[Ashley McGowen] What Ashley told them was: Hey, there's this friend, I'm meeting him to talk and if this is important to you, show up. She used more words, and the Verbena might have required slightly more persuasion, but, well, that's the gist.
So the evening finds them at the Hung Drawn and Quartered. Ashley has quibbled, once in a while, with Janine about the grammar - that it should be the Hanged Drawn and Quartered - but Janine doesn't think it rolls off the tongue quite so well, and everyone involved ignores the fact that the pub is named in poor taste anyway. The Hung Drawn and Quartered is a microbrewery and offers discounts on Monday nights; this is a hipster beacon, and thus they are meeting there on Tuesday instead.
They've all been here before, and it doesn't look much different. It's decently lit and inside it resembles an old pub, and they'll find Ashley at the back. Her Hunger no longer announces her presence, or at least, not as much: she's hiding it now, chosen to blend in and blur and obfuscate. Even her face, round and ruefully cute, doesn't stick in the memory as well as it once did.
They'll find her already there and writing, when they come in. With everything that happened she's probably just happy to have a place she can still go to to sit down comfortably and work. Jarod knows she's a poet; he can reasonably guess that's what she's working on right now. There's a half-drained glass of beer, and when either of them arrive at her booth she looks up, tucking the pen away.
[Alexander Liang] "Remember those rumors we discussed, that you were considering looking into? You might want to reconsider."
He'd sent her the text message shortly after things got... "interesting" the other night. She, in turn, had implied she had a story of her own to tell, and it wasn't long before arrangements were made to meet. Some things, after all, were far better discussed in person than sent across electrical wires or bounced off satellites. Never know who's listening in, after all.
She'd named a time and the place, and Alex arrives about 30 seconds before the appointed hour. The man is nothing if not punctual (are we SURE he's not a Technocrat?). He's also apparently dressed in his usual business attire - a fairly sharp suit, crisp white shirt, dark blue tie, and wool overcoat (REALLY sure?).
As he slips into the bar, his eyes flick towards a certain booth towards the back. He's met with her here once before, and logic would suggest that, if she's a regular, she might also have a regular spot.
That ever-present smile widens ever-so-slightly as he notices her, and weaves his way past the occasional wobbly drunk on his way to her table. By the time he's there, he's already taken off his coat, and draped it over one arm. When he reaches the booth, he nods in greeting and slides into the seat across from her.
"Ashley."
[Jarod Nightingale] Given the location, Jarod had some cause to suspect that the friend in question might be a certain infamous Hollow One. There'd been a moment of suspicion on his part when Ashley mentioned the meeting, but once assured that Tommy boy wasn't going to be in attendance, Ashley would find him more generally agreeable. He wasn't going to say no to a few drinks. (The company probably didn't hurt.)
The gibbous moon was waxing in the sky tonight, steadily approaching full. Outside the bar, he paused to look at it contemplatively before pulling the door open and heading inside. Ashley was already there, tucked into a booth with her head down as she focused on whatever she was writing. Another man had entered shortly before him, and it was evidently he who was to be the third member of their party this evening. Jarod paused on his way to the booth, watching the two of them curiously for a moment - taking in details as he observed the stranger. When he resumed his stride, he slid the knee-length black coat from his shoulders and hung it neatly across one arm, glancing at Alex briefly (casual eye-contact - acknowledgment of the other's presence) before he turned a smile in Ashley's direction. His gaze flickered to the journal in front of her before meeting her eyes, but as there was another presence with them tonight, he didn't ask her what she was writing.
"Evening," he offered, simply, to the both of them, as he hung up his coat and slid in next to Ashley on her side of the booth. There was a moment of wry amusement - an expression that flickered across his eyes (dark blue, not brown - interesting genetics, or maybe contacts) when he looked at Ashley. As if they had some shared, entertaining memory. (Had they ever managed a night at the HD&Q that wasn't memorable?)
It was a work and a school day, which meant of course that, like Alex, he was dressed in more formal attire (though not a suit today.) Black dress pants and a buttoned black cotton shirt with silk accents to match.
[Lucien Anders] [[FATE DICE]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Lucien Anders] There are a few things about Lucien Anders that tend to stick out to those who meet him.
First of all: He has this (in)famous knack for showing up, out of the blue, at just the right [though it doesn't always seem that way. but, really, 'right' can be such a subjective word] time.
Secondly: His tastes in clothing are perhaps only explainable if one where to give the most fashion-impaired soul possible, give them a time machine, a wad of appropriate interchangeable forms of currency, make them consume a months supply of pot in one sitting.. and then set them loose.
Third: He's ugly. We're not talking nauseating or anything, but the man is just flat out unattractive. As if someone took features that maybe-kinda-sorta could have been decent -- or at least average -- but them skewed, rumbled, and bashed them all in [the worst of the bashing apparently happening at the mouth, resulting in something of a travesty of dental condition and then the back of the head giving him goldfish eyes: protruding and kind of googly. but don't be mean: Maybe there's something wrong with his thyroid?].
