| Logs |
2001 November 07
| NachtMusik |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: NachtMusik Logs |
"Just Another Day"
The afternoon comes up gray and wet again at the Ranch. The day finds our resident Kyriotate's cat-body having commandeered a desk near the window to spend the quiet hours while the others are out on their respective businesses. The silence is interrupted, however, with a rap on the door.
Taygeta meows curiously and stands on the windowsill to peer out at the visitor. From the window Taygeta can see half of a black satin jacket with a red stripe down the sleeve, a black backpack, and black snap-side leather pants. From the body language he'd guess the visitor is female, and irritated at being out in the impending rain.
The visitor knocks again. "Hey, is anyone home?" then mutters, "I bet it's that fucking cat in there." There's a rattling of keys. Taygeta pads over to the door and meows. Since the visitor apparently has keys, he waits for her to let herself in. The door opens. Rei steps across the threshold, jacket zipped up to her throat. She pauses an inch shy of stepping on the cat, then jumps back. "Eek!"
Taygeta dodges the foot and looks up at Rei. "Meow?" He pads off to the living room, stopping to look back and see if she's following.
Rei takes a step forward and closes the door behind her. "Jesus, Taygeta, you're worse than a real cat. Where is everyone?" She frowns. "Why am I talking to a cat? Even one with a 189 IQ. You still can't talk."
Taygeta jumps up on the coffee table and curls up, purring at Rei. He concentrates briefly and activates the Song of Tongues, then flirts his tail at Rei. That all depends on what you mean by talking, actually. Jean was nice enough to deal with that problem when I saw him last. What can we do for you today?
Rei blinks, nonplussed at the voice in her head, then hmms and unslings her backpack, walking toward the living room. She returns the thought, "Pick yourself up a little something while you were topside, huh? Good for you. I came in to duck out of Austin for a little bit. The entire department's been scrambling... someone blew something up but good and it whacked a bunch of in-progress experiments." She takes a breath. "Between that, the Truce going to hell, Mike and Baal moving 'peacekeeping' forces into town... I'm wondering if Nick's got a bed I can hide under. Speaking of which... where is Nick? And the big guy?"
Taygeta cat-shrugs. In town at the moment, I believe. Mike and Baal moved forces in? We saw Michael ourselves. I did send Jean a report on the explosion.
Rei says, "Well, he didn't tell me anything about it. At this rate, I should take Troubleshooting as my Word. I've been either fixing or rebuilding things outright all week. You saw Mike? Cool. I got a lighter that belongs to him." She sits down heavily and shakes out her hair, unzipping her jacket. "Hey, as long as there's no one else here, I gotta question for you."
Taygeta thinks, Go right ahead. I'm not concentrating on anything else at the moment.
The Bright leans forward, chin in her hands and elbows on the table. "Nick and his friend, y'know, Gunther... are they like... you know, together?"
Taygeta-cat just stares at the Bright for a long moment. Now there's an interesting idea. They're old friends, by human standards, but there's nothing like that between them. I recall Slate reminiscing recently about two human wives his vessel has had, and whom he still misses. And Nick seems to have an eye for the ladies as well, though I don't believe either of them has any current attachments. Why do you ask?
Rei grins and shrugs. "Just curious. Really butch guy with an older 'friend' who likes pink sweaters... it's all just a little Buddy Cole. I didn't want to just come out and ask with them around, though."
Taygeta-cat's tail twitches back and forth in amusement. Completely circumstantial, I assure you. At least since I've been hanging out here, and I don't get the impression that there is anything in their past that fits that description. He pads over to the Bright's lap now that she's dried off a bit, and curls up beside her, purring hopefully. And it is my business to find things out.
Rei smirks. "Well, like I said, I thought I'd ask. We're supposed to be all about information -- Lightning, right?" She grins and pets the cat's ears. "Hmm. So there's nobody else here at all? Not even your little shoujo buddy?"
Taygeta thinks, Just this part of me right now. The rest are in town for the moment, and two of me are there as well...
The Bright frowns. "Well. How boring. Hey, Taygeta... let's have some fun."
The cat purrs happily, closing his eyes at the scritching, but this last comment makes him look up in puzzlement. What kind of fun do you have in mind?
Rei mmms, "Lightning kind." She sets the cat up on the desk, bends down and unzips her backpack, and lifts out a long, flat black rectangle, giggling. "Check this out." She sets it down on the desk and opens it. It's a laptop computer.
Taygeta hops up on the desk and peers at it. Nice. New model?
Rei grins proudly. "There's only one. It's mine. It's... let's say it's custom." No sooner has she completed her phrase than it finishes booting. She brushes the keys and offers it a soft invocation, and the login is accepted.
Taygeta blerts in amusement. Okay, let's say that. What's loaded up on it... The mental voice fades as the Kyriotate reaches the end of the Song and he mrowls in annoyance, looking at the keyboard and then questioningly at the Bright.
Rei wiggles her eyebrows. "Let's just say that Jean is on the dev team. Now, it just so happens that while I was in Austin I did some of your follow-up for you... and I cleaned out Vilson's place." She smiles, "Know what I found?"
Taygeta shakes his head. Rei mmms again. "Well, besides ten computers that we had to confiscate and gigs and gigs of porn and warez, I found a TechNet login and password taped to the underside of a toaster." She grins, "I needed a toaster anyway."
Taygeta twitches his tail with a great deal of interest, now. He glances at the Bright and then stares at the screen expectantly. The Bright grins wickedly. "So! Let's abuse some privileged access while we still can! Let's have some fun!"
Taygeta purrs again, though he uses the keypad as a spelling board to type Be careful. Rei grins. "Just watch me work, Hobbes. You ever compromised a Vapulan network before?"
Taygeta shakes his head again, and purrs some more. Rei smiles as her fingers dance across the keys. "Well," she murmurs, "-their interface is a little disconcerting if you've never done it before. It's a little like popping into the Marches... well, anyway, you'll see. Just leave one paw on the computer somewhere while I work."
