebo. If they made it, the sacrifice would not have been in vain. The Elbridge on the field intended to buy them every last second he could. Just a few could mean all the time in two worlds. Limping to the penumbra created by Ms. Montes’ timely shot, he sank his trembling fingers into the churning mud. “P-pida…” he coughed. The feeble ripple of magic shot up the hardened clay coating Tor’s arm, but Tor barely noticed. He was too preoccupied with the aftermath of Singh’s shot, and with trying to annihilate Singh altogether. Thanks to Ms. Sterling’s efforts, there were rather a lot of Singhs to annihilate, but Tor seemed determined nonetheless. Not as determined as Elbridge, though. “Pidayasah!” he shouted. The stony shell around Tor’s swollen arm quivered again, and then began to sprout long, sharp spikes. On the inside. Tor definitely noticed that. (El-2 moves to the safe zone and attacks the Might Arm, turning the armor shell against him! Combat /+-- +5 = 4, ew. Tor defends with Physique: +/+/ +6 = 8. El spends his last FP on “The Forbidden Sage” to reroll: +/// +5 = 6. He uses the free tags remaining on “Going Under” and “Infernal Noise” to boost that all the way to 11, and spends his Preparation to add W:1: 4 stress to the Might Arm, rolling up to the 5th box. Puck to Rupert.) Between the glaring light streaming from the dragon’s maw and the sudden army of… himself, it took Rupert a moment to regain his composure. Shaking his head, he motioned forward, leading Ed into the safe zone, checking his pockets as he trudged across the muddy racetrack. All of the illusions were sneaking about, aiming for the perfect shot - but this didn’t need the perfect shot, it just needed enough shots to punch through. Reaching the center, he dropped to one knee, drawing a pair of revolvers from beneath his ragged cloak, the handle of each wrapped in red tape - a simple reminder that these, unlike the others, were loaded with armour-piercing rounds, painstakingly collected over multiple resets. Steadying himself for but a moment, he took aim and squeezed at the triggers, unleashing a dull rhythm of cracks as a stream of bullets hammered into the dragon’s wrist. (Rupert moves to A2, uses a box of party favours (XXO) to boost his damage and makes a combat attack against the claw: +++- +5 = +7, W:3. Tor defends!: //+/ +6 = +7. In order to finish it, Rupert uses the tag from “Refraction” for a +2, but Tor counters with “Indestructible Paper-Mache Armor”, so Rupert invokes on “The Lone Partisan” with his last FP (1->0) to strike true!) The barrage of shots tore the muddy armor apart in seconds. Dragon blood leaked into the mud from the impaling spikes and bullet holes, and he sank to his elbow, barely able to stay upright now that his second arm was useless. But his arm wasn’t required for what came next. Light blasted the ground all around Rupert and the others, who had to duck and clump together to avoid the blast. It singed more than a few hairs even so. When it was over, Tor hung his head, exhausted. He looked with half-closed eyes at the cluster of humans between his mangled paws. They were decidedly not as roasted as he wanted them to be. He chuffed a breath, and the great eyes slid closed...
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Jun 15, 2018 23:54
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Operation Omelette Scene: Track ‘Operation Omelette’ took its name from the old adage that one cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. In this case, the egg was already broken, and had been for some time. The fragment of shell that Cole tossed to Elbridge was thick and translucent, yellowed at the edges like an old, plastic carton. And indeed, it was plastic. It was a piece of the very egg from which Factorax had hatched, six years and uncountable summers ago. They’d kept it as an insurance policy, devising plans that went back to before Rick had become Roger. All of them had been fairly-drastic measures, none moreso than Operation Omelette. Privately, Elbridge had felt some degree of relief when it became seemingly-defunct. And yet, even though Tor’s nanny and her lair had fallen into the Void, here it was. The lynchpin. “How did you even get this?!” El shouted over the roar of eight-bit laser noises. “I went for a walk Outside!” Roger shouted back. “You didn’t think I’d keep you waiting for nothing did you?!” “Oh, since when have we ever been able to keep to a bloody timetable?” El said. It was a joke. Gallows humour. There was only one way left for this to end, and it was going to be ugly. Victorious, yes, but ugly. “Get them clear! As soon there’s an opening, get the others clear!” Roger looked back at him, and for a second his chest hurt, and not just from the strain of holding the shield. He forced a smile. “I will! Do it already!” Elbridge held it up for a second longer, contemplating the enormity of what he was about to do. Their shields cracked another fraction, and that second was all the time he had. ”Ia! Yn’helaeca!” There was another brittle, cracking sound, far louder than the shields had made. It came from higher above. Even overwhelmed by the flow of energy as he was, Factorax gazed dumbly up at the source of the noise. It was the dome. The barrier between the city and the Outside. It was breaking. ”Sna’atherlym tunigessr p’thalyi!” Elbridge’s eyes had turned solid, inky black. The words he spoke were never meant to come from a human throat; every syllable felt like choking through phlegm and tasted like blood and bile. ”Sna’atherloghr apsassar thubec! Ia, Yn’helaeca! Ia!” The crack grew wider. There was a vast, rushing noise, and then a bass tremor too low for human ears. That awful silence before an earthquake, or a hurricane. Every treetop whipped frantically as though caught in an updraft, but there was no wind. Pebbles and dewdrops levitated from the ground, hovering in midair against gravity’s pull. ”I’m sorry,” Elbridge whispered to no-one in particular. ”I’m so, so sorry, I should never have let it come to this…” He spat out a mouthful of slime and blinked back tears of blood, then stood up straight and looked up at the dragon who was about to die. He held the eggshell aloft, fracturing just as the sky above fractured, and Tor’s eyes gleamed in recognition. A single, acrid tear rolled down the side of his ruined face. ”Apaaya.” The sky split open, and beyond the dome was the endless void of outer space. Cyclone-force winds spiralled upward toward the breach, howling as if in mourning. Starlight shone through the aperture, bright enough to dim even Tor’s radiant breath by comparison, illuminating the battlefield in nebular reds and telluric blues. Rapidly, the light diminished, receding into a ragged, black shadow wreathed in white-hot fire. Something was coming through the opening. Something huge, and dark, and very, very fast. Something that began to splinter and burn away as it struck the atmosphere, each fragment pulled inexorably by the force of El’s magic. All converging on the single destination of Factorax’s head. A handful of fragments passed through the breach, and the sky turned a hellish red. The white of Tor’s scales vanished into black, burning silhouettes, his final roar - anguish or relief, none could tell - lost within the cosmic din as the asteroids fell to earth. The whole world went white. TN: El’s full incantation (loosely) translates to "Hear me, o Yn'helaeca! Thou who art above, part the veil and behold! Thou whose gaze burns, weep thine stone tears! Hear me, o Yn'helaeca, and WITNESS CALAMITY!"
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Jun 16, 2018 00:01
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Do Not Go Gentle Scene: Track As the world exploded around them, Shamsiel appeared in their midst. Their voice enfolded them in a clear note, a chord of harp music, the tone of a violin - then the world flashed silver, and they were standing in the forest. The explosion, not so distant, rattled the trees around them. Marcine had raised her hand to block out the glare. Now she realized that she’d raised both hands - and both of them were there. She gaped at her arm, back like it had never been blasted off with a laser. She looked to Shamsiel, mouth open to ask how, but the Denarian just gave her the smuggest smile she’d ever seen in her life and disappeared. Buzzing scratched inside her head, louder than she’d heard in years. She looked up at a sky that was now looking back at her. She slowly lowered her arms to her sides. “Your plan was to sacrifice the city,” she said tonelessly. “Not the city… The ground at the site of impact had vitrified, lining the basin of the crater with an unbroken crust of black glass. Elbridge slumped at the nadir, his suit scorched and ruddy from the heat and slowly staining a darker colour from the steady trickle of dragon’s blood pouring down one side. He looked like a slab of freezer-burned meat that had taken a beating and then been tossed unceremoniously over a grill. “...just us…” “What’s the difference?” Angel Tower was the last defense for people who couldn’t defend themselves, and she’d left it unprotected except for the wards. “Still...time…” Elbridge wheezed. “...they can...fix this…” His breathing was ragged, and his chest looked indented on one side. He had to have broken multiple ribs. “Plant the seed...mend the tear...you can - *nghhh!* - keep people safe...until then…” On some level, she understood. Sinking ship and so on. She’d heard that analogy often enough. But after all she’d accomplished despite the world fighting her every step, all she’d lost and sacrificed to do it, she was done with excuses. And this, of all things, had no loving excuse. If she really wanted to keep people safe, now and in the future (if they even had one), it started right here. “Not us,” she said. All she felt when she put a bullet through his head was a kind of dull relief. Like cutting off a limb to stop the spread of an infection: It wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t something she wanted to do, but it felt necessary. Without a second glance at the others, she took to the air to go save what she could. ---- A shot rang out. Muffled and muted against the roaring updraft, it was almost inaudible, moreso than it should have been at point-blank distance. Pain. Elbridge could still feel pain. Had she missed? He opened his eyes. Marcine was gone. Shamsiel stood in her place, ankle deep in a pool of dragon’s blood. “Marvelous work, wizard. The stuff of tales and songs, if any survive to tell them.” “YOU?!” El exclaimed, then immediately regretted it. “How did you…my wards…?” “Oh, you seem to have bumped your head.” They tapped the side of their skull. Elbridge mimicked the gesture and felt agonising pain lance through his head, so ferocious that his vision went white again. Shamsiel gave him a patronizing smile. “My host is too soft-hearted to let the final act play out. She is safe, and the others. I will NOT be upstaged by a white-feathered fool.” “Hrngh.” Elbridge grunted, struggling to stand but managing only a slightly more-vertical slouch. ”...should never have...involved you...cards said...mistake…” “Ah… regret. Right on time.” Their eyes flicked past Elbridge, to another figure just beyond him. Elbridge couldn’t turn around, so he craned his neck as best he could to look behind him. The watery-blue eyes of the long-dead Adam Lawton looked back. This was the end. “By all my power,” Elbridge said, choking through the pain and the mouthful of fluid from his punctured lung, “I bani-” Taapya moved, snaking an arm around his throat from behind and putting him into a chokehold. El’s spell died in his throat as he was pulled off his feet. “No, I think not, Elbridge Hardley.” The pair of them floated slowly into the air, away from the empty crater, above the body of the dead dragon. “I want you to see this, gatekeeper, before I take you,” Taapya whispered, holding him close. There were other voices El could hear, other hands on his arms and back, pulling him tighter, binding him to the Outsider. Some he recognized. Some he didn’t. Below, Taapya’s army had just reached the ground, a horde of creatures without names or functional biology. They tried to scatter, but before they got more than a block a cry went up from the park, just across the street from the race track. Horns sounded, beasts howled, hooves thundered. The faeries were going to war. They burst from the treeline in an arrow formation and tore into the Outsiders’ unguarded flank, led by the River Man himself. Angie’s rifle cracked repeatedly, and fire, ice, and earth works sprang up from the other end, as Rupert and the others joined from where Shamsiel had taken them. A tornado from Seth ripped a line right through their center mass. “Even in death, you struggle,” Taapya whispered in his ear. “I understand. It is all you know. But stillness is patient. Stillness is irresistible.” There was no end to the legion of Outsiders waiting to flood inside, like ants descending on an untouched picnic. It was only a matter of time. “Goodbye, Elbridge Hardley. Welcome.” It was like being pulled into quicksand. The deeper he was drawn, the stronger the suction grew. There was no escaping this. There was no fighting against the tides, now that the levee had broken. The horrors poured through the breach in waves; the ones waiting beyond were without number. This wasn’t a mindless feast. The swarm moved with a purpose. As he was absorbed by Taapya, Elbridge caught one final glimpse through his right spectacle, of his double and Zophiel entering the portal, and those things in hot pursuit. They were after the tree itself. That had been their true objective all along. Not nips and bits of a dying city - those had just whetted their appetites for the real banquet. All they’d needed was for someone to let them in. The portal at the gazebo closed. The swarm wasted no time howling in frustration, but immediately began to charge at Summer’s vanguard. Only Narcissus could open the portal again, and they’d left plenty of him behind at Pontchartrain’s court. Once they had him, it was over. All possible worlds would lie within their grasp. Unless… ”Yn...he...lae...ca…” Elbridge choked. Most of his body had been assimilated by now. He protruded hideously from Taapya’s abdomen, held at an upright angle like a tree branch. Everything from his waist down was gone, and his left arm ended at the elbow. “We will meet her soon,” Taapya told him, whispering in his ear. The Outsider released its hold on Elbridge’s throat, grabbing his forehead to finish consuming him. ”sooner...than you think…” His airway clear, Elbridge took his final breath and spoke the same not-word of abjuration that his double had used to escape Taapya before. The effect was immediate: Elbridge and Taapya both rocketed upward, hurtling into the sky at breakneck speed. Mucilaginous, membrane-winged things parted before their ascent, shrieking in pain and confusion. K! they protested. Kkkkkkk-kkkkkkkkk…! Up they went, through the frozen reaches of the stratosphere, through the ragged rift in the shattered sky. Into the Void. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Taapya shrieked. “Being a sore loser.” El’s words misted into ice as they left his mouth, mingling with the crimson droplets from his open wounds. The pain was gone, replaced with a frigid numbness. He couldn’t feel his fractured skull throbbing, or the blood vessels bursting in his eyes. Out and away they spiralled, the dome shrinking into a tiny, azure jewel with a writhing darkness at its centre. The last thing that this Elbridge would ever see as his glasses slipped loose and floated into the infinite expanse of outer space. ”Mend,” he said, and nothing more. The hole in the sky rippled and shimmered. Like a break in the ice over a frozen pond, the breach began to close from the edges inward, frosting over with a layer of cloudy film. The cloudiness condensed to a liquid transparency, and then a solid, crystal shell. The Outsiders trying to cross at that instant were cut in half, raining amoebic gore over the battlefield. The rest were trapped outside the dome, wordlessly screaming at being denied their prize. The rift was sealed once more. Thin fingers plucked the floating glasses from their spin and set them on a face that had acquired a few new wrinkles. “Not bad, Elbridge Hardley,” Taapya said to himself, mopping the ichor from his brow and polishing the lenses with the corner of a shirt that was inexplicably covered in poker chips. “Not bad at all.”