He's also fairly foul mouthed and lacking in shame and, really, why would anyone put up with him?
In truth most don't unless they have to.
And once you have to, chances are things are already getting a little desperate.
[and maybe there's a heart of gold beneath it all; maybe there's a sad, sad story of heartache and woe; maybe he's just really, really good at what he does when he gets his shit together enough to do it]
In he comes. There's no tidal reaction of gawking and starring, though a few looks do get tossed his way. His hair - lank and thinning - is windswept; his scarf is aubergine. The shirt beneath his heavy woolen trench is a ghastly paisley pattern on which the dominant colour seems to be a that of withered peas and his slacks are snug and high enough at the waste to make one wonder if he just mugged a samba dancer at a disco. Throw in the hand bedecked with rings upon each finger - all of them chunky affairs of metals like gold, copper and brass, many with equally chunky, crude-cut stones, semi-precious or otherwise - and carries a slender black cane topped with what could either be a fertility style statuette or the Stay Puft Marshmallow man.
He was not invited.
He makes his way towards their table anyway, though his eyes [which are actually a rather lovely shade of clear blue for all of the unfortunate.. googliness] rove, roam and ramble while he does so; they linger on the ladies with comfortable ease. He is quite content to be seen as something of a lecher really and his confidence is at all odds with his appearance. [though to dress as he does on top of looking like he does does speak of either supreme confidence or distinctive madness] All the same there is a distinct sense that he knows precisely where he's going: Towards the table the three Magi now occupy. And as he approaches he marks them out. As he approaches he notices Alexander and seems... not so much surprised as... informed with latency.
And his greeting is,
"Watch out." his voice somewhat hoarse, followed by a classic smokers cough.
A waitress moving mast them slips on a melting ice cube, utters a stifled shriek as she falls and the glasses on her tray tumble. One still half full - a half drunk Black and Tan, how sad - the spray of which sprays out to slosh it's contents over Alexanders legs unless he happened to be quite quick in heeding a warning...
...the waitress catches her fall pretty well and is all apologies and embarrassment and offers of napkins and soda water and and and...
Once all that is passed, there's this late-middle-aged man, tired and haggard looking for all that confidence; with an expression of agitated bemusement and, "The ball likes you, Cucumber. Ain't you happy?" Cucumber was to Alex.. to Ashley and Jarod there's a assessing look [but not actually very judging] and, "Lucien Anders. We need to talk."
[Ashley McGowen] There's Alex, friend-of-a-friend and that friend happens to be Kage, and so the smile Ashley gives him is much more relaxed than the sort she'd ordinarily give someone she's only met a handful of times. She, unlike the two men, is more casually dressed (she often is): she's wearing a red sweater over a black buttondown, and the red somehow makes her eyes brighter.
"Hey Alex," she says, and then there's another smile toward the Verbena who is soon to follow, and as Jarod settles in she gestures from one to the other. "Alex, this is my friend Jarod. Jarod, this is Alex. He's kind of new-ish, I met him through Kage." Because even though Jarod has, presumably, had few encounters with the Orphan, he'd know she's an important person to Ashley. He'd know her opinion and trust carry some weight with her.
She would have said more. She doesn't; Lucien Anders has her attention when he steps close even though he wasn't invited. She's about to let him know that he should move on, go find another table - with the Ars Mentis, if necessary - when that cryptic statement is uttered. And she tenses, her gaze flicking rapidly toward Alex, her hand straying toward the chain beneath the collar of her shirt.
But it's just spilled beer. Just: as though it probably isn't going to ruin Alex's clothes. Still, better than the kind of threat Ashley might have been expecting.
Once she's had a moment to collect herself, Ashley levels a look toward the man who's said they need to talk. She doesn't offer her name forth. She just says, "Then talk."
[Alexander Liang] Even if Alex had razor-keen reflexes, such a vague and obscure warning wasn't going to be much help. After all, "Quick, move your leg!" might have given him an idea what he should be doing... as is, there's little he can honestly do before he's got a wet pants leg and a somewhat sodden shoe. Ick.
"Lovely." He replies to Lucien in a somewhat resigned tone of voice (and certainly not as disgusted or annoyed as you might expect from him at the moment...). "You're never going to show up when anything good's about to happen, are you?" He sighs a bit. "Is the bar going to catch on fire or the roof going to cave in in the next few hours?"
[Jarod Nightingale] [Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Lucien Anders] Jarod is on top of his game tonight so far as Awareness goes.. alas, there just really isn't much at all to pick up on from this man. There is certainly a sense to him; a hum. A vibration of subdued potency that speaks of things shielded and masked; like his Resonance and perhaps any Rotes or other magical affairs he may have to task. The whispered oscillation of something more to him is it, though... and even catching that is something, with just bare senses alone.
to Jarod Nightingale
[Jarod Nightingale] Ashley introduced them, as was expected, and Jarod nodded at Alex as he took in the name, filing it away to memory (along with the connection to Kage.)