Taygeta complies, curling up to the left side of the keypad and resting one paw on the edge of the little machine. He looks expectantly at the screen, with an occasional glance at Rei while she sets up the connection. Rei says, "Vilson was either administering or ripping off account data. I liberated it and am about to put it to more fitting use... so while we're in there, we're Gamesters, got it? I'm Dalmatia and you're Kellazeroth. Kellazeroth, you dig?"
Taygeta nods, spelling it out on the keypad to confirm. Rei nods. "Good. 'kay, now... might wanna close your eyes while I pop past the ICE... mind the keys." She squints a little, licking her lips absently. "...c'mon, baby," she purrs to the screen, "I've got just what you Need..." Just then, everything goes dark.
When the lights are back on, Taygeta and Rei are standing in a long, dark hallway. Yellow lights hang down at ten-foot intervals... the walls are made of some dank metal. Rei is now wearing a severe dark suit, and her hair and eyes are black. Taygeta, for his part, is the swirling gray mass of a Shedite. Rei says, "We're on." She passes the Shedite a little plastic ID card; one of his claws is able to snag the physical object, at least in this environment.
Taygeta takes the card. "We are that. Lead on, Dalmatia."
She grins and starts striding boldly down the hallway -- first rule of sneaking around a public place: look like you know where you're going. The hallway opens onto a large room like an operating theatre. A 'doctor' crouches over the pulpy mass of... something recently vivisected. A camera hovers near one wall; the Bright flashes her card at it. Taygeta follows suit, flashing his card at the apparent guardian.
Rei addresses the 'doctor,' "Directory." She flashes her card again. She and Taygeta are presented with a small menu. That it resembles a restaurant menu just makes the whole interface a little more nauseous. The menu reads, "R&D, PERSONNEL, OPS, RESTRICTED."
Rei mms, "Where to, Kel?"
Taygeta says, "R&D today, I think."
The Bright nods. "Right on." A door opens in the side of the operating theatre, and Rei heads through it. Taygeta follows along, watching carefully to see when Rei uses the ID card so he can do it as needed.
R&D is a slightly better-lit maze of gray hallways, lined with rows and rows and rows of vaults, safe-deposit boxes, lockers, and storage units. Occasionally one of the little camera-drones zip down through an intersection in the infinite-seeming corridors. Rei flags one down and whistles at it. It turns and focuses, and she flashes her card. "Unscheduled audit. Provide directory access."
The camera goes *zzzt!* and refocuses, then again as it focuses on the Shedite. Rei murmurs, "Hey, Kel? Do me a favor, would you honey? RUN!"
Taygeta blinks. "Got it..." He's already edging back the way he came, and breaks into a full retreat at that request.
The little camera stays locked on Taygeta, humming angrily after him as it zips down the hallway. Rei nonchalantly looks down the corridor one way, then the other, whistling... then rips the door off one of the lockers, grabs two huge armfuls of whatever's inside, and counts to herself, "Three, two, one-" There's a click, and then they're back in the living room. Taygeta mrowls, his fur puffed out, and leaps away from the laptop, hissing at it. After a moment, he climbs back up to the desktop near Nick's computer and types in, Okay, when does the fun start?
Rei whooo!s and slumps down in her chair, giggling. "That was great! You did a great job back there."
Taygeta types, If you say so. Personally, I just felt scared. What did you get?
Rei says, "You can bitch out like nobody's business, Taygeta. That was fantastic." She snickers and cracks open the files she ran off with. "Let's have a look." The retrieved files list Pr0n, Staple Gun, Snot, and ML Report. Rei mms, "Sounds kinda icky. Preference?"
Taygeta taps the ML Report icon. Rei nods. "All righty... let's have a look." She opens the file. It reads: Update on Symphonic Anomaly #300246DZ 'MediLabs LLC.' The unusual resonance at the MediLabs facility has collapsed into a full self-sustaining vortex. Recommend we claim this Tether immediately; will volunteer to oversee Earthside terminus if no assets are available. -Zexeth
Rei arches an eyebrow. "Pay dirt, Sparky." Taygeta nods, and is already opening the email window to send a message Upstairs. The Bright says, "Hey, while you're at it, hit the Registry for this name -- Zexeth." Taygeta nods, though his operation of the keys and mouse is necessarily slower than a human Vessel. It's Vincent Vilson. Rei smirks viciously. "Told you this would be fun."
Taygeta sends, marked Highest Priority, Rei has discovered a file in a directory copied from Vilson's (a.k.a. Zexeth) database access. Full text: "Update on Symphonic Anomaly #300246DZ 'MediLabs LLC.' The unusual resonance at the MediLabs facility has collapsed into a full self-sustaining vortex. Recommend we claim this Tether immediately; will volunteer to oversee Earthside terminus if no assets are available. -Zexeth." Zexeth is a Djinn of Technology; rank: Inspector; and until his recent discorporation, Vincent Vilson. Pass this on soonest to interested parties. --Taygeta
Taygeta lets -- indeed, insists -- that Rei read the message over his shoulder as he types. Rei says, "Yeah, that works, send it, quick. This could be big." She mmms and checks the file, thinking of something. "Hey, when did you whack Vilson?"
Taygeta taps the 'send' key and the message wings off into the ether. He types, Just a bit. Vilson got a bit rambunctious while we were dealing with Vapula's Tokamak unit. Slate hit him fairly hard, and then he pulled that disintegrator on Rose. Rose shot him and put him the rest of the way down. It was in my report; didn't the Boss show it to you?
Rei frowns. "Yeah, he mentioned to me like six days ago. This file's dated... two days ago."
Taygeta shrugs and types, Well, it's not like we got him on the Ethereal plane. Maybe he's got himself a new Vessel already. He purrs. Vapula wasn't at all happy with us, so he may have sent VV back right away.
Rei nods. "Looks that way, doesn't it? Well... hey. That's why we're here, isn't it? C'mon... let's go get something to eat, and we'll wait for J to mail back."
Taygeta purrs some more and types, Tuna?
Rei grins. "Sure, why not."
