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My Lover’s Gone Scene: New Orleans Graveyard It was over. They'd all left a long time ago. Now everything was empty. His coffin, her heart, the grey sky in the morning. It all had started to blur together. The only thing that remained in sharp relief was his tombstone and the platitude written on it, mocking them both. Here lies Richter Cole, 1980-2012 He meant something “You son of a bitch...” Ada drew a sharp breath, sucking in air, forcing it down. If she didn’t, she would start crying again, and it felt like she had no more tears left to give him. “I knew, you know? This is why I was afraid of leaving you. I was scared if I did, you’d break. I went away for a week and...and...” She gripped the handle of the sword Elbridge had given her so hard it hurt. It had been broken and reforged so many times that she’d lost count of them. Just like him. But now he’d never be whole again. Her knees were weak. She fell on them, and let the grave’s soil kiss her forehead as she clutched the blade. “I’m sorry, Rick,” she whispered, eyes closed, hoping that her words would reach him. “I’m sorry.” Circe made a disgusted noise behind her. “Your mewling dishonors him. Stand up, and cease taking blame for a warrior’s death.” Something howled inside her, clawing to get out and tear the witch to pieces. Keeping it down took her minutes of lying there, waiting for time to douse its flame. It didn’t make her feel any better, but she didn’t want to let it all out here, in front of him. “Shut up,” she said, eventually, her voice still hard and cold from strangling the beast. “He wasn’t a warrior. This wasn’t the kind of death he deserved.” “Hollow words, and untrue. The token you carry is not the tool of a poet.” She shook her head. “No, he did not deserve this death, but he sought it out nevertheless. It is the natural end when ordinary men challenge the gods.” Why argue with her? Circe wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of this, and Ada was so tired of taking the high road, of being strong and perfect and putting on a brave face. Just for a moment, she wanted to let the pain and anger out, to feel human. “You put all your hopes into an ordinary man that never could’ve saved from you from your curse, then,” she said, quietly, as she got back up and on her feet. “All that you’ve got left these days is grasping at straws. I hope you choke on it,” She looked the witch straight in the eye, her whole body tensed up and ready to leap at her. “Did you come here just to mock me, or do you have enough heart left in you to pay respects?” Circe took a small leather pouch from her pocket. “I am not permitted to slaughter and burn a lamb, as is proper... But I brought ashes.” She dabbed her thumb into the bag and painted a horizontal stripe over her eyes, and two vertical lines down her cheeks. “To remain ordinary was an act of defiance. Many times, he was tempted, turned, and coerced. But no one, not me, my goddess, or even the vampires, found a way to take that away from him. If he did not save me, it was not because he was unable, but because I was unworthy…” She paused, eyes wet with tears. “He would not want me here.” She couldn’t stay angry at her. Not in the face of that. Not when her words hurt because they rang so true. I wished he’d been different too. But I couldn’t take that away from him. Suddenly, Ada wished she could burn to ashes, to scatter over his grave as well. How many times had she told him he was not just a man, but a symbol? How many times had she been refused? And then, that night, when he’d asked her where she’d be in ten years, when he said he didn’t belong where she was going, she’d just pushed him away. All this time, she’d been no different from them. “He...he would’ve wanted you to be here.” It hurt to force the words out, to look at the woman who’d understood that part of him so much better than her. “He couldn’t have hated you if he’d heard this.” She walked over to Circe, and touched her wrist. She didn’t dare say more, ask for more. It was her own way of mourning - and sharing it was her choice. The witch took her wrist and dabbed her thumb into the pouch. She guided Ada’s hand, once across the eyes, and a series of dots down the bridge of her nose. “A first wife’s mask is like her grief, of her own design,” she said, letting go for Ada to paint her own cheeks. The ashes weighed heavily in Ada’s hand as she wondered what to do with them. It seemed wrong to just dab her cheeks on a whim, without a purpose - the mask should reflect the man she’d lost. She looked down towards the ashes, as though to ask them for guidance, and saw the complex pattern of scars that lined up her arms. Yeah. Of course. She looked for the point where the scars faded away, and drew from it, a hooked line that rose up and twisted into a spiral, on both her arms and both sides of her neck. His tattoos. A constant reminder he’d always carried with him. “It’s not my design,” she said, sheepishly. “But it feels right. Like a part of him is still with me.” Circe nodded approvingly. “Would you like me to cut your hair?” “What…?” It didn’t make any sense to ask something like that now, but then she realized it had to be connected somehow. “Is that part of how you mourn a lost love?” she asked. “In my time, it was common… and it’s not so lost a practice, even now. The shearing of one’s hair tells the world you have changed.” Ada looked down, at the sword still in her hands. El had insisted she should have it. “...Yeah. A lot has changed.” She took a deep breath, without so much pain now, and raised it up, offering it to the witch of Aeaea. “You should use it. I can’t think of a better razor for this.” Circe took the blade with a solemn nod, and passed it to her other hand. Then, she grasped Ada’s hand, and guided her to a nearby stone bench. Pressing against her shoulder, the witch nudged her forward a little, patiently, and Ada instinctively bared her neck for her. It was a strange thing - for all her anger towards her earlier, she was not afraid to give her old enemy a blade and a chance to avenge herself upon her. Some things were sacred. The gold-tipped locks tinkled as the flat of the blade rested on her neck. Circe grasped them carefully and pulled them back, stretching them out like the chords of a violin. She turned the sword slightly in her hand. Then, she brought it up towards them. But the blade would not cut. Circe’s brows knit together as she tried a second time, and again, Ada’s red locks refused to part. She tested her thumb on the blade’s edge, and the drop of crimson that appeared was a clear sign that it was as sharp as ever. Swiftly, she circled the bench to stand in front of Ada and presented the sword to her with both hands. “There is strong magic in this, and it is not meant for me,” she whispered, head down. “Circe…?” Confused, Ada leaned forward to grab the blade anyway. It felt at home in her hand - like it wanted to be there. But that wasn’t how Warden swords worked. They didn’t choose their bearers, they were made for them. She would have asked Circe about it, but the witch was gone, vanished or run away so fast it amounted to the same thing. Hesitantly, Ada pulled her own hair back, and pressed the edge against the gathered strands. But when she tried to cut it, nothing happened. She rested the flat against her shoulder. It was warm to the touch, like his hand used to be. She’d been wrong earlier. She still had more tears left to give. “Hey,” the hand on her shoulder gave a little squeeze and his cheek rubbed against hers, warm and scratchy. Rick…? No, it couldn’t, but...she should turn around and look, but Rick...Rick… “Rick…!” She pulled the sword closer to her, into a tight embrace. It could cut as much as it liked. Right now, she couldn’t care less. “Don’t listen to her. I like it long.” Up above, the grey sky was starting to clear. Though the dreary clouds went all the way to the horizon, a little ray of light was shining through.
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Aug 15, 2018 02:08
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And so ends Book 3. Major Milestone for everyone!  Oh... but what about... Epilogue: Good Morning, New Orleans Scene: Another World The fight in the park was brutal and short. Cut off from their multitude of reinforcements by Elbridge’s sacrifice, the Outsiders fled from the enraged faeries and wizards, but found there was nowhere to hide. The tide had turned, and the people of New Orleans, of every kind, were out hunting. Not long after that, there was a horrible earthquake. The ground shook, tilted, and split, and there was widespread flooding, but the buildings held, even as the world turned on its head. The people held on too, and in a few terrifying moments, all was still. Dawn broke over the city of New Orleans. At last, the long night was ended. ----- Leaning against a wall, Old Rupert watched the sun begin to rise, a clarion call of victory. The street around him was piled with the fallen bodies of the remaining Outsiders and their hideous servants. His wounds were many, and his tattered cloak was all but gone, only a stray bloodstained remnant still hanging on. Swinging his rifle down, it’s ammo long since spent, he used it as a crutch to limp down the sunlit street. Each step grew heavier and heavier, the long awaited sunrise unravelling the complex enchantments he had placed so that he could keep fighting. Reaching a stray chair propped against the wall, a single lonely remnant of a once bustling cafe, he sat, the rifle dropping out of numb fingers to the ground. Leaning back, Old Rupert sat and watched the sun finally rise over New Orleans. They had won, and that was all that mattered. ----- The cheer that went up from Maria and the others left behind at the El Gato Negro was pure joy. During the siege most of El’s friends had fallen back there, after the immediate horde in the park had been dealt with. “Operation BLUE SKY!” Drou yelled, waving his empty shotgun in the air like a flag while Mrs. Bellefonte popped the cork on a bottle of champagne that Maria had been hiding just in case. The bartender had also been stockpiling fireworks, and she started shooting them off from the roof of the bar. She wasn’t the only one, either. The whole city was celebrating. “No more resets?” Lucy said, tears in her eyes. “No more resets!” Ed yelled back, bouncing with excitement. He pulled his sister into a tight hug. “We made it, Lu. I told you we would.” “We did,” she said, looking up, where Elbridge had vanished into the darkness. “Thank you,” she whispered. Minsk smiled at the kids and then turned to the exhausted weather wizard. Seth was the only one who wasn’t celebrating. The tornado he’d sent straight through the Outsiders’ defensive line had been the turning point, and he’d saved countless lives, but from the looks of him, none of that mattered. She tossed him a set of car keys, which he caught after a slight fumble. “Blue prius in the back. Go after her, dummy.” “Yeah,” Seth said, grinning tiredly at her. “I think I will.” Once he was gone, she slumped in her chair and pulled a cigarette out of her front pocket. Dirty habit, but what did it matter? She took a deep puff and exhaled it out slowly. “Good luck to you, Stripe, wherever the hell you are.” --- As the party wound down and the Gato Negro exhausted its supplies of alcohol and incendiaries, Abel Drouillard found the festive spirit leaving him, replaced with something darker. Memories were starting to come back in disordered fragments. Names. Faces. People who were supposed to be here today, but weren’t. El was gone, but that one didn’t hurt so much. It had been war. Soldiers fought and soldiers died, and somewhere along the line, El had stopped fighting like he was going to make it. In the end, he went out with style, on his own terms. Not everyone who’d died had been so lucky. No. It was the others that got to Drou. Civilians. Friends. Family...he’d had a family, hadn’t he? If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could see them. He could see the two-bedroom bungalow, and the patchy lawn, and the driveway that was always collapsing somewhere. Sometimes his cruiser was rolling down that driveway. Sometimes there was a little girl, running barefoot across the lawn to give him a hug as he stepped out of the car. Sometimes there was a woman on the porch, crossing her arms and pursing her lips at Drou for coming home late, again, and he wanted to tell her that work had been crazy, that she wouldn’t believe the things he’d seen, except that she really wouldn’t believe him because who could? They were there like...cobwebs in his brain. Like unfinished composites from the sketch artist. Not pictures, not yet, but they were getting there. The color of her eyes. The mud all over her bare feet. The crinkle of her hair. If he could just remember the rest, the sketches could be finished and he’d know who he was looking for. Or maybe he could check for an address. The house was still a little blurry in his mind, but he thought he could see a ‘5’ painted over the lintel. Address started with a 5, only left, what, 10,000 places to check in this zip code? His hand was wet, but he hadn’t spilled his drink. He hadn’t even touched his drink. Drou was crying, sitting in the booth at the back where he’d always sat with El before getting dragged into Some Bullshit, and he didn’t know why, because they’d won, hadn’t they? The sky was back! The sun was back! That whole loving nightmare was over! ...why couldn’t he remember their names? --- Bellworth followed her squad into the ruins of the New Orleans suburbs. Leading was out of the question, as long as she couldn’t speak. No one was fresh. After the angel was forced to abandon the gateway it had been up to the council to defend it, and they had done so at the cost of many lives. But that was over and done with. When the barrier finally shattered with the first rays of dawn, it revealed streets littered with corpse after nonsensical corpse. Outsiders, forced into reality, and poisoned by it. There would be stragglers to deal with still, creatures strong enough to hold together even in a world where physics mattered, but relief took priority. After six long years, help had finally come. She wondered how many people had survived, and if Hadley was among them. Had the strangers from another world gone home? Where was everyone? The suburbs were a no-mans land, empty of life. At some point she realized she could hear music, and then cheers. Hundreds, thousands of people, standing on their porches and front lawns, weeping at the sight of the sun. They greeted the wizards, and the trucks full of supplies they’d brought with them, with all the joy and hunger of a city under a long siege, finally broken. Laura found herself smiling back at them as she handed out blankets. It was going to be a busy day. --- Marcine stared across her little corner of the city and wondered if shadows and light had always been that sharp. Windows below her opened and she heard a babble of voices from throughout the apartments, sensed people crossing her wards. The area that had collapsed just before the fight was...empty. There might have been bodies lying around. She didn’t feel like checking just yet. “They actually loving did it.” <We did the hard part,> Shamsiel said smugly. <The world is rightly ours now. Where should we go first?> She sat down on the edge of the roof and spread her wings. She hadn’t felt the sun on them yet. Shamsiel’s real goals were still a mystery to her. Recreate Angel Tower on a larger scale, maybe. There was probably a downside to that, but she didn’t want to think about it with her dark feathers soaking in the warmth. Or how she was a lawbreaker too many times to count, or how the Council was coming, or how she could manage to live on the run… She heard a car engine going way too fast before it pulled into the parking lot. Her father got out and stared up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. He’d felt like he had nothing else in the world to care about when she’d found him. But he was with the Council. She was a lawbreaker. He’d tried to make her come with him, or go with her, and all that lurked down that road was death for one or both of them, as far as she understood the Council’s rules. <It doesn’t matter,> she finally answered, as she stood and launched herself into the air, away from her father and the city and the consequences waiting for her.
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Aug 15, 2018 02:19
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Before Book Four begins in earnest, an offer to any readers: With Hugues retiring, I am short a player and looking to recruit. Send me a PM if you're interested, or join us on Discord HERE. I'd prefer people who know FATE, but the group is really friendly to new people, so don't let that stop you if you've been following us this far. Frequent posters please apply! While the theme of the game is magical lawbreakers, we've moved a bit past that and you can decide not to be a wizard-type if you'd like, (though I will not be accepting red/black court vampires or other totally evil backgrounds.) Changelings, shapeshifters, wizards/adepts, or scions are all fine. White Court is a maybe if you can pitch it and it's not creepy. We try to stay "canon-lite", as in, this could probably all be going on while Harry Dresden sits on his couch in Chicago, so we don't refer to canon-characters outside of ones that could show up anywhere like the Fae Queens or the Knights, and keep their roles minimal if we do use them. This game has been going for five years, and completed three full campaigns. We're gonna keep playing for at least a fourth, probably more. I look forward to hearing from you. 
mistaya fucked around with this message at 13:33 on Sep 9, 2018 |
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Sep 9, 2018 03:08
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Interlude - Introduction For a very few people, June 20th, 2012 was a night they could never forget. But for most, it was just a night like any other. And once time was restored, it continued to pass as it always had. Over the next few months, a lot happened. Some of it was important, and some wasn't, and some just looked unimportant at the time and was really very important indeed. So let's take a look at the end of that summer and early fall, and see what a few old friends, and new faces, were up to...
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Oct 2, 2018 07:10
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Interlude - Office Hours Gorden Maxwell's backstory and lawbreak incident The only thing marking Gorden’s allocated office from any other student workroom in the building was a perfunctory “Mr. Gorden Maxwell, Student Teacher, Physics Department” printed out on plain white paper and tacky glued to the door--and it showed. The World War 2 era desk and industrial metal bookshelves were far too large for the small space, and Gorden regularly had to sidle in on tiptoe to get to his creaky office chair. Still, the messy desk, hopelessly obsolete computer (Windows 95? COME ON.), and misfiled book collection, with a treatise on Aleister Crowley’s methods of madness sandwiched between a “Handbook of Physics Constants” and a large, green hardcover simply labelled “Bohr”, lent an almost homey air to the small space. “Mad Science Chic”, he had told one undergrad who had asked why his office looked like it hadn’t been cleaned up since the last hurricane. It wasn’t like the mess made him misplace the last class’ practical lab write-ups, anyways, and he was bent over and marking up the sheets of graph paper with a red pencil when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he announced. “Mr Maxwell?” A slim black girl with round glasses and a worried look on her face poked her head into the room. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, stepping over the stacks of folders and papers with the care you might give to a live minefield. “Hey, Sharene!” Gorden nodded and smiled in welcome. Suddenly noticing, he flipped the stack of lab write-ups over and reached over the desk to move a handful of binders out of the other chair in the room. He motioned to the now-empty chair and tightened his lips in concern. “You alright? You look like something’s bothering you.” “I’m alright, yeah. It’s someone else that’s the trouble…” She hugged her purse in her lap and her eyes flicked between the books on his desk. The Crowley book caught her attention for more than a minute. “Um, maybe this is a crazy thing to ask, but here goes: Are you a wizard, Mr. Maxwell?” Gorden’s eyebrows went straight up at the question. poo poo, he hadn’t told anybody about that! Not since his last attempt at experimental confirmation went...so...he blinked to clear the vision. His still numb left hand, hidden under his right, tapped quietly on the desk, unconsciously alternating a small, nearly invisible piece of the paper monthly planner under his knuckle between pristine white and acid-eaten yellow. “...I’m guessing that’s not an early Halloween costume question. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, and we’ll see if I can’t help you out, wizard or not.” Sharene sighed. “It’s my friend, Amanda. She’s in the art courses so you probably don’t know her, but this summer she got assigned some extra credit and… lets just say it wasn’t normal. She not the only one, either. I’ve been hearing stories. Someone’s using the Tulane students to do their dirty work. I think…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I think it might be one of the staff.” No time to not be surprised yet, Gorden. He scratched the back of his neck, doing his best to keep his expression open and supportive. “That’s...wow, that’s a serious allegation.” He closed his eyes again, leaning forward to think, and lower his voice. Somehow he figured Sharene might appreciate it. “Has anyone been injured? Does campus security know about this? What kind of stories have you been hearing?” She shook her head vigorously. “Campus security won’t believe any of it. And as far as I know no one’s been hurt yet, but a grad student dropped out over it last semester… Mandy said she was just scared and tired, but she got rescued in the middle of it by the magic cops.” The magic cops? Everything Sharene was saying wasn’t making any sense at all...but clearly she believed it, and so did at least one other student. There’d be a record of a grad student leaving without completing a degree program--that was something he could follow up on, magic cops or no. “Alright, I understand so far. But why come to me about this? Why not one of the tenured professors, or even one of the deans?” “Because I thought you might believe me.” Sharene picked up a book that featured a brightly painted voodoo priest on the cover. “My mama runs a tourist trap that sells all this junk, and no one who picks up Caribbean Spiritualism and Ritual actually cares about the history of local religions. Especially no one in the physics department.” She sighed heavily and then rushed through the rest of her story. “Mandy said she picked up a ship in a bottle, got sucked inside by magic, and was forced to carve faces on candles for a ghost pirate. Try telling that to the dean.” “Dr. Etienam is a respected and diligent ethnographer, and--” Gorden started, before stopping and sighing. “You’re right, I...I’m sorry for yelling.” He still wasn’t sure about the story--ship in a bottle with a ghost pirate? What was this, Spongebob Squarepants?!--but the least he could do was believe her and do due diligence. “I’ll...I’ll do what I can. For your sake, and for Mandy’s and anyone else’s.” He took another deep breath. “If someone dropped out over this, it must be at least worth looking into. I can go to the dean of students’ offices and check their records, but do you know this person?” Sharene shook her head. “I heard it was a girl from the biology department.” Gorden nodded. “At least that’s a reduction from ‘all the grad students’. Thanks, Sharene. I’ll look into her as soon as I can. You know how to get in touch with me if you need to. Is there anything else?” “I don’t think whoever’s doing this is going to like getting caught,” she said, seriously. “Be careful, okay?” “Well, maybe they should have thought of that before they started harassing the student body,” he answered with a determined smile. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry.” Sharene smiled at him and made her way just as carefully back towards the door. “You know,” she said, hand on the knob. “Mama sells the real stuff too, if you’re interested in more than just history books.” “I’ll...keep that in mind.” Gorden answered, keeping the skepticism out of his voice. “Take care of yourself.” (Contacts to try to locate the grad student dropout: @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+4 = (+-b-)+4 = 3, invoking "You Can't Scare Me, I'm a TA" to tie.) Davin Valkri fucked around with this message at 06:21 on Oct 16, 2018 |
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Oct 3, 2018 03:00
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Interlude - Lonely Places Home. Finally. Resting against her bedroom door, Ada was content to keep her eyes closed for a little while. She’d been up since sunrise, chasing the trail left in her shirt pocket by Ginger’s receipt. She’d waded through the ruins of the past for hours, straining her eyes over microfilm copies of yellowed newspapers before she’d found a real lead. After spending the whole day surrounded by dusty bookshelves and forgotten pieces of history, it was comforting to have something familiar to go back to. Slowly, her worries slipped away, allowing her to relax. When she opened her eyes, she saw him there, resting on the bed. Seline had made sure to follow her instructions and brought the sword back to the bedroom by sundown. “Hey,” she said, dropping down beside him. “How’d the construction efforts go today?” “Pretty good!” He puffed out his chest. “I finally got the house stable, it doesn’t fall apart when I leave anymore.” “Guess all that practice finally paid off.” She struggled with her jeans for a moment, then threw them on a nearby chair after the buttons came undone. “You know, it’s kinda crazy how fast you learned. Alisa said you couldn’t even hold the four walls up at the same time two weeks ago.” “Two weeks ago I didn’t have the strength to hold a demesne together.” He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I’m still not back to who I was… But I’m getting closer.” Ada didn’t say anything. She just nodded, absently stroking the flat of the blade with one hand as she looked around. He was gone, but in a lot of ways, he was still here. His clothes peeking out of the half turned wardrobe door. The dog-eared copy of Call of the Wild that he’d been rereading, sitting on the nightstand. That little bottle of Dove hair gel he always took so much time with early in the mornings on the desk near the bathroom door. And suddenly, Ada didn’t feel like it was her room anymore. Silently, she killed the lights and laid down in the dark next to him, wondering how to say something that had been a long time coming. "Hey, Rick?” she called out, quietly. “Remember when you asked me where I'd be in ten years?" "Yeah?" "I found the answer. Still here, in this town, but I'm not gonna be a bit player anymore. I'm taking over, and you can't come with me." "...What's that supposed to mean?" She took a deep breath. There was no way out of this mess but through. "I mean we can't keep going on like this. The things I want, they're not what you're looking for. It's not something I can give. I can't just settle down and live a quiet life and be happy with the little things, that's not what I'm meant for." She hesitated, then rushed the rest out. "...I can't be with someone who won't keep up with me, Rick. I'm sorry." He didn’t answer. The silence stretched for one minute, then two, then five. Ada closed her eyes. This was always going to happen. Every time Rick came up against something that hurt him, he shut down. She thought about just going to sleep then and there. I don’t want to play therapist. Not now. But she couldn’t leave him this way. "This is why I have to go,” she said, her voice so low it was almost inaudible. “I don't want you to go to pieces over losing me or anybody.” There was still no response. “I want...I just...I can't drag you along with me. A lover can't just be a tagalong, you know?" He finally faced her, the hurt in his eyes as sharp as steel. "Was that all I was?" She shook her head. "No. But it's all you'd be if we stayed together. Can you imagine choosing who lives or dies every day? Fighting to expand your turf, instead of just holding ground?" He stared up at the ceiling, his voice simmering. "You aren't even willing to let me try." "Is this something you would've chosen to do for yourself?” She rested her hand near the tip of the blade, over his wrist, and looked at his cheek. “Be honest with me." Rick yanked his hand away, closing it into a fist. "When's the last time I got to choose to do anything?” he demanded bitterly. “Everyone else is busy making those choices for me. Since when does what I want actually matter?" He sat up, cross-legged, and glared at her. "Love is about compromise, Ada. It means we do our best to get what we both want, together. It doesn't mean you decide what you want and then tell me I can't be part of it because you're better than me." She pulled herself up too, resting her weight on her hands on the bed. "You see a way to bring what you want and what I want together? Because I had a lot of time to think about it, and I couldn't find it.” Her fists clenched, grabbing the covers. “And I tried, Rick. God knows I did." "What's the point of trying to come up with one now? You already decided you want this more than you want me.” He shoved a finger in her face. “You think I didn't notice that you were weighing the scales?" Ada knew she had to say something, but she couldn’t. Her mind kept going back to the night he’d given her the candle, and the things he’d said. She’d known he’d shut down because she knew him. Now, she realized he knew her too. "Yeah,” she said eventually, meeting his eyes and nodding. “You were the one who told me the places where I wanted to be were lonely places. I didn't want to hear it then, but you were right. I couldn't have made this call if you hadn't shown me what finding my place would really cost." There was another pause, this one shorter, but deeper all the same. "Rick, it's not because I hate you,” she said, and for the first time in months, he heard a hint of desperation in Ada’s voice. “I want you to be happy too, not just dangling from my strings." "Where am I supposed to go?!” he shouted miserably. “It's your belt or someone else's." She looked away. "...I don't know.” Her hand hesitantly went to his shoulder, to the hilt of the blade. “You've got to find your own place now too, don't you?" "Easy to say when you have legs.” He leaned into her touch, shaking. “I can't even leave here on my own." Quietly, Ada brought the sword up to her chest. Her other arm wrapped around it, not afraid of being cut as she clutched it tightly, lying back down against the bed. "I was going to tell you after I came back and everything was over,” she whispered. “You deserved to know. If I'd kept it from you just because you were like this, you would've noticed." He sighed heavily and curled up alongside her, one hand on her chest where the sword lay, their faces almost touching. "I knew it was just a dream,” he whispered back. “Guys like me don't get to keep girls like you. Everyone knows that. I just wanted to stay asleep as long as I could." He buried his face in her shoulder, so she wouldn’t see his tears. "Just... drop me off at El's. Or have him come here. Whatever's easier." He had no flesh to squeeze, but she did so anyway. "Yeah. I'll take you to him. But...Rick?" “Hm?” "Do you want to stay like this for a few more minutes?" "...Yeah." Transient People fucked around with this message at 05:14 on Oct 26, 2018 |
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Oct 3, 2018 03:13
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Interlude - Faith in Mind Joey was sitting up in his bed, staring at the far wall, when Marcine entered his room at the hospice. He’d never fully been a vegetable; his body still remembered some basic functions on reflex, like eating, when a nurse prompted him. But he didn’t talk, or look in the direction of people near him, or show any shred of awareness beyond food being stuck in his mouth. It hurt to see him again. She’d visited after it happened. She’d tried to talk to him. Sang a little. But she hadn’t felt any empathic stirring. She’d tried the barest touch to find him, but all she sensed was the damage she’d already caused and she didn't dare risk making it worse. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a person in there anymore. So she hadn’t come back since. Only the possibility in Zophiel’s words brought her now. There was a TV for visitors, but it was off. His family visited at least once a week, she'd learned, but this hadn't been one of those days. She was glad of that. Facing them again would just be another obstacle to push herself through. “Hey, Joey,” she said. No response, still. Not a stir in her empathic awareness. She sat down in the chair beside his bed. “I know it’s been a long time. Sorry. I don’t have a good excuse. Just...cowardice.” She opened her purse and pulled out a bracelet of twine and small gemstones, each one a different color, carefully drilled through to fit on the string. She’d been into healing stones as a teenager, and she still had a collection. The symbolic link might help him. And if that didn’t, maybe the small healing cantrips she’d placed on them to enhance their purported effects would. “I made you something. Ten stones for symmetry.” She set it on his lap and gently moved his hand over each stone as she explained them. The nurse had said it was okay; they hoped physical stimulation might help. “Apatite for clear thought and focus. Bloodstone, quartz and hematite for mental balance and clarity. Dumortierite for...self-actualization. Prehnite to feel whole, and find friendships...and turquoise.” Which, when given by a loving friend, was supposed to protect from negative energy and bring good fortune. She’d only sort of known him. Maybe it was the thought that counted. “Red tiger-eye for physical vitality and willpower. Picture agate to counter apathy. And snowflake obsidian, to draw hidden imbalances to the surface and release them.” Perhaps the most symbolically important for this. She left it on his lap, and his hand resting on it. She still didn’t feel anything. Zophiel said she should be able to tell if there was nothing there, but...would she? She doubted there was. But she couldn’t doubt. He wouldn’t heal if she didn’t believe it. This must be what faith felt like. She glanced at the wall clock, by far the loudest thing in the room. If that was all he had to listen to, she wouldn’t blame him not wanting to pay attention to it. She took a breath. For the next part of her plan, she moved around the bed until she could make eye contact. Nothing happened. Not so much as a soulgaze tug. His eyes remained as blank as always. She sighed. Too much to hope it’d be that easy. Last shot to be certain. She’d painstakingly refined an empathic spell until there were no traces of her own worries to interfere with its function; it'd be useless if it only picked up on her own stress. It was simple in concept: An impulse that would seek out an emotional response, any emotional response, and echo it back to her. Sort of like empathic sonar. Thoughts were specific and needed a conscious prompt; feelings just happened, regardless of if they made sense. If he was still there, she should feel something, however vague, from that base part of the mind that emotion came from, even if it was blocked. She laid her hand over his and softly sang the spell's trigger. It was light and pleasant, uplifting, and cautiously hopeful. She still didn’t know how to pray, but there was a plea behind the words: If he was here, if Zophiel was right, let her know this wasn’t a lost cause. (CA with Empathy: (+-+-)+5 = 5, to place the scene aspect “Friendship Bracelet.” Overcome with Mentalism vs diff 8: (--b+)+3 = 2. She tags “Friendship Bracelet,” and invokes “Zophiel’s Top Agent” and “Compassion in C Major” for 2 FP to tie.) She felt nothing. A nothing so deep, so pervasive, that it swallowed her whole. She was blind, deaf, without touch, or scent, or taste. Her mind utterly alone with itself, drifting in a state of timeless consciousness and unconsciousness. How long had she been like this? Hours? Minutes? Seconds? ...decades? Panic welled up inside her until she started screaming. But was she? She couldn’t hear her voice or feel her throat. Her body was unreachable. Severed. She’d been severed from the inside. Did anyone know? Was anyone out there? Could anyone help her? Anyone? “Ms. Sterling! Are you alright? Marcine!” The orderly was shaking her. She gasped as the room suddenly existed again. She dragged herself away from the nurse and shoved open a window. Sunlight and fresh air had never felt so good. She took the moment to just focus on breathing, and come up with a plausible excuse. “Sorry,” she managed after a moment. Her throat was raw. “I think...panic attack. Thinking about, if he is still aware, like...like in some movies and stuff…” With the practised motions of a professional, Beverley (according to her nametag) shined a pen light in both of Joey’s eyes. They barely dilated. She sighed and shook her head. “If he was aware we’d have seen it on the scanners, dear. Movies are only movies. Maybe you should get some water and--” She stopped talking abruptly. Marcine watched as a single tear ran down Joey’s cheek. “Must’ve had the light too bright,” Beverley muttered. “Pay it no mind, dear. Automatic responses... It’s just a reflex.” Marcine dropped her head onto her arms. Her skin felt like it was on fire. It had actually worked. He was still there. Part of her wanted to go straight back to try to help, but the sensible part of her knew full well that without a better understanding or a plan, she might just end up screaming again. She straightened and turned back to the orderly. “I didn’t think that’d affect me so bad. Sorry…” Better to play up the anxiety angle than to try to come up with any other excuse. “I’ll have to prepare myself more next time I visit.” She laughed nervously, for good measure. “I should probably go… I’ll leave that bracelet, if that’s all right.” Beverly patted his hand, which hadn't moved from the bracelet. “Of course, we’ll put it with his other things.” Back in her car, she slumped against the window. To be alone, trapped like that… It was a blessing that he didn’t have a sense of time. But how to reach him? It seemed like it should be possible, but contacting him mentally without first figuring out a way to bring him back to his senses also seemed like a bad idea. If she even could without getting overwhelmed. Time to go back home to the city and have a talk with Elbridge.