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Jun 16, 2018 00:04
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Give Me A Lever Long Enough... Scene: Yggdrasil It was all about leverage. Jenny applied her power to the far end of the false branch with more precision than she was generally known for. She jumped in place, bringing the force down with her. The bough bent, but not enough. She jumped again, a little more this time. Again, with a little more. It was exhausting, especially after overloading herself earlier, but she didn’t need to apply all that much. The branch was already slipping, she mostly just had to make sure it slipped in the right direction. “Timberrrrr!” she yelled as something popped in the trunk and the whole thing fell sideways at a 45 degree angle. “Get ready,” El said, carefully passing the seedpod to Marcine. “Once it stops, make it germinate in the gap.” He set his feet wide, as if braced to catch, one hand raised to work his magic and the other holding Laverne Bellafonte’s 1974 edition of Practical Horticulture open to page 577: Grafting Apple Trees and Other Fruit-Bearing Hardwoods. (Elbridge rolls Contacts to derive some value from Mrs. Bellafonte’s book on gardening: /-// +4 = 3, enough for a one-use Boost of “I Can’t Believe This Actually Works”.) Elbridge began a low, sonorous chant, pushing back against the falling branch with magical force, every vector exactly opposite one in Jenny’s spell. The first thing that he realised was that this was incredibly hard. Even if normal laws of weight and gravity didn’t apply, and even with assistance from Rupert to lower the tree’s ‘inertia’ (for want of a better word), it was still a tremendous exertion. The bough creaked and groaned thunderously with every motion, and Elbridge felt those same tremors reverberating through his bones. The branch was almost in position when the low rumble became a torturous squeal. Here and there, spars the length of boating staves splintered away, drifting around the axis of the trunk like space debris around a satellite. It was no good. The limb was over-extended, and some parts of it were moving faster than others, and that differential was beginning to shear it apart. If it should break altogether… Elbridge closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, then applied more upward force to buttress the bough, cradling it against its own weight. He put the most support under its sturdiest portions, allowing the branch to bear the weight where it was least-likely to snap. Just how he so well-understood the limits of a tree’s comfortable range of motion, well...that was a secret that would stay between himself and Ash. Forever. (Will --+/ +7 (with the Boost) = 6. Taking the free Invoke on “Almost Weightless, Hopefully” to raise to 8 and spending a FP on “Neither Wealth Nor Taste” for El to have some rather-unorthodox expertise (El FP 6->5). Compel on Jenny’s “Excessive Force” aspect to unbalance things, GM FP: 7->6) Jenny felt him adjusting and tried to moderate her side of the spell, but that just made it tilt all the harder. She pulled back and it wobbled precariously from the overcompensation. Everything she tried seemed to just make it worse. “Miss Hirsch, stop *hngh* pushing!” Elbridge grunted, labouring under the strain of sustaining the magic. “Miss Hirsch! Miss Hirsch! JENNY!” It was no good. She couldn’t hear him, and she’d never listened. Not to Turner, not to him. Jenny did what she wanted, when she wanted, and to Hell with anyone else’s opinion. Rather than exhaust himself fighting her, Elbridge elected to try his usual approach to Jenny: step aside, watch carefully, then move in to clean up the mess. It took several long, agonising seconds after Elbridge let up on his end for Jenny to notice the resistance had stopped and relax her exertion. Only then did El resume guiding it into place, wincing at the sound of breaking wood and narrowly avoiding impalement as a javelin-like splinter fell and embedded itself mere inches away from him. (Invoking “I Know You Know I Know You Know” for El to have a general idea of how to manage Jenny and work around her proclivities by now. El FP 5->4) He put his free hand on the fallen splinter; it was long enough to lean upon as a walking stick, and thrummed with an energetic resonance quite separate from the quakes running through the tree. He focused on that resonance, and let his spell follow the rhythm, easing the severed branch into place by fractions. There was a liveliness to it now, swaying as if in a midsummer breeze, the rustling of oak leaves carrying the Oracle of Dodona’s whispers back to his ears. You did it Elbridge opened his eyes again. The ragged ends of the splice were perfectly-aligned, hovering in the void across from each other. The whole of time stretched from horizon to horizon, unbroken save for the split in the middle. The chasm was unfathomably-vast, but from a perspective that could see the entire tree, it must have looked the faintest crack. Like the Grand Canyon, as seen by an astronaut on the moon. “Marcine,” he said. His voice was hoarse - from exertion, or from awe, he couldn’t say. “It’s time.”
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Jul 17, 2018 01:24
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Sixth Law, Six Degrees Scene: Yggdrasil It was a tight squeeze but in the end they managed it. Topaz crammed himself into Marcine’s arms as soon as she was out, licking her face. She ruffled his ears and looked at the others who’d hauled them out. “I’m fine. Thanks. The seed was uh...clingy.” She looked up at the fresh growth binding the tree back into one whole, and still heard her own song in the back of her mind. “We really just did that.” “Not many people can say they stitched Yggdrasil back together, that’s for sure,” said Rupert, slipping his arm back into its sling. “Not many at all!” Nicky said excitedly. “We really did it! There’s no sign of that worm, the new tree is stabilizing the branches perfectly, and I’ve figured out where we are!” “Where or when?” Marcine asked. “Both, probably.” He gestured to the night sky, where distant stars twinkled. “Those are OUR stars! Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor- see?” “The Tree of Time is hidden away deep, deep in Summer,” Topaz said, shocked. “We shouldn’t be able to see Earth-stars from it.” Nicky nodded. “Exactly, we shouldn’t. Which means the tree isn’t where it should be. It’s rooted right to the very spot where all this started. Where it was summoned. When it was summoned. And, if my guess is correct, in the very world it was summoned from!” Marcine stared at him. “Are you saying Narcissus dumped the drat Tree of Time in New Orleans?” “Why not?” Elbridge sighed and wiped away the thick layer of sawdust clinging to his skin. “Seems as if everything old and magic washes up here eventually.” He blinked, looking through the one good lens remaining in his spectacles. “But...that would mean that…we’re home.” It seemed impossible to believe - ever since that ill-fated road trip that had led them to the anomaly, and to six years in a future that wasn’t their own. Elbridge looked down from their dizzying height near the tree’s crown, and saw that familiar, meandering coastline, just like it had been drawn on a map. The lights of the surrounding country glimmered below, mirroring the twinkling stars above, but the city itself was gone. “No,” he said. “We’re not home yet. Yggdrasill has displaced New Orleans to...well, wherever Yggdrasill would be, ordinarily.” Marcine sighed. Right, they still had to fix that part. “gently caress all this poo poo.” “The unwritten Zeroth Law of Magic,” Elbridge said. “There is always more and it is always worse.” “...And it’s almost always your job to fix it,” added Rupert. “Don’t despair,” Zophiel said, resting a hand on Marcine’s shoulder. “Time is a resilient thing. It will heal, now that you have cleansed the wound.” “But will it go back to where it belongs?” Murray asked. “The corrupted time magic holding it here is all but gone.” “All but…” Nicky repeated. “Bloody hell! We have to get off this tree!” “What a lovely idea,” Elbridge said. “Why don’t we just pluck some of those enormous leaves and parachute down?” Marcine looked up at the nearest one, which still seemed a long way away. “If it’s not going to pull off some part of a world, why not?” “Won’t it though?” Murray asked, grinning. The tree bark shimmered under their feet. It was starting to look translucent. And through that newly translucent bark, deep, deep within the core of the wood, curled up like a horrible sleeping snake, was a worm. Marcine hissed through her teeth. “Dammit… How do we kill it in there?” “Doubt we can,” replied Rupert, “Probably need to bait it out or piss it off.” “Where’s Kevin Bacon when you need him?” Elbridge sighed. “We need transportation, now. If we could just get that ghastly van back, then we could…” He paused, and reached for Rick’s sword. “You know, I think that we can get that ghastly van back.” With his other hand, he kept his grip on his makeshift staff, using the link to the tree to feel out the tangled maze of its branches. To find the alcove where they’d entered. There! It wasn’t far, but the Escher-esque contours of the gnarled branches made it difficult to find, if you didn’t already know where to look. Elbridge made his way back as quickly as he could (which wasn’t terribly-quickly as these things went, but it wasn’t such a bad pace for an old man). Arriving, he took the sword and swung it in a vertical, counter-clockwise motion, allowing the blade itself to guide him. Azure light traced the arc of the cut before the entire circle fell away, leaving a free-standing portal hanging in place. On the other side was a parking lot. The van and Marcine’s car were only a few yards away. She sighed in relief. “Won’t need to try to convince insurance of time travel after all.” She stopped beside her car before she got in, though, resting her hand on the sword hilt. “So what are we doing about the worm?” “A good question,” Elbridge said. “There must have been others, and yet the tree’s still standing. Even so…” He furrowed his brow and thought on it. A wave of eldritch energies rippled over the tree’s surface. The ethereal lights were gone again in an instant, but in that instant, he saw the towering arcade of the Outer Gates, and the distant gleam of Arctis Tor and its defenders, and the endless, thronging horde of nameless things in between the two, seeking to overrun the faeries and devour the world. Then, the clouds returned, and the starry night sky above, and the sleeping world below. “The tree’s returning to its proper place,” Elbridge said, alarmed. “Escape first, worry about the worm later.” “Unless you’ve got a portal to the world tree handy, we’re not going to have a later.” Marcine frowned. “Maybe I can deal with it…” “There is no ‘I’ in this,” Elbridge insisted. “You’re not killing that thing on your own, and unless you’ve a damned good plan, you’re not killing it at all.” “Knock it off the tree,” she said. “If I can get the seed to help entangle it, I can cut the vines.” She patted the sword. “But there...probably are some steps I’m missing.” That IS what Kevin Bacon would do, Elbridge thought. “We can try, but standing our ground is suicide. I want us ready to retreat the instant it turns on us, so let’s get the vehicles moving now. We’re not outmanoeuvering that thing on foot.” Marcine smirked as she opened the door. “Then who wants a ride in the danger car?” Rupert nodded, “I’ll come along. Might even be able to lend a hand somewhere in this mad plan.” Topaz leaned against her ankle. “We’ve come this far together.” She scooped him up and scratched his neck.
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Jul 17, 2018 01:59
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Elbridge The first thing Elbridge did when he arrived at home was to check on the Blacklist. Despite the dire vision he’d seen in the grue’s cave, it was still there, ironbound cover rust-free and intact. The rest of the occult odds and ends he’d accrued over his long and storied career were still in place, safe and sinister as ever. They’d stay that way for a while longer, if he had his say- -no. That wouldn’t do. It would never have done. Back in the comfort of his own home (such as it was), Elbridge saw his collection with new eyes. How many horrors had been visited upon New Orleans because of Narcissus’ carelessness? How many more sat on Elbridge’s shelves, waiting for the right someone - or wrong someone - to come along? With gloved hands, he lifted the dagger that had slain nine kings from its stand, turning it over to inspect it. It would have killed a tenth, if not for Elbridge. It still might. How had this all started? He had, without ever meaning to, come into possession of the weapon after sealing its original owner within the Blacklist. Accursed artifacts were meant to go to Edinburgh for proper archival and disposal, but somehow he’d just never found the time. It was always something: one more demon that needed vanquishing; one more stack of paperwork that needed filing; one more week before the Council’s specialist would be in to take custody. The Vampire War certainly hadn’t helped, and neither had the revelation of what Wizard Peabody had really been doing with certain items from the vaults. Elbridge hadn’t been able to go to the Council for help. He hadn’t been able to let these evils run free on Earth. And so, he’d done with them what he did with his memories of that fateful night he met Taapya: locked them in a deep, dark vault and sat on them for ages. How foolish had he been, to ever think that this could last? He refreshed the wards on all the doors and windows, took stock to be certain that nothing was missing, and made a note to gather more fluxweed on the next new moon. Then he went upstairs to his bed and slept for three days straight. On the fourth day, he dusted off his old Selectric, typed up his report on the incident, and sent it directly to Captain Laura Ernestine Bellworth. He then went to an emporium and bought a single bottle of a Bordeaux claret vintage that he definitely couldn’t afford, returned to his home, and set out two glasses. There was a soft knock on the door not long after, but it wasn’t Laura. “Gatekeeper Rashid?!” Elbridge said. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was nerves or sobriety, but in either case he was in a bad way to entertain a Senior Councilor out of the blue. “Wizard Hardley,” he answered. “Your report caused quite a stir. I wanted to be the first to speak to you. A sensitive matter, I’m sure you’re aware.” He was very tall, with a dark cloak and hood that he pushed back to reveal a long face with sharp features, weathered like old leather, and a short silver beard. One of his eyes was false, and there were nasty scars on both sides of his face. “That’s...I…” Elbridge shook his head. As a proud Briton, he was used to being on the other end of cryptic understatements. “Well, that’s certainly...I’d say ‘come in’, but under the circumstances, I hope you’ll understand if first I insist on knowing that you’re you.” He nodded, and stepped over the threshold of his own accord. “I do so swear that I am the Gatekeeper of the White Council, on my power.” He smiled, though it must have been difficult to do so while on the wrong side of a hostile threshold. “Will that do?” “It will, thank you.” Elbridge offered his hand to shake. “Please, come inside, Senior Councilor.” Rashid shook his hand firmly and followed him further inside, noting the glasses on the table. “Expecting company?” “I had thought…” Elbridge coughed, choking through the lump in his throat. “...Captain Bellworth. She was, ah, responsible for...for Warden Cole.” He held up the sword that Breenfjell had given him, taken from the site of Rick’s battle with Roqueza. “I thought she’d want to be here in person, for…” “Oh, of course. I will try not to take up too much of your time then.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. There are too few good Wardens left.” “In this world, and in at least one more,” Elbridge sighed and pulled out a chair for the Gatekeeper before taking a seat himself. “So. You read my report.” “I did. You have been to the Outer Gates, and indeed, beyond them. As a precaution, I must insist on making sure that you are still you, as well. May I?” He tapped the side of his head next to his metallic eye. “It would be criminally-negligent not to,” Elbridge said, nodding for Rashid to go ahead. “Asking is a formality,” he admitted. The silver eye moved independently of his real one, scanning for any trace of Outsider taint. He was quiet for a time, then nodded. He didn’t look happy. “Marked, I see. You’ll feel the effects of your journey for some time. Weakness of the limbs, the heart… I expect your companions will have the same tremors. Cantor did. At least this version of the city was spared, I dread to think of the cleanup my counterpart must be leading at this moment.” “Cleanup at least means there’s a city to clean,” Elbridge sighed. “At least until the seas rise another few metres and the Fomor take over.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Wait…’marked’?” he asked. He already had a fairly-solid guess as to what that meant, but he needed to hear his suspicion confirmed. “Marked.” The Gatekeeper nodded. “You’re a catspaw, Wizard Hardley, in a very dangerous game. By writing your report you spread knowledge that should not be known. Gave names to things that should never be named.” He leaned forward, taking the measure of Elbridge. “What should be done with you?” “I ask myself that very question every time I climb out of bed,” Elbridge said sardonically. He was silent for a while, pondering that bottle of claret and the growing tremour in his hands, wishing Bellworth would get here already so that he could just have a drink already… “If ignorance alone could conquer the Void, Narcissus could never have done as much harm as he did. I cannot deny my role in allowing more of these horrors into our world, but nor can I pretend that this knowledge didn’t save us all from far worse. I’m a seer. It is my gift, and my curse, to see the truth; not to shut my eyes to it.” Rashid chuckled. “There is no right answer, I’m afraid. It’s all a balancing act. If you know enough you can prevent terrible harm. But if you know too much, you will do more harm than good. Welcome to the Oblivion War, soldier.” “Gatekeeper.” Elbridge stood and saluted. In one way, he felt the weight of the world falling on his shoulders. In another, an even-heavier weight had just been lifted. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but in that moment, he’d finally understood; finally let go of a habit he’d carried for over a century. A terrible vexation indeed, and not only for a seer. Let go of expectation. Embrace what is. Rashid stood up and saluted back, smiling again. “It’s a thankless job, but you’re no stranger to that.” “What about an operating budget?” Elbridge asked. “Do I finally get one of those?” “When it’s necessary, of course. Nothing regular though. These Outsiders are playing a very long game. This setback could mean they turn elsewhere and look for easier prey...” He frowned and gave Elbridge a very stern look. “...unless they have a reason to come back.” “I’ll see that they don’t have one,” Elbridge said coolly. There was another knock on the door. “Ah, if you will excuse me, I believe that’s everything we needed to discuss.” “Of course, Senior Councilor.” Elbridge reached to shake his hand again. “I’d offer you refreshment for the road, but I’m afraid that as halal options go, the best I can do is a glass of cold water.” He held up a hand. “Go, mourn your friend, and don’t trouble yourself over me.” --------- Laura was standing outside in a crisp, spotless black uniform coat. Her cloak was so starched it looked stiff. “Gatekeeper,” she said, blinking, as Rashid exited ahead of her. “Captain,” said Rashid. He didn’t explain anything, simply walked off the porch several steps, then cut himself into the Ways and vanished. Bellworth stared after him then turned that stare on Elbridge without a word. “Laura,” he said simply, his lip betraying an uncharacteristic quiver. “Hardley,” she said firmly, pausing to let the proper name sting. “What happened?” “...Rick’s dead,” he said, breathing out in a shuddering sigh. “The other timeline, the Red Court never lost, and…” he clenched his teeth. “Roqueza. Rick fought Roqueza, and they both died.” “By himself? Where were you!?” She snapped her mouth closed, cutting off any more accusations, then started again, cold as ice. “Enough. I’ve looked the other way, left you to yourself all these years, but this… I can’t.” She looked him right in the eyes. “Elbridge, will you be honest with me?” “If that’s what you want,” he said tonelessly. “I can’t promise that you’ll like my answers.” For the first time in over half a century, he looked up to meet her gaze.
