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Reality Fault

Realms: NachtMusik Logs

"Chalice"

Shateishael is quiet for a long moment, finishing his beer. He still feels vaguely restless, like there's something very important he's missed or forgotten, that David might want -- but what, he has no idea. Perhaps he should go work on something straightforward for a while, like the Zen rock garden he's building, and let his mind drift as he does so... he looks up and grins quirkily at Nick, "Get outta here, guy... you wanna go hot tub with the pretty Bright, and I'm keeping you from it." He nods politely to the Sword Ofanite, adding, "No disrespect meant to the lady, of course. Y'all have fun."

Shateishael rises swiftly, his thoughts already turning inwards, trying to figure out what's bothering his non-conscious mind. He cleans up the kitchen and living room of discarded cups, mugs, and bottles, then heads out of the house, to where he was chopping wood. He tidies up there also, although not without a frown at memory of the officious Judgement angel. Whatta buncha fascist, time-wasting, pointless morons... Dominic gets off on harassing the servitors of the archangels he chased out of Heaven -- while in Rome his precious church wouldn't know the Maker's loving-kindness if it bit them in their rich, fat asses! He sighs, Rosie was right with that Latin statement -- that kid's just being a good dog. I should do exactly what the kid said, and not blame him for his Superior's insane power plays.

Shateishael finishes stacking wood and wanders by the forge... but it's all cleaned and properly set up, ready for him to arrive with good bars of many metals to convert into graceful, curving blades that shine like flowing streamers of liquid light... he sighs, wishing his sword making was as good as his sensei's. He appreciates both the compliments of the mortals he's met who mistook his work for Masamune sensei's, and his sensei referring to him as his 'son' -- both are deeply felt honors -- but he still doesn't think his work is as good as that of his sensei. He wanders out towards the back yard, then nods once to himself. Now there's something nice and physical he can do while thinking -- work on the rock garden.

Shateishael labors in the rock garden, symmetrically laying out small stones to accentuate the gentle curves of the earth and the impassive solidity of the occasional boulder. His movements are smooth and deliberate, and he enjoys the feel of muscle moving effortlessly under his vessel's skin, and the touch of the sun on his bare back. He pauses once, only long enough to realize no one else is around, and no mortals are on the Ranch... and then he grins, strips down entirely, and contentedly continues his labors. It works for David -- it works for him too.

As Shateishael toils, his mind drifts quietly through the events of the past few days... the report to David, the promotion, the wonderful time spent with the other Stone angels, the Seraphim Council, poor twitchy little Druiel, the respect he apparently earned for standing up and being truthful to Michael, the Feasting Tables... he wonders why no one seemed to be interested, at the Seraphim Council, as to what had occurred to bring down the demonic Tether. For that matter... how odd, now he thinks about it, that Michael should show up and say something distracting not once, but twice while Shateishael was around... and in both cases, the story telling stopped soon after Michael's distractions.

Shateishael pauses, straightening with a thoughtful frown, still unwittingly holding a heavy stone or two as he thinks. That nod between Michael and David, at the Council... he'd assumed it was just pride in his performance -- but what if it was more? He considers a moment... then raises a thoughtful eyebrow. Devious things, archangels... he remembers how Novalis put him at his ease with but a sentence or two, to the extent that he'd almost said something ill considered. Deviousness and Dominic go without saying -- Slate finds it bleakly interesting that more and more archangels are quietly slipping away or dropping out of politics due to Dominic's influence.

Were it up to Dominic, then Michael, Eli, and Gabriel would all be gone... Blandine and Jordi only sent proxies... Christopher, Janus, and Khalid didn't even do that. The others... apparently either don't make Dominic feel threatened, or... are later on his list, maybe? Laurence's devotion to catholicism probably makes Dominic not worry so much about him, at least in the short term. Marc, Novalis, Yves, and Jean would probably all seem pretty harmless to an archangel focusing on... well, on whatever Dominic is focused on. Some anti-war thing?

Jean... Slate shakes his head ruefully. He feels sorry for both Rei and Tay. Why they're so dedicated to someone that apparently doesn't even reward them, he doesn't know. The Maker alone knows what some of the other Superiors are up to...

Shateishael frowns thoughtfully again, carefully placing the stones he's been holding and going back to work. So... what does this mean? Apparently David doesn't want it publicly known that Slate was associated with Mitrah's revenge. Slate sighs softly. He can understand the reasoning, but he wishes David had just told him... and he wishes there were some way for him to brag on how well the little community he was part of (Nick, Rosie, Drew, and Tay) did. He appreciates comments like Merwyn's suggestion that the arts of Stone might work well in a community like Austin -- but he's honest enough to know quite well that even if that's the case, it won't be a blunt, outspoken Seraph that can do it. Ah, well... even if he can't publicly tell Mitrah's story, and garner her and his friends the honor they deserve... maybe... maybe he can get this need out some other way.

Shateishael finishes laying out the Zen stone garden and folds his arms across his broad and somewhat sweaty chest, regarding it with silent pride. Looks good... now to commemorate it with a proper story. Even if there are no people here, he's quite aware that the Maker of All made everything here, and thus there is a touch of the sacred present always... for those that can truly feel it. He'll tell Mitrah's story here... to the earth and the sun, to Stone and Light. No more honorable audience exists, to him.

Shateishael collects his thoughts as he takes a long, slow moment to look around... and to remember the august gathering around Michael's Feasting Tables. How to most interestingly tell Mitrah's story? He remembers some of the mortal faces that stood out to him then... the faces of women. Tough, stern-faced women who still remembered there was nothing more worth fighting for than family, hearth, and home. He's comfortable with women like that. The ancient Norse women in his communities were like that... he lets his memory continue to drift, recalling... there were wiry, fierce archer women whose graceful, rolling walk betrayed a life spent in the saddle; there were tall, proud priestess-warriors with impassive faces and cool, feral eyes...

Shateishael remembers many female faces at the Feasting Tables amongst the most ancient warriors, but sadly fewer in the clusters of mortal souls from the time he suspects patriarchy and the organized religions of the Book most strongly scarred the mortal scene. However, the Stone angel is pleased to also recall the tough, no-nonsense gaze of the most modern women present that night -- women that fought a war on two fronts for all their lives: one against enemies of their country and one against the slyly vicious, undermining attack of sexism in the ancient and honorable profession of warrior. The Seraph considers... then grins tightly to himself, nodding once. He knows how to tell this story now.

Shateishael shifts into celestial form, flying up enough that it can hovering over one of the flat meditation stones and look out over the new stone garden as it sings, bright wings spread and heavy coils curling and coiling in scintillating patterns in the bright sunlight. "Listen, Stone and Light... listen and I will tell you of an ancient and honorable warrior and lady. I will tell the tale as best I can, since she cannot be here to do it justice herself. This is Mitrah's story -- Master of the Granite Hand and Seneschal of Enchanted Rock, outside the city of Austin -- and her patient, cunning defeat of Frexindetious, Seneschal of the Catacombs under the Truce City, Death's Tether and Mitrah's ancient foe."

Shateishael has spent the majority of its life in cultures with a long tradition of oral histories, and so this is a very comfortable format for it. It sings the story as interestingly as it knows how, with obvious animation and enjoyment, voice rising and falling as it imitates different individuals and incidents, gesturing with wings and tail to emphasize points. The story is exciting and attention grabbing -- but never overly loud. This song is for commemoration and honoring those that deserve it -- not for loudly ruining David's carefully laid plans.

Shateishael also doesn't consider it necessary or important to include 'trivial' details like its research into underground nuclear explosions, or finding out that Mitrah was planning on suicide in order to kill her opponent, or her embarrassment when she thought David had lost faith in her. This isn't a song of recrimination, to it -- it's a song of Mitrah's and its friends' triumphs.

First the Seraph describes Mitrah's clever planning and patience, and Druiel's invaluable help, slowly gathering the necessary elements for the bomb, grain by precious grain of uranium, with Mitrah unwearyingly refining it, fraction by miniscule fraction of a gram... as Shateishael tells the story, it wonders idly about Druiel... the poor thing seems to feel he has no brother in arms to stand with him when needed, or watch his back, and it would be nice to disabuse the twitchy little Sword Seraph of that notion.

Shateishael continues smoothly despite its thoughts, detailing the plan -- how Druiel took the bomb into the demon's lair while Thessaloniki and Rosenstern were kind enough to watch the Sword Seraph's back and Taygeta coordinated them... finally it relates its battle underground to stall Frexindetious long enough for Druiel to succeed...

Shateishael says, "-and then it grabbed me up, cocked its fist back, and I realized I wasn't going to be able to get another punch in, in time -- this was it! I'd bought Druiel all the time I could... talk about time to say your prayers...!" It pauses with a small grin at just that moment, deliberately prolonging the suspense even though it has no sapient listeners... a moment later it cheerfully continues."

Shateishael says, "-but then, just before its fist would've clobbered me for good -- there was this enormous sound -- louder than anything I'd ever heard before -- the entire cave shudders! And the demon freezes, then stares at me in horror and says, 'What have you done?!' So... I figure time to let it know who it's really up against! I clear my throat, grin at it, and say, 'Not I. Mitrah sends her regards.'"

Shateishael says, "But it doesn't want to believe me, of course -- its eyes widen and it frantically yells, 'Mitrah... the uranium... she couldn't have! It's NOT POSSIBLE!'"

Shateishael smiles slowly, its many eyes glowing with quiet pleasure in the bright sunlight, "And then... the entire Tether catacombs blew up... and took the demon Seneschal with it -- gone for ever -- and Mitrah's revenge was complete."

The Seraph is silent for a long moment... then it sways in a graceful, wing-flourishing bow, singing quietly, "Thank you, Stone and Light, for hearing my story of commemoration." It drifts slowly downwards until it can easily change forms again to its sturdy human vessel, standing squarely on the meditation stone with arms folded. He studies the Zen rock garden for a moment, then sighs softly. He wishes he could be more honest here... or figure out better where he's most needed.

Back at the rear door of the house, someone clears their throat softly. Shateishael sighs softly again... maybe he should figure out a quest to help a particular section of Austin's community, or something -- it seemed to work for Merwyn... and turns to see who's there.

Speak of the devil; the Sword angel is standing quietly in the doorway with an eyebrow arched. "Er... I was about to ask if you wished to join us for a cup of coffee... but I see you've your own morning ritual. Perhaps I should leave you alone..."

Shateishael steps easily down from the flat, wide stone he'd been standing on, then sits on it... sun-warmed stone feels nice. He rumbles quietly, "Nope, just taking care of something I needed to do." He pauses a moment, then says curiously, "How long you been standing there?"

Merywn says, "A few moments. An interesting tale, if you will forgive my eavesdropping."

Shateishael just rumbles quietly in acknowledgement of Merwyn's words, running one hand back through his hair as he thinks. Finally he says, "Need to ask a favor of you, then... could I ask you to promise not to repeat that to anyone? Apparently there's some political bullshit going on in Heaven... and the story's not supposed to get out." His voice is a little bleak... but his gaze is steady. He may not understand David's reasoning -- but he'll do his best not to screw up his Superior's plans. He is also feeling quietly, with his Resonance, for Truth in Merwyn's answer.

Merwyn says, "But of course, sir. I shall forget that I was here. May I ask a question of you?"

Shateishael says, "Thanks, Merwyn... sure." He can sense, from his Resonance, that Merwyn is being perfectly truthful and, were it in his power, he would in fact forget he'd even come outside. Slate is relieved, but unsurprised. Merwyn's come across as a real straight shooter to him so far.

Merwyn says, "What sort of ritual is this? It is... a bit unfamiliar to me."

Shateishael says, "Er... and please, don't call me sir? That's for archangels and folks as old as the Old Guy, y'know? I haven't earned that." He pauses, then grins, "Oh... was just a prayer, in a way, to both commemorate something amazing my friends did, and to sort of 'officially' open up the Zen rock garden I'd just finished." He rises and waves an arm out towards the newly finished garden, "Wanna see?"