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Oct 3, 2018 03:31
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Interlude - Digging Up The Past 988 Tremele Drive was a small, yellow-sided, single story home on a raised concrete block. There were lace curtains in the windows and it was better cared for than most of the other homes on the street, but that wasn’t saying much. The doorbell didn’t work when Ada pressed it, but she could hear a TV on inside. Frowning, she started knocking on it harder, then banging on the door when no one came. She didn’t let it go to her face, but she was nervous. She’d left Ginger’s side after spending very little time with her, but even that had been enough to tell she was a woman worth respecting. But she’d died years ago, along with Irving and the others. The only one whose line had survived to the present day had been Leo’s. It was a longshot, but maybe, just maybe his descendants had managed to keep some memory of her alive through the years. If they hadn’t, then the only thing she’d be able to do reconnect with her would be placing a bouquet at Ginger’s grave next time she visited the graveyard. The young woman who answered the door was about Ada’s age, with Leo’s dirty blonde hair and piercing eyes. She looked Ada up and down, clearly annoyed that her TV time was being interrupted. “Listen, ma’am. I’m flat broke and I already found Jesus, are we done here?” “That’s not what I’m here for,” Ada said, shaking her head. “Miss Jessica Fischer, right? Great granddaughter of Mister Leo Fischer?” “Who’s askin’?” “My name’s Ada. Ada duSang. I’m looking for information on Ginger Châtelaine. She was the one who raised your great-grandfather, and an inspiration for me. Did he ever share any stories of her with you?” Jessica looked incredulous. “Lady, my great-grandpa was dead way before I was born. How’d you even hear about him?” “My own family goes way back too. They used to visit Gin...I mean, Miss Châtelaine’s speakeasy, the Gilded Lily, back in the 20s and 30s. I learned about her, how she kept such a tough crowd in line, and I always wanted to know more.” It was technically true, even though the two statements didn’t really connect with one another. “I’ve been looking into old newspapers, she showed up a lot in them. It said Mr. Fischer was her protègé, but they didn’t say what happened to her. So I figured I might as well come here and ask. I know it’s kind of silly, but I don’t really have anywhere else to look. Can you help me out?” ((Jessica is suspicious, for good reason - so this is a Rapport roll. -/+- makes +4, which isn’t enough, so Ada raises with Life is a Fairy Tale to make an impassioned plea. It’s enough...for a tie.)) Jessica smirked. She didn’t seem to completely buy Ada’s pitch, but she wanted to know more. “Well, I guess you’re probably not a cop. Come in, we’ll talk.” Inside the house was cozy and a little warm. A plastic baggie on the wooden table in front of the couch made it clear why she wasn’t a fan of the police. She picked up the still lit blunt from the ashtray on the table and flopped onto the couch, pulling her legs up under her. The couch was threadbare and didn’t match the equally worn chair next to it. The carpet was a shaggy orange straight out of 1965, as was the wood paneling on the walls. But there was a lot of care put into the old place. It didn’t look shabby, despite its age. It did reek of weed though. “Medical condition?” Ada asked curiously, her nose scrunching at the smell of burnt grass instinctively. “Anxiety. Got a problem with it?” “Nah. Done worse. Ain’t got room to judge.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back on the couch, keeping her eyes on the bridge of Jessica’s nose. “I’m serious about trying to learn more about the Lily and its people. There anything I can do to prove it to you?” ((Ada’s going to try to understand why Jessica is trying so hard to appear casual. She gets a yucky +3 with Empathy, because Sidekick...and since there’s no applicable Aspects to invoke, we’re leaving it like that.)) “If I didn’t believe you I wouldn’t have let you in my house,” Jessica said, shrugging. “But before we get started, how much are you gonna pony up for the info?” “Depends on how good it is. I’m hoping to learn a thing or two from it on how Miss Châtelaine used to run things - maybe get a little bit of closure on some old history too.” She’d left the past New Orleans in a hurry, after all. It had barely been a week before her departure. “If you were looking for the same things I am, what could you do with it?” Jessica laughed. It didn’t sound very nice. “Closure. Right. And this has nothing to do with the theater getting auctioned off next month. Got any bridges to sell me while you’re at it?” It took a second for the words to sink in. “Wait, what? The Lily’s up for sale?” “You didn’t know?” She raised her eyebrow at Ada. “Figured you were like the last two vultures looking to pick through my family’s bones. The place is enough of an eyesore that the primary bidder is trying to get it torn down - he just wants the land. Bunch of the indie groups still using it as a venue are trying to put together a bid to save it but they don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.” “Eyesore my rear end. I saw- I mean, my family’s got a couple photos of what the place looked like in its prime.” Ada only barely caught herself before letting the truth out. “Whoever’s bidding on it doesn’t have a clue what they’ve got in their hands. That place popped back then. It still can do it again if given a chance.” This changed things. The Lily was a piece of the city’s history - and now, of her history as well. Her personal fund didn’t stretch so far that she could just buy prime real estate out, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do something about it. And that made getting her hands on whatever Jessica had all the more important. Leaning forward, Ada clasped her hands on her lap, thinking. She didn’t want to make an offer that sounded too good to be true, but she didn’t want to come up short either better to go high than go low in times like these. “...Alright,” she said, looking up. “Five hundred to take a peek. Five grand if I buy this off you. How’s that sound?” Jessica didn’t jump on it right away, but gave a firm nod. “Cash only. Same as the other two.” In response, Ada took out a sleek black leather wallet from one of her pants’ pockets and withdrew the Benjamins, presenting them to Jessica without another word. She pocketed the money and stood up. “Wait here, I’ll get your sample.” --- Once Jessica was out of the room, Ada turned her head sideways. “You heard what she said? Someone else’s been snooping around too,” she said, seemingly to thin air. “Looks like you’ve got some competition,” Alisa said, falling down onto the couch, resting her head on the couch’s arm. “Didn’t sound like it was just the bidders’ agents to me.” “Me neither, but I don’t know who could be interested. This is all ancient history to everyone except us. Might have to ask around, starting when she comes back.” Alisa tilted her head to stare at her, curiously. “You think you can trust her? She was hiding something earlier.” Ada shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. We’re fumbling in the dark here. What’ve we got to lose?” --- Jessica walked back in before Alisa could answer, carrying a large file box. She set it on the floor next to the couch and took off the lid. Inside were record books, at least a dozen of them, exactly like the one that Ada had seen on Ginger’s desk. The sight of them stole Ada’s breath away. “How did these books end up with Leo?” she asked after a moment, keeping her eyes fixed on them. “Ginger Chatelaine didn’t have any direct descendants, so when she died her stuff went to my family. Basically collected dust for two generations. The Lily didn’t go to us though, even though it was supposed to.” She scowled. “City officials said it was a brothel and confiscated the property. That was after my great-grandfather died… His wife tried to contest but then she gave the claim up real suddenly. And that’s all you get for a sample.” She handed Ada the top book. Inside, in Ginger’s neat, meticulous handwriting, were dates and names and figures. Yellowed bills of sale and IOU’s were slipped between the pages. Every bit of talent she’d ever hired, every underhanded deal she ever made, every promise she ever kept, and it was right there in front of Ada, just waiting to be read. “And other people wanted to get a look at this too? You said some ‘vultures’ had come knocking.” As she spoke, Ada turned the pages, half expecting the records to stop abruptly at any point...but no, this was her. This was definitely Ginger’s work. A thrill of excitement danced in her chest, and she couldn’t keep a smile off her face in spite of her serious words. She’d found it! She’d found the trail! “Yeah, which is why I’m not selling the books, just the information. You want to read ‘em, you come over here. Same deal with the others. Though I don’t expect the first guy to come back, I think he found whatever he was looking for.” She crossed her arms. “If you want to know more about the competition that’s a different deal.” That wasn’t enough. With how busy things were gonna start getting soon, she couldn’t afford to take time out of her day to come here every day. But discussing the sale could wait. “I can’t believe anyone could look at this and still want the Lily bulldozed. Its whole history is there. What does the top bidder event want the land for?” ((With Jessica being unwilling to part with the family history, it’s time for Ada to work her silver tongue a little bit. Rapport vs diff 5, /+-/ = +5, tie! But let’s amp this a little more. Invoking Life is a Fairy Tale to make it a full success! Let’s see what a +7 gets everyone’s favorite blood mage here.)) “A new hotel,” Jessica said, frowning, as she leafed through another one of the ledgers. “Real gaudy thing too. The suit showed me the pictures as if he was trying to sell me a room… Hey, did you say your name was Ada duSang?” “Yeah,” Ada nodded. “Why?” Jessica turned the ledger around. At the bottom of the page the name Mary Jane Watson (Kitchen Asst/Backup Singer) was crossed out and Ada duSang was written next to it. On the opposite page was a signed flyer for Ruby Lytle’s solo act. For a moment, Ada just stared. Then she broke into a grin. “So she did remember. I was wondering if she’d written it all off as a bad dream.” Her eyes shot back up to Jessica’s face. “Too weird to be a coincidence, huh?” “Well it proves you weren’t lying to me about family history,” she said, uncomfortably. “So are you a reporter or something? Writing a book? Nobody drops 5 grand that easy.” “Nah, nothing like that.” Ada took a moment before continuing. How to explain that she’d traveled through time to the past to someone who didn’t know that on a good day, pigs really could fly? “Once upon a time, the girl who came to the Lily caught Ginger’s eye. She had a whole lot of talent and thought she could make the big time. Ginger thought so too, but she also thought she needed polish - and when she disappeared overnight, Ginger never got to make sure she became something more than an uncut diamond.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “You could say I’m following in her footsteps - I wanted to see what her would-be mentor would’ve had to share with her. Ginger’s gone, but maybe she can still teach me something.” There was a brief pause, her words lingering in the air. Ada rested her fingers on the flyer. “I’m not gonna let them tear the Lily down, Jessica. It’s part of both our histories, and they ain’t over yet. But I need to learn everything I can before I go swimming in a pool of sharks. What do you think about helping each other out?” “What makes you think I care about that old husk?” Jessica said. “All it means to me is what the city stole from my family. Maybe it’s better if it gets bulldozed and I don’t have to see it anymore.” “The Lily isn’t just a speakeasy or a music hall. It’s a den of memories too. There’s got to be a reason Leo’s wife didn’t keep fighting for it and so many people are still interested in it. If it’s brought down, all those memories will just fade away.” She glanced down at the yellowed pages of the journal. “I dug up an important piece of my past today. Don’t you want to uncover yours too? Maybe we can even get the Lily back into the hands it belongs to, if we find the truth.” Jessica sighed and closed the ledger. “My dad knew. He told me not to worry about it. Not to go digging. I never asked why. Figured the brothel thing was true and it would just be embarrassing… It’s not though, is it?” Ada nodded. “Ginger never would’ve pimped her girls out in any way except to say they could sing like angels, and she would’ve made drat sure they could back up her boasts. This wasn’t over the table. I think it was revenge. My namesake met Leo...your great grandpa, when he was a boy. She thought he was carrying some big grudges and was likely to get into trouble, and I don’t think receiving the Lily would’ve changed that. I think he picked a fight he couldn’t win and this was how they got back at him.” “Wouldn’t surprise me. Us Fischers aren’t exactly the forgiving kind.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked away, thinking of something else. Then she smiled, genuinely, for the first time since Ada had walked in the door. “Alright, that hotel was seriously tacky, and the other guy who came here trying to save the Lily was ridiculously hot, so I’m on your side. I’ve got his number somewhere, but I should put these back first.” She held out her hand for the book Ada was holding. After a moment’s hesitation, Ada gave it back. “Yeah. These things are worth their weight in gold. Keep ‘em under lock and key.” It hurt to give it back so soon, but there’d be time to get a closer look at them later. What mattered was that she’d managed to open the door. Patience, Ada, she could almost hear Ginger say. You don’t have to rush into everything. Bleed less, think more. Jessica took her box of books and headed to her bedroom. She came back with a leaflet that read ‘Save the Gilded Lily!!!’ in bright gold font with three exclamation marks. There was a website listed for an online petition and a phone number. “He said his name was Maksim. I think he’s the one organizing the indie groups. Something about a protest in a couple weeks but I didn’t get a date out of him.” “Sounds like a good excuse to see if he’s single,” Ada joked, committing the number to memory. “I’ll give him a call. Maybe we can set up a benefit concert to raise funds. I know a couple people who might be able to help.” “Hey, if he’s single I call dibs,” Jessica said. ”So hot.” She cleared her throat. “But yeah, good luck and all. Just bring the money by whenever, you can take all the pictures you want.” Maybe for the first time since she realized what had happened to her magic, Ada was thankful not to have it anymore. She would’ve had to do a lot of explaining if she’d showed up with an old-timey camera to get her pictures. Maybe it was time to look into acquiring a decent smartphone for a change instead of burners. “Gotcha. And don’t worry,” she winked. “If I see a chance with him, I’ll set you up.”
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Oct 3, 2018 06:23
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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 - Strong Last Impression Reaching out, James reverently lifted the sword by its hilt, raising it to eye level to study the edge. He felt a telltale pressure build behind his temples, a herald of an approaching vision. Breathing deep, he closed his eyes and gave in -
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Oct 3, 2018 18:25
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Interlude - Otis’ Pawn Shop, LLC If, as Warden Hardley had said, that Goldman was both the supernatural luminary James had been ordered to investigate and that King Midas - and he had no reason to doubt the Warden, at least for the moment - then, in James’ mind, his easy access to gold must, therefore, be a key means of influencing the city. But gold was fairly useless for the average man on the street - in addition to being heavy and showy, it wasn't nearly as spendable as cold hard US dollars were. And while Goldman was almost certainly smart enough to make sure the conversion looked entirely above board, there was bound to be someone in his orbit that was either desperate or outright stupid enough to cut corners and use a fence or some other less than legitimate means to sell the gold. And anyone dumb enough to make mistakes like that was bound to be a possible source. There were a few things that most true lowlives in almost every city knew - where to get a fix, where to sleep safely, where to get a hot meal - and where to sell dodgy goods. And, after spending about an hour slumming it in a distinctly rundown bar (and dodging more than a few projectile empty bottles and pool cues), James had found out the location of one such place in New Orleans - Otis’ Pawn Shop. Nestled in a dilapidated stripmall between another shabby looking bar with a faded sign reading “Callahan’s” - judging by the row of old Harleys outside, one frequented primarily by Bikers - and a blacked out storefront with a sign that simply read “XXX” that James quickly decided he’d rather not know more about, the pawn shop looked like a cross between a makeshift fortress - complete with windows reinforced with steel mesh and a solid looking door - and, looking at the merchandise on display, a garage sale. Seemed like as good a place as any to look if anyone had been selling anything strange and gold. - A number of hours later, James shoved the biker bar’s roof access hatch open, suppressing a shiver as the chilly night air hit his face. The sounds of the bar filtered through the door below, the distant sound of the rock music playing over a pair of old, cheap speakers frequently covered up by the cacophony of noise the now incredibly drunk patrons were making - thanks to the drinks James had been buying and the ample “tip” he’d given the barman in exchange for leaving the roof access unlocked and to not cut anyone off (James suspected the man had never even considered cutting anyone off in his life, but it had seemed prudent to make sure nonetheless).. There was shouting, smashing glass and wood, even someone - with a shocking lack of singing ability - trying to sing along with the music. All in all, it sounded like a bar brawl just waiting to happen. Exactly as James wanted. Hauling himself onto the roof, he crept carefully along the rooftop until he was above the pawn shop, digging in the small bag he was carrying with gloved hands. Pulling a few balloons filled with a clear gel, he tossed them over the edge of the roof in time with the noise next door, straight onto the hood of an all American muscle car complete with custom plates reading “0TIS 1”. Didn't take a genius to figure out who owned it. Pausing, silent for a moment until he was certain nobody had noticed the splattering balloons, James crept to the access hatch for the pawn shop and laid his ear against the hatch. There didn't seem to be anyone below, so he carefully lifted it. It didn't lift far, but, lit by the light of a monitor in the office below, James quickly spotted the thin chain and padlock keeping it mostly closed. Not a bad plan, but Otis had left too much slack in the chain, and it took James only a moment - and a hairpin - to pick the simple padlock and lay the chain down on the roof. Lowering the hatch again, James settled at the edge of the roof to wait for the inevitable brawl to kick off next door and spill out onto the street. - He didn't have to wait long. After about ten minutes, someone had decided that they absolutely had to hear Metallica’s St Anger on the jukebox, which had inevitably lead to an argument and a subsequent brawl. And now Callahan’s front window was all pieces scattered on the sidewalk, various patrons shouting and brawling in the parking lot. Shaking his head in amusement, James struck a trio of matches, tossing them over the top and down onto Otis’ car’s hood - now thoroughly doused in alcohol fuel gel from the earlier balloons, it quickly caught flame, judging by the loud woosh and the astonished cries James could hear the brawling drunks making as he dashed back across the roof to the hatch. Shame to do something like that to such a nice car, but needs must. “My car! You goddamn drunks!” yelled a voice from below - Otis had clearly noticed his car was on fire, and judging by the racking shotgun and the clanging of metal doors being swung open, was less than impressed. James lifted the hatch and slid down the ladder - straight into the cluttered back office of the pawn shop. An aging computer sat on a desk, browser hastily closed by the departing Otis at some point earlier on - who was now busy shouting at the bar drunks, judging by the noise filtering in from outside. The room was barely more than a closet - just a desk, chair and filing cabinet awkwardly squeezed in. And judging by the layer of dust over the cabinet, it wouldn't hold any clues, so James quickly started flicking through the stack of ledgers on the desk - each one stamped on front with “Otis’ Pawn Shop, LLC”, followed by a date and a merchandise grouping - clothes, antiques, firearms and, finally, precious metals. James listened out for a moment - the yelling and arguing was still going strong, but it wouldn't do to be here when Otis got back, so he quickly pulled his phone out and, steady as he could manage, started photographing as much of the ledger as he could. He managed about a third of the thing when the shouting stopped. It was time to go. Shoving the ledger back into the stack, he scampered back up the ladder and swung the hatch back down not a moment too soon as Otis stormed back into the office in search of a fire extinguisher. Deathly still above the hatch, James held his breath, waiting for what felt like an eternity before Otis stormed out again. Breathing in with relief, James dashed back across the rooftop, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He hoped there was some sort of clue in the part of the ledger he’d got, or he’d bought a whole bunch of thugs a night worth of drinks for nothing.
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Oct 3, 2018 18:27
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Interlude: Cleaning House (Note: This probably happens before James visits Elbridge.) Rick sat in a ratty lawn chair with his arms crossed and stared up at his childhood home. (Or at least the one he remembered the best, the Coles had moved around a lot.) It was a white-sided two-storey house with a green door, a wide front porch, and hedges along the front. He stood up and cracked his knuckles. This was the first time he’d visited his demesne since Ada left him, but that was two nights ago and he was ready to get back to work. He started towards the house. The front lawn was oddly flat, like a bunch of still photographs all pasted together, and it sounded more like a recording of rustling grass than the real thing when he walked through it. He didn’t pay it any mind. Most of the ideas that made up his demesne were placeholders, the equivalent of an architect’s preliminary sketch. He hadn’t wanted to put much effort into anything he wasn’t going to keep. The house creaked ominously when he unlocked the door. It had fallen down twice so far, not because the rules of physics mattered in the NeverNever, but because he kept trying to stick more rooms in it than he had the power to create yet. He didn’t pay that any mind either. At the end of the front hall was the breakfast nook from Ada’s kitchen, where you could see the entire back garden of the duSang manor, and where he’d spent more mornings than he could count drinking iced tea and having toast with jam. There was the small round table where he liked to sit and think about the day ahead, list off his responsibilities and chores, and read the newspaper. He reached out with his right hand and pulled a sledgehammer out of the air, took two more steps, and slammed it through the big bay window with both hands. Grinning wildly, he tightened his grip on the handle and turned to the rest of the room. The table was the next to go, antique walnut exploding into satisfying splinters as the dishes still on it crashed to the floor. He stomped over the remains and into the kitchen proper, where pots and pans went flying and the granite countertops made pretty piles of rubble. The fine stemware in the cabinets became a symphony of smashes as he pitched them one by one into the wall. He took a moment to open the fridge and drink the entire contents of the tea pitcher before dropping that too and moving on. *** Sledgehammer over his shoulder, he whistled as he walked into his teenage-self’s bedroom. He pushed the bookcase over, spilling his collection of Star Wars EU, Animorphs, and Hitchhiker’s Guide books everywhere. All the painted plastic trophies he’d earned as a kid fell to the floor. “Not good enough,” he said aloud, slamming the hammer directly into his old CRT monitor. He left it there and ripped the Mighty Ducks poster off the wall. “I was never good enough was I? Not good enough for you Dad, that’s for drat sure.” He dug through the closet until he found the Army jacket with John Cole’s patch on the front. “There you are,” he said, throwing it on the bed. He grabbed a can of spray paint out of his model car kit and shook it while he dug a lighter out of his pocket. Shocka-shocka-shocka-fwoosh. The fire from his makeshift flamethrower spread quickly over the camouflage greens, blackening them to ashes. As it spread from the blanket to the floor and started climbing the walls, he retrieved his hammer and left the blazing inferno of his childhood behind. *** He took the stairs two at a time, until he reached the windowed door that read Warden’s Office in gold letters. He hadn’t bothered recreating much of the place, just the main room with his desk and chair, where he spent most of his time. He punched the glass out and opened the door from the inside. “Not good enough for the Wardens either,” he said, shaking the blood off his knuckles. The wounds healed as instantly as they’d been made. He sat down on the secondhand couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and lazily threw the hammer at his old television. It fell off the stand with a tolerable crash. He’d probably slept on this couch more often than his bed. It was more comfortable, and there was more room for Ada when she stayed over, even though that wasn’t often. Why stay here when Chateau duSang had bedrooms to spare? There was a paper coffee cup on the table, and it reminded him of the night she’d shown up on his doorstep with Starbucks when he was drunk and told him she’d soulgazed Santiago. “She didn’t have anything to do with it,” he said, to the man that wasn’t there. “Did you really have to chase me halfway across the world just to harass her? It was my fault, not hers!” He could still see Santiago’s twisted grimace at the trial, the seething hatred in his eyes. For the first time, he could match it with a fury of his own. He stood up and smacked the coffee cup off the table, retrieving the hammer with renewed energy. The answering machine exploded into bits and pieces. “If I could have traded my life for Rachel’s I would have in a heartbeat. I loved her too. But she died and I didn’t, and you couldn’t leave it like that. You wanted to execute me for it.” It wasn’t just Santiago though. He was the worst of them, but the White Council was full of old men with too much power who turned it on anyone they didn’t like. How many times had he defended the Council to Ada, to Marcine? How many times had they proved they didn’t deserve it? “You ripped out my memories and put a death collar on me. A collar! Like a loving dog!” He picked up the crystal ball on his desk and flung it through the back picture window with all the force he could muster. They hadn’t just collared him, they’d lied about it. The spell had broken when he died, and his stolen memories had come rushing back. All those times he’d told himself it was for his own good, all the self-justification, believing he’d become suicidal over Rachel when they took his mind apart...none of that had been true. It had been a back-alley compromise with Santiago, who’d promised to drop his suit quietly if the Senior Council erased all of his memories of Rachel. And they’d done it, because it had been easier than dealing with an angry Warden Commander backed by the support of the soldiers they needed to win their war. He opened his file cabinet and started hefting manilla envelopes out the new hole in the window. He’d worked so hard, carried so much water, all for a Council that had written him off as an acceptable loss. When the cabinet was empty he grabbed the last stack of papers on the desk. The top page bore Laura Bellworth’s signature. “Oh right,” he whispered. “I guess I got off easy, because you did kill Hugues.” He shook his head in disbelief. Not at the Council signing a death warrant for one of their own, but at himself. He’d known they’d done it, and he’d still had faith in them. Just like a good dog should. He slammed the door on his way out, and the last few shards of glass fell free and shattered on the hardwood floor. *** The next room he visited was pitch black inside, but he’d lived there for so many years that he didn’t need light to know where things were. Sitting on the bed in the dark, the tension leaked out of his body until he just felt spent. Eventually he reached out to touch the fishbowl lamp on the bedside table, casting a dim white light on his old dorm, deep in the lower levels of Edinburgh. On the shelf below the lamp was one of the yearly NeverNever Almanacs he’d contributed to. He picked it up to look inside. It was blank, but as he flipped through it the ink bled onto the pages. When was the last year he’d submitted an entry? 2008? He used to be so proud of them. He set the book down with a sigh and looked around. His mahogany desk was there, the same one from the office, just earlier in time. The crystal ball was sitting on its stand, along with a half-finished manuscript covered in technical drawings. A Conventional Guide to Unconventional Travel, the thesis that he’d never finished. When had he had time to write? Not since he became a Warden. Even after the war ended he’d been too busy putting out fires around New Orleans to sit down and work on it. It hurt so much to look at it. He put his head in his hands and took slow, ragged breaths. He couldn’t destroy this room. It was frozen forever in a perfect moment, a moment when his future was still out there waiting for him, before Rachel came in like a wrecking ball and made a bigger mess of him than he’d made of Ada’s kitchen. He could feel the cloak as she pressed it into his hands, and all the neat, orderly threads of his life snapping and tying into knots at her touch. “Why did I let you do this to me?” he whispered. He could remember her face now, every smile she’d ever given him, every kiss on the cheek, the way she’d flip her braid over one shoulder and laugh at him when she thought he’d done something cute. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a grey velvet box. Inside was the ring she’d rejected, all those years ago. He’d never really gotten over it. Even now, just looking at the box shoved a knife in his heart. “It was your fault,” he said, remembering the letter she’d left for him after she died. “All of it was. I was never good enough for you either, Rachel. But that didn’t stop you from using me.” He closed the door gently behind him and locked it with an ornate iron key. Then he threw the key away as hard as he could. He was pretty sure it went out the window at the end of the hallway, but where it landed, he didn’t want to know.
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Oct 22, 2018 06:03
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*** The acacia tree in the backyard was waiting for him. A small cookfire sat beside it in a ring of stones with a pot of water boiling on it, and a blue canvas tent was pitched under its prickly boughs. He sat down in the dirt by the fire and crossed his legs, looking up at the hot South African sun. For a moment he was fifteen again, and convinced that heatstroke was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. He smiled and reached for the battered steel lunch box where Kwame kept the instant tea. You never took anything for granted in the savannah. Even the water in the pot was precious, and not to be wasted. He removed it from the fire, pouring some into a tin mug and adding a pair of mismatched tea bags. “I think you were the only person who ever really believed in me,” he said sadly to the empty blue tent, where Kwame would sit, smiling, as he watched him puzzle out that day’s lesson. “I didn’t call, I didn’t write, I didn’t listen to you when you told me she was trouble.” What would his teacher think of him now? Kwame had never had any love for the Wardens, or any other authorities for that matter. They’d argued fiercely when he was drafted, and Kwame had even offered to let him stay with him until the war ended, safe from all of it. But he’d called the old man a coward and chased after Rachel like a stupid, lovesick puppy. That was the last time they’d spoken to each other. He took the ring box out of his pocket and opened it this time. Inside was a gold band with a single tiny diamond set in it. It was pathetic. Not the ring, but the fact that he’d kept it so long, nursing old wounds instead of putting them aside. He dropped it in the fire and used a long stick to push it into the center of the coals. “You were right,” he whispered, as the gold went soft and began to run. “She ruined my life, just like you said she would. And I helped her.” Rachel had pressed the cloak into his hands, but he was the one who put it on. He was the one who’d decided to play soldier, against all his teacher’s wishes. Against his own, if the ashes of his father’s Army jacket were any proof. He’d rebuilt his life around a lie, that none of what had happened had been his fault, and as long as he held onto that lie he couldn’t apologize to Kwame. So he hadn’t, even though he’d rehearsed the conversation in his head a thousand times. The wind was picking up. He finished his tea and stood, looking out at the storm clouds on the horizon. It wasn’t too late to fix things. But he had one more stop to make before he was done. *** Ada’s bedroom. It was meant to be a surprise for her, and a challenge to see if he could recreate a place he hadn’t spent as much time in as he might have liked to. Where other rooms in the demesne had empty books and cardboard furniture, this one was finished down to the last detail. He ran his fingers over the top of the dresser. The sound and the feel of the wood was just right. His hand clenched. So much work, and it was all for nothing. She’d never get to see it now. “What’s wrong with the little things?” he asked the man in the mirror. “What’s wrong with wanting to be happy, and have a family to come home to?” It sounded hollow when he said it, and he couldn’t meet his reflection’s gaze. That wasn’t why she’d broken up with him, and he knew it. He crossed the room to the wardrobe and opened the doors. Inside was the white gown she’d worn to the Gala, next to his grey tunic. The little black dress, and the black heels she’d worn when they went after Peter Evans, next to his leather jacket. Her sexy Mrs. Claus costume, (he’d thought she’d get a kick out of that one,) and his Rudolph antlers. Everyday clothes took up the rest of the space, t-shirts and jeans, sneakers and work boots. All the clothes he’d seen her wearing, each one part of a precious memory. His vision blurred. “Why couldn’t I keep up with you?” he asked, voice trembling. He tugged on the sleeve of her hoodie as if it could tell him. But he’d found the answer in his old room at Edinburgh, hadn’t he? Ada hadn’t been satisfied with being another Rachel, happy to use him because he’d wanted to be used. Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made it all worse. Because if she was right to leave him, he really wasn’t good enough for her, or anyone else. He picked up the red striped candle from her nightstand. It was the only real present he’d ever given her. She’d never burned it, but she’d always kept it close. He sat on the bed and turned it over in his hands, the same bed where he’d cried and laid beside her, accepting one last moment of comfort after she’d torn his heart to pieces. Had she felt the same fear he had? First one wick caught fire, then the other. Hot wax dripped like tears, running over his bare hand, but the pain only helped him focus. “Why?” he demanded, quietly furious. “Why did I give up on my dreams so I could chase Rachel’s?” “Because you hoped she’d love you for it,” said his reflection. There it was. The naked, ugly truth. Even after she’d died, Rachel had such a hold on him that he’d never left the Wardens, never gone back to what he wanted out of life. He’d just kept doing what she’d asked of him. Kept on ‘making it mean something’. A curse so potent they’d put it on his tombstone. He’d have done the same thing for Ada, with the same result, but she hadn’t let him go that far. Had he always been this desperate? He stood up and looked at the mirror again, staring himself right in the eyes. No, not always. He’d had his own life once, and his own dreams, and there was nothing stopping him from having them again. Nothing except himself. He held the still-burning stub of candle up to his face. Maybe the poem that came with it hadn’t been about Ada after all, but about their time together. “You gave a lovely light,” he said, and blew it out.
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Oct 22, 2018 06:04
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Interlude: The Things That I Need “...Yeah, I know it’s crazy. We’re not gonna let it happen. Want me to come over tomorrow so we can talk it over tea and see what we can do? ‘K, it’s a promise then. Don’t forget to bake some cookies for me, alright? Night, Ruby! See you tomorrow!” As she pressed a button on her new smartphone to kill the call, Ada couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Ruby poring over an oven, fretting and trying to get the taste just right. Isabel had been teaching her how to bake over the last few months, and though she’d gotten pretty decent at it, she was still paranoid about serving up a batch of rocks after the first few (spectacular) failures. She wouldn’t develop her confidence until she got it right enough times to reassure herself, though - and that’s exactly why Ada had made sure to needle her about it. Even if it meant having to field Emma’s (Emerald, the new name the younger Ruby had taken up since traveling forward through time) complaints about her ‘sister’ freaking out anytime anyone dared set foot in the Lytle’s kitchen, it’d all be worth it in the end. And besides, it’s not like snacking on a plate full of cookies was the worst thing in the world either. Who said looking out for her best friend didn’t have its upsides? With the call finished, she leaned back on her bed, stretching her arms out. For once, she felt so...relaxed. It was amazing how far a nice, long hot shower and a little evening chat could go. The Lily’s impending demolition aside, things were quite peaceful these days - and for the first time in a while, there was nothing that required her immediate attention. Maybe it was time to finally give the journals she’d gotten from Jessica a look… Bringing up the pictures menu, Ada swiped back to the first page, made herself comfortable and started reading. It wasn’t long before she reached an entry that made her stop and look at it a little more closely. It was from the first book, early in Ginger’s career. Every month, above the lists of figures, she’d written a little something about how things had gone. Ginger’s Journal posted:Another month in the red. The pie’s good but no one’s showing up to eat it. Sass offered me two kegs of whiskey for the old buggy and I took them. Ain’t got a mule left to pull it anyhow. quote:Whiskey’s brought some business, but bribes are taking most of the profits. At least we can make rent this month. Still, no one’s willing to go exclusive with such a small establishment. I need a better name than Ginger’s Place. Something that’ll catch eyes, something I can have painted on a big sign out front. quote:The Gilded Lily’s grand reopening was a rousing success, and I finally landed that deal with Narcissus. Faerie wine, good stuff, but too expensive to stock if we have a bad week. So we can’t have any bad weeks. I’ve been thinking of building a stage downstairs. If dinner and drinks will get customers in their seats, entertainment will keep them there. Next month I’m getting one of those new motorcars for our deliveries. Sure will beat cleaning up after the horses! For some reason, Ada couldn’t help but dwell on those entries. There was something important about them - not the exact details of how Ginger had turned things around, but her humble beginnings, and the fact she’d been playing a high stakes game, one where a single misstep could’ve meant falling into a debt she wouldn’t have been able to pay back. More than simply quality service or a forbidden fruit, something else had made the difference between success and failure. Something that’ll catch eyes, something I can have painted on a big sign out front… Still keeping her eyes on the screen, Ada hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom, grabbing an overlarge robe and draping it over her nightie. Once she was insulated from the midnight cold, she headed for the garden and loudly knocked three times on the door to Circe’s shack. “Mistress?” Circe asked, as she answered the door. She tugged her blue shawl around her shoulders more tightly as the night air gusted past her. “What would you ask of me at this late hour?” “There’s something I need to confirm. Besides Midas, how many rulers have you served?” She raised an eyebrow at the question. “I do not remember the exact count. Perhaps a dozen? No more, I am sure.” “Good enough. When they rose to power, what did they all have in common?” Before Circe could speak, she raised a hand to stop her. “No, don’t say anything yet. I want to see if I have this right. The first thing they had was an ambition, wasn’t it? Some place, some people they wanted to rule.” Circe rubbed at her temple. “Of course. Do you think I would serve a Patron with no ambition?” “No. I think you’d rather drink hemlock than live with that. But that’s not everything a budding ruler needs. They also needed legitimacy, didn’t they? Whether it’s because the source of their ambition belonged to them by right or because they found a motive to justify taking it for their own, they couldn’t have got what they were after purely by force. Without something to persuade their followers that their cause was worth fighting for, their gains would’ve lasted only as long as it took for someone stronger to challenge them.” “So by legitimacy you mean loyalty,” Circe said. “Some flag or promise to rally behind, that makes the man loom larger than himself.” “Not a flag - a cause. But the flag matters too. Even with an ambition and a cause, the rulers you served wouldn’t have been able to keep their people together through hardship without something more.” This was it. This was what Ginger had found she needed. “That’s the last thing a ruler needs, isn’t it? A symbol. Something that reminded their followers that what they were doing was worth fighting for, worth suffering for, worth dying for.” Circe folded her arms. “Do you think you have these things that you believe are necessary?” Resting her hand against her chin, Ada looked down, thinking. “I’ve got ambition. And history’s on my side when it comes to backing up my claim to New Orleans. What I need is a flag, a symbol.” “What you need is an army, and no matter how old your name or how pretty your flag, you will never have one unless you are able to inspire them. Love or fear, the choice is yours, but no one wants to die for an old name. They must want to die for you. If you mean to choose a standard, then it must be yours as much as the gold in your hair belongs to Midas.” “Something that’s mine...something that no one else can use.” It couldn’t just be a symbol of power then, or wealth. It had to be something more personal. There had to be something, but what was hers and hers alone? Maybe she needed to learn more from the past to find it. “Was there one like that for you, Circe? A ruler you would’ve died for, even if they hadn’t asked you to?” Circe let out a long, heavy sigh. “Alexander. Two millennia and I have never seen his like before or since.” “Why him? He was almost a boy. He was my age when he began to rule, wasn’t he?” Of course he was more than that, and Ada knew it. But still, she couldn’t help but ask. “His ambition burned brighter than the stars, and his men would have thrown themselves like pebbles from the cliffside if he only asked them to. I cannot tell you why, mistress, only what I saw and what I felt myself. He would take us to the end of the world, if we would only follow. True kings are rare indeed, and age has no bearing on it.” She smiled, lost in the memory. “Gods marched in his army, and he did not even know. They wished to see for themselves, as I did, the limits of what a mortal could accomplish, all on his own.” For a moment, Ada couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. Not to serve under such a king, but to be one. All of her achievements so far seemed so insignificant, compared to the exploits of the man who’d united a continent. Suddenly she felt small and dirty, like a little child playing a game of pretend, dreaming of being something far beyond her. What had she done with her life? At her age, Alexander had become master of a kingdom already. She couldn’t even call herself master of a household. The weight of wasted years was so heavy, it felt like it could bury her. ...Bury… Of course. “I don’t think I can take over the world like him,” she said, her voice much too confident for what was, in the end, an admission of weakness. “But what I can do is change it. And I won’t let anyone get in the way of that.” She smiled. “Circe...thank you. I know where to find my symbol now.” Circe smiled, showing her teeth. “Then what are you waiting for? Go claim it.”