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Aug 15, 2018 01:48
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Aug 15, 2018 01:50
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Pour One Out Scene: El’s House “You were right,” Bellworth said, holding Elbridge’s gaze, now that she could do so. “I need a drink.” “Come in, then,” he told her. There was no point in testing her as he had the Gatekeeper, not after that. The table was still set for two, just as he’d left it; without further ado, he pulled the cork on the Bordeaux and poured a glass of red wine for each of them. They stared at each other across the table, barely touching their glasses. Each of them was waiting for the other to talk first. Finally, Elbridge broke the silence. “Now you understand,” he said simply. “Yes. Many things are clearer now.” She swirled her wine glass, raising an eyebrow. “Except one. How did you make wizard with that in your closet?” “One can never forget what is seen in a soulgaze,” Elbridge said, “nor can a soulgaze show anything but the truth...but with enough liquor, one might not comprehend what one sees.” He took a drink. “Wizard Pembroke vetted me in a pub. He was seldom sober even on a good day. His recommendation didn’t do much for my prestige, but it got me onto the Council, and kept my head on my shoulders.” “Didn’t he die shortly after… under mysterious circumstances?” “Yes, although it wasn’t murder,” Elbridge said. There was no point in pretending. The only way he could have known for certain was if he’d been there at the time, and he knew that Laura knew that. “He was already dying. Syphilis. We wouldn’t have penicillin for another fifty years, so we used mercurochrome instead. It was...Laura, he’d be out of his mind for weeks at a time, ranting and raving and screaming at his family. They were terrified of him. He was terrified of himself, and each time he was lucid, he’d know what was coming, and never know how long it would be until he was himself again, or what he’d have done while he was out.” She shook her head. “More than a few of the ‘warlocks’ the Wardens have quietly taken care of were just very ill people with the power to cause an awful lot of damage while they weren’t lucid.” “We’ve come a ways since then,” Elbridge said sadly. “Modern medicine, I mean. Council sensibilities can still be rather, ah, medieval. For my part...I paid Pembroke a house call, as a courtesy from his old apprentice. He hadn’t told anyone about his condition - not officially. The scandal would have ruined his family - I don’t mean that people would have talked, I mean that they might have been thrown out onto the streets, forever tainted by association. And Pembroke...he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to keep losing his mind until there was nothing left. So, we sat, and we drank, and talked about old times. And...whenever his cup ran dry, I filled it again. With whatever he asked.” Elbridge looked distant for a moment. “Laudanum...not a bad way to go, I suppose.” “Better than Chevalier,” Laura said, speaking her own first master. It was a name that she hadn’t mentioned in his presence in more than thirty years, but past losses were all too relevant today. “The man raised me from a child to be his personal bodyguard. He tested every meal for poison and would put his own sons in the barn if they so much as sneezed. Then he got drunk one night, fell down the stairs on the way to the privy, and broke his neck. They tried to pin it on everyone in that house, the servants, the wife, the mistress… In the end it was just an accident.” “He died just as he lived,” Elbridge said wistfully. “Drunk and full of piss, leaving a dreadful mess for everyone else to clean.” She raised her glass and drank to the truth. After, she looked thoughtful. “I would have left him sooner for a real apprenticeship. For a while, I hoped you might be my way in, but you were just like all the others.” “Not by choice,” Elbridge sighed. “I always wished that I could have been your sponsor to full Wizard, but with what I’d done…” He shook his head. “Out of the question. I’d have been killed, and you’d have been under suspicion for the rest of your life.” “Only if I told on you.” She frowned. “Do you think I can’t keep a secret?” “Laura, you couldn’t keep it a secret when you broke that grandfather clock in the commons, and you weren’t even in the room when it happened.” He brooded over his glass. “If it helps any, you’re still leagues ahead of Ada in that regard - tell her anything, and the whole city will know within the hour.” “Ah, yes. Miss duSang. I meant to give this to her, but it might be better if you do it.” Laura pulled a wax-sealed envelope out of her jacket and set it on the table between them. “A commutation of her Doom of Damocles. With Richter gone…” Elbridge choked and gave a strangled sob. “Hadley?” “I couldn’t...couldn’t save him…” he heaved, struggling to contain himself. “I knew he mustn’t face Roqueza alone, and I still let him do it…!” Laura sighed and looked away from him. “Just tell me what happened. Not the damned report, but what really happened. I know Richter, he’s not… he wasn’t… drat you Hadley...” She refilled her glass and topped his off, though he’d barely touched it. “We were...we were death-cursed for him to find us, and we knew fighting him alone was sui-” Elbridge choked again over the word. “-suicide, so we tried to work around it...but Roqueza had an entire loving army! Hundreds of soldiers, all willing to fight for that abomination for money! So Rick, he knew...he knew that it was him Roqueza wanted. The one who got away. He posed as a prisoner to get close, buy the rest of us time while Roqueza gloated…” Tears flowed in a steady trickle down the front of Elbridge’s face. “...and it worked. God forgive us, but it worked. They both died, and we made it to the breach while the mercenaries watched them.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Of all the Wardens… Richter Cole. Even at the cost of his life, how? Roqueza was practically invincible. He survived six major death curses, over two centuries of assassination attempts... After Colorado, a few of the commanders wanted me to go after him directly. Chichen Itza happened before I could try, and I was in no hurry.” “He couldn’t be harmed by magic so long as he stood upon the earth,” Elbridge said. “We managed to discover that beforehand. So, Rick flooded the battlefield, and when it was clear that...that he wasn’t going to make it...he used his death curse to freeze them both. Roqueza suffocated.” “So that was the secret. He was always smart in a crisis.” She paused for a long moment, remembering. When she spoke again it was with barely concealed anger. “They’re not even going to acknowledge it. As far as the Council’s concerned none of this happened, and if the Summer Queen really is gone, they’ll go along with the faeries’ version of the truth.” “I don’t even know that we could acknowledge it,” Elbridge lamented. “The weight of the bloody world, balanced across that precarious axis of the Stone Table, and then Titania decides to jump off. On a lark. My God, what will even happen now?” “I don’t know, Hadley. This is beyond either of us.” She sighed and gave him a look. “I suppose no one else is going to do it, so thank you, for making sure everything’s still spinning today.” “You’re welcome,” he said. Automatic. Listless. He knew that she meant it, but the scope of the crises awaiting them all weighed on his mind. “Those mercenaries...Roqueza kept them on retainer. They’d worked for him before. I think...they must have worked for him in this timeline, as well. They’d still be around, working for God-know-whom now. Midas is buying politicians and police left and right, and the Fomor are abducting every mage they can find - remaking them in their own image, it seems. These awful things that keep happening to us...they aren’t accidents.” Laura sat back in her chair and watched him. “They never are. You sound like you want to do something about that.” “I met Rita Beaumont’s daughter the other week. She and her circle are holding community meetings. I said that I’d be at the next one, but…” he blinked. “...actually, I suppose that it’s still happening, a few days from now. We spent...rather longer than that, from our own perspective on the other side. In any event, it’s no good to keep putting out fires as they start up. I think that it’s time New Orleans had a proper fire brigade.” “I’ve been waiting for fifty years for you to say something like that,” Laura said. She stood up and unclasped her cloak. The silver shield pin she looked at fondly before tucking away into a pocket. The cloth she folded over her arm and offered to him. “...you’re serious?!” Elbridge asked. “After everything you’ve just seen, you’re offering me...this?” “I am.” He took the cloak and ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling out the warp and weft of the enchanted silver thread. A lifetime of duty and service, and a measure of protection from all of the blood. The obligation to protect, the power to pass judgement. If Rick had still been present, he might have refused. But Rick was gone, and New Orleans needed defenders. It had been left to the wolves for far too long. “I accept,” he said solemnly.
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Aug 15, 2018 01:56
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Interlude - The French Quarter Connection Hydrangea Place was a rust-red apartment block like you’d see on PBS or Nickelodeon, something out of televised Americana. Every brick and stone of the place had a story to tell, a thousand murals painted one on top of another. Kids playing on the sidewalk and streets, laundry hanging from clotheslines strung between buildings, two older men arguing over whether it was chess or dominoes today. Here it was that the city’s new Warden had taken up residence, and here it was that someone new to town came calling. After struggling to park for what seemed like hours - one of the joys of living in a city he’d not missed - James managed to squeeze his car - an intentionally non-descript boring hatchback - in next to someone who had clearly decided that road markings were for other people. Swinging the car shut behind him, he glanced down at his watch as he locked the car. It’d taken him a week just to arrange this meeting, and it wouldn’t do to be late after all that effort. He still had time, though. Starting off at a quick pace, the blonde man moved through the crowded streets with practiced ease, checking the sign on each apartment building as he passed it by. Ducking under a low hanging parasol mounted on a cafe’s table, he spotted it, Hydrangea Place. Ducking inside the propped open door, he noted the lack of apartment buzzers or a doorman - evidently the Warden hadn’t had security in mind when he’d chosen the place. The elevator looked rather suspect, too - so he took the stairs, taking them at a light trot. Reaching the top floor with nary a pause to catch his breath - four flights of stairs was nothing compared to an hour of sparring down at the dojo - he stopped to smooth out his shirt - pale blue and open at the front over a plain black t-shirt - before he found the Warden’s apartment with a minute to spare. No doorbell, either. Maybe the rumours about Wizards and tech were true. Repeating the code phrase a few times in his head - the Venatori had insisted on a Latin one, a language he hadn’t spoken since college, and it wouldn’t do to butcher it entirely - he knocked on the door. “Yes?” came a voice from within. “Nos lucerna iuvenes armigeri,” said James in reply - he hoped it was, indeed, the latin for We are the lantern bearers, or this could go wrong really quick, and the tight corridor left little room to move about in. “Fiat lux expellat noctem,” answered the occupant, and the door opened a crack. James heard the sound of a deadbolt and a chain sliding into place, and felt a sudden draft of cold air that didn’t suit the balmy New Orleans weather at all. The door opened the rest of the way, and he stood face-to-face with the city’s new Warden. “And it’s lucerna iuvenes armigeri sumus, although the Latins weren’t always much for following their own grammar. James Ivarson?” he asked, raising an eyebrow over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. “Yup, that’s me,” said James, nodding in acknowledgement. Brushing his hand through his hair, he added, “Sorry about the code phrase. Not spoken Latin since college, and even then it was only fragments from reading works on Caesar. I take it, then, that you’re Warden Hardley? Pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand. “I am.” Elbridge reached out and gave a firm handshake, but stayed in the doorway, not yet inviting him inside. Behind him, James could see a pile of cardboard packages taller than Elbridge himself, stacked neatly but not yet put away. “You’ll have to forgive the mess, I’m afraid - my move is still rather a work-in-progress.” “I know the feeling, sir - my new place doesn’t look much better, if I’m honest,” replied James sympathetically, “I wanted this meeting as a courtesy call - make sure we don’t butt heads, offer to help out if you need another gun, that sort of thing. Don’t really want to get in your way.” “Be careful not to tempt fate,” Elbridge said, with a half-smile that indicated he was only half-joking. “What’s your assignment here?” “For the moment, I’m to investigate reports of a local supernatural magnate who’s been increasing his power base gradually over the last year or so and gather intel. What comes after… we’ll see,” explained James, “Plus the usual standing orders stuff, of course.” “Ah,” Elbridge said, and the smile left his face. “Goldman.” “Who?” asked James, grabbing a small notebook and pen from the back pocket of his jeans. “Come in,” Elbridge said, waving him inside. There was a noticeable change in air pressure as James stepped over the threshold, and a tingle in his extremities, as if he were up in the Rockies again. “My apologies for any discomfort - I haven’t lived here long enough for a proper Threshold to form, and the wards I’ve set up to compensate can be...rather severe.” There was no echo in Elbridge’s apartment, even though there definitely had been in the hallway just outside. Soundproofing spells. Elbridge didn’t want this conversation to be overheard. “Parish Treasurer John Goldman,” Elbridge continued. “Also known to the local Sidhe as Lord Midae, also known as Midas of Phrygia. Yes,” he said, nodding at the look on James’ face, “that Midas.” James ignored the discomfort - he’d endured worse - and nodded at the Warden’s explanation - at least some of it made sense, going by the books he’d read in the Library - and started taking down notes in shorthand. “That would explain the rumours we’ve been hearing about someone splashing around a great deal of money, then. Given all the ads and posters plastered around town, I take it he’s the Goldman running for Mayor?” “The very same.” Elbridge looked at a binder on his desk, glowering at the case as if willing it to go away. “Watch yourself around Goldman, Ivarson, and especially around his wife. Don’t let him touch you, and never, ever look her in the eye.” “Thanks for the advice, Warden Hardley, and the intel, too. I'll be careful while I look into them.” Taking a business card - a plain affair bearing the legend 'Raymond’s Antiques and Oddities’ from another pocket, he scribbled down a pair of phone numbers on the back and handed it to Elbridge, “If you find anything out, or find yourself in need of an extra set of hands or eyes - or another gun, if needs be - give me a call. Goldman might be my main assignment, but I'm still here to help and protect people, as well.” “Best of luck to you, then,” Elbridge said, pocketing the card. “You’ll need it.” James grinned, “Always found Lady Luck to be on my side.” He glanced down to the side of Elbridge’s desk, his attention drawn by an odd yet familiar sensation, as if a child were tugging at his hand. Curious, he asked, “Why do you keep your sword wrapped in scrap fabric?” “Because my cordwainer is a bit short-handed at the moment,” Elbridge said dryly. “Mind if I take a look? Don't see many swords about, and my experience has been more oriented towards Japanese and Filipino blades,” asked James. Elbridge glanced off to one side, staring into apparently-empty space before he took the sword and balanced it sideways over his open palms, delicately extricating it from Marcine’s makeshift sheath. “Please be careful,” he said. “It’s...irreplaceable, to say the least.”