Merwyn nods, stepping a bit closer. His overcoat is hung over his shoulders like a cloak, held close with the small braid across the chest. The sleeves float a bit in the morning breeze; he's holding in his hands a cup of coffee. "Fine work, though that is to be expected, no?"

Shateishael grins quietly, glancing sideways at the Sword angel, "Thank you. It's my hope it will be a nice place to meditate." He studies the rock garden with a critical eye, then nods once, "Well, now... a cup of coffee. Sure, that'd be nice. Is everyone out of the hot tub yet?"

Merwyn nods. "They have been for some time. Saxon is expressing an interest in riding into town this morning once the government buildings are open. He says that I should have a proper ID before I make my rounds of the local Sword forces." The Sword Angel adds with a small smile, "My passport and my license are both Japanese. I do not think the local constabulary would accept them."

Shateishael nods, scooping up his jeans and pulling them on with a grin at the out-of-date paperwork, "Yeah, probably right, there... and I promised to see Rosie into town too. Got a few errands I gotta run myself." He pauses, turning curiously to glance at the house, to see if the rock garden can be seen from the back sliding door. Looks like it... well, they should all be used to him running around with not much on by now.

On the way toward the house, Merwyn asks, "I shall ask before we go inside... who is this Druiel you mentioned? He seems a fine young Sword... perhaps I should meet him."

Shateishael sighs quietly, "He's... Teen Death, and... um... well, tell you what. If he's at Ms. Zara's, I'll gladly introduce you."

Merwyn pauses. "Teen... Death? And this... improves the mortals' lot?"

Shateishael wonders idly, as he walks, how a Sword angel can have spent time in Japan, and yet not have more than a nodding acquaintance with sword makers... well, maybe the guy was just terribly busy or something? Slate hms to himself... maybe he should do some research and see if his sensei was forgotten by history or something. He knows that unfortunately does happen on occas- he pauses, his train of thought interrupted, to listen to Merwyn... then simply rumbles in a quiet, troubled voice, "I... don't know, Merwyn. He's... one of the folks I'd really like to figure out some way to help, if I can..."

Merwyn frowns. "I see. Well... perhaps I will look into it while I am here. I really must go into town, though. It would be disrespectful for me not to at least greet the oldest Sword Angel on the continent."

Shateishael grins quietly, "You want to go on your own, or with company?"

Merwyn asks, "You mentioned him before... are you very well acquainted with him?"

Shateishael says, "Very well?" He ponders that a moment, then says honestly, "Don't really know, Merwyn. We work out twice weekly together, and I usually spend the night there afterwards, just for the enjoyment of talking with him. He has the most amazing stories... but I dunno if I know him well."

Merwyn nods. "I personally have not met him, but I can imagine his wisdom is vast. It seems a shame to shackle a Malakite of his obvious experience and ability in a city wherein his talents are wasted."

Shateishael sighs quietly again, and just nods. He finally rumbles quietly, "Wish I knew a way to help him more too. Feel kinda... loathesome 'bout everyone having to lie to him..."

Merwyn nods. "It is no one's fault, really. This is where his Tether lies. He cannot change that."

Shateishael says tiredly, "I know. Just... just wishing..." He paces into the house, nodding quietly to everyone present.

Merwyn smiles a bit, "I know that were it possible, the Master would send him somewhere worthy of his ability. In the meantime I, indeed the other Sword Angels of the area, owe you a word of thanks for seeing to his well-being."

Shateishael glances with a little surprise at Merwyn, then adds, "Not a problem, Merwyn, really. I know y'all'd do your best to help one of Stone's if they needed it, too." He pauses, thinking about that, then adds quietly, "Thank you."

Merwyn shakes his head. "Speak nothing of it." He sets his coffee down on the counter and slips off his overcoat. His dark olive shirt is decorated with small patches on the shoulder. Sax, shirtless and yawning, is leaning with Rei on the other side of the counter. "Yo, guys. You wanna ride in later? We got errands to run."

Shateishael, also shirtless but awake now, helps himself to a cup of coffee, then settles into a chair, turning it around to rest his arms on its back. "Sure, Sax, thanks. We talking about Nick driving, or taking the bikes? Got some errands to run myself." He idly eyes the patches... insignia, he'd guess. Merwyn's got a couple of little metal pins on the left side breast pocket too. Slate sips his coffee, then wonders if Rosie's rested up enough yet... he did promise to give Rosie a ride into town on the bike if necessary.

Sax says, "I'm gonna ride in on the bike with Merwyn, go down to DPS and get him some ID. You got stuff you wanna do?" Rei opens one eye and asks, "Doesn't Rosie have... you know, a job?"

Shateishael nods to Sax in acknowledgement, then rumbles quietly to Rei, "Yah... s'why I told him I'd give him a ride into town soon as he was up again." He grins suddenly into his mug, trying to imagine Rosie in black leather, riding 'bitch,' as Sax likes to refer to it. He adds to Sax, "Gotta report to Mitrah at some point today... and I wanna introduce Merwyn -- and you? -- to the Old Guy if y'all want, and I want to talk to Ms. Zara and Tomas, if I can find 'em, about Drew... and I wouldn't mind having Drew there then either, if I can."

Merwyn spends the intervening moments fidgeting with some of the small metal pins in the left breast of his shirt. He seems quite meticulous about his appearance. "What is it that your friend does, if I may ask?"

Shateishael glances over at Merwyn, "Sure... which one you asking about?"

Merwyn says, "Your Novalite friend."

Shateishael says, "Rosie? Think he helps Ms. Zara out. Hang on, we can just ask him..." He rises easily, pacing to peer towards the back of the house, calling, "Rosie? You up?"

Rosenstern is just pulling on his vest as he trots out from the back rooms. "I'm up!" he says cheerfully. He flips his hair out from beneath the collar. "Hope I wasn't keeping you waiting."

    He stands about six feet tall, slender and light of build, with an easy, casual and friendly grace about him. He has shoulder-length brown hair, wavy and neatly trimmed, framing a face which holds a pair of deep brown, expressive eyes. A green button-down shirt, under a plain, featureless black vest, is tucked into a pair of khakis, and comfortable, plain casual shoes are upon his feet.

Shateishael slaps the slender Mercurian lightly on the back, "There you are... dude, distract 'em for about 15 minutes with what your job is, 'kay? -so I can take a quick shower. 'M all stinky and dirty from working in the garden." He grins at Rosenstern amiably, then disappears hastily into the shower.

Merwyn says, "Not at all. I was just inquiring as to what your Role on earth is." Rei yawns softly. Sax, on the other hand, yawns cavernously. It may just be a human habit, but Saxon has elevated it to a true phenomenon.

Rosenstern nods, chuckling softly. "Sure thing. Though it's not really interesting..."

There's a cheerful yell from the shower, "Talk slow, Rosie!"

Rosenstern glances around to the others. "Well, I do a bit of everything at Ms. Zara's place. She needed help at first with just someone being a 'gofer,' running around the city, picking up supplies, staying late now and then to take a delivery. I also started helping tend her garden there, which is really nice. A couple of weeks ago one of her assistants turned in her notice, so she's been having me be a sort of apprentice. Er, hairstylist's apprentice." He grins softly. "It's a lot different than what I'm used to doing, but it lets me be in contact with a lot of humanity for most of the day."

It takes Slate about the 15 minutes he predicted to wander back out into the living room. He's got his mug of coffee mostly finished, and is either wearing or carrying all the clothing he'll need to go into town. He finishes the coffee, rinsing the mug and putting it into the dishwasher, then finishes dressing, making sure everything's tucked in, buttoned down, laced up, or whatever, for proper public wear in this culture. He blinks once and grins at Rosie's comment about being a hairstylist, then (unwittingly obviously) swallows what he was going to say. Instead he just asks, "So... y'all ready to go? Sax, I figure you 'n Merwyn'll be done with the paperwork 'bout noonish, y'think? Wanna meet at Ms. Zara's then, and we can head out to the Treaty Oak?"

Merwyn doesn't smile, but he says, "How very appropriate." Shateishael turns around to cough once at Merwyn's comment... then turns back with a quiet (but not derisive) grin.

Rosenstern doesn't notice Slate's efforts at hiding any amusement, but he does nod to Merwyn and say, "The garden's wonderful too -- every Saturday morning, a lot of the celestials -- some infernal as well as angelic -- meet there to watch the sun rise." He nods to Slate. "I'm ready!"

Sax nods, "Sure, that works for me." Merwyn nods. "That would be fine."

Shateishael gives Rosie a ride into town, making sure the lightly built Mercurian wears at least some protective gear, even if it's not as covering as the full outfit of black leather Slate usually wears... which causes Slate to grin, but again politely not comment. He drops Rosie off at Ms. Zara's with a courteous greeting to the lady, then heads out for the quick route to Enchanted Rock. Once there he cheerfully sings the occurrences of the previous day or two to her, concerning the Seraphim Council, and answers any questions she has. After that he heads back into town, arriving at Ms. Zara's about noon, as planned. He wonders if Tomas or Drew will be there... he hopes so.

Shateishael pauses on the drive back to 'Natural Beauty,' realizing he's going to ask a whopper of a favor of Zara and Tomas... so he pauses long enough to pick up some tasty lunch food to go for them. Maybe they'll like it. He invites Zara, Rosie, and Merwyn and Sax, if they're there yet, to come share some lunch in the garden with him -- and maybe Tomas.

Rosenstern is mildly confused about what he's being invited to lunch for, though when he sticks his hands in his pocket and finds that he's still carrying the piece of paper, he starts to understand why; Stone angels never forget anything. He tucks his head into the back office. "Ms. Zara? Slate'd like to know if you'd like to join us for some lunch?"

Tomas, as it happens, is in the garden, flipping through a newspaper. Slate wanders on in, a couple of bags in hand, and nods to Tomas, "Hey. Drew or Wrench around anywhere?"

Tomas folds his paper, setting it aside. "Nah, Wrench took him to check out the new Carvins. Something wrong?"

Shateishael says, "Nope, just wouldn't mind them being here too. S'okay... if they turn up there's plenty for them too." He holds up a bag, not yet sitting down at a table, "Wanna join me for lunch?"

Tomas nods, "Hey, sure. What's the occasion?"

Shateishael starts setting bags of Chinese takeout on the table, "Got something I need to ask you and Wrench and maybe Ms. Zara... and food's always a good ice breaker for mortals. Thought it might be nice for us too, y'know?" Subtlety is not Slate's forté.

Tomas tilts his head. "Something wrong there, Slate? Zara's out picking up supplies, but she oughta be back shortly. What's up?"

Sax's voice calls from the doorway, "Nothin' good, right, big man?" Merwyn doesn't say anything at all, but he smiles a little bit. Rosie turns up soon enough to hear Tomas explaining about Zara's absence.

Shateishael hands a carton of Chinese and some chopsticks to Tomas and, with a quiet, "Hey," to everyone else that walks in, answers, "Food first. Talk once we've had some food."

Sax and Merwyn glance at each other, shrug, and dig in. Tomas nods softly. "You're the boss, Slate."

Shateishael gives Tomas a curious glance, but doesn't comment. Instead he wields chopsticks like an old pro... which, in a way, he is. He eats busily, occasionally waving the chopsticks as punctuation, "'kay, here's the deal. Wrench comes up to me the other day, asks me if I'm trying to shatter the Truce or what, dude?! -and I tell him no, course not, I like it here, weird as it is, and I'm trying to keep it even though my friends and I are sorta um... implicated in the two big recent disturbances -- we just wanna keep our heads down now, y'know?"

Tomas wields his chopsticks like a surgeon; apparently he's had quite a bit of practice. "All right," he says, "I'm with you so far. And this involves me and Drew how?"

Shateishael takes a few more bites, then continues, "So... now I'm finding out there's something kinda messy going on with Drew and bad drugs and whassisname... uh... Mackie, I think. Rosie, show 'em the warning you got, dude?"

Tomas says dryly, "Mackie is always involved in bad drugs... that's his function. I wasn't aware it had something to do with Druiel, though..."