He might have spoken then, but...there was this man. A very unattractive man. A man whose naturally unappealing features were only made more distasteful by the stunning display of crude, gaudy inelegance that happened to define the man's fashion sense. Jarod, of course, was the picture of elegance. His clothes were always flattering and expensive (as one would expect, given his former occupation.) He both looked and moved like a beautiful, graceful predator. He was, quite literally, the polar opposite of Lucien Anders (at least outwardly.)
So it couldn't be much of a surprise when he took one look at the man and affected an expression of barely-masked distaste, the bridge of his nose wrinkling slightly, as if he'd just caught wind of a very bad smell. It was the kind of look that suggested, with all the subtle cruelty of a waspy housewife: you are so far beneath my notice that you do not even deserve to exist within the same space as me.
Except, in the Awakened world, judging a person solely on their appearance was generally a bad idea. (It could be argued that this was always a bad idea.) So the look wasn't entirely dismissive - particularly when he noticed the slight hum of... something... that seemed to accompany him. It became less so when the man said watch out and suddenly beer was spilled all over Alexander's knees. This, naturally, got a flash of an amused smile, though not a cold one (he didn't know enough about Alex yet to decide if he liked or disliked him.) He was careful to shift his own legs out of the line of the splash, of course.
But a waitress had taken a spill, and this seemed to draw his attention more than the odd man who'd given them the warning (or at least, it drew more of a response.) Sliding momentarily out of the booth, Jarod walked over to help her up. "You alright?" he asked softly, and here his voice was all honeyed-warmth. He even grabbed one of the napkins and wiped a bit of beer off of the side of her neck, carefully.
[Lucien Anders] Lucien takes his time in watching them. There's no attempt to make it seem like he's disinterested; neither is intent speculation meant to be intimidating. He watches them, reads them, speculates, guesses and anything else besides because he bloody well wants to and no one is stopping him.
He doesn't respond to Ashley immediately, instead it's Alex he speaks to and his lips curve [full lips; again, a feature that might have been fairly attractive in and of itself if not taken with the rest; if not drawn down and lined from decades of stress, smoking and fatigue] with an inkling of wry humour, "Someones misfortune is someone elses jackpot, skippy. Your shoe got wet: Her leg didn't break. You look like you can buy another fuckin' overpriced bit a' cow leather. She probably couldn't afford to go a week without work. Boo-hoo."
Looking them over - including Jarod who is off playing seductive caregiver; whose looks of wrinkled nosed disapproval when first surveying Lucien had been met with a flash of sharp laughter in his eyes [like the disgust there made it all worth it... and the waitress is fine, besides being embarrassed and now momentarily wondering if she fainted if Jarod would deign to cradle her and fondle a bit longer] those large, pronounced eyes scanning the area as well, he shrugs. "No idea." About supposed possible doom on the building, "The ball was real fuzzy about you three. Either you've all got a lot of set, static patterns; jiving good destinies of your own or, I dunno, the ball just likes to fucking cockblock me. Either way," looking to Ashley, "I'll talk alright - fuck, I came here, didn't I? - but it's not safe out in the open. This place got a back room? Office? Something smallish."
[Ashley McGowen] Alex speaks to Lucien as though they've met before, and Ashley looks once toward him, at that. But she doesn't answer immediately; she just sits on the information, trying to gather what she can from words alone. Jarod is off playing seductive caregiver and there's a glance that follows him, too quick, before all her focus is on Lucien.
A back room; he asks for one, and it makes sense that he asks for one. On the other hand, this place is one of the few refuges Ashley has around the city, and particularly one of the few that are left. She's distinctly displeased about having it breached. She's more displeased about having someone tell her what to do here. "We're not going anywhere until I know who sent you."
[Alexander Liang] "Better still if she didn't trip in the first place, don't you think?" He's apparently not angry - if anything, he sounds almost amused. If he's only barely suppressing some sort of deep-seated simmering rage over the whole situation, he's apparently doing a wonderful job not letting it slip past the mask.
As for the rest of the social interplay, Alex doesn't step forward and immediately introduce Lucien to Ashley (or vice-versa, though that would probably be far less necessary, from what he's seen of the man so far). If anything, he seems perfectly content to let her take control of the flow of conversation, putting whatever pressure she feels necessary on the disagreeable little man. For now, anyway.
[Jarod Nightingale] He'd expected Ashley to take control of the situation. That was what Ashley did - official status or no - and more often than not it suited him just fine to let her do this (at least, when it was directed at an outside party.) Perhaps that was why he hadn't officially greeted the stranger, or made any attempts to speak to him. (Perhaps he was just too much of a snob to bother. At least, that was the impression he seemed inclined to give off.)