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Oct 25, 2018 08:31
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Interlude: Sub Rosa As far as anyone looking in from the outside could see, St. Louis Cemetery #1 was quiet. The moment Ada got done scaling the wall surrounding it and jumped down, however, that flimsy façade came tumbling down. Heated murmurs filled the air as the ghosts that made their home there argued with each other, and the wail of a distant harmonica enveloped the graveyard as she walked past an endless row of tombs and mausoleums. It gave the whole place a feeling of loneliness, in spite of all the company. Maybe it was because the cemetery’s dwellers had no reason to pay any mind to one of the living, walking amongst them in the dead hours before the morning. The duSang family crypt only took up two plots of land at ground level, with a spiral staircase leading downward, several storeys below the surface, fanning out once safely underneath the graves of New Orleans’ rich and powerful. In spite of being solidly below sea level, the crypt was dry and dusty. Magic had gone into its construction, centuries ago, and it still acted as a potent ward against the water’s persistent assaults. An oppressive, forbidding presence lingered in the air, pushing against Ada’s sudden intrusion. If Château duSang harbored the soul of the duSang’s family within its walls, then its crypt held the lingering sentiments of its founders, their loneliness, fury and discontent. It did not recognize her as one of its own. Neither, she suspected, did they. Past the first few steps, no moonlight seeped in, making it impossible to see. When Ada flicked her lighter, it cast a blood red shine on the pale stone caskets lining up the walls. She swallowed. She couldn’t linger here, but this was the kind of place people went into and never left, whether they were already dead or soon to be. Maybe the best way to do this was to introduce herself formally. “I’m sorry for disturbing your rest,” she called out. “I want to restore our house. I’m here to reclaim our symbol.” Her words echoed down the hallway, dispersing into inaudible whispers before rushing back to her, haunted and distorted. They didn’t resemble words anymore, but their meaning was still clear: she was not welcome here. She drew a deep breath. At least it was worth a shot. Then, she ventured deeper inside. The hallway branched into side chambers periodically, following no discernible style. Some were small and circular. Others, rectangular and broad. Each and every single one contained a different tomb, the first few so old that their inscriptions had faded into smooth stone. The heads of the family, who had charted its course across its long history. She didn’t venture inside. The first time she thought to try, the pressure within the tomb increased tenfold, leaving her unable to do more than take a single step until she relented and kept going past them. We’re not one unbroken lineage, Ada thought, as she moved past newer marble doors. These people share my blood, but not who I am, who we are now. How did we get so far away from our past? Who saved us from it? It was a question she wasn’t sure anyone could answer anymore. Maybe her ancestors had decided to bury the past with their forebears, to wipe the slate clean, or maybe her mother had just never told her about them. The more Ada looked into her family’s history, she realized just how little she really knew of it. Near the end of the hallway, a door opened with a creak that made all her muscles tense. Beyond it, she saw a long, narrow chamber, with long lines carved in relief onto the walls, fading into the dark. Tentatively, Ada took a step towards it, and felt the pressure of the tomb lift off her skin. The air inside the chamber was less suffocating than the hallway that had preceded it; And though Ada now felt as though she was being watched, it was not with hostility, but with restrained attention. From up close, she could see now that the lines were actually flower stems, leading to the coffin resting at the far end of the chamber. When she saw the inscription on it, the change in the atmosphere suddenly made perfect sense - and finally, Ada knew she’d found what she’d been looking for.  There was no mistaking the importance of the symbol underneath Sylvia’s epitaph. It had been drawn on stained glass, as if she’d wanted to make sure someone would find it. Sitting in the middle of Its rose there was a circular pendant of gold and ruby. It drank the red glow of Ada’s lighter greedily, leaving behind a pale light that revealed its beauty. When she pressed her hand against it, she could feel her great-grandmother’s confidence and strength, its cool surface reminding her of the distance she’d shattered when she embraced her. Her parting words resonated in her ears, as though she’d just spoken them again. "This house should never be empty. Don’t be the last of us." Sylvia had moved on many years ago, but still, Ada knew her words would reach her. “I won’t be the last, grandmother,” she promised, as she seized the pendant and tucked it into her coat pocket. “I swear it on the blood running through my veins.” Transient People fucked around with this message at 08:46 on Oct 25, 2018 |
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Oct 25, 2018 08:40
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Interlude: Welcome Home A week after her visit to the family crypt, as the sun was beginning to set, Ada came home to an unexpected sight. Beyond the iron gates of the duSang estate, the Rolls Royce was sitting on the white stone driveway. Squinting, she stared at it for a moment, as she unlocked the gates. What was it doing out there? She hadn’t had any need of it today. Its tires were slick with moisture, too - somebody had taken it out for a spin. Maybe Roy had gone out to take care of an errand? Shrugging, she walked past it and up the entryway stairs. In the end, it didn’t really matter. She’d spent the whole day with Zia, checking in on her progress after they’d rescued her from the fomor. She’d been quiet and withdrawn for months, but when she’d seen the pendant, she’d opened up and asked to have a closer look. Seeing her chatter so animatedly about the details of the design had made Ada’s day, and when she’d told Zia about her plans for it, she’d immediately started drawing up sketches, before Ada’d even made up her mind to ask. The planning for her first big move was going smooth as honey these days. Maybe she could get started on drafting up a list of potential allies to reach out to...but when she opened the door and stepped inside, she saw a familiar visage by the window that froze her blood cold. The woman was sitting there in her sleek, made to order business suit, sipping tea and watching the sun go down like she had all the time in the world. Her face was hidden by the shadows cast by the light as it went out, but Ada didn’t need to see it to know her hair was blood red, her mouth thin and severe, and her eyes shone like emeralds, cold and bright. When the sound of the door shutting behind her caught her attention, she turned her head around slowly, and fixed her with a piercing glance. “Ada,” said Claudia duSang. “You’re home late.” “...Mom?” There was a note of disbelief in Ada’s voice. “What are you doing here?” “Just visiting,” she said, setting her teacup on its saucer and standing up. “Now come here and give me a hug.” It wasn’t a request. Hesitantly, Ada took a step forward, then wrapped her arms around her mother’s back. All the while, her mind never stopped racing. Her mother? Here? It had been more than a year since she’d last seen her. Santa Claus showing up at her doorstep would’ve been less of a surprise. “I thought you were still in Switzerland,” she asked, trying her best to not let her worries taint the tight squeeze of the hug...but that didn’t stop her mother’s nails from digging into her flesh as she held her close to her chest. “I was, until last week,” her mother said, not letting go. “I’ve missed you very much.” “I missed you too,” Ada said, letting her head rest against her mother’s chest. “You didn’t come for my birthday. I was looking forward to getting drunk with you until we couldn’t see straight,” she joked, but her voice was too cheerful, too light to really make it funny. After a moment of deep silence, she spoke up again. “Is Dad here too?” “Upstairs unpacking still,” she stroked Ada’s hair, but when she felt the golden tips her fingers knotted in them. “What’s this?” Ada’s stomach tightened up into a tiny little ball. She swallowed. “A lot happened while you were gone. New Orleans almost went up in flames more than once. I had to call in a couple favors.” “Favors you still owe,” Claudia said, sighing heavily. “Why did I ever let you out of my sight?” Part of Ada couldn’t help but feel ashamed, being scolded like that, but another part wanted to fight back. She wasn’t a child anymore, and didn’t feel like being treated like one. “I don’t know. Was it because you trusted me?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of steel in it. “I gave you space to see if I could,” her mother said, in the same tone. “What have you done with it?” “I stopped a hurricane and an archdemon, made friends with a newborn dragon, beat the witch Circe in a duel and made her my gardener, invoked Santa Claus in the middle of summer, brought down the previous head of Summer’s court, met my first boyfriend and lost him, traveled back in time to meet my great-grandmother and changed the past.” Taking a deep breath, Ada pulled herself free from her mother’s clutches and stared into her eyes. “Mom, I saw how our family used to be back when she was still alive. We can’t stay like this. I’m going to bring our family’s power back.” “Oh? How do you plan to do that?” Claudia sat down again, folding her hands in her lap like a queen entertaining a supplicant. She didn’t seem surprised by anything Ada had said. “Summer is still reeling from Narcissus getting caught trying to break time and Winter hasn’t managed to entrench yet. The Raiths got kicked out, there’s no Red Court to hold us back either, and the White Council couldn’t hold the city if it tried,” Ada recounted. It’d surprised her the first time she’d thought about it, how the city’s mighty had fallen, one by one, and how she’d been there to see almost every single one of them fall. “I’m going to get the humans of New Orleans behind us and I’m going to poach as many people from the city’s powers as I possibly can, then I’m going to break Summer’s back. If I can shatter their powerbase and get the Greeks out of the way, there won’t be anyone else big enough to keep us from reclaiming the city and making it ours. What do you think?” Claudia nodded once. “A bold plan, but what do you want with the city? What will you do once you have it?” “I want to make something that lasts beyond me. Something that changes the game for good. I want a place where monsters and humans can coexist instead of hunting down each other.” She took a deep breath. “I thought I could keep this place safe by fighting the monsters, once, but it never stopped. People just kept dying. But we can do better than that, and we will once I’m in charge.” There was a gleam in Ada’s eyes as she spoke. This was what she saw when she dreamed every night. This was something truly worth fighting for. “You will not last the year,” Claudia said, standing. “And I will not allow my only daughter to attempt suicide by Faerie Lord. Give me the necklace.” She held out her hand. “I’m not going to die!” Ada shot back. “Archdemons using my blood couldn’t kill me, Old Man Pontchartrain won’t get a better chance. And what necklace are you talking about?” “The one you stole from your great-grandmother’s tomb,” Claudia said, her eyes piercing. “You are playing with forces you do not understand. Your naked ambition has already weakened the protections on this house!” Ada glared at her. “What protections? The house’s spirit is still there, watching over us, and you couldn’t drive a tank past our threshold. It’s all the same as it ever was.” “Is it? Then why did I feel my mother’s wards cracking all the way in Switzerland? The wards that are the only reason what remains of our family survived? What do you know of the house that you plan to lead, child?” Breathing rapidly, Ada reached into her pocket and drew out Sylvia’s pendant. It shone in the house’s penumbra, like it was pleased to be back home. “The only things I know about our family are what I managed to dig up,” she said, her voice as cold as Claudia’s as she looked up from the rose emblem. “And you know why? Because you haven’t taught me anything. I never knew my grandmother, and if it had been up to you I never would’ve found out she did something to protect us. Maybe you’re happy living like this in an empty house full of ghosts, but I’m not.” She turned her hand around and showed the pendant to her mother. “This place deserves better. We deserve better! My great grandmother thought we could become strong again, and she trusted me with it!” Her fingers tightened around the pendant, turning bone white. “Why won’t you trust me, Mom? Why am I not good enough for you?!” She shouted, her voice cracking from the strain. “Because you ran away!” Claudia shouted back. “To someplace my blood couldn’t call and your Name wouldn’t reach. How can I entrust the family to someone who would forsake it, only to come back changed, a stranger to me! I would have told you everything, shown you every picture, taken your hand and taught you every spell and ward, but you weren’t here!” Ada opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She was too angry, too hurt to say anything. Not just because her mother had accused her of running away, but because it was true. The little girl she’d once been had died a long time ago. She clenched her fists and tried to slow down her breathing, but that didn’t stop tears from leaking out. “You were so far away when I came home. Like I had nothing to do with you, like I was some eyesore you didn’t want to see again. We spent so much time together, and every time you hugged me, it felt like you were a million miles away.” Her nails were starting to dig into her palms, stinging with the familiar pain of blood crying for release. “Is that why you never come home, Mom?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “Because you don’t love me anymore?” Claudia’s eyes dropped. “It was your father’s idea to go abroad. He thought I was suffocating you, that you wouldn’t be allowed to grow up if I stayed too close. But I wasn’t the only one who was a million miles away, Ada. You never told me what happened to you while you were gone, and the distance grew and grew. You wouldn’t let me back in, and I didn’t remember how to ask.” She raised her eyes to meet Ada’s again. “You are my only daughter, how could I not love you?” Slowly, the pressure of her nails on her palms slackened, and Ada’s fists unclenched. No longer surrounded by it, the pendant fell down her hand until it got caught on two of her fingers, dangling by its chain. “I was...I was scared,” she said, sniffling. “Scared you hated me for what happened to Alisa. Scared you’d hate me even more if I told you the things I’d done while I was away. I was so filthy. So stained...” She could still remember how she’d taken back her future by killing with her magic for the first time, that burning rush that she still felt within her, looking for an excuse to get out. How could she tell anyone about it? How could anyone forgive? “Mom...if I tell you, will you promise you won’t hate me? Even if I tell you the whole truth?” It was such a stupid thing to ask of anyone. Her whole body entered a state of tension, preparing for the ‘no’. Claudia crossed the space between them and pulled Ada into another hug. This one was different than the one before, not too tight, not so possessive. Her voice was calm in Ada’s ear. “Ada, we blood mages are well used to stains. Tell me.” This time, it was easy to stay so close to her. Somehow, it felt nostalgic, like a memory of something they’d done a long, long time ago. Ada wanted to stay like this a little longer, but there was something even more important than letting go of the weight she’d carried all these years. There was someone who’d been waiting even longer to talk to her mother than her. “Mom…” she began, softly. “Before I tell you about what happened, there’s something I forgot to say earlier. I ran away because it felt like I couldn’t get away from Alisa’s memory, but it was something more than that. She’s still here, watching over me.” Claudia pulled away just far enough to look Ada in the eyes. “What do you mean, watching over you?” “I can’t explain it. But she can,” she said, and closed her eyes. “Alisa, come in,” she whispered. “I know you’re waiting.” For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Ada shuddered, and when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t there anymore. “Mom?” Claudia took her daughter’s face in both hands, her eyes searching for some sign of a trick, or proof, but there was nothing except the frightened joy in Ada’s smile to give it away. “Alisa?” she whispered, not daring to believe. Alisa threw herself into her mother’s arms without even a shred of hesitation. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier, we only found a way to do this a couple months ago.” Alisa spoke quickly, as though afraid the chance to make things right might disappear forever if she didn’t. “It’s been so lonely all these years. I missed you.” Claudia rocked back and forth as if she were cradling a baby instead of a full grown woman. “Alisa, Alisa, Alisa,” she said her name over and over, tears flowing freely now. “My beautiful daughters, of course you stayed together. Of course you did. I thought we’d lost you forever...” A strange little noise escaped Alisa’s throat, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I never thought I’d feel this again,” she said, clutching her mother tightly. “But I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”
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Oct 25, 2018 08:46
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Interlude: Pain of Separation The whole duSang family was sitting together at the dining room table. Ada’s father, Julian, had come running when he heard the shouting and arrived just in time to witness Alisa’s return. It had taken them all an hour to work through the tears and hugs and collect themselves enough to talk seriously. Roy had brought a wall-mirror in for Alisa and set it at her place, and Claudia invoked the spell that allowed her to speak through it when Ada told her how. They hadn’t sat like this, as a family, since the girls were eight years old. “So, what’s this about a dragon?” Julian asked, beaming at the girls from across the table. He was a short man, (shorter than his wife), whose brown eyes always sparked with zest and what looked suspiciously like mischief. Claudia was sitting beside him. No one sat at the head of the table, but as long as Ada could remember, no one ever had. “His name’s Factorax, but we call him Tor,” Ada said. The look in her father’s eyes now reminded her quite a bit of the little dragonet’s curiosity. “But he’s not, like, a big scary one. He’s a child still, and he’s got power over plastic. We helped him leave his mother’s lair when we snuck in to grab a chalice.” “It was for her girlfriend,” Alisa chimed in through the mirror, a broad grin on her face. “We stole it so he could keep being a man and Ada didn’t have to come out of the closet.” “No we didn’t!” Ada said, crossing her arms and shooting her a dirty look. “Come on, Alisa, how long are you gonna keep running that joke into the ground?” "Until it stops being funny," Alisa said, turning into a child just to stick her tongue out at Ada before turning back into an adult. “Stealing from dragons for your girlfriend!” Julian laughed. “Is that the infamous Warden? When do we get to meet him?” “Dear,” Claudia said, putting her hand on his and giving her head a little shake. Julian frowned and gave Ada a questioning look. For a moment, Ada wondered how she could explain he was dead already - but that was before she noticed something just didn’t fit about all this. “Wait,” she started. “How do you know he’s a Warden? I didn’t say anything about that yet.” Alisa rolled her eyes. “They’re spying on us, dummy. I bet they told Roy and Selene to keep tabs on us while they were away. Right, Mom?” she asked, turning towards her. “Claudia,” Julian said, giving her a cool look. “Is that true?” “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t check in on her?” Claudia said, crossing her arms. “You’ve heard all the trouble she’s been getting up to.” Julian facepalmed. “The point of going abroad… Never mind, we’ll talk about this later. Ada, has your mother told you why we jumped on the first ship from Europe six nights ago?” “Something about weakening wards I think?” She thought about it for a moment. “Mom, you said my grandmother put them down, right? But if she did and they’re still going, how did I manage to do anything to them? She was dead before we were born, wasn’t she?” “You said you saw the house when Sylvia was head, correct?” Claudia asked. “What was it like?” Ada took a second to think about it. It was more...alive, I guess. Not just because the family was so much bigger, the house itself didn’t feel so old and tired. Not as somber, either.” “It’s been this way since I was a child,” said Claudia, giving the empty chair at the head of the table a thoughtful glance. “It’s time you knew what happened to our family.” ““I’m tired of being in the dark about the family’s history.” Leaning over towards Alisa’s seat, Ada pressed her hand against the glass. Once Alisa did likewise, she nodded. “We’re ready.” Claudia leaned back in her seat, hands folded on the table in front her her. Her eyes went distant. “There was a draft, back in those days. Every able-bodied man was sent to fight in the war. Grandma Sylvia’s sons, my uncles, were all lost in between France and Germany. Our cousins fared no better. There were mages fighting on both sides, and a particularly awful one named Kemmler on the side of the Nazis.” “The necromancer, right? Was he the one who killed our people? One of his books got used to call the hurricane down on the city, I think.” “Who can say?” Claudia shrugged. “All we knew at the time was that they weren’t coming home. Not long after, Grandmother fell ill and passed away unexpectedly. My mother was quite young, and not yet prepared for the responsibilities of leading the house. Nerissa seized on the opportunity to eliminate a weakened rival.” Ada’s memory went to the woman she’d seen at the Lily during her first and only show, beautiful and wicked. “Sounds like something she would do. But how did she knock us off the map?” “She bled us out, one life at a time. My cousins had to move into the main house or be killed in their own homes. Then, once we were trapped here, she went after our people. All of our friends and allies were given the choice to abandon us or die, and my mother had no way to protect them. We couldn’t defend any of the properties we’d held for generations, so we lost access to the leylines and the ritual altars that had been the foundation of our power...” she trailed off, her face resembling a thundercloud. “They made her curl up into a ball and then kicked her around...” Ada shivered. There was nothing worse than a slow, impending death like that. What had her grandmother felt, knowing the end was coming, unable to do anything to stop it? “But why are we still here, though? It doesn’t sound like the Red Court to leave the job half-done. Why didn’t they storm the manor to take us all out once we were too weak to fight back?” “There was one altar Nerissa could not take from us. The one below this house. My mother gathered everyone together, all of us that remained...” Claudia hesitated, something Ada had rarely seen her do. Julian touched her arm as if to ask if he should continue for her, but she shook her head. “No, it’s my story and I’ll finish it. My mother gathered us together. She set the necklace you carry on the altar and began a ritual spell. ‘We have been reduced to ashes,’ she said, ‘So our name will invoke nothing but ashes. Our enemies will see no threat, our friends will see no ally. As long as there is no head of this house, the blessing will hold, and you will be safe. If, one day, we are recovered enough to return to glory, then give this necklace to the heir, as is customary, and may fortune find her.’” “But that spell is too open ended. Too many people, not even an endpoint.” Ada pointed out, trying to remember the lessons Rick had taught her on ritual crafting. “How did she manage to find the power source she needed for it when we had nothing left and no one to turn to?” “There is always power in blood, and much more in blood freely given.” Claudia said quietly. “She was the head of our house. She considered herself to blame for the calamities, and paid for it the only way she knew how. I wish you could have known your grandmother, Ada, Alisa, but...” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Ada inhaled softly. “Mom...” she whispered, reaching out to grasp her hand. “I’m sorry. Is...is that why you were so worried for me?” “We are the last duSangs in New Orleans,” Claudia said, squeezing Ada’s hand. “My cousins took the blessing and moved away, most have since married or changed their names for safety. When we lost Alisa, and then you, I thought our line was ended. I couldn’t bear trying again. We must be cursed, if this was our fate.” “If we were, it died with Nerissa,” Julian said. “Look, Claudia. She’s gone and we’re all here, together.” “And we’re not alone,” Ada pressed. “I’ve got friends, people who will fight for us. It’s not enough to take over the city, but it’s enough to get started.” She stared into her mother’s eyes. “There’s so much I don’t know still, Mom, but if you teach me, I promise I’ll learn. I won’t make the same mistakes again.” “She’s not kidding,” Alisa added. “Mom, you said Grandma couldn’t protect her people. But when the Fomor started taking people from us, Ada opened negotiations and took them back.” She disappeared from the mirror, but Ada felt Alisa’s arms wrapped protectively around her neck. “And not just that. When she traded away a hostage for them, she got a bonus beyond what they’d accorded. Someone they didn’t want to lose.” Claudia raised an eyebrow at that. It was the first of Ada’s accomplishments she actually seemed interested in. “The Fomor are positioning to take the place the Red Court left vacant. If you truly mean to do this, that’s a good sign. However, if you’ve gotten the better of them once, they won’t underestimate you.” “I’ve got a whole bunch of challenges ahead of me, and they’re going to be the biggest one. We don’t know what they want or what they’re really capable of yet.” For a moment, Ada fell silent, as she considered her potential opponents. “The Reds are dead. The Whites are gone. The Greeks threw in with Summer, and I need to split them up if I’m going to take them down. And speaking of Summer...Pontchartrain is well-established, but he doesn’t know I want to overthrow him. I’m not the impulsive little girl he thinks I am,” she said, touching her neck where she’d been bitten, months ago. “Not anymore.” After a moment, she continued. “That’s my biggest advantage. Nobody really knows what I can do. But I’m not ready yet. I need to get stronger, smarter, meaner than all of them. Mom, you’re my secret weapon. I need you to teach me how to be more like you. Will you guide me?” Claudia shook her head slowly. “First I need proof that you can handle a weapon safely. If you want my help, pay back those favors you owe. You can’t lead anything while in debt to another.” After a moment, Ada nodded. It made sense. A new lord couldn’t rise while bound by chains of servitude. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the pendant, and pushed it towards her mother’s side of the table. “Once people start owing me favors instead of the other way around, I’ll come back for it.” Claudia nodded seriously. She took the necklace in hand and looked long and hard at it. “There is one other matter you need to address before you’ll be ready to wear this. Your magic.” “Yeah? What about it?” “Why have you lost it?” “Because I didn’t want it anymore,” Ada said, taking the obsidian knife’s case out of her pocket. As she continued to speak, she kept her eyes on it, holding onto it with both hands. “All it did was bring me regrets.” Her parents shared a concerned look. “What do you regret so much you would deny a part of yourself?” Claudia asked. “Remember how you promised you wouldn’t hate me if I told you the truth? It’s got to do with that.” She breathed in, then out, then in again. “Mom...Dad...the first time I used my magic, I murdered someone.” Julian looked shocked, but Claudia held up a hand to interrupt him. “Was this before you came home?” “Yeah. Maybe a few hours.” “The same day?” her father sputtered. “But-” “Did they deserve it?” Claudia asked, talking right over her husband. “Yeah. He was gonna kill one of the other kids in the gang for disobeying. I punched a blood lance right through his chest.” Ada’s voice was dull and distant in her ears, drowned out by the beat of Rook’s heart, pulsing through the lance back to her body, picking up speed in a desperate attempt to stay alive. The sheer incomprehension in his eyes, giving way to animal fear as his knife slipped from his hands and he clutched vainly at thin air. His synapses firing randomly, mirrored by warm little electric shocks all over her body that made her tremble like a leaf. And then, finally, the barely noticeable jolt of pain as his knees thudded against the concrete floor, as the blood loss from the lance drinking his heart caught up to him and his heartbeat slowly faded away. “And you regret this?” Her mother’s tone was carefully neutral, trying to understand, not pass judgement. “Yes. No. Kind of. I...” Ada heaved a long sigh. “A couple minutes before that, he threw me across the room. Then he was dead, just like that, and couldn’t hurt us anymore.” she shivered as the old hunger began to stir. “I would’ve killed him another ten times to keep Fly safe. I don’t regret that. But when I crushed his heart, saw how helpless he was to resist...I needed more of it. And when I fought Circe to save Rick, I did it again.” She looked up. “Circe isn’t dead,” Claudia said. “No. She’s not. We fought a duel of will over who’d get to keep him, arranged by an impartial arbitrator, Olivia Raith of the White Court.” For a fleeting moment, Ada thought about trying to hide her sin, before tossing the thought away. Her parents deserved to know the truth. She’d promised them this much. “The duel’s last challenge was providing an answer to a question - ‘what would you do for love?’. Olivia captured a man, beat him up until he was half-dead, and left him there for me to find, with the key to Rick’s cage stashed away inside his chest.” Her mother nodded solemnly. “So that’s how we got our new gardener. I had heard part of this story but not all of it.” “The first time I used my magic, I killed on instinct. That time, I made a choice to tear open someone’s rib cage while they couldn’t fight back, and I loved it. Felt like feasting after not having eaten for weeks. And I was still so hungry I almost killed Rick right after, just to get another taste.” Her shoulders slumped as she admitted it, her face reddening from a mixture of arousal and shame. “Ada…” Her father looked at her like a stranger, but her mother held her gaze, waiting for her to finish. “If I keep calling on my magic, one day I won’t be able to keep myself in check.” She paused for a long moment, trying to find the words to express what she truly believed in. “I’m a monster for enjoying hurting people like that. But I don’t want to be one anymore.” “I would never have left you alone if I knew you were on this road,” Claudia said, reaching for her hand across the table. “What could you have done?” Ada murmured, pulling away with a tired look in her eyes. “Locked me up in a tower until the danger went away? Something broke before you ever had a chance go fix it, Mom. My second kill just widened the cracks with a wedge.” Her mother sighed and folded her hands. “It won’t work, Ada. Your magic won’t let you deny it forever. There will be accidents, if there haven’t been already.” Of course there had been, but she couldn’t tell her that. Nor could she allow Mom to find out how she’d almost killed Leo, or turned half-feral and sucked a whole transfusion’s worth of blood out of Rick. She could see the disgust and disappointment on her parents’ faces already, and she’d die before she let herself see their pity as well. “So what am I supposed to do?” she answered. “Pick someone I don’t like and tear them to pieces for a fix?“ “No. Ada, that can never happen again, but it will if you keep starving yourself until the only thing that can satisfy you is murder.” She reached out again, this time with both hands, before the gap between them grew too wide to cross. There was a tremble in her voice as she continued. “You’re not the only duSang to make mistakes. We can look for an answer together.” Ada let her grasp her arms carelessly, like they belonged to a doll’s. “I don’t know how long I can hold out,” she said, her voice utterly toneless. “I’ve tried everything, but there’s no thrill that can keep the hunger down.” Suddenly, she rose up and embraced her mother over the table keeping them apart. “Mom, don’t leave me. Please...don’t let me go,” she said, her voice wracked with fear and self-loathing as she clung to Claudia like a ship to its anchor. Claudia pulled her up onto the table so she could get her arms around her daughter properly. The knife case was knocked forward, and she caught it with one hand and pressed it into Ada’s. “Do you know why we use obsidian knives, Ada?” “No,” she answered, letting her mother cradle her as she grasped the case. “Does it have anything to do with the family’s history?” “In a way, yes. Blood mages have worked magic through sacrifice for thousands of years, but we don’t use it to kill. A knife provides distance, just enough, to prevent what’s happening to you. And an obsidian knife is so sharp that it cuts painlessly, if you must take a life.” Clumsily, Ada pulled open the case to stare at it. “I wish I’d had it when I needed it,” she said, bitterness and resignation pouring out of her in waves. “Keep it close,” Claudia said. “I don’t know how well it’ll work for you now, but it’s the only protection I know of. This one…” she faltered for a moment. “It belonged to your grandmother.” “Mom… did she...?” “She wanted you to have it.” Tears welled up in Claudia’s eyes. “There was a letter with her things, that she knew I wouldn’t be able to touch it but I should pass it on to my daughters, so part of her could watch over them.” “...Grandma loved us, didn’t she?” Ada asked, pressing up against her mother. “All of our family, but especially you. She wanted to make sure you’d never have to worry the same way she did.” But her own thoughtless actions had cut deep wounds into her mother’s soul - and now she was suffering, afraid one day she’d wake up to find her daughter was gone for good. A choked little sob escaped Claudia’s lips at her daughter’s question. Unable to say anything, she buried her face in Ada’s hair, grasping her tightly, as though she might dissolve into sand if she let go of her. “Sis,” Alisa called out, staring at her through the mirror, her expression grim but determined. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna let you lose yourself like that.” It couldn’t have been easy for her, but Ada saw her force a smile. “No matter what happens, I’m with you ‘til the end.” Julian’s expression was unreadable as he pushed his chair back and slowly stood up. “It’s late, and I think we’ve all had enough honesty for one night. Maybe things will look better in the morning.” He didn’t sound like he believed it. “Dad,” Ada called out, her voice weak, a far cry from its usual strength. “What should I have done? Why did I disappoint you?” “Should I be proud of what you’ve told us? Or how long you waited to do so?” He shook his head and wouldn’t look at her. “I need time to think, Ada. God knows you’ve given me enough to think about.” “Julian…” Claudia said, worried. “No, love. I was the one who trusted her too much, remember? You were right.” “Dad,” Ada said, but there was no response. “Dad, please. I want to fix this, I’m not a gently caress-up. Just give me a chance.” “I did,” he said, and walked out the door.