Shateishael nods and continues while the little note is being passed around, "Okay, here's the part that's worrying me. When I find out about this from Drew, he's pissed big time, saying he's gonna have revenge even if it costs the Truce. I'm thinking that'd be real bad. But I'm also thinking maybe if he has someone to help, someone to maybe kinda point him towards a more, um... well, you know, something subtle-like? -maybe it wouldn't be so bad. So..." he looks at Tomas, "You, Ms. Zara, and Wrench... he'll listen to you guys. Can you help Drew not screw up the Truce?"

Rosenstern nods, finishing the bite of watercress as he sets the pint down. He pulls out the note on the table, simply laying it there. "About all I can tell," he says quietly, "-the note says that someone is letting some bad ecstasy get around, and that it's likely Mackie. The goal being to make things a mess. All the note says is, 'eyes on Druiel.' I don't know if whomever is trying to push the bad X wants Drew to take the fall -- or the Fall -- for it, or if he's going to freak over this... or what."

Shateishael nods at Tomas' dry comment, "It does, yeah. If it's all Drew's saying, Mackie was trying to push Drew to Fall... and Drew's girl got killed instead with the bad shit. Drew just got real screwed up... that was why he was trying to kill all of Stool, I think."

Tomas hmms. "Drew hasn't mentioned anything like this to me. I'll ask Wrench the next time I see him. We'll see what we can do. I was just thinking Drew was making progress. Two steps forward, two steps back, if you'll forgive my dragging up the specter of Paula Abdul."

Shateishael nods at the image, then says curiously, "Who?"

Tomas frowns at the note. "Where did you get this?"

Shateishael tilts his head to regard Tomas, then rumbles quietly, "You recognize the writing?"

Tomas says, "No, I don't. Who gave this to you."

Rosenstern says simply, "I found it tucked into my pocket when I stepped out of the Junior Brown set, a day or two ago. During that music festival." Slate may be the only Seraph here -- Tomas sure isn't, not after portraying Marty for so long -- but he'd rather keep this as close to the truth as possible. Besides... he really and honestly doesn't know if Aaron McKay actually put that into his pocket or not.

Shateishael eats quietly, letting folks have a moment to think after all the information he's dumped on them. He also takes the moment of silence to check with his Resonance to tell if Tomas really doesn't recognize the writing.

Tomas frowns again. "Huh. And you believe this random note?"

Shateishael raises an eyebrow at Tomas, "Dude, weren't you listening? Drew himself said he got bad drugs, and that he thinks it's Mackie, and that he's going to have revenge no matter what."

Rosenstern says, "Well. Either it's telling the truth, or we need to look into it... or it's a deliberate attempt to mislead us -- or at least me, since it was shoved into my pocket -- and we need to ask 'why.' The fact that it uses Drew's celestial name means that it's from someone involved with one or the other side."

Tomas says, "I'm not doubting you. I'm wondering where this note came from. Awfully well informed for someone that doesn't technically exist."

Shateishael thinks quietly to himself, Well, looks like Tomas feels he really doesn't recognize the writing... He gives Tomas a curious look, "What do you mean, doesn't technically exist?"

Tomas says, "Well, as of right now, a ghost dropped a piece of paper in your pocket. At least until we know better. It's not the style of anyone on the Other Side... at least nobody that I know of, and I know everyone. If it's someone on our side, it's a real change of MO."

Shateishael shrugs, "Okay, a ghost. Whatever. Regardless, it's a ghost that either wants to get my friends real unpopular here in Austin by getting us to stick our heads into this mess... or someone who's actually worried for either the Truce or Drew. So... d'you think you can help Drew or not?"

Tomas says, "I said I'd try."

Shateishael nods, "Good, glad to hear it." He goes back to eating with considerable relief. Then he pauses after a bite, adding, "You got any questions or anything you wanna ask about this?"

The Mercurian adds, "If I can find out whether the motive is defamation of genuine concern, I'll let you know." He nods quietly. Should I say that I have an idea of who... no, I shouldn't. We promised the McKays, after all. I don't really know if Aaron dropped the note or not, but I'm going to leave it at that. "Considering we don't know the accuracy of the note anyway, that's all we can really ask, Tomas. Thank you." Considering that's all I can really tell you about who sent the note, that is. I'm sorry, Tomas. I'm perpetuating the cycle of half-truths and politics here in Austin, but there's no helping that. Just like you've made promises, so have I.

Shateishael pauses again, adding slowly, "Could Hugo have written the note, Tomas? He's the only other one I know of who knows wha- no, wait, he'd have given it to you, right? -instead of Rosie?" He frowns thoughtfully, "Wonder if the demons really don't like Mackie either?"

Tomas says, "I don't plan on letting Drew go mad a second time. Once is enough for anyone, and we have enough crazy people in Austin." He grins wryly. "Nobody really likes Mackie, Slate. He's odious."

Shateishael nods slowly "Glad to hear that about you 'n Drew, Tomas. He..." he pauses, then says very quietly, "He had horns, Tomas. We chased him to Mitrah's place, and she said she'd hold him until he worked it off... but I don't want the poor guy to get there again, y'know?"

Rosenstern shifts in his seat. "Who's his superior?" he asks quietly. "Fleurity?" That's the only one he really can think of being 'odious' besides Saminga. And a few of the other ones he ran into servitors of in Germany. Shateishael nods silently to Rosie, still watching Tomas thoughtfully.

Tomas says, "Yeah, Fleurity. Mackie's the third Seneschal the House has had in the past... mmm, seventy years or so, I think. Keeping that place under control requires a lot of finesse, and Mackie just ain't it. Even other demons won't hang with him. And it's not like he's any kind of diabolical horror, or anything... he's just a big, fat asshole." Shateishael looks disgusted, then has a sip of tea and continues eating.

Rosenstern nods quietly. I wonder how often Hell goes through Seneschals here in Austin? "Fleurity for a Superior, habit of pushing bad drugs... sounds almost like the note's redundant. Unless..." He thinks for a moment, then wonders out loud, "I wonder if there's a big rave planned for anytime soon." He looks up and around. "Lots of teens, maybe lots of X... bad X... Drew's Teen Death..."

Tomas adds, "Well, he's never been known to push the kind of poison that kills you right away. If he's been spiking his product, it's a new development... not that it makes much sense. Killing people fast has never been Fleurity's MO. He likes repeat business."

Shateishael says, "It was already used, Rosie, although that's no guarantee he won't try it again. The girl Drew went out to Enchanted Rock with died painfully because of bad shit. That was the promise Hugo'd made to Drew -- the kids die with no pain -- and I suspect Drew'd had some too. He was... kinda crazy during that time, remember? While we were guarding Stool?"

Rosenstern says, "Yeah, I know. I remember that. But that wasn't bad X that did that. This would have to be another scheme, maybe..."

Shateishael says, "What I wanna know is... why would Mackie want Drew to Fall? Wouldn't that get a lotta hurt folks around here, and maybe bring the Truce down? Mackie doesn't want that, does he?"

Rosenstern says, "I don't know if making an angel Fall would break the truce. We'd have to ask someone who knows Truce law inside out for that... which might not be a bad idea. But if he Falls... I'm sorry, I've not much experience with the Word-Bound. Would he take his Word with him?"

Tomas says, "Yeah, he probably would, Rosenstern. But it wouldn't do Fleurity any good... dead people can't trip out."

Shateishael says, "No, it was the bad X, Rosie. This is the same scheme... or at least I think that's what Drew believes." He rumbles quietly, "So... why would Mackie want the Truce to fall? Or... or is he just trying to get Drew? -and if so... why?"

Rosenstern taps his chin, then nods slowly. "Well, in that case, it'd be really bad ecstasy. To the point where it'd probably have to be spiked with something else, not just concentrated to overdose. Again, not what Fleurity would want to happen."

Shateishael blinks slowly, "Hang on, guys... are you saying Mackie's doing something against the wishes of his demon prince?! Is he insane?!"

Tomas shrugs. "I couldn't say. He's totally nuts if he is."

Shateishael frowns, "Okay, we're looking at this wrong. Let's look at it from the other side. If Drew Falls... what does Mackie stand to gain?"

Rosenstern fidgets a little. "Well... I only know the briefings that Novalites get about him -- Mutter put a lot of work into the medicinal properties of plants, and Fleurity went and twisted it all around. There'll be a special place in the middle of a thorny rosebush for him, I'm sure... But I understand Fleurity likes repeat customers. He wants vegetables who keep taking his scheisse, not dead bodies."

Shateishael says, "The Word of Teen Death is no use to Mackie, and no guarantee that Drew'd even like Mackie if he Fell... so I don't think it's the Word. Um... so..." He looks at Tomas, "Well, if Drew Fell, what would he do?"

Tomas says, "Well, the first thing that happens if Drew flips out is he'd probably kill Hugo in a graphic and violent manner. But... I don't see how that'd benefit Mackie. He'd be the only servitor of Drugs left in the city."

Rosenstern says, "If Drew Falls... near as I can tell, it's a feather in Mackie's cap, to make any angel Fall..." He grimaces. "Hugo, again, Drew's supplier. Is there any tension between Mackie and Hugo? Maybe Mackie doesn't want Hugo on his 'turf'?"

Shateishael blinks at Tomas, "Er... he would?! Whoa... I had no idea Hugo was such a push-overrr..." He goes silent, his voice trailing off as he thinks... then says slowly, "He would be? Huh... hey... but wouldn't he be a lot more important here then? Could he insist the other demons pay more respect to him then?" He adds with growing excitement, "Oh, yeah! Especially since the Truce would be down, right? So he'd be way important -- he's a Seneschal!" He nods at Rosie, then looks inquiringly at Tomas, "Is Mackie... I dunno, is he like jealous or angry at Hugo?"

Tomas says, "I'm not the guy to ask about it. I don't usually take an interest in what Hugo does on his own time; it comes up often enough in this line of work. And it's not a matter of Hugo being a pushover; Drew is a tough little shit," he grins. "He's a kid. But he's a Sword Angel."

Shateishael drums his fingers on the table, thinking furiously... then nods to Tomas, "All right, if you're not the guy to ask, is Wrench?"

Tomas says, "Why don't you ask Hugo? He can't lie to you." He shrugs, "Who knows, maybe he'll be interested to hear what's going down."

Rosenstern provides, "He can't lie to Drew, either."

Shateishael smiles ruefully, "Can't force him to answer either, dude. 'Sides, I still think the nastiest thing Drew could do to Mackie is to let Wrench know Mackie's trying to bring the Truce down." He bares his teeth in a grin, "I think Wrench might be a bit unhappy with that..."

Rosenstern thinks, tapping his chin. "The House that Pain Built," he murmurs, "-is a Tether of Drugs, with Mackie as its Seneschal. That means it's a center of Fleurity's operations. That means that Demons of Drugs from all over would flock here, pay their respects, go to Hell through the House... but is Mackie the head of Drugs' operations here? Mitrah isn't head of Stone's angels in Austin. The Old Guy isn't head of the Sword's operations here. So Mackie isn't exactly head of Drugs' work here, unless the Infernals do things differently.

Shateishael grins at Rosie, "The Infernals do things differently, yes." He turns his gaze back to Tomas, curious as to his reaction to Slate's suggestion.

Rosenstern says, "All right, then. All I can think of is that Mackie wants to either make an angel Fall in the middle of Austin, or eliminate Hugo." He thinks again, then shakes his head. "I'm thinking it might be a good idea to sit Drew down and tell him about this. Let him know that we think someone might be pushing him to Fall, and to be careful. Then maybe approach Hugo and see what's going on between him and Mackie?"

Tomas says, "I can't really say what Wrench'll do. It might be better to keep that as a last resort."

Shateishael rumbles quietly to Rosie, "Drew knows, Rosie. Already talked to him about it. And why approach Hugo? He's got no reason to be straight with us. Wrench does -- he wants the Truce to stand, just like we do." He adds with a bit of a grimace, "'Sides... I suck at dealing with demons. Rather stick to the ones I know... 'stead of pissing off new ones."

Tomas says, "Well, Wrench can make a lot of noise... but ultimately he can't kill the guy or anything."

Shateishael says, "What, and Hugo can?" He adds curiously, "He can't? Whoa... does the Truce extend between them, as well as between us and them?"