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Oct 3, 2018 07:02
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Interlude - Official Capacity It was exactly nine in the morning when Elbridge knocked on the door to Marcine’s residence. In his gray cloak and crisp, navy-blue uniform (gray was also traditional for Warden attire, but in Louisiana, it likely would have sent the wrong message), he was nearly-unrecognisable. No leaping salmon or poker chips or frolicking eggplants - no-one on this side of the Atlantic would know what the hell an ‘aubergine’ was. Marcine might not recognise him straight away, but at least she wouldn’t mistake him for Colonel Sanders. The door didn’t open for a good two minutes, and she was holding a hairbrush when it did. Marcine blinked at him. She looked like she’d just thrown on some decent clothes. “Fancy. Come on in.” She wandered back to the kitchen area, where she was in the middle of mixing together pancake batter. Her apartment was one big room with two doors off the side that must have led to her bedroom and bathroom. The walls were off-white, covered with artwork and mirror stickers of flowers, birds and butterflies that ran the whole color wheel, with an emphasis on purple. Her couch and furniture were an eclectic mix of colors (was that an orange furry pillow?) and designs that nonetheless coordinated, if your criteria for coordination was “somehow doesn’t clash horribly.” “You’ve got company,” she said to the air. The sword was naked on the kitchen table, Rick hovering not far from it. He took one look at El’s outfit and his mouth dropped open in shock. “Who died?” “You mean besides yourself?” Elbridge asked, with a very, very thin smile. “Hello again, both of you.” “Want tea or something?” Marcine asked. “Yes, thank you,” Elbridge said, taking a seat at the dining table. A decorative box filled nearly to overflowing with different teas, from tea bags to packages of loose leaf and a stray bag of hazelnut coffee, landed in front of him. “Take your pick.” “Don’t tell me you wore that to my funeral,” Rick said, doing his best to sit down at the chair that was already pulled out a ways. He mostly succeeded. “What’s going on?” Elbridge fished a packet of Earl Grey out of the assortment and placed in in the proffered floral mug. “The Regional Commanders are convening in Edinburgh.” “They do that every year.” Rick waved a hand dismissively. “What’s that got to do with you?” “Apparently, I’m one of them.” Rick abruptly fell through the chair. “Doesn’t that mean you would have been one?” Marcine asked. “The only promotion I ever got was posthumous,” Rick said, picking himself off the floor. It was true, they’d put the Commander right in front of his name on the memorial plaque. Apparently winning the fight with Roqueza had counted for something, even if very few people knew about it. “Isn’t Santiago the R-C around here? Did something happen to him, or is this a broader restructuring?” “The latter,” Elbridge confirmed. “The Council is only just beginning to recover from the war, and now that Regional Commands no longer pull double-duty as theatres of combat...well, the overall idea is to rebuild and reorganise, with an eye toward recruitment of new talent. Warden Santiago has assumed command of the US Middle South, principally Appalachia. I’m told that he requested this transfer. I, meanwhile, have been assigned the Gulf Coast.” Rick nodded. “Makes sense, though we’re- well, you’re- still spread awfully thin. But I guess that’s what the recruiting is meant to help with. There’s been a lot of kids slipping through the cracks. Adults too. And with the Fomor picking up everyone they can find...” “Yes,” Elbridge said with a grimace. “I expect that factored heavily into the decision.” He sighed, watching as the steaming water Marcine poured into his cup rapidly turned a pale amber. “I do what I can at Anna Beaumont’s community meetings, teaching them how to recognise Fomor or their servants, how to counter their spells, how to resist abduction...but I can’t help but to feel that I’m coming at this from the wrong angle altogether.” “You want to go after the source of the problem,” Rick said, frowning. “I do,” Elbridge said. “This problem, and about fifty others.” Rick glanced at the sword on the counter and shook his head. “You don’t have enough people. Even with Anna’s group.” “No, which is why coordination is crucial for even holding the line. I’m hoping that by identifying and neutralising their landbound allies around the globe, we can deny them inroads and gain some breathing room here in New Orleans. Meanwhile, an aggressive recruitment drive will give more local practitioners rights under the Accords, and strengthen our ties with the community. Someone has to fill the power vacuum left by the vampire courts, and I don’t like any of the other contenders.” Elbridge looked at the sword as well. “To move forward on any of this, I’ll need the support of the other Regional Commanders. Arriving at the conference without a sword would...not make for a good first impression.” Rick gave him a sharp look. “I’m not a fashion accessory.” “The silver sword is a badge of office!” Elbridge protested. “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d have received my own from Captain Luccio, but these aren’t ordinary circumstances and you know it. Besides which...I would appreciate having your perspective at the conference.” “It sounds like you’re doing just fine without me,” he snapped. “Spirits, El, you’re not the only one who hasn’t got a sword. The Ygg twig’s way more impressive anyways.” He gestured towards a potted plant on the window ledge, where Marcine’s two-leafed cutting of the Summer seedling was swaying back and forth in a decidedly un-plantlike manner. Elbridge’s eye twitched. “Kindly don’t call my staff ‘The Ygg-Twig’.” He stood up. His tea hadn’t finished steeping. A few minutes wouldn’t go amiss. “Marcine, may we have a moment?” “Go ahead,” she said, deliberately seeming more interested in ladling batter onto the griddle. Outside, Elbridge took a seat in the shade under an oak tree and rested the sword against the base of the trunk. “Rick, I know that this has been difficult for you-” “Difficult?” Rick interrupted, his voice taking on a metallic echo as he spoke from within the sword. It was still mid-morning and he couldn’t walk around in daylight as a spirit. “Try impossible. That’s closer.” “And yet, here we are.” Elbridge frowned. “If you truly think it unwise for me to take you to Edinburgh, I’ll refrain, but I thought that you’d want to have some stake in the proceedings.” “It’s not that I don’t want to help,” Rick sighed heavily. “Look, ‘Warden’ isn’t just a full time job, it’s an all-the-time job. Believe me, I know. But for the first time in a long time, I’m trying to focus on myself. If I’m your sword, I can’t do that.” “Ah.” El nodded, then turned to slump against the tree, seating himself alongside the sword. “I had wondered why you were so eager to leave with Marcine. ‘Completely hopeless’...” “You were listening?” He didn’t sound angry, just tired. “Not intentionally,” Elbridge said. “I think that, with most people unable to hear you at all, you’ve rather forgotten your indoor voice.” “Or your spell just picks me up wherever I am, as long as I’m in range. It’s not like I can shout.” “An interesting thought,” Elbridge said. “Regardless…” Rick laughed softly. “It’s not you, honestly. I just… I need some space from everything Council-related and I can’t get that at your place. Marcine’s… she’s like a vacation. I don’t need to worry about anything here. It’s been really nice.” “Understandable.” Elbridge pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted as if trying to clear some irritant from his sinus. There was no easy way to broach this. “Is this about Ada?” he asked at last. “Not everything is about Ada,” Rick said shortly. “It’s about Ada, then,” Elbridge sighed. Rick didn’t say anything for a while. When he did his voice cracked. “I miss her less here.” Elbridge sat in silence, mulling over his thoughts. He had no idea if there was anything he could say that would help. Privately, he’d never truly approved of Ada, and moments such as this were exactly the reason. Saying so wouldn’t improve things any. “How are Ms. Sterling’s lessons coming along?” he asked, vainly attempting to bring the topic back to something he understood. “Really well,” Rick said, just as eager to talk about anything else. “She’s had some fencing practice so a lot of the basics transferred over. I’ve been running her through my morning drills and she’s not bad.” “Well enough to hold up in a real fight?” Elbridge asked. “Depends what with,” Rick said, sounding concerned. “The problem isn’t her sword work, it’s that she can’t cast shields. It makes getting into melee pretty risky. I can move her sword arm if it comes to it, but my magic is as dead as I am. I can’t help her there.” “You can move her arm?” El said, alert once more. “Only if she lets me,” he said quickly. “It’s a lot faster to show someone how to move than tell them, and before you start getting on my case, it’s nowhere near as dangerous as her plucking memories out of my head was.” “It still seems very questionable,” Elbridge said. “You’ve seen what can happen in the aftermath of possessions.” “Unwilling possessions,” Rick clarified. “Marcine trusts me, and I trust her. Do you think I’d ever hurt her, or let her get hurt because of me?” “I think that coordinating your movements with hers during a lesson is a very different thing from trying to do so in actual battle,” Elbridge told him. “I believe that Ms. Sterling can handle herself in a fight, but I also believe that if she zigs while you’re trying to zag…” he shook his head. “I’m not sure what would happen, but I think that you should be very cautious about finding out.” “The more we practice together the less likely that is to happen,” Rick said firmly. “It’s a lot like having a dance partner. One leads, the other follows, and no one steps on the other’s toes.” He paused for a second. “I could show you what I mean, if you want.” Elbridge thought about that. There were risks to it, obviously, but if Marcine was taking those same risks onto herself...well, then he owed it to her to understand them, now didn’t he? “I would appreciate the demonstration, yes,” he told Rick. He stood up and took the sword, then cast a veil before drawing the blade because he really didn’t want any passers-by seeing this. The hilt was warm in his hand. <You gotta let me in,> Rick’s voice said inside his head. It was quite a bit more difficult than it sounded. Years - decades of conditioned response told Elbridge to push back against the outside influence, to isolate and expel the foreign voice in his head. The Peabody fiasco from two years ago had proven the risks of insufficient rigour here. It took every last bit of Elbridge’s focus to simply relax. His arm moved, slowly at first, in little jerks and starts. It didn’t feel as though he’d lost control of his body, more like Rick was standing next to him, guiding his motions as if he’d caught Elbridge by the wrist and was simply showing him how he should move. <This is like wearing a pair of pants that don’t fit,> Rick said, frustrated. <Flattering,> Elbridge relayed, sarcastic. <Do I even want to know which variety of bottomwear Ms. Sterling is in this simile?> <The kind that fit,> Rick said, not taking the bait. His grip on El’s wrist tightened and after a brief struggle, El’s arm started to move more smoothly. <There we go, come on, work with me, not against me.> He went through the basic parries, stiffly, and a few thrusts. <You have to move your waist, too.> There was a slight pressure, like a hand pushing against the small of Elbridge’s back, and as he ceded more control the stiffness in his actions became more fluid. He almost looked like an actual swordsman, albeit one that was rooted to the spot. “My word,” Elbridge said after some time. “This is tiresome work, isn’t it?” His clean, new uniform was beginning to soak through with sweat, and it was getting harder to keep his grip on the hilt. “It’s not quite like chopping firewood - gravity’s not on your side.” <It’s about finesse,> Rick said, not slowing down. <Strength is important but you’re not going to bludgeon someone to death with a short sword. You have to see the angles… Like billiards.> “I can - hah - manage finesse,” Elbridge said, struggling to keep his breath. “In billiards-” he coughed, fighting a cramp in his arm and his abdomen. “In billiards you take a break between shots!” His arm stopped moving mid-swing, and fell to his side, the sword slipping out of his fingers and landing on the grass with a soft thud. “Sorry, I can’t always tell…” Was it the light or did the metal have a pinkish tint? “I don’t feel tired when you do.” “Rick,” Elbridge said, panting from exertion. His uniform was soaked through, and his glasses were so crusted with sweat and salt that he could barely see. It was definitely time to renew the enchantments on the lenses. “Are you…blushing?” The tint deepened. “I don’t know!” Yes, he was blushing. “Well. We still don’t know all of the risks, but I feel confident in saying that Ms. Sterling has a capable teacher…” Elbridge gasped, fighting a seizing spasm in his core. “...and that I’ll need more physical exercise if I’m to use a sword with any regularity.” Rick didn’t laugh, but it took effort. “Maybe I can sell my services as a trainer. I could help pay rent that way.” Elbridge arched an eyebrow. “To whom?” he asked. “Enthusiasts,” Rick said. “Renfaire Rick’s Spirited Sword School, I can see the sign already.” “So much for keeping a low profile,” Elbridge laughed. “And on that note...Edinburgh?” “Edinburgh…” Rick repeated, soberly. “No. I’m sorry, El. I’m just not ready to go back yet. We can talk about it when you get home.” “Very well, then,” Elbridge sighed. “I’ll just bring my staff.” “Hey, the Ygg twig isn’t just a staff,” Rick protested. “Besides, the silver swords aren’t usually passed on, you know. They’re buried with their owners. Carrying me around would mean questions, even if you managed to smuggle me past security.” “You’re never going to stop calling it that, are you?” “I could call it the Twygg, instead,” he said, putting on a decidedly horrible norse accent. “I could call you a cheese knife.” “That’d be unsanitary, you don’t even know where I’ve been.” Laughing and joking together, commiserating about work - for a moment, it was almost as if things were normal between them. As if Rick had never died. El smiled sadly. “I’ll just have to ask Marcine, then. She’ll be wondering where we are by now, and I’m sure that my tea’s gone cold.” “I miss tea,” Rick said longingly. “I wonder, if you put some in the polishing oil…” “Next, you’ll be wanting scones.” “Nah, too many crumbs.” Elbridge carried the sword back towards the house as the scent of pancakes drifted pleasantly by. “Hey El?” Rick said, quietly. “Thanks, for asking me. And for letting me say no.” “You’re welcome,” El said, and back inside they went.
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Nov 8, 2018 05:03
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Interlude - Writer’s Block Scene: Hydrangea Place, Apartment 333 A First Draft posted:Although limitless in number, the lesser breeds of Outsider thankfully cannot endure long within the mortal realm. When first they enter this plane, either by breaching the Gates or by seeping through fissures opened by mortal occultists, they are inchoate and abstract - formless impossibilities extruded into our reality, like pockets of air released beneath the ocean, and as short-lived. Just as buoyancy will rapidly eject a bubble from the sea, so will lesser Outsiders be expelled from existence by their unnatural and paradoxical ‘physiologies’. Elbridge sat back in his computer chair and perused what he’d just typed. It was accurate, informative, and utilitarian. “No good,” he muttered. “No good at all.” Might as well have been an instruction manual. Bringing Forth Armageddon In Six Easy Steps. Scowling, he poured himself another cup of tea. He half-considered adding a shot from his flask to the mix, then checked his pocket-watch. 8:30 in the morning. This day was already off to a grand start. It wasn’t as if Elbridge didn’t know how to write a book. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to bury a sensitive topic in page after page of labyrinthine prose. This wasn’t a report to Edinburgh, however. It wasn’t some door-stopper of a volume, destined to be parsed once by some disinterested clerk and then locked away forever in the archives. If only. No, this was part of a deal. A deal that had come with a distribution clause. Elbridge was writing for an audience, and for a very particular client. By taking on a Name, it may thence be bound. What was bound could be un-bound. Sipping his tea in silent contemplation, Elbridge wondered if this was how the original author of that ill-omened tome had felt when first they’d put stylus to papyrus. Maybe they’d had a book deal as well. It was a relief when his apartment’s buzzer rang. Gingerly, Elbridge took his staff from its wall-mounted I-hooks, during which time the buzzer sounded twice more, but it couldn’t be helped. It was an unforeseen and astonishing benefit, owing to the artifact’s otherworldly composition - hexing was a function of time, of an individual’s magic and the underlying laws of common reality diverging over time, like continental drift. Sadly, delicate electronics simply did not like to run according to rules that said human beings could call forth lightning from the aether and hurl it like a javelin. The staff, however, was of all times: all that ever were, are, or would be. The implications were worthy of another volume in their own right, if only Elbridge had the time to write it. For now, he contented himself that he could answer a doorbell without causing it to explode. “El.” The voice on the other end was soft and gravelly, but unmistakably that of Abel Drouillard of the NOPD. “Can we talk?” Drou and Elbridge were on good terms, but not feel free to drop in without warning good. If Drou had felt safe making a phone call, he wouldn’t have been there. This was serious. Elbridge almost cast a scrying spell out of reflex before remembering that his new staff also allowed him to look at camera feeds. Drou was on the doorstep of Hydrangea Place, dressed in plainclothes. His cruiser had been repainted from the traditional black-and-white to an inconspicuous forest-green, and the lights had been detached from the roof. Undercover duty? Had he been made a detective? “Come in,” Elbridge said, and punched the button to unlock the front door. Drou stumbled as he stepped through El’s doorway, going cross-eyed and struggling to keep his footing. “Wow, that’s, hah…” he gasped, a little short of breath. “That’s some security system you got there.” “One never can be too careful in a city such as this,” El said, helping him to his feet. “Sorry about that - it’s really just a side-effect of the wards. Nothing’s been set off, yet.” “Fuckin’ booby-traps, El? What happens when some neighbor kid wanders in, just being some delinquent little poo poo?” “So long as they’re human?” Elbridge said. “Nothing.” “You’re all heart.” Drou fidgeted, coughing into his sleeve, cleary-uneasy with what he was about to say. “Look, this has to stay confidential. I’m not even supposed to be here, but…” “This apartment is soundproofed,” Elbridge told him. “No-one outside will hear a word.” “How charmingly-murdery,” Drou snarked. His eyes slid to the staff in El’s hand. It was...something, alright. Drou couldn’t tell if it was wood or metal - the haft looked kind of like both at the same time - but the silver banding was unmistakable, as were the runes engraved in spirals and whorls along its length. The top was a crown of green-leafed branches, cradling a polyhedron of black, lusterless stone. It looked like something straight from the cover of a pulp fantasy novel, or maybe spray-painted on the side of a van. “...I’m not even gonna ask,” Drou said at last. “Ben Frisk is missing.” That got El’s attention right away. “You’re certain?” he asked, dreading the answer. “I’d heard he was ill during his last scheduled appearance-” “I’m sure,” Drou said, looking ashen. “I heard some things outta Missing Persons. The Captain ain’t telling the rest of us nothing, but…” “But what?” “...but when there’s a case before any kinda report…” Drou looked almost physically-ill at the thought. “...that don’t read like no investigation. It reads like…” “...like a cover-up,” El finished. “You suspect Goldman?” “No poo poo, I suspect Goldman,” Drou snapped. “Half the precinct in his pocket, and the guy he’s running against just takes a powder? Don’t need no fuckin’ shield to explain that. But I don’t need no ‘suspecting’. I need answers.” “You couldn’t take the case yourself?” Elbridge asked. “Not my call,” Drou sighed. “Even if it was, I’m Homicide, not MPU.” “Ah,” Elbridge said, and then registered Drou’s plainclothes dress again. “Congratulations on your promotion, by the by.” “Thanks,” Drou said hollowly, eying El’s staff again. “Congrats on Level 70.” “What?” “...never mind.” “Look, Drou, I can perform a reading, but if there truly is a cover-up, I don’t know how I can...help you…” The coin dropped, and Elbridge grimaced. “...you think that whatever I find might make it your department.” “And if it ain’t, I’ll be relieved,” Drou said, slumping. “But El, I gotta know.” “Alright,” El told him. “I’ll do what I can. First, due diligence.” “El, man, I just told you it’s not my case.” “No, I meant - oh, just follow me.” Elbridge led Drou into the apartment’s bathroom. A certain mirror hung over the sink, its intricate, silver frame and immaculate finish a striking contrast against the cracked tiles and peeling wallpaper. “El, if ‘due diligence’ is slang for taking a dump, I swear to God…” “Mirror, mirror,” Elbridge began. “You serious? We’re doing this now? You keep a magic fuckin’ mirror in the john?” “Mirror, mirror, he insists Who hath come here at no small risk Pierce the veil and clear the mist Reveal to us Benjamin Frisk!” The surface of the mirror clouded, swirled, and cleared again to reveal… ...their reflections. “Okay,” Drou said, looking from behind his sleeve, “for a moment I really did expect some spooky poo poo to happen there.” He lowered his arms, inspecting the mirror. “Actually kinda disappointed now.” “That’s worrisome,” Elbridge said, watching himself frown. “What?” Drou asked. “Too many bad vibes in the air? Jupiter in the wrong house or something?” “No, those shouldn’t be factors here,” Elbridge explained. “As long as the subject is alive and there’s a mirrored surface with line of sight to them, I can observe-” “Wait, you can see through mirrors?” Drou interrupted, alarmed. “Any mirror, anywhere?” “Well...for the most part, yes,” Elbridge admitted. “Well gee, thank you for that,” Drou said sarcastically. “Because I really needed help not sleeping tonight. Wait…’as long as they’re alive’? You don’t mean-” “It’s far too early to say,” Elbridge assured him, ushering Drou out of the bathroom before anything unfortunate could happen to the priceless mirror. “He could simply be out of view from any mirrors.” “El,” Drou said, frantic, “you know what has mirrors? Cameras. You know what’s fuckin’ everywhere these days, I mean you just cannot get away from them? Cameras. If nobody’s even got a phone pointed at him…” “...that does bode ill, yes,” Elbridge said grimly. “Either he’s not being held, or his captors are extremely security-conscious.” “Gotta say, El, neither of those make me feel no better!” “There is another option,” Elbridge told him. “It’s not as precise - depends on interpretation as much as anything - but it’s always helped in the past. Do you have anything of Frisk’s?” “What, like a lock of his hair?” Drou asked. “Oh, that would be ideal!” El exclaimed. “He’s bald,” Drou said flatly. “...bollocks.” “I can’t exactly go rummaging through his personal effects, seeing as he’s not officially missing yet and also it’s not my case.” Drou thought about the request. “What about this?” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a pin. It was a simple, red-white-and-blue design with “Frisk 2012!” printed in boldface under the laminate and repurposed safety pin as the fastener. “Unlikely,” El sighed. “It’s too generic for a proper link. There must be thousands of these around, diluting the connection.” “Frisk was handing ‘em out himself,” Drou said. “Early on, before he had any kinda name recognition. Gave me this in person.” “You think that it might…” Elbridge took a closer look, turning the pin over and inspecting the reverse. He lifted his trifocals, trying to make out the finest details. It was an inexpensive design, but the safety pin suggested that it was handmade. “Yes, this could work. Give me a moment to clear my desk, and we’ll begin.” Drou glanced at the typewriter. “What, you makin’ a new spellbook?” He laughed at his own joke. “Why not get a laptop and save it to the cloud? Store it online, and you can take it with you wherever you go!” Elbridge thought for a moment on the implications of incarnating Taapya in cyberspace, giving the Outsider free access to every last networked computer on the planet, and shuddered. “Please stop giving me ideas.” Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 05:13 on Nov 8, 2018 |
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Nov 8, 2018 05:10
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Defense Against the Dark Arts Scene: Voodoo Shop Once everyone had had their fill of pizza and lemonade (and El had cleaned up the mess left by the shattered ice-pop), Elbridge and Anna folded up the chairs and tables to clear a space on the floor. He took one of the spare plastic tablecloths and laid it over the floorboards, then painted a black, metre-wide circle over the white plastic and drew a pentacle inside. “Right, everyone,” he announced, thumping his staff against the floor for attention. “Last time, we covered basic protective measures: Thresholds, Wards, and shield spells. You all learned how to draw circles and place temporary Wards on a domicile. Those of you with a talent for evocation learned to cast barriers and veils. If anyone would like to demonstrate their progress from last time, please stand over the pentacle.” He cured the paint with a whispered word and produced a tube of yellow foam balls. “Anyone who can deflect three in a row gets a voucher for five dollars off of your next meal at El Gato Negro, courtesy of the gracious Maria.” “Of fifteen dollars or more,” Maria said, grinning. “Drinks not included!” “I’ve been practicing, and I’ve needed an excuse to get out of the house,” said Mrs. Larson, stepping fearlessly into the circle. She was a slim blonde woman with all the markings of a soccer mom, and she’d mostly been quiet so far, but as she held her hands up defensively she looked energized. “Hit me.” Elbridge threw the first one underhand, and it met a burst of air from her palm and bounced out of the circle. “Don’t bankrupt me with kiddie throws, Elbridge,” Maria complained. “I can handle it,” Larson encouraged. “Well, if you insist,” Elbridge said. The remaining two balls levitated from the palm of his hand, hovering in midair for an instant before one of them shot forward with the speed of a decent table-tennis serve. This time her air shield didn’t just blast the ball away, it actually caught it and dropped it at her feet. “Very good!” Elbridge complimented her. “One more and that voucher is yours!” He concentrated, holding the last ball perfectly-still, then fired it off with enough speed for a real challenge. Flushing with the effort, she flipped her hands and called out “Fliss!” and the ball hit the air pocket she’d made, slid along it, and then shot back at Elbridge with the same momentum. It came to a dead stop six inches from his nose; he plucked it from the air and held it up for all to see. “We have a winner!” Elbridge announced. “Superb progress, Mrs. Larson, and a helpful reminder that the best offense can be a good defense.” Jerome managed to melt two balls with his heat shield before the third one bounced off his forehead. Mr. Larson, sadly, barely managed to air blast the first one. (“Guess I have some catching up to do,” he said sheepishly, while his wife dissolved into giggles.) Gorden watched the demonstration with rapt attention. How would he go about doing it? Well, the ball had a starting energy imparted on it by Elbridge, converted to various forms as it travelled. Slowing down the conversion seemed theoretically doable, but could it be done at speed? “Is it okay if we just get out of the way of the balls?” he said aloud. “It won’t hit something valuable, will it?” “They’re foam,” Elbridge reminded him, to general laughter from the group. “And as long as you’re applying yourself, then yes, by all means. It’s far less effort to dodge a potent spell than to cast a shield, but having the option never hurts.” “That’s true,” Gorden said, standing up. “Y’know, I’d like to give it a shot. I just stand here, right?” He walked to the point drawn on the plastic sheet. “Just like that,” Elbridge told him. “Have you ever cast a shield spell before?” “Nope!” Gorden said immediately. “But I’ve got another idea I’d like to try.” “Go right ahead,” Elbridge said, and pitched the first ball. The moment Gorden saw the ball fly off, he knew where it was aimed for and how it would get there. He raised a hand and began to mumble numbers in his head, moving himself aside as he did so… With Za Warudo, the defense roll is @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (-++-)+4 = 4 From Gorden’s perspective, he just saw the ball slow down as he stepped aside. Someone watching outside may have seen something a little more...dramatic. “My,” Elbridge said, adjusting his glasses, “that was certainly something.” His jovial expression had faltered - just for an instant, but from Gorden’s perspective, that instant lasted quite a while. “Let’s see if you can do that again.” He levitated the second ball and shot it at the newcomer - slower than he had with Mrs. Larson, giving Gorden plenty of time to react. Another ball, another dodge, as Gorden focused on the mechanics of the action, the numbers running down in macro levels… @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (b-+-)+4 = 3 A little slower this time on his part. He definitely needed practice doing this on a time crunch. (Elbridge rolls Lore to identify what Gorden’s doing as time magic: +--+ +3 = 3. He spends a FP to invoke “The Grayest Warden”, and with his stunt “The Things I’ve Seen, You Wouldn’t Believe”, that’s six dice, keeping the best four: /--/+/ +3, dropping the -- results in 4. Would have been better off taking the +2 but OH WELL.) It wasn’t teleportation; Elbridge had seen that in action with Danny Skinner, and the motion was too clean, too instantaneous. Nor was it any kind of kineturgy; such magics would have magnified the force of Gorden’s movements and sent drafts from the rapid displacement of air. Elbridge had only seen Gorden’s sort of magic in action a few times before, but each incident had left a lasting impression. Tor’s wracking, agonised spasms, accelerated to eyeblink blurs or slowed to a hideous crawl, had been impossible to miss. “Very good, very good,” Elbridge said. “Now for the real challenge.” He hurled the last ball like a real missile, like an icicle spear through a vampire’s chest. A difficult shot such as this would force Gorden to strain his power to the limit, revealing to Elbridge as much as he could learn. “Er, alright--JEEZ!” This time Elbridge was out for blood! The attack is @Thesaurasaurus: 4dF+6 = (b--b)+6 = 4, rerolled with I know you know to @Thesaurasaurus: 4dF+6 = (++-+)+6 = 8, and adding +2 from In Vino Veritas to +10. Gorden’s defense roll is @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (-+bb)+4 = 4, spending +2 on Scholar who Leapt Through Time to add extra oomph to the slowdown effect, a free invoke on Magic from First Principles by making it a three-body problem, kicking the plastic sheet up to deflect the ball for another +2, +2 from You Can't Scare Me, I'm a TA to readily track all the moving parts, and +2 from Impossible means I Get To Name It because $5 off a decent dinner is a good deal for a grad student. That comes out to +12.) He could have dodged any earlier ball by being on the track team, but this one flew out like crazy! His mumbled numbers gained a heated tenor as he realized that just slowing the ball down wasn’t going to cut it. So instead he decided to make the problem even messier; he stepped off the plastic sheet and kicked it into the trajectory of the ball with a scoop of his foot. That would do it, he was certain! But Elbridge’s control of the projectile hadn’t lapsed. Faced with the deflection, he smiled and guided the ball up the curve of the sheet, banking it like a billiards shot off of the ceiling and back down toward Gorden’s noggin. Gorden hadn’t gotten his B.S. in Physics by being sloppy with the details. He’d heard something weird about the rustle the ball had made on contact with the plastic sheet, and looked up to see the soft “squish” of the ball making contact with the ceiling. With the desperation of a grad student looking for $5 off a full service restaurant dinner, he reached out with his hand to sweep the still-airborne plastic sheet overhead, sending the ball bouncing off the sigil and to the ground in front of him, kinetic energy finally safely expended. For a second it was completely quiet, as the spectators tried to make sense of what had just happened. But as the sheet settled back to the ground, Maria started to clap, and half a beat later Gorden had a full round of applause going. “Well!” Elbridge exclaimed. “I think that our Mr. Maxwell has certainly earned his dinner! Enjoy it in good health!” He took the voucher from Maria and offered it to Gorden, wearing a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Gorden spent a moment staring at where the ball had been, breathing heavy and deep. He'd never tried manipulation like that before, and the feeling in the tips of his fingers had actually faded a bit, and was just now starting to return. Still, he felt a vague sense of pride grow in his chest as he pulled himself up to get his night on the town coupon. “Thanks, Elbridge,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Never did that before--that was kinda fun, actually.” “You seemed the sort to appreciate a challenge,” Elbridge told him. It was as he’d feared - Gorden’s power was narrow in scope, but quite strong. He was prone to experimentation and improvisation, and as yet had no conception of the sheer damage his magic could cause. Elbridge would have to have a talk with him later. He glanced at the logo on the voucher and gave a small sigh of relief - if nothing else, he knew where Gorden would be later tonight.
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Nov 29, 2018 18:20
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Dark Arts and Crafts Scene: Voodoo Shop Elbridge spent a few minutes drawing a new circle on a clean sheet of plastic, then summoned the scattered foam balls with a flick of the wrist (he apologised profusely to Mary for the two that Jerome had melted, and promised to do something about the odour). “Right!” he announced once he’d set up again. “Would anyone else like to try?” His gaze fell meaningfully upon Nicky. “Anyone at all?” Cantor sighed and trudged into the circle like a man on his way to be hanged. “Oh get it over with,” he muttered. “Now, now,” Elbridge chided him. “You need to put conviction behind a proper shield spell. You’ve managed quite well in practise with that training dummy.” “I’ve no problem casting the spell,” he said, snapping the fingers on his right hand. A translucent rectangle about the size of a piece of paper hovered in the air between himself and Elbridge. “But you know that.” “The question, Nicholas, is whether you know that,” Elbridge said, gathering three of the balls and lining up his toss. “When it comes time to put theory into practise. Now, let’s begin.” He threw a slow, underhand pitch, aimed directly at the spot on which Nicky was concentrating. It was a softball in every sense of the word, meant to get Cantor off to a good start. A bead of perspiration ran down Cantor’s forehead as he jerked his hand to the left. The floating rectangle shifted in the same direction. Pock! The ball made a sound similar to an air hockey puck as it bounced off the small but solid force shield. “Nice!” Maria said encouragingly. “But the next one won’t be so easy.” Nicky gave her a sickly glance. “Just stay focused, Cantor,” Elbridge said. “Once more with feeling!” He flung the second ball with a spell, noticeably-slower than he had for Mrs. Larson. Nicky moved both hands this time and the rectangle widened and flew to the right. Pock! But the impact made him flinch, and the shield flickered afterwards. “I know he's anxious and not used to combat,” Marcine muttered to Rick, “but this is just sad.” “You should have seen when he started,” Rick whispered back. “Come on, man, ignore us guys and focus on the ball,” said James, encouragingly. A few other people piped up in support but the more voices Nicky heard the shakier he looked. Two in a row. More than Cantor had ever managed before under any sort of pressure. Promising. “Just one more!” Elbridge said, and launched the final ball. It was right down the center, hard enough that Maria wouldn’t cry foul, while still not nearly as difficult as he’d made anyone else’s final shot. But the weight of expectation was too much. As soon as the ball got close to him something in Cantor just froze up, like a rabbit in front of an oncoming truck. He didn’t move in time, in fact he closed his eyes and didn’t move at all. The ball bounced off his chest harmlessly and rolled back towards El’s shoe. (El throws his last shot: (b+-b)+6 = 6. Nicky defends! (--b+)+3 = 2. Welp.) “Ah! Well, two out of three,” Elbridge said, trying not to let disappointment show in his voice. “Still a marked improvement from before. Thank you, Cantor.” Nicky dispelled his shield and retreated to a chair with a sigh of relief. “A good showing all around,” Elbridge told the group. “Basic defensive magic can save your life when a situation turns dangerous, and the best way to survive a confrontation is to escape it. Run away, find a hiding place, wait for things to settle down - you might save more lives than your own. Fighting back with magic against a human foe is a good way to become a Lawbreaker, intentionally or not.” Mrs. Bigsby approached Elbridge carrying a heavy sewing kit and placed it on the shop’s counter; he nodded to her in thanks and she took a seat again. “As you all know, however, not all conflicts are spontaneous, nor are all of your foes human. There are dangerous things in the dark corners of the world; things that regard you as prey. Not all of them hate you. Most, in fact, hold no particular grudge against you at all.” Elbridge removed his glasses and gave a soft sigh of weariness. “If anything, this makes them more of a danger to you. When a vampire looks at you, they do not see a living, breathing person. They see a loaf of bread. Worse, many creatures of the night are quite skilled at magic in their own rights. They are not constrained by the Laws, and will not hesitate to do dreadful things to your body or mind. The best way to survive their attentions is to be prepared.” He opened Mrs. Bigby’s sewing kit. Inside were a number of blank-faced dolls, hand-crocheted from white or black yarn, nestled in a bedding of soft straw. One of them was not blank, however. It had a little face with glasses, and gray felt for hair, and it was dressed in a miniature Hawaiian shirt and khakis. “Now,” Elbridge said. “Who here would like to curse me?” A number of hands went up showing more than average enthusiasm. But when Anna called out “Dibs!” they let her have it without further argument. “Ms. Beaumont,” Elbridge said, nodding at her. “What have you in store for me today?” “The old ex-boyfriend special my Mama taught me,” Anna said, grinning evilly. “Makes all your hair fall out.” “...wasn’t your father bald?” Elbridge asked, quizzical. “As a cue ball!” Anna laughed. “Just goes to show…” “Then let’s all see Rita Beaumont’s famous ex-boyfriend special,” Elbridge said. He stood back, upright and wary, crossing his arms and waiting. “Well I need a bit of hair from you to aim it,” she said. “You can’t just curse someone willy nilly. Normally I’d ask for a live chicken to make it real potent but I guess we can do with something more… symbolic.” “How about a rubber chicken?” Mary asked. She had a basket full of them with the gag gifts on the counter. Anna grimaced but nodded. “I guess that’ll do.” Elbridge plucked a single hair from his scalp and twisted into a loop before handing it to Anna. “Never, ever do this, by the way,” he told the audience. “Hairs, nail clippings, blood, fingerprints - if it can be used to identify you, it can be used to curse you. If you can, perform cleansing spells daily to break the arcane linkage between yourself and any of your leavings. If you can’t, then simply be very diligent about grooming and cleaning. Don’t put these things in the rubbish. Burn them, if you can.” Anna found a sharpie and ritually murdered the rubber chicken by drawing a thick black line across its throat. The overhead lights flickered and the chicken gave an unearthly squeeeeeeak. For a moment, there was silence. No changes, no indication that the spell had worked. Then all at once, the gray felt peeled away from the Elbridge-doll’s head and drifted sadly to the ground. Elbridge himself tapped his brow and smiled. “No changes to yours truly, as you all can see. Sacrificial effigies!” he proclaimed, holding the yarn doll aloft. “Yarn spun from a lamb’s first wool under a new moon, woven with protective charms and treated with the owner’s blood. Done properly, it will confound a targeted curse and absorb it so that you don’t have to. They’re seldom good for more than a single use, but one can make all the difference between life and death.” “So we’re all supposed to buy extremely specific wool?” Marcine asked. She’d wanted wool yarn for a project once. The price made her change her mind very quickly, and that was mass market. “We can't get Poke dolls from the market for 10 bucks each?” Gorden looked up from his new note sheet on “curses” to look at the Elbridge Sackboy. “Remember that putatively, this is a sewing club,” Elbridge said. “If you need wool, we can hook you up,” Anna confirmed. “It is a limited supply though, please don’t make scarves out of it.” “Scarves are some of the best things to make out of it,” Nicholas disagreed. “A properly enchanted scarf will stop bullets.” He fiddled with the tassels on his own scarf. “Though that does take a lot of maintenance…” “Kinda makes you stand out as a target, too,” observed James, looking up from his own notes. “It d-does?” “It's bit colourful,” he replied, “Might work as camouflage during Mardi Gras, though.” “It’s true,” Elbridge said, tapping his own shirt. “Camouflage is dependent entirely on one’s surroundings. Now! Everyone, please take an effigy and open your sewing kit if you brought one; if not, we have supplies here on the counter. I’ll talk you through the protective charms - Ms. Beaumont, Mr. Cantor, both of you have firsthand experience; would you mind supervising?” Anna started passing dolls out with aplomb. Nicholas, to his credit, was able to answer every question asked about both the sewing and the enchanting, and started to perk up enormously at being asked to do something he was actually good at. Even Mrs. Bigsby complimented him on his stitching.
