| Logs |
2001 August 14
| NachtMusik |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: NachtMusik Logs |
"Rock 'n' Roll Children"
Rosenstern has been busy -- he's been working with Zara for most of the day, learning how to best help her in Natural Beauty, which is a somewhat unusual occupation for him. He has also spent several pleasant hours in Zara's garden, tending it -- though it is already very well tended by the other Novalite, so there isn't much for him to do. He takes the time to rest and relax in the garden, familiarizing himself with it, and with being in a quiet, peaceful place, after the mess of the Morgue.
Shateishael heads back to town from Enchanted Rock, thinking hard. This Teenage Death Word is... an issue, and a bad one. He feels sorry for the kid -- the Superior's clueless, and the kid's too proud to admit the Word's too much for him. Lordy, what's Drew going to do? He can't drop the Word, he won't want to die... and Slate's never heard of someone handing a Word off to someone else. He nods quietly -- sounds like the kid's well and truly screwed.
Shateishael sets that line of thought aside as he roars down the highway on the big BMW bike, and starts turning over in his head what he should be doing while here. 'Working towards the benefit of humanity' was what David charged him with. So... what sort of community-building work can he do? He pauses, realizing he's near the address of one of the stone churches he noted on the map, and decides to spend an hour there. Not only will it recharge his essence, but it'll give him time to consider clearly what he should be doing. A short while later he's quietly sitting in the back of the cool, dim church, pretty much ignoring the rather wide-eyed looks he occasionally gets from the better-dressed patrons. He prays quietly for guidance -- what sorts of good things can he do as community stuff?
Shateishael straightens up slightly over an hour later, both feeling recharged, and having a new sense of purpose. What better community to aid -- than the one he's a part of? Drew must be feeling terribly alone right now... maybe he could use a little help from his community -- and maybe they could use a little reminding that Drew is one of them! Slate will hit a library for about two hours of research on their computers, pick up a few supplies from some appropriate local stores -- then head back to Zara's place.
Once at Zara's, Slate will wait for the others to return while he makes up three small specialized packs. Two are small sword-cleaning kits, and one is a small gun-cleaning kit. One sword-cleaning kit, the small gun-cleaning kit, and the rope and first aid kit that was amongst the supplies he bought, will all go into Slate's bike's saddlebags. The second sword-cleaning kit will be tucked into whichever car Nick is driving. Slate knows Nick will already have an excellent first aid kit and gun cleaning kit of his own in the car -- and Slate likes being prepared.
Thessaloniki wanted a few minutes to think, and nothing is as good as driving is for that. He knows Slate was going to find wheels of his own, and he decides that a smaller car will be a little less difficult to maneuver in the city. Also, he has one that might sit a little better with the crowd he expects they'll be interacting with. With that in mind, and taking great joy in spending a couple of hours letting the big old car drive on the highway as it was intended to, he buzzes back to the Ranch.
Once home, Nick picks up a couple of changes of clothes, then rummages up a couple of changes of clothes that should fit Slate, from those that have collected there. He also picks up a first aid kit, his big gun, and a good-sized knife. He grins and packs a couple of other things which might come in handy: a small set of paints, which he keeps in the back with the first aid kit, and some condoms, which get put in his luggage.
Thessaloniki leaves in a different car. The DeLorean is smaller, faster, and just generally oozes cool, which will hopefully fit in a little better with the kids from the band. The drive back, as usual, fills him with exuberant energy. Most of the way in towards town he see a blue sign: "FREE COFFEE" outside a rest stop, and laughs brightly, swerving almost at the last moment into the rest area. Leaving the gull-wing door on the DeLorean up, he makes his way to the coffee stand and spends half an hour talking energetically to the old fellow there, swapping stories about cars, girls, and gentle reminiscence of the past. When he goes, both of them are feeling energized, and the rest of the drive in to meet the others at Zara's goes quickly.
Shateishael will show Rosenstern the map he's been working on, with the Essence-aiding stone churches all marked on it, and ask the Novalite if he'd like to mark anything on the map as well, "Might as well make sure it can help all of us, y'know?"
Slate: male, looks about 20 to 25 years old. Bright blonde hair sometimes worn back in a ponytail, sometimes rather impatiently hacked off in front as bangs. Usually narrowed blue eyes and tanned skin. Broad shouldered, with a muscular torso, like a blacksmith. Slightly sardonic grin most of the time. Usually moves deliberately, tends to wear pragmatic, sturdy clothing: heavy leather boots, jeans, flannel shirts, stuff like that.
Rosenstern nods to Slate gratefully. "I'll ask Zara, but I haven't had the chance to go out and look yet. If there's an 'Austin Botanical Gardens' that would be good for me."
Shateishael says, "Check in the phone book, guy." He looks up as Nick comes in and grins, "Hey, Nick! Still got something for you!" He pulls the big backpack over, then pulls out a Japanese sword set, some random stuff -- then carefully pulls out of the bottom a cloth-wrapped bundle. Once unwrapped the cloth turns out to be a heavy-duty slicker-style trench coat, and the promised Thunderbird radio is revealed. He hands the big thing to Nick, "Share and enjoy, man."
Rosenstern nods cheerfully, and waves to Nick as that one enters. His is mildly aghast, however, to see the sword, but he fights it down and hopefully doesn't let his distress show -- he's seen weapons before, of course, Black Death Europe was certainly rife with them, and the war certainly has made him no stranger to their ilk. That doesn't mean he's terribly pleased with them. He shakes off the feeling; on the one hand Novalites' stand on weapons and violence is well known -- on the other he doesn't want to antagonize the angels he is working with.