But he wasn't dismissive of the waitress. She, after all, was young and female and not at all repulsive-looking, if a bit ordinary. And, well, whether or not he might be inclined to catch her if she pretended to faint would have to be left a mystery, since after that momentary show of attentiveness, he offered the woman a lingering smile (because it wasn't fun to look like a fool in front of customers, and apparently the Verbena wasn't always an asshole) and stepped around the spill to return to his seat (though they may very well have to get up again momentarily.)
His gaze focused on Ashley. He didn't say anything.
[Lucien Anders] "Well aren't you a fiesty one?" It is neither compliment or insult; his tone is simply hard to place, his flat, haggard look more so. Either way, he shakes his head and steps back away from the table slightly, chin lifting it's a weak chin, no doubt making him seem all the more 'disagreeable' - weak chins make people think of weak or conniving personalities. little rats.] almost like he's scenting the air and....
...he nods and points a finger towards a back door, not to the kitchens and emergency exit or whatever lies beyond but rather to, indeed, the sole 'private' room the HD&Q boasts. "Let's make this easy." Taking the step back closer to the table. "I'll be back there. I'll even wait five minutes. Come or don't: Your dice. You're the people who live in this shit hole city. You want to fix what's dicking it up even worse? Then asses and elbows -- or swaying and stalking, whatever you kids do -- to the back room. You don't give a rats ass or can't trust fate for a mite -- I know, it's real hard, poor lambs -- then, you know... whatever."
He looks to Alex, "Five minutes to tell them who saved your ass, Cucumber."
And, true to his word, he moves along, moves along, for the back room as if no one would think to stop him -- of the Sleepers in the place this much is true, unless Ashley should see fit to sic Janine on him.
[Ashley McGowen] He'll be back there. He'll even wait five minutes. Ashley's chin lifts a bit, and the slim line of her jaw is set hard and defiant. This could be another Traditionalist or even an orphan, here with some information and giving them a hard time before he does. He could be a lot of other things, too. Ashley doesn't rule anything out anymore.
Angry as she might be that he's continuing to call the shots - and in her territory, no less - after a moment she irritably gathers her notebook up under one arm, prepared to follow him back. Alone, and she might be more leery, but she trusts Jarod and she has a reasonable amount of trust for Alex. She hasn't seen either of them in a crisis, though, so if that's what this turns out to be...well, it'll be telling.
"Where did you meet him?" she asks Alex, as she prepares to head back after Lucien. And after giving the Akashic time to explain, she will make her way back.
[Alexander Liang] "The same place I met Solomon." Was there something to the tone of that sentence that might reveal his newfound opinion of the man? Oh no, totally neutral, totally casual. Like telling someone when the next bus is supposed to come along. "And Nathan. Shortly before the sky decided to fall down in flaming ruin and tried to kill us."
He's keeping his voice somewhat low, but still making sure both Ashley and Jarod can hear. "He was about half of what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. And he's tied into the other half as well."
"Just based on admittedly limited experience, it seems as if he's always this disagreeable. On the other hand, if he isn't lying through his teeth, it also seems like he knows a lot more about certain unusual occurrences in the city than most." He shrugs. "Probably worth at least hearing him out, though I don't know if I'd honestly trust him worth a damn."
[Alexander Liang] ((Oh damn - insert this into the end of that middle paragraph))
"Claims to be a Euthanatos named Lucien Anders. Your guess is as good as mine whether or not he's lying about that."
[Jarod Nightingale] Point in fact, Jarod did not trust fate at all. He didn't have much reason to want to. The only fate he understood was the cycling of life and the seasons - and evidently even that could be knocked out of place with enough of a push. He'd argued about this before - with his first mentor in particular. He didn't attempt to argue it now, though. What one man called fate another might call intuition and logic. The language didn't really matter. Lucien wanted to warn them, and information was always useful - even when it was incorrect. (One could learn a lot from lies, if one knew that they were being lied to.)
Lucien left. Ashley asked Alex to fill them in. Jarod stood up so that Ashley could exit the booth, listening. "Well this should prove... entertaining, at least," he mused dryly before following the other two into the back room. Once there, he'd lean against the wall, relaxing and watching the others with muted curiosity.
[Lucien Anders] True to his word he's in the backroom, having dragged a seat away from the long table and moved it so its back is kitty-corner to the juncture of a flanking wall to the back. Upon this seat he sits, with it tilted back a bit and he balancing easily. A lit Pall Mall in hand - he's been so kind as to lift a candle out of its dish and set it on one thigh to ash onto - and lightly tapping the end of the obsidian cane against heel of one shoe, that ankle resting on the other knee. Not the best of sitting stances with the pants he's wearing as it accents the groin in ways that, well, no one present really wants to see.
No, he doesn't really care.
