A collaboration with
@Vocab...
Days in the past, but not many...
The space in a shadowy corner of the plaza fell away into torchlight and darkness, a tunnel no wider than a throw pillow. A small shape skittered out of this eldritch entrance, a nimble spider formed of ivory and sinew. It scanned the area briefly before seeking shelter in the shadows of a nearby building, striding past the rapidly closing portal.
The bone spider watched silently as the Overcity consumed the Cathedral, and curiously studied the pursuit of the feral girl. Then, at last, a moment of stillness as the city of Penrose caught its breath.
The bone spider started forwards, satisfied by its apparent solitude. As it exited the midmorning shade, the sun's rays highlighted a different kind of sinew, a much more prismatic display as
close one eye step to the in place of the bone spider walked a disheveled young man in an unzipped hoodie, holding a large book under one arm and a white mug in his free hand. He idly sipped at his drink, eyes studying the conspicuously missing cathedral from behind white-rimmed glasses.
"Looks like someone forgot to give a shit about subtlety today," he said, his delivery golden brown with vocal fry.
The brief quiet of the plaza was chased away by the sounds of motorcycle engines growing louder, a chorus of machinery and machisimo that echoed off of the nearby buildings. The young man turned, aiming a tired looking frown in its direction. "Speaking of which..."
Rebecca had scarcely left her position since the Cathedral vanished. Darkness cloaked her form, huddled into the corner of a building nearby, keeping herself almost entirely obfuscated from an outside view. With her sister on training suspension after the whole Street Attack debacle, and Olympia dealing with other issues, she had been forced to take over on her duties as Vixen Tracker. It was a bad job for anyone to get stuck with; how Charlotte had managed both watch duty and being a journalist, on top of dealing with her Patron, was entirely beyond her.
That said, this was something especially appointed by The Boss. As a backup plan, but appointed nonetheless. She let herself fail on the mission. To that end, was she was constantly watching the zero sight of the Overcity Shift - occasionally glancing over to a flip phone, equally as masked, to check if Christine had sent any more messages. If the Vixen returned, she had to be ready and waiting to get on the move, immediately. Even despite knowing her absolute direction on the material plane, she wasn't nearly as fast. There was no way she could catch up in the event of an attack.
As Rebecca watched, though, her attention was directed elsewhere. To the clamorous, revving engines nearby, and the lone man standing at the sight of the Cathedral. For a brief second, she paused, evaluating the situation as best she could, deciding whether to alert Christine, or the Boss, or call for help, or anything similar. But she wasn't sure it was anything to be worried about. Instead, her instinct for journalism kicked in - that same spark that Charlotte failed to capitalise on when she misinformed the masses. Still cloaked in darkness, she faded from her spot, quickly shifting to another area on a building a tad closer to the man. Then another shift. And a third - until she was without doubt close enough to overhear anything that might go on.
Thirteen bikers rolled into the plaza, their elaborate white leathers invoking the image of the Crusaders of old rather than a typical biker gang. The fact that they all carried cruciform swords at their belts probably helped solidify the feeling of 'Deus Vult' that rolled off of them in waves. Although, the sawed-off shotguns in their hands and strange golden symbol emblazoned on their backs probably weren't sanctioned by the Latin Church. Twelve of them, all wearing black gas masks, took up positions by the entrance to the road they had come from.
"Oh..."
One biker - particularly notable for his white gas mask, veritable mane of golden hair, and having drove in at the head of the pack - parked his motorcycle next to the disheveled young man and dismounted in one smooth motion. "Brother!" he cried.
The white gas-masked man brought the youth into a tight embrace, pinning the latter's book arm to his side while the mug hand awkwardly hovered behind the man hugging him. A large symbol, emblazoned in brillant gold, dominated the back of the large man's leather coat.
"It is so good to see you again, Brother!" The gas-masked man stepped back from the hug, gripping the other's shoulders and looking him over at arm's length. "You're neglecting the embrace of sleep, aren't you Lee?"
"To my credit, I tried to get some last night," Lee said, gesturing with his mug. "But more work came in the last minute, and it couldn't exactly wait until morning." He eyed the other's robes. "What is that, twenty gallons? You came loaded for eldritch bear."
"With all the energy we sensed here, it seemed appropriate to the task." The blonde glanced over the conspicuously empty plaza. "The cathedral that stood here... it wasn't Cremated, was it Brother?"
"The fact that you remember where it's supposed to be should be answer enough, Len." Lee glanced at a nearby biker, who was now staring at him from behind his gas mask. "Liquid," he amended.
Len (Liquid?) sighed. "Forgive me Brother, but I'm at a bit of a loss. I had thought the energy gathered in this area was tied to the return of The Beast... yet I don't recall any of the Scriptures mentioning such a disappearance as part of it."