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Oct 25, 2018 08:49
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Interlude - Reunion Marcine knocked on the door without bothering with the doorbell, because Elbridge had probably shorted it as soon as he looked at the place. Warden Hardley. There was a phrase she wasn’t sure about. She wasn’t sure how to feel about meeting him again, either. The reasons she’d given him for this whole apprenticeship thing had been short-sighted and stupid because she couldn’t think of anything but the fight when she was caught in the fringe of a war. But she had a purpose, now. She smiled as he answered and they exchanged formalities. “How’s the Warden business?” she asked him as she stepped inside. “More talking than anything else,” Elbridge told her, pulling up a plastic deck chair for Marcine. “But the community’s been receptive, and so far I haven’t had to cut off any heads.” He paused halfway through pouring a glass of lemonade, then amended his statement. “...any human heads.” Marcine grimaced. “I’d rather not see any more heads cut off, human or otherwise.” “It’s not for everyone,” Elbridge acknowledged. “How have you been?” “Okay. It was nice to just spend a while with family, after...all that. gently caress trying to explain it, though. My dad makes tornadoes and I still felt crazy talking about it.” She spotted the sword in her peripheral vision, propped in a stand beside a desk. Ada’s phone call was still clear in her mind, but there was something more immediately important. “Zophiel suggested that there might still be a part of Joey hanging on,” she began. “I went to visit him to try to find out. And there is. He’s in there, but completely detached from physical sensation. I kind of got dragged in...” She rubbed her head awkwardly. “Didn’t do anything because I didn’t know what the consequences might be.” “He’s lucid?” Elbridge asked, furrowing his brow. “No. He’s not conscious. His body’s just sitting there. If you put something in his hand, he’ll hold it, but it’s just a nerve response…” It wasn’t comfortable to recount, but she related her experience at the hospice. “...he’s decerebrate,” Elbridge said. His tone and expression were more weary and sad than anything else. “I’ve seen it before, during the wars. Bomb injuries, mostly. A piece of shrapnel to just the right place along the spinal column, and one’s a prisoner in one’s own body.” “This wasn’t caused by a physical injury, though. If I put him in there...there must be a way to reach him.” “The distinction isn’t quite so clean as that,” Elbridge told her. “While the soul may exist independent of the organic substance of the brain, the mind is quite closely-entangled. It’s nigh-impossible to affect one without altering the other. It’s why the Laws are so strict on mental magicks - no matter how well-intentioned, they can very easily cause lasting damage.” “Trying still seems better than leaving him there,” she said quietly. “Just...trying carefully.” “Marcine,” Elbridge said gravely, “are you a brain-surgeon?” “That’s kinda what I told Zophiel,” she said. “But I suppose an angel should know what he’s talking about.” Emphasis on ‘should’, Elbridge thought. “It may be possible to correct the trauma that left him in a decerebrated state,” he said. “That said, most medicine is best-left to mortal, scientific methods. Even then, the brain is a stupendously-complex organ, poorly-understood at best even by its foremost experts. What you’re proposing is an almost-incalculable risk.” She’d already known the drawbacks for years. “Saving the World Tree was a long shot, too, but we did it.” “That was an act of desperation in the face of imminent oblivion, and required multiple, certifiable miracles for us to succeed,” Elbridge pointed out. “Marcine, please understand - I do want to help, and I believe that you can help Mr. Novak, but if you should worsen his condition with your magic...he would not be the only casualty.” His gaze lingered pointedly on the sword for several seconds before returning to her. “I promised to teach you control. Control begins with humility. One cannot surpass one’s limitations without first knowing them.” Marcine sighed impatiently. She had hoped that he’d trust she recognized those limitations, after everything else. “Do you think I don’t know that? I never tried because I was sure I’d only make it worse. Until Zophiel said it might be possible. Might, from an angel.” She tapped the arm of the chair deliberately. “So let’s start with where to begin figuring that out.” “Historically, surgeons-in-training practised their craft on cadavers,” Elbridge told her. “However, those lack a mind to speak of, or if they do...well, that’s another Law. Hrm...if only there were a way for you to engage with another mind without risk of harming...the brain…” He blinked, and turned to look at the sword again. “Wasn’t once enough?” Marcine asked flatly. “Well, that’s rather the point,” Elbridge said, watching as Cole’s shade made frantic, flailing motions and shook his head so hard that El thought it might fly off. “His psyche bears the marks of...as close to a proper execution of procedure as might exist. The Merlin himself performed the resection.” “Proper, as done by people who still go to leeches to correct the humours.” “No,” Elbridge said, “Langtry’s sworn those off, as I understand.” “Has he moved on to icepick lobotomies?” “That would explain his overall demeanour,” Elbridge observed. Marcine snerked and turned to the sword. “What’s Rick’s opinion on this?” He lifted it from the desk and passed it to her, hilt-first. “Ask him yourself.” The hilt felt warm, more like taking someone’s hand than touching metal. And there was Rick, sitting on the edge of the desk beside her, looking the same as he’d been before the mission. Before the cabin. Her eyes stung as she smiled. “It’s good to see you again.” “You too,” Rick said, smiling back at her. They were close enough to touch, but there was a distance in his posture that hadn’t been there before. “What’s it been, two months?” “Without a call?” he didn’t add. “Yeah… I needed a while to process it, so I went to Monroe. Stayed with my parents. It was good to see Dad acting like himself again… You didn’t meet him.” Or know that she’d never found out what happened to her double’s mom. Some things were clear; some things were a jumble until she stopped to think about them. “Better to meet him in this timeline anyway. Eventually.” “Maybe,” Rick said, though he sounded unconvinced. “Does he visit much? El told me a few things.” “Sometimes. By the sounds of it, he’s coming down to see what kind of trouble I’ve gotten into when he’s not busy. Apparently climatology is hard when you need an answer that isn’t ‘magic did it’ when it did.” “Ah, like that demon-powered hurricane last year.” He tilted his head slightly and looked at her. “If I’m involved in most of that trouble, should I be worried?” “No.” She pointedly eyed the doorway El had disappeared through for a moment, indicating who probably was in trouble. “You saved us all, in the end… And you paid the price already.” “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said quietly. She looked down at her hands, her chest tightening. Never should have gone along with that stupid plan. She’d spent two months trying to accept it. It hadn’t worked. “I told you not to fight him alone.” “What choice did I have? He was the key, and we were out of time and options. I thought I was ready… I was ready. I don’t understand...” As he talked, a long cut opened across his cheek, then one on his arm, bleeding through the sleeve. Unthinking, Marcine reached for his arm. She touched nothing. “I should have been there,” she muttered, glaring at her hand like this was its fault. “I knew where you were and I wasn’t even far away, I should have gone.” “I felt you with me,” he said, reaching for her hand before she could pull it away. The hairs stood up on her skin when his fingers passed through hers. “You did a lot. It wasn’t your fault.” “And you still died, so what did it matter?” Her voice was harsh, but directed inward. “Saved two timelines, but couldn’t save a friend because I didn’t listen to my drat gut.” “Marcine…” He shook his head. “If Zophiel couldn’t change what happened, you couldn’t either. That ace up my sleeve was a ritual to lock us in a pocket dimension so his men couldn’t interfere. There was no way for you to get to me, even if you came. And… I’m glad you didn’t. The others needed you a lot more than I did. From what El’s told me, you took good care of them.” She forced back the instinct to protest, or deflect, and dredged up a faint smile instead. “Someone asked me to. Good thing, too. They needed it.” “I bet they did,” he said, but his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I let you down, and I’m sorry. Everything went wrong from the start.” Marcine took a moment to process what he’d told her. It sounded like there really wasn’t anything she could have done. It still didn’t make her feel better yet, because what if there had been another option they just didn’t think of? What if…? It explained the ice block, at least. “Won’t stop me wishing I could have done more,” she admitted. “What happened?” More cuts and bruises showed on his body. Roqueza’s marks, each one sending an echo of pain through the hilt of the sword. “It hurts, every time I remember, but I’ve gone over it a thousand times and something... feels wrong. I made mistakes, big ones, but that isn’t what I mean. It’s hard to explain.” He looked at her, piercingly. “You were with me, at the end. I could tell. Did you feel it?” His sudden shift caught her off guard. “I don’t know. All I remember feeling is Zophiel’s presence when I used the feathers.” And the horrible void as Rick died… “He said that he was able to give you a choice.” “Bullshit. Something isn’t right. I’m supposed to be here, I’m sure of it. But not like this…” He looked at his hands helplessly. “I need to talk to Zophiel.” Marcine rubbed her neck. “I don’t think he’ll be around for a while.” “El said you summoned him once, can’t you do that again?” He sounded desperate, shakey, she hadn’t seen him like that before. “I pushed my luck already. But with everything else he did for us, he wouldn’t have settled for half-measures.” Zophiel might not mind an excuse to get away from the Seraphim, but the Seraphim sure would. She patted the sword hilt awkwardly. “Take it easy.” “I just thought… since you were there… I know I’m not making it up.” He looked at her again, lost. “You believe me right? I might be dead, but I’m not crazy. Please...” Now he was acting like she’d expect from a ghost. It worried her. This might be simple denial, and who could blame him for that? But she’d be the last person to tell someone to ignore their instincts. “You might be right. I just can’t confirm it.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath, but never exhaled it, as if he’d forgotten that part. “It’s just that, if Roqueza was supposed to kill me- If I just wasn’t good enough, and even a miracle couldn’t save me- why am I still here? I don’t have any unfinished business. He was my unfinished business.” “Protecting the city?” she suggested. Her mouth twitched into another faint smile. “Making sure El doesn’t cause a PR disaster?” He didn’t laugh. “The city is in good hands. I don’t think anyone needs me, anymore.” “What about Ada?” “Ada thinks if you love someone you have to let them go,” he said bitterly. Oh. She’d wondered how a romance with a ghost would go. It didn’t, apparently. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s been over a month. I’m alright. Mostly.” And that was the end of that topic. The awkward silence lasted at least a minute more before he spoke up again. “Hey Marcine? I know I don’t have a right to ask this, but I’ve been collecting dust ever since I woke up. You’re the only person I know who can actually swing a sword. Hugues left town, and El is completely hopeless… I’m tired of being a wall prop.” Marcine perked up. “I’d be happy to. I was brushing up on my fencing lessons back home, actually. You could give me some pointers?” “I can do more than that,” he said, with a real smile. “If you’re going to be a Warden’s apprentice, you have to be able to fight like one.” “And to think, Dad wondered why I was bothering.” He would still wonder, with his disgust for the Wardens. She drew the sword. There wasn’t much room, but it felt only appropriate to raise it in a fencer’s salute. The second she did, she was somewhere else. Noon on the shore of a pristine lake in a pine forest, a half-built cabin just up the hill. It smelled like summer. Rick was standing next to her, and he tousled her hair with one hand. She felt it, really felt it, and then… she was back in the living room, and he was on the floor, panting hard. “That… was harder than I thought it’d be…” he wheezed. She blinked, then lowered the sword and laughed as she knelt beside him. She touched the image of his arm and focused. She wasn’t entirely sure it’d work on a ghost, but in the next instant they were in the thawing forest of her mental world. It wasn’t really the same thing he’d just done. The important part was that he felt just as solid when she hugged him as the other time she’d brought him here. “Looks like we’ve both got some practice to do.”
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Oct 30, 2018 02:18
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First Contact Gorden’s pulling of strings with the Dean of Students had confirmed that a “Shirley Quinn” had been on the Biology (specialty hydrology) grad student list, but was now taking a sabbatical with no forwarding address given. A full day spent further searching through ordinary channels had not turned up anything, so he did the next best thing, a wild guess based on her major--he asked Scott. Scott knew plenty about the “poor lassie” and her “new creepy-tae-fook boyfriend”, but would only talk over a healthy dinner and drinks. Between a long meal and a lot of New Orleans traffic, the new moon was high in the sky as Gorden pulled his car up to the address he’d been given. Well...SOMEONE really likes Halloween, he thought to himself as he looked over the wide, old mansion with turn-of-the-last century styling and the adjunct tower. The out-of-timeness was only barely compensated for by the electric lights illuminating the “Antiques, Appraisal and Disposal of” sign in the front. He suddenly felt very out of place parking in front with a Toyota instead of a black horse and gothic carriage. Tucking his book tighter under his left arm and briefly fingering his steel covered necklace, he stepped out of the car, walked over the grounds, and knocked at the door. It creaked open ominously after a few minutes, but the girl that answered it was oddly… normal looking. She had curly hair and glasses and was wearing pink and grey pajamas with bunnies on them. She gave Gorden a yawn and a confused look. “Uh, you lost mister? Phone dead or something?” If Gorden were completely honest with himself, he had expected the person answering the door to look like Marilyn Manson, not a mousy young woman. “Uh, hi!” he answered back, forcing a smile despite the gloomy atmosphere. “No, I’m not lost, I’m looking for a woman by the name of Shirley. I was told this was where she lived…?” He hoped like hell he didn’t come off as super-creepy. “Oh really? And who told you that?” She adjusted her glasses to peer at him. If she didn’t think he was super-creepy, he was trending dangerously close to the line. No sense being cagey, or else he might get the door slammed in his face. “Er, Sharene said you could help me with something! Sharene Laveau, do you know her? Student at Tulane? She said that her friend had been coerced by a professor into doing some weird stuff over the summer, and she said you could help me help her with that.” He took a deep breath. If this did not go over well… “...she said her friend had to something with a...ghost pirate?” “A ghost pirate,” probably-Shirley repeated. She turned back towards the interior of the house. “Danny! Are there ghost pirates in town?” “Bunch of ‘em!” presumably-Danny called back from deeper inside. Probably-Shirley crossed her arms and leaned against the door. “I don’t know any Sharenes, but say I believe you. What’s your name? You a student too?” She gave his Tulane baseball cap a pointed stare. “Gorden! Gorden Maxwell!” he responded, suddenly very eager to prove that he wasn’t a creep. “I’m a grad student at Tulane--student teacher actually! That’s why Sharene came to me to help her friend.” Another deep breath. “She told me whoever it was that coerced her friend hurt you too. I just want to help you both.” He stood up a little straighter and tried to project an effortless kindness. “Because, you know, it’d be really hosed up if a professor could get away with that.” Gorden has Rapport +3: /r 4dF+3: (b+-b)+3 = 3 And playing up the matter by invoking New Age Anti-Retro Millennial to make that a 5 Probably-Shirley’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, it sure would.” She pushed the door all the way open and stepped to one side. “May I come in, then?” Gorden asked, shivering a bit. “I should’ve brought a jacket.” “Up to you,” she said noncommittally. “Thank you, then.” A quick answer as Gorden stepped forward. And promptly fell flat on his face over the door jamb, as if someone had decided to drop a 50 pound sack on his neck the moment he stepped through the door. By the time he’d pulled himself up from the mat inside he could feel the giant smothering weight above him… ...and yet his observant side noticed that the weight was evenly distributed across everything that could be considered “inside” the house, and his legs, being still outside, were decidedly not being crushed. Also that something was running down his face and over his lips. “I...uh...wow, that’s...erm...is this a new burglar alarm? Is my nose bleeding?” “For chrissakes, Shirl,” said Danny, or at least, someone wearing a pair of fuzzy slippers that appeared in Gorden’s limited line of view. “Gorden, you can come in.” “Ouch...thanks,” Gorden managed to mutter through a handkerchief pressed against his nose. Amazing--the sensation abated immediately after the second person said “come in!” He delicately took the offered hand to pull himself up and came face-to-face with…”Danny, right? Nice to meet you.” He gave a quick shake of the hand before shifting his grip on the handkerchief. “Sorry, I...what was that? It felt like everything above my waist was getting squashed flat.” Danny tilted his head and looked Gorden up and down. “You’re magic enough to get pancaked by Grandma’s wards and you don’t know what a threshold is?” “Mmmph. Let’s just say I’m mostly self taught.” “Alright, well, basically, don’t go into a home without being invited,” Danny said. “Real homes have a natural defense against supernatural intruders. Usually that just means you can’t use magic inside, but some places- like this one- have beefier security.” “I wanted to know if you were a muggle, so I didn’t invite you,” Shirley said, tucking her hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t know better.” “Nnn, it’s alright,” Gorden waved off Shirley’s apology. “I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t, I dunno, Danny hiding behind the door with a cast iron skillet.” Yeah, on balance that would be a lot more permanent. “Lesson learned on my part! Do you want to, er…” he looked back and forth between Shirley and Danny. “Do you know why she, uh…”. Oh, how was he going to broach the subject now?! Okay, change of tacks. “What was that you said about a bunch of ghost pirates earlier, Danny?” “That there’s a lot of ‘em? I mean, this is a port town that’s over a century old. It’s not exactly shocking. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.” He ambled through the foyer into a large living room filled with antique furniture. There was a fire burning in the fireplace. It looked like something out of a Dickens novel. “You can toss your hanky in there,” he said. “Never a good idea to leave blood lying around.” “Thanks,” said Gorden with an involuntary shiver. His eyebrows went up at the mention of leaving blood around. “Uh, I guess you take cleanliness seriously here? I mean, if it helps, I don’t have any infectious diseases or anything...it’s really not a bother, I can help you clean up and wash this off at home…” “I already got it, don’t worry,” Shirley said, brandishing a wet napkin she’d fetched from the kitchen. She headed back to the foyer to take care of the small mess. “I don’t care about the stain man, it’s just common sense.” Danny looked down at his hand, where he’d taken Gorden’s to help him up. There was a single bead of blood on his knuckle. He sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t do this but…” That quick, he licked the drop clean. And then Gorden was face to face with... himself, sitting in the big easy chair in Danny’s clothes. “Your blood links back to you,” Danny-Gorden said, his voice a perfect copy of the original. “And this is about the least nasty thing that I could do with it.” “HOLY F--” Gorden fell backwards in shock--if he hadn’t already been positioned in front of a plush armchair he might have prompted another nosebleed from hitting something. He shuddered, shaking to clear his head and look his double square in the eyes. “Okay! Wow! That--I--drat--” Conscious and coherent thought took a little bit longer. “Danny stop being creepy!” Shirley yelled from the foyer. “I’m not being creepy!” Danny, who was suddenly himself again, shouted back. “I’m trying to teach this kid how not to get killed!” “I was not expecting--can you model a face statistically? Sure, but visually, not--the pattern must have come from the DNA in the blood--but DNA only gets you to the proteins, not the connections between--and it doesn’t account for environmental factors--DNA won’t tell you how a nose looks after it’s broken--can you really reverse engineer a person’s face entropically from--” He looked up suddenly as Danny and Shirley yelled at each other. “Actually, I, uh...I know I shouted earlier but, y’know, right now I’m just trying to figure out how the hell he pulled that off!” “You’re a math major, aren’tcha?” Shirley said, walking back into the room. She tossed the dirty napkin into the fireplace and sat down on a couch, tucking her feet underneath her. “Physics,” answered Gorden, suppressing another involuntary shudder--not from cold this time--as he tossed the handkerchief into the fireplace. “But my particular subfield uses a lot of math--statistics, especially.” Another deep exhale. “No, seriously, how did you do that?” “Magic,” Danny said, as if that were perfectly obvious. Maybe if one had been raised in magical traditions one’s entire life it’d be obvious, but Gorden hadn’t, so it wasn’t. “Okaaaaay...how did you get from my blood that my hair was white? I wasn’t born this way, you know. Also magic?” It couldn’t be a purely DNA mechanism then--Danny’s disguise would have black hair if it were. Of course he could have done it by looking at him, but… “...can you do that with someone you’ve never met, too? Scars, dyed hair, and all?” “Only if the blood’s fresh,” Danny said, sinking back in his chair. “But yeah, pretty much. I wouldn’t know how they style their hair or what they’re wearing, but physically I’d look the same. Magic works off of sympathy, not peptides. If I can see you, I can get the minor alterations like tattoos or piercings. Those will only show up blind if they’re like, an intrinsic part of who you are.” “It also only lasts a couple seconds with that much,” Shirley explained. She’d dated a few math majors in her time at Tulane so she knew Gorden wasn’t going to just let this go. “If a demon wants to impersonate you long term, they’ll just eat you.” “R-right…” Gorden sank in his chair at the mention of being eaten. “You, uh, say that like you’ve seen it before. That’s not what the professor was involved with, was it?” Students getting eaten/body snatched? Could you hide that? “Reuben? Naw, he was on the run from the fishheads. Er, I mean the Fomor.” She made monster claws with her hands. “They’re fishheads. Kidnapped me last year right out of my dinghy when I was trying to collect water samples on Lake Pontchartrain, then stuck freaky worm eggs in my ear so I’d work for them. It was awful.” “Ah, jeez, I’m sorry to hear that.” Gorden said apologetically. The mention of the Fomor was filed away alongside “demon blood transformation by eating” and “wards that smash you flat without an invite” as things to research later. Clearly there was a ton of crazy stuff he was going to need to look into more. He slipped backwards into the plush of the armchair as he thought about the Tulane faculty, something he knew somewhat more about. “Reuben, Reuben... I think Scott said something about a Prof. Lancaster in Biology? His first name was Reuben...unless it was Rudy...or Rudolph...it’s been a couple years since he mentioned him.” “That’s him,” Shirley said, narrowing her eyes. “It was his fault I was out on the lake that day. I never found out if he sent me out there knowing what would happen, but even if he didn’t he didn’t do a drat thing to help me. I got lucky and the wizards ended up rescuing me, which is when I finally had to accept the whole ‘magic is real’ thing.” She hugged her knees.“But I mean, even after I escaped, the fishheads had my wallet so they knew where I lived. My apartment got tossed, so I couldn’t stay there anymore. That’s why I wanted to know how you found out I was here. No one’s supposed to know that.” “Erm, like I said, Sharene mentioned that one of the professors was making one of her friends do creepy stuff, and she said someone had dropped out over it. For what it’s worth I had to do a lot of digging to find you--the administration don’t know where you live.” “What kind of digging?” Danny asked. “Tracking spell? Where’d you get a link?” “Through you, actually. Someone mentioned a ‘creepy tae gently caress’ boyfriend with a ‘creepy tae gently caress’ big spooky house.” Gorden scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “Sorry.” “B-Boyfriend?” Shirley stammered. Danny took one look at her indignant face and started laughing like he wasn’t going to stop. “That’s what he said! Not me!” “We’re roommates,” Shirley said, still flustered. Danny poked her with his cane. “Since when? You aren’t paying rent!” “Since you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself for three months, oh how quickly we forget…” Danny cleared his throat. “Well that’s what happens when you get shot, Shirl. You can’t do anything by yourself for three months.” He sighed. “Look Gorden, it’s late and I think you got what you came here for, so-” “Hold on a second,” Shirley interrupted. “I want to know who’s telling stories about me at school. We hadn’t even met when I was kidnapped so this is as fishy as a Monday market.” She turned on Gorden. “I gave you a name, you give me a name. Whose rear end do I have to go kick?” “I assure you, he told me that in the utmost confidence!” Gorden raised his hands in front of him in a “calm down” gesture. “He was worried about you, and when you took the sabbatical he didn’t want to pry, but when I mentioned I was looking for you he said to make sure she was okay. You don’t need to kick his rear end or anyone else’s rear end! I know Lancaster did wrong by you, but this guy’s a good person; he’s not the type to leave a student to hang in the wind!” @Davin_Valkri: 4dF+3 = (bb++)+3 = 5, invoking You Can’t Scare Me, I’m a TA for a +7
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Nov 8, 2018 05:00
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She looked like she wanted to keep arguing but knew it wouldn’t be any use, at least not right now. “Fine. If you- the guy I met ten minutes ago- say he’s trustworthy, I guess I have to believe you. It’s only my life on the line if the Fomor find me out again.” “I know, when you put it that way it sounds crazy,” Gorden held up his arms to placate her. “Tell ya what, I’ll tell him you’re alright and see if he’s willing to get in touch with you. If he is, I’ll give you his name. Maybe he can help out with Professor Lancaster’s shady magic stuff.” Shirley nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, Gorden. I want to go back to class, but unless things change it’s too dangerous. I haven’t even been able to get back to the lake to check my numbers recently, which sucks even more than skipping a semester. Those PH values won’t wait.” “I hear that!” At the discussion of research he immediately relaxed. “I got antsy when the power went out at the lab for three days--I can’t imagine not being able to work on your passion for months on end! Don’t worry, you’ll be taking new water samples soon, I’m sure of it!” “I hope so…” She sighed. “Anything is better than playing nurse for another three months. But you don’t need to hear about any more of my problems. Go talk to your friend, see if you can help that other student. Sharene Laveau was it?” She bit her lip, thinking. “Hey Danny, isn’t that the same last name as the lady who runs that tourist trap?” Danny laughed. “There’s like twenty people claiming to have that last name running tourist traps in the city, Shirl, it’s kinda famous. Voodoo Queen of N’Orleans ring a bell?” “Well, fair enough, but if it’s the one I’m thinking of, that’s where a bunch of your Gran’s books came from. Isn’t Anna’s next meetup supposed to be there?” “Oh that tourist trap,” Danny said, scratching his cheek. “Yeah, actually. You thinking about going this time?” “Not me,” she shook her head. “Gorden. It’d save us the trouble of doing all the explaining.” “Erm…” Gorden’s head bounced back and forth as he followed the discussion. “When we talked, Sharene said that her mama runs a store that sells books about Caribbean religious customs and...I think she said ‘the real stuff’.” He left out the part where she’d only mentioned that because she’d seen one of Tulane’s research libraries’ books on that very subject on his desk. “Is that who you’re talking about?” “Yeah,” Shirley nodded. “The whole place is a front for an actual magic shop. Eye of newt, spell books, magic wands, all of that stuff.” “How many times do I have to tell you that no one uses newt’s eyes to do anything,” Danny said, sounding exasperated. “Seriously, what did newts ever do to you people.” Shirley ignored him and dug through a pile of mail on the table next to the couch. “Ahah!” She pulled an orange flyer out of the stack and offered it to Gorden. It said ‘Monthly Para-net Meeting’ in a scripted font and gave the address for Mary Laveau’s Voodoo Emporium, with a date and time for the following Saturday after lunch. “It’s a group meetup for magical folks, kind of a neighborhood watch thing,” Shirley explained. “The woman who runs it, Anna, is real good about newbies. She’ll help you out.” Gorden took the offered flyer and read the details. And read it again. And again, as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading. “Son of a…” Then he took his “grimore” and gently bopped himself on the forehead with it. “If this group existed a year ago, I wouldn’t have spent the next few months locked in my dorm room playing with shattered cups and wind up cats!” He crumpled the paper into a ball in frustration, then-- “whoops, should save that”-- grabbed a sticking-out corner and flicked it back into pristine smoothness in a single whip-like action. “Were they just founded, or did they exist a year ago and I just didn’t know about it?” “Well the para-net is kind of recent, but more than couple years old,” Danny said. “The internet made it a lot easier for adepts to find each other and all. But since tech fizzles around anyone with enough power, it’s mostly just little people. The stronger ones tend to get picked up by the wizards or burn out on black magic. More of the latter, lately.” “That or the Fomor get ‘em,” Shirley said darkly. “Fish-heads have been kidnapping people for a few months now, turning ‘em into more fish-heads.” “I guess I should have checked online, then,” Gorden chuckles bitterly. It was interesting to know that his woes with the instruments weren’t limited to himself, but that could wait for another time. At Shirley’s comment, he nodded seriously. “And the professor might be helping him do it. Dammit. Alright, I’ll make time to attend this paranet meetup. Maybe one of them already knows what the professor is up to. We’ll just have to see. Thanks, Shirley.” “No problem. What do you do anyways?” She flicked her fingers like he had to uncrinkle the paper. “Hmmm...it’s kinda hard to describe without a lot of math-y terms...well, let me demonstrate first.” Gorden turned to the fireplace, still happily burning away, flipped open his book, and began to mumble. “Combustion’s an easy reaction…products and energy release...it’s like playing the video in reverse, setting the tape to rewind, the arrow of the reaction running backwards...” The fire stopped glowing--and became a great shadow sitting in the log holder, imperceptible--and the room began to grow colder as the fireplace log steadily rebuilt itself from ashes and smoke. “Okay, you might want to cover your eyes for this one…imagine all the frames of the video played simultaneously, super-fast-forward, you know? You’d get a big release of heat, a smear of light...” All of the smoke, heat, and light that had accumulated into the fireplace log released in an instant into the chimney and room, with a blinding flash. The log no longer existed, having burnt completely into soot and dust. Gorden looked at the result, then at Shirley and Danny, and shrugged. “I guess you could say I break time.” “You’re not kidding,” Shirley said, looking legitimately impressed. “Great, more time magic,” Danny muttered under his breath. “You sound worried,” Gorden looked at Danny in concern. “I don’t get it. Imagine what you could do with this. Just in energy alone--carbon sequestration, nuclear recycling--you could solve the world’s problems in an instant with this! Imagine that wasn’t a fireplace log but a spent fuel rod, or, or a toxic by-product of some reaction. You could break it down in an instant by running it forward as fast as you could!” He tilted his head. “Is there...something wrong with time magic?” “Well, you probably didn’t hear about it but someone else decided to break time around here a few months ago. Kinda threw everything into chaos for… well, one night. Or six years, depending on where you were standing. A lot of people died.” He sighed. “Power’s power. It’s only wrong if someone abuses it. You seem like a decent guy, so I’ll let you know something before you go. What you did there? That’s fine, no one’s gonna care about that, or breaking and fixing coffee cups or whatever else you’ve been doing. But whatever you can do, don’t try it on a person. Not even yourself. Time travel is illegal, and the Wardens aren’t going to give you a trial if they catch you at it, they’ll just execute you.” “Oh...oh poo poo.” Once again Gorden stared at a revelation from Danny. He wondered for a moment how the heck something like that could happen just...like that, but then the last sentences sank in. “Uhm...well, what I just did to that fireplace log would be a lot more complex to do on a person. It’s, like, several orders of magnitude more complex, and a ton of different reactions to consider…” Unconsciously his scarred left hand crept behind his book towards his hanging necklace. “My brain’s getting dizzy just thinking about it…Wait, what’s this about Wardens who want to kill me? Are they like those fish-heads?” “No,” Shirley shook her head. “They’re regular, er, well, they’re wizards. People with magic. Kinda like the magic police I guess?” “All cops are bad,” Danny grumbled. “I should know, I work freelance for a bunch of them.” “I’ll try not to get on their bad side, then,” Gorden murmured, numb hand now clenched firmly around the necklace. “I think that’s everything I came for, and more besides. There’s a whole world out there I didn’t know existed. I’m going to have to carry this thing around with me for a while.” He taps the book again. “Thanks for all the help you’ve given me, Shirley, Danny. I’ll do everything I can to make sure Professor Lancaster doesn’t get away with hurting you and everyone else.” “No problem,” Shirley stood up to walk him to the door. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. Believe me, I know.” “No kidding,” Gorden responded as he stood up in turn. “Alright, guess I’ll see you both at this meetup.” “Oh… sure.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “It was nice to talk to you. I haven’t been getting out much. You uh, you want to swap emails?” “Yeah, emails and phone numbers. I hope my phone still works after all of this--especially at the event!” Shirley winced. “Yeah… about that...”