Thy file in and to his credit he doesn't scoff or gloat in word or gaze or flex of lips over crooked teeth. He just shrugs, accepting that this is how it would play out, for now. Neither does he seem eager to set their minds at ease or sooth Ashley's rumbled feathers and, "So, Mary -- ah, Molly to you all, I guess, -- didn't tell you about me, huh? Ya'll got a serious communication problem in this place, ya know that? Here I thought hurling a brick through your window was primitive, but, fuck, apparently the very god-damned concept is foreign to you all. Still, had her pegged for a talker." Again he shrugs -- irritable but already moving along. So he's wrong sometimes; move along, move along.
"I don't got long. If Cucumber hasn't told ya'll why that is, yet, then he can do it after we're done. Aside from the run down I gave him, what all do you dollies know about the madness in the city? The Tornado, among other strange 'phenomena' -- and that awesome," yes, it's sarcastic, "way we get cut off from our Atman whenever the Mundanes start getting all freaky... anything? I know you two have been around it," this to Ashley and Jarod. "I'd not have been drawn to you if not. You've got the stink of it on you, just like me and Alex here." And, yes, he's a dick, so part of him does enjoy referring to Jarod and Alex as having a 'stink' of any sort on their immaculate, handsome persons.
[Ashley McGowen] Alex offers all of this forth, and Ashley nods as he speaks. He met Solomon and Nathan; she hadn't known this, but it isn't all that surprising. "I remember hearing his name mentioned," she tells the other two as they walk back. "I guess he's the guy that warned me and Molly that the Technocracy was coming. Israel met him too."
That the man is Euthanatos, this is absorbed quietly. Ashley would ask Wharil about it, if Wharil was anywhere to be found. He is not.
When she arrives in the room she doesn't sit down. She just stands with her arms folded, regarding Lucien with an expression that is clearly encouraging him to say whatever he needs to say. That he's apparently a Traditionalist, though, has done a bit to put her mind at ease. He mentions a communication problem, and her sole response is a bitter smile.
"I ran into her," Ashley says. A beat. "It's occurred to me that they Willed her into existence. But I haven't, so far, been able to come up with any reasons for why we're unable to use Awakened magic. I'm researching, but I haven't heard of or read anything like it before. Have you?"
[Alexander Liang] Alex, of course, is more than happy to let Ashley take the lead. Her place, after all. And her city, in any number of ways (not the least of which being seniority of residence). And as they walk, he perhaps winces ever-so-slightly at the discomfort that stems from having damp pant cuffs and a somewhat sodden sock.
He does, however, indulge himself at one point. After Lucien comments on whether or not Alex has managed to bring them all up to speed, he offers a somewhat wry smile. "If you'd shown up about half an hour later, a lot of explanations might have been finished. Or at least started."
[Jarod Nightingale] There was enough ego and posturing in this room to put some of Jarod's former co-workers to shame. And he, being one of the worst offenders, was not at all unaware of it. Even Lucien, with his seemingly couldn't care less attitude, had an image to project. No one who dressed like that could ever really be accused of not caring what people thought. The man had made a conscious choice to look ridiculous and off-putting. Maybe that was just his style. Maybe it was also a kind of armor - at least a little bit.
Just like Alexander's cool indifference, and Ashley's forceful arrogance. And his own aloof elitism. Everyone played their role.
It didn't seem to surprise him when Lucien alluded to the warnings that Molly and Ashley had received (bricks through their windows.) He didn't react to the man's word choice when describing their involvement. (This was rather like being called foolish by an extremely unintelligent person. The insult was laughable enough to be almost a compliment.) Neither did he offer any further reaction to the Euthanatos' apparent disregard for public decency.
"I wouldn't depend on Molly to do much more than instigate commotion of one form or another," he commented idly. "But... you knew that already, I'd wager. The Rogue Council knows everything, right?" Here there was a wry smile that curled at one side of his mouth.
[Lucien Anders] Perhaps oddly [or at least surprisingly] Ashley's bitter smile actually rouses up something of a soft response from this disagreeable, ugly and oh-so unfashionable little older man. "Communication problems are the hallmark of the Trads, Odin." It was bound to happen. He gives everyone nicknames. Few are generally agreeable to the person to whom they are granted though Ashley's is perhaps rather unnervingly spot on. "Nothing new there. I'm a cantakerous dirty ol' badger and the worse of the lot unless the Wheel bitch-slaps me into being otherwise. Funny, ain't it? We Awaken. We key in to the Wonder, the Truth of Lies and then what do we do? Dig ourselves a trench each and every damned one'a us and bunker down tight and snarl when people come a bit too close to our own little Truths we build up to fill up the Lies." It ends with a wheezy kinda laugh, another of his shrugs. He sucks down on more cancer-feeding smoke and...
...to Alex, "Fuck!," there's no heat to it. "Everyone's a goddamned critic. Once upon a time people were just impressed I'd show up all fuckin' cryptic and knowing at all." And to it all there is a sense that he has as good a laugh at himself as anyone else might; it is, perhaps, one of his [few?] saving graces.