"The Beast?" Lee said. "...no, for the moment it's still firmly dead. It appears someone took the cathedral into the Overcity."
Liquid (Len?) stared at him for a beat. "Overcity?"
Lee smiled, but it could have easily been mistaken for a grimace. "Ah, right, you're not caught up on local terminology. You might be more familiar with it if I called it Ukhu Pacha."
"Ukhu Pacha? How? Why in the Angel's name would anyone bring it there?"
"There was a fight here between some of the local players, or at least some of their forces. It's a common strategy here to pull the fighting into Ukhu Pacha in order to minimize collateral damage, maintain some sense of subtlety..." Lee gestured to the empty space wth his mug. "...except the one who tried it here pulled the Door open too far. Usually they're precise enough to grab the combatants and nothing else, but... I suspect all that Fear energy caused her to panic."
(Why not settle for calling him) Liquid Len stared at the space again. "Brother, what manner of Servant can call upon such power so casually?"
"Not necessarily a Servant, though I know of some who are both." Lee took a drink from his mug. "More along the lines of the Sages, if I had to make an inaccurate, but recognizable comparison?" He paused, presumably to let that process. "They call themselves Magical Girls. Fighting evil by moonlight... winning love by daylight... never running from a real fight? That song and dance is their raison d'etre."
He took another slow sip. "At least, for most of them," Lee admitted. "But I digress. There are so many Doors to Ukhu Pacha here that some civilians pass through it on their way to work, none the wiser of what they're doing. It's almost a power of convenience for Magical Girls to create their own Doors, temporary as theirs may be."
"I will have my Disciples take heed of your warning." Liquid Len crossed his arms. "...but what of this minority you mentioned?"
"Some simply try to use what they have to get by. Mercenary work, for instance. Others are content massacring civilians. With those ones, motive tends to be a roll of the dice between twisted ideals, bloodlust, and harvesting materials."
"'Materials?'" Liquid Len seethed.
"Organs, blood, bones. Depends if they've been twisted into cannibalism or are in need of ritualistic materials. The former's alarmingly common among corrupted Magical Girls."
Liquid Len's hand drifted towards the cruciform sword at his hip. "Corrupted by what?"
"That's unclear, actually. The energy required to turn a Magical Girl 'Dark' isn't actually tied into what they refer to as 'darkness magic,' but some spiritually corrosive power that isn't traceable to a single source."
"A shame. I would have gladly delivered them into the Archangel's embrace on principle alone."
Lee grimace-smiled. "Well, if you're interested in cleaning up the streets, you could try to get into the local Beacon's good graces."
Liquid Len paused, righteous fury breaking upon the shores of confusion. "Why would I want to get into the good graces of that cabal of Hippocratic Oathbreakers?"
"Sorry, another unfortunate local term," Lee said with a shake of his head. "There is a group of Magical Girls explicitly dedicated to the protection of mankind from the supernatural, and quite the reputation for doing so with extreme prejudice. They even have their own non-denominational religious overtones. Play your cards right, and you might get along like a house on fire."
Lee took another sip from his mug. "Hmm. Actually, take that with a grain of salt," he amended. "The local chapter is trying to shift away from the whole 'murder all the Monster and Dark Magical Girls' angle, exploring purification as an alternative. You might hit it off well with the fundamentalists, but the reformers may give you trouble."
Liquid Len's face was obscured, but the smile in his voice wasn't. "I appreciate the warning, but we both know how persuasive I can be, Brother."
Lee looked at him without humor. "They're also coming out of a crisis where one of their own was mentally controlled into an act of domestic terrorism. For the love of all you deem holy, try to enter that meeting bone dry. I'd rather you spend as much time as you can before entering your Archangel's embrace."
Liquid Len nodded gravely. "Is that why you're offering so much information without mention of repayment, as required of your station?"
"You've said it yourself. We're like Brothers, you and I." Lee took another sip from his mug. "And besides, it's not like you couldn't have found it all out yourself, given enough time. But I figured you should hear it as soon as possible, especially since the local Runners are already making contact with Magical Girls."
"And potentially jeapardizing our chances of allying with them," Liquid Len deduced. "Perhaps it was fate that we were able to meet here then, Brother."
This time, Lee's expression definitely favored a smile. "Perhaps it was."
It was at that moment that the Overcity spat out a slew of Magical Girls, bits of cathedral masonry, and a bunch of utterly confused parishoners.
Several things happened at once. The twelve sentries turned at once, bringing their shotguns to bear. Liquid Len, realizing what was happening, began to tell his subordinates to hold their fire. And Lee, focused on the bikers and those emerging from the bowels of the Overcity, was abruptly no longer holding a mug.