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Dec 1, 2018 19:32
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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Heart of the Cards Scene: Chateau duSang After calling Elbridge, it was arranged that the reading should take place at the Château. To that end, Ada requisitioned one of the smaller living rooms for more privacy. Warmed by an old-timey heater, the room remained cozy, even in the face of the harsh weather outside and the strong winds making the draped windows rattle. Plush wooden chairs surrounded a small circular table, giving the room an atmosphere not unlike a private booth at an expensive restaurant. There, she and Gorden waited for the others to arrive. “Swanky place,” remarked James as he entered the room - gone was his usual business casual attire, replaced by dirty boots, an old pair of jeans and a battered leather jacket, an outfit that made him look more like a labourer than anything else. “It’s kind of barebones for this house, honestly,” Ada said, raising a hand in greeting. Dressed casually as she was, she looked just a little out of place on the high-backed chair at the top of the table. “Wanted someplace intimate for this.” “Our dorm could use some ‘barebones’ like this,” Gorden murmured in between greetings. “Hello, Ada.” Elbridge announced himself as he entered the room, attended by Roy. “You’ll be happy to hear that I managed not to short out your doorbell this time.” A smile crossed her lips. “That’s progress. You manage to get any sleep last night? Kinda feeling like death over here.” And indeed, the bags underneath her eyes attested to that. “Such as it was,” he replied, his own bags obscured by the rims of his glasses. “Personally, I spent the morning thanking whatever deity would listen for the invention of coffee,” remarked James as he pulled up a chair. “I slept pretty good, oddly enough,” Rick said, appearing in one of the shadier corners of the room and waiting for someone to pull out a seat for him. He gave Alisa a small wave. (Rick spends a FP to fully manifest for the scene. +2 rapport while active.) “What’s that saying?” said James, “You can sleep when you’re dead?” Rick laughed. “Oh I like him, can we keep him?” Ada’s smile broadened to a grin. “Not sure about that. We’ve got two ghosts already, do we have room for a spook?” It was James’ turn to laugh at that one, “I must have missed the sign outside that said ‘duSang School for Gifted Youngsters’.” “It’s nice to know there’s room for me,” Alisa whispered in Ada’s ear from the armrest she was sitting on, at the same time as James spoke. “Thanks, Sis.” At those words, Ada’s expression turned serious. Her hand reflexively tightened around Alisa’s, which to everyone else looked like her grasping at thin air. “Funny you mention that. After the reading’s over, there’s something I need to discuss with you guys. But that comes later. Elbridge, do you need anything before we get started?” “Before? No,” he said. “After, some aspirin wouldn’t go amiss.” “I’ll have a couple packs wheeled in as soon as it’s over,” she promised, tapping lightly at the electric bell resting on the wall beside her. “Ready when you are then.” “Sorry for interrupting your seance last night,” Gorden commented lamely from behind a small stack of tupperware boxes. “We can discuss your understanding of the word ’discreetly’ at another time,” Elbridge said, opening his box of cards and upending it. There was no careful shuffling this time, no meditation or careful spellcraft, but most of the cards fell into a neat stack anyhow, and the ones that spilled out were exactly the cards he’d drawn at the Gato the day before. They were ordered but not tidy; they practically flew into place, and the lights dimmed ominously for a moment. “Ah...yes,” he said softly. “I do think we should discharge this spell’s energies sooner rather than later. So! Card number eight: support from without. Where might we find allies in our endeavours?” Elbridge overturned the card, and there it was. “Seven of staves. That’s...well, it comports with prior information.” “Hold on,” Rick said, raising a hand. “Can we get a quick recap of the rest of it, for Gorden’s sake?” Yes, definitely Gorden’s sake. “...very well,” Elbridge said grudgingly. “We, this motley collection of fools -” he pointed to the Wheel of Fortune “- are trying to make sense of this nonsense, principally the zealots of the Fomor -” he tapped the Hierophant “- who cannot be reasoned with, owing to fundamental ideological differences -” the inverted Two of Swords “- and while Mlle. duSang has her own ideas about how to address this, I have reservations -” the Hermit “- but our common, immediate goal is still to initiate diplomatic proceedings.” Two of Cups. “Nevertheless, Ada’s personal issues threaten to complicate the matter -” the Devil “- but even so, this is a time for action more than planning.” The Chariot. “So far so good,” Rick said. “Seven of staves?” “Stuff is going to get harder, and we’ll just have to stick with it,” Gorden said, head lowered behind the tupperware. “Unless it’s upside down, then it’s saying ‘life’s too hard, so you should flip me around.’” “Mr. Maxwell, that’s…” Elbridge paused, blinking. “...fairly-accurate, actually. It’s a card of stoicism, endurance, and humility; in the eighth draw of the reading, it refers to difficult allies, or powers beyond one’s control.” He gave a meaningful look at Ada. “Powers such as…” Briefly, Ada shot Gorden a look. Then, she nodded, slowly, her face stony and controlled. Too controlled, compared to the casual humor and tiredness from before. Only the soft tinkling of her golden hair tips betrayed the stillness of the motion. “Yeah. I think I know what it’s talking about,” she murmured, drilling holes into the card with her eyes. Midas still hadn’t cashed in the favor he was due. What was he waiting for, anyway…? “In any event, it’s a warning,” Elbridge said. “You seek leverage with others who may not share your principles, but leverage is a tricky thing. It isn’t Strength, so it’s not counseling you to push for dominance, but to hold fast to your own goals. Taken in conjunction with the Chariot, it suggests that you should seek allies, not vassals, and take care that you gain more ground than you lose.” “So I shouldn’t rush in and pick fights, but I shouldn’t just twiddle my thumbs and wait for the perfect opportunity to arrive either. Something like that?” she asked. “Gotta love ambiguous readings,” Gorden sighed. “Try to make friends faster than you do enemies, and accept that they won’t always take direction well,” Elbridge summarised with a stern look at Gorden. A lesson that could just as easily have been directed at himself, now that he thought about it. His cards always gave answers, but they weren’t always answers to the questions that were asked. In the face of adversity, seek help from a higher power - so the card could be read as well. When he looked at the crossed staves just so, they rather resembled the barbules of a feather. Elbridge coughed. “Ninth card. A rogue influence, weal or woe.” He flipped it. “Six of Swords. It could mean discovery or knowledge, but in this specific context…” He frowned. “It can also refer to another sort of progress - from a turbulent state to a calmer one. Or simply…passage.” He didn’t look at Rick when he said it. He looked at anyone and everyone not Rick. “I don’t think this one’s ambiguous at all,” Rick said quietly, focusing on the graven image of an old woman and child in a boat full of swords as it sailed towards calmer seas. I guess I have my answer. “Like… passing on?” asked James, equally as quiet, not really wanting to break the tension. “Not quite that final,” Rick said, wincing. “I’ve been wanting to kinda… take a sabbatical, work on my old thesis.” He gave Elbridge a sideways glance. “Cards seem to think it’s the right idea.” “The pen is mightier than the sword holds true even for you, then?” mused James with a grin. Rick blinked at him and then shook his head, smiling. “James, I’ve known you for about two days and I’m already going to miss you.” James laughed, “You’re stuck with me until my Uncle decides that he’s sick of sailing the Carribbean in a yacht, I’m afraid.” “As long as the Fomor don’t get him first,” Elbridge added, to remind them all of the stakes. “Now, the outcome of these events, should we follow the course laid out by the other nine...” He revealed the final card, and every light in the room went dark. There was a deep, rumbling tremor that shook the chateau to its foundations; dust fell from the ancient rafters, nesting birds took flight, and for an instant, all of the plumbing flowed in reverse. “...The Empress.” Gorden nearly dropped out of his seat under the table before the trembling suddenly stopped “...was that an earthquake?!” he asked no one in particular. Without thinking, Ada leaned forward to place a finger on the card...and only caught herself at the last second. "Is that what it represents? Lots of people coming together?" There was a note of anxiety in her voice that spoke volumes, leaking through the calm facade. Sensing it, Alisa squeezed her hand once again. There was no way the card meant the obvious. ...Or was there? Rick looked at El sharply and gave a single headshake. “...I don’t believe so,” Elbridge said at length. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t even what the average practitioner would read from that card, but El was not an average practitioner. His gift was real, and the cards were a language through which he expressed it, just like his use of Sanskrit for evocation. Languages could layer many different meanings behind a single word, and Elbridge had a rare knack for knowing which meaning went with any particular usage of a given word, even without context. “Ada...this isn’t your card.” “Then whose? And what does it mean?” she said, even more nervous than before. A lot of the pieces beforehand had pointed her way. Why had the reading shifted gears when the time had come to show the destination? “I...don’t know,” Elbridge said, gritting his teeth as though the admission had cost him something. “Someone else. Someone entirely outside of the context as we understand it. It’s a victory for them, for…someone. Not Midas, but neither you.” He steepled his fingers and scowled at the card as if willing it to give a more-satisfactory answer. “Someone we’ve overlooked.” “Ask and you shall receive,” muttered James under his breath - he’d asked about third parties, he just hadn’t expected the answer to be so vague. Musing aloud, he said, “So who stands to gain if both the people here and Midas are distracted, then? “It’s probably not the gators,” Ada murmured, her thoughts skipping from one possibility to the next in the span of instants. “Nothing says they’re planning a move, and I was thinking of getting them involved anyway. Probably not the Fomor either, we’ve got each other in the crosshairs. But then who’s left? Everyone else’s been taken care of. Unless...” And then her eyes widened. “There’s a new player in town we haven’t had much of a chance to look into yet. El, what about Winter?” “I don’t think that any of their Queens are so benevolent as to warrant this card,” Elbridge sighed. “Benevolence didn’t exactly apply to Titania either,” Rick noted. “And the last time the Empress came up…” “Her actions were rooted in a…kind of altruism,” Elbridge said grimly. “Someone who wants the best for others, somehow,” Ada whispered, leaning in to stare the card as if proximity would coax it into giving up its secrets. “Someone who wins if us and the Fomor play into their hands...” She didn’t say anything for a few moments, but then she sat back up, stiff and ramrod straight. “It’s not a supernatural being,” she said, with absolute confidence she wished she didn’t have. “Any of them who care enough are happy with things the way they are. It’s got to be a human. Someone who’s got a different vision of how things should be than us.” “Maybe that’s who’s pulling the strings with this whole Rotana Group thing?” guessed James, “They’ve got money, they’ve got some powerful non-human mage on the payroll, and we still have no idea why they’re involved.” “Or maybe Lancaster and his friends know someone who isn’t the Fomor?” Gorden offered. “He knows at least one other mage; maybe they both work for another person?” “Too many ‘maybe’s for my taste,” Elbridge said, disgruntled. “Well, Ada, you asked me to read the cards. It appears that your answer is that you don’t yet have an answer. Not if you want to achieve your goals.” “Which means everything we talked about before is in doubt now.” She drew in a deep breath. “No path to follow. No way to know if the calls I’m making are wrong or right until we reach the end.” “Not just yours,” Rick said quietly. The boat was waiting, but if he left… The Empress cast a long shadow over all the cards that had come before it.