At Jarod's comment about Molly the Euthanatos levels an even gaze on him, "Yeah? What do you do when you're not prissin' up in front of a mirror? That girlies got potential. What have you got? She's not all shriveled up and closed off yet. What've you got? Got back to lookin' pretty, son, this will go a lot better." Apparently he's taken a liking to Molly... that or just a severe dislike to Jarod, which no doubt the Verbena can easily attribute to the dislike of anyone so perfect looking from one so utterly not.
As to the Rogue Council there's just a look to Jarod that is much as the one the man just leveled Lucien's way: Passing curiosity about foolishness uttered by the unintelligent.
No, he's not here to make friends.
Back to Ashley - assuming no ones stormed off yet - because she's the one asking questions and offering up what she knows. But he shakes his head, "They didn't. 'She' is a Construct, though. A Sending. Originally meant to act like a ephemeral hologram message that could span the deep reaches of the Umbra into our world. A little bit of spirit-stuff formed by the 'Will' of a fellow Magus. In this case an Ecstatic Master by the name'a Jolie Marcelle trapped in Horizon after that Tytalus peacock Gilmore sealed off Concordia. Sendings were all the goddamned rage after '99. What they didn't know was that these Constructs were becoming Self-Aware and picking up pieces of shredded Atman -- Avatars like you people probably know them -- through the Storm whenever they passed in'ta the Material. 'She' can't cross back into the Umbra unless attacked or Summoned -- and keep crossin' the Gauntlet is just what she wants t'do: It gives her all her power." Crushing out one Pall Mall he's soon slipping another from a crumbled pack and lighting that one, too. Letting it hang from between his lips he uses the free hand to push back lank hair.
"There's more to it, but Cue's got that there - he can fill ya'll in."
Rolling his shoulders, "End story: Last time she crossed over she picked up the trick with Shielding. Probably from another shard." There is a moment of intense darkness in his gaze at that; talk of this Sending's last crossing is apparently particularly disturbing [enraging. distressing.] to him. "She's here now and building up a core set'a followers: Feeds her a little while she's cut off, while she's waiting f'r the people she snatches t'Disembody so she c'n leech off them. It ain't Umbrood like we think of it but it's chiefly a thaumivore." Again, real emotion flexes in expression and gaze; disgust. Concern. Genuine. Then gone.
"Anyway, I'm here exposin' us all t'mutually disagreeable company because you," He jabs a finger towards Alex, "heard about somethin' that'll lead you to an item we'll need t'stop the Sending. A woman walkin' into some Asian restaurant several weeks back. Burns bright n' luminous as the sun... and turns a man sitting at a table to ash. Ring a bell?" Then to Ashley, "You - and him too maybe though, shit, he could'a been pure fuckin' coincidence," about Jarod, "C'n help him."
[Ashley McGowen] He calls her Odin, and while many of his names might be disagreeable to the people he grants them to, the one he gave Ashley is hardly unflattering. And unnervingly spot on indeed, for this magus who offered an eye to Knowledge and an ear to Memory, who had them torn from her while she hung Waking.
He insults Jarod, after the Verbena's commentary on Molly. Ashley glances once out of the corner of her eye toward Jarod - but if there's one of them with a tendency to white knight, it certainly isn't her. Her expression hardly shifts.
"Why stop or destroy her? If what she is is effectively a construct with a Will of her own, it seems smarter to me to speak with her and find out how to get her to do what we want." Ashley, after all, can think of plenty of uses for a pet thaumivore. It's a fair bet that most of them would even be beneficial to the city, in the long run. "Or we could find somewhere else for her to direct herself." Not our people, are the implied words.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Just in case - how much of this is an act? Per+Empathy [diff 5 for secondary ability])
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Lucien Anders] [[Maybe Kahseeno will love on you... Man+Sub]]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Alexander Liang] Is that the faintest of frowns at Ashley's words? If so, she'd never notice, as he's standing off to her side. Nor would Jarod, intent as he is on Lucien. Has something finally touched lightly upon a nerve, strong enough to actually register an opinion?
If so, the moment passes almost as quickly as it came.
A raising of eyebrow at Lucien's mention of the woman, though. "Interesting that you'd know I'd heard that. Though unhelpful in the sense that you've offered little indication of whether this woman has whatever it is we're supposed to look for, or just knows where it is, or will accidentally lead us to it via wild goose chase and the miracle of an oddly coincidental chain of events." Lips twisting into that wry sort of smirk again. "People would probably be more impressed about you showing up and knowing it all if you actually explained some of the important parts a bit better."
[Jarod Nightingale] [P-shaw, I am ever-attentive. Alertness on Alex!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [And Empathy again, on Alex this time]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Alexander Liang] ((If you need me to roll Manipulation+Subterfuge as an indication of how good he is at hiding his true feelings... ))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] His comment about Molly had elicited an angry response, and this seemed to perk Jarod's curiosity momentarily. Because it meant something that the man cared enough to be offended. (Of course, he'd assumed that Jarod didn't like Molly, or didn't think she had potential. He assumed he thought that instigating commotion was a bad thing. Which... he might very well have thought, but that was irrelevant.) Sometimes the Verbena went about gleaning information through roundabout means. (Frequently, actually.)