Shateishael stuffs everything back into the pack as he talks, "Got a map of the city, Nick, already marked with stone churches, and Rosen's gonna probably mark it too for himself. Feel free to do the same, if you want..." he hands a far smaller cloth-wrapped bundle to Nick as well, "-and can you keep this in your car too? It's just a sword-cleaning kit."
Thessaloniki smiles and hefts the radio, examining it. "Darn fine, Slate, darn fine. All the knobs intact. That'll make someone happy." The bundle is about 6" by 4" by 4", and quite light. He takes the smaller bundle and says, "No problem."
- Thessaloniki is a tall gentleman with dark skin and dark hair only slightly graying at the temples, who seems fit for a man his age. He manages to look somewhat careworn and friendly, and he seems to cast the aura as of someone's favorite grandfather. He is wearing tan pants, a brown belt, shoes and socks, a slightly pink Oxford shirt with a slightly darker pink tie with a creamy yellow stripe, and a light cardigan-like sweater, which he leaves unbuttoned. The sweater has interlocking geometric patterns in yellow, black, turquoise, red, and green, which manages to be merely remarkable rather than actually loud, and makes the tie and shirt pale to dullness. It also makes the silver and turquoise collar tips, accents on his belt, and the eyeglass case in his shirt pocket seem to belong there. He carries several things in his pockets, and smiles cheerfully.
Thessaloniki shrugs, "I'll think of something to write later. I don't usually use maps much, y'know?" He grins, "We all set, then?"
Slate grins, looking pleased, "Good, glad to hear it." He pauses, checking the time, then looks up again a little less cheerfully, "Yeah. One thing, guys... we need to talk at some point about Taygeta's... uh... conversational smoothness. But... it can wait."
Rosenstern nods quietly to Nick's question. "All set, I think."
Shateishael says, "So... yeah, go ahead and call."
Thessaloniki says, "Right." He finds the phone Wrench gave them, flips it open and grins at the keypad, then dials the obvious "666", using what should be the 6 key even on a normal phone. He grins, then punches send.
The phone rings several times. It clicks at length, and the sound of loud music and many, many people is heard in the background. The phone crackles a moment, then Nick hears Wrench's voice, the grin nearly audible, "Yo! You ready to meet the band?"
Thessaloniki replies to the phone, "Hiya, Wrench! Yep, we are. Where should we meet you?"
Wrench says, "The Pit! Biggest club on Sixth Street... can you find it yourselves or you need me to send someone?"
Thessaloniki tells Wrench, "Naw, I think we can find that. We've got a map, and I tend not to be lost, y'know? If we ask for you when we get there, will they have a clue, or should we come around the back or something?"
Wrench's voice fades for a second to bark something unintelligible at someone in the background, then returns, "Nah, man, I got y'all on the guest list. Hope you don't mind crowds, bro, they're shooting a video down here and the place is packed. I'll see you down here!"
Shateishael brightens, an anticipatory, somewhat feral grin crossing his face as he catches the phrase 'hope you don't mind crowds,' "Crowds? Oh, yeah... is there dancing?" Rosenstern blinks to Shateishael, and looks anticipatory. Crowds? Dancing! Oh, this might turn out really well, after all! It doesn't occur to him yet that his reasons for anticipation might not exactly match those of Slate.
Thessaloniki laughs, "We're going to be babysitting a band, Slate. There'll be dancing." He grins and adds, "And scantily clad women." He says, "Let's go, yah?"
Shateishael grins unapologetically, "Can't really dance... but if the music's loud and the crowd is good, then I can do martial arts moves with the beat -- that's just as satisfying!" He barks a short laugh at Nick's last comment, and rises, "Let's hit the road!"
Rosenstern nods cheerfully, standing. "Sure thing!"
The angels pile into Nick's car and depart for Sixth Street. As it happens, Nick was right. They have no problems at all locating the place; it's filled to literally overflowing as parts of the crowd filter into the street. With a minimum of haggling and presentation of ID, the group is shown into the main area of the club, where the main act, Stool, is performing. Wrench is standing back near the edges of the crowd; he doesn't appear to be doing sound for this particular gig and, judging from the look on his face, doesn't totally approve of the way things are set up. It's not entirely professional snobbery either; the band is coming over the PA but it's so hideously distorted that no one has any idea what this song is supposed to sound like. The crowd doesn't seem to mind it much, though, hundreds and hundreds of people moving inside the red-lit vaulted space, gyrating and slamming gleefully into, over, and against each other.
The video that Wrench made reference to is being shot as promised; a crew of four college students is scrambling this way and that, and a somewhat awkward-looking young man in a black overcoat is shouting and gesticulating frantically. The director, no doubt. One wonders if the timing was precipitous at all; the band themselves are moving in slow-motion, so hung over and strung out they can hardly even pretend to be performing.
Shateishael raises an eyebrow... then simply forces a relatively gentle way through the crowd, functioning as a wedge for his more slightly built friends, towards Wrench. Thessaloniki has no problem moving through the crowd either, cheerfully letting the pulsing of the music wash over him, and trying to collect the energy of the music and the crowd. He follows Slate over to Wrench and waves, shouting, "Hey, man!" at him over the noise.
Wrench looks up and nods, grinning. The lighting of the club accents his perpetual severe sunburn; his skin appears dark crimson in the dim light of the Pit. He grins, and his teeth are extremely white. "Hey, guys! Just who I was looking for!"
Shateishael steps back, letting Nick do the socializing while he glances around to be sure the group's not been separated. Thessaloniki grins back and says, "Quite a crowd, Wrench."