Meanwhile, Zara has released Rosenstern from his duties at the shop while she closes up just long enough to go shower and bring some fresh materials from her home garden. In the meantime, Rosenstern has the afternoon to himself. Drew did mention something about a music festival, though... Rosenstern can't think of a better way to spend some downtime than just enjoying being amongst people, so he heads down the Drag towards the music festival. 'Arthouse,' Drew had called it. It certainly sounds interesting, and more than that, there'll be people there -- hopefully lots of people.
Rosenstern finds the festival easily. Apparently Druiel hasn't spent nearly enough time on earth lately, or else he misspoke; the 'festival' is more like four or five venues on the Drag playing shows simultaneously. It's nearly a block party; people are moving between clubs with alacrity and enthusiasm, despite the unforgiving weather. Just down the street the local film festival is in session... perhaps that what Drew meant. Of course, "Wild Zero" isn't everyone's idea of art...
Rosenstern grins quietly, shaking his head a little. An arthouse festival? No, it doesn't look it. Ah, well. There's people having a good time -- that's the important thing. Let's see... He meanders over to the nearest of the venues, curious and attracted to the music; a little later he'll see what the film festival is playing after "Wild Zero."
The closest venue just happens to be The Pit, the venue the angels first saw Stool perform at. It's crowded to capacity with young punkers; there are three bands slated to play tonight, and the first is only halfway through their set -- and the punkers are jumping off of everything. But be they colliding in the pit, or flying through the air, everyone here is having a good time.
Rosenstern grins, and listens to the band along the periphery... but moves on to the next one after a little while. He's reasonably sure that, as much fun as the punks are having, he's not exactly dressed for a mosh. He'd almost forgotten what it's like to be in such an energetic crowd. It's almost infectious, the energy of the madly dancing crowd being almost a Symphony in itself. He finds himself bobbing a bit in time to the music, and hopes that the next venue is playing something he can slip into without great risk of being clotheslined by a spike-studded jacket.
On to the next venue. It's another punk rock act, although somewhat different; onstage, a man in a red jersey, red shorts, and a red knit cap is doing the Eighties White Guy Dance while people thrash away in the pit below. Rosie isn't a music critic. He wouldn't turn away any musical act. Maybe he's just being finicky today, or the past days' activities have unbalanced him a bit. He files away the band's name for future reference; when he's in more of a punk mood (not that that might ever happen) he'll come back to see this band, to make up for slipping out after a little under fifteen seconds, most of which were spent watching in disbelief...
The next venue over is playing... some kind of surf-rock medley. However, Rosenstern can't quite recall ever having heard 'Pipeline' being played on a steel guitar before. As it happens, by stroke of cosmic misalignment, Junior Brown, inventor of the guit-steel, is playing this club. Rosenstern blinks, then stays for a bit. It's probably dated, it's probably bizarre, it's probably being looked at really oddly by the people outside the venue. It's also energetic, people are having a really good time, it's Junior Brown, a name he's heard now and then from some folks, and it sounds just plain fun.
So he stays, and he gets into the rhythm and flow of the music, letting himself loose into the surge of the music of this number, and the next, and the next... all music, everywhere, but in particular the music surrounding him now, rides the Symphony, carrying him along on wings of tonal feathers, brushing against the strings of Brown's double-necked guitar. The music, the people around him, enjoying the moment, enjoying the music, riding the Symphony with him amongst them in a however different celebration of life...
The crowd shifts and flows around Rosenstern, mostly just people milling to and from the bar. Junior and his band play a mix of laid-back country tunes and frenetic rock that shows off the man's amazing skill with the huge red hybrid instrument strapped over his shoulder. As the crowd moves, someone passes directly in front of Rosenstern. When they move past, someone else is there... Aaron McKay stands before the angel, hands in his pockets, jacket open. Where he came from isn't certain; he wasn't there a moment ago, and now he is.
Rosenstern whirls within the audible Symphony that is music for him. While he would like to lose himself in the music and dancing amongst so many happy people, even a Mercurian has to stop now and then to let the ebb and flow of people around him shift as the Symphony takes them. He pauses, bobbing slightly to the really surprisingly fun music as the crowd moves and shifts, and sees-
He blinks, almost dropping completely out of the enjoyable "buzz" of being within a crowd of happy, dancing people. The appearance of the elder McKay is completely unexpected; after all, the last time he'd seen the guy -- Is he really a Watcher? -- was just about at the wrong end of a shotgun. Not to mention that the McKays were really and truly insistent on not seeing these particular angels ever again. An idle part of his mind notes that, considering Aaron's dress and appearance, he's into Junior Brown, and wonders if Ian, with his East Bay Hardcore jacket, was in the first venue that Rosie skipped out on.
He tries to keep from being blatantly surprised -- the Children need their privacy (or at least that's what he thought) and it wouldn't do to alert every Infernal and Celestial in the place to the tableau. He looks around quickly to see if anyone is taking far too comfortable notice of him noticing Aaron, or vice versa, then looks back to the man. "Aaron!" is all Rosie can think to say, "Ah... hi..."
Aaron grins lopsidedly. "I was hoping I'd catch the big guy here. Your friend's insane, y'know, but his heart's in the right place."
Rosenstern relaxes just a little bit. Mindful of whatever attention they might garner, he grins quietly and nods a little bit. "I'm not sure where he is right now. I don't think dances are really his thing... but, yeah... even for the short time I've known him he's had a heart of gold." Heart of gold... I wonder if Stone angels would consider that a compliment; or maybe 'Heart of diamond' would be more fitting?
Aaron says, "So I gathered. Why else would he help you break into my brother's building just to say thanks? Anyway... I wanted to return the favor. Thanks for worrying about Ian... and I'm sorry I pulled a gun on you." He shrugs. "I was as likely to hit the neighbors as I was you. You do stupid things when you feel cornered."
Rosenstern's grin becomes a quiet, appreciative smile. "Hey..." He tries to find the right words to say, not wanting to screw this up as well... and the old stand-bys come to him, simple words that have been in his vocabulary since he was a Reliever on the shores of the Danube. "You're welcome," he says softly. "And no worries."
Aaron grins and shrugs again. "It's too tense here. More enmity is the last thing any of us need... especially with innocent people in the way. You know?" He turns to go. "And hey... never hurts to have someone watch your back." He grins over his shoulder, and again, someone passes between him and the angel as he reaches the periphery of the crowd -- and he's gone.