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Nov 8, 2018 05:00
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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 - Heirloom Marcine had barely been back home for 24 hours before Maksim called and informed her that he’d lined up their next gig at the beginning of October. When she tried to ask him what the gently caress she was supposed to be doing for it, he laughed and hung up. She’d chewed him out later at the warehouse when they met up to actually practice, but the short version was funnier. It was good to get back into the habit of practice. With the apprenticeship and her new fencing lessons on top of normal social outings, fitting practice in had gotten a lot more hectic, but that was fine. She needed it to feel normal. Especially with a ghost unliving with her. The show was a couple weeks away, and she still hadn’t settled on a Smooth Criminal cover she was happy with. Maksim already had the tribute dance down, loving second coming of MJ that he was (...trying to be), and here she was in her living room, trying to come up with the right flourish that wasn’t just copying some other string cover artist. The wards on her walls kept her neighbors from hearing the twentieth repetition of Annie are you okay, are you okay, Annie? This time, she accented the beats with plucked notes between the bowing, changing the timing experimentally. She was onto something here. She’d also about had it for the day. Once more all the way through, then. First verse she was mostly in the background, accenting Maksim’s vocals. She stepped in for the chorus. From there they would alternate. There were only so many Michael Jackson moves she could do with a violin, but they’d already worked that out. The new chorus, plucking, going into the bridge… She went low when Maksim would be going high, and there it was: It needed refinement, but she finally thought she had her cover. She set her violin down beside the sword and drained the other half of her glass of water. “If Maks complains I’m sticking my bow through his throat,” she said when she came up for air. Rick had been listening from inside his demesne. His voice echoed slightly through the metal, like a phone with a bad signal. “Then he’d be struck by-” He paused. “A smooth criminal.” She flipped a placemat over the sword. He appeared in the room a moment later. “Okay, I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it.” “Your talk is cheap, and you’re a white man.” She refilled her glass. “Sometimes I wish that thing had creativity enchantments, would make my life easier.” “Couldn’t you add some?” Rick said, floating over to take a look at the violin. It was a classical instrument, darkened around the edges and joints with age. The top beside the fingerboard had an inlay of three overlapping lilies in mother-of-pearl, and a flower with leaves had been lightly carved into the soundboard next to the chin rest. The fingerboard itself had a different flower-and-vine design winding along it, perfectly flush with the wood. All three had different levels of wear, from different eras of its history, though one of the lily petals looked recently replaced. Ringing the sides entirely were designs of simple vines and flowers twining around tiny runes. Some were inlaid with silver; others were just carved. Some went over top of others, carefully positioned to not interfere with previous enchantments. It was beautiful, but trying to actually decipher more than the obvious fireproofing ward would be a challenge. “I have no idea how I would do that,” she said. “Me either,” he admitted, peering at the runes. “Rupert might know how. But you’d need to know what’s already there before you start adding to it. How long has this thing been in your family?” Marcine sat down at the table beside it. “Not sure. Dad said the records get muddy past around four generations back. It’s changed hands so much it’s a wonder it’s still intact. It’s just a family instrument, not anything like a Stradivarius.” “A what-a-whovius?” For a moment, she just stared at him like he’d just said he had no idea what a dog was, and took a moment longer to figure out how to describe it as plainly as possible. “Violins made by some guy named Stradivari in the 1700s that are supposed to have the best sound quality ever that no one’s been able to replicate since. It was a guy making them before mass production was a thing, so they’re extremely rare and worth millions of dollars.” “Do they? Have the best sound quality ever,” Rick asked. “According to multiple blind tests, nope,” she said. He smiled. “Then I’d say this one is worth a lot more. Inherited enchantments grow stronger with each generation. I wish I could...” He reached out but his hand passed right through it. He sighed. “Well, I’m not an expert on runes but I know a little. Did your father play?” “Yeah. He’s really good, too, but I’m the one with time to start a band, as he once put it.” She turned it over briefly. The back was carved, too, with a bird and more floral designs, in a wider variety of styles and sizes. “Apparently it’s agreed with the mentalist practitioners in the family better than elementalists.” “Makes sense, music speaks to the heart.” He studied the pattern, not sure what he was looking for. “I’ve seen this one before. It means ‘key’.” “Of...C?” “No, like a door key. And here’s ‘lock’...” He’d crouched down to examine it more closely. “At least I think it’s lock. Runes aren’t really words. The same rune can mean ten completely different things, sometimes in the same spell. But- Oh! Okay. Not lock, a closed door. A door that opens to the world. No, the world opens to the door? That doesn’t work. The key that the world’s door opens for. The world that the door’s key opens to? Wait, small. The small world that is the key… no that’s not it...” “Lockbox?” Marcine picked up her bow and idly played the titular bar of ‘It’s A Small World After All.’ Or an approximation of it, since she didn’t bother with the fingerboard. Rick snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I knew I’d seen that one before! It’s the key to a small world- a NeverNever pocket!” “That’d make sense for a magic focus. Much more convenient than lugging a case around.” She leaned over the violin, trying to pick out what he was looking at without literally invading his personal space. “Could I use it?” “If you couldn’t I’d be surprised, this stuff is usually meant to be passed on.” He sketched out the rune in the air. “Jera, the rune of crossroads. See how it’s in the center of the others? But hold on a second- before you send it to the pocket, you need a way to bring it back.” She gave him a look of No, duh before ducking into her bedroom. She returned with a slightly tarnished silvery ring. “Attunement, right? This should be soft enough for engraving.” Her next stop was to get a box of jewelry-making supplies out of a cabinet. With Rick showing her which runes to use, it didn’t take long to carve the retrieval spell. “Just one more thing,” he said, when she’d finished. “Attunement requires more than just the right runes, it needs sympathy. Right now there’s nothing connecting the ring to the violin. You’ll need to make your mark on both.” “That explains all the carving,” she observed. “Wonder how many attunement rings are floating around…” “They wouldn’t work anymore if their owners are gone,” Rick said. “I’d er… recommend adding a drop of blood to both, too.” “And that might explain the extra varnish.” She knew carpentry, not woodcarving. So had most of her family: Out of however many people had attuned to it, most of them had decided to leave their mark on the back, judging by the differences in color. Old designs painted over or scraped off, with something else done over to make them less obvious. She’d wondered about that. She didn’t have the confidence to try something even as complicated as a flower; curves were hard. Something simple, with straight lines, that she could easily engrave in wood and metal… Hugues would have approved as she carved in the Triforce, first on the ring, then in a small corner that could be easily removed by whoever inherited the violin next. That was a thought she didn’t dwell on. She pricked her finger and rubbed it into the grooves on both, then wiped off the excess and stuck her finger in a tissue as she examined her handiwork. “That should do it, I’d think.” Rick gave the symbol a raised eyebrow. “Triangles?” Marcine put the violin to her shoulder and played a line of the Hyrule Field theme that she’d heard on Hugues’ ringtone. “Video games,” she concluded. “Of course.” He shook his head. “Well, you’ve done everything right as far as I can tell. Want to give it a try?” She eyed it warily. “And if I didn’t do it right, is it gone forever?” “Keep a string, just in case. That should be enough for… for someone else to find the pocket.” He’d almost said ‘for me to find it’, but he couldn’t, not anymore. She removed a string without complaint, and wrapped it loosely around her finger next to the ring for good measure. This was a really good idea if it worked, and a really bad one if it didn’t. She could just imagine calling her father to tell him how she’d lost the family heirloom in the Nevernever like an idiot… She focused on the rune she’d carved at the center of her attunement spell on the ring. “Jera,” she muttered, copying Rick’s inflection, as she sent her will into it. The violin disappeared. She waited a beat, took a slow breath to keep from psyching herself out over it not working, and focused on the rune again. It reappeared in her hand, rather than where she’d left it on the table, and she clamped hold of it with both hands before it fell--but not quite fast enough to keep it from bumping the table with a thrum of strings. She laid it down carefully, silenced the strings. Then she looked up at Rick, and started laughing.
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Nov 8, 2018 05:07
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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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Interlude - In Which Somehow This Really Is Admissible In Court Elbridge raised the lid on his lacquered box and removed the contents. Carved from dense hardwood and painted with enamel, they were more like tiles than proper cards, but Elbridge shuffled them deftly between his fingers all the same. Ancient and well-used as they were, they were in remarkable condition; they’d channeled powerful magicks over the course of more than a century, and uncountable readings, until those same magicks suffused the entire deck from top to bottom. “Is that ivory?” Drou asked, incredulous. “It looks like ivory. poo poo, El, you know that stuff’s illegal? All them elephants going extinct, you can’t even import unless it’s for a museum or something.” “One, it’s not ivory,” Elbridge said, shuffling at breakneck speed over and around the campaign pin. “Two, it wouldn’t have been illegal when the deck was made, and three-” He spread the cards into four fans over the table, then swept them all back into a single deck. “-I do curate for museums.” “...course you do,” Drou muttered. “You were probably the guy with the Ark in the box at the end.” “I understood that reference!” Elbridge said excitedly. It was true - with his new staff, he’d finally been able to watch one of George Lucas’ classics. It had been on a VHS tape on a television set from the Reagan administration. Rick had warned him not to do any online searches regarding Lucas’ works “until at least the Star Wars trilogy”, and when Elbridge had noted that there were more than three Star Wars films, Rick had angrily insisted that no there weren’t. “Uh.” “Right, never mind that then.” Elbridge flipped the first card from the top of the deck and laid it at Drou’s right hand. VIII: Justice. “Hey, that’s-” Drou leaned over, examining the engraving. “Looks like that statue, except she’s not wearing a blindfold. Is this for Frisk? He’s been talking about justice a lot on the campaign trail.” “It’s possible,” Elbridge said, “but the connotations of Justice are a bit more, ah, hard-edged than that. The sword and all, you see.” “Hard-edged...wait, is that me?” “I expect so.” “But I’m askin’ about Frisk.” Elbridge squinted at the tarot card. “It appears that the answer is being addressed to you.” He drew the second card and set it across the first at a right angle. IV: The Emperor. “Goldman?” Drou asked. “Goldman,” El affirmed. “Paternal authority, generosity, conservatism and self-assurance.” “But Goldman ain’t mayor yet,” Drou pointed out. “And he don’t seem that generous, and he’s turning the whole city upside-down with his bid.” “He’s quite generous with his bribes, and he follows all of the laws that were held sacred in what’s now Turkey, oh...three or four millennia ago. But you’re right,” Elbridge granted. “He isn’t mayor - yet. The source of your troubles is his ambition.” “I didn’t need no psychic to tell me that.” Elbridge gave Drou a peevish look. “Third card - root cause.” He put the card below the first pair. XIII: Death. “You serious?!” Drou stood up, staring at the grinning reaper on the tile. “You telling me Frisk’s dead already?” “I’m not saying that,” Elbridge said levelly. “Well then what are you saying?!” Drou demanded. “Because that looks pretty unambiguous!” “It represents radical and transformative change,” Elbridge explained. “You mean like death?” “...including death, yes.” “This is just like when my gramma got cursed by that fortune-teller,” Drou said, fuming. “‘Oh, no!’” he quoted, putting on a very bad Eastern European accent. “‘The card of Death means change! Is telling you to change!’ You know what happened a year later?” “What?” “Gramma died.” “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Elbridge said placidly. “How did she die, if I might ask?” “Lung cancer,” Drou said. “Two packs a day for thirty-three years.” “...fourth card,” Elbridge said, declining to comment further. He flipped it over and placed it above the other three. Five of Coins. “Interruption. Instability. Often pertains to professional or domestic affairs.” “Trouble at home, huh?” Drou leaned back in the plastic armchair, looking up at the white plaster ceiling. “Frisk or Goldman?” “Drou…” Elbridge said uneasily. “The fourth card pertains to the querent’s past. This is about you.” “Look, I dunno what your creepy, Snow White, Fourth-Amendment-violation in the bathroom told you, but that is not me.” Drou was avoiding the subject, and El could tell. “I dunno, draw another card. This one’s broken.” “It’s not an accusation.” “Really? ‘Cause it sure sounds like one. Draw a different card.” Elbridge shuffled the Five of Coins back into the deck with a dyspeptic look on his face, already knowing where this was going. “Pick a card,” he told Drou, offering him the deck. “Any card.” “Fine,” Drou said, and grabbed one from the center of the deck. Five of Coins. “Mother-FUCKER!” Drou hurled it against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. “You did some card trick, El! Some two-bit stage magic. ‘Oh, is this your card?’ Had it in your sleeve the whole time, and I ain’t got time for this poo poo!” “I’m not wearing sleeves,” Elbridge countered, still seated, still keeping his composure. “Draw again, please.” Drou snatched the top card and slammed it down to reveal - Five of Coins. “What the…?” Drou did a double-take, looking over to where he’d flung the tile. The dent in the wall remained, but the card had vanished from the floor. When he looked again at the Five of Coins on the desk, he saw that it was specked with plaster dust. “Drou, please stop wasting my security deposit.” Elbridge pulled the deck back towards himself, and revealed the fifth card, the central purpose of the reading: King of Staves. “Drive, wit, and an intemperate will to action. Someone who isn’t afraid to move quickly and break things.” “That’s...that’s Frisk, alright,” Drou said, slumping back into his chair. “Remember his slogan?” “‘If Not Now, When?’” Elbridge quoted from memory. “This is good, though.” He tapped at the button. “It means that the cards have acknowledged your goal, and are guiding you toward it.” He drew the sixth card and set it to the right of the centre. VI: The Lovers. “He’s been kidnapped by Bonnie and Clyde?” Drou deadpanned. “Stranger things have happened,” El deadpanned back. “This draw represents a ‘wild card’, a factor that could make or break the fate laid out before you. It could represent another person or persons, or it could mean a choice.” “That’s pretty vague, El,” Drou said. “Think you can clear that up any?” “In particular, the Lovers represent commitment,” Elbridge explained. “They symbolise a choice of one option to the exclusion of others; a decision that is not undone lightly. Someone, and it may be you, has an important decision to make.” “You mean like getting involved in a case that’s not mine and isn’t officially supposed to exist?” “That is one possibility, yes,” Elbridge said. “That said...I suspect that you’ve already made that particular choice. You may be tested again in the future, but I don’t believe that the cards are warning you about this specific decision.” “So look out for someone who might make a bad call,” Drou said, summarizing. “Or has already made one,” Elbridge said, thinking of the loveless way Midas’ wife looked at him. “This next card reflects the tone of the inquiry.” He pulled it from the deck and set it on Drou’s left, close to him at the edge of the table. Eight of Coins. “Prudence,” he explained. “You’re being cautious about this, and rightly-so.” “They kinda do look like buried landmines, don’t they?” Drou asked. “The coins. With the vines in-between.” “Indeed. Tread lightly,” Elbridge advised. Next card. Friends and allies. Page of Swords. “Aha! This one’s easy. Back in July, I was visited by an agent of the...well, you wouldn’t know their organisation’s name, but they hunt monsters.” “Like you do?” “Only part-time.” Elbridge shrugged. “These fellows are professionals. They’ve had their own concerns about Goldman, especially certain of his…employees. At any rate, you’ll want to speak with a Mr. James Ivarson. I believe that he’s still in town.” “Alright.” Drou nodded. “You have his card or anything?” “Er...no. I...used it for a spell.” Elbridge looked sheepish. “I still have his contact information.” He reached into his drawer for a pen and paper. “El.” Drou held up his smartphone and tapped the ‘Contacts’ button. “Hm? Oh! Er, yes, I could just…” Staff in one hand, phone in the other, Elbridge typed in the numbers for Raymond’s Antiques and Oddities, then handed the device back before he might inadvertently cause it to explode. “Right. Where were we? Ninth card, and a word of warning.” He flipped it over. Seven of Swords. “...worrisome.” “That sure is a shifty-looking dude stealing a lot of swords,” Drou observed. “They’re destined for someone’s back,” Elbridge said. “In this context, the Seven of Swords implies betrayal.” “Well that’s just great. You know what I was thinking when I came here? I was thinking ‘Abel, you lucky bastard, your problem is you just have too many people you can trust’!” “Well, you’ve at least two,” Elbridge noted. “Myself, and - evidently - Mr. Ivarson.” “What, no Renfaire Rick?” Drou laughed. Elbridge’s face fell. “Wait, did something happen?” Drou asked. “Haven’t seen him around in a few months, now that I think about it.” “There was a crisis after the solstice,” Elbridge said softly. “...Rick didn’t make it” “Goddamn.” Drou let out a long breath. “I mean, I didn’t...weren’t any news reports or nothin’...I’m sorry, man.” “So are we all.” A long, awkward pause followed before Elbridge finally broke the silence again. “The final card describes the most-likely outcome, should you follow the path marked by the previous nine. If you’d prefer to do the honours?” He offered the deck again, and Drou picked up the topmost card. X: The Wheel of Fortune. “I’m gonna guess this doesn’t mean I’ll be on a game show,” Drou said, chuckling in an effort to lighten the mood. “Curious,” Elbridge said, placing the card at the top of the line above the Eight of Coins and the Page and Seven of Swords. “The Wheel rarely denotes an outcome so much as a lack thereof. It’s progress, and it’s providence, but it doesn’t resolve anything.” “So you’re saying…” Drou thought on the meaning. “...life keeps going?” “I suppose that would make as much sense as any other explanation.” Elbridge sighed. “Rescuing Frisk won’t solve all of New Orleans’ problems, but...things might improve.” “Deep stuff,” Drou said, mildly-sarcastic. “Sometimes, you have to move Heaven and Earth just to stay where you are,” Elbridge said, remembering what Narcissus had cost them all. “If it helps, Abel, there is one other possible reading of the Wheel.” “What’s that?” Elbridge looked down at the arrangement and fixed his gaze upon the Emperor, glaring as if willing it to burst into flame. “Karma.”
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Nov 8, 2018 05:11
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Leads Abound James leaned back in the office chair in his Uncle’s former office, his now, though it still bore all the marks of its former occupant - a stack of well read fishing magazines piled near an old coffee maker in the corner, the lasting aroma of his Uncle Ray’s favoured menthol cigarettes, the post-it note on the old CRT monitor written in the man’s hand, telling James to make sure he had a business to come back to, an old painting of a sailboat hanging askew on the wall - memories of his Uncle’s time here. Shaking his head in amusement at the note - even now, weeks later, it made him chuckle, and so it remained on the old monitor, gathering dust. The office was in an extension to the warehouse, a combination of an office and a showroom for anything his uncle had taken a fancy to - to the man’s credit, there wasn’t much that was simply gathering dust, save for an old wooden mask with a grim tiger aspect to it, and, looking at the thing, it wasn’t exactly surprising that nobody wanted to buy it. Still sorting through everything and adapting to his new home, the only signs of the office’s new occupant were a stack of cheap phones next to the desk and his sports bag stashed nearby, the hilt of a training bokken sticking out. Fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket, James propped the sheet of shorthand notes up on the computer’s keyboard in front of him and started to dial. “This is Regina,” the woman on the other end of the line said, after barely a single ring. “Gina, hey, it’s James,” he replied, skimming the notes, “How’s the cows?” She was stationed in Texas, and there was a ranch right next door to the field office. “Delicious, as usual. How’s the new assignment?” “Still settling in. Nice place, though. Met up with the new Warden,” he replied, thinking back to the meeting, “Interesting fellow, but you could spot him a mile away with his shirts. Had a pretty good idea who’s been making waves.” “Oh? And who’s that?” “Mayoral candidate, John Goldman. Turns out it’s an alias of one Midas of Phrygia.” “That Midas? Like King Midas? No poo poo.” She sounded mildly impressed. “What the heck’s he doing running for mayor of New Orleans?” “That’s the question I’m trying to find an answer to. It’s probably some sort of power play, but I’m still not sure what he gains from running for office. I’m still digging, trying to see where he’s spreading influence.” “Sounds like you’re keeping busy.” Papers rustled. “One of our girls in New York vouched for that Warden Hardley, so he should be trustworthy, but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell you everything. Or even half of everything.” “So he’s a Wizard, then. I had noticed, what with the big ol’ stick and the distinct fashion sense and everything,” replied James, grinning, “I’ll keep the Harry Callahan act to a minimum this time, Gina, don’t worry.” “You’d better, I’m the one who has to deal with it when you field agents decide to go loud. Do you have any idea how much paperwork you made me file? It’s criminal, I tell ya. Not to mention the expense reports...” She’d go on about the budget for an hour if he let her. “I know, boss. It was my screw up, after all. Just gotta avoid… getting jumpy. Won’t happen again,” said James, looking down at his notes, “Can you get someone in New York to look at the gold markets for me? Might be a clue or two there as to how much funding he’s been getting.” ((James, Contacts: ///- +3 = +2)) “Sure can, expect some emails with fancy graphs on ‘em, anything else I can help with?” “Nothing right now, Gina, but thanks for the offer. Stay safe.” She snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Look, word of advice, a lot of the old myths that are still around threw in with the faeries. Something about how legends work, and a bunch of family ties too. Don’t know if that’s any help but it’s another angle.” “Worth a look at least, cheers.” He’d barely hung up the phone when the bells over the door to the antique room gave a friendly jingle. Stepping inside was a weathered-looking Cajun man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and a receding hairline that was just starting to turn grey around his temples. He was in a fraying old Springsteen tee and jeans, like anyone might have worn on the street, but the wary look in his eyes unmistakably said cop. “Hey,” he said, trying not to look too badly out-of-place perusing the merchandise. James slid his phone back into his pocket as he stood. “Morning. Anything I can help you with… officer?” Drou pretended not to have heard that last part. “Ah, you know, just browsing. Never know when I might need a good...evil mask.” He looked around at the shop’s other offerings. “So, what’s your specialty here? Furniture, leatherwork? Must be a real trick, staying ahead of water damage.” “My Uncle spent years building the business up,” replied James, moving to sit on the edge of his desk, “He mostly dealt in furniture, but I’m quickly finding out that he didn’t stick to that. Not sure why he got that mask, though.” With a shrug, he added, “How’d you find out about our store?” “Another customer.” Drou shrugged. “I’m looking for something. He thought you might be able to point me in the right direction.” “I can try,” he replied, “What’re you looking for? A gift, something for the other half, something else?” “Gift might be nice.” Drou nodded. “Actually I’m kinda wondering - say I wanted to make it a special occasion. You got anything in gold?” “A few pieces,” said James, walking back around his desk and kneeling to open the small safe hidden behind it. On his desk, in amongst the clutter, stood a golden coffee mug, glinting in the light. “Fancy,” Drou observed. “That an antique, too?” James looked up, “Ah, that. Nah, found it in a pawn shop while I was looking into some side business. Bit odd, ain’t it?” “It is.” Drou lifted it off the desk and balanced it across his palm. It was a lot heavier than it looked, and fell back down with a weighty *thunk!* “Whole lotta folks sellin’ gold lately.” James stood, “Sure is. Someone might wonder if it’s linked to a certain mayoral candidate, but that wouldn’t be of any interest to you, would it, officer?” “That’s ‘detective’ to you,” Drou said, flashing his badge at last. “Okay, so you are looking into Goldman. As a matter of due diligence, I gotta ask: how much do you know about…?” “Ah, I guessed wrong,” said James, shrugging, “About weird stuff that might involve a certain old man with a penchant for loud shirts and a large stick? I know enough. James Ivarson.” He offered Drou his hand. Drou took it. “Abel Drouillard. So, what have you found out?” “Not nearly enough,” replied James, frowning, “I’m still trying to track down exactly who’s been selling weird gold stuff like this mug so I can find a thread to pull at, but it’s slow going. What’s the NOPD looking into him for?” “Officially? Nothing, yet.” Drou hesitated. “Unofficially...we got some missing persons cases we think might be connected. Goldman has a way of making enemies, and then those enemies have a way of disappearing.” James nodded, “An unfortunately common occurrence where men like him are involved. Corrupt CEOs, Oligarchs, Crime Lords, they all act like that.” Tapping his foot on the floor, James paused to think for a moment, “Are these by any chance the sort of cases that the higher ups don’t want investigated?” “It’s departmental policy not to comment on cases that may or may not be ongoing,” Drou told him. “That said, you wanna leave a tip-” he scratched down a number and passed it to James. “-you call this line, and this line only.” It wasn’t for any government line. It appeared to be an unregistered burner phone. James took the card and slid it into his jeans pocket, “And is there anything in particular you’d like tips on?” “Goldman’s moving a lot of money around,” Drou said. “I’d like to know where he’s moving it to. Disappearing people ain’t no one-man operation.” He paused again, sizing James up. “You a fed?” he asked. “Used to work in Langley,” explained James. “Yeah,” Drou said. “You have that alphabet-soup vibe to you. Uncle Sam’s monster-hunters would work off the books, wouldn’t ya? Alright, look, you gotta understand what’s at stake here. I got it on good word…” He pulled a face like he was experiencing an ulcer flare-up. “...from a set of magic cards...Frisk ain’t just home sick. Goldman has something to do with it. You know what it means if that gets out? Riots in the street. Martial law.” James mimed zipping his lips shut, “Keep it on the quiet, gotcha. Wonder why he’d do that, though - I doubt it’s just because he was worried about the election. Too much chance of going wrong. So… maybe Frisk had something on him?” “Or maybe Goldman just thinks he’s too hot to touch right now.” “Always possible,” said James with a nod, “But if he’s getting cocky, that means he’ll start making mistakes. And that means...” The light streaming in through the room’s windows suddenly seemed brighter - almost blinding, the tick-tock of the antique clock on the wall louder and louder, a drumbeat on the inside of his skull. James threw his head back as the vision started streaming through his head...
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Nov 8, 2018 05:13
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Save the Lily! Scene: Practice Warehouse It was a Thursday night and Maksim was moonwalking. He absolutely looked the part of a young Michael Jackson, with his curly black hair and soulful eyes, warm brown skin, and the energy and grace of a lifelong dancer. He spun in place and made finger guns at Marcine as she walked into his line of sight. “You’re early,” he said, giving her his best smile, the one that made audiences swoon. “I like it. Want to sneak in a song or two before we start?” He was wearing stonewashed jeans and a tight fitting black tank top, plus a completely incongruous tie and fedora, which were part of his costume for the tribute. Judging by the way he glistened under the house lights, he’d been practicing for a few hours already. It was a sign that he was nervous. Maksim liked to use physical practice as a way to get out of having to think about things. Marcine set her bag down and waved her hand in an exaggerated flourish. Her violin appeared in it. “I wouldn’t miss it.” “Neat trick!” He clapped appreciatively. “Where’d you learn to do that?” “My friendly kitchen ghost.” She crossed the dancefloor and showed him the runes Rick had found a couple days before. “Maybe I’ll figure out how to do this with my guns eventually. Be nice to not have a moment of panic every time I see a cop car.” Maks laughed. “Let me know when you can make a disappearing weed pouch. And when do I get to meet this ‘friendly kitchen ghost’ of yours?” “Sometime when his ex isn’t showing up.” She glanced around the empty room, the old couch and chairs that various friends had dragged in over the past couple years arranged in a loose semicircle in the corner. Which was to say, three of them facing the couch. He hadn’t even bothered to get out any folding chairs. “...If she is. Real crowd, huh?” “Quality over quantity, when it comes to this kinda thing,” Maks said, waving a hand dismissively. “Think of this like a group meeting for the leaders. We’ll find more people once we have a solid game plan.” “Uh-huh.” “Did you just say his ex?” “Dying tends to throw a wrench in things,” she said vaguely. It wasn’t her place to get into more detail. She barely knew much anyway; when Rick wanted to talk, she listened, but she didn’t press him. “Rough.” Maks looked thoughtful for a moment then shook his head. “Wanna start with Billie Jean?” She pivoted until she was standing beside him and tucked her violin under her chin. “Sounds good.” --- It was about an hour later when Ada and Ruby arrived at the warehouse. They were right on time, not a minute early, but it still felt to Ada like they were running dreadfully late. Maybe it was the Rolls’ leisurely pace with Roy at the wheel, but she suspected there was something else to blame for making the trip feel like it had taken an eternity. “You ready? Cuz I’m sure not,“ she asked Ruby as she followed her out of the car, an unusual tinge of anxiety in her voice. Ruby laughed lightly. “Of course I am, musicians are my people. Why so nervous, Ada?” At some point, the preparations for today’s meeting had turned into a major event. Since she’d gotten the date from Maksim, Ada had known for sure she didn’t want to come in looking like a jumped up street rat the way she usually did. She was angling to make the big time; Thus, she needed to dress the part. Of course, it only took a little looking at her wardrobe to realize she didn’t know how to actually make that happen. Thank goodness Ruby had taken her call and come over to the duSang estate to lend a hand. Ada was pretty sure she looked presentable now, but not so sure she could actually work this getup. The red and black dress was tight around her waist, the buckled-up platform shoes made her balance wobbly and the three-tiered knee-length skirt made her feel like she was wearing some kind of armor. It had all looked great when arrayed upon the bed alongside the ruby earrings and the sheer lace patterned black arm warmers, but she couldn’t shake away the feeling she was making the outfit be worth less than the sum of its parts. “I don’t know, it’s like I’m out of my comfort zone.” She frowned, looked down and spread her arms. “You sure I look alright?” “My mother would say she could eat you right up,” Ruby said with a wink. “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” Ada sighed, before giving her a little smile back. “At least it’s better than coming here dressed in rags. C’mon, let’s go wow them and see what we can do for the old dive.” The awkward weight of her new shoes made her clomp like a show-pony for a few steps, until she got the hang of walking in them. Did people really wear these things all day? Ruby took her hand to help, both her balance and her confidence. She looked at the shabby warehouse front, with its peeling paint and barred windows, and shook her head. “Come on, my delicate little snowflower. I just hope we don’t have to stand because there’s no seats left.” --- The inside wasn’t any better than the outside. Half the warehouse was filled with boxes and wooden crates that looked like no one had opened them since before Katrina, the other half was a vast open space only broken up by a circle of secondhand furniture and a bare wooden stage that looked like it had come out of a high school carpentry class with steps on either side of it. Speakers were piled up like building blocks next to a tower of drum cases. On the floor in front of the stage, two people were dancing to a rousing string rendition of ‘Thriller’. They were the only two people in the entire building. “I think we overdressed,” Ruby said, snickering behind her hand. She was wearing a cream business jacket with a pencil skirt and matching pumps herself. Ada sighed. “We wanted all eyes on us,” she said, looking around. “I think we got our wish. I knew I should’ve put that monkey paw I found at home back where I found it, though.” Ruby’s eyes widened for a moment before she realized Ada was joking. For her part, her eyes were glued to the two performers on stage. Marcine had a smile on her face as broad as the sun’s curve as she played, and just as warm, and Maksim… drat, Jessica wasn’t kidding about him. No wonder she called dibs. Marcine noticed them and smirked as she brought the song to a finish. “Looks like you need some work on managing expectations,” she told Maks. “Ladies!” Maks said, spreading his arms in welcome. “Pull up a couch, I’ve got pretzels.” He took a moment to wipe his face off with a clean hand towel and then fished a fresh bag of pretzels out from behind the couch, which he started pouring into small paper bowls. “Water?” “We’re fine,” Ada said, taking a seat on someone’s old kitchen chair that creaked ominously as soon as she sat down. “Are we waiting on anyone else?” she asked. “The place looks kind of...you know...” Maksim scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously. “Well we’re trying to keep plans on the down low, you know, so that the suits don’t catch wind of us until it’s too late. Don’t got anyone else RSVP’d though so I’d say we’re good to start.” “Nobody else gave a gently caress,” Marcine translated flatly, “or he would have rented the fire hall.” “Alright. So it’s just us.” Ada paused for a moment, pondering how to get things started. “First order of business: we need money to get the Lily back and we don’t have any. How do we fix that?” Marcine sat across from her on the couch with a pretzel bowl. “I take it you can’t just buy it.” “Yeah.” Ada fell silent for a moment. “My parents came home. It got ugly. I’m gonna have to do this on my own without the family warchest.” Marcine sighed. That would have been too easy. “So if nobody else wants to help us save it, do they just not care, or are they intimidated? Who put the bid in?” “The Rotana Group. They’re from outside town, new faces. Not that much known about them yet, but they’re planning to demolish the Lily to put up a hotel in its place. They’ve got an agent who’s been going around digging up the past. I don’t think they’re just after tourism bucks.” “Hotel,” Marcine muttered. “Nobody gives a poo poo about poor kids getting a music education or even local bands when they could make money instead.” “Local bands make money,” Maksim said. “Just… not as much as new hotels. But let’s not focus on the negatives too much yet, alright? We haven’t even introduced ourselves.” “Point,” Ada said, nodding. “My name’s Ada duSang, of the duSangs of New Orleans, and this is Ruby Lytle. We and the Lily go way back, so we couldn’t just sit around when it needed a hand.” Ruby offered her hand and Maksim took it as daintily as a flower, offering a small bow. “Maksim Raith, and I believe you’ve met my darling assistant Marcine Sterling.” Marcine rolled her eyes. Ada blinked. “...Raith? I thought they’d all skipped town a year ago.” With the death of Niall and Antoine Skavis and Veronica Raith, the vampire courts had all but checked out of New Orleans - and Olivia Raith’s close encounter with JR had only cemented their desire to get away from the town. How long had Maksim been around, if he was linked to his house still? Or was he some kind of renegade? “Not me,” Maks said, smirking. “I’ve lived in New Orleans my whole life and my cousins taking the bad end of a fight with the wizards isn’t any of my business. Besides, Chicago isn’t my scene. I heard it snows there.” He shivered at the thought. “You don’t even know what snow is,” Marcine pointed out. “And I plan to keep it that way.” Ada didn’t know what to think. He sounded sincere, but the last time she’d been in close contact with a Raith, she’d taken a wound to her psyche that was still nowhere near healing. At the very least, this meant the plan to set Jessica up if Maksim was single was probably off the table. Still busy reassessing all the pieces in her head, Ada nonetheless nodded. “I can relate. This is my city and I don’t wanna live anywhere else. Which reminds me...how well do you guys know the music scene of New Orleans? I think I have an idea.” “I’d say we know most of the local acts between us,” Marcine said. “The Lily’s been big for that. Renting it out is cheap, and we usually don’t need to rent to practice, so it’s been great for the smaller bands that can’t always book a venue. Makes things kinda cozy when groups show up at the same time. It’s fun. Kept hoping someone would restore it, but… Of course it’s money.” Her tone was light, but she wasn’t trying very hard to hide the undercurrent of frustration. “I hope you have a better idea than I do, because if nobody wanted to show up today, I don’t know how much a fundraiser would help.” “I was thinking about it,” Ada admitted. “But maybe we can push a little further beyond. What if we persuaded a couple execs and scouts from the music industry to drop by for a fundraiser show and sold them on how much of a seedbed for big acts this place is? Finding the money to fight back a major hotel group is hard when you’re working at a grassroots level. But if you kick things up a notch or three...” “Since when do you know record label executives?” Ruby asked. “I don’t, but it’s not that hard to meet the right people. All you need to do is ask around until you find someone’s who’s got an in with them and follow them back to the source,” Ada said, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. “If you can find someone, and if they show up, and if they like the talent…” Ruby shook her head. “There’s too many variables. One thing doesn’t go right and it all falls apart.” “I’m seeing two variables and one constant here.” Ada shot the others a quick glance. “If the suits don’t dig at least one of you guys, they’re gonna have bigger problems holding on to their jobs than we will holding on to the Lily. But setting that aside - you got any other ideas?” Marcine slumped back in the couch. “I don’t know. Know your enemies. Find anything else out about this Rotunda group?” “They own a bunch of hotels in the Emirates,” Maksim said. “And… that’s all that’s really out there publically. I can’t figure out why they want to make New Orleans their first American buy. Maybe we can talk to their guy? Try to scare him off?” “The seller’s just as important as the buyer,” Ruby added. “Remember, this is a public auction by the city of New Orleans. Even if they have more money, if the city has a good reason not to sell to the Rotanas then whoever’s the second bid will win by default.” Ada nodded. “Which leads to the obvious question. Who’s in charge of the auction?” When Maksim didn’t immediately answer, Marcine leaned forward again. “Looks like we need to find that out.” “So that gives us a checklist of things to do. We’ll need to assemble a lineup of heavy hitters for the show, make sure word of it reaches people with deep pockets, investigate who’s running the auction and see if we can’t find out why the Rotana Group chose this of all places for their first American venture,” Ada recounted. “Anything else I’m missing?” “Geez, isn’t that enough?” Maksim asked, loosening his tie. Marcine nodded. “If there’s more, I’m sure we’ll figure it out in the process.” Maksim clapped his hands together once in finality. “Great. I need coffee. Who wants to hit Starbucks?” “I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate frappuccino,” Ada said, grinning as she stood up. “I’m gonna need you guys to loan me a couple bucks for it though. I kinda broke the piggy bank a little while ago.” “A broke duSang, now that’s a new one,” Maksim laughed out loud. “That’s what I’m here for,” Ada winked. “When you roll with me, every day brings something new.”