Rosenstern sinks into the comfortable morass of humanity around him, the energy of people having a good time, of the dancing and cheerful jostling. He briefly envies the mortals their time, their place, the energy that flows through them, and their ignorance of the factors within the Symphony of which they play the part. But then he realizes that they need people who know those secrets, to care for them and make their way easier, to ease the suffering, and who better than those who care about them and love them all? He follows behind Slate and Nick, grateful for the 'plow' through the throng, and comes up beside Nick as they reach Wrench.
Rosenstern's reverie is interrupted when a large man wearing a Cannibal Corpse T-shirt plows into him. The slender Novalite wasn't expecting quite this much 'comfort' that the dancing throng offers! He staggers some, trying not to fall to the ground. "Whoof!" he gasps out. "Hey, 'scuse me, guy," he says (shouts?) and tries to get back into place with the others. Okay, maybe this is a little more energetic than I would have liked! Still, it's no more a riot to the senses than a very colorful garden is.
Wrench nods, "Yeah, man, lookin' real good. Shame about the video, though... this dude's specialty," he gestures vaguely at the director, "-is putting together crap over the weekend, which is what he's doin' right now, shooting with four guys in two hours what'd take a real crew a day. Oh well, man. Not my call."
Thessaloniki shrugs, and shout-says to Wrench, "Can't win 'em all." He asks the Cabalite, "We got a plan for the rest of the evening, or just going to take it as it happens?"
Wrench nods, "Yeah, man, their producer's got 'em booked up in a hotel downtown; you'll be followin' them back there after the show for the meet and greet and all that shit. You cool with that?" Shateishael nods once to Wrench, then glances around again to be sure none of his friends have been squished yet.
Rosenstern glances to the band as Wrench points out the situation to them. He grimaces visibly. Oh, by the Garden... this guy shouldn't have been given drumsticks... He withholds his opinion for the time being, only asking Wrench, "Hey, are they all right? The drummer doesn't sound -- look well." It's at that moment that he spots, in the rear of the crowd, a kid who isn't with the happily moshing throng -- in fact, he looks sullen and grim and pretty morose. Rosenstern blinks a little, then his eyes widen slightly. Druiel...
The band kicks into another song. Even those angels that are not musically inclined have to agree; this band's drummer is terrible. But offsetting that is the singer, a skinny and drawn looking young woman who is very talented. Quite entrancing, in fact... and the crowd loves her. Thessaloniki nods, "Works for me." Rosenstern's words stop him from saying anything more. Shateishael has a broad grin, swaying slightly in rhythm with the music and enjoying the moment.
Part of the undulating crowd encroaches a little, some of the concertgoers spilling into the little pocket the group is occupying. One of them comes a little too close to Wrenchial, jostling him slightly. All anyone hears is, "Man, get the fuck out of my face!" And Wrenchial has savagely stiff-armed the man back into the crowd from whence he came. The demon just grins, like always.
Thessaloniki makes a mental note, Give Wrench his space. and doesn't seem to mind at all the encroaching crowd. He's not as sturdy as Shateishael, but he moves easily with the crowd and has no real trouble yet keeping his feet. Shateishael doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow... then he shifts, putting himself between the crowd and his friends.
Rosenstern opens his mouth to say something about Druiel being there... then looks incredibly torn. Calabite, he thinks, without rancor or scorn or judgement. He finds he's already halfway moving forward to stop whatever violence is about to ensue, but finds he's already too late. You can't rebuke him, you can't stop what already happened, you can't change his nature... He can't just shrug this off, but what's done is done. He glances behind him, seeing where Drew is, and decides that here, near this coalesced Vessel of violence given material form, is where he should not be. Besides, there was no telltale discordance in the Symphony of a death or serious injury. For all he knows this has been merrily happening all evening.
He says -- no, he shouts, "I'll be right back, won't be long!" Then, quieter, hoping only the others can hear him, "I see Druiel." With that and nothing more, he slips back through the crowd, not trying to look like he's targeting Druiel directly or picking him out specifically, but sort of orbiting him, moving closer without looking like he's trying to.
Shateishael looks at the crazy Novalite, then shrugs and looks at Nick, "You okay here? Want me to make sure he comes back in one piece?"
Thessaloniki says, coherently, "Huh?" and then realizes Rosenstern is gone. He says, "Yes, catch him." He shakes his head and wonders, How are we going to protect a band when we've got to chase down one or the other of our own party? He doesn't watch, though, leaving it to Slate, who he trusts not to do anything stupid. He keeps an eye on Wrench so as not to lose him, and tries to dance with the crowd a little. He looks considerably out of place, and doesn't care. At one point, a very large man in a black T-shirt that looks about a size too small for him stumbles up, puts his arm around Nick, and puts his cowboy hat on the older man's head. Everyone seems to be, as Wrench would say, rocking out.
Thessaloniki laughs, and continues to dance with the crowd, unperturbed. When it looks like the crowd will seperate he and the gregarious man with the hat, he makes a point to return it to him, grinning and laughing as they drive apart through the crowd. He keeps an eye on Wrench. Wrenchial is milling around, alternately watching the crowd or scoping out the house's amplifiers with thinly veiled disdain.
Shateishael nods once, then slips through the crowd to slide an arm around Rosen's waist, "Nuh-uh, hold on... Drew's having a bad Word day. Give the kid some breathing space, yeah? C'mon back with the group, please." His arm slows Rosen enough to give Slate a moment to slide around in front of the smaller man. He just stands there then, braced against the crowd and waiting on Rosenstern.