Tomas says, "It's not a Truce thing so much as a 'not pissing off other Superiors' thing. Demonic infighting... you know? He might be right, but it would be making headaches for Belial."

Rosenstern chews his lip. "I guess it makes sense. The demonic Superiors involved in Austin probably made an agreement that 'mine won't kill yours if yours don't kill mine.'"

Shateishael stares off into the distance for a moment, considering, then says slowly, "Got it. That's... really kinda interesting... didn't know that..." Huh... wonder why Lauren fled here then? I'd think she'd be more worried about other demons than angels...? He straightens with a sigh, "Oh, all right... any of you guys wanna do the talking to Hugo instead of me?"

Rosenstern says automatically, "I'll do it. It's my bag, really."

Tomas says, "Works for me. You want me to be there?"

Shateishael morosely consumes a few more bites of Chinese food. Figures it wouldn't be easy... well, if it were, we wouldn't be angels, right? Yeah, yeah... "Yeah, more the merrier, I think... and more camouflage I have." He grins wryly, "Less need for me to open my big mouth, too."

Rosenstern nibbles on a bamboo shoot thoughtfully, and looks to Tomas. "Do you think it would help? I'd like to say it would, but you know him better than I do. Would he get nervous if two angels asked him about this, even if he knew one?"

Shateishael says, "When y'all wanna do this? I gotta take Mer-" He pauses, then snorts amusedly at himself, "Gah, I'm all out of sorts. Merwyn, Sax, this is Tomas, Eli's Angel of Catchy Tunes."

Rosenstern grins over to Shateishael. "There'll always be a need for straight shooters, Slate." Shateishael just shakes his head amusedly at Rosie.

Tomas says, "Surest place to find him is the coffee shop." The two big angels nod politely. Sax grins around a mouthful of lo mein. "Yo." Tomas smiles politely. "Charmed. Nice threads, Merwyn."

Shateishael nods, getting the introductions over with to his satisfaction, and concludes, "I gotta take Merwyn out to meet the Old Guy, but after that I'm free. Y'all available then?"

Rosenstern nods, "Sure. I'll ask Ms. Zara if she can let me go then, but that shouldn't be a problem. Is Drew still doing work for Mitrah?"

Shateishael considers, then rumbles slowly, "Not... that I know of, Rosie. I think she's just relaxing right now... she's been on edge for... what, 'bout 8000 years?"

Tomas picks up his paper. "I gotta scout some talent this evening, but I should be back before too long. It's a dry show. I'll meet you here."

Shateishael nods, "Good." He finishes his Chinese food, neatly licks his fingers, then... appears to regard Tomas with some diffidence... as if he's pondering something.

Tomas blinks. "Uh... something on your mind, Slate?"

Shateishael looks like he was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "No! Uh... well, I mean..." He pauses, shakes his head with amusement at himself, then says to Tomas, "Yeah, actually. You're Catchy Tunes, right? So, um... well, where do they come from?"

Rosenstern nods quietly, hiding his nervousness. "Sure thing, Tomas. And thanks." When was the last time I talked with one of Fleurity's demons? Sometime late last century, I think. Opium being brought into Berlin, if I recall right, not long after Fleurity himself started concentrating on North America instead of Europe and Asia. It wasn't too fun, I recall. Mutter never really liked any of the demons holding the Word of Drugs. He blinks, looking up at Tomas's question, and then to Slate.

Tomas grins a little. "Where's any music come from? It's from the heart, Slate. It's just that some of them go from the heart to the head and never wanna leave." He smiles. "There's a lot of theories about why certain tunes do that... all I really do is find the really good ones and make sure they get heard above the usual Media background clutter."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, resting his chin in one hand as he regards Tomas, "And the nice thing about catchy tunes is they hang around for ever, right? People are still humming them and know the words decades later, right, even though the lyrics are really dumb sometimes, or sad, or whatever -- as long as the tune's catchy?"

Tomas nods. "Yeah. My boss told me, a long time ago, that music helps put peoples' minds at ease. And if it's still doing that, like you said, a decade later, that's good work, right?"

Shateishael nods and grins at Tomas, "Absolutely! Okay, gotta question then... Drew's Teen Death -- so... are there any catchy tunes about that? If there were, and people remembered them because of the catchy tune -- wouldn't that maybe help both of you? And... maybe Drew wouldn't feel the need to kill people so much?" He looks hopeful, "Is that possible? Or, I mean..." he waves a hand vaguely, unsure exactly of how to phrase it, "-well, like could you inspire a song writer or something, so it became a catchy tune?"

Rosenstern starts to understand. "Drew sees his duty, his fulfillment of his word, as to make teenagers realize that they aren't immortal, aren't invulnerable. I think Slate's asking if there's a 'catchy tune' that reflects that belief somewhere, or if such a tune can be inspired. That way, Drew's -- Teen Death's Word advances, Catchy Tunes' Word advances..."

Tomas grins. "Pearl Jam just did one a few months ago. A little self-indulgent of Vedder, you ask me, but it was a nice tune. Okay, I see what you're saying. It might not sit well with Laurence, but... heh, what the hell? The worst that could happen is he gives him back to Christopher."

Shateishael grins broadly at Tomas, "You mean it might work?! Hot damn!" He laughs, looking pleased, then grins at Tomas again, "Dunno if someone like me can help at all with something like that, but if I can, you let me know, dude, 'kay?"

Tomas nods. "You know I will, big guy."

Shateishael grins, "Cool!" as he swiftly sweeps up the debris of lunch. He's still grinning as he adds, "Rosie, you wanna update Ms. Zara, in case Tomas needs her to talk to Drew too? Merwyn, you ready to go?"

Merwyn nods. "That would be fine, yes." He stands, having remained perfectly impassive through the remark about Laurence, and bows a little. "A pleasure meeting you, Tomas."

Rosenstern blinks and nods, "Sure, Slate, I'll do that." The full import of him approaching a Demon of Drugs... and not shoving a fistful of stinging nettles down their pants... starts to make itself known, and Rosie isn't sure if he should be looking forward to working towards sticking it to Mackie or dreading talking -- just talking -- to Hugo. He mentally shrugs, and as Slate, Merwyn, Sax, and Tomas head out, goes thoughtfully back to work.

Shateishael is still tremendously pleased at the prospect of a non-lethal alternative for Drew -- he utterly misses the point that a Sword angel might be offended by Tomas' statement! He strides out with Merwyn, humming cheerfully to himself -- then pauses, realizing what he's humming -- then laughs and continues humming. Little suckers really are catchy!

Sax says, "You guys mind riding back together? I gotta take care of some errands in town and head back to get Rei... she's gotta spin some dials for Jean."

Shateishael grins at Sax, "No sweat, guy, if it's okay with Merwyn!"

Merwyn says, "I don't mind. I've grown quite used to it. I appreciate your help in getting me around."

Shateishael grins at Merwyn, "S'cool!" and heads out to the bike with him. Once outside, he can't repress a gleeful, "Yyyesss!" and a quick, whirling spin for a sidekick -- sans sidekick, of course, since he doesn't want to actually strike anything. He grins broadly at Merwyn as he pulls on his leathers, "Man, I sure hope that works -- I've been wracking my brains for the entire time I've been here, trying to figure out a way poor Drew might not have to kill folks so much!"

Merwyn hms. "I admit to being curious as to why the Lord Commander would authorize such a thing. It's... not like him to make war on innocent humans." Sax waves and heads out on his own bike, headed downtown. The Sword Angel frowns. "I've been away too long, it seems."

Shateishael waves to Sax, then nods to Merwyn, his gleeful mood sobering a bit, "Yeah, that's really got me confused too. I mean, there's just no way the Seraphim Council could not know what Drew's doing, y'know? So... why're they allowing it?!" He mounts up, waits until Merwyn's settled, and roars off for Treaty Oak. He continues into the helmet headset, "My thought was... maybe they're waiting for some kinda mental leap or something, y'know? Hey, maybe you do know... does Laurence do stuff like that -- let folks work out difficult issues on their own, even if they're having a terrible time with it initially? Like... could this be like a quest or something for Drew?" Shateishael's tone reveals he's asking sincerely. There's no sniping or malice in his voice at all -- like any other Seraph, he's asking exactly what he's asking, and no more.

Merwyn says, "The Lord Commander generally issues very direct orders. And... generally a quest is undertaken voluntarily. But... ah, who am I to judge my master's intentions? Anything is possible, Davidian."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, mmming under his breath. A moment later he says slowly, "Well, Drew did ask for the Word, if I was told right." There's a pause, and then he says worriedly, "Um... uh-oh... so is it like cheating or something, if I try to help? Or... is that like wise use of teamwork?"

Merwyn says, "At this stage, Davidian, I think that really it is beyond any of us to see where this will go. Madness is ultimately a personal battle."

Shateishael nods quietly, thinking... he'll just have to help all he can, if he can, and hope for the best, then. He adds curiously, "Why're you calling me Davidian? Did I say something rude, or are you being real polite?"

The Sword Angel shrugs. "A habit of mine. Forgive me... I haven't been in a social situation in a very long time. And Austin, it seems, is a very social city."

Shateishael laughs ruefully, "Very social... yeah, you could say that. I keep tripping over it myself -- I'm still learning the rules too, and uhhh..." honesty compels him to add, "I, uh, kinda blurt things out." He grins, adding with amused rue, "Big surprise, yeah, I know..."

Merwyn simply says, "Were it not for the Seraphim honesty, we might have lost our way long ago."

Shateishael laughs again, "Aw, that's nice, Merwyn... thanks." He turns the bike into the Treaty Oak Park's parking lot, adding cheerfully, "Here we are!"

Merwyn carefully dismounts the bike, looking around. "Impressive. A fitting post for a powerful Malakite. The tree seems healthy."

Shateishael nods cheerfully as he removes his helmet and gloves, "Isn't it looking great now?" He'll quietly give Merwyn a quick synopsis of the tree's difficult recent history, adding with pleasure, "We're all pretty sure now he's gonna be fine, though. C'mon, let's go meet the Old Guy."

Merwyn nods, straightening his overcoat. Shateishael grins at Merwyn, "You look great, don't worry... and he's real informal." He heads for the tree, looking around as he strides over and, if no mortals appear to be around, he'll call, "Hey, Old Guy? Anybody home?"

The Old Guy comes out to meet the two angels with his usual huge grin. "Hey, boy! What's the occasion?" He looks Merwyn over and grins. "Well, sheeeeeit. Lookit you, boy, all gussied up. Ain't seen anyone wearin' the colors out like that in ages."

Shateishael grins cheerfully, "Heya! Got someone I'd like you to meet, sir -- this is Merwyn, who's just recently returned from a thirty year quest!"

Merwyn seems a little flustered, stuttering out, "An honor, M-master... ah..." He falters, having perceived rank but not knowing the Old Guy's name. The Old Guy slaps him on the back. "Aw, hell, none'a that now. Everyone here just calls me the Old Guy. You ain't no exception." Merwyn nods a few times. "Yes, sir... Old Guy. Sir."

Shateishael steps back a bit, arms folded, to allow the two Sword angels a moment together. Interesting... so those really are military-style decorations. Hope they like each other... think they'd both be good for each other. The Old Guy could sure use the company, and Merwyn could use the help relaxing socially. He grins with some sympathy at the poor young Swordie, adding, "He did the same thing to me, Merwyn. I rode with the Comanche for a while around hereabouts... first time I rode in here I was so tongue-tied!" He chuckles rumblingly, not admitting he still slips in a 'sir' every once in a while, because he thinks the Old Guy deserves it.

Merwyn says, "Er... yes. So you have been receiving instruction from the..." His face contorts a little, "Old Guy? A great honor. You must be a worthy student."

The Old Guy tips back his hat. "He ain't so bad. Ain't never known a Stone what couldn't hold his own in a fight, though."

Shateishael grins at Merwyn, "Well... I think he's actually being nice to me, but yeah, I'm quite aware it's an honor. S'why I try to soak it up as best I can -- you don't get chances like this often. Oh! Almost forgot." He smacks his forehead, then gives the Old Guy a hopeful look, "Um, so, we were wondering... would you mind if Merwyn came along to practice with you too?" He tilts his head in a bit of surprise at the Old Guy's reply to Merwyn -- and then his grin gets a bit broader. Well, then! Guess I'm not so bad -- cool!