That Lucien thought he was shallow and self-centered didn't appear to bother him any. Either Jarod was shallow and self-centered, and didn't have a problem owning up to it, or he very much wanted people to think that he was. Either way, the amused expression that touched the corner of his too-perfect lips spread for a moment to his eyes, and he shrugged. "That about sums it up, really." (Of the man's estimation of him.) "Though you forgot flirting with waitresses."
But then Lucien gave them his information, and Jarod was quiet for this, listening carefully without really appearing to take much more than casual interest. Like a bystander looking on from afar - as if this didn't effect him (as if he didn't give a shit.) But of course it did (and he did.) The Euthanatos gave them a mission, which felt just a little bit too much like a quest in some old fantasy story (or a computer game) for his liking, but then Ashley offered an alternate suggestion.
And Alex... frowned. Only slightly, but it was the first display of emotion he'd seen from the man all night, so naturally Jarod's attention shifted focus, turning attentive eyes onto the unknown Akashic for a brief moment. Whatever that frown meant, though, was unclear. Alex was as cryptic as Jarod himself could be. Perhaps more.
[Lucien Anders] He squints at Ashley then... "Fuck, yer the Hermetic, aren't ya?" A snort then, a sound of figures. "Please tell me yer not god-damned House Rambo, I might just vomit." Yes. House Rambo. Really, he's such a lovely conversationalist. "Yeah, 'talking to her' -- been tried. Binding her? Tried it. Was a nice lil' eager-beaver Hermetic who let her loose again, too, got killed for her efforts. Odin, this things been cavorting around for almost a decade, minus some time spent confined. Building up stolen Avatar Shards and causing death and havoc wherever It goes.. and you just want to find somewhere else for her to direct herself?" Incredulous.. a little disgusted, too. "What are you... Disciple? Maybe a wet-eared Adept? You gonna get this thing t'do what you want when y'can't even work yer Juice around It? Holy fuckin' christ, that's some hubris."
Another rolling snort and he crushes out the cigarette with emphasis. "It's an anomaly in the Wheel, throwing it off balance. It's killing people. Innocent fuckin' wretches, a good lot of them. It's suckin' Mages into it's own personal lil' Pocket Realm so it can suck out their Essence when they Disembody. It's taken four of yer own fuckin' people. Shit, no ones told you?" Incredulous. Pissed off.
He huffs and he puffs and eyes Alexander for a long moment, though not with that anger just recently displayed. Pensive. A nod, a slow breath. He's counted to 10, you can almost see it. "Yeah, it's crap, I know. Also not normally my schtick. Normally I also wouldn't be coming t'strangers - and babes at that - for help, but, fuck it... shit luck on all counts." A sigh, "Guess you didn't put this together, Alex: I'm limited in how much I can help you all. Just like I can't stay in a public place for too long. That cunt thing is tied to me now that it absorbed that one Shard I told you n' Scarface and Pretty Boy about. I c'n nudge you all and help get the pieces together... I can't hold your hands. It risks It finding out and ruins everything."
Dropping the crossed leg he sits up a little, "It ain't the woman you need to find, either. That was a pawn. It's information on the man she fried. He's tied to an object. Together with other pieces I've been nudging others towards based on their best probabilities it c'n be used so the Sending c'n be approached without it Shielding us and can be dealt with."
Calmer now, the flare up of rage passing, the chronic sucking down on the cigarette slowing and stopping... tiredness is what trumps now. "You'll know the object when you find it, Alex. You'll know it because you were thinkin' along those lines the last time we talked."
There's no return fire to Jarod anywhere, the Verbena has been - apparently - summarily dismissed from this ugly little Euthanatos' attentions, given how he is largely doing what Lucien oh-so-nicely requested.
[Ashley McGowen] "Tytalus," she says, and then offers, "My old cabalmates were House Rambo, though." This is offered easily enough. Her reaction to the rest of what he says isn't anywhere near as easygoing.
In fact, there's a flash of temper around the point when he asks her rank, though perhaps it's simply a response to his own anger. Or to something else. "No," she says, after a moment. "What's fucking hubris is you showing up here telling me what to do, assuming that because you haven't found a way to deal with it, nobody else can find something else that will work. I'm not your fucking errand boy."
The muscles at the hinges of her jaw are tensed, and even if she hasn't moved it's easy to see the effect her emotions are having on her physical form; she's wound tightly. "I've seen what she's doing, and I recognize it. It's important to oppose it in some way. But if you expect to show up here telling me to help you destroy something I don't know anything about - except for what you've told me - then you can fucking find someone else. I don't see something destructive as inherently wrong and not everybody here prefers to lay the world out in black and white."