Rosenstern blinks to Slate. "Are... are you sure, Slate?" he asks, about as quietly as possible in the place. He glances to Druiel worriedly, then nods quietly, sighing. You have a Davidian standing in front of you asking you not to move forward. You know how hard it is to move stone. "All right," he says quietly, casting another worried look at Druiel. "I'll try to catch him later, though," he says, with seemingly unusual stubbornness. "After we do what we're here to do..."
Shateishael nods to Rosenstern, "I want to too, guy... but jumping his case repeatedly probably won't help, y'know?" He glances sideways, noticing Drew, then turns his attention back to Rosenstern.
Rosenstern glances up to Slate and nods, sighing. He glances back towards Drew... and frowns slightly, looking not as certain now. "He... I don't know, now. He looks a lot worse than some I've seen who've been through suffering. I mean... he's got the look of..." He shakes his head. "I think it's more than just the stress of following his Word's call, Slate..."
Shateishael glances sideways again... then studies the other angel more carefully. Hm... Drew's looking a lot worse than he did before, all right... really haggard. He looks around again... then sighs, "All right, let's go talk to him. Can you see if we can get him over with Nick? Better for us all to stick together, I think." He turns and plows through the crowd again, clearing a way for Rosenstern to Drew. Once there he grins and shout-speaks over the noise, "Drew! Hey, want you to meet a friend of mine -- Rosenstern!"
Druiel looks up, hearing his name, and begins to glance around quickly, eyes sliding toward the nearest available exit. Shateishael slides up against the wall... doubtless coincidentally between the nearest exit and Drew, continuing, "Rosen, this is Drew, the guy I met today." Drew doesn't even wait for the introductions, he's off the wall like he's on springs and moving, throwing himself almost underneath Shateishael to get past.
Rosenstern nods quietly, "I'll try to, definitely. And... thanks for telling me that. I'm sorry, I know we're in this together, and I need to remember tha- -at?" He blinks a little surprisedly at Slate's hailing of Drew. But then they're standing there with him, and his nature has lease, then... someone in need. No, don't let him walk out alone... you'll never see him again if he does that... He smiles, quietly but not overbearingly cheerful, and half-waves. "Hi, Drew. Heck of a part- erp?"
Shateishael blinks, more reacting automatically to scoop up the running person than deliberately trying to prevent escape... the younger angel barely slips past the larger's grasp; Slate's fingers close around the leather jacket Drew is wearing just as Drew stumbles over the approaching Rosenstern. He jerks back, caught, and stares at Slate, wild-eyed. "Let go!"
Shateishael looks surprised, although he doesn't let go. His voice is calm, "Hey, Drew, take it easy. C'mon, man, we're not the enemy." He adds easily, "Want a beer?"
Druiel struggles, trying to wrestle out of the jacket in an effort to get free. "You don't understand! Let go of me!"
Rosenstern says quietly and yet sharply, "Drew..." Then, "Drew," in a quieter tone, "-you're right, we don't understand." He takes a half-step closer, reaching out with a hand but not touching him with it; it is an offer, nothing more. "But it's plain that it's eating you up and chewing on you something fierce, and it's destroying you. So, no, we don't understand. Make us understand."
Shateishael starts to look worried, but just says quietly, "Drew... c'mon, man, calm down and talk to us. We're just here to listen to the music."
Druiel sighs brokenly and slumps a little bit at that, then looks around at the crowd. "Follow me," he mutters, and jerks his head toward the exit. He doesn't bother to raise his head. "...can't talk here. Gotta get outside."
Rosenstern nods quietly to Druiel, and nods as well to Slate. "Nick is all right," he provides to Drew quietly. He adds, a little wryly, "Talk? Can't even think..." He doesn't hope for even a smile... no, he does hope for one, but doesn't expect it.
Shateishael nods quietly, "'kay. Hang on a sec... got another friend here I don't want to leave alone." He looks over the crowd for Nick, and if he catches Nick's eye he'll wave him on over. Thessaloniki sees Slate's wave, and makes his way over, waving a thumbs-up to Wrench to let him know he'll be here when the set's over, and then hooking up with the other angels again. Shateishael will start heading for the exit with Drew and Rosenstern, slowly, so he can keep an eye on Nick's progress.
Outside, Drew leads the angels through the assembled crowds around the side of the building and into the alleyway adjoining it, deep back amid the dumpsters and assorted urban debris. He huddles back into his jacket reflexively, looking at each angel in turn with hunted eyes. "Stop what you're doing," he murmurs, "-or you're going to get hurt."
Shateishael reflexively checks his six, and above, at Drew's statement, then studies the slight angel puzzledly... "What are we doing?"
Rosenstern frowns slightly, and also softly asks, "What is it that we're doing?"
Druiel snarls, "Don't fucking play dumb with me! I know what you're doing; I know what Wrenchial asked you to do!" His hands are balled into fists; he appears just on the verge of exploding from sheer tension. Just as quickly, the moment passes and he slumps down a bit, sighing. "I'm telling you to stop now," he murmurs, "If you don't... you'll get hurt. I don't... I don't want to hurt you." Druiel takes a step back, and then another. "I have to... I have to do it."
Thessaloniki just listens, lingering to one side, and being calm and easygoing as he knows how. Which is pretty good. Shateishael nods to Drew, "Got it -- you want someone in the band, right?"
Rosenstern frowns slightly, then his eyes widen a little. Remember his Word! a voice screams in his head. Remember his Word! He forces himself to be composed. He'd been dreading this -- conflict between angels, the nature of the Choir versus the nature of the Word. "Which one?" he asks quietly.
Dreuiel's head snaps up, staring at Slate. "Don't try to stop me. I don't want to hurt you, but... I will if you make me."