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Oct 18, 2019 20:04
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As Rick sat back down dejectedly, Ada had to fight hard to keep herself from grinning ear to ear. It’s cute seeing you get mad at Gorden like this, she thought. If you could turn back time, you’d choose to be a happy-go-lucky explorer like him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? “You’re right, Warden,” said James, leaning back in his chair, “For all you’ve told me about Lancaster and Chesterfield, you’ve neglected to mention any motive as to why they’re doing this. It might be that they’re as much victims as anyone else, forced to do the Fomor’s bidding. If you’re going to stop them, send someone into talk first - ideally someone who isn’t going to immediately pick a fight or scare them off with a grey cloak.” “Careful, Mr. Ivarson,” Elbridge warned. “That sounds perilously-close to volunteering.” James looked at each other person at the table in turn, the fact that he'd managed to rule everyone else out due to their attire, their temperament or their lack of corporality dawning on him. With a sigh, he said, "I really need to think more before I propose plans when it comes to you people, don't I?" “It’s always like that for all of us, if it helps any,” Ada said, nodding thoughtfully. “Every time we get together, it’s like a kind of energy circulates through us, leaping from one person to the next faster and faster until it’s like a hurricane. The only thing you can do is hold on and not let go.” “Good point. We need to figure out if anybody else on campus is betraying the trust of their mentees,” Gorden nodded. Before anyone could say anything further, Gorden’s cell phone rang. It was Scotty. "Whoops, that's mine, sorry," Gorden said as he switched on the speaker phone option. "Hi, Scotty, Lancaster's on the move?" “In a manner of speakin’. First off, tha names ya asked me to look into? I was right, all three of them are in performin’ arts. Second off, Lancaster’s not in today. No one’s seen hide nor hair of 'em.” Gorden looked noticeably taken aback at the revelation. "He didn't come in?! Did anybody say he left an excuse about why he wasn't teaching today?" He looked back across the table with a pronounced worried frown. “No idea,” Scotty grumbled. “But one of tha TA’s has all 'is classes. Burtch, ya know 'em?” "TAs know TAs, Scotty. What'd he say?" “Dean’s orders, s’posedly. Sounds like he made more of a fuss than he should have after the break-in an’ all. He won’t be back for a week.” "Out for a week?" Gorden moaned. He wanted to say "he's got lots of time to sell students to the Fomor now," but Scotty wouldn't understand. "He deserves to be fired," he finally said. "Nothing about where he'd be spending his…'sabbatical'?" “Sorry, no. There’s a ‘Gone Fishin’ sign hangin’ on his office door, for whatever tha’s worth.” "He's mocking us," Gorden mouthed to the table as he facepalmed. "...thanks, Scotty. Anything else you know?" He looked at the rest of the table and mouthed "anything I should ask him?" James mimed holding a cellphone to his ear - he would have done checking a pager too, but he wasn’t sure if Gorden even knew what a pager was. Elbridge, for his part, held up three fingers - one for each of the names on the list - and looked to either side. Where are they now? What the heck...oh! “Did Lancaster leave a forwarding number?” said Gorden. “And...those three students...any word from the grapevine where they are?” “No personal number, though there’s a note to leave any messages on his office answerin’ machine. He could maybe check that from home. As for the students I’d imagine they’re in class. I can’t exactly lurk around the performin’ arts buildin’ myself without drawin’ suspicions and I haven’t got anyone over there who owes me a favor.” He sounded apologetic. “Sorry Gorden, do you want me to go look for ‘em anyways? That’s what I called to ask ya.” At “without drawin’ suspicions,” Elbridge started to pantomime, but then gave up and just reached for a pencil and paper. Any other suspicious characters? he wrote. Strange vehicles? “Dang...uh, do we have a choice? Performing Arts…” Gorden stammered, and changed to stalling for time. “And, uh, have you seen anybody on campus who shouldn’t be there? Any odd vans in the parking lot?” Elbridge made a severe, cutting gesture before Gorden could dig Scotty any deeper. DON’T SEND HIM IN, he wrote furiously. “Are you sure?” mouthed Gorden to Elbridge. He pouted before turning back to the phone. “I wish I could say ‘go and check’, but word might get back to Lancaster that you’re snooping around. Just keep your ears open for now,” Gorden sighed. “It’s a college, there’s always weird vans in the parking lot,” Scotty said, somewhat exasperated. “Has whoever’s been feedin’ ya lines been ta one in the last century?” “I mean weirder than usual, not a rock band with an open cooler of booze and weed in the back!” Gorden spat. “Oh, aye, ‘cause that’s what I’m lookin’ out for when you’ve asked me ta find a pack of kidnappers for ya. Rock bands.” Scotty said sarcastically. “And just when were ya plannin’ to show up to stop this supposed crime? It’s almost three already. Get down here or I’m callin’ campus police. Ah shoulda already done it.” Rick gave Gorden a seething glare that said ‘Who the hell is this guy and why does he know so much?’ with a side of ‘Just how many people did you tell?’ Gorden rolled his eyes at the shade with an expression of “at least I’m trying here!” as he turned back to the phone. “I was hoping to stop Lancaster on the way to wherever he was going, but I guess that’s been overtaken by events. You’ve been really helpful, Scott. Sorry for snapping at you, I just... I’ll be down as soon as I can. We still have time to put a stop to this.” “Alright. Call me if ya need me.” The phone clicked. It was at that juncture that Elbridge ceased scribbling, rolled up the paper, and smacked Gorden on the head with it. “OW!” Gorden recoiled. “What was that for?!” “In the future,” Elbridge said, “in addition to magic, you will also be learning tradecraft. ‘Discreet Observation’ means passive observation, not breaking into an office. You will learn to respect, and keep a healthy distance from, things which could very well kill you, and to set priorities.” “Also try not to involve members of the general public who have no idea what kind of danger they’re walking into,” Rick added. “That’s part of good tradecraft,” Elbridge said, adding to the addendum. “Bad tradecraft treats contacts as expendable resources, and is typically the prerogative of agencies with undisclosed budgets and no oversight.” “So all the ones anyone’s actually heard of, then,” observed James. “Nngh...fair enough,” Gorden mumbled. “But it’s too late to fix that now. We need to get down to the university.” “Yes,” Elbridge said, checking the time on his pocketwatch. It was almost three, and with traffic as it was… “Let’s begin our lesson.”
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Oct 18, 2019 20:06
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Discreet; Adjective Scene: Performing Arts Building Elbridge toured the halls of Tulane’s Center for the Performing Arts, taking in the ambience and the culture while wandering ever closer to what was listed as Dr. Katherine Chesterfield’s office. He paid particular attention to anything labeled as Pictish or Celtic - the wards on her home had been old, druidic magic, and he wouldn’t have put it beyond her to weave some spellwork into the exhibits themselves. Because this was the Performing Arts Building, that mostly meant old costumes and stage props on display in the corridors and lobby. There were numerous cabinets built into the walls with exactly the sort of “Class of ‘95” style displays you see in any such building, and a few caught his eye. Not for what was there, but what wasn’t. A missing mask on a mannequin where the sun fading showed one had clearly been, and the prickle on the back of his neck when he looked at the spot for too long, for instance. There were others, too. Irregular but notable, as though… “Odd,” he said during a convenient pause in Gorden’s ‘tour’. “Some of these displays were enchanted...but the magickal elements have been removed.” “So what’s left?” Gorden whispered, not quite understanding. “I don’t get it. If the magic bits are gone, how can you tell they were enchanted, or can you…” he shrugged. “Follow where the magic bits went?” “I can sense the residual energies of the spells, but all of the focal items are gone - visibly-so. No, don’t stare,” Elbridge warned him, keeping up the act as far as he could. “That mannequin was wearing a mask, there are circles in the dust where two awards used to be, and Yorick’s new skull still has the price tag from the costume store.” Now it was more obvious that something had been moved, and Gorden wanted to facepalm, but he had to keep up the act. “Why would she move them?” he asked quietly as he motioned for him to continue down the hall and keep the “tour” going. “Why not leave them here as, like, warning signs? If you could sense them she could set them up to say ‘keep out’.” “She’s afraid. She’s trying to hide.” Elbridge furrowed his brow. “...which means that we’re expected.” “She didn’t seem like the type to be ‘afraid’ of someone like me.” Gorden said. “Do you think she knows you’re a Warden?” “I think she knows that the Wardens have taken an interest in Lancaster’s affairs before, and that any scrutiny might risk our attention.” Elbridge’s expression soured somewhat. “When Miss Quinn contacted him after her rescue, and mentioned our involvement, he hung up and set his own lab afire before skipping town. I’d say that it’s reasonable to suspect that Lancaster might have warned her about us.” “Yeah, I think you mentioned that.” Gorden answered. “Hopefully it’s a good thing that’s she’s scared of you. Maybe she’ll give up or not fight rather than, I dunno, try to trap the three students in Falling Water or something.” “I wish that I could share your optimism,” Elbridge grumbled. “Mr. Maxwell?” said a voice behind the pair of them. When they turned around, they quickly realized that it did not belong to Katherine Chesterfield, but to a girl that, somehow, both of them knew. “And… W-er… Mr. Hardley…? Wow you really did go to the bookshop!” Sharene Leavau grinned ear to ear at Gorden, and then at Elbridge, and then at Gorden again. “What are you doing here? Oh! Is this part of the investigation?!” “If anyone asks, I’m helping an out-of-state relative to decide on a university,” Elbridge said, putting on a thin smile. “Hello again, Miss Laveau. Er…” A distinctly-unpleasant possibility struck him, given Chesterfield’s apparent penchant for flouting the Laws. “Apologies, but I’d very much like to be sure of something. Just one moment.” He narrowed his gaze to shut out as much as possible other than Sharene herself, and then opened his eyes to the world behind the world.
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Oct 27, 2019 23:27
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Everyone’s a Critic Scene: Tulane Auditorium Elbridge and James got to listen to three other students perform before ‘Megan Bakersfield’ was called up. She was a thin blonde girl who looked positively annoyed to be there and by the time she got done spitting her lines out it was clear she was either destined for extra or nothing at all. “Yes, thank you Megan,” said Chesterfield, after the atrocious performance. She didn’t seem particularly interested and the other two teachers were keeping carefully blank faces. Afterwards she turned her head to look out at the audience, scanning slowly through the few faces that were out there. Some parents, a few kids who were there to support a friend… Her eyes lingered on Elbridge as though he didn’t quite fit the profile of who she thought should be there… before sliding off again in dismissal. Surely no one who was trying to hide would sit right up front by the teacher’s table. Surely. Elbridge kept his eyes on his programme leaflet until he pretended to notice Chesterfield’s attention, then gave a thin smile and nodded affably, as if to convey Hello, random stranger who has elected to make eye contact at this awkward moment. In his experience, the best way to seem as if one belonged was to behave as if one absolutely did, and would be astounded to learn otherwise. As an elderly white man, society had made this costume for him, but damned if he didn’t wear it well. Elbridge rolls Deceive with a +2 bonus to appear innocuous (a situational bonus because let’s be real, he was BORN to loiter around campus). --/+ +5 = 4, exactly the difficulty. Chesterfield will remember him for later, but hasn’t made him...yet. James didn’t get so much as a second glance. Amazing intelligence work or just looking exactly like a big dumb jock? You decide. In any case it took a good while before the next name on the list. “Thomas Indra,” called the teacher. A chubby boy with mussed black hair and glasses came out and read his lines. He wasn’t awful, but he wasn’t impressive either. There was something about the way he spoke that said he could do better if he was actually trying. Chesterfield didn’t seem to notice him much, but she didn’t make a note on her paper. Several students later, “April Nguyen” was up. She was a tiny thing, the same height as Ada, wearing a Tulane sweater that was two sizes too big for her and trying not to hide behind her playbook. Her audition was… a disaster. She wasn’t listening to the teachers’ directions, just hammering through her chosen lines as quickly as possible, and it was clear she had a bad case of stage fright even though there wasn’t a real audience. When she’d finished she sighed with relief and looked up with all the innocence of a puppy, but in that moment you could see her heart break as she realized that no one had liked her performance. She rubbed at her eyes and slinked back behind the curtains without another word. “If only she could do that on command,” Chesterfield muttered. But again, she made no notes about April. In fact, Megan, Thomas, and April were the only three NOT to get any movement out of her pen. Curious. It was as if she didn’t want any record that they’d been present at all. The students in the ship-in-a-bottle in the graveyard had said they were there for “extra credit” - was she leaning on the ones who risked failing to do her dirty work? Or, Elbridge wondered, was she simply sacrificing anyone who didn’t make the cut? Warlocks and art professors alike were prone to such astonishing pettiness. None of the trio’s performances had been particularly good, at least in James’ opinion - probably down to nerves, he’d guess. But at least they knew who to watch. And Elbridge’s John Wayne act hadn’t even got him rumbled, which was an added bonus - apparently Chesterfield wasn’t plugged into the local magic community to have heard about the Warden’s eclectic wardrobe. All that was left now was to wait and watch - it was like he’d never left the CIA. ———— Backstage, Megan came back in a huff and sat down on a crate, still furious. April kept looking at her shoes. Tommy stood a little closer to April but didn’t say anything. It was Ada who broke the silence. “So? Did it feel good?” she asked, approaching her with arms crossed, her jaw set in disapproval. “Sure did,” Megan snapped, not backing down an inch. “Then what are you gonna do now that you’ve got it out of your system?” Ada fired back, her tone as cool as Megan’s was hot as she stared her down. “I thought this meant something to you. Why’d you give up at the starting line after all that bitching about how you’re not allowed to change the words?” “gently caress you. You don’t know anything.” Megan said calmly, looking Ada right in the eyes. Two small hands fell on her shoulders, heavy like iron weights, and Ada leaned in until their noses were almost touching, zeroing in on the bridge between Megan’s eyes. “drat right I don’t,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else could hear. ”I don’t know who you are or why you’re here. All I know is you quit, and all that effort you put into trying to get into the play’s gone out the window, like yesterday’s trash, just like that.” Taking one hand off Megan’s shoulder, she snapped her fingers in the distance that separated them both. “Is that how you wanna go out?” “Yeah, maybe it is,” Megan said, turning her head to look past the corner of the curtain at the teachers before giving a nasty smile. “Maybe that’s exactly how I want to go out.” That didn’t make any sense. It was clear Megan didn’t think she was getting a fair shake, but that was no reason for her to want to be chased away like this. Unless… “Why? So Chesterfield will stop putting pressure on you?” she asked on a hunch. “Thomas Indra,” called one of the teachers, and Tommy sighed and stood up. “Good luck!” April said, beaming at him. “Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said, shuffling out onto the stage. “gently caress Chesterfield,” Megan said sullenly. She clearly agreed with Tommy that the game was rigged, but Ada got the impression that she had always played it before. Always at least tried to do her best out there, even if she never got picked. So what was different about today? ...Of course. When the crowd out there had gathered to watch, they hadn't been looking at Megan. Pulling away, Ada sat down on the ground beside the crate and let out an angry huff. "There's no point trying to win against a stacked deck," She murmured, lacing her words with a hint of tiredness and vulnerability she wasn't really feeling. "Even if you do your best, there's always someone better, waiting to snatch away the one prize that you can win. She's not exactly an equal opportunity teach, is she?" “Not like it’ll be any different after school,” Megan said bitterly. “I’d have quit a long time ago but that means she wins.” “Words to live by,” Ada murmured, this time with genuine feeling. That’d been the reason that had driven her to sleep four hours a day for years to make more of her days. Sometimes, it felt like every time she blinked, some monster or other would take an innocent away, never to be seen again. Sighing, she looked up to glance at her. “How’s she tried to get you down? Low marks, insults, no roles?” “Oh she’s ‘professional’ about it,” Megan said, making the quotes with her fingers. “But anyone she doesn’t think has ‘it’? She makes sure they know they shouldn’t be dumb enough to take one of her classes again. Which means dropping your major because there’s no way to avoid her if you want to major in theater.” “What about working the circuit instead to get practical experience?” Ada asked after thinking about it for a moment. “No go?” Megan shrugged as Tommy came back. April met him at the curtain and started heaping praise but Megan shook her head. She lowered her voice. “He’s better than us, but he won’t take a role when she can’t get one. Dumbass.” “Not keen on chasing career over love, huh. He’s probably gonna regret it down the line.” Or maybe he wouldn’t, but as far as Ada was concerned, she’d already made her decision when presented with that choice. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to Megan. “If you could play any part, what would you choose? Not just for this play, I mean for any.” Megan looked down at Ada and grinned. “Mary-fuckin-Poppins. I’ve been singing that song since I was six.” Ada’s eyebrows rose. “No poo poo? I didn’t know your scene was musicals. Mind giving me a demonstration? I know some people who might be interested in that.” The Lily’s closure still loomed large upon its usual crew, but once upon a time, Ginger had distinguished it from all the other dining spots in New Orleans by putting on a show. Maybe diversifying its portfolio might help attract the crowds Maksim and the others needed to raise enough money to win it back. “No I’m not giving you a demonstration! People are auditioning,” Megan gave Ada a glare as if she’d broken some kind of actor’s code. “April Nguyen,” called the teacher. April clutched her book nervously. “R-right. My turn.” “Oh here we go,” Megan muttered, after April was out of earshot. She closed her eyes. “I can’t watch this.” At first, Ada thought she might be exaggerating, but it didn’t take long for the truth to out. As April crashed through her lines, Ada couldn’t help but wince. “She’s gonna need hugs after this trainwreck,” she said, biting her lip as instructions went ignored for the fifth time. “...A lot of them. I didn’t know she couldn’t handle the pressure of being on stage.” Megan sighed. “God, you put her alone with a script and she’s so good, she just can’t get over the audience. Especially when it’s graded. Just gets right into her head. It’s been getting worse the more she tries, too.” “Shut up,” Tommy said. “Just shut up Megan. You’re such a bitch, sometimes.” Megan shut up, guilt painted on her face, as April came back with silent tears on her cheeks. There was an awkward moment where no one said anything, as the next student was called. “W-well it’s over,” April said, putting on a smile as she wiped her eyes again. “At least you’ll do well, right Ada?” Ada’s hand rose up, fingers crossed. “Let’s hope so. I can’t see myself in a speaking role, but anything’s possible.“ It was less false modesty than it was an incomplete truth. Fun as it was to pretend to be a student, this was not meant to last. If the others had managed to set up properly though, maybe she’d be able to end it all with a bang. Before that, though, there was one more thing she needed to do besides looking over the script. Taking off Rick’s case, she placed it against the wall, unlatching it, making sure it was pointed outward so the top would conceal its contents from prying eyes. “Rise and shine, Rick. It’s almost time,” she murmured. “Chesterfield’s targets are right here. Keep an eye on them.” “I have been,” Rick grumbled, appearing next to her as she touched the hilt. “This is a terrible idea, by the way. You’re going to tip our hand.” “Would you rather I duck out and leave everyone talking about how I bailed? People will talk about it, and you know how fast word travels these days,” she pointed out. Rick frowned. “You could make a good excuse and just hang out here with them. If something happens you’re not going to be able to back me up, and people are going to talk a lot more about the magic flying sword than they are about a potential actress with cold feet.” “If anything happens, make a noise. That’ll give me an excuse to come back in. It’s only a few feet, shouldn’t be too much of a risk. And this way, we get to cut Chesterfield off no matter where she goes if she tries to make a run for it.” She squeezed the hilt tightly. “I’ve never missed being there for you. I’m not gonna start now. Trust me.” “Ada! It’s the open call!” April suddenly grabbed her arm. “Hurry!” “Break a leg,” Rick said. It wasn’t an answer, and for a moment Ada felt a twinge of guilt. He was right. It would’ve been easier to stick to the sidelines, make excuses, soak in everyone else’s disappointment. But that’s not what I do, or what I want to do, she thought, as she walked into the light. Not now, not ever. And if it means making things a little harder on myself, so be it.