His hand, now free, looked much like the bone spider that had been scuttling around the plaza a few short minutes ago, his fingertips (spidertips? bonelegs???) were wreathed in prismatic strands of webbing. With a flick of his hand
sideThe plaza was visibly empty of life apart from those who had just returned to it, the crowd of Magical and non-magical persuasion unaware of any other presence in their midst.
Huddled into a crevace between building and debris, Rebecca kept her Awareness attuned hearing trained on the troupe of motorcyclists. It wasn't a group she'd seen or heard about before - nothing the Boss was interested in, clearly - but a keen sense of curiousity kept her vicariously involved in it all. The mentioning of terminology utterly alien to her, their seeming obliviousness to Magical Girls and their operations; the information was practically worthless the more she listened in. The talk of Archangels, and "Ukhu Pacha", and chapters. If it wasn't for their apparently serious demeanour, or the swords, she would have left then and there. But she stuck around.
And her gut proved to be right, as the girls she watched enter the Overcity originally, along with the Cathedral, emerged once again. Except they completely failed to notice the existence of a biker gang, barely a walk away from where they stood. Rebecca recognised a few of the ones that came through. The Beacon Seraph Alicia, the recently acquited Janet, another Beaconite by the name of Summer, and the Ebon Mint operative Eliza. Two other, unknown figures stood near Alicia and Janet as the others left, but to her dismay, there was no sign of the Vixen. There was information saying that she could Overcity Shift, but she did earlier; chances were she couldn't get out on her own.
At the very least, Rebecca needed to make herself useful. The Vixen would be stuck there for a while, if she was correct, and with Beacon talking in earshot with people she didn't know, her curiousity got the better of her, and she pulled out a notepap to begin writing down everything they mentioned. The bikers may have been useless, but the existence of magical coins outside the scope of Platinum was something entirely new. If she was interested, no doubt the Boss would be too. Paired with the pictures of the Cathedral, this information was bound to make up for losing track of the Vixen for a short while.
nullifySoon after all visible Magical Girls left the plaza, Lee glanced over at Liquid Len and the rest of the bikers. "You can relax now," he said, grimace-smirk in place.
"This might just change everything, Brother," Liquid Len said, tone bordering on rapturous. "These Red Coins... if that detective is able to divine the future with their power, we may be able to use one to find Magreat before a war can break out. Countless innocent lives could be saved!"
"Assuming we can get ahold of some before anyone else, let alone achieve magical Yahtzee with them," Lee pointed out. "The second word of this magical currency spreads, many of the other Servants will come to the exact same conclusion and seek them out. It'll become a race to get the Coins, and the collateral damage could be catastrophic. The situation could devolve before Magreat even shows his face."
"But do we not still hold the advantage, Brother?" Liquid Len insisted. "We know who is creating them, and who is now taking steps to protect her. Is it not still possible to broker an alliance, obtain enough Coins for our purpose without using force or subterfuge?"
"Maybe," Lee conceded, "but be careful; Beacon's internal politics may be under even more strain soon. To say nothing of the politics outside their halls."
"What do you mean, Brother?"
"The Beacon is a much more visible organization than whomever that girl developed them for in the first place. The local Magical Girls will find out before anyone else, but the Runners are starting to exchange notes with them. Hell, I've even gotten reports of Magical Girls leaving their own graffiti for Runners to find. Knowing them and their Code of Abacab, it'll go up on someone's blog at the first opportunity. And that runs the very real risk that Christoph Magreat himself could find out about those coins." Lee took a sip from his mug, which had rematerialized in his hands at some point. "He was dangerous enough to kill the Viceking two years ago, the first great 'myth' of the Internet. Magical Girls, for all their impressive strengths, would find it much harder to murder a Horror, much less one of the Viceking's calibre, and alone at that."
"To this day, I still find that difficult to believe," Liquid Len countered. "All that is certain is that he published a blog detailing the Viceking's murder, and five days afterwards his description of the corpse was accurate to the last detail. I would have an easier time believing he had just predicted the murder rather than actually doing it, let alone posting a pre-emptive confession." He crossed his arms, looking off to the side. "I met the man, once, long before this mad manhunt. I don't think his motive behind posting that blog was the victor's urge to gloat and claim the credit. Or, as some would claim, how he actually murdered the Viceking."
"One of the Brothers Sleep managed to possess a man through a two year old videotape. Killing one of the Gods of Our Fears with a blog? It doesn't seem that far-fetched in comparison, and there quite a number of other incidents I could point to to counter this arbitrary threshold of skepticism."
"If you could kill someone, Fear or otherwise, with a blog and the intent to kill, a great many more souls would be in the Archangel's embrace."