Shateishael folds his arms. "No, you don't. You're Teenage Death... not Teenage Suicide. That Word is yours... you don't belong to it, you tell it what it is!" He shakes his head slowly, "You've got an amazing Word, Drew. You could do so much good with it. I'll bet there are teens in the local hospitals, some with terminal congenital diseases, maybe others that have been in horrible accidents. They'd love to meet you! Why don't you help them?" Thessaloniki lets the older, wiser angel talk. He thinks, Slate may not talk as much as I do, but when he does, it's probably worth listening to. He's been doing this a long time.
Druiel takes another step back, "You don't get it at all, do you. I'm supposed to make them all see... I'm supposed to make them realize they're not immortal! This is what I chose... and I have to do this! This was your warning, all of you!" He turns, sprinting now for the other side of the alleyway as he calls out, "You're going to get hurt; stay out of my way!"
Shateishael steps smoothly sideways, blocking the smaller angel. His voice is tired, "Drew, c'mon, man, think! Why are you choosing something that you know will hurt you sooner or later? Let's say you hurt us... okay, then what? When do you stop? When you've figured out that you control your Word? Or when Dominic sends someone after you because you have to kill angels to do this?"
Druiel skids to a halt a few feet shy of Slate, wild-eyed, "I am in control... and I'm trying to do you a favor! Just stay out of the way, or you're going to die, understand?!" With that, he appears to leap at the larger angel... only to vanish midway. With a quiet ripple in the Symphony Druiel is gone, and there's a flash of ebony scales in the upper part of the alleyway, a Seraph in Celestial form winging its way out of the alley at top speed.
Rosenstern's Vessel's heart catches in his throat, as he thinks what he dares not say for fear of triggering something in Druiel. Make them all see... is he going to take the entire band? Or something similar...? He moves, not trying to seem like he's charging Drew, letting Slate talk some sense -- that didn't seem to work. He moves forward quickly, more out of concern that Drew is looking for an excuse to be discorporated by Slate, than if Drew is actually going to hurt Slate -- and again, before he can do anything, Druiel is gone.
Shateishael doesn't move... just stands there with his arms folded and calls quietly after the fleeing Seraph, "Then you might as well do it now, Drew. I'm not going to fight you. I don't care what they say about Austin -- that's just wrong." The serpent wheels once, and then is gone. If he heard, he made no indication. Shateishael shrugs, then says quietly, "Might as well go back... if he's going to refuse help then he's going to have to make his own decisions."
Rosenstern feels an odd tension within him. Someone is going to get hurt; someone is going to die. It's at the behest of a Word, but after hearing Shateishael he's not so certain this is really in keeping with what the Symphony needs. "And..." he hesitates, then plunges on, "And what about... whomever he intends to take?"
Shateishael says with quiet determination, "As long as this vessel is alive I'm going to keep doing what I think is right. We made a deal with Wrench to protect the band... and I'll do that as long as I can, but I'm not going to attack Drew." He turns and heads back, adding bitterly, "Don't think for a moment Wrench didn't realize this would happen, either."
Rosenstern sighs, rubbing his head. "Somehow that wouldn't surprise me," he mutters quietly.
The band finishes its last set not long after, and the crowd thins quickly after the video crew packs up and heads out. The band loads out and heads for a downtown hotel; Nick gets the group there simply by following the vans. The band's producer, identified by someone in the entourage as Frankie, who "isn't around much lately, with the festival and all," has rented the better part of the sixth floor. The angels are quickly introduced; Donna, the singer; Chad, the bass player; Marty, the drummer; and Phil on guitar. Each have their own rooms, which are one by one starting to crowd with groupies and hangers-on. Wrench is here, milling from room to room, never staying in one place too long, but usually carrying a drink in his hand. The more delicate hotel furnishings don't seem to tolerate Wrenchial very well.
Shateishael grins faintly at the realization concerning Wrench and the delicate furnishings, Duh. He's a Calabite. Of course. He politely greets the various band members, but doesn't expect them to be terribly coherent. He'll wander around, staying out of the way of the groupies and hangers on... mostly just watching and trying to figure out how to talk to Drew.
The nucleus of the party seems to be forming in Phil's room. Phil, for his part, is draped with groupies at the moment, but the entirety of the band and most of the entourage are starting to drink with vigor and determination. Wrenchial wanders by; one leg of the TV stand collapses. The television leans at a precarious angle. Wrench sheepishly tries a few times to balance it out again before wandering away nonchalantly as possible.
Shateishael grins and shakes his head slightly. A Calabite and a bunch of drunks. Gonna be a just wondrous night, I can tell. He'll casually brace the TV stand's leg a bit better, and push the TV itself back to counter-balance... should do for now.
Marty, the drummer, spends most of his time apart from the general debauchery. He seems to keep to himself for the most part, not even having any groupies to contend with. Every once in a while he practices with a pair of drumsticks against a table. This doesn't alter the fact that he's still awful.
Rosenstern mingles. He talks with the band, with Wrench, with random groupies. He doesn't make any mention of Druiel. He is keeping his eyes and ears open and alert, though; the discordant note a wrongful death would bring is something he would very much need to avoid. He marvels briefly at the Calabite's effect on things around him, as if he were Entropy given a wicked haircut and industrial boots. He does pay some attention to Marty, to see why he was so different from the others throughout the evening. At one point he meanders in the general direction of the other angels. "Should we try to keep them from OD'ing on something bad?" he asks softly.
Shateishael shakes his head amusedly, "Be like trying to stop the tide with a spoon, Rosen. Just try to keep them from doing anything really stupid... and maybe we can dry them out some later, after the groupies quit handing them things."