The Old Guy grins, "Sure. Be good to see another Sword now an' again... 'specially one that gets out more'n I do. I ain't been on a quest since..." He has to stop and think about that. He pushes back his hat, scratching his head. "Wait... no... how old am I again?" Merwyn gives Slate an extremely worried look.

Shateishael grins at the Old Guy, "It's 2001 Gregorian, sir." He raises an eyebrow at Merwyn, wondering what's worrying him.

Merwyn leans over a little. "Is... he quite all right?"

The Old Guy nods. "Right... right. Yeah. Hell. Well, I ain't been on a quest in forever. Be glad to have ya, son."

Shateishael hastily stuffs a fist across his mouth to prevent laughter -- it wouldn't be nice! Once he's choked it back he grins and murmurs to Merwyn, "Oh, yeah... he's just got a lot of memories to remember in there, I think. Like on the order of several million years, dude!"

Shateishael grins at the Old Guy, "Cool, thanks!"

Merwyn looks at the big Malakite, and just murmurs, "Oh... wow."

Shateishael can't help himself -- he laughs! -then hastily covers his mouth, sheepishly muttering, "Sorry..."

The Old Guy grins. "So we gonna stand here flappin' our jaws or we gonna do some work?"

Shateishael's grin gets tight with pleased anticipation, "Sounds good to me, sir!" He shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it neatly from a branch, and glances over, "So... what today? Unarmed, weapons, what?"

The Old Guy folds his arms. "Well, seein' as I ain't seen what the boy here's made of, why don't y'all have it out first?"

Shateishael nods -- he's interested in that himself, actually -- and looks to Merwyn, "Name yer poison?"

Merwyn says, "It's been some time since I've used my blade arm. Perhaps you would be interested in a challenge?"

Shateishael parses through that one, trying to figure out what the somewhat formal language means... then he nods once, "Swords, got it. Moment!" He trots over to his bike for the katana. Merwyn carefully undoes the braid fastener across the chest of his overcoat and loosens his tie a bit, waiting for Slate to return. He flicks the wrist of his left hand, much like an old-time gunslinger.

Shateishael comes back quickly, daisho in hand. He sets the smaller blade carefully aside, then looks curiously at Merwyn. He's heard of celestials that can make their blade seem to vanish while it's on their person, but he's never seen it. He wonders if that's what Merwyn does.

The tall angel tosses his overcoat aside, then holds his left hand out to the side, as if waiting for a second to throw him something. And, in fact, it's almost as if that's what happens; he snatches a long, scabbarded blade seemingly out of the air, draws it, then tosses the scabbard aside again. It vanishes. The blade is easily recognizable to Slate... he's seen many like them, and even made one or two himself.

Shateishael raises an interested eyebrow. Cool effect! Merwyn's face is very carefully relaxed. "Are you ready?"

Shateishael grins quietly, "Yeah. Since I got back." He stands easily, waiting for Merwyn. He's a Stone angel... it doesn't even occur to him to attack first.

Merwyn asks the Old Guy, "By your leave." The Old Guy, leaning against his tree, pushes back his hat and says, "Hit it, boy."

Merwyn takes that as his leave to go; he's across the ten or so feet in an eye-blink, and right before his blade flashes up Slate can see his eyes; his eyes are like a snake's. Dead. Just like when he was looking at the Judge... Shateishael blocks easily, deflecting with his scabbarded sword. He was expecting the instant, rushing attack -- the guy is a Sword angel, after all. He unsheathes the sword and turns with the attack to continue facing Merwyn, his face calm.

Merwyn rebounds a bit after his initial flurry is deflected, bounces once on the heels of his feet, ducks to the right and cuts up from below the low line of attack. If he's preternaturally still under normal circumstances, right now there's no doubt that Slate is facing an Ofanite.

Shateishael whirls lightly to stay facing Merwyn, and easily blocks low long enough to step out and away from the attack. Merwyn draws back quickly, the pressure on the blade drawing blue sparks. Merwyn's stronger than he looks. "Am I to understand that Stone does not attack?"

Shateishael looks curious, "Pardon? Didn't see any need yet... will if you want, though." He slides one foot forward, the blade lowering slightly, then snapping out sharply in strike.

Merwyn slips deftly out of the way; even his tie seems to float out of the path of the blade. "I will remember you said that." He turns his blade and cuts over Slate's weapon.

Shateishael wonders idly if what he said was somehow wrong to a Sword angel. Well, if so, it'll have to wait until later for Merwyn's ruffled feathers to get settled -- he's busy right now. He just ducks, the Ofanite's blade sliding overhead, then straightens, his sword in guard position again. His eyes are as still and calm as he is... like Stone, he moves only as necessary to get the job done.

Shateishael drats internally, remembering he was supposed to be attacking -- his blade snaps out almost as an afterthought. Hm, that certainly wasn't the smoothest strike I've ever done... Merwyn seems to agree, easily guiding the opposing blade to one side and stepping in to attack inside it.

Shateishael looks faintly surprised as Merwyn actually steps into his hand-to-hand sphere of influence -- then mentally shrugs. His blade, in his right hand, turns to block out Merwyn's blade, as his left fist lashes out for the Ofanite's chin.

Merwyn jerks his head out of the way, but the Seraph's fist brushes through the floating curtain of the Sword Angel's hair. Merwyn leaps back a few feet, "It's to be like that, then. Very well..." He takes a step forward, turning as if to make a long rotational cut, but instead he whips his left hand up, summoning and then flinging his sword's scabbard at the Seraph's head.

Shateishael gets an interested look -- so, it appears Merwyn really is quite heavily into chivalric conduct. No problem, it's probably something he should learn in training (where he won't get hurt) to expect to have ignored constantly by demons anyway... Slate crouches, letting the scabbard whiz past freely overhead, then straightens up into a strong upward strike. The scabbard sails past, toward the tree. The Old Guy catches it one-handed. "Whoa," murmurs the Old Guy.

The blade grazes Merwyn's cheek as he leans out of the way; Slate can hear him spit, "Tch!" as it leaves a lurid red welt on the Ofanite's fair complexion. The Old Guy grins to himself. Merwyn rolls with the impact, reversing his grip on the blade and swinging it under, thrusting.

Shateishael pauses for a fraction of a second, worried until he realizes it's a friction burn and not sloppiness on his part -- which allows Merwyn to return the favor neatly across his side. He mentally growls at himself to quit playing nicey-nice, and focuses again.

Merwyn bounces back again, to regain his balance, and is halfway into another leaping advance, when the Old Guy stands up from the tree. "All right! All right, that's enough, boys."

Shateishael steps back out of ready stance, sword still up in ready defense until he sees Merwyn stop. Merwyn catches himself in mid-spring, and just stops a few feet from Slate. The Old Guy tosses him his scabbard. Shateishael bows politely, with a quiet grin as Merwyn scabbards his sword, "Thank you, was interesting." He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "So, what'd you mean by not forgetting what I said?"

The tall Sword Angel sheathes his blade, then bows to Slate, then the Old Guy, tossing the blade into wherever it is his blade goes... "Only that you didn't feel it necessary to attack."

Shateishael considers that as he scabbards his own sword, "That's not exactly what I meant, but... well, no harm done, I guess?" He grins, stretching his arms overhead with pleasure -- he enjoys sword practice -- then looks at the Old Guy. "So? Critique!"

Merwyn remains carefully silent. The Old Guy says to Slate, "Lost yer focus, boy. Gonna have a welt tomorrah... not that I expect it'll bother ya."

Shateishael nods ruefully, "Yeah, was my fault." He tilts his gaze curiously at the Ofanite, then mentally shrugs -- it'd be rude to keep poking at the guy verbally to see what he's thinking... and if there's a problem, doubtless the other angel will let him know. He grins at the Old Guy again, focusing on his teacher's words.

The Old Guy says, "Now, I know yer a brawler, but ya gotta remember that a swordfight ain't a fistfight. Proper distance, boy." He turns to Merwyn. "An' you... been awhile, ain't it."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully to the old Malachite. Okay... next time he should keep his opponent at a distance more carefully, instead of letting the guy into his reach. That apparently wasn't a quick reflex on his part, so much as taking advantage of a mistake he made... and Merwyn was in the right to shove in as close as possible. He ponders that for a moment, then nods once again, making a firm mental note to not forget that.

Merwyn nods. "Yes, sir. I have let my skill lapse in the time I was overseas. I have not had a worthy opponent in some years." The Old Guy nods. "Yeah, well, ain't we all. Enough excuses. You know the Fifth Drill?" Merwyn nods. "I do, sir." The Old Guy says, "A hundred of 'em before I see yer hide again. Get started right now." Merwyn snaps to attention. "Sir!" The Old Guy turns back to the Seraph, "An' you, over here. We're gonna work on yer distance."

Shateishael nods, moving over promptly, even as he wonders what the Fifth Drill is...


The sun goes down, and a few of the local Infernals gather at the coffee shop. It's not the weekly meeting, but hey, coffee is coffee. The same vegetative college student is on the register, with his hardback copy of the Screwtape Letters. A few patrons mill around, unaware of the Celestial influence... so far only the quiet demon whom Marlena identified as Niko; her companion, the preternaturally square-jawed Powers Long; and back in a corner in his black SS jacket, Hugo, are present.

Shateishael looks around curiously as he quietly follows Rosie and Tomas. With some mental effort, he vaguely recalls to mind the names of the demons called Powers and Niko, from the after-concert party, and he remembers Hugo. If there are any others present, he doesn't know them.

Rosenstern murmurs quietly to Tomas, "If you know Hugo, could you introduce us? Or do you think it'd be better if we all just approached him at once?"

Tomas says, "I'll introduce you. C'mon, follow me." He walks toward Hugo's corner. The greasy Hugo looks up as Tomas approaches, and eyes the two behind him.

Shateishael paces quietly along after the two more socially skilled angels, then leans slightly against the wall, arms folded. He nods once to Hugo as he's introduced, then leaves the rest of the conversation up to the other two. Tomas turns on the charm; his grin could power a small car. "Hugo, hey. Some friends of mine, Hugo. Slate, Rosen, this is Hugo." Hugo keeps eyeing the big guy as Tomas slides into the booth across from him. "Yeah," says the demon, "I know 'em. What's up, guys? Need somethin'?"

Rosenstern remains reasonably casual, though it's not easy; Hugo, being a Demon of Drugs, is in and of himself fairly reprehensible to Rosie. His jacket brings back rather miserable memories as well, and he wonders what kind of chutzpah Hugo has in wearing it in this day and age. But as they approach Hugo, he's the epitome of Mercurian, quiet and pleasant and not threatening -- at least, as unthreatening as an angel could be to a demon. He lets Tomas make introductions. He seems mildly surprised that Hugo knows them, but he nods. "Hey, how's it going? Yeah, we kinda need something, was hoping you could help us out." he says. "Mind if we sit?"

Shateishael wonders idly why the demon keeps eyeing him... then grins internally, Duh, doofus. You look like the heavy, not the truth teller. Probably should keep real still so I don't look accidentally menacing. It doesn't occur to him that to an already tense person, that stillness might also appear threatening.

Hugo says, "Sure. What's on your mind?" Tomas gestures to Rosenstern, "My friend here's got some information for you." Shateishael narrows his eyes thoughtfully... did he just see Niko glancing in his direction? Maybe... he's just drinking his coffee now, though.

Rosenstern nods gratefully, and slips into a chair. He doesn't quite lower his voice conspiratorially, but he does lower it so that it doesn't carry to the coffee shop. "I'll get right to it, then," he says. "We think we know why Mackie's been trying to get Drew thinking that you're slipping him bad drugs. We figured that you'd might want to know about it."

Hugo huhs. "I'm more interested in how you know that, and why you think I care."