Rosenstern opens his mouth, takes a breath to say- and then the Child is gone. He stands there quietly for a moment, blinking... then nods a little. "Yeah," he says softly, then lets out a breath. "It never hurts..." Not long after, mortal music fills his being again, and he becomes one within a crowd of dancers for a little while longer.
He leaves the venue sometime later. He's jotting a mental note to see if Nick or Slate have ever been to see Junior Brown -- Nick maybe, Slate probably not, just because Slate had said it's been a long time since he'd been in Austin... like, "about two hundred years" long. It's already late afternoon, and a bit of a breeze is picking up. He tucks his hands into his pockets -- and frowns in surprise a little as his hand encounters... something there. He draws it out of his pocket to look at it as he begins his walk back to Natural Beauty. It's a folded piece of paper. Opened up, there are letters written on it in laborious black capitals: BAD X GOING ROUND. SMART BETS ON MACKIE. MAYHEM ENSUES. EYES ON DRUIEL.
Rosenstern frowns slightly, puzzling over the message for a moment before folding it up and putting it back into his pocket. Mackie... we've heard that name before, one of the higher-level Diabolicals in town. Why would he be pushing bad ecstasy? Gah, Ros-ieeee! He's a demon, why wouldn't he be? Druiel, involved in his capacity as Angel of Teenage Death, no doubt. But 'Mayhem ensues'? That usually means angels of the Wind. Unless he means it's just Mackie's way to cause random chaos. I wonder who Mackie's Superior is and what Band he's of. Don't try to figure this all out on your own, Rosie. He makes his way back to Natural Beauty, a little chagrined that he's going to be again phoning odd or bad news to the others...
The traffic is light on the way into town this afternoon, despite the film and music festival taking place. And, down on Sixth Street, coffee beckons, a bright beacon in the gray day -- and in the middle of the day it beckons seemingly free of diabolical influence. Thessaloniki parks the car and gaily trips into the coffeehouse, smiling cheerfully at the coffee jerk and easily rattling off his order of a triple-shot non-fat latte with extra foam, slightly on the cool side. He also cheerfully eyes the big danishes behind the glass and has one, making idle small talk with the clerk.
The jerk du jour is a bored-looking kid sitting behind an oversize paperback of the 'Screwtape Letters.' He chats idly in between yawns, punctuating with the occasional nod. The coffee place is empty except for one single occupant sitting by the window; a very attractive young lady dressed in shorts and stockings, long sleeves, and a vest, all uniformly black. Her hair is bright blonde and very straight; maybe a dye job. She sits with a mocha latte, staring out at the traffic. Noticing Nick, she smiles brightly when he catches her eye.
Thessaloniki collects his cup of not-quite-staggeringly hot coffee, tips the guy behind the counter, and turns to find a place to sit. When the rather noticeable woman by the window smiles at him, he returns the smile and meanders over, saying simply, "Hello there."
The young lady smiles, "Hello yourself. I didn't think anyone else came here during the day."
Thessaloniki grins a wry grin, and says, "I actually stopped in for the coffee. Mind if I join you?"
She shakes her head, "Not at all. Please do."
Thessaloniki sits down, facing the woman and turned slightly so he can see outside, his back to the rest of the shop -- apparently deliberately. He sets the cup down, and offers his hand, saying, "I'm Nick. I don't believe we've been introduced."
The lady takes the offered hand. She's even better looking up close... much more stylish than the usual mall Goth around town. She smiles; her teeth are perfect. "Marlena," she says. "Charmed."
Thessaloniki smiles and says, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Marlena." He sips his coffee and asks, "So, what brings you here today?"
Marlena shrugs fluidly and looks out at the traffic. "Coming in from the cold, you know. Taking in the film festival... but Japanese schlock-horror just isn't my oeuvre." She takes a sip from her coffee. "So I thought I'd have a bit of a stretch."
Thessaloniki chuckles and says, "I can see how you'd come to that choice, given the other options. The rest of the festival okay? I expect I know a couple of folks who'll be there mingling with all the people, but I'm a little more of a homebody lately, myself."
Marlena smiles, "Well, there are a few gems in the rough this year, but given the local... tension... I don't believe the more gripping pictures are being given the attention they deserve. Ah, but everyone wants escapism, and that's all that really counts, no?" She sighs a little. "It isn't the subject matter, so much as the packaging."
Thessaloniki takes a contemplative sip at his coffee, then says, "I expect a lot depends on how something is said, rather than just what is said. If people don't want to hear a message a particular way, for whatever reason, it won't be heard, even if it is something they should listen to." He gives his coffee an idle spin on the table to keep it from settling into sludge on the bottom -- a nervous habit -- and adds, "People are fickle creatures."
Marlena frowns. "Isn't that the truth. People simply refuse to abide by their demographic." She tsks. "It's like what they showed last year. 'Ishi The Killer.' They actually handed out promotional sick bags. Can you believe it? Death sells, sure, but only if it's packaged right. That was the wrong, wrong way to go about it. Death needs style... it needs to be sexy. Just look at how popular Hong Kong's become since John Woo." She frowns again. "It's certainly bad enough we have to deal with that crass freak-show in our professional lives. Seeing it on the screen is just insulting."
Thessaloniki replies, "I wouldn't have described the attraction of John Woo as being the death -- that's more a side effect. The interest is the tension, which he can wring from the production in spades." He smiles a half-smile and adds, "I can definitely agree to that. Odd that people would glamorize something they so clearly do not understand."
Marlena grumbles irritably. "I certainly don't see the point. I have no interest in seeing something on the screen that I saw under a bridge the night before, and I'm not talking about the homeless... though I don't have much interest in them either."
Thessaloniki chuckles and says, "Most of the intended audience certainly hasn't the same abundance of experience in that area, I suspect." He sips his coffee and asks, "If you wanted something different, there are lots of different kinds of films that wouldn't so closely mirror your work."
Marlena takes a deep slug of her coffee. "That's just the problem. It isn't my work. It's just been foisted upon me."