Rosenstern nods to Shateishael and the others, then decides, oddly enough, to seek out Marty and see what his story is. Everyone has a story, after all. Marty's seems like it would be different from the others'... and maybe that will tell him something. He approaches Marty discreetly... well, maybe not so discreetly. He walks up to him, something light and innocuous in his glass, and nods to him. "Hey," he says, smiling. "Good gig tonight. You guys did good!"
Marty grins a little, glancing up. "Oh. Hey, thanks, man... you really liked it?"
Rosenstern doesn't have to lie too much. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "You got a lot of good energy goin'. Bet the video filming made things pretty tough."
Marty grins. "When a problem comes along," he says, with a straight face, no less, "-you must whip it." He continues, "We worked around him. That guy's kinda famous around campus for doing cheap work and giving you just what you pay for." He laughs quietly. "But, hey, you know, coverage is coverage, man... everyone should hear what we've got to say."
About this time a tall, skinny man in a dark suit arrives, with much rejoicing from the other members of the band. Marty cranes his neck, takes note, and then returns to his conversation with Rosenstern. The tall man grins to the assembled band members in Phil's room, announcing, "The party has started!" Donna, the singer, stands up long enough to mumble, "...about fucking time..." and hand the tall man a wad of small bills. The tall man palms Donna a baggie.
Rosenstern just nods slowly, though he'd be a Seraph of Judgement if he had any idea what message it was that Stool had been trying to get out. He takes a sip of his drink, then asks, "Yeah, Wrench told us a bit about him. Glad that you guys could work around him! Hey, mind if I sit?" If permitted, he settles down beside the drummer. "Mind if I ask, when did you guys discover you needed to get your message out?" He thinks that's a better way than asking Just what is your message, anyway, Kemo Sabe? Some part of him cringes and, mindful of what Slate told him, tries his very best to not take notice of the tall man...
Then again...
Marty sits back a little, shrugging. "Well, hey, you know, as long as I've been with these guys. I knew as soon as I heard their tune that I just had to be part of it. Like... you know, destiny, right? Just something you gotta do?"
Taygeta, in his persona as Aric, has been quietly watching the band. He frowns briefly as the black-suited fellow passes the packet to the singer, but doesn't say anything. His other self waits and watches outside the building, and he decides that he might follow the dealer when he leaves. Shateishael frowns, watching the man with the bag... then looks around with a sudden grin. Where's Wrench? Nothing like a Calabite to break fragile baggies!
Thessaloniki has been lingering in the corner, watching the party, and interacting with people. He seems preoccupied, though, considering seriously what Drew said in the alley. I don't see a way out of this. Fight another angel, because we promised a demon we would? Yes, it's keeping these kids safe, but it's also interfering with an angel's Word. Everybody pretty much ignores the old fellow against the wall, and he lets them for now. Wrench passes by, and Nick grins wryly, thinking, Calabite. He has to get a new plastic cup from the bar when his starts leaking from little cracks. When he returns, he sees the man in black handing out bags of some chemical joy or other, and this does nothing to help him feel any better about this situation.
Thessaloniki sighs and thinks some more, Dominic warned us this was a tricky place. I suppose I could go to one of those addresses he suggested and ask his advice. He sips from his mostly-coffee-and-Kahlua, then realizes, I bet he'd be kind of heavy-handed, though, and he might not do anything about the situation, just about me or us. He sips some more, slowly finishing the drink, realizing, I know someone who'd be better to ask. I wonder if he's busy?
The man in black makes the rounds of the party, glad-handing and trying his best to act smooth for the most part. He's slick, yes, but in a rather greasy, cloying way that makes you want to wash your hands afterward. The various members of the band and a select few groupies are retreating back to their own rooms at this point, and the tall man, seeing that his work is obviously done, is beginning to thread his way out of the crowds. The notable exception to this is Marty, who shows no interest in the tall man or his presents, and continues to chat pleasantly with Rosenstern, seeming a full order of magnitude more chipper than any of the other members of the band.
Rosenstern nods quietly to Marty, chuckling softly. "Yeah, I know that. Fate just kinda comes up and knocks on your head, telling you this is what you're meant to do." He takes a sip of his drink, noting that Marty didn't have anything to do with the man. He may have been a bad drummer, but he's clean in a band that seems to prefer to be... well, not so clean. "I was just wondering, you know? Sometimes the way destiny calls to you is as important as what the call is."
He's not sure what he's digging for... or even if he's digging. Yes, he is, but he's also keeping Marty occupied and in his sight. He worries, though; if Druiel is going to come by, the easiest way for him to exercise his Word here is by drug overdoses, judging by the bags handed out, and Rosen has no idea how easy it is to OD on whatever it is that the man gave out.
Thessaloniki tosses his empty cup, and has two thoughts. He catches the fellow in black on his way out, and asks softly, "Hey, man. What's tonight's special?"
The tall man pauses, eyeing the older man, and grins broadly. "Hey, whatever you want, my friend. Something I can procure for you? I am, as they say, The Man."
Thessaloniki grins and says, "What's hot with the band today? What'd you have for Donna?" He grins lasciviously at the dark suit and adds, "Maybe I'll have some of that."
The tall man grins. "Well. Didn't figure you for a hanger-on, but hey, I'm glad to see someone with... such modern tastes in music. Black tar for Donna. She's got the taste... all of 'em do. Primo stuff, though. Top of the line."
Thessaloniki chuckles, "Gotta keep up, man, keeps you young. How much filthy lucre do you need?"