[Alexander Liang] Alex's eyes widen slightly at Lucien's final words, and the twitch of his lips that accompany it almost certainly indicate the beginnings of a smile he's not quite willing to show (odd, considering how often he's flashing smiles - one might almost think most of them were insincere...). Maybe it's a flash of self-satisfaction at having suspicions (somewhat) confirmed. After all, if Alex had a guiding vice, Pride would probably be a good one to place your bets on.
And then Ashley puts her foot down and vents, and Alex gives her a look. A look that shows little judgment or opinion, but implies a great deal of interest. Perhaps he's merely surprised by this side of her and impressed by her hidden depths. Or perhaps he's merely curious how far she's willing to go to shackle such a dangerous force and see it turned into a weapon.
Or maybe he's just wondering if her actual motivation differs from the justifications she's offering (whether she realizes it or not).
[Jarod Nightingale] Truth was, Jarod didn't want to make friends with the thaumivore any more than Lucien did. This one thing they happened to have in common. Because there was anger there. There was the hissing breath of winter's frost that lingered on him. It was an easy thing to hate winter. Winter was cold and unforgiving. Winter was not soft and yielding as summer was. People escaped winter. They tolerated winter. Apart from a brief period around the holiday season, they did not particularly look forward to winter. She was the black sheep of the seasonal family, so to speak.
But winter had her place, and her charms, and if anyone understood that, it was her favored son. The fact that summer had thought to push it aside was an intolerable insult. So, needless to say, Jarod wasn't really inclined to be on the (spirit? idea?) woman's side. But whatever it was he may or may not have been thinking, unlike Ashley, he didn't seem inclined to express it vocally. He waited while she argued back against the stranger's presumptions. And, after a moment of silence settled in, he said, simply:
"Just tell us what you want from us, exactly, so we can all move on with our lives? Some of us have a schedule to keep."
[Lucien Anders] In the face of Ashley's anger Lucien snaps his gaze back to her but doesn't immediately explode [again... though in truth that was hardly Lucien Anders exploding]. He listens, though if anything his expression is one of distaste and impatience. "Oh please, telling you what to do? I gave you the goddamned choice, didn't I? You see me working my 'Will' over your swelled up little head, Odin? Pushing my weight around? Fuck no. Take it or leave it. You all don't do it? I'll find some way else, princess, and happily."
Lifting the makeshift ash tray after stubbing out the most recent smoke he rises up and tosses it down on the table after a few steps to it. "'Lay the world out in black and white' -- gah, save me from you warped idealists. 'Shades of gray' -- fuck what do you think gray is made up of? Black. And. White. Grey areas exist a'plenty. This ain't one of them. We're cleaning up someone elses misguided, desperate mistake. Several of them actually. As fate would have it: It's fallen in your laps. Natural destruction is not inherently wrong. Even supernatural destruction has it's place. This is a rogue machine, it just happens to be made up of ephemera and the shattered bits of souls. And you want to talk nice to it? Coddle it? What, turn it to your own designs?" Another snort, "They call me crazy."
A wave of his hand, "I've given Cue there names, dates and the like. I'm sure there's others you can ask about Sendings. Toss the name Anders to them, too: They'll know I know more about these things than most you'll find still alive on this earth. Help out or don't. No skin off my back, princess. But if yer just gonna hide behind moral ambiguity t'justify doing shit then that's your own fucking problem."
With one last look to Alexander. "A few days. You've got a few days to try and find out what you can, with or without these two. If I can't get a wiff that someones made a move, I'll find other means. If you do move on it and you find the object, then get in touch with me. Fuck, if you don't trust me get in touch with someone else doing their part. This shit is just gonna get worse."
There's a passing glance to Jarod, a roll of his eyes. "Don't listen so well, do you? I've given Alex here the nudge he needs. I saw the potential for a place for the lot of you. Potential don't always mean reality though, does it? How's that for yer gray area?" The last is, of course, tossed back to Ashley.
Lighting up another Pall Mall with a grimace and a wheeze, "Take care, dollies."
...with the first distinctly noticeable impression of active magic from the man, he exhales a plume of noxious smoke from his flaring nostrils... and blinks out, almost literally: A sharp quicksilver line seems to grow flicker-flash from his core, stretch upwards and downwards and then, without a flash, gone.
[Ashley McGowen] She's still quite angry, regardless of all the things she could say and perhaps all of the possible retorts that run through her head. In the end, there isn't much she can come up with that's advantageous, and so she lets Lucien speak, staring at him all the while.
And before he's raised his cigarette and disappeared in a puff of smoke, she's already turning to go back out into the bar. She doesn't slam the door, but maybe she thinks about it and very much wishes to. The exit is silent, and seething, and her resonance has been scrubbed clean and so what she leaves behind isn't so much a Hunger as an absence. But really, sometimes they're almost the same thing.