Thessaloniki ahs, "What is it you'd rather be doing?"
Marlena frowns. "Taking in the latest from Cannes. Unfortunately, I'm currently tracking down a bit of information that I can't seem to locate anywhere... and I don't have anything to trade to that little snoop Niko for it."
Thessaloniki chuckles, "Not quite the question I meant, but an interesting answer nonetheless. What's been so evasive that someone of your obvious skill and charm can't learn?"
Marlena smirks lopsidedly. "You're a devil, aren't you. If I didn't think you were being sincere I'd give you a face-full of latte for that." She smiles again, brushing back her hair with her free hand. "The origins and disposition of another bit of B-movie schlock," she says, "Someone or something called Eyebiter. One of the Corpse's little pet meat puppets."
Thessaloniki smoothly answers, "I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation," and smiles. "As to Eyebiter," he adds, "Anything with such a... descriptive... moniker would stick in my mind. What would you be looking for a thing like that for, anyway?"
Marlena laughs softly. "A Voice from On High demanded it. I'm sure you know how that is."
Thessaloniki comments ambiguously, "Not as much as you might think," and sips his latte. He asks her, "You think Niko has something? What sort of thing would you need to cough up for what you want?"
Marlena mmms, "Niko wants information, of course. He fancies himself a bit of a broker. Bit of a creep, if you ask me. Tres voyeuristique. Unfortunately, information is not something I have available to pony up, and certainly not to him."
Thessaloniki mmms, then says, "I might be willing to suggest some things that I've overheard lately, but I don't know how much some almost unsubstantiated rumors would help you."
Marlena arches one perfect eyebrow. "Oh, really? I'd be interested in hearing."
Thessaloniki ahs, and picks up his cup, giving it another idle rocking back and forth. He contemplates, then says, "Well, I don't know. What could you do for me in return for information, presuming it was useful?"
Marlena grins. "Cagey, aren't we? Well, then... provided that it helps me put this disgusting little inquiry behind me... you could consider yourself owed a small favor. Perhaps I can learn something for you in the future."
Thessaloniki says, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if someone of your obvious talent and affiliation could go places I certainly couldn't." He adds, "I'd be terribly disappointed to find out you went back on an agreement we'd make, though."
Marlena mms, "I don't think you need to worry yourself over that, dear. After all... reputation is simply everything, isn't it? I wouldn't want to suffer those cruel little whispers... not for the sake of something this tasteless."
Thessaloniki says, "Especially here in Austin. Austin is a strange place, and makes for some unusual bedfellows." He doesn't even leer when he says it, but continues, "The thing I've heard that's most likely useful is that there was a 'meat puppet,' as you so aptly describe it with that name, that belonged to Frex." He sips his coffee, then adds, "The logical conclusions are that whatever Eyebiter was, it was near Frex, probably underground, and that when Frex went down, his animations all collapsed. Whatever it was is most likely now in the past tense." He adds, "Or was that obvious?"
Marlena frowns. "No, no. I don't move in... those sorts of circles." She manages not to spit. "But that is a very interesting bit of gossip. And a lead is more than I had when I walked in here." She smiles. "Maybe we can arrange other compensation if we choose to associate again, hm?" Now, that was definitely a leer.
Thessaloniki smiles cheerfully and says, "I hope you're able to find out what you need to know to discharge this unenviable task." At her leer, he smiles back again, "I often enjoy getting to know others more, yes." He finishes his coffee in a long swallow, sets the empty cup down, and rummages in his pocket, producing another of his ubiquitous cards, "Be an angel and come by some time. You never know who'll you'll meet at the Ranch."
Marlena flicks a card of her own across the surface of the table. "Will do, mon cher. Networking is so important." Her card reads, "Marlena D'Enfer," and has a few contact numbers.
Thessaloniki looks at the card, grins cheerfully at the name, and says, "I'll look forward to seeing you again." He stands, "Good luck, lovely lady." Idly pausing to throw away the empty cup, he makes his way out of the coffee shop. As she watches, she sees him get into his big, immaculate car, and drive away. He preens slightly... he loves showing off his beautiful cars.
The afternoon meanwhile finds Slate in town with the Old Guy, visiting and picking up a few combat pointers from the oldest guard in Texas. Fisticuffs this week; the Old Guy gladly and in great, colorful detail, explains the finer points of how to break a demon's skull with one's bare hands. He delivers his instructional anecdotes with the assurance of a cocky old Texan... and the clinical detail of someone who's done it quite a few times. Drew happens by during the practice, and other than rolling his eyes a few times at one of the Old Guy's longer-winded tales, seems content to just lean against his bike and watch.
Shateishael listens intently. Cocky Texans aren't that different in attitude from cocky warriors of either of the societies he's familiar with, so it's relatively easy for him to focus more on the training. He's idly curious that Drew apparently doesn't want to take advantage of such a fantastic learning opportunity... but figures that's not his issue, and doesn't worry about it. Instead he just listens and learns, still keenly aware of how close his own corporeal death was just a day or so ago. Next time... he'll be better prepared.
The lesson is over after some time, and the Old Guy has scrupulously avoided leaving any marks on Slate; at least, any that won't go away in a day or so. He may not be as powerful as he used to be, but the Old Guy has centuries of experience on his side... he's a cagey old coot, and wiry at that -- a tough old Malakite to the last. He sends Slate on his way, reminding him, "Now, y'all remember to watch your footwork. An' ferget that Viking stuff -- ain't no shame in learnin' to duck, boy!" He laughs his deep belly laugh, just gently teasing his pupil. "Now y'all come back soon!" Drew grins a little and shakes his head, arms folded.
Shateishael grins, wincing slightly as he carefully checks a bruised area, "Will do... thanks much." He waves goodbye, then heads for his bike, well pleased despite the bruises. As he starts pulling on his leathers he grins at Drew, asking curiously, "Hey, guy. So... don't you want to learn to fight better too?"
Drew smiles ruefully. "I like the Old Guy... but I've had to spend a lot of time around him and, well, sometimes he asks questions that are a little too pointed for me, y'know?"