The man smiles broadly again, reaching into a pocket of his suit coat. His hair, at this angle, is like a plastic shell, black and shiny, his features pinched and drawn and still smiling that nasty, prehensile smile... the sort of smile that gets you right in the spine, like it's wrapped around your throat. He tosses Nick a small baggie containing a small amount of white powder. "You know what they say, friend. First one's always free." He smirks, salutes with a finger off his temple, and wanders away.
Thessaloniki chuckles and says, "Thanks, friend. I'll keep you in mind," as he pockets his baggie. He waits for the dealer to be well and truly gone, then slips out of the party, easily unnoticed, and picks up a few things from his car. After that he wanders back through the hotel, casually making his way towards the roof.
Taygeta notices the pusher as he leaves the hotel. His bat-self watches, darting after mosquitoes here and there, to see where the human goes -- if he is a human. The tall man leaves the party relatively quickly; business is concluded, contacts made, and he's on his way again. The bat that Taygeta rides spots him leaving by the front door, crossing the street to a parking structure. Taygeta follows the human into the parking garage, the bat dancing around the lights and chomping up the moths attracted to them.
Shortly thereafter, a low-slung black Lexus pulls out of the garage and heads East. When the human gets into his car, Tay's bat swoops down quickly, close enough to read the license plate before returning to the moths and then to the hotel as the Lexus pulls out. Pity I can't keep up with him this way. Maybe the plate number will do some good.
Thessaloniki skulks around the hotel stairways, basically following his instincts upwards, until he discovers one of the maintenance accesses to the roof is unlocked. He emerges into the cool night air and walks slowly around the roof, checking to make sure no one is handy and taking a breather, calming down. The hotel is fairly tall, and the weather is quite warm. At this altitude there's a pleasant breeze, and the lights of downtown Austin arrayed out in all directions below. Beyond that, the darkness of the countryside.
Taygeta flits down from higher up in his bat persona to see who's come out on the roof... when he recognizes Thessaloniki, he does a cheery wing-flip and heads out into the night again. Thessaloniki puts all the crap in his pockets into the pockets of the sweater, excepting the condoms and some of the paintbrushes from his painting kit from the car. He hangs the sweater on the corner of a ventilator, meanders away from it and sits down, then puts forth a call to Eli, hoping he's not busy. C'mon, boss. he sends, Got a party for you.
The wind blows stronger for a moment, but there's no light, no fanfare... the roof is very quiet and still. However, on the far side of the roof Nick notices... something. A melody? Someone is humming on the other side of the ventilator scrubber. "I'd like to teach... the world to sing... in perfect... har-mo-ny... heh. Heh heh. Whoo."
Thessaloniki stands and meanders casually over to the quietly singing voice, then smiles. "Hey."
The body belonging to the voice looks up and grins. It's a solidly built man of... indeterminate age, wearing green slacks and a battered tweed jacket that does not match his slacks. A huge mane of dreadlocks hangs down his back, and he appears to need a shave. He grins, one eye bright green and the other completely white. "Hey, man." He sits on the edge of the roof, sole-worn loafers dangling out over the downtown traffic. "Have a seat."
Thessaloniki sits down next to the archangel, relaxing for a moment, and says, "It's good to see you, boss. I've got a party going on downstairs; you're welcome to come by. Things are a little complicated, though." He explains the situation in brief, and ends with, "I'm not sure what to do. There's four kids at risk, even if their sound guy is a diabolical. On the other hand, Druiel is trying to fulfill his Word." He asks then, "What would you do?"
Eli leans back on his palms, nodding as Nick explains the situation. "That's heavy, Nick, yeah..." He reaches into his pocket and fishes out a cigarette... looks like it's one he rolled himself. "Smoke?" He lights it on a battered, nickel-plated Zippo, looking out at the skyline. "Well, Nick, what do you think you oughta do?" Eli's voice is low and gravelly, like he's been smoking a lot lately.
Thessaloniki says, "Smoke'd be good, thanks." He takes a quiet toke, and says, "The band doesn't deserve to be pinned between light and dark. They're just kids, and they might actually have something to say. Druiel... he's got one bummer of a word." He asks, "How are Words defined? Could he do something less hideous with it, or is he stuck murdering random teens? I feel bad for him, too. But I don't see how letting him do this helps anyone." He returns the joint, and contemplates the stars.
Eli says, "Well, Nick... depends on what you wanna do with it. What you told me, I think the kid had a lot of romantic ideas." He takes another long drag, exhaling deeply through his nose. "Which is cool. Romance, I mean. You know what I'm saying? Flowers picked before their prime and angst and beauty... 'least, that's how this girl I know talks about it. You ought to meet her, Nick, really..." He trails off. "Right. You see what I'm saying? Trying to... you know, romanticize it, so people'll take notice of it. Get 'em less desensitized." He adds, "It's never cool when someone dies. It's good when people dig the gravity of the situation."
Thessaloniki hmms contemplatively, then says, "So as long as he thinks that's what's right for his Word, that's what's right. That makes a certain amount of tautological sense." He adds, "I can see how he'd want people to be aghast at the deaths of youth. Yeah, I can see that as a worthy goal. Murdering addicts way out in the middle of bumfuck probably won't do much about it either, so he thinks he has to do something more... visible." Something sinks in slowly, and he says, "Watching a band OD on camera sometimes will." He looks at his sweater, its bright colors visible even in the dim light, and says, "Wonder what's in that shit, anyway? Prob'ly nothing good."
Eli turns and stands up, actually leaping to his feet, wandering back toward the sweater. He fishes out the baggie, holding it up to the light. "Wow," he says appraisingly, "Real spoon and candle stuff." He bounces the baggie in the palm of his hand. "It's cut. Speed." He grins, "You got ripped off, Nick. Drag. Look, if that's what your scene is, I know this guy..."