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Nov 14, 2018 08:07
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Book 4: Power Plays State of the City: Fall, 2012. Narcissus is imprisoned in Arctis Tor, awaiting trial. The only reason he’s being kept alive at this point is that Titania is still missing, and he’s a vital witness to her treachery. The truth of what happened is still largely unknown, other than that Titania is gone (and the Summer Queen’s mantle with her) and Narcissus had something to do with it. Mab hasn’t made any overt moves yet, but it’s been unseasonably cold in New Orleans ever since the handoff. For now, Winter reigns, but what will happen at the next equinox? A delegation of Winter fae arrived in the city just a few weeks ago, and have been giving Old Man Pontchartrain as many headaches to deal with as Narcissus’ old courtiers. The more modern fae aren’t happy having a staunch traditionalist in charge again and have been fighting him every step of the way. The wilder fae that serve Pontchartrain are starting to move into the city after being barred from it for nearly a century, and there’ve been a few… incidents. Rubeansidhe and her family have been blacklisted from Summer for turning Narcissus over to Mab. They’re currently living in a small house in an undisclosed location, under Mab’s protection. While they’ve been offered a place in the Winter Court, transitioning isn’t the easiest thing, and Ruby and Isabel have been struggling. Young Ruby has since taken the name Emmy, (for Emerald.) She’s just started school at Tulane. Speaking of Tulane, something’s up with the faculty there. Students have been getting blackmailed into serving dark forces and it seems like it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt, or worse. Mitch Landrieu, the incumbent and very popular mayor, suddenly announced he wouldn’t be seeking a second term and endorsed his good friend Benjamin Frisk, a Democrat born and raised in the Lower 9th district. Frisk was one of those small business owners who’d made it big in real estate. Midas, posing as John Goldman, City Treasurer, has decided to run against him as a Republican. His campaign has been unsurprisingly flush. But something seems to be wrong, because Frisk missed his latest fundraiser and the police are getting involved… It’s only a few more weeks until the election, and with one candidate missing, things are starting to look dire. The Gilded Lily, now property of the City, went from a speakeasy in its heyday to well, basically a community theater at this point. It’s being sold via private auction to some hotel chain that wants to bulldoze it and put up a resort. Preventing the sale won’t be easy, and there isn’t much time to raise a counter-offer. That old place is special to a lot of people, but the deck is stacked against it. In other words: 
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Nov 14, 2018 09:07
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The Paranet Pizza Party Scene: Mary Laveau’s House of Voodoo The meeting was scheduled for just after noon, and would last until the evening when people got tired of socializing. This month it was being hosted at the Voodoo shop. The sign on the door was set to closed, but the door itself was open for the people who knew what was going on. While it was at least partially a tourist trap, with shrunken heads on strings hanging in the window and a wide variety of pincushion dolls and kitschy merchandise for souvenir-hunters, there was a lot of good historical stuff in there too. Most of what was for sale in that category was books, but Mary had a few treasures on display that were marked not for sale, like the African-style masks and small statuettes decorated with cowrie shells. There was a wide circle cleared of items in the back of Mary’s shop, with steel folding chairs set up for at least a dozen people. A card table nearby was piled high with warm pizza and drinks. The monthly meeting was popular but there were usually only six or seven regulars plus whoever they managed to drag along with them. This month Anna had news from out of state she’d promised to share, and she’d asked Elbridge if he could continue his lessons on defensive magic. She’d also heard through the grapevine that there would be some new folks, so she’d dug up her orientation binder and brought that along too. She was sitting in one of the folding chairs, legs crossed, gnawing on a pencil while she looked over her event program. Just then, the door opened, but it wasn’t Elbridge who stepped inside. “This is the monthly Paranet meeting, right?” Ada asked as she walked in, wearing the same getup she’d taken to the Lily, but with far more confidence in her step, thanks to a few extra days’ worth of practice moving around in it. She took one look around and took a deep breath. “...Tell me we’re not the only ones coming. This is the second time this week I’ve gotten decent expecting people to turn up.” “If we are then I ordered way too many pizzas,” Anna said, glancing up. “Nice of you to finally show up, Ms. duSang.” “‘Finally’?” Ada repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think I missed any invitations.” Anna laughed and tapped the seat next to her, “You ain’t gotta RSVP for this kind of party. Sit down, stay a while. How’s your friend?” “Zia’s fine now. Took a while to crack the shell the fishmen stuffed her into, but she’s back to normal now. Maybe a little more fond of the Audubon Aquarium than before,” she smirked, sitting down beside her and rubbing her arms, covered by a black leather coat. With the temperature dip of the last months, New Orleans had felt practically frozen as of late. “And Max? How’s he doing?” “About the same… I’m honestly thinking we should get a survivor’s group going for Fomor retrievals but putting them in a room together might just be a bad idea, given the whole… chorus… thing. I don’t know.” Three sharp knocks on the door announced Elbridge’s arrival. “It’s open!” Anna yelled. “It’s still polite to knock,” Elbridge insisted as he stepped inside. He was back in his usual retiree-wear: jumping salmon splashed across a salmon-coloured Hawaiian shirt, khaki slacks, and socks with sandals. In lieu of a sword or a badge of office, he carried his staff, which was plenty attention-catching on its own. He didn’t wear the cloak here; it would have set too-hostile a tone. “Anna. Ada.” He acknowledged the others. “How is everyone today?” “Little nervous about the meeting,” Ada admitted, turning her eyes to shoot El a glance, stopping for a couple seconds on the strange staff he was carrying. “Beyond that, though, fine. What’s on the agenda for today?” “Lots of stuff,” Anna said, pointing her pencil at the pile of binders next to her. “Got some newbies incoming, gonna need to find out just how green they are before I can set the schedule… Defensive training with our resident Warden here,” she smiled at Elbridge. “Big news out of Miami too but I don’t want to get into that until everyone’s here.” “Speaking of big news...I didn’t know you’d gotten some new gear. What is that thing?” Ada asked, pointing at the staff. “My new staff,” Elbridge told her, spinning it in place on the floor. “I made it from a souvenir from our last adventure.” “You carved it out of that tree yourself?” Ada said, surprised. “Isn’t that kind of old-school, even for you?” “The classics are classics for a reason,” he retorted. “Mr. Cantor!” “Y-yes?” Nicky poked his head into the shop as if he wasn’t sure he was in the right place. “What are the three principal traits that make a wooden staff ideal for spellcasting?” “Oh, erk-” His long striped scarf got caught in the door, and the bell jangled for a moment while he extricated it. “W-wood conducts will best of all materials. Um, handworking an item is how you familiarize it with your own energy… and staves of course are ideal for any type of magical work due to their tapered shape.” “Just so,” Elbridge said, nodding his approval. “Grk!” The sound of someone else nearly slamming into the door when it stopped on the scarf echoed outside. After “Mr. Cantor” pulled himself inside, Gorden followed, catching the door as it swung back into position. He regarded the trinkets in the window with confusion, then mild disgust, like a virtuoso musician hearing a sour note. Then he turned to the gathering inside and pulled a piece of pristine orange paper out of his jacket. “Hi there! This is the, ah, ‘Monthly Para-Net Meeting’?” he said, half expecting to be told “no.” “Sure is!” Anna called. “Anna Beaumont, I run the meetings. You Gorden?” “Yeah! Gorden Maxwell, good to meet you!” He held out his arm for a handshake. “Did Shirley call ahead?” Anna took it and shook it firmly, motioning him to sit down next to Elbridge. “She did, the little busybody. Never comes herself, but always has her nose in everything. Want some pizza?” “You really think I’d answer no?” Gorden chuckled as he took his seat. “Uni rule of survival-- never turn down free food,” he joked as he lifted up a slice. “Ah, you see, Ada?” Elbridge said. “There’s another thing that hasn’t changed.” “I’ll take your word for it,” Ada said, nodding. “Never really got a chance to spend much time inside an university.” She turned to look at the new arrival (emphasis on ‘new’ - there was something about him that screamed innocence), curiously. “First time here too?” she asked, offering him a smile. “Mmm-hmm,” nodded Gorden around a bit of mozzarella. No point in hiding it, really--if Shirley had called ahead, then Anna (and thus probably most of the room) knew he was new. “Didn’t even know this set-up existed till last week.” The door swung open once more as James slipped inside, absent mindedly hanging a pair of cheap sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt as he raised an eyebrow at some questionable looking fetishes on one of the store’s shelves. Over his t-shirt, he wore an open pale blue shirt. A set of jeans and dark sneakers completed his outfit. Dodging past a table stacked high with books, he joined the others. With a glance at several of the masks, he said with a grin, “Liking the decor, Anna.” Anna smiled at him. “Mary’s place is my favorite. Good to see you again.” “You too. Anything I should keep clear of in here?” replied James. “You break it you buy it!” Mary’s low voice intoned from the store-room behind the counter. James rolled his eyes, “Gimme some credit, I can survive a vision without dropping stuff.” With a wink to Anna, he added quietly, ”Mostly.” “Don’t touch anything without a ‘Made in China’ sticker on it, love.” Anna held a hand to her cheek and dropped to a stage-whisper. “Lot of bad juju in here for the unwary.” “I heard that!” Mary yelled. “Ah, Mr. Ivarson.” Elbridge greeted him. “How’s New Orleans suiting you? Keeping busy, I’d expect?” “Still getting used to it, but it sure seems like an interesting town,” replied James, “Met a friend of yours, had an interesting chat.” “We’ll have to catch up,” Elbridge said, taking his meaning at once. “Later.” Benjamin Frisk’s disappearance was not yet a topic for public consumption - not until there was a way to discuss it without disclosing Drou’s involvement. “If you’re going to have a spy meet, you should make sure no one’s listening.” Ada said, cheerfully. “I’ve got a pretty good memory, you know.” Elbridge sighed in exasperation and gave James an imploring look, as if to say ’You see what I have to deal with here?’ James laughed at Elbridge's expression, “Ah, this isn't a spy meet. There's not nearly enough lanyards, and nobody's pointed a gun at me yet.” His matter-of-fact way of saying it got Ada to laugh. “Speaking from experience?” she asked, hiding her smile behind her hand (poorly). “Something like that,” replied James with a grin, “I can't say too much, most of it's still classified, Miss…?” “duSang. Ada duSang,” she said, giving him a nod as she spoke. “And you’re Mr. Ivarson, but I don’t think El said your name.” “Call me James,” he replied, “Nice to meet you, Ada duSang.” “Just Ada’s fine,” she said, inviting him to take the seat beside her. “So what brought you here, besides trading secrets with El?” “Always like to meet new people,” replied James, taking the offered seat and leaning back, “Besides, paranet meetings helped me get a better handle on my gift, so if I can help out, I do.” “Your gift? What’s your talent about?” “Psychometry - object reading,” he explained, “Mostly it's just a pain in the neck, if I'm honest.” “What makes it so bad?” Ada asked, leaning forward a little to listen more intently. “Learning the history of things sounds pretty useful to me.” “It can be,” he replied, “but mostly it's like watching a badly directed movie, starting half way through - really confusing.” “So it’s Memento, but with no ending?” Ada offered. “Kinda, yeah.” Gorden’s attention bounced back and forth among the conversation as he continued to eat his slice of pizza. Anna introduced him first, Mary Laveau (Sharene’s mom) in the back, “Mr. Cantor” entered before him, James Ivarson entered after him, Ada duSang the young woman. He wiped his hand of leftover grease and stood up. “Gorden Maxwell. Hi, James,” he said with a nod of the head. Then he turned to the man he was sat next to--El, Ada had called him. “Quite a pizza party we have going right now.” “An impressive turnout, to be sure,” Elbridge said. “You’re in university now?” he asked. “Physics major, grad student,” Gorden affirmed. “I do student teaching--it’s how I got networked to you all.” “That sounds like quite a background,” Elbridge said. “It’s not easy work, trying to reconcile the natural sciences with magicks that operate according to different laws altogether.” “Heh, well…” Gorden shrugged and scratched the back of his head. “That’s what they said about light, and X-rays, and nuclear power, and gravity, and dark matter, and...big chunks of the universe. I don’t think they’re so much different laws as not understood laws, and someday in the future we can talk about and use this ‘magic’ the same way we talk about, like, electromagnetism.” He wiped his hand over his mouth thoughtfully. “Or, y’know, classical mechanics and stuff. You a scientist? I’d guess...hmm...paleontology. You kinda look like the guy from Jurassic Park.” “Ha! Well, I did plenty of work indexing and archiving fossils back in the day, but no, I’m not a scientist by profession,” Elbridge told him. He thought for a moment on which of ‘Warden’ or ‘Wizard’ would be more loaded under the circumstances, then - Louisiana being Louisiana - elected the former. “Warden Elbridge Hardley, of the Council.” Gorden was about to bite into another slice of pizza when El introduced himself in full. He remembered Danny’s warning about Wardens executing people who played around too much with magic. Including time travel. Which, erm… He blinked rapidly trying to process the new information--how could the guy sitting next to him, who’d look at home in khaki shorts huddled around a big skull fossil, possibly be responsible for killing people?! He tried to imagine him bashing people’s brains out with the staff, but could only see the top piece flying off mid swing. “You...kill people?” he asked waveringly, and a bit nervously. “Do you, uh...do that a lot?” “No,” Elbridge said, “not often at all, and only when it’s clear that all other options have failed.” Was that a reassuring answer? Elbridge wasn’t sure what ‘reassuring’ sounded like these days. At any rate, why would that have been Mr. Maxwell’s first reaction upon meeting a Warden? Had Santiago been that brutal during his tenure? Something else Gorden had said finally registered to El at that moment. “Shirley...you go to Tulane with Ms. Quinn?” Gorden regarded Elbridge’s answer with a cocked head and tightened lips. What exactly did he mean by “all other options”? Was lobotomy a thing for wizards, like those forgetting curses from Harry Potter? Eventually he decided that worrying about that now would mean the pizza would get cold, so he gave a non-committal “eh...okay…?” and chewed on the next question. If Shirley had called ahead to the meeting, she clearly wasn’t trying to hide from them. “Hmm...Shirley’s on sabbatical. And we’re in different departments, too--she’s a Bio major.” “Well, I’m glad to hear that she’s managing, at any rate,” Elbridge said. He didn’t elaborate - the details of Shirley’s ordeal were hers to share and hers alone. Instead he just helped himself to a slice of pizza with olives. “I’ve brought lemonade,” he said, attempting to break the sudden, awkward silence. “Would anyone like some lemonade?” “Since when do you think of lemons as anything but a garnish for whiskey?” Maria asked as she walked in. “Fie on your whiskey sours,” Elbridge said, crossing himself. “Fie on them, I say!” Maria would have given him a hug, but it being Elbridge, she settled for a slap on the shoulder. “Pour me one for once, it’s my day off. ‘lo Anna, everyone.” Further greetings were exchanged as the regulars came in ones and twos, Mrs. Bellefonte the herbalist who ran the shop next door, Mr. and Mrs. Bigsby, (who weren’t magical but liked to keep up on the news,) Jerome Brown the single dad, (who’d been rescued from ghouls trying to sell him to the Fomor at the docks last year.) David and Lynn Larson, (Izzy’s parents.) A very quiet young man in a heavy jacket with a medical eyepatch covering half his face who only waved a gloved hand and avoided all the food. That last one got Ada’s attention. Silently, she got up and approached him after making sure no one was looking. She tapped him on the shoulder once, to get his attention, and smiled when he turned around. “Hey, Eric,” she said, quietly. “You’re looking pretty snazzy today.” Eric Barnes broke into a wide smile and embraced her like a lost sister. They hadn’t seen each other for a few months, but Ada had saved his life when he’d given up all hope, and more than that, she’d been to visit him often during his extended hospital stay after the hurricane that had cost him half his body almost a year ago. Ada returned the hug with just a little more care (he was still a little fragile, by the looks of it), but equal joy. “Funny how I picked today of all days to come here. Feels almost like fate that we ran into each other like this, doesn’t it?” she joked. He raised his lone eyebrow and pointed upwards, then made a hand sign that looked like wings. “Yeah, maybe it’s their work.” Ada’s smile didn’t waver, but it was a sobering thought to think they might be watching - the meeting had already gotten much more crowded than expected. Knowing there’d be so many eyes on her once she decided to speak up gave her plans for today stakes that the meeting at the Lily a week earlier had been lacking. “You wanna catch me up on how you got out of the hospital since we last talked? It’s been murder out in the streets lately, I couldn’t find a quiet moment to visit even with a search team and a magnifying glass.”
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Nov 21, 2018 07:56
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Party Crashers Scene: Outside the Voodoo Shop Meanwhile, Rick watched as yet another small group of people he knew walked into the Voodoo shop from the safety of Marcine’s car, which was parked on the street a few stores down. His sword was propped up on the passenger seat, unsheathed so he could see from inside. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly, his voice echoing through the silver. “Wouldn’t they be glad to know you’re still around?” Marcine asked. “What if they aren’t?” He sounded worried. “I don’t want to cause a scene.” It wouldn’t do any good to bring up that he was the one who’d insisted on coming. It was frustrating, but nerves had a way of failing at the last moment. Even ghost nerves. She doubted anyone would be unhappy, but then she didn’t know what had gone on during his tenure as Warden. Neither of them cared to talk about that. She watched someone else walk in and smirked. “But you’re so approachable. And the alternative is Elbridge.” “He’s probably in there already…” Rick said. “Look, just leave me in the trunk. I’ll work on the cabin for a few hours. It’s fine.” “You can’t keep hiding in my house,” Marcine said. “Or my trunk. Are you planning to hide forever?” “No, I just…” He sighed heavily. “The only people who know about me right now are close friends. But this is different, you know? People will talk. I won’t be able to hide anymore, at your place or any other.” Marcine watched as a bead of condensation ran down the edge of the blade. "But do you really want to keep hiding?" “No, not forever...but...that’s what it’s going to be unless I go through with this, isn’t it?” “It’s not exactly now or never,” Marcine said, “but you’re here now. What do you have to lose?” “Yeah. You’re right.” The sword slipped to one side, resting against the center console within easy reach of her hand. “Let’s do this.” --- Marcine had debated on wearing her coat from Winter. It was awfully fancy for a casual meeting, and she wasn't planning on making a statement. But when she was putting Rick in his sheath (that mental phrasing amused her much more than it should have), she remembered him calling her Battle Princess Barbie, and well, why not? She could pretend to be a local who couldn’t deal with a little chill in the air. Any excuse to wear it instead of leaving it in the closet because it was too fancy, or too hot, or too likely to set off a metal detector somewhere. So when she stopped giving the shrunken heads a dirty look and stepped inside, she was dressed in her burgundy coat with its silver armor trim, her matching hat with its brooch of white feathers, black jeans, and a silver sword at her hip. If it would ever look right to wear an actual sword into a tourist trap, now was the time. As soon as she was away from the windows the air just to her right shimmered and a slick-haired man appeared wearing a black dress shirt and vest with a red tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His patent leather shoes hovered slightly above the weathered wooden floor and he was visibly transparent. “Hi, everyone...” he said nervously, putting one hand behind his head and forcing a smile. The room went silent, but only for a moment. Then, a low whistle cut through the quiet, coming from a chair in the back of the room. “Hey, tiger,” Ada called out, raising a hand to greet them. “Looking good tonight.” It turns out ghosts can blush. “Ah, Rick. Marcine.” If Elbridge was either surprised or dismayed by this development, he didn’t show it. Not showing his feelings was one of Elbridge’s strongest skills. “Glad that you’ve decided to join us.” Ordinarily, he would have introduced them both out of habit, but it seemed unnecessary for Marcine, and lately he’d come to the conclusion that Rick wanted to distance himself from the Council. Naming him as Elbridge’s predecessor wouldn’t help with that. Rick was wearing his sword-pin on his tie, yes, but Elbridge decided he’d let Rick bring attention to it first. Pizza still halfway in his mouth, Gorden turned in his seat to wave hello at the newcomer--correction, newcomers. The girl, presumably Marcine, looked...really overdressed. And combined with the sword she looked like something out of Sailor Moon, or Rose of Versailles. The guy, though… “Rick’s a ghost,” he muttered around his pizza, so it came out more like “Ricc a ghoss.” And a fancy one at that. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Okay, sure, magic, transforming demons, fish people...maybe the next guy will come through the door with a Pikachu on a leash!” He chuckled out of manic exasperation. “How the hell did I miss all this?” “In the case of magic, because it tends to scramble delicate electronics - a phenomenon we call ‘hexing’,” Elbridge explained. “Communications from primary sources therefore tend to be limited to written documents or word-of-mouth. Demons exist primarily in their home dimension, and their corporeal forms revert to ectoplasm, which rapidly evaporates, when slain or banished from this plane.” His expression turned grim. “The ‘fish-people’, as you call them, are simply very diligent about silencing witnesses.” “That they are,” said Maria quietly. She gave the storeroom a worried glance. Mary didn’t usually take kindly to non-humans in her shop, even if Cole had been a good customer... Gorden reflected on what he’d heard from Shirley and Danny and grunted his agreement. “Yeah...Shirley sounded pretty angry about them. Can’t believe someone at Tulane would get involved with things like that, and drag students in with him. Dammit.” James raised an eyebrow at the entrance - not so much at the sudden apparition, though the fact that everyone could see him meant the old warden must be getting better at his whole ghost mojo thing, but at Marcine - and leaned over to Anna to ask quietly, “Uh, since when do Winter send emissaries to Paranet meetings?” “Good question,” said Anna, looking more than a little shocked. “Marcine, can I have a word please?” And going along with a joke from months ago was turning on her already. “I’m not going to stab anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Marcine said. “Well I should hope not. Store room, please.” She turned to the group. “We’ll get started just as soon as I get back, so everybody get situated.” Then she motioned Marcine to follow her. She did, confused. Did she really look that weird?
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Nov 21, 2018 07:59
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The Friend Zone Scene: Voodoo Shop With Marcine gone Rick felt everyone’s eyes on him even more heavily. Ghosts weren’t usually invited to community meetings, and most of them weren’t conscious enough to get much out of them anyways. El was already surrounded, and it seemed like the only open seat was the one Anna had left next to Ada… He didn’t want to be the only one standing, (or floating, as it were.) Besides, he owed her one back for that tiger comment. “You don’t look so bad yourself, princess,” he said, sliding into the chair next to her with more confidence than he felt. He crossed his legs and looked her up and down. “How’ve you been?” Quietly, Elbridge began to take stock of loose objects in the room, especially weighty items or ones with sharp edges of the sort that could cause a lot of harm if thrown or swung. It wasn’t that he particularly expected Rick and Ada’s reunion to turn violent, but he’d lived long enough to see how rapidly a messy breakup could get very ugly, even before magic entered the equation. He’d seen enough of Florida Man in Florida, thank you very much. No need to bring any of that nonsense here to New Orleans. “Busy.” Ada couldn’t keep a yawn down. “Been having trouble sleeping. Too much stuff on my mind. You?” “Doing a lot of thinking,” he said, watching her intently. “You could say I’ve had too much free time lately.” “You mean because of your condition? Or something else?” After a moment, she noticed the way he was looking at her. “Rick? Is something wrong?” He shook his head and gave her a wistful smile. “I was just wondering what the occasion was. We never used to dress up to go out, now look at us.” “I never really had time for it, you know. Everything was always falling apart somewhere, and I couldn’t even get out of my routine. But now...” she stood up, grabbed the folds of her skirt and raised them up slightly as she spun in place. “...Now it’s different. And I feel different too. It looks nice, doesn’t it?” she asked, beaming at him. “You always look nice,” he said, looking away for the first time. “Sorry, I… didn’t expect you to be here.” “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” There was a pause as she sat down beside him, but then her fingers touched the back of his hand. “You’re not scared to see me, right?” she asked, and she sounded hesitant - and a little bit worried. “You’re too cute to be scary in that getup,” he said, playing it off, but then he moved his hand away. “I haven’t fixed anything yet, Ada. I need more time…” For a long moment neither of them spoke. There she was, right next to him, and she might as well have been on another planet. When he couldn’t stand it any longer he faced her again and looked her in the eyes. “I miss you.” “I do too,” she said, quietly. “You’ve got no idea how much I wished you were there to hold me last night when I decided to come here.” “Then why-” he stopped and sighed. He knew why. “I can’t do what I need to do unless I let you go, too,” he said, finally. “I don’t know how. All I’ve ever done was hold on.” “Do you think you’ll have to cut me off to do it?” “Who cut off who, exactly?” he asked. Ada sighed. “You did, Rick.” She didn’t want to put it like that, but telling lies had never been their way. “Just because you’re not my boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t still want you to be my friend. Even if we break up ten times, I still won’t change my mind about that.” He could feel the weight of the ring box in his pocket. “We’re still friends, right?” Rachel asked from the depths of his memory. “No,” he whispered the words he should have said back then. “It doesn’t work like that.” “Because you’ve got to have your pride so you have to hate me for leaving you?” Ada asked, sharply. “Is that it?” He shook his head very lightly. “I could never hate you, Ada. But I can’t just be your friend, either. I’d rather have no love than not enough.” “So you’re gonna keep avoiding me forever then? Is that how you’re planning to dull the pain?” It wasn’t right, it wasn’t even a little bit right! Pushing him away was the best thing she could’ve done for them both. It hadn’t been a choice she’d made carelessly, just for the sake of getting rid of an anchor holding her back. So why was he acting like this, trying to play tough even though she could tell he hated this just as much as her? “You’re gonna mess up your makeup,” he said, reaching out to brush the back of his hand against her cheek. “If I wanted to avoid you I wouldn’t be here. I need to focus on me for a while, at least until I figure out what I want to do with my life. That’s what you wanted.” Ada looked down, trying hard not to let her voice crack. “Yeah. I know. But I didn’t want to lose you.” “Well, I’m not dead yet,” he said, the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. She let out a short, explosive laugh. It hurt to do it, like it had ripped through all her pain and worry on its way out. “Yeah. Not until you give up,” she said, grinning for just a moment. “...Rick, can I ask you something?” “Have I ever stopped you?” This time her smile was just as fleeting as before - but far more heartfelt and sincere. “When will we be able to just talk to each other again? Without all this anger, all this…bullshit getting in the way.” “gently caress, I don’t know.” He exhaled heavily. “I think it hurts until you stop caring.” “Then I’m never gonna stop hurting.” She shot him a sideways look. “And you better not numb it out either.” “I’m not doing that anymore,” he said seriously. “It’s half the reason I’m in this mess.” “What’s it like for you?” she asked. “I mean feeling, really feeling, again.” Rick thought fondly of his sledgehammer, but before he could attempt to explain, a chill ran up his spine. He sat bolt upright in his chair, looking exactly like a cat who’d just been pet the wrong way. He cleared his throat, hand curled in front of his mouth, and stood up. “Excuse me, I think I need to check on what the ladies are up to in that storeroom.” He didn’t wait for Ada to respond before walking off, straight through several people who’d yet to sit down. “drat,” Ada murmured, watching him go. “If I’d known you were gonna be so hard-pressed for an answer, I would’ve asked a different question.”