Rosenstern lets out a breath. Now it's my turn to feel soiled. Next to Malphas, Mutter really is not fond of Fleurity. "How we know it is some thinking on our part, and a tip that Mackie's probably behind the bad X going around -- X apparently bad enough to kill. As to why we think you care... you supply Drew. You'd be the first on Drew's mind if the drugs he gets kills ugly. I know..." Bei die Waldwiese! This is going to be an uphill battle. "I know... you've had this out with Drew before. I know you have an arrangement. But if he snapped and killed you -- and I'm not saying he would kill you, but if he did -- then who'll be Fleurity's top man in Austin?"

Hugo says, "Mackie's the top man in Austin already. I'm just here to move product for him. Mackie doesn't give a shit about me."

Rosenstern looks thoughtful. "Mackie's the Seneschal of the House, yeah. Would he want to take more of a hand in transactions in Austin? Try to get rid of the middlemen for some reason? Look... this is the Truce City. I'm not trying to gun for your operation. We're just looking out for Drew. We don't want him to break." Or trip. Or Fall.

Huge says, "I dunno. He usually just supplies the shit for me. He's usually too damn lazy to do it himself." At the mention of gunning for his operation, Hugo laughs bitterly, "Don't flatter yourself."

Rosenstern grins wryly and doesn't look offended. "Okay. At least we got that out of the way then. Does Mackie give you stuff especially for Drew?"

Shateishael stiffens in distaste -- eurgh, Hugo's a Balseraph! -- then rumbles quietly, so it doesn't carry elsewhere, "You know Mackie's not top man in Austin. That wasn't true."

Hugo looks at Tomas. "He leaves now, or I'm walking." Shateishael just stares in silent distaste at Hugo.

Tomas puts up his hands. "Hey, yo, Hugo, it's cool... relax, man, we're just trying to work out an agreement here."

Rosenstern glances to Slate, arching an eyebrow, then back to Hugo. "It's the Truce City, Hugo. Slate's not going to do anything in city limits, you know that. Like I said, we're just worried about Drew, that's all."

Hugo says, "I don't care. Get him out of here, or I'm not saying another word."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Guys... we told him what's up. It's his problem now... not ours."

Tomas suggests, "Okay, okay... wait, guys. Let's not get this off on the wrong foot. Big guy, why don't you go get a coffee?" Tomas turns back, "Okay, Hugo? Look, we just wanna talk like civilized men here. Right, Rosen?"

Shateishael gives Tomas an amused glance, then nods quietly. He moves a table or two's distance away, then leans against the wall again, so he can continue to listen and watch... and so Rosie can see him easily. Rosenstern lets out a breath as Slate leaves, and he nods to the Vassal of Stone... and is not unmindful of how Slate places himself. He nods at Tomas's question. "Right. We don't want to make this a five-alarm fire if we can't help it."

Hugo hmphs. "Civilized. Is that what we are. Heh. Fine. What do you want, Tomas?" Tomas says, "I'm just like you, Hugo... I'm just the facilitator. It's my friend here with all the info."

Rosenstern looks to Hugo. He's also not unmindful of what it took to get such a rise out of Hugo. Not many demons have that reaction to being told their telling the Truth. That would probably mean that Hugo is either a Balseraph -- oh, joy, what luck -- or just with a lot of lies to hide. Which means, he's going to lie. A lot. I'll have to expect that. Maybe I can use it...

"Right, then. We know you've got an arrangement with Drew -- that's fine, that's your business with him. You provide Drew drugs that'll kill quickly, and they're the drugs he gives to his... chosen persons. Drew's been getting high-strung about those drugs -- they're not being painless. X shouldn't make someone's heart explode. But there's bad X -- that bad -- going out there. What we figured was that Mackie was the source of it. If he's not, then... well, you know Fleurity's operation better than us. I imagine that Drugs wants live customers, and not blasted husks that go straight to Saminga.

"So this is what we think: if you supply Drew, Drew's gonna think it was your fault. No matter what else you think or know or whatever, the bad shit is going through you. It's going to come back to you at some point, and I don't know if you know or not but not a lot of angels are going to be happy to see Drew break or get hurt. You've gotta do some the math, Hugo, we don't know your operation as well as you do. If Drew goes down, you're going to get the rap, even if you aren't purposely giving him the bad product, 'cause every celestial in town knows you supply Drew. We're thinking, since you've sworn up and down to Drew that the bad stuff wasn't your fault, that it's coming from higher up, and you'll be set up to take the fall for them."

Hugo is silent for a long time. Finally he asks, "How do you know this? Can you prove it?"

Rosenstern looks at Hugo quietly for a moment. Odd... when I said Saminga's name... He takes in a breath. "These aren't secrets, Hugo. It's not hidden knowledge. One of Drew's kids' had her heart explode; Slate told me it was pretty grim, and Drew sure as hell didn't take it well. You supply Drew. Mackie's the Seneschal for Drugs here." He lets his hand lift up in a slight pseudo-shrug. "Like I said, you've gotta do the math, to put together the missing pieces that we're still not seeing."

Shateishael glances around... and catches Niko actually looking at him this time. The demon just smiles and goes back to watching traffic. Slate doesn't bother smiling to the little information broker -- he just waits until Rosie's looking at him. Once he's got Rosie's gaze he cups one hand behind an ear, with a wry expression, then tilts his hand to point it like a gun at Niko for just a second.

Rosenstern lets out a breath and rubs his eyes a little, trying to be alert for any lies that Hugo might see -- he doesn't have the resonance within the Symphony that Slate does, but he's learned to pick up on when folks aren't exactly being truthful. He lets his gaze wander over to Slate briefly, and catches the gesture. He doesn't quite nod, but he does clearly see the gesture. He lowers his hands, looking to Hugo. "He kept chanting, 'pink foam, pink foam,' like it was some mantra. I kinda know my drugs, and pink foam comes from massive congestive heart failure. And it's not painless. And Drew was pretty shaken up. Which means someone wanted him to see just how painful his kid was being killed. By the stuff he gave her. By the stuff he got from you."

Hugo says, "Guess Drew can't keep his damn mouth shut. Temperamental little shit. Still, can you prove it? If Mackie's using Drew to fuck with me... he's still a Seneschal, and the only one my people have here. I can't just go in shooting."

Shateishael glances out the window, just to be sure the little demon wasn't trying to indicate something... nope, just traffic going by. He returns his gaze to his friends and Hugo in time to catch the balseraph's last comment. Doesn't seem to be lying... at the moment. He wonders why the paranoid shit wants angels to tell him what to do. What, he can't figure out himself how to deal with a fat, loathsome asshole?

Rosenstern's expression quirks at Hugo's assessment of Druiel. "Yeah, but, well... he's our temperamental little guy. So we worry about him. It's what we do. As to proving it... really, what do we need to prove? About the only lead we have right now is that Mackie is the one giving you the bad shit to give to Drew. It's the only thing we can see, the only reason we can see for all this happening. This is why we came to you with this. You've got the ins and outs of Drugs here, we don't." He sighs a bit. "But... yeah, you're right, trying to take out a Seneschal is pretty suicidal, and that wouldn't be my first suggestion."

Of course it wouldn't, I'm Flowers. I'd try to talk first; I'd be laughed at if he's that big an asshole. Then I'd ask Mom nicely for some Malakim... argh, right, you forget, Rosie, this is the Truce. Hugo's hands are as tied as ours, for different reasons. "I gotta agree, though, it doesn't make any sense. Fleurity doesn't want dead customers -- he wants repeat customers. If Mackie is behind it then he's committing suicide just to get at one angel and/or one demon -- Drew and you. But that's where what we can see ends. Can you think of anyone else who would get product into the system here other than Mackie?"

Shateishael wonders idly if the listening Niko the fixer will try selling this information to Mackie once they leave. Hm... looks like we win either way, he thinks. I'd be willing to bet money that Mackie's a paranoid too -- so neither of them would trust each other again, and the relationship would worsen dramatically. If we can figure out a catchy tune or something for Drew too... then it'd leave the two Drugs demons an open field to tear at each other. Cool. He listens to Rosie, then grins tightly to himself, Yeah, Hugo, we got a great way to prove it. You willing to trust a Seraph, though?

Hugo sighs a bit, and his shoulders slump. The perceptive Mercurian can see that he's already won, and judging from the way Tomas' eyes can smile even while his mouth is wrapped around the lip of a coffee... he can see it too. "No. Look, I'll tell you, Drew was using me because I know how to poison that shit so they never feel it when they die. So I'm the perfect scape for this. And Mackie hates me... he knows Fleurity likes me better. But I don't understand what killin' me gets him... he'd be alone."

Shateishael considers that, then grins. He knows. Or at least he thinks he does. Tomas sets down his coffee. "What does that mean for Fleurity?"

Hugo says, "He'd be a man short. Wait... how many of your side know about this?"

Tomas looks to Rosenstern? Shateishael debates pacing over... he waits until Rosie's looking in his direction, then raises an inquiring eyebrow, pointing discreetly at himself, then to the table they're sitting at.

Rosenstern lets out a breath. "Crap," he murmurs. Somehow he lets his empathy show. At least Hugo really was trying to make Druiel's victims die painlessly. Lord knows why he was trying to do that -- maybe to glean a favor from Drew; all the same, now isn't the time to ruminate on that. But it's one more piece: Fleurity likes Hugo better than Mackie, which means that someday Hugo would go on to bigger and better things. He blinks to Hugo. "You mean, how many know what I just told you." He thinks for a moment, then gives a slight shrug, looking between Tomas, himself, and Slate at the other table. "Slate didn't tell anyone; we just went to Tomas earlier, so... just us. Ideally we'd like to keep it to as few people as possible. Austin's weird, but it doesn't need more weirdness."

Hugo's face contorts, "God damn it! That stupid asshole! That's it!"

Tomas's coffee freezes about halfway to his mouth, "That's what?"

Hugo says, "He's trying to start a fight!" Shateishael rolls his eyes -- duh. Hugo says, "That stupid asshole is trying to get rid of me... get rid of me and make it look like the House is in danger so Fleurity will send more people!"

Rosenstern blinks. "What? Hey, Hugo... guy, relax, and tell us what the deal is, maybe we can -- eh? You mean Mackie? Ach, he wants to start a rumble?" It feels as if in Heaven a cold hand grips his Heart. The Truce! Mackie want to collapse the truce?

Hugo's face contorts again, "That greasy bitch! He's trying to pull one over on Fleurity! What balls..." He crushes his Styrofoam cup in his hands. "That idiot... doesn't he get it? If the angels wanted a fight they'd just burn the fucker down!"

Shateishael grins a touch smugly. Got it -- I was right on the money! and then a moment later, Eurgh... I can think like a demon?! That's disgusting! He wonders idly just how bright a drug-addled Seneschal can be... then shakes his head -- not very, from the sound of it. He glances thoughtfully at Niko again, wondering how long the guy will wait to try to sell this revelation from Hugo.

Niko, for his part, is working on his sixth triple espresso. Shateishael turns over in his head, just for personal satisfaction, the image of The House That Pain Built burning merrily to the ground... then sighs wistly. Maybe someday. Not today.

Rosenstern frowns; mindful of Slate's warning before, he keeps quiet. "I don't know what it's like for you guys, but doing that to an angelic Superior is 'pretty bloody stupid.' It can't be any better for you all. He'd want our guys to think that you pushed the bad shit on Drew, then when Drew broke he'd go after you, and then no matter whether you or he died, the Truce would fall and Austin would become a War zone?"

Hugo snarls quietly. "It'd get tense. Tense enough that he could con Fleurity into sending his lazy ass some backup. I can believe that ass would try to use me... but not Fleurity. No... that's more sack than I thought he had. Shit. Okay, kid... I'm gonna get this handled, okay?"

Shateishael smiles slowly, his eyes lazily half closed, and just nods once to Tomas and Rosie. Rosenstern mentally restrains himself. Don't... don't push him, Rosie. For the love of God and Novalis, don't push him... don't be a bloody Punisher. Don't push him to do something destructive, even if he is a demon, you'll trip for certain. He swallows, and nods. "Whatever you say, Hugo. We're not going to worry about this, then." Unless something really bad happens and we see your head on a pike outside the House. Then we'll worry. A lot.