Thessaloniki chuckles and says, "Hard to get ripped off when it was free." He says, "I dunno how it'll work out, but I think I know what I've got to do. Thanks for coming. I knew you'd be able to see through all the crap that was getting in my way." He adds, "We've got a party going on downstairs. Full bar. You'd be welcome to come by. Probably give Wrench a hernia to see you there, too." He giggles a bit at the mental image.
Eli grins and shrugs. "Thanks, man, but I don't wanna bum the party for anyone else. Be cool, Nick."
Thessaloniki nods, "Thanks, boss." He laughs again and adds, "Oh, and I promised Dominic I'd tell you he was looking for you. Like you didn't know that."
Eli smiles, a little sadly. "Poor Dominic. Stay out of his way, okay? He's got seven wings and can't fly, seven eyes and can't see nothin'. He's doing what he thinks his job is, so make sure he don't have to do it to you."
Thessaloniki smiles wryly and nods. Thinking of his last encounter with Dominic, he says, "Easy to be wary, but hard to be afraid of him. As much as he wants someone to. I'll be careful."
Eli nods. "Don't hate him, okay, Nick? Hate isn't cool. I know you'll watch your step."
Thessaloniki says, "Hard to hate a man for doing what he thinks is right. I respect him for his dedication, even as I disagree with his ends. I'll be careful of him, sure, but I don't want to deceive or damage him."
Eli grins. "Yeah. You got it now. Some people just handle it differently."
Thessaloniki nods, "Always easier to see wisdom around the wise, though."
Eli snickers, "Who, me? I'm just going where the Symphony takes me, man. Doin' what I think is right. And you'll do what you think is right, and it'll all be cool in the end." The Archangel adds, "Isn't that right?"
Thessaloniki's first look says wordlessly, Yes, you! He then considers, and says, "Yeah. I think that's probably what it all boils down to. Thanks for reminding me."
Eli grins languidly. "Don't mention it, Nick. Get back to your party, man. Be cool." He shoves his hands in his pockets, turning and wandering off. His voice fades slowly, humming, "It's my party..." Thessaloniki watches Eli go, not quite sure when he's here and then not here, and relaxes another moment, coming back into balance. He stands up, collects his sweater, and wonders what mischief Slate's gotten himself in to.
Shateishael looks around to spot Wrench... then grins and walks over, "Hey, Wrench... introduce me to the band members again, wouldja?"
Wrench gives Slate a very odd look for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Alright, man. Just, uh, go easy on the groupies, all right? Don't want anyone goin' out the windows. 'Least, not before the festival." He snickers gutturally, and leads Slate around a bit. "That's... Phil over there... somewhere... underneath that pile of coeds..."
Shateishael gives Wrench an equally odd look, but decides not to ask what that peculiar initial query meant... he's already realized he and Nick both are about a generation behind on slang. Perils of spending time away from mortals, I guess... wonder if we can get Drew to help us bone up on it, if he doesn't end up killing us? He makes sure to move and spend a bit of time talking, so that Wrench is near the baggies and the drugs for a bit.
Wrenchial stands remarkably still when speaking or being spoken to. However, out of consideration for other partygoers, he makes it a point to move around a bit every few minutes. At least one set of shotglasses cracks in his presence, and one young abuser's spoon heats up abnormally over the candle while Wrenchial is standing too close; the candle seemed to flare up for a moment. Other than that, though, he generally avoids inadvertent mayhem.
Shateishael watches for a bit as he affably listens and chats, then nods with a faint smile, and tries to get, with Wrench, to the next room. He may not be able to stop the drug usage entirely without causing an unwanted scene, but hopefully he'll slow things down a little, and make it a bit less likely they'll have taken as much as usual. He crosses his fingers and prays quietly that at least one of the baggies will split and spill... that'd be nice. He grins to himself at the thought... a demon as the answer to one's prayers?!
Wrench gets bored after awhile. "Hey, man, I'm gonna go, uh, freshen up my drink. Party on."
Shateishael realizes fairly quickly that despite his effort and quick attempt to implement it, his plan isn't going to work -- by the time he gets to them the three partaking band members have already lined one. He sighs, Shoulda known a demon wouldn't -- couldn't be -- the answer to a prayer... Marty alone shows no interest in anything they're doing and talks mostly to Rosen for the greater part of the night.
Thessaloniki, when he returns, finds a quiet moment after things have slowed down and he can get all four of the celestials in the same room, and shares with them the things that Eli told him. Shateishael looks interested, "So if he managed to get folks fixated on the subject of Teenage Death, that'd work? Like MADD got folks about drunk drivers?" He shakes his head in exasperation, "Stupid kid. If he'd been listening instead of prancing around making a scene, I was going to try suggesting something like that to him."
Thessaloniki says, "I don't know, Slate. Maybe. And maybe that's what he hopes to do. I also don't know that he's just a kid, either. He certainly doesn't seem to be thinking clearly."
Shateishael mutters in annoyance, "Tell me about it..." He pauses, then says, "Hey, Nick... Wrench half-jokingly asked me to go easy on the groupies because he didn't want anyone going out the windows before the festival." He pauses again, then says in frustration, "You have any idea what he's talking about?!"
Thessaloniki considers, then says, "Nope. Other than the obvious of, 'don't throw people out windows.' Maybe he's just too used to working with the diabolicals."
Shateishael gives Nick a bemused look, then just mutters quietly to himself, "Why on earth would I throw mortals out a window?! They'd die!"
Thessaloniki says, "Yeah, I know. Think his usual crew cares?"
Shateishael just shakes his head, then says unhappily, "I'm gonna be real glad when this is over with."
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