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Nov 23, 2018 07:42
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About Your Dead Friend... Scene: Voodoo Shop Storeroom The storeroom behind the counter was packed full of long shelves that were stacked to the ceiling with all sorts of tourist-flavored knick knacks and snack items. It was dimly lit by a shadeless lamp in the front corner and a heavyset black woman in a pretty blue patterned dress was just finishing unpacking a box full of incense when Anna dragged Marcine between the beaded curtain strings. “Wow,” Mary Laveau said, seeing Marcine’s coat and sword. “Since when does the Winter Lady come shopping in N’awlins?” “I'm just the bootleg version,” Marcine said, with a brief smile, before turning back to Anna. She didn't want to be rude, but there seemed to be a more pressing issue. “Is there a problem?” “I hope not,” Anna said, looking her up and down. Her eyes settled on the sword, not the coat. “Look, there’s no nice way to ask this question so I’m just gonna say it plain. Are you possessed?” “Oh. No.” Maybe wearing it openly had been a bad idea after all. The worry spread from Anna to the other lady immediately, so this was a serious matter. Marcine gave them a small, disarming smile. “Long story short, he’s the former Warden. He's been staying with me.” She glanced back toward the window. “I just had to bring the sword in so we could both attend. Elbridge invited us. He probably would have warned you if we'd decided we were actually coming sooner.” Mary looked at Anna and narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me she didn’t just say that Richter’s ghost is haunting my shop. It’s the middle of the afternoon!” “It is, and he is, and he’s fully manifested too. I don’t even know how he did it and I’m the ectomancer,” Anna said, sounding frustrated. “Can I see that?” She pointed to the sword. Marcine rested her hand on the strap that held the sheath on her belt, but hesitated. If they knew him, it should be fine, but this wasn't exactly the reception she'd expected. Why hadn't he mentioned this? “If you're not going to exorcise him or something.” “Well I can’t just snap my fingers and send him to great beyond,” Anna said, rolling her eyes. “Cole did me a solid a while back. If it’s him, you ain’t gotta worry.” Marcine didn't sense ill will over the worry or the words, so she handed the sheathed sword over. “This is new,” Anna said, admiring the brown leather sheath. There was a delicate spiral pattern pressed into the material. “Singh’s work,” Mary said. “The blade should have Turner’s maker’s mark- there it is. Yeah, that’s the original sword alright.” “So it is him,” Anna said, releasing a breath gratefully. “Thank God, trying to un-mojo Elbridge would have been a trick and a half.” “No kidding.” Marcine rubbed her neck. “Sorry for this. Nobody bothered to explain ghost etiquette to me.” “It’s not about manners,” Anna said, fully unsheathing the sword. “The first time Elbridge came to the meeting a couple months ago he was showing signs of recent possession. Like, real deep too. The kind where you don’t really know something’s gotten hold of you and started influencing your thoughts. I was worried sick but he insisted he was fine, which is usually what you do when someone’s controlling your mind. I made a point to visit him a few times, helped him move some of his creepy collection while that was going on, but it looked like whatever it was musta got scared off, or at least it wasn’t doing its thing on him anymore.” “When did he move in with you, again?” Mary asked. “Around a month,” Marcine said, “but he was with Ada for a while before then.” Recent possession, and El had been acting weird…while he'd been carrying the sword. There had just never been a good time to bring it up, what with Outsiders and world trees. “I think he was. Before Rick woke up. That would actually explain a lot.” “...woke up?” Anna asked. “From what I understand, after Rick died, he was in the sword but not really aware for a while. El had the sword, but none of us knew he was there.” She smiled nervously. “Is accidental possession better or worse than intentional possession?” “Sorta depends on the intent of the possessor, doesn't it,” Mary said darkly. “Accidental is usually weaker, and much more random,” Anna said. “You start to pick up the habits of the deceased like stopping to pick flowers at a certain place or watching a certain tv show you never cared about before. It’s a psychic imprint rubbing off on a living person. It happens a lot with fetters like this, physical contact with the ghost’s most precious object leaves a stain behind. Any of that been happening to you?” Marcine shook her head. “Things have been pretty normal. Ghost aside. I do remember noticing some of that with El, but we were in crisis mode at the time.” And running off to her parents’ place without following up on it suddenly felt very irresponsible. Not that she should feel responsible for a century-old wizard... Anna ran her hand up and down the smooth silver blade. “I don’t feel any psychic leakage,” she said, brows knitting together. “But what you’re telling me doesn’t make a lot of sense, Marcine. Ghosts don’t wake up, they’re more like echoes, or afterimages. Whatever they are when they’re made is how they stay, unless they start doing some things I don’t expect someone like Cole would do. If he was just an imprint, he should have stayed one.” “I’ve only dealt with a couple ghosts before, so I don’t have much to go on, but they were more like what you’d expect to see in a Halloween movie and Rick doesn’t act like them at all.” She shrugged. “You’d learn more asking him.” “Asking me what?” Rick said, poking his head through the beaded curtain. He shivered as Anna touched the blade. “Please stop doing that.” “Why, Warden Cole…” Anna stroked the sword again, as if by seeing him she’d just realized something important. “This isn’t a fetter at all, is it?” Rick glared at her. “Just Cole is fine, and no, it’s not.” Marcine felt his spike of discomfort. She narrowed her eyes slightly, though her tone remained neutral. “I’d like that back.” Anna held up one hand. “Just a second. See, I think what I’ve got right here is a vessel.” Mary blinked in surprise. “Really?” “What’s the difference?” Marcine asked, though she doubted the answer was worth antagonizing Rick over. “Price,” Mary muttered, giving the sword a serious appraisal. Marcine shot her a look of disbelief. “Fetters are mementos that anchor a ghost to the living world,” Anna said, her eyes still on Rick. “They represent the unfinished business or the trauma that caused the ghost to exist. They’re fragile, and destroying them usually gets rid of the ghost for good.” She glanced down at the sword, which she was now holding as if it were a precious treasure. “Vessels on the other hand...” “Vessels act as bodies for spirit-beings, like genies,” Rick finished for her. “...or lost souls.” “So what does that mean?” Marcine asked. “That he’s really Rick Cole.” Anna said. She sheathed the sword and handed it back to Marcine. “He’s not a ghost. Ghosts don’t change, or learn, or grow. They can’t, by their very nature. Unless they start cannibalizing other ghosts, and then they go crazy.” “It usually takes a lot of crazy for a ghost to manifest visibly,” Mary added. “That’s why Anna was worried.” “I’m not crazy,” Rick said, annoyed. He gave Marcine a sideways glance. “Am I?” Another time she might have ribbed him about it, but since they were talking about actual destructive insanity, this wasn’t that time. “No.” She returned his sideways glance as she put the sheath back on her belt. “Is there a particular reason you didn’t mention this before?” “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “Not until recently. It’s pretty hard to tell the difference and I didn’t want to be that guy, you know, the ghost who’s in denial about being a ghost.” She smiled, her hand settling on the hilt protectively (and out of habit from fencing practice). “It sounds like that was already more self-awareness than the average ghost.” “Yeah, maybe.” His cheeks colored, as much from her words as the touch of her hand. Anna clapped her hands together. “Well, if no one’s crazy or possessed I think we’re good to go start things off. Oh, last question, you’re not actually here on behalf of Winter or anything are you? That’d be a bit of a problem.” Marcine glanced down at the coat. “No. It’s just a nice coat with a long story.” She grimaced. “A really long story.” “Well hey, I might have a better chance of pulling it out of you than Elbridge,” Anna said, grinning to herself as she pulled the beaded curtain back. As she stepped past the curtain, Marcine reached her mind to the spirit beside her. <I shouldn’t have let her take the sword. I’m sorry.> <The only three people allowed to lay hands on that without my direct permission are you, Elbridge, and Ada. No exceptions.> His anger was mostly directed outwards, but the disappointment was all for her. She sent back an acknowledgement tinged with annoyance at herself and the two women. She hadn’t realized, but there was no point saying that, because he knew, because he hadn’t told her, and he would be thinking of that already anyway… And all because she’d talked him into coming in when he didn’t want to and so dumped him into this on top of finding Ada. Sometimes she needed to just not open her mouth. And now they were back among the rest of the group. <It won’t happen again,> she said - unnecessarily, perhaps, but she had to say something. <And next time, feel free to tell me to shut up.>
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Nov 27, 2018 02:31
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Lessons From Florida Scene: Voodoo Shop You’d think people would have taken the extra time to get situated but Anna still had to spend a few moments coaxing people into their seats. The pizza was nearly gone and the drinks hadn’t lasted either, but most everyone was having a good time socializing anyways. The monthly meeting was as much for catching up with the neighbors as it was the more important things. “Okay!” Anna said, finally, standing up with her blue binder in hand. “Welcome everyone, officially, to the September Monthly Meeting of the New Orleans chapter of the Paranet. We’ve got a new face here tonight,” she pointed to Gorden, and a light chuckle went around the circle. “Hi, everyone,” Gorden waved from his seat. “It’s nice knowing I’m not alone out there.” “I hope you’re all on your best behavior. Anyways, getting right to it. Any new names to add to our list of the lost?” For the first time in a long time, no one raised a hand. Anna was delighted and had everyone give Elbridge a round of applause. (Mr. Bigsby added a wolf whistle.) The defense techniques he’d been teaching had started to pay off big time. “Excellent progress, everyone,” Elbridge commended them. “Just remember not to get complacent - the monsters certainly won’t.” “So next on the list… Big news out of Miami.” She opened the binder and read from a news clipping. “After many tragic losses the Paranet groups in Miami and West Palm Beach led a joint attack on the Fomor stronghold off the coast near Fort Lauderdale. We are proud to say that the Fomor have been completely wiped out of south Florida.” “That's some good news,” replied James, having been sitting and listening intently, “Should keep everyone there safe, at least short term.” “Impressive,” Elbridge said. “How in the world did they manage that?” “Yeah,” Bigsby chimed in. “We ought to do the same thing ‘round here, if we can.” Murmurs of agreement went around the circle. Anna closed the binder and hugged it to her chest. “From what I understand they used a Red Tide bloom. Toxic algae. There was a lot of collateral damage, and the part that concerns me the most is that the survivors were spotted heading for the Gulf.” “My, that’s...certainly one way to kill fish,” Elbridge remarked. Biological warfare. Drastic and hideous. For the Paranet to have deployed it, the situation in Florida must have been desperate indeed. “How many of them got away?” Ada asked. “It’s one thing if it’s just a couple, but if there’s hundreds coming in...” “Not hundreds,” Anna said. “But maybe two or three dozen. Not clear how many Fomor vs. servitors, either. There’s a lot of coastline between Miami and New Orleans, for all we know they’re moving to Biloxi.” “Not much of a surprise. Can’t expect chemical weapons to leave too many survivors.” She crossed her arms and stared down the room. “We’re not deploying them to kill the Fomor here. We’re better than that.” “Was this algae aimed for the fomor or did they wreck the ecosystem?” Marcine asked. ‘Collateral damage’ wasn’t very specific, and that might be the point. “They dumped a bunch of nerve toxin into the ocean with the intent of killing everything in the area,” Mrs. Bellefonte said. For a nice little old lady she looked incensed. “What do you think?” “It would have traveled pretty far up the coast,” Rick added. “But the environmental damage isn’t even the worst part of it. Everyone the Fomor kidnapped from south Florida… they were probably in that base.” Ada’s hands clenched into fists. “So they killed their loved ones, just like that? What were they thinking?!” “I really hope they were just that goddamn desperate,” replied James, his composure slipping, “Because the only alternative is that they decided to listen to some kind of total psychopath.” Marcine’s jaw clenched. They were going to kill a lot more humans than Fomor unless that toxin dissipated much faster than she expected. “I hope whoever came up with that loving plan at least had the decency to get shoved in after it.” “Ms. Beaumont.” Elbridge addressed their host, cool and formal. “You mentioned earlier losses - how severe?” “Verging on Seattle-levels,” Anna said, looking down. The Seattle Paranet had gone dark months ago, and when Vancouver sent a rescue team they didn’t find anyone. It looked like the whole group had been taken. Possibly all at once, given the state of one of their meeting places. “We’ve been very lucky,” she added, almost guilty. Ada shot her a look. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it. The Fomor know better than to bite off more than they can chew.” What they’d done - her, Rick, Marcine, Elbridge and the others - was enough to give the fishmen pause, for good reason. They wouldn’t make a move here until they were confident they could crush all resistance, swiftly and without leaving any room for a counterattack. Marcine rubbed her temples. “So…no one else has had the idea to start teaching people to defend themselves, when this is just one of many threats out there?” “You do know the council, right?” Ada pointed out. “Since when have they looked out for the little guy instead of their own?” “They’d be in better shape if they did,” Marcine muttered. Or even looked after their own, she thought, glancing briefly at Rick. “There’s only so much most people can manage,” James replied, “Most of the Paranet doesn’t have the power or the skills to take the fight to them on anything close to even terms.” “So what happens when people who don’t have the power to go toe to toe with the monsters are called in to fight? Suppose he drops dead,” Ada said, pointing at Elbridge. “Me, too. What’s left? Fighting a losing battle until the city’s under Fomori control or worse? Committing atrocities to prevent that fate?” More than a few people gave Rick sideways glances, and he sank into his chair a little. “You got a better idea?” Bigsby asked, in a challenging tone of voice. He wasn’t happy about his earlier support for a mass poisoning, and deep down he was scared of exactly what Ada had proposed. What would happen if the city lost their new Warden, or the others who’d been protecting it? “You could run inland - less Fomor raids there, at least,” observed James, “Still have to dodge any other predators out there, but it’s an option. Not a good one, mind, but it’s there.” “I ain’t leaving my home behind for no man, fish, or sea beastie,” Bigsby grunted. “Runnin’ ain't an option.” “It shouldn’t have to be, but it’s there if anyone’s not up for this,” replied James, “What we really need is information - find out what makes them tick, and you’ll find some kind of edge on the bastards. That’s how we’ll beat ‘em.” “And we need something else.” Looking at Mr. Bigsby, Ada couldn’t keep her stomach from tightening into knots. This wasn’t how she’d expected the meeting to go - but now that a spotlight had been shone on her, she didn’t have much choice but to make her move. Taking one last deep breath, she stood up. “We’ve been moving in the fringes, trying not to step on anyone’s toes, and it’s limited our options. We need freedom - and we need control, too.” She swallowed, and stared at the crowd. “What if we took over New Orleans?” “What, like the mafia?” Mary asked, incredulously. “I think Uncle Sam might have some objections to that,” observed James. “No, not really,” Ada said, turning to look at Mary. “The whole reason these raids happen at all is there’s no central authority, nobody who can say ‘you can’t do this’. The only thing the monsters of New Orleans respect right now is strength, and we don’t have enough of it. But if we come together, we can fix that. And if we use that strength to leave everyone else weak enough that they can’t pick a fight with us, we can force them to play by our rules.” She glanced at the rest of the room for a moment, then continued. “Think about it. No more raids. No more people getting eaten in the dead of night. No more deaths because some critter thought it’d be funny to watch one of our friends bleed. Doesn’t it sound worth doing?” “Sounds too good to be true,” Anna said guardedly. “Because it is,” Elbridge said. “In order to wield that authority, we would need to be recognised as a distinct polity and become signatories to the Unseelie Accords. After that, we would have to name one of our number a Freeholding Lord, and maintain that standing over the objections of any rival claimants - objections they would only withdraw if given certain concessions in exchange, or else brought to heel through force. Even then, a Freeholding Lord’s power extends only as far as the boundaries of the Freehold, and the other Lords are only obliged to respect it to the extent that the Accords demand. Moreover, a Lord’s power is seldom uncontested.” Elbridge rolls Lore: Magical Law to lawyer this up: -/+- +4 = 3, good enough He removed his spectacles to polish them and replaced them with a sigh. “In order to keep the title of Lord, one must keep their subjects content. Few monsters will consent to stop preying on humans.” “Elbridge,” Ada called out. “Do you think losing people like we do is acceptable?” Her voice was calm, controlled, and even. Maybe too even, but she couldn’t afford to let her emotions get the best of her. Not now. Elbridge stared forward, not at Ada but past her, into some unknowable distance. “I think that I’d like to finish counting the dead from our last war before we start a new one.” “Is that what they’d want?” Ada shot back. “To hear you say that you’d rather wait and mourn instead of going out to make things better?” Deep breaths, deep breaths. Getting mad would not help, anger wouldn’t help. What people needed was a reason to change, and a promise they could trust. “We can’t keep doing things like we have so far. If we do, we’ll die in the line of duty, one by one.” she said, as she stared straight at Rick. It felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done, holding his gaze as she uttered those words. “And nothing will change for the better - it’ll only get worse and worse until we’re all enslaved or dead. Think about how things were a year ago. We’ve punched every faction that used to have a claim to the city in the gut and made them reel. This is our only chance to take advantage and make things different. I want to give it a shot.” She turned to address the crowd. “Do you?” ((This is a Rapport roll to get people on board with what Ada’s selling. She rolls ++// +5 for a base of +7, but raises further with an invoke of Last Heir of House duSang to speak passionately, even through a thick veil of politesse. A result of +9 makes it a Success With Style over the base difficulty of 6!)) The attendees gave each other some meaningful looks and there were more than a few nods. Turning their small victories into a larger, and more permanent peace wasn’t a hard sell, if they could pull it off. “How?” Marcine asked. She didn’t need to be an empath to see Ada meant it, but… “It’s a nice sentiment, but you need more than that.” “There’s a lot of people who aren’t happy with the state of things in New Orleans as they are now, and it’s not just us. There’s non-humans on the other side of the fence that want things to be different, too. We won’t be able to reason with all of them, but there’s many who feel like we do. If we can convince them to choose their home over their faction, we’ll have enough of a power base to face the Fomor head on and kick them out for good, along with all the other monsters who won’t want to play by the rules. If we can make fighting for the city into an united front, the Accords’ signatories won’t have a choice but to recognize us once we present our bid with sponsors.” Ada paused for a moment to breathe and let her words sink in. “We’re not going to build a new kind of city in a day. But we absolutely can do it, and should.” “Where would you start?” Marcine asked. “She just did,” Rick muttered, too low for anyone to hear. For a moment, Ada thought about her best friend, and the stone thrumming with summer’s power that she always carried in her pocket. “The fairies have always been closest to humanity. If there’s a place to try first, it’s there.” “Nothing like starting small, eh?” said James with just a hint of sarcasm. Marcine smiled slightly. Still not specific enough, but it was something. “Good enough for now.” Clearly out of his depth, Gorden has been taking to writing down everything he’s heard in the debate going around the room in his grimoire. Nobody asked him to take minutes, but he was doing it anyway, for his own edification. Whatever they were talking about -- a nation-wide Paranet, Fomor in Florida, “Unseelie Accords”, “Freeholding Lords”, fairies (?!) -- was even bigger than what Danny had introduced him to. Did Sharene and Shirley learn about all of this? So when the conversation sounded like it had reached an impasse, he looked up from his writing, saw that nobody was about to speak, and cleared his throat. “And, uh, where do the non-magical people fit in with all of this?” He shrugged, and continued. “The whole reason I’m here is because a bunch of Tulane students have been dragged into these things against their will. I’d rather not have the whole city get caught the crossfire of...fairies and lords and stuff. At least not without their eyes open.” “The ones who are already a part of our world need to know too - and be offered the same choice we’re making here and now. But I don’t want to drag in the people who don’t know what the supernatural really is about,” Ada said, shaking her head, causing the golden tips of her hair to jingle as she did so. “I want everyone who’s in this to believe in what we’re doing, not just act like expendable shock troops.” “This isn’t about expendability,” Gorden countered, shaking his head with equal fervency. “This is about letting people know what’s going on when someone decides to induce a freaking Red Tide bloom in the gulf. They’re already being victimized--” he remembered the professor “--or, heck, getting caught up in it. The least we can do is think about how...whatever happens here will affect them, as well.” “Most people don't want to know, man,” replied James, “The majority of people would rather rationalize it all away than admit that there's a supernatural world out there that they don't understand, filled with hungry predators.” With a pensive glance downwards, he added, “Trust me, I've tried. It's not worth it.” “Knowing about a world where strength is the only law and you're at the bottom of the food chain isn't a blessing, it's a burden,” Ada said, nodding in agreement. “I can explain more later, but...would you want to live in constant fear of being eaten, if you had a choice?” “We’re not all a bunch of sissies,” Bigsby said, crossing his arms. “I don’t mind what you’ve been sayin’ so far girl, but don’t lump all of us regular folks together neither. A shotgun’s as good as a fireball when it comes down to it.” “I didn't mean to make it sound like a putdown,” Ada said, nodding in agreement. “But the way I see it, our world is like a house. You wouldn't invite people to it if you hadn't cleaned it in months...and right now, it's an absolute mess.” She smiled. “It's just polite to not bring people in until it's clean.” “Some people would be willing to fight back,” Marcine said. “The trick is finding them. Because you don’t want to be wrong about who can handle it.” Which was something they weren’t going to figure out in a general group meeting. “One goes to war with the army one has, not the army one wants,” Elbridge said sagely, recomposing himself after his moment of painful recollection. “So take a lesson from the late Harry Dresden, and get your bloody army in order before you go starting any wars.” For a moment, as she listened to his words, Ada's smile faltered, but soon it broadened once again. There was a lot she wanted to say to Elbridge, but being a leader meant knowing how to lock her heart away any time it wanted to break. “That's good advice,” she said, nodding. “I'll keep it in mind.”
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Nov 27, 2018 23:22
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Orientation! Scene: Voodoo Shop There wasn’t any more big news to report and after a few minor items Anna finished up her notes and there was a general break. Mary opened up some desert boxes that had been hiding under the pizza table and people broke off into twos and fours to eat and talk about things. “Okay, Gorden,” Anna said, pulling him aside once everyone had a chance to get some brownies. “Shirley said you were fresh off the farm, so why don’t you tell me what you do know and I can start filling in some blanks for you?” Gorden had just picked up a tasty looking beignet when Anna called him aside. Asked about what he knew of magic, he set it down and picked up his grimoire from his seat instead. “You mean about...everything out there or just magic stuff generally?” he asked. “Because one I’ve spent about a year playing around with and one I just learned about last week.” “A year’s long enough to get a lot figured out,” Anna smiled warmly. “So sure, start there. What sort of magic do you got?” “It’s kind of a ‘catalyst’ magic, I think--I used...er, one word with someone else last week and he thought I was talking about something else. Maybe a better word is...hmm…’entropy’!” Gorden nodded at the familiar word. “It’s magic that manipulates entropy, disorder.” “Entropexousia?” Elbridge asked, approaching the conversation with a drink in hand that had only had a single dash from his flask added. “Risky sort of magic, controlling luck. Of course, I suppose that the point of controlling luck is to mitigate risks, but even so…” “Whoa, where’d you come from?” Gorden took a step back at El suddenly entering their conversation. “And what does luck have to do with it? I mean, I guess entropy is based on probability, but it’s more like ‘statistical sorting’ probability than ‘roll dice’ probability…I can’t see how it’d be risky at all.” “Isn’t statistical sorting just the process of rolling enough dice enough times?” Elbridge asked. “In this metaphor, your magic sounds like playing with weighted dice. Loading the numbers might produce the desired outcome for a single roll, but if you leave those dice on the table for different games, it can yield unexpected results.” He swirled his drink before taking another gulp. “And of course, there’s always the chance the house will catch you and toss you out.” “Maybe a demonstration?” Anna asked, having become quite lost some time ago. “Er, okay, but a lot of the microscopic results are similar at macroscopic levels, so ‘rolling the dice’ won’t make things look any different if you keep hitting those states. And it wouldn’t be so much the house throwing you out as you reaching a point where your earned value is the same as your bet, so…” Gorden scratched his head. “Are we talking about the same thing? Lemme try something. Can I touch your glass for a second? Anna, if you’d like you can touch it too.” “Certainly.” Elbridge held out his glass of spiked lemonade. “Alright. I don’t need to hold it, I should be able to just…” Gorden reached out his fingers along the bottom of the glass, using his other hand to flip open his grimoire. “Ice is an easy way to understand entropy,” he began, his voice going into student teacher mode. “There are only so many ways water molecules can sort themselves out into ice crystals. There’s a lot more ways they can be liquid water, and even more ways they can bounce around as steam. Aaaaaaanyway, if you add energy into ice--or, like, let the sun do it for you--it melts, obviously, everybody knows that.” As he spoke, anybody touching the glass would notice it growing ever so slightly colder, as its heat went into the lemonade, rapidly melting the ice. “Of course, you could also run it backwards, taking energy out of water to turn it into ice. You could stick it in a freezer, or…” And suddenly, with a somewhat hotter glass, Elbridge was holding a lemon alcohol ice pop in a cup. “...oh, god, I’m an idiot, I could have shown this even more simply.” Gorden released the cup’s underside, tapped his forehead, and reached into his jacket for the Paranet meeting flier. He began to crumple it with one hand. “There’s lots...of ways...to call...a piece...of paper...a balled...up...trash...ball…” he grunted, pressing down hard on the creases before revealing the flyer, turned into a yellowing, hole-spotted waste-basketball. “But there’s only one way…” he flicked out the paper again, converting the creases back into smoothness and filling in the rotted holes. “...to call it a clean sheet.” If he were in class right now he’d bow like a magician, but being in front of two people much older than him, he nodded. “That’s what I mean by ‘entropy’.” “That’s what I meant as well,” Elbridge said, withdrawing his frozen drink from the glass by a protruding toothpick. “Manipulation of probability. Loading the cosmic dice - although it seems that you were referring to atomic-scale events…” He closed his eyes, muttered an incantation, and flicked the ice pop blindly over his shoulder. It landed upside-down on the countertop, balanced exactly on the point of the toothpick. “...rather than anything of a more-Newtonian scale.” “I mean, personally I think of it as the same principle as those touch-activated heat packs, just a little more extreme, but--” Gorden’s...explanation? Rationalization?...was interrupted by El tossing over the ice pop to land toothpick-side-down on the counter. He stared. “...okay, I can’t do that. I mean, maybe I could get the toss technique down, but gravity and the recoil from the table would take over as soon as it hit and…” He realized he was rushing, and stopped to take a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess ‘manipulating probability at atomic scale’ makes sense. But, you know, so’s any other catalyst, so I don’t get the bit about ‘the house throwing you out’. Eventually you’d just reach a point where there’s no more energy or fuel to use and the house stops moving. The reaction you’re driving isn’t going to suddenly get angry at you...unless you were playing with explosives, maybe?” “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Elbridge cautioned him. “Fire elementals can be opinionated like you wouldn’t believe. Once had a storm spirit get so miffed at the demon controlling her that she gave us a lock of her own hair to use in aiming a lightning bolt right at the infernal slattern.” “Those exist?” Gorden’s eyebrows went up. “You say ‘fire elemental’ and ‘storm spirit’ and all I can think of is, like, those orange mom-bombs from Final Fantasy and stuff.” Demons and Fish-heads and elementals, oh my--would a moogle or jack frost be next? “Too bad neither of us can cast Blizzaja,” Marcine observed, having walked up by Elbridge while three people were holding one glass. There was a crass joke there that she wouldn’t make in this company. “Odds are, if it’s shown up in a video game or a fantasy novel, something similar to it probably exists.” “Most of those things are based on real myths and legends,” Anna said, wiping her hands off on her pants. “So… it sounds like you’ve got the basics down as to what you can do, at least. You’re just missing out on what everyone else is up to. Rules, society, that kind of thing. Sound about right?” “Don’t tell me storm spirits are Pikachu--or they’ve started to look more like Pikachu after 1998 or something,” Gorden answered Marcine and Anna. “Is that a thing that happens? These magical things changing according to what cultures expect them to be like? And...yeah, that sounds about right about what I know, Anna. I dug through a bunch of books about magic stuff, but they seemed really cagey about, like, how many magicians there were in the world.” “Belief only shapes supernatural beings indirectly,” Elbridge explained. “The beliefs of human magicians colour the spells they work upon others - and of course, some beings change their image to draw power from an existing icon of belief, or simply to keep up with the times. As for the other matter, taking any sort of census has always been a difficult proposition at the best of times...and these are not the best of times.” “It’d be less difficult if the Council didn’t set the standards for who counts as a wizard,” Anna grumbled. “Its arbitrary and ridiculous.” “Ridiculous, yes,” Elbridge said. “Arbitrary, no. The criteria are rigid, but objective, and I don’t believe that examination standards have changed since the twelfth century. The title does mean something. Our chief failing has been an unwillingness to give back to the larger community, to invest in our future, to teach...” His eyes flicked toward Nicky for a split second. “...or to extend the protection of law to all but an elite few.” “The twelfth century?!” Gorden spat in confusion. “I...that...to heck with deliberate change, language drift alone should make those standards totally unrecognizable! They’d have missed...dammit, history wasn’t my best subject...they’d have missed a lot of stuff. You can’t even go two weeks without a bylaw changing in New Orleans, if only by enforcement. How do you pretend a societal structure has stayed the same for nine hundred years?!” “Written records, supplemented with firsthand accounts,” Elbridge explained. “Mind you, I don’t know of any wizard living for that long, but three or even four centuries isn’t unheard-of.” “Doesn’t matter,” said Gorden with a negative wave of his hands. “Tulane administration writes down plenty of rules--doesn’t stop them from accidentally deleting or reverting to old versions of the syllabus every three months. Information is also subject to decay, even...heck, especially...if you’d have to copy everything down by hand with quills and ink and, I dunno, open flames all over the place. At that point you might as well just...lean into it, embrace the decay and change as you go.” “The things we lost when we stopped carving hieroglyphs into rocks,” Marcine said dryly. “Maybe you stopped…” Elbridge ribbed her. “Hard to carry around your sheet music on sandstone.” “Even then, paint fades, rocks weather, the next guy might think you’re a jerk and tear down all your stuff.” Gorden interjected. “This from the guy who can un-melt ice cubes,” Anna noted. “An excellent point,” Elbridge agreed. “Magic affords many, many options for verifying these records, whether through divination, truth spells, or consultation with immortal entities who cannot lie. At any rate, I never said that the Council structure has remained unchanged for so long,” he reminded Gorden. “Only the criteria for claiming the title of ‘Wizard’: Proficiency with both evocation and ritual magic; an oath to uphold our duties and customs; and a Soulgaze to prove that one hasn’t broken the Laws.” “Yeah, but digging through all that Crowley stuff didn’t exactly suggest people like me were common,” he answered Anna. Turning back to Elbridge, he continued: “...well, I mean, what your duties and customs and Laws are can change over time. I can’t imagine you’d have a Law against, I dunno, talking about your powers on the internet...without an internet.” “They’re more like the 10 commandments than what we’d think of as laws,” Anna said, reaching into her binder for a pamphlet, which said ‘The Laws of Magic and you!’ in a cheerful sans-font. There was a smiling cartoon wizard with a beard on the front page. “Possibly older, definitely more firmly enforced.” Marcine didn’t say anything about the binder’s aesthetic design, but she didn’t really need to when her expression screamed ‘Seriously?’ “I see,” Gorden said, taking up the pamphlet and flipping through it. “Don’t kill, don’t transform others, don’t invade other’s privacy--” His muttering stopped short when he reached the section labelled “Never Swim Against the Flow of Time.” He remembered Danny’s words about cutting people’s heads off and licked his lip nervously. “And, uh, what exactly does a Soulgaze entail? Just from the sound of it it sounds like a privacy invasion...with magic?” “It’s a natural consequence of a capable practitioner making eye contact with another person for the first time,” Elbridge said. “The exact details are...well, not to go on at length, but there’s a difference between such a passive, two-way encounter and the active invasion of another mind. Magic is an act of will. It asserts the primacy of your will, your soul, over the world, and when you use that power to do dreadful things, your soul is left stained. Kill with magic, and you’ve decided that you are, at the core of your being, a killer. Tear apart the natural order, and you become unable to exist within it.” “It’s addicting too, or so I’ve heard,” Anna added. “But you don’t have to worry about that, right?” She gave Gorden a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Most of this stuff is just common sense anyways. It wouldn’t be right to turn someone into an animal, or mind control them, or change history. No one has to tell you that.” “Er...right…” Gorden tried to reassure her. “I’m not sure if I’m capable of even DOING most of these.” Most, not all, of course. He suddenly found himself very interested in his set down beignet. Had he made eye contact with Elbridge? Was his head about to get wingding Xes for eyes? “It’s best to understand your abilities so that you can learn to control them as early as possible,” Elbridge said. Gorden had the look of someone who’d only just discovered what he could do, and knew next to nothing about the magical world. Most Warlocks were sorcerers who didn’t yet understand the Laws, nor why they were so important, until it was far too late. “I’m about to begin our regular self-defense lessons. You’re welcome to join in, if you’d like a primer.” It’d be too suspicious to say “no”. “I think I’d like that, sure.”
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Nov 28, 2018 04:29
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Every Time You Think You’re Out... Scene: Voodoo Shop James wove his way through the room, chewing on the first bite of the donut he’d snagged from the box - pink frosting with sprinkles, of course - mulling over everything from the meeting thus far. The donut was good, very good - the meeting less so. Everything about Florida stunk to high heaven, and he’d already resolved to pass it up the chain to Gina, because either there was a psychopath with supernatural powers and very few morals running around, or someone had tricked them into such an idiotic plan - either of which needed looking into. And all this talk of creating what amounted to a supernatural Free City of Danzig… Well, it certainly was ambitious. If that girl could pull it off, it’d certainly make the city a whole lot safer, but that was one big if. He knew for a fact that he should keep well clear of the whole thing - it was too public and too likely to end up causing a giant mess - and he could already imagine how Gina’d react if he was anywhere near it when it finally blew up. But then… he did kinda want to know how she expected to pull the whole thing off. Surely he could get away with just talking - ”I was just gathering information, honest, boss,” - right? With a shrug, James took another bite of the donut and started looking around the room again. He found the person he was looking for sipping a Coke as she stared out the front window, lost in thought. Heading over, he asked quietly, “Everybody too worried to come talk to you now, eh?” “They're taking their time to think about it,” she said, eyes glued to the cars passing by. “Give it a few more minutes. You?” “It sure is a bold, ambitious plan,” replied James, “I was just trying to work out how the heck you thought you were gonna pull it off.” “Knowing the city like it was my best friend is the first step. It's amazing how many problems solve themselves when you know where everyone stands and what they're capable of.” She finally looked away from the window and towards him. “All the bosses that used to lead the nonhumans of New Orleans a year ago are dead or gone. Their replacements aren't as heavily entrenched as they'd like everyone else to think. You ever seen what happens when a power vacuum takes form?” she asked. “Yeah, it’s never pretty. Most of the time it just ends up being worse for the little guy,” he replied, “So that’s your plan, then? You want to be the despot who seizes power during a vacuum? I mean, you seem like a nice enough lady, but I wouldn’t want to bet on if you’d end up being a benevolent ruler or not.” “I wouldn’t either. Too much of a blind bet. But there’s one thing we know for sure. What’s your name?” “That forgettable, am I?” he replied, “I’m James.” “I got asked so many questions it was all I could do to keep them all straight,” she said, smiling apologetically as she did so. It seemed a little...forced, but it didn’t look like she was putting up with him either. “James, how many times have you ran into nonhumans so far?” “More than most, but I’d rather not talk about it,” he replied, cryptically. “Then you know why things can’t stay the way they are now. The only thing a lot of them understand is pure brute force. Even if we all come together and choose someone ruthless to run the city, it’ll be a step up from letting the monsters run wild.” Her smile turned bitter. “I wouldn’t have thrown this out if I thought there was any other way to do things, but we don’t live in a good world. Compared to this chaos, any kind of order will be a step up.” “Sure, I’m not going to deny that your plan would do make things better, if you could pull it off and you turn out to be benevolent,” he replied, watching her, “But if your plan involves forcing the current supernatural rulers out of town, what’s to stop them rallying support and coming back in force? And even if they don’t, if you piss them all off, who do you think’d sponsor you to join the Accords?” “Winter owes me a favor,” Ada replied. “A favor so big, cashing it in for sponsorship for a serious Accord bid wouldn’t be out of reach. Chicago’s Freeholding Lord has reason to back us up if it looks like we can make things work, too - he’ll see an opportunity to make a similar regime change back home. And I’ve got sales pitches for both the Archive and the White Council for that third spot.” Though by the looks of it, the Council could probably be counted out. Her hands clenched as she remembered Elbridge’s words. Maybe all old wizards became like that, looking down upon other people like so much garbage, no matter what they’d accomplished together. But she couldn’t afford to think about that now. There’d be time to let it all out later. “And I’m not going to give the old leaders of New Orleans any standing to make requests with. I’m going to destroy their reputations, to the point no one will want to follow them when they start screaming about taking back the town. That’s why non-human backing’s so important. Once we have that, there won’t be any room for complaints left.” “That’s… actually a really impressive plan. It could actually work,” replied James - and one he’d have to keep well clear of, at least publicly, if he didn’t want to piss off his bosses even more. With a shrug, he added, “Good luck with it, I guess.” “That’s it?” Ada asked, incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re just gonna sit in the sidelines and watch. You’ve got skin in this game too, just like everyone else.” “I can’t be seen to be involved with something like this,” he replied, looking away, “I mean, I’m sorry I can’t and all, but that’s just how it is.” “No, that’s not how this works,” Ada countered, her eyes hardening. “What’s keeping you from it? It’s not like there’s any oversight here. The White Council’s got a Warden, but they can’t enforce policy even if they wanted to, and no one else even pretends to care about us. So why not throw your hat in the ring?” “I’ve got my reasons,” he said, frowning, “Look, your plan is going to put you under a giant spotlight, but if I can help out while keeping out of that, I will. Not to brag or anything, but I was pretty good at the whole P.I. thing.” “Figured it had to be something like that,” Ada said, nodding. “When you started talking about how we needed more information earlier, I was listening. We’re gonna have to deal with the Fomor, and probably sooner rather than later. Maybe…” she began, but then had an idea and fell silent. “Nah, forget about it. It’s nothing.” “What is it?” he asked, “I feel like kind of an rear end about all this, so if I can help with something..?” Ada pretended to think about it for a moment, then gave up and started speaking. “I was just thinking you were right. Seattle and Florida are the keys to how the Fomor really operate. We need someone to investigate them in more detail, and you look like the kind of person who can find out what we need to know without sticking your neck out. It’d keep you out of the spotlight while I do my thing, too, but...it’s probably not worth it, isn’t it?” she asked, then added, “Too far away, too risky. We’re better off keeping things local if we can.” “Before I came to New Orleans, I was living out in a small town in Eastern Washington for the better part of a year, and while we didn't hear much from Seattle, one of the guys from the search party stopped by briefly. He didn't say much, but between what he did say and what we'd heard… I don't want to go anywhere near there, thanks.” He paused for a moment, glancing out the window, “Florida… not sure about that one, but I was going to ask around and see what I could find out anyway, even before you asked.” “That’d be great,” Ada said, nodding. “Any information’s valuable. The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be when the Fomori refugees arrive.” “I'll do some digging when I get the chance. Anything else worth looking into?” “There’s one other thing...you ever hear of a Rotana Group, owner of a hotel chain?” “Yeah, they own a whole bunch of hotels out in the Middle East. Not bad places to stay at,” he replied, “Why?” “Very recently, they decided they wanted to enter the American market, and they picked New Orleans as their testbed. More specifically, they picked an abandoned music hall with a whole lot of history behind it. The whole bidding process’ smelled fishy from the beginning, and I want to make sure there isn’t more to it than meets the eye. If you could investigate them a little, I’d owe you one.” “Who's selling it? The city?” “Yeah. The people who were supposed to own it lost it to foul play. Eventually it ended up in the hands of the state.” “Then there'll be a piece of paperwork with some bureaucrat's signature on it approving the sale somewhere in City Hall. If anyone has a hint of what's going on, that'd probably point towards them,” explained James. “Sounds like you know where to look. Can I trust you with this, then?” “Sure, I’ll add it to my to do list.” “Speaking of to-do lists...” Ada murmured, glancing past him as a group of people approached. “Looks like I’m gonna be busy going over it for a while.” She smiled again, and this time it came much more easily. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna forget your name again. That’s a promise. You got a number I can call to keep up on whatever you find?” James slipped a business card out of his jeans pocket and handed it to her, “I’ll hold you to that promise,” he said, stepping away as the group drew closer. Then, with a grin, he added, “Enjoy your rabble rousing, Ada duSang.”