Hugo stands up. "Thanks, kid. I owe you one. 'scuse me, I got something I need to do. Oh, by the way... tell Drew the next batch is gonna be clean."

Rosenstern nods firmly. "We'll do that." He stands. "Take it easy, Hugo. And thanks for listening to us."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow at Hugo's offhand comment that he owes him one. Well, cool! Who'd have thought a demon would admit to that? He doesn't move from his spot by the wall... just nods once, quietly, if the demon happens to glance at him as he leaves. Then he grins to himself, checking his Resonance... well, the last part of that sentence was true, anyway. The first part was... fuzzy. Not a lie, just... fuzzy. Okay, so I shouldn't hope for too much there...

Hugo doesn't glance at Slate as he leaves... he just pays for his coffee and goes, stalking quickly down the sidewalk. Shateishael smiles slowly at his two companions, then tilts his head inquiringly towards the door. Rosenstern heads outside with Tomas and Slate, glancing just once, and briefly, in the direction of Niko. As they step out he lets out a breath. "Doing this sort of thing shouldn't be so exhausting," he says quietly.

Tomas grins, "Well, that wasn't so bad."

Rosenstern smiles to Tomas. "Thanks for making this happen, Tomas. We really appreciate it. And it'll be a relief to Drew, I'm sure.

Shateishael grins at the Mercurian, "Hey, you did good, Rosie." He glances thoughtfully back towards Niko, then says to Tomas, "You know what that guy's band or superior is at all, guy? All I know is he's a wanna-be information broker... and was apparently listening."

Tomas shrugs. "He's a little more than a wanna-be, actually. He's a real workaholic. Probably Fate. Couldn't tell you what Band, though." To Rosenstern he grins and shrugs again. "Don't mention it. Glad I could help. God, if anyone takes Drew down, who'd want it to be that greasy butthead?"

Rosenstern smiles quietly to the Seraph. "Thanks, Slate. At the very least," he adds a little more energetically, "-Drew'll be glad to know that he won't get any bad stuff next time. At least, if he was telling the truth. Slate, why did he want you as far away from him as possible when you called him on Mackie being the number-one demon in Austin? Only thing I could think of was that he had a lot to hide, but it seemed he talked sense."

Shateishael listens quietly to Tomas, then nods, "Thanks for running interference for Rosie here." To the Mercurian he rumbles quietly, "If I force a balseraph, accidentally or otherwise, to actually realize his own self-deception... it takes dissonance, Rosie."

Rosenstern blinks to Slate. "A... Balseraph. Ah... I think I see." He quietly ponders that. "Thanks for doing what you did, then, Slate. I kinda know that didn't sit well with you." His smile fades a little. "Something else... when I mentioned Saminga, he had a twitch in his eye, like nervousness or something like that. It got some sort of reaction from him."

Shateishael frowns, rumbling quietly, "Don't want anyone to take Drew down." He's silent, considering Rosie's words for a moment... then says slowly, "Well... who knows, with a delusional paranoid like a balseraph? Maybe he thought you were threatening Fleurity's Tether, just like Saminga's went down. Maybe he knows who Saminga's folks are here and was worried you'd ask about them while I was there. Maybe he wishes he could figure out how to take those folks down. Maybe it's something else entirely. Niko was spending time watching me when he thought I wasn't looking too... maybe they're just fucking demons and wish we'd get out of their coffee shop. Who knows?" He shrugs ruefully.

Rosenstern shakes his head, "I don't think I said it in such a way as to threaten Fleurity's tether..." He sighs, then nods. "You're right. I wouldn't know unless I asked him. He's probably twitchy when reminded that Saminga's Tether got blown to Kingdom Come." He frowns again, then shakes his head, sighing, "And now would be a bad time to start worrying that the Diabolicals would try to retaliate by taking out a Heavenly tether. Where to now?"

Shateishael says, "Oh, I assume all the Heavenly Tethers here are accordingly more alert. Be foolish not to be. How about 'Natural Beauty'? Gotta pick up Merwyn there and give him a ride home." He smiles faintly, "And it's always nice to say hi to Ms. Zara."

Rosenstern nods, smiling. "Okay!"

Tomas says, "I'm gonna go home, and listen to a demo I got from some of the local talent. If y'all wanna come with and check it out, you're welcome."

Rosenstern casts a brief glance behind him as they head down the street, just in case, then concentrates on thinking over what he's going to tell Zara. Not much, really. Just that we talked to Hugo, and he guaranteed that Druiel's next supply is going to be clean... he blinks to Tomas, and smiles. "Thanks, Tomas. I'll have to take a rain check, though. I'm really behind with work at Zara's shop and her garden."

Shateishael thinks about that, then grins ruefully at Tomas, "Think this Swordie's a little too formal for that right now... although given a few more bouts with the Old Guy..." He just grins, his eyes bright with amusement, and simply concludes with, "Thanks again, Tomas. See ya later. Let us know if you need any help convincing Drew not to try anything with Mackie, 'kay?"

Tomas nods. "Alright. I guess I'll see y'all around, then."

Shateishael sighs in great relief once they're safely at 'Natural Beauty.' So far, so good... he and his friends are keeping their heads nicely down, and Drew's problems are a little less, hopefully. He's quietly pleased to see Ms. Zara too. He knows he can't tell her the full details, but he's at least trying to be a little less disruptive to the Truce -- hopefully she'll appreciate that eventually. He'd felt bad when she was so worried as he came in all beaten up after dealing with Frex.

Shateishael happily checks "Drew's issues with Mackie" off his mental list. What's next... ah, the missing Eliite that made the weird video machine. He'd speculated that the guy might still hang around there, or places he was familiar with. 'Natural Beauty' sounds like the kind of place an injured Eliite would come to, and might remember later. He asks Ms. Zara if she's seen any particular homeless hanging around the shop area at all?

Zara shakes her head. There are a lot of homeless in Austin, but none of them, in general, are concerned with coiffure. Shateishael hms... then describes his theory regarding the missing Eliite, "So... does anyone know for sure what happened to him?"

Zara says, "No... I never met him. I heard that he had something to do with that nasty video game, but other than that... sorry, child."

Shateishael nods, thinking, "Does anyone remember his name, at least?"

Zara says, "If they do, I don't know. I'm afraid it's just never come up. Most people don't like to talk about... about the dead."

Rosenstern blinks and opens his mouth... then closes it. Oh, man, that's harsh. "We... hadn't know he'd died. Was it in Austin?"

Zara says, "All that I know is that not long after the game was finished he vanished... Tomas told me that his friends only found a shattered Heart."

Rosenstern winces, then nods quietly. Which, actually, he thinks, could mean anything... dead, or Fallen, or... Remnant. Which, considering what he'd made, is very possible.

Zara says, "Maybe it's better that way. If the demons knew, some of them would do horrible things to the poor man. Take care of yourselves, children. I'll see you tomorrow, Rose."

Rosenstern nods quietly. "Certainly, Ms. Zara, I'll be here."

Shateishael says, "Are any of his friends still in town?"

Zara says, "I don't think so. Tomas is the only Creationer I know of besides your friend."

Shateishael nods slowly, mentally reminding himself to try asking Drew -- he apparently plays the game a fair amount, so maybe he'd know? -- and to tell Nick this information, and thanks Ms. Zara quietly. He'll congratulate Rosie again for a job well done, then collect Merwyn and head back towards the Ranch.


At about 3:00pm Thessaloniki finds himself with a few hours of relative peace, as the Ranch contingent has gone into town to perform a few errands... in the absence of an immediate crisis. Ever the forward-thinking Ofanite, he does what any good Creationer would do.

Beer run.

On the way into town Nick notices along the side of the road one of the quaint roadhouse establishments for which Texas is known (among other things). Normally this wouldn't catch the old-appearing Ofanite's eye, but today there's something different. A really cool car is parked out front. Perched between a dust-smeared pickup truck and... another dust-smeared pickup truck, is an Edsel. A midnight-blue Edsel.

Thessaloniki thinks, Oh ho! What are you? and makes a disturbingly sharp turn off of the highway, then slows hard to see the car, parking his big Lincoln on the other side of one of the pickups. He gets out and walks back behind the Edsel, admiring it openly.

The car is in near-perfect condition, preternaturally clean and with more than a little gleaming chrome. It's a beautiful car, despite being heir to one of the biggest automotive marketing disasters in history. The finish seems quite new, but it's extremely well done, even to Nick's experienced eye. The engine's still hot; must have just got here. In the back seat of the car are an old blue suit coat, a badly wrinkled newspaper, and a half-crushed can of Fanta. The newspaper is dated 1993, and the Fanta is of utterly indeterminate age.

Thessaloniki decides he'll go on in to the building and have a look to see if he can find someone with good enough taste to drive a car like this. From the sheer amount of crushed aluminum in the gravel of the parking lot, it seems fairly obvious this is a bar of some sort, and he should be able to take care of himself. He notes the newspaper, puts on his affable and easygoing smile, makes sure he has his gun, and then heads on in.

The interior of the bar is similar to the exterior; that is to say, wooden and dusty. Ancient pictures that have gone dark brown with a patina of smoke and age sit against one wall, and there's a dusty neon Dr. Pepper clock against the other. The mirror behind the bar is cracked and dirty, and the bartender is a thin black man with glasses in heavy black plastic frames. A very few patrons sit at disparate tables; a grizzled old man in battered denims (because there has to be one somewhere) looks up as Nick enters, then goes back to his beer. The largest concentration of patrons is a group of about five sitting around a table playing cards.

Thessaloniki thinks to himself, Considering that the locals wear cowboy boots, faded jeans, a worn shirt, and often a cowboy hat almost as if it were a uniform, finding the fellow driving this lovely car shouldn't be too difficult. How right Nick is.

Thessaloniki smiles and walks over to the bar. He looks up at the clock and only vaguely thinks, That's probably worth money now, before he looks back at the bartender. He flags him down and says, "A beer, please," with a smile, looking around for someone obviously attached to the Edsel. The bartender passes Nick his beer without a word. It's not too bad. It's even cold.

Sitting at the table where the cards are being dealt is a lean-looking young man with nowhere near enough dust on his person to be a regular. Wearing dark blue slacks, a wrinkled white dress shirt, and a string tie, is someone closely resembling Nick's acquaintance from the Tables, albeit with greatly calmed-down hair. His unkempt 'do has decided upon a simply pedestrian shade of brown today.

Thessaloniki thanks the bartender and pays him, asking perhaps a little too loudly, "Hey, I couldn't help notice that there's a beautiful old car out front. Did you happen to notice who it belonged to? I thought I'd let 'em know how nice I thought it was."

The bartender nods toward the card table. The skinny guy half-turns, then grins a little. "Nice of you to say so. Care to play a hand?"

Thessaloniki picks up his beer and says, "I've got time for a hand or so, sure." He heads over to the table and joins the game, saying, "I always appreciate a well-kept automobile. Not too many of those in that color, either."

The skinny guy grins again, waiting for the cards to skid across the table to him. "Thanks. Had it for too long to just let it fall apart." The dealer is a monstrous old man with a scar on his cheek. If he's not a demon, he's quite possibly the most horrendous mortal Nick's ever had a look at. The old dealer skips the cards across to Nick. "Stud," he croaks.

Thessaloniki nods to the dealer and antes in, saying, "Gotcha." He looks back at the other fellow, adding, "You look familiar. Did I bump into you at a big dinner party just recently? Bunch of old fellows telling long yarns all night, way too much food?" He collects his hand and considers it carefully.

Skinny grins. "Did you? I think I remember something like that... you're the car guy, aren't you?" He tosses out a pair of cards, and the deal skips two more back to him.

Thessaloniki says, "Ayup, that'd be me." When the dealer gets to him, he returns one card for a new one and considers his hand, nodding thoughtfully at it as he takes a drink of his beer.

Skinny nods. "I was on my way to find you, actually. Just got in from Lubbock. Hell of a drive in this heat." He sees the dealer's bet and raises again. The dealer grunts acknowledgement.

Thessaloniki grins, "Well, you found me." When the dealer gets to him, he considers and also matches the bet, before he says, "Nice to meet you again. I'm Nick."