Shateishael nods, checking over his shoulder as he shrugs into his jacket, to be sure the old Malachite isn't within earshot, "Oh, yeah. It's part of why I stick to straight fighting, myself." He pauses to zip up his chaps, then says in idle curiosity, "Whatcha up to? Wanna get a drink or something?"
Drew unfolds his arms. He's wearing his jacket zipped all the way up again, which always seems to make him look even more uncomfortable than he usually is. He seems a little concerned. "Actually, um, I'm here to see you." He looks around. "Um, is everything okay, Slate? You all right?" He sounds genuinely concerned.
Shateishael pauses from pulling his gloves on, brushing a strand of blonde hair back and regarding the smaller Seraph even more curiously, "Yes, Drew, I'm fine. Why? Is something wrong?"
Drew says, "Um, well, I just got back from the Rock. Mitrah wanted me to give you a message. She says, um... David sends for you. He wants you upstairs tomorrow morning. The Seraphim Council wants to see you."
Shateishael blinks slowly, not starting in alarm even though he rather feels like it, "Er... the Council!?"
Drew says, "Yeah... that's why I asked." He bites his lip, "You don't, uh... you don't think they're gonna blame us for breaking the Truce, do you?"
Shateishael takes a slow, deep breath... then nods, "Okay. Let's see..." He pauses, realizing that Drew might panic again, and shakes his head reassuringly, "It's not gone yet, Drew. Let's not borrow trouble." Much though we might like to... He takes another slow breath, then nods once to himself, "Okay. Will you do me a favor, Drew? Tell Nick that I got called upstairs, and I don't know when I'll go back... and I'll head that way now. Might as well give David a report well before I have to... face the Council."
Drew says, "Yeah, okay... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. They, uh, want to see me too. Hey, um, if you don't want to drive all the way out there you can take the shortcut. I don't think I remember anyone telling you about that."
Shateishael says, "What's that?"
Drew says, "Drive over to the Capitol and, um, if you're Celestial, you can sing Location over the star in the middle of the dome. It'll suck you over to the Rock. Mitrah said a Stone Seraph could probably just invoke his attunement and get there too. I dunno though... I've never done it myself."
Shateishael rolls his eyes in amusement, then pulls on his helmet, muttering, "Oh, now I hear about it..." He grins good-naturedly at Drew, "Don't sweat it, guy. Seeya upside." He flips down the visor, gives the Sword angel a thumbs-up, then roars off on his bike to give it a try. Drew takes off in the opposite direction, toward the highway and the Ranch.
The Capitol building, constructed in its current incarnation in 1888, is a massive, imposing building sitting astride a great sprawling lawn, amid the county courthouse, tax assessor, and other sundry buildings of government. A servant of Marc or Dominic would surely feel at home here. But inside, underneath the gigantic rotunda and its star, the church-like air definitely appeals to the servant of Stone. And true to the word, or perhaps with a bit of help from Mitrah, the invocation over the star does in fact whisk Slate away from the Capitol and to the Enchanted Rock.
Shateishael glances around, wings flaring open around its coiling body, and looks relieved when its celestial form appears where it'd hoped to end up. It glances around again more carefully, wondering if Mitrah's anywhere nearby, so it can depart immediately or no.
Shateishael: a palpitating, wingéd snake, bright and cirque-couchant. A gordian shape of dazzling hue: vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue. Eyed like a peacock and all crimson barr'd; full of silver moons that, as it breathes, dissolve or brighter shine, or interwreathe their lustres -- so rainbow-sided!
Mitrah is waiting in the crevice, of course. She doesn't bother to wear her stone body this time; she simply makes her presence felt. The rock groans: DESCEND. WHEN YOU SEE THE LIGHT, FOLLOW. Shateishael sings greeting and assent, and follows the Rock's directions.
The crevice deepens. And deepens. And deepens. And goes on for far, far longer than it should and still be inside Enchanted Rock. One has the sensation of moving terribly fast. However, a faint light becomes visible far ahead and grows as one moves closer. Shateishael looks both startled and fascinated, but continues to dive down, flying deeply into the Rock.
The light grows in size and intensity, until it widens into an opening lit by torchlight, and the Seraph breaks clear, realizing it has flown up into the same chamber in the Catacombs, the one made of pink granite that David last met Shateishael in. Shateishael looks around in fascination, swirling into a coiled midair halt. Lovely place... now to find David and report -- and hopefully find out a little perhaps about what the Council wants. Shateishael swiftly wings towards David's tall, stony, and comfortingly familiar halls.
The Architect can be found in one of his favorite audience chambers, the one lying beyond the Alcove of the Table. He stands in the wide, dark chamber, stooped over one of the glowing crystal formations. Shateishael slips in through the huge doors, then coughs once, and settles neatly down to wait. David doesn't look up. "You come unbidden, Truthsayer."
Shateishael looks faintly surprised, but replies, "I was told you required my presence, Architect? -er... and that tomorrow after dawn the Seraphim Council wished to see me?"
David nods, still seemingly fascinated with something in the complex crystal growth. "I did not expect you until the morning." He straightens slowly, and his eyes fall on his Servitor finally. There is a very long silence. "You want to know why."
Shateishael straightens up and nods politely when his Superior looks at him, then replies, "Yes, Architect. I'd hoped I could find that out... as well as report to you before the meeting?"
David says, "Make your report, then."
Shateishael nods and does so, telling of its research into subterranean nuclear explosions, how Taygeta helped it, how Mitrah agreed to Shateishael's suggestions after discussion and Shateishael's firm belief that David was not out of patience with her... it then tells about the plan, how Druiel took in the bomb while Thessaloniki and Rosenstern were kind enough to watch the Sword Seraph's back and Taygeta coordinated them... and finally it relates the battle underground to stall Frexindetious long enough for Druiel to succeed. As it speaks, it wonders a bit confusedly where it must've gotten messed up... did it not do more than was commanded, in making sure Mitrah's plan worked as desired, rather than simply attempting to stop her when it discovered the plan's rather terminal impact on the Seneschal? Well... I'll know soon enough... I hope...