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Nov 28, 2018 04:33
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Open Recruitment Scene: Voodoo Shop The group approaching Ada was made up of the Bigsbys, the Larsons, and Jerome Brown. Mr. Larson was the one who spoke up first. “We had a bit of a talk-” he started, but then Mrs. Bigsby interrupted him. “You were right, the house is a mess, and we’re all willing to help clean it up,” she said, in an accent as thick as her husband’s. “Where’s the mop and bucket?” Hearing those words after what had felt like the coldest reception this side of the North Pole just a little while ago meant Ada couldn’t keep herself from grinning. “Right here with us,” she said, tapping the cellphone she’d just finished writing James’ number into. “We’re gonna clean up the whole city, and the first step is making sure the word gets out to the people who can lend a hand. Do you know anyone else who missed today’s meeting and might be interested?” “I can round up the boys in our ‘istorical society, most of ‘em know a thing or two already and they can shoot straight,” Mr. Bigsby said. “Ma’s got her knitting circle.” “Quilting,” his wife emphasized, as though she’d had to say it a few hundred times before. “But there’s not a drop of magic in that group. We can’t fight monsters but if you need space we got the boat, the land, and the barn. Remember where you kept that baby dragon? How’s he doing? The little dear.” “Pretty good. He’s going to school now, when he’s not making plans to become big and strong like his mother.” And, come to think of it, Tor was probably high on the list of people she needed to talk to about instating a new order in the city. Maybe he couldn’t fight, but having a dragon’s backing, even a little one, would go a long way towards legitimizing the movement. “And don’t worry about not being good in a scrap. If there’s something running the soup kitchens’ taught me, it’s that it’s the little things that keep people going and push them to give their all when it matters. We’re gonna need flags to wave down the line after all, won’t we?” The old woman looked pleased as punch at the mention of flags. “Well there’ll always be hot meals and warm clothes at our house, if you ever need em.” “That’s well and good,” Jerome said, nodding in appreciation. “But how do we stop the Fomor from taking over everything before we even get started? This is the first month they didn’t take anyone we know about, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t take anyone. And while we’ve been preventing a lot of the raids here the people they took are out there getting more fishy by the day… I haven’t given up on my Pops and just don’t know what to do. My baby girl deserves to know her granddad…” “We’re gonna get them back.” It wasn’t a promise. It was a statement of fact, like saying it was night outside or that the pizzas Anna had brought in were ancient history by now. “But to do that, we need to find out where they’re hiding. I’ve got someone digging into the Florida case, and the people we got back from the Fomor might know where we can find the rest. But before we hit them at the heart of their power, we need to make sure they don’t get any stronger. Keep an eye out for anything that might indicate the refugees’ arrival. If we can ambush them and capture them, we’ll be able to get useful info out of them.” James was already turning out to be a godsend. Even if his investigation didn’t turn up anything valuable, just knowing someone was on the case was bound to reassure everyone and help them focus on their duties, at least for a while. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Mr Bigsby said thoughtfully. “What about Goldman?” Mr. Larson said nervously. He scratched at the back of his hands like he had a rash. “The Fomor might be out there stalking street corners but that guy wants to take over the city and he’s halfway there already. Did you hear the news about Frisk? He’s missed another fundraiser, that’s three in a row. Something’s up…” “Honey,” his wife took his hand, stopping him from doing actual damage to himself. “Sorry, he’s had trouble talking about Goldman since the stoning.” “I’m alright.” Larson stood up straighter. “I used to work for one of Goldman’s competitors in the real estate market. I say used to because he bought them out and then put them out of business. When I tried to ask him to reconsider I ended up a l-lawn ornament. Something has to be done about him, and his horrible wife, all those people he’s got trapped.” “We’ve got to deal with him,” Ada agreed. “And sooner rather than later. Do you know why he’s been trying to corner the real estate market? He’s too rich to be in it for the money.” Larson shook his head. “It’s all black booked. I could ask around, but I don’t think it’d be discreet. It’s not a very friendly business.” “We can’t do anything that would put Izzy at risk,” Mrs. Larson added. “Yeah, I understand. Don’t worry about it. We’re doing this to keep our people safe, not throw them to the wolves.” James could look into it. Adding another player to the real estate case was bound to pique his curiosity. All she had to was share the details next time they spoke. “This reminds me of something, though. Besides reaching out to people who might be interested, there’s something else I need everyone to do. Whenever you’ve got a minute, think hard about any old folk tales or legends, especially about places that are special or haunted. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble getting enough people onboard to do something, but any big fight’s gonna have us as the underdogs from the get-go. New Orleans is full of magical places. If we can draw out their power, we can use it to make sure everyone comes home safe when it’s time to settle the score with the Fomor, or put Goldman back in line.” “Yeah, we ‘istory on our side,” Bigsby agreed. “Poor bastards in Miami sure didn’t. Ma, I think there’s still a bit of custard pie left...” They all scattered gradually, until eventually she was all alone again. She’d raised a lot of expectations today - and now, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to deliver on all of them. It all came down to how quickly James found something, and her ability to bring people over to her cause. If she waited too long to make a move, or got too anxious and overcommitted before she was ready… Just then, she felt another kind of pressure - the weight of a heavy gaze. It was Rick, standing on the far end of the room, watching her. The seconds went by and her heartbeat quickened, wondering if he’d come closer and what he’d say when he did, but he simply shook his head and walked away. It was almost worse than him throwing recriminations in her face - her father had done the same thing, weeks ago. Is that all? You’re gonna just stare at me then walk away like I’m no longer your problem? she fumed. Screw you, Rick. You don’t know poo poo about winning hearts and minds. Who are you to judge me? She wanted to chase him down, to get up in his face and scream at him for just abandoning her, but instead she fell down onto the nearest chair with an angry snort. “I told you,” she whispered bitterly. Told you I was tired of risking my life just to hold the line, of not knowing whether I’d ever have a chance to live my life. You tried playing the hero and got killed for it. Why shouldn’t I use you to back up my points when you made them for me? She dug her nails into her palms so hard they began to bleed. She couldn’t have a shouting match with Richter now, not without losing face in front of the people she’d just managed to persuade. All she had left to do was count down the minutes ‘til she could confront someone else who’d turned his back on her. Maybe she’d feel a little better once she finally got to yell at El.
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Nov 28, 2018 04:50
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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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The Odd Couple Scene: Voodoo Shop Rick couldn’t help watching Ada talk to her little group of co-conspirators near the window. She was so animated, completely in her element, that she didn’t even notice him until they’d all gone. For a second she held him captive with those anxious green eyes, but then he shook his head and walked away, fists clenched tight at his side. You had no right to use me like that, as a recruitment poster for your little revolution. How many of your new friends will be around next year, Ada? And when they're gone, are you gonna use their deaths like you just did mine? Screw you for that, and for acting like you have all the answers. Screw them for believing it, too. Screw me for perking my ears up like a puppy the second you whistled, and screw me even harder for letting myself follow you around all day instead of getting my house back. He found the man he was looking for near the dessert table, observing Elbridge’s defense lesson from behind a paper plate stacked with beignets, and cruised towards him like a targeted missile. “Hey, Cantor.” Nicky nearly dropped his plate in shock. “C-Cole!” Rick looked up at him and smiled. He always forgot that Cantor was taller than he was because the scrawny wizard had a habit of leaning away from whoever he was talking to. “How’ve you been?” “Um, fine, I guess. Y-you?” The last time they’d spoken to each other, Rick had still been alive. But Nicky looked too shaken to joke about it, so he tried to be reassuring instead. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my stuff.” “Oh, r-right. I haven’t thrown anything away, don’t worry. It’s all boxed up down in the lab.” Cantor had picked up the lease on Rick’s office from the White Council and moved in before anyone knew Rick was still around to object. It was one of the main reasons he was still crashing on Marcine’s kitchen counter. “Thanks, I appreciate that a lot,” Rick said, seriously. “But I still have to go through it. I can probably donate most of my clothes, you know?” Cantor set his plate down and dusted the powdered sugar off his hands. “Yeah, I guess so. We should work out a date for Hardley and Marcine to come over.” “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. But… well, there’s something else.” Nicky blinked owlishly at him through round spectacles. “What?” Rick took a deep breath. “I’d like to move back into the office.” The noise that issued from Nicky’s throat would have better fit a mouse than a man. “Oh no! No I don’t think so,” he stammered. “No, that won’t do at all.” “What, you’ve never had a roommate before?” Rick asked, trying his best to sound harmless. “I promise not to eat anything in the fridge. You won’t even see me if you don’t want to.” “That’s the problem!” Nicky protested. “Cole, ghosts aren’t flatmates, they haunt things, and I can’t live in a haunted flat. I’ll have a nervous breakdown. My doctor would be absolutely against it.” Rick crossed his arms. “Well, your doctor would be against you jumping timelines and moving to America, too.” Nicky bit his lip, as if he hadn’t realized that and was now fretting over it. “Don’t worry about it,” Rick said, trying to keep the nervous man focused. “It’s an adventure, and part of adventuring is trying new things, like having a roommate.” “But…” “Why don’t we just test it for a week, and if it’s really that difficult after one week, we’ll reassess.” Nicky might be timid, but he wasn’t stupid. “Reassess… you mean you’ll leave, yes?” “It’s my house,” Rick said firmly. “Not anymore,” Nicky argued. “You died, Cole. I signed the lease. It’s my house now, and the threshold proves it. You wouldn’t be asking me if you didn’t need permission to enter.” Rick scowled at him. “There are ways around thresholds.” “See!” Nicky pointed at him. “This is what I’m talking about. Ghosts are unpredictable and v-violent, always knocking into things, I won’t have it.” “I’m not a ghost, Cantor,” Rick said, facepalming. “That’s just what a ghost would say,” Nicky muttered. “Especially a crazy ghost who floats around manifested and talking to people. It’s unnatural.” Rick was very glad he could no longer develop headaches. “Look, ask Anna, she’s an ectomancer. Or Hardley if you want a Council opinion. They’ll both confirm it. I’m a bound soul, not a crazy ghost.” “Bound…” Nicky said slowly. Rick could almost hear the gears ticking between his ears. “Oh! To the sword. Is that why Marcine has it? I was wondering how you managed to get in, it being broad daylight outside and all.” “Yeah,” Rick said, smiling widely. He’d just realized what had suddenly piqued Nicky’s curiosity. “Golems run on soul bindings, don’t they? Artificial souls, but same premise.” “They’re not artificial, so much as… well it’s a long story.” Nicky puffed. “But… yes, very similar in premise. I haven’t had the good fortune to examine a proper vessel.” “They’re pretty rare,” Rick said, in a tone of voice perfected on used car lots across the country. “This might be a once in a lifetime opportunity to get your hands on one. As long as you don’t try to er… undo the binding, that is,” he made sure to add. “I wouldn’t do anything to damage it,” Nicky said, aghast. “I’d just like to look at it.” He licked his lips nervously. “Well... I suppose a week would be enough time.” “To assess?” Rick asked. “To assess,” Nicky said, nodding. “Perfect,” Rick grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll go tell Marcine.”
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Nov 29, 2018 18:21
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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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The Preemptive Paradox Prevention Plan Scene: Voodoo Shop As the meeting wound down and people began to clear their workspaces and leave with their new dolls, Elbridge’s eyes lingered on Mr. Maxwell. This would be a difficult conversation, and one best had out of earshot of the others. If Gorden intended to use his coupon tonight, they might be able to talk in a crowded restaurant without being overheard… Marcine had packed up her sewing supplies, grabbed a mini bottle of water, and joined Elbridge. She followed who he was looking at. “What was that magic?” She couldn’t tell what Gorden had done, but it had bothered El, and that bothered her. “That was time magic,” Elbridge said softly. “Remember how strangely things behaved at the centre of the anomaly?” “So that’s why it was weird to watch.” Something had been unsettling about it. That made the unease she’d felt from him make sense. If you were suddenly informed there were strict limits, but didn’t know what those were… “Should talk to him away from all this.” “Rick, I’d like for you to be present,” Elbridge said, addressing the sword on Marcine’s belt. “We really need to impress upon Mr. Maxwell just how much harm he could cause without meaning to.” “Ambushing him over tacos is perhaps not the most diplomatic method of preventing him from going warlock,” Rick said, once he’d joined them. “Was that what-?” Marcine began, then sighed. “Of course it was. Excuse me.” She crossed the room and approached the mage in question with a smile. “Hey. Your name was Gorden, right?” Gorden had written one last note about effigy dolls--”sacrificial anode? Sackboys out of zinc or similar?”--in his note before snapping it closed on the coupon as a bookmark at the sound of his name. “Oh? Yeah, I’m Gorden. You’re...Marcine, right?” She nodded. “Marcine Sterling, Elbridge’s apprentice.” It felt less potentially aggressive than invoking the Warden title. “Thought I should introduce myself properly since I forgot earlier.” She offered her hand. “Gorden Maxwell, nice to meet you,” he answered, returning the handshake. “Does Elbridge have more than one apprentice? Do they all dress like…” he shrugged. “...like Sailor Moon, I guess?” Marcine smirked. “That’s Sailor Mars to you. Nicky’s the other one, so I’ll let you decide on that. I know there’s a lot to take in, so I wondered if you’d want to meet with us at El Gato Negro so we can get more into the whole wizarding world thing?” She thought a moment, and added, “I’ll cover dinner, save the coupon for another day.” Gorden was about to ask who “us” was when Marcine dropped the offer of a free full service dinner. “Sure, sounds good,” he said without thinking. “What day? Tomorrow?” She managed not to laugh at how fast that went over. “I was thinking later this evening.” “Tonight works, sure,” Gorden answered. He should have wondered about why Marcine seemed to be in such a hurry to get him alone, but dinner was too good to pass up. Besides, he owed Sharene and Shirley to get contacts and leads to help them as soon as possible. “Great.” She cocked her head slightly at a vague undercurrent. “Is something bothering you? Oh - you said something earlier about students getting caught up?” “Yeah, that’s, uh...I think one of the professors at Tulane has been doing some shady magic poo poo. Same with Shirley--she got caught up in it too. I’m trying to look into it as...a favor.” He waved his hand around. “That’s how I learned about this place.” Marcine glanced at the emptying meeting room and wondered if stragglers would be kicked out soon. “We can discuss that, too,” she said, and smiled. “Gives you time to see if you have any particular questions. See you around supper time, then.” “See you then,” Gorden responded, finally getting the chance to think about it. Elbridge’s apprentice...why the interest in seeing him away from the crowd? On the other hand, she wouldn’t offer to pay for dinner if she was going to help him cut off his head...right? As they parted ways, she thought it was a shame that this had to be a business thing. Gorden was pretty cute. --- “What’d he say?” Rick asked, when Marcine made it back to him and Elbridge. “We’ll meet him for dinner,” she answered. “I figure we can answer any questions he has after reading the pamphlet, and he has some things he’s worried about too.” “Correction, you’ll meet him for dinner. I’m going home with Cantor.” “You won’t come?” Elbridge asked. Rick glanced Gorden’s way. “I think it’s a bad idea. You’re so worried about what he could do that you’re not giving him any time to think. He’s not gonna trust you if you open up the conversation by laying out all the reasons you can’t trust him first.” “I don’t intend to put him on notice,” Elbridge protested. “Only...I think that it would help for him to know in advance where certain boundaries lie. He seems prone to experimentation - what happens if he decides to put his magic to the test? If he tries to send a message to his past self instructing him not to send a message to his past self, or see how many billiards balls he can cause to knock themselves into holes? If he only appreciated the risks involved…” Rick had to admit he could imagine Gorden doing either of those things fairly easily, but... “He’s managed to survive for a year on his own without paradoxing himself out of existence, give him some credit.” “Rick, we still have no idea what became of Lytle.” That made him pause. “Well, if anyone could help us find some trace of where JR ended up, it’s another time mage… That’s even more reason not to scare him off.” “I don’t mean to scare him off,” Elbridge reiterated. “Just to warn him which avenues of inquiry we already know will end badly. This...world,” he sighed. “This reality. It all seems so stable, until you’ve seen how easily it can break.” “I wouldn’t say it broke easily,” Marcine pointed out. “It’s just still a lot easier to break than it is to put back together. So...I’m sure there’s a way to balance the warning without scaring him.” She shrugged. They both had good points; better to focus on merging them than picking one or the other. “You’ve got a few hours to narrow it down to the key points if it’s that much of a problem.” “I just want to go home…” Rick’s shoulders slumped and his whole body visibly faded. “If you think it’s the right call, then go ahead, El. You’re the Warden now. You should trust your instincts.” “Hmm...if you think a lighter touch is warranted, Marcine-” Elbridge broke off as he noticed Rick’s condition. “Rick, are you unwell?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Tired,” he said, shaking his head. “Losing my grip on-” He vanished mid-sentence. “...oh dear.” Elbridge grimaced at Marcine. “Does this happen very often?” He tapped the rim of his spectacles twice, and saw Rick still standing there, crossing his arms and looking peevish. “He hasn’t manifested this long before.” Marcine lightly patted the sword hilt. “Guess I’ll hand you off to Nicky.” It was disappointing to have him go, but at the same time...it’d be nice to have her apartment back. Not all of her friends were ready to meet a ghost, but having them over without including Rick would have been incredibly rude. She angled her head toward El. “I’ll try to keep him in line.” “Thanks.” Rick let his arms drop and gave her a tired smile before turning to Elbridge. “Hey, I know I’ve been kinda… I’m not trying to...” he sighed, not sure what he could say. “Sorry.” “No worries,” Elbridge said. “You just take care of yourself.” Whatever that meant any longer. “Try not to kill Wizard Cantor. He’s finally making progress.” “We’ll be best pals in a week,” Rick said, giving the boy scout salute. “I’m already planning a trip to the Library.” “The Library…? Ah!” Elbridge exclaimed softly. “The golems. I expect he’ll want to study them.” “Well there’s also books,” Rick said, not wanting to admit he’d forgotten about the security system. Or rather, wished he could forget about it, after his run in with it last year. “I want to do some research on vessels too. Anything you need looked up while we’re there?” “See what you can find on Midas of Phrygia,” Elbridge told him. Between Ada’s scheme and whatever had happened with Benjamin Frisk… “I have a feeling we’ll be dealing with him again sooner rather than later.”
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Dec 11, 2018 04:16
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Uneasy Allies Scene: Voodoo Shop With the latest round of headaches addressed (or at least planned-for), Elbridge cleaned up the last of his instruction materials and sorted them into a heavy briefcase. He picked up his staff and turned to leave, when he heard a voice called out to him. “Elbridge. We need to talk.” Ada was staring at him from the other end of the room, still sitting on one of the meeting chairs, her fingers digging into her crossed arms. She’d been so quiet throughout the defense course nobody had realized she was there. It didn’t take a genius to realize she still had a lot to say, judging by the icy look in her eyes. “Ada.” Elbridge acknowledged her. “I’m listening.” She grit her teeth. “When I made my speech, you didn’t back me up. I want to know why.” “I gave you my informed advice on the matter,” Elbridge said. “Was that not what you wanted?” “That’s not what you did. You treated me like a loving idiot in public. You think no one else noticed?” The words practically shot out of Ada’s mouth like bullets. She hadn’t raised her voice...yet...but the warning signs were all there. “I wouldn’t have done this to you if you’d been in my shoes. What were you even thinking?” Elbridge’s mouth hung open slightly as he processed her statement. “What was I thinking? Ada, you asked us all to join you in a declaration of war. You gave us no advance warning. You never once even discussed it with us.” “Of course I didn’t. I went to people who’d played this kind of game before and asked them to teach me what I needed to know. What could you have told me? That it was dangerous? That I’d have blood on my hands? Maybe that it’d mean walking a lonely road?” She clenched her fists. “I didn’t ask you to join me or help out because I wanted everyone to make this choice based on what I was selling and not who I was. I just never expected you to try to insinuate I was an idiot who’d get everyone killed in front of them. Do you really think so little of me?” “I said that you should ensure that you have your army before you attempt to declare war,” Elbridge said coldly. “That very thing that you didn’t do when you sprung it upon us as a surprise. If you’d asked, I would have told you to build your alliances well in advance. The fact that you could even be surprised by our responses should itself give you pause.” She laughed. It was a hard thing, devoid of joy. “You can’t raise armies from nothing for the promise of a war that might come at some point down the line. You think I’m a government or something?” She stood up and headed towards him and the door close by. “The armies come later. Every change starts with a movement, and a movement starts with a promise and a call to action. When’s the last time you fought for an idea that was so new, so young, so fragile a mistimed sneeze could blow it away?” She opened the door and looked outside, at the quiet city sleeping beyond. “Something like this. A quiet place, a good place. An illusion that doesn’t fit in the world we live in.” “Ada, what do you think I am doing right here, right now?” Elbridge asked, incredulous. “The idea that people shouldn’t fear being eaten by monsters or dragged off into the night is astonishingly-fraught within supernatural politics, and yet here I am, struggling to build a real coalition with the local community. Understand that the instant, the instant word of your intent to take New Orleans becomes public, you are at war.” He paused, considering his next words, and the corner of his lip gave the faintest upward turn. “You know that Midas harbours the same designs on the city. If you formally declare yourself in competition, he can legally kill you. How do you prevent this?” “With my family’s power. He won’t notice, because he can’t. The last matriarch of House duSang made drat sure of it.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re doing it again. You know that, don’t you? Assuming I’m some happy-go-lucky idiot who’s ready to leap without looking.” Her smile stayed on, but now there was sadness in her eyes - and hurt. “The city wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t trusted me once. Why, El? Why am I good enough to bleed for you, but not good enough to lead?” “Shedding blood is not in and of itself qualification for leadership,” Elbridge said. “Belief to the contrary is an especially-pernicious, unhealthy, American attitude. I trust in your magical talents, and I trust in your impulse to do the right thing, regardless of circumstance. I trust that you can make other people believe in your cause, but personal charisma is not the same as leadership.” There was a pained look on his face, and Ada could tell that he wasn’t just talking about her. “I’ve known you to behave recklessly before. Against a foe such as Midas, you will have precious little margin for error.” The pained look went away, replaced with curiosity. “...what do you mean, ‘because he can’t’?” Ada raised her hand. “Hold up. I’ll answer in a minute, but there’s two things I need to know. First, what do you mean by personal charisma and leadership not being one and the same?” “I mean that one must have clarity, foresight, and a willingness to know one’s own limitations, because your followers certainly won’t!” Elbridge said. He was irritable, agitated. There was something else bothering him, a raw nerve that she was touching, and Ada could tell. “Now, if you would kindly explain yourself…!” “I know I act like I’m invincible, but I’m not going to put myself at risk for nothing. Something I was taught was not to trade queens away for pawns,” Ada said, shaking her head. “You’re not talking about me. El, is this about what happened in the other world’s future?” “It is,” Elbridge said softly, clearly grappling with a weighty decision, and then: “...and it isn’t.” He sighed, and re-opened his luggage, withdrawing one of the plastic sheets and unfolding it onto the floor. The warding circle on it was still mostly-intact, if smudged, but Elbridge redid it all the same, and then some. It took him little more than a minute, but when he was finished, his containment spell for bungled shields had been converted into what Ada recognised as a powerful Veil against scrying. “Ada. If I tell you this...I need you to swear upon your power that you will reveal it to no-one. Even if it should become public later, I need you to swear that there should be not one clue that you knew in advance, let alone that you heard it from me. Do not even write it down.” “It’s a lot to ask from someone you trust so little,” she pointed out, quietly, but then nodded. “I swear on my power I won’t say a word to anyone about this without your approval. Go ahead.” Elbridge led her into the circle before he said another word. “Benjamin Frisk is missing.” “I heard he missed his last event, but I thought he was just sick.” “That’s the official line, yes,” Elbridge said. “I have it on good authority that he’s missing, and that an investigation is underway.” He paused again, struggling against his every ingrained instinct to maintain total operational secrecy. “I also have it on good authority that this investigation may, in fact, be led by the parties responsible for his disappearance.” The frown on Ada’s face deepened. “Let me guess. The GOP candidate?” “Him, and the apparently-significant portion of the New Orleans Police Department who answer to him instead of the law,” Elbridge told her. “So this is where you were going earlier...” Ada mused. “No idea where they took him, I take?” “Only suspicions,” Elbridge said, “none of them good. I couldn’t scry upon him, not even with the strongest means at my disposal. Not terribly-surprising - Midas has his own full-time oracle. It’s likely that he’s used her to stress-test his countermeasures.” “What do you need to verify them? I can’t promise I can help, because…” she shook her head, making the golden tips of her hair jingle. “...But maybe I can lend a hand indirectly.” “Given his M.O., he may have transfigured Frisk like his wife did to Mr. Larson,” Elbridge speculated. “I don’t think that he would have dropped Frisk into the bayou like his other victims. From what we’ve seen, he doesn’t trust the Fomor that far. Wherever he’s keeping Frisk, there are no mirrors or mirrored surfaces nearby, or else I would have been able to circumvent his wards. Of course, Midas may not be holding Frisk directly - with his connections, he could have had Frisk smuggled out of the country, or even out of this plane of existence.” He sighed again. “I have very few concrete leads, and the last thing I want is for Midas to know that I’m onto him. If he thinks he might be caught, he may decide to…cut his losses.” “And the city can’t afford that, any more they could afford to see what I started today fail.” Ada fell silent for a moment. “Do you think you could learn something new if Midas was forced to leave his home to take care of pressing matters for an extended period of time?” “I might, but searching his home will be an extremely-dangerous prospect.” Elbridge thought on Ada’s offer for a moment. “You may be onto something, however,” he said. “I think that pressure will be key here. He’s built up a vast criminal enterprise, and those always have stress points. If you can force him to divide his attentions…” “I know someone who can help with info gathering, but he’s got another job to do first. Do you have records of what pies he’s got his fingers in? There’s probably something we can do if we know where to hit him.” “He’s looking to consolidate power over both the mortal and supernatural sides of New Orleans,” Elbridge said. “Right now, he’s leveraging his position as Treasurer and his obscene wealth to bribe everyone and anyone of import. We also know that he engages in racketeering, extortion, kidnapping, and a litany of financial and real-estate crimes. The problems are that he has the mortal authorities in his pocket, and that in the supernatural world, those things aren’t crimes.” “There’s no recourse for us anywhere. No one we can ask for justice.” Ada’s hand moved to one of her coat’s pockets, and the familiar weight within it. “My mother came back a month ago. When she heard what I was planning to do, she told me to read books on history and government. El, you know what the basis of every government is, right?” “A monopoly on violence.” “That’s the dirty little secret of our world. No one has that kind of control over it, but we pretend it’s there because not even monsters are ready to live permanently at war.” Taking the knife out, Ada opened its case. “But it’s not real, and everyone’s forgotten it. The Unseelie Accords are written by powerful people, but they’ve got all the weight of piss in the wind. And this doesn’t,” she said, tapping the volcanic blade. “We’re going to get one free shot at him. If we miss, we won’t live long to regret it. But if we succeed, no one will come for us asking for repayment for the late, great King Midas’ passing.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I wasn’t mad you had doubts about what I was planning earlier. What made me angry was you tried to cast doubt on me in public, to make me look weak so people had second thoughts and wouldn’t follow. My second question is this: Are you going to try to split opinions again when we have to make our move? And can I trust you not to do it after what happened today?” Arrogant. Presumptuous. Exactly the sort of behaviour, the blind assumption of loyalty, over which he’d chastised her earlier. And yet, here she was, showing far more circumspection than she had at the table. Progress. “After today, can I trust you to consult with me in private before you make a move in public?” Elbridge countered. “You asked me to tell no one what you knew about Frisk and made me swear on it. Promise not to tell the Council about me and let me deal with them on my own terms and I can work with that.” Stashing away the knife, Ada extended her hand. “Trust cuts both ways, El.” “On one condition,” Elbridge said. “Tell me what you meant when you said that Midas can’t notice you.” Ada nodded. “I’m not the first duSang to have tried to play the game of politics in this city. How long have you lived here?” “As a permanent resident?” Elbridge asked. “Sixty-four years.” “During that first decade, the Red Court carried out a spree of hits and violent actions against the duSangs. Did you hear anything about that?” “Yes,” Elbridge said, “I recall that particular feud.” “We lost, and yet house duSang is still here. Didn’t you ever wonder how that happened? I can’t imagine the Red Court had a reputation for leaving survivors behind - especially not direct descendants of their enemies.” “Your forebears lost most of their allies and all of their holdings, save for the ancestral manor,” Elbridge noted. “Coupled with their near-complete disappearance from the public eye, I believed that the war had become a siege. House duSang fell under house arrest, unable to leave without risking attack, while the vampires were reluctant to assault such a fortified position when for all intents and purposes they’d already won.” “Close, but not quite. On the night before the siege would’ve begun, the then-current matriarch of house duSang killed herself.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “It wasn’t just a suicide borne of desperation, however. She had a plan. She died, so her daughter - my mother - could live. Blood is power. She used her own, and her own life, to shelter us.” A little chuckle escaped Ada’s lips. “Turns out death curses can’t just be used to hurt. They can also be used to protect. We were so weak, so pathetic, so beneath everyone’s notice...and she made a magical protection out of it. Until House duSang has a new head, its descendants won’t have anything to fear.” She fell silent for a moment. This was a deeply private secret - one she’d been unaware of almost all her life. Was it alright to share this with an outsider? “...It’s not going to last much longer. Not with what I’m doing. Even if I’m not officially recognized as the new head, once I start acting like it, it’ll start to unravel. But for now, my grandmother protects me. And not even God can get past her final gift to us.” Elbridge spent a long time after hearing this in silent contemplation and calculation, his furrowed brow the only indication that he’d heard Ada at all. “I had wondered,” he said at last, “just how in the world you’d managed to keep your antics out of the papers.” “People think I’m lucky. Lucky to be born rich, lucky to be born with power, lucky to still be breathing after all the scrapes I’ve gotten into. But it ain’t luck. It’s the work of generations, all coming due right here, right now.” She breathed deeply. She still wasn’t sure El could be counted on...but it all had to start somewhere. “Sometimes I wonder if I can live up to it. But then I remember if I didn’t, I’d be letting down everyone who bet all their chips on me. It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of how.” “That is a powerful thing, and quite a legacy to uphold.” Elbridge extended his hand, but didn’t yet quite meet hers. “But if you’re sincere about your goal, Ada duSang, then understand that this is not and cannot be about your pride, because it is so much larger than yourself. It cannot be about your family’s honour, because you may well need to sacrifice that honour as your grandmother sacrificed her life. You talk of blood on your hands? You will need to stain far more than your own. This is not a lonely road to Hell. You would be fortunate to walk it alone. You will drag countless others along this path, and martyr them long before you do yourself. This, and no less, is what you ask of me, and if you want my co-operation, then tell me that you understand that.” “I do,” she said, nodding. “And all I can offer in return is a promise of change, and that I won’t ask out of anyone anything I wouldn’t do myself. Is that enough?” “Only time will tell,” Elbridge said, and took her hand at last.
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Dec 11, 2018 07:02
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