Skinny studies his cards a moment. "My name is Sue," he says after a long moment. "How do you do?" The other card players snicker softly. The dealer grunts. It might be a laugh.

Thessaloniki smiles -- a warm smile, not a mocking one -- and says, "I'm good, Sue, I'm real good." He waits for the game to catch up with him, commenting, "What brings you out to these parts?" and has another drink of his beer.

Sue shrugs. "I heard our friend was fond of these parts. I thought I'd come and see what the attraction was." He grins over his hand at the dealer. The dealer grunts again, "Call." Sue murmurs, "Say your prayers..."

Cards fall. Nick has a straight flush, Sue has four aces. The dealer has a pair of nines, a jack, a king... and another ace. Thessaloniki frowns a bit, and says, "Well, that doesn't look so good, does it, gents?" Sue grins innocently. The other five card players, however, don't seem to think this is cool in the least.

The next few seconds go by remarkably fast. Nick notices, just before everything goes to hell, that the bartender is gone. The dealer lunges straight across the table at Sue, and then everything's gone horribly wrong. Sue and the dealer are rolling across the floor, and the other three players have decided they don't want any part of what's going on there. They all look at Nick expectantly. Thessaloniki stands up and takes a step back. He picks up his beer and says loudly -- commandingly if he can manage it, "Hey!" He dumps the last half of his beer on the rolling Sue and dealer, "Knock it off!"

The dealer sits up and actually roars. Sue, given the break, rolls to one side and kicks a chair into the air. As the old man winds up to attack, Sue does something that destroys any lingering notion that he's a Mercurian -- he catches the chair and smashes the dealer across the mouth with it. "Nick, wanna continue this outside?" Without waiting for an answer, Sue is already on his way.

Thessaloniki says succinctly, "Shit! You lousy cheater!" and turns to run out as well, reaching for his knife as he goes. He hopes the bartender merely got out of harm's way, rather than trying to block the door. It's not clear if he's merely running away, or chasing the other Eliite.

The bartender has indeed exhibited the better part of valor, and is nowhere to be found. Sue is simply hauling ass for his car. Thessaloniki follows suit, although he actually catches up with the other, diving in to his Lincoln and starting the car. He thinks, Thank God for motherfucking huge Detroit engines, spins the wheel, and pops the car into reverse.

The blue Edsel lurches backward in a cloud of dust and goes flying after the Lincoln, not necessarily out of a sense of complicity, but rather a sense of that direction looking as good as any other -- to wit, away from the angry old men of the bar and their apparent Morlock poker dealer. A few moments later the two pickup trucks follow suit, and begin racing up the highway in pursuit. There's almost no traffic on this backwater stretch of asphalt, aside from the occasional terrified armadillo, so the two sets of vehicles have little trouble locating each other.

Thessaloniki decides, Enough of this being chased noise! and turns around. Normally this is simple, but he wants to do it at speed, so it's not -- it involves a turn timed just right with accelerating while stomping on the parking brake, and fishtailing the big old Lincoln around in at least a vaguely controlled way. Popping the brake after the car slews about, the right rear wheel falls off the road and spews an impressive cloud of gravel and dust for a good distance before Nick straightens the car back out and eats asphalt out of there -- in the other direction.

The pickup truck closest to Nick's Lincoln screeches as the driver puts on the brake, caught completely off guard. The truck spins all the way around, leaving an impressive spirograph of rubber on the faded asphalt... then stops. The two cowboys just stare, dumbfounded, as the Lincoln streaks off into the distance. "Well, Cisco... now what?"
"...wanna go back and have another beer?"
"Yeah, buddy."

Thessaloniki can't help but giggle a little at the drive -- that was fun! -- as he speeds back to the Ranch. By the time he gets there he's merely laughingly high on speed, and doesn't seem annoyed that he probably shouldn't drive the Lincoln for a year or two. No problem at all.

Thessaloniki trips back into the house to change clothes and pick up keys for the panel truck. He is rather startled to discover fifty bucks in wrinkled bills in the pocket of his sweater, which he laughs about. Of course, at the moment, pretty much everything is still making him giggle. Buzzing down the highway a little slower, because a '34 only goes so fast, he cruises by the bar and on to the warehouse store.

There's no problem getting down to the store, and no evidence of major auto accident (or vehicular manslaughter) on the way into town. Apparently Sue made good his escape. The staff of the warehouse store is about as energetic as a frontal lobotomy patient, but all in all the Costco is an island of civilization after the roadhouse's unique "ambience."

Thessaloniki mmms and thinks, Consumery goodness in every bite, as he wanders through the store buying a lot of provisions. He's got guests, he has the truck, why not. Beer, frozen meat, charcoal, pasta, you name it, he buys some, pretty much having a good time poking around the aisles and thinking, Would Rei like this? or, Would Rosie like this? or, Oh yeah, Slate liked fish...

Thessaloniki pays for his minor mountain of comestibles and other sundries, stows them in the back of the truck, and starts back out to the Ranch. As he leaves town he notices the coffee shop where he met Marlena before. He grins and decides, Yes, an iced latte would go well about now. He pulls into a space he can see from inside the shop, locks the truck up, and meanders in, looking around curiously as he heads over to talk to the coffee jerk and waiting in any line there may be.

The coffee bar is the same as ever, with a minor smattering of hipsters and other regulars. The coffee jerk does not appear to have made any progress in his copy of the Screwtape Letters... nor does he appear any more talkative. None of the Diabolicals appear present; even Niko's usual spot by the window is vacant. No, wait... there in the corner, nursing a mochaccino, is the lady whose card identified her as Marlena D'Enfer.

Thessaloniki orders his coffee, "I'd like a nonfat quad mocha, heavy chocolate, extra whipped cream." The clerk mumbles, "What size?" and Thessaloniki puts his hands down on the counter about eighteen inches apart and says, "'Bout so big." When the kid doesn't respond at all, Nick scans across the menu and says, "That'd be 'Jumbo'." Completely unenthusiastically but efficiently, the clerk begins making Nick's coffee. While the Ofanite waits for it, he looks around to see if Marlena notices he's there. If he catches her eye he'll smile and say, "Hi."

There's no light behind the clerk's eyes, but he does slam together a mocha with lightning speed and ruthless efficiency. One does wonder about the tiny wisps of steam that rise from his fingertips when he places the plastic cup back down on the counter. "That it?" Marlena grins at the laconic coffee jerk from her place in the back, and waves to Nick while he waits for his frothy, toxic brew.

Thessaloniki doesn't wonder as much as many might, just saying, "You betcha." He pays off the fellow (or whatever remains of one) and walks, smiling, over to Marlena, "Hello again, Marlena. May I join you?"

Marlena flashes her billion-dollar smile at Nick, "Of course, dear. Don't mind Laird... he's always like that when he doesn't have enough to do." The coffee jerk actually turns a page in his book.

Thessaloniki smiles and sits down across from her, "You're looking good today. That makes twice in a row. How goes?"

Marlena laughs quietly. "And you're flattering me from the first word. You're consistent too, I see. I'm just fine, thank you. I should say thank you again, actually, you saved me quite a bit of trouble last we met."

Thessaloniki smiles, "Well, I'm glad I could help you out before some other lucky fellow had the chance to do so. I hope you're free of your onerous obligation."

Marlena nods. "Very much so. The burden of living in an information society, I'm afraid... some people just need to know the most outré tidbits."

Thessaloniki nods, "The trick is knowing who knows who to ask." He smiles and asks casually, "Been doing anything interesting to keep yourself amused, or have you another Task already?"

Marlena smiles. "A spinster like me? No, not yet. I watch the ones and zeros flow in and out, I soak up the ambience..." She laughs. "I'm sure you'd find my schedule quite boring."

Thessaloniki laughs, "I doubt boring is the word I would choose, especially compared to mine." He adds, "And, if 'spinster' is really the right word, I'll be both surprised and disappointed at the others around here for being so unkind as to ignore a lady."

A man with an arsenal of facial piercings strikes up a conversation with Laird. Laird does his impression of a utility pole. Marlena grins. "You? Boring? Surely not... a well-connected man like you?" She adds, "And incidentally, it's Powers' fault. People assume that we're together, and he does nothing to discourage them, the egotist." She smiles conspiratorially.

Thessaloniki laughs, "Well-connected? I spend most of the nights tinkering on old cars, my dear. The only thing that hobby connects me with is greasy fingernails. The rest of the time lately I've spent driving around a collection of the oddest folks I've come across in a while. One of them needs a little babysitting or he'll get himself into trouble he couldn't get himself out of." He sighs and sips at his cold drink, then says, "Powers, mmm? I don't know them, are they new around here? They're not going to take offense to a fellow having a pleasant conversation, are they?" His grin borders on a leer as he says, "I can see how he might want people to think you're together, as irritating as it may be."

Marlena smiles, "I think you met him in passing. He's the square-jawed young man I'm sharing a flat with." She grins, "And if he has a problem with my speaking to you, he can cheerfully go piss up a rope."

Thessaloniki chuckles, then says, "If you don't wish to be a spinster, or want people assuming you're with Powers, why are you sharing a flat with him? Doesn't having a roomie rather cramp your clearly apparent sense of style?" He sips his drink again, then adds, "A couple of people I know might be worried to see me talking to you, I must admit."

Marlena shrugs a bit. "I'm afraid he's a work associate... and our schedules are usually somewhat exclusive. Besides," she grins, "-most people know better than to believe any of Mr. Long's tales of sexual escapade." She pauses. "I do hope you aren't going out on too small a limb by speaking with me, Nick."

Thessaloniki mms at the comment about Powers, and answers the other with an enigmatic smile and, "The little risk seems worth the chance to me. What have we said which would be a problem, mmm?" He sips at his icy coffee as its cup begins to sweat.

Marlena smiles, "A man after my own heart. Nothing that I can think of, dear."

Thessaloniki quietly says, "Who could blame me, mmm?" and winks.

Marlena laughs softly. "You're incorrigible, Nick. So tell me, what brings you here this afternoon?"

Thessaloniki just smiles at the accusation, then explains, "Mundanity, actually. I was on the way back out to my place after having picked up a bunch of stuff at the big warehouse store. I've got a couple of houseguests, and I figured it'd be as good a time as any to do a little shopping -- and coffee sounded good. Particularly when I realized you might be here."

Marlena grins. "Oh, really? How lovely. And how kind of you to think of me. I'm touched, really."

Thessaloniki says, "Well, it is a nice change to have some other people around -- one of them makes a fantastic lasagna too, mmm." He pauses, enjoying that thought and sipping from his coffee, before he says, "But it's always nice to have a chance to talk to someone else, to hear what others are up to, to simply enjoy some conversation."

Marlena says, "Oh, absolutely," she says, "One simply can't spend eternity sweating away at their jobs." At the lasagna comment it's her turn to smile enigmatically.

Thessaloniki finishes his coffee and sighs quietly at the empty cup. He then says, "Well, as lovely as it has been to see you again, Marlena, I should be heading back out to my place before all the frozen food I picked up melts."

Marlena smiles a little. "So soon? That's a shame, dear. Do you need a hand with anything?"

Thessaloniki shakes his head, "No, I've got everything well in hand, and I couldn't imagine asking someone as lovely as you to help me with what boils down to simple lifting and carrying. I'm sure one of my houseguests will be happy to help with the unloading; if not all of them." He adds, "You would be welcome to come by, as long as you don't mind meeting some new folks."

Marlena smiles a bit. "Well... if you don't mind, perhaps I will drop by at that. I have a few things I need to do in town, but I'll come by a little later this evening."

Thessaloniki smiles mischievously, "I look forward to seeing you there. I think you'll like my friends. At the least you'll find them an unusual surprise. You still have my address?"

Marlena grins. "I'm a spinster, but I'm not senile just yet. I still have it."

Thessaloniki stands and says, "Until then, lovely lady." He bows to her, then heads out, waving to Laird and tossing his cup on the way out.

Marlena nods. "Until tonight, dear." Laird is his usual gregarious self. Thessaloniki unlocks his truck, and drives smoothly away.

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Last modified: 2002-Mar-30 13:54:51

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