David frowns, almost imperceptibly. There's another very, very long silence. Shateishael sighs internally... it'd found the battle underground tremendously exhilarating -- and had thought others would too. So far no one's been that interested... it sighs again at the frown, wondering where it went wrong. After an eternity, David asks, "Shateishael... what makes you think you've done wrong?"
Shateishael's wings droop slightly, "Well... no one seems at all pleased that a diabolical Tether was successfully destroyed, and a millennium-long plan successfully concluded. I think Mitrah's pleased..." it pauses, considering, then adds a bit regretfully, "-but I'm not even sure of that."
The corners of David's mouth quirk up in amusement. He chuckles softly, and the sound is nearly subsonic. "Come closer, Shateishael." Shateishael looks puzzled, but flies forward without fear. It thinks bemusedly, Did I just perplex David?! ...and... is that really a uniqueness I want...?
David places his hands on the Seraph's head. That his hands could crush a diamond to grit is not lost upon the Seraph beneath them. Then he speaks; "Upon the recommendation of Mitrah, Seneschal of Enchanted Rock and Master of Stone, I confer upon you, Shateishael, the title Vassal of Stone." Shateishael's eyes widen, and it makes a sort of startled, *whoo-!* gasping sound. David folds his arms. "It was my intention to reward you differently... however, Mitrah's report to me swayed my judgement considerably. You were recommended specifically for this rank."
Shateishael takes a deep breath, still shocked but also deeply thrilled, "Vassa- whooo...! Thank you, Architect!"
David nods. "It is a grave responsibility. I have faith in your ability... as does Mitrah, obviously."
Shateishael takes another deep breath, floating unwittingly up off the ground, almost glowing with excitement... then it happily asks, "She... she was pleased then?" It pauses, then curiosity compels it to ask, "May I ask what you'd intended, my lord?" Shateishael's serpentine tail is unwittingly coiling and interweaving back and forth in excited, repeated knottings, although it's doing its best to look as gravely responsible as it feels it should be, to merit such an award from David.
David says, "She was. You were so effective in executing the task I set you to, she at first thought that I'd sent you to her specifically... she was quite ashamed. She thought she'd failed me. When we discussed events at length, she immediately recommended your promotion."
Shateishael brightens, "You've spoken with her, then? Oh, good, I was going to ask you if you could do that if you weren't too busy!"
David nods appraisingly, as if sizing up the Seraph again. "I think her judgement is sound. She has never failed me, after all." Then he says, "Now, the matter of the Seraphim Council."
Shateishael says, "Er..." My, that sounded blurted out... "I mean, I was going to ask you if it would be all right if you visited her at some point because I thought she would really appreciate it... I was guessing... but if you already have..." Its voice trails off, and it nods, listening carefully." It sighs in internal relief -- it'd been guessing at David not having lost faith in Mitrah. It's nice to hear the guess was correct.
The Archangel continues, sparing Shateishael the effort of qualifying itself, "The Council is convening in the morning. One of the issues to be discussed is overall strategy concerning Austin, as certain events have placed a strain on the Truce. Dominic recommended you and the others be selected, as you've not had enough time in his opinion to develop loyalties there that might influence your judgement of the situation. I see no reason to obstruct him... I see no reason to believe your judgement would be under any influence." That last comes out with an air of complete finality.
Shateishael nods assent. It's not really sure what it and its companions are being selected for, but is sure it'll be explained eventually. It waits with hopeful expectancy. David says, "The Council wishes to hear, from you and the others that participated, about the operation itself and the situation on the ground immediately after. You're under no suspicion... but the collapse of his Tether has provoked Saminga, and it isn't unreasonable to suppose that the front of the War is altered. Thus, you will make a report for the benefit of those planning the strategies." The Architect adds, "Nothing more."
Shateishael ahs, and nods understanding. It smiles in spite of itself, still rather thrilled at its promotion... then gathers its thoughts. "Is there anything in particular that would be most useful for me to relate, Architect?" It wonders if it needs to do any research... probably not, if the report is supposed to be just about what happened?
David says, "Simply relate events as you saw them, Truthsayer. That should be as nothing to you."
Shateishael nods, "All right." It bows again, then adds, "Is there anything else, Architect, until then?"
David nods. "There is one thing." Shateishael listens attentively. David says, "In the future, Truthsayer... you need not fear censure from me. I promise you, if I should become angry I will make my displeasure known very swiftly. Until such time, put that worry out of your heart."
Shateishael thinks about that... then nods thoughtfully, "Thank you, Architect." It silently resolves to do its best never to be in that position. Instead it bows gracefully again.
David says, "Now... with that out of the way, come with me, Truthsayer." He turns without waiting, and moves unhurriedly toward one of the chamber exits. Shateishael nods and wings quietly after the Mountain King, still feeling faintly bubbly inside due to its unexpected promotion.
David's presence is thunderous, even though his footfalls make no appreciable sound on the polished floor of the catacombs. He says nothing, simply leading the way through the passageways. This exit seems to be headed slightly upward. Shateishael looks around with interest, trying to see in six directions at once. This is a part of David's realm it's not familiar with, and it's fascinated. It grins quietly to itself, wondering how Symphonically deafening its Superior would be if on the stony Earth. It has never called David there, true... but it hopes to, sometime in the near future!
These portions of the Catacombs are heavily worked; being some of the passages most frequented by the Architect. The walls are vaulted and covered in elaborate bas-relief and intricate stonework. The floor is polished to a mirror-finish. Shateishael sticks close on David's heels, carefully not bumping into him -- considering the poor lighting in these realms, it would be mortifying to get lost in here! It glances around, drinking in as much of the view as it can under the circumstances.
Eventually, light begins to filter into the passageway as it curls languidly upward; the light of torches and the purple luminescence of the strange, luminous crystals David seems so interested in. The passageway opens onto a moderately sized dome, carved and finished in the same style as the passageways. Two large Malakites bearing torches part at the door for the approaching Archangel and the Seraph. This room is filled with a small throng of Stone Angels of various Choirs and degrees of self-decoration; more than one Seraph rears in the back of the room, its back studded with obsidian spikes. Others are less drastic, some are completely unadorned, but all are unmistakably angels of Stone. The crowd has been waiting silently for their Archangel, and in unison they shout, hailing their master.