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Nov 18, 2019 23:23
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A Quick Bit of Catching Up “I FREAKING TOLD YOU!” Nothing was OK. The panicked screams followed by a door slam were all the confirmation Ada needed about that. She leapt into the room, obsidian knife at the ready, only to find Rick floating in midair looking like a child caught trying to sneak his hand into the cookie jar, the sword buried in one of the floor’s wooden planks. It was all she needed to know to get an idea of what had happened. “Lemme guess. They opened the case?” She said, grabbing the sword and yanking it out of the floor forcefully before pulling the case up onto one of the crates. “Yes.” Rick said. He couldn’t exactly deny it. “I tried to… Never mind. What do we do now?” “Go after them,” Ada said, dropping the sword inside the case and slamming the lid shut. “Keep your head down.” Without another word, she ran for the door and stepped into the campus beyond, blinking as the light burnt black spots into her vision. --- As Ada walked off the stage Chesterfield looked at the exiting students. “Did you see Indra or Nguyen leave? I had a potential side role in mind for one of them,” she asked the male teacher. He shrugged. “They’ll be in class on Monday. Did you catch that mouse you saw in the costume closet?” She gave a smug little smile. “Not yet but I should check the traps. See you.” There was some muffled noise from backstage but the heavy curtain blocked almost all of it as Chesterfield gave the room one last scan. Elbridge shuffled out alongside the crowd. Chesterfield was suspicious, on-edge. It wouldn’t do to alert her here and now. Not in public, where bystanders would certainly get caught in the crossfire if a fight should break out. Instead, he felt for the pin under his overcoat and reached out to Gorden. “Audition’s over. Learn anything?” he asked. “She tried to trap me,” Gorden’s answer buzzed from the pin as he began his next observation. “Another Escher trick. But it’s gone now. I can pull out. I think I found her skull and stuff, too.” “Good. Take what you can and go; she mentioned plans to check a ‘mouse-trap’ in the costume closet.” She’d notice the theft, certainly, but with Ada’s debut, genuine subtlety had gone out the window. They could study her work someplace private, with a circle in place to keep her from tracking her props. “There’s no mask, and she mixed the trophies up with a bunch of others. I got a skull and a dreamcatcher that looks like she fell for a tourist trap, but she couldn’t be that stupid, could she?” As Gorden approached the door he saw something hanging from the knob. Another dreamcatcher, with the same odd pattern. “There’s another one on the door...oh! These dreamcatchers might be how she uses her Escher things!” Gorden hissed through the pin. “Aha! If I had one, I might be able to devise a counter-spell!” “She had one in the box, too, but more couldn’t hurt,” Gorden answered as he picked up the second dreamcatcher. ”Not so long as they’re contained properly…” “...Is there something I should know? These things don’t come with hazard labels.” He’d already stuffed it in his coat. “Please hurry,” Elbridge said.
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Nov 19, 2019 01:18
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Civilized People, Part 2 Scene: Borrowed Chemistry Lab “Gladly,” she said. “Narcissus had a courtier, I never learned the name, who was using Tulane as a hunting ground for dance partners. I intervened on a girl’s behalf and struck a deal with him that the girl be required to wear a name tag for the evening which was not to be removed or touched. It would make the girl feel sick at the thought of food or drink and she was convinced her name was Alice for the evening so she couldn’t give that away. She was fine, a little tired from all the dancing of course, and the next year Narcissus approached me again for a new partner. No one’s been harmed in the decade since.” She huffed to herself. “Sending someone who knows of the fae would be considered an act of aggression. They want it to all be a fading memory, and for the girl to have fun. Neither of which would happen if I sent someone who knew enough to be afraid. It also prevents revisits, which would have the potential to be much more dangerous.” “First off, I’d love to see what harm you were mitigating by calling a hit squad right out of Counterstrike on me,” Gorden interrupted. “And second, what you just described...just...does the art department not have to take “Ethics in Experimental Design” classes? You thought lying to a student about the dangers she was facing and giving her something that made her nauseous was the ethical option?!” “If I hadn’t she’d be dead or lost in the Nevernever having been stupid enough to eat faerie food when it was offered, so yes. And you are not a student Mr. Maxwell. You are a burglar. If you want to keep your head on your shoulders don’t attempt to steal from magical folk. Most aren’t as kind as I am. Even he will agree with that.[/i]” She gestured towards Elbridge. “It’s true,” Elbridge said, nodding along and smiling affably. “We are notoriously-unforgiving. So I know that you will all understand that I mean it when I tell you that, should you take issue with the conduct of my apprentice, Deputy Warden Maxwell in the future, you will refer the matter to me for appropriate remedy, or else I will pursue you, not as a Warden, but as a Wizard under right of vendetta.” “Oh, well in that case I would like to report that your apprentice, Deputy Warden Maxwell, is in possession of several magical items he stole from me and I would like them returned immediately.” “Retrieved for inspection under official remit,” Elbridge corrected. “Your security system,” he said, removing the talismans from the salt circle and passing them to her by the string. “And…” he motioned to the skull, but didn’t speak any further. He didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She nodded, not moving to touch the items. “Was this all that was taken?” she asked Gorden. “We know you still have more,” said Gorden with a sigh. “But...yes.” “And did you find anything untoward, dangerous, or contraband?” she looked back to Elbridge. “Not at present,” he said. He’d found a lot more that was untoward and quite-probably dangerous at her home, but she didn’t yet know he’d been there, and he intended to keep it that way. “Hmph. You see? I’m perfectly innocent. If you want to know why I hid them, well, there was a thief on campus so I moved everything to what I hoped was a safe location. They’re only sentimental things…” She ran a hand over the back of the skull. “But that’s why I don’t want to lose them.” (James, Notice: -/+/ +4 = +4. In order to succeed, he invokes on “A Smile in the Shadows” to succeed. FP: 5->4) There was something off about Ms. Chesterfield. Not her attitude, though that was part of it. But the way she moved, the way she interacted with the desk and the table. She hadn’t touched the dreamcatchers when Elbridge offered them to her. And now, her hand wasn’t actually touching the skull. Maybe it was hard keeping an illusion like this going for three people. Maybe she just hadn’t been expecting James, where she’d been prepared to face Elbridge and Gorden. But whatever it was, James was almost certain that Katherine Chesterfield was not and never had been in the lab with them. ...or was she? The dreamcatchers made things disappear, but they needed line of sight. Was Chesterfield here, just not where she appeared to be? It seemed likely she had to be close by. His first thought was to sniff the air - if he’d wanted to deal with someone in a chemistry lab and didn’t care about collateral damage, he’d have accidentally spilled something toxic, or left the gas taps for the burners on until the room was a powder keg - but he couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, and so he had to assume she was up to something else. Grabbing Gorden’s collar even tightly, he dragged the younger man closer, so he could whisper in his ear, “That’s not her, it’s an illusion. She’s somewhere close by, hidden from sight. If we stage a fight, we should be able to move around enough to work out where she is, so take a swing at me.” Gorden swallowed, nodded, and braced his feet against the ground. He suddenly grimaced and started shouting. “Bullshit! Let go of me!” He twisted in James’ grip and swung for his face, in a wide, long arc that was aimed as much for Elbridge’s salt as for James. Elbridge let out a long, exaggerated groan and massaged his temples. “Oh, for the love of...I was just talking about restraint!” It struck him as peculiar - Gorden might show such impulsivity, but James? There was something afoot. He’d play along...for now. James darted away from the blow - it was pretty easy when you knew a swing was coming, after all - but, rather than closing in for the counter, he went against every ounce of training and dodged backwards, stepping back several steps more than he’d have any real reason to, his arms raised in an exaggerated guard. It was all utterly terrible form, and he was sure at least some of his teachers over the years would grimace at the sight, but it let him cover even more space - all the better to help find the cloaked intruder. (James, Athletics: 4dF+5 = +++/ +5 = +8) Gorden’s sleeve swished through the remains of one of El’s salt circles, knocking the crystals flying through the air. They spattered all over the desk El was sitting at. Chesterfield’s eyes went wide, but she remained composed and several crystals ‘bounced’ visibly off her… though they vanished as soon as they hit the desk if one was looking very closely. It was an impressively-responsive illusion, and to sustain it must have required Chesterfield’s full concentration. To combine it with scrying would have been immensely-taxing; it seemed more-likely that she was simply nearby, observing them directly, and if she could react to facial expressions and other, nonverbal cues... “And as for you, Professor, will you be joining us, or do you intend to lurk outside?” She scowled. “I’d prefer to keep at least one layer of brick between myself and your deputies, given their proclivities.” An eyebrow raised in grudging respect. “You have a keen eye for your age.” “And you’ve a fine attention to detail,” Elbridge acknowledged. “Thank you. Were there any other questions? I have a stack of essays waiting for me in dire need of a red pen.” “Not at this time,” Elbridge said, standing from his chair. Gorden looked at Elbridge standing up, realized he wasn’t about to arrest her, and sighed. Then he suddenly looked Chesterfield’s illusion in the eye. “This isn’t over,” he chipped in. “I’ve seen through your lies once already. I’ll do it again.” “Yes, yes, all the required threats and promises.” She waved a hand, unimpressed. “I don’t envy you having to teach that one self-preservation,” she added to Elbridge. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, Warden. It was… interesting to meet you.” “And it will be interesting to meet you,” Elbridge said, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll indulge me for a moment longer: Just what were you planning to do with Indra, Nguyen, and Bakersfield?” She chuckled. “Have a frank discussion with them about switching majors. You did watch the audition, didn’t you?” Elbridge spared a glance at Gorden. “Acting lessons all around, it would seem.” “Some things can’t be taught,” she said, and then she simply wasn’t there anymore.
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Dec 20, 2019 02:56
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Mook-Hunt Scene: New Orleans Police Department, French Quarter “This is a bad idea,” Drou said. “I know,” Elbridge said. “Please tell me there’s a payoff.” “I wish that I could be so certain.” “Can’t you just wait ‘til Monday and go to the OMV?” Drou asked. “I’d still need an official signature,” Elbridge sighed. “And I’d prefer not to wait. You know how these cases go…” “...the longer they run, the less chance the vic’s ever seen alive again. gently caress,” Drou swore. “Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.” He pushed open the old colonial double doors to his place of work, and they stepped inside. It was busy, as these places usually were. People sat in worn plastic chairs waiting to tell their stories to officers behind desks stacked with paperwork. Some of them were handcuffed, all of them looked tired and unhappy to be there. “Since when is Orlando in our district?” One of the uniforms gave Drou an elbow nudge, nodding to El’s eggplant festooned shirt. “Grandpa got lost on his way to the store?” Another laughed. “Naw, naw man, Abel’s Homicide now. Who’d he run over with an expired license?” Drou started to open his mouth, trying to think of something both witty enough to maintain his credibility with his coworkers and convincing enough to avoid suspicion, but Elbridge beat him to it. “Not me!” Elbridge snapped. “That c*** who nearly ran me over! I know they were aiming for me, I have their license information right here-” “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Dursley.” Drou gave him an exasperated look, catching onto the act immediately. “If you’ll just come with me, I can take your complaint and see if they have any priors-” “They’re a bloody menace!” Elbridge said, raising his voice. “You...you believe me, don’t you?” He’d just witnessed a master-class in I-want-to-see-your-manager from Katherine Chesterfield, and did his level best to channel that same energy. “Of course I believe you,” Drou said patronizingly, ushering Elbridge along. He glanced back at his coworkers and mimed holding a phone to his ear before giving an exaggerated shrug. Yeah, he’s a crank, but he drops a lot of good tips. That was enough for most of Drou’s fellow badges to lose interest and go back to their tasks, but one in particular looked at Elbridge as if he recognized him from somewhere else. Abel’s old partner, Officer Carl Parrish, who had shown a bit less courage than might have been desired back when Narcissus’ ripple was inviting supernatural nasties across the boundary between worlds. He opened his mouth as though he might say something and then closed it again, but he watched Elbridge closely as they made their way back to Drou’s new desk. “Who’s Mr. Dursley?” Elbridge asked once the others were out of earshot. “The last man you’d ever call a wizard.” “Hm?” “...never mind. Give me the plate and keep back so you don’t melt my desktop.” Drou took the paper from Elbridge’s hands and headed into his cubicle. Contacts to see how much intel Drou is able (or is that Abel) to glean: /-/- +5 = 3. A terrible roll, but El’s high modifier pulls through. “Well, how ‘bout that?” Drou double-clicked and the office printer whirred to life. He hurried over to pull his documents out of the queue before anyone else started snooping. “Say hello to Tobin Brahms, 22, son of Carl Brahms, 43, and their lovely family of assault, vandalism, drunk-and-disorderlies, and weapons offenses.” He held up the mugshots with a smirk. “Copperheads.” “Copperheads?” “Militia. Real ‘Heritage’ types, if you catch my drift. Led by one Bernard Marchand.” Drou showed him Marchand’s own picture and Elbridge did a brief double-take. He’d seen that face before, somewhere. “Currently missing.” “...’Copperheads’.” Elbridge had to laugh at that. “Oh, I get it now. So that’s what they call themselves on this side of the Veil.” Someone in Cuprionax’s Dragonarmy had a decent sense of wordplay. “Because of the Northern Democrats in 1860, and also their benefactress.” “Their who?” “A dragon. Bloody great serpent, with copper scales.” Elbridge chuckled darkly. A failure like Marchand’s wouldn’t be taken lightly by either Cuprionax or her vampiric allies. “Would you like to know what really happened to Marchand?” “No.” Drou put his hand up for emphasis. “I mean it. No. I don’t wanna have to explain how I know things I got no earthly way of knowing.” “Suit yourself.” Elbridge shrugged. “Do the Brahms have a listed address?” “That they do.” Drou scribbled it down on yellow sticky note. “Here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta clear my search history and burn these sheets so I don’t gotta explain if these guys go missing, too.” He held it up but didn’t hand it over just yet. “You know you owe me for this one, right?” “Noted,” Elbridge said. He was far too accustomed to supernatural politics for a simple ‘yes’ - not when an answer in the affirmative might magically become a binding oath. “Stay safe, Drou.” “Ha.” Drou gave a mirthless chuckle. “‘Safe’. That’s funny. You’re funny.”
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Jan 3, 2020 07:40
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