Shateishael's eyes widen slightly in surprise as it drifts out from behind Stone's huge form and sees the throng. It grins, glancing up at David, its wings flaring out slightly. Not only is it terribly exciting to the very young and newly promoted Seraph to be present here at David's side... but it also comprehends, even if it doesn't understand fully, that there is a great and powerful bond of companionship and community between the angels of Stone -- and loyalty to their Bright Lord. It's thrilling to be present at such a physical manifestation of that bond.
David doesn't need to raise his hand; the throng can tell just by the Architect's demeanor that he has something to say, and they quiet quickly. David says, "I have something to tell you." His voice is deep, with impossible sub-bass reverberations that hint at vocal chords not truly human. "Something that all of my angels should know." The crowd waits expectantly. "Stone," David says, "Has won a great victory, over a span of time that only Stone can maintain." The throng murmurs softly at that. "A threat to one of our greatest Tethers is destroyed forever, and with it an ancient servant of Death." The more rowdy in the crowd shout their approval. "We have won a great victory," David says, glancing back at Shateishael, "...and I am going to tell you of it."
Shateishael beams, its wings quivering slightly and its tail coiling in and out of happy knots. It can't help itself -- it practically glows with excitement. The only thing that could make it happier would be Mitrah's presence here as well, to receive her just due also. It was her plan, her actions, and her patience that succeeded, after all, the Seraph thinks... and it'd be embarrassing and hard to explain if I just popped with pride in her right here and now!
David begins his story with Mitrah, with the Enchanted Rock that has been his loyal guardian for millennia, and with her enemy, the loathsome creature that claimed the catacombs and turned the Tonkawa's war rituals to the service of evil. The Archangel tells the assembled angels about the ceaseless battles, the wars waged between the natives, each side backed by a Celestial power... and of the eventual stalemate as the natives began to vanish and the cities encroach. Shateishael listens in fascination, nodding occasionally in spite of itself. It remembers the latter parts of those times. The Comanche hated the Tonkawa cannibals, and considered their very presence an affront to the proud lords of the plains in that area.
Into this ancient hatred, David tells the angels, comes another of Stone's servants, as bright and sharp a tool as any of the worthy brothers and sisters listening here. "Into this struggle," he intones, "Comes Shateishael. Or rather, comes back." Shateishael blinks several of its eyes, then straightens with pride at David's description of itself. It tries its best to look a tough, competent, dependable Vassal of Stone. Inside, however, the young Seraph can't help but wonder if everyone else can tell how shakily thrilled it is -- are the tips of its primaries quivering? David pauses here to gesture to the Seraph at his side. "Shateishael rode once with the Comanche. And now, long after they have passed, he returns, to end the battle that had already claimed so many of them."
The throng murmurs approval. Stone Angels like to hear it when one of their own finishes what they start. Shateishael beams in spite of itself, even though it's sure tough Stone angels don't flush with exhilaration! It sways in a graceful bow of appreciation to the crowd, then goes quiet for David to continue.
David explains to the angels Mitrah's final plan, her last act of vengeance: to use Frexindetious' own uranium to destroy his hated catacombs... even if it cost her the stability of the ancient Rock. Shateishael unwittingly gets a grimly determined look, listening to that... it knows things had been very close, as far as convincing her to try its slight change of plans -- but Shateishael knows it would be damned if it'd disappoint David by letting her kill herself like that!
David nods as the throng murmurs softly. Dedication is one thing, self-destruction is something else... although it's not entirely unknown. The Architect continues, "Shateishael did what Mitrah lacked the resources to do. He determined the strength of her plan and the risk that it would pose. And then, having done that, he provided her with the final resource that the Seneschal lacked; the means by which to deliver her vengeance." Shateishael beams again, although a bit more self-consciously, its iridescent tail curling and uncurling happily. It's still pleased with how well things came together with everyone, at the end.
David relates the final hours of the attack: the long preparation, the minor difficulty with a slightly unstable Sword Angel (which comes as no surprise to any of these angels), and eventually, the climactic battle with Frexindetious -- the desperate delaying tactic, the simple declaration that any Stone Angel regardless of Choir or assignment has echoed: "You shall not pass." Shateishael takes a deep breath, remembering that moment. It hadn't been sure it would survive that encounter. That it did is a pleasure, it can't deny... but then it knows even if it had not, it would have still delayed the demon for every second it could wring out of the encounter, to give Druiel all the time possible. It flips its wings back happily -- yup, it's definitely pleased it survived!
David nods. "And so it was that, as the last aftershocks faded, Death was cleansed from our earth, and our Tether still stood. Stone has won a great victory, and the executor, if not the architect, stands here with us. This is Shateishael, and he deserves your attention."
The throng shouts again, a dull roar in the echoing stone dome. The angels crowd forward to give their praise, their approval, or simply just to get a look at the angel worthy of the Bright Lord's praise. Shateishael blinks several eyes again, quite startled at his Superior's last comment. It wouldn't dream of contradicting David, of course, but it hadn't thought its part quite that significant -- hadn't it been Mitrah's plan mostly? And yet... David did say Mitrah personally recommended Shateishael's promotion... huh. Maybe what it did was more important to Mitrah than it knew! It straightens abruptly at the accolade, utterly thrilled and spreading its wings wide, brightening with pride and pleasure.
The Stone Angels do what they generally do; things settle into general boasting and trading of stories, and David presides over all of it, regal and silent, pleased at the sight of what he's forged. Shateishael happily answers myriad questions, slaps wing tips with other Stone angels, listens with wide-eyed fascination to the older angels' storytelling, and generally has a wonderful time. Whether or not they like their actual work, angels of Stone uniformly love serving Stone. Their fellow angels don't let them despair, or fail, or falter -- and so they never feel alone. They must always be strong, but they have the strength of legions to draw upon. They do not cry, but they know that a single word of sorrow gets them all the silent compassion they could ever need. Stone angels give each other some of the toughest love in the world, but it's still always love, and a deep love too -- they're angels, that's how they work, and Shateishael is deeply proud to be one of their number.
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