"Fair point," Lee conceded. "Which is why it's possible that the blog wasn't what killed him. There is a third option, though - if I were to represent that murder as Magreat shooting the Viceking, the blog could be the gun in that metaphor. Not quite what killed him, but instrumental in that act by delivering the metaphorical bullet."
"In that case, what would you propose was his bullet?"
"The research of another man, Julian Dipiere. I got the chance to investigate his personal library in his home, several months ago. He owned the entire collection of Dipiere's works, all first editions. He'd known less of the Fears than Magreat did, and his discovery was almost as dangerous." Lee shook his head. "It's a miracle that Dipiere decided to be sincere in that last interview, when outright he stated his work could let mankind achieve godhood. If he hadn't tanked his credibility in academia right there and then, people might have actually attempted following through on his reseach. And, eventually, found out that it actually works."
"How would you know this?"
"Because I asked."
Liquid Len didn't ask who. Judging by his body language, it looked like he knew exactly who he was talking about.
"So you believe where Dipiere unlocked a great secret of life, Magreat used it to discover a great secret of death."
Lee nodded gravely. "The way I see that line of thought, it branches into two terrible possibilities. The first is that he used that research to discover its opposite, as you just voiced."
Liquid Len paused. "What could the other one be, then?"
"He didn't reverse-engineer Dipiere's research to find out how to kill an immortal." Lee paused, taking a careful sip from his mug before he spoke. "The Viceking's death was only part of Magreat's own quest for apotheosis."
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
"Then how did he kill the Viceking?"
"Look, are ya'll... Ah' don't even know, deluded, or some shit?" called out of a voice off from the side, belonging to
a brown haired girl, dressed like a soldier, walking out into the plaza towards the motorbikes.
"Cus', ah'm pretty sure it's illegal to sell guns to schizos. The fuck are you lot even on about anymore? 'Vicekings' an' all this shit, I canne tell if you're takin' the piss or actually stupid. Ah' thought you's were gonna be interesting, too, what with the fancy swords and shite." she sighed, as she stopped walking and crossed her arms, evidentally part confused and part annoyed,
"So what's 'ya deal, eh?"The bikers looked to Liquid Len for their orders. Liquid Len glanced at Lee without turning his head.
Lee lifted the mug to his lips, but didn't tip it quite far enough to drink. "Local Magical Girl," he murmured, just loud enough for Liquid Len to hear. "Lacks the Spark of a Beacon operative, as well as the corruption a Dark Magical Girl or Monster Girl would be steeped in. Neutral party." He then sipped a little before lowering the mug.
Liquid Len gestured for his men to stand down. Then he turned to fully face the girl. "I would ask you the same question." He began to circle her, studying her carefully as he paced. "Your uniform is well-tailored, but you do not carry yourself like a soldier. Nor, for that matter, as a child playing at one. A warrior, though, no doubt about that. And from that look in your eyes," and here he paused in front of her, eyes to deadlights. "...you have seen things that most people are blessed enough never to see in their entire lives. Beasts in the shape of mankind, manifestations of their deepest fears. In some cases, in a horrifyingly literal sense.
"My conceit - my 'deal' - is that I too am a warrior, seeking truth." Liquid Len resumed his circling, only to pause again so that from her prespective the other bikers were in sight behind him. "We have been exposed to different truths in our lives, a blessing and curse of the human condition. I speak of what it familiar to me, and I regret and envy how it does not hold true for you. I learned a great many of these truths on the highways and backroads of this country, hidden in the trees of its urban jungles. Despite these revelations - or perhaps to spite them - my men and I dedicate our lives to preserve as many innocent ones as we can. Sometimes, words are not enough to do so." He gestured towards her sword, very slightly. "Surely that is a familiar truth to you?"
Liquid Len gestured to the girl with an open palm. "I have told you my conceit. And so I ask you to do the same."
"So ah'm right then, you're a bunch'a fuckin loonies." Rebecca retorted, keeping her peripherals on the so called Len as he circled her,
"Dunno what you's lads are on about or nothing, but m'ah 'conceit' ain't dealing with crazies circle jerkin over their power fantasies and other shite. Ah'might give you's a listen if ya were to actually talk like a normal person for fuckin once, but if that's a bit too hard for you's, then, well..."She reached into one of the inner pocket for her uniform, and pulled out what appeared to be a kind of badge.
"Area's off limits to the public right's about now. Pendin' investigation on the disapperance and destruction of the Penrose Cathedral. If you's wouldn't mind clearin' out, there'll be no reason for legal escalation, get me? Ah wouldn't wanna have to call in some backup to forcefully remove you's from the area or nothin, and ah'm sure you's'd rather not either."Lee went to drink some more from his mug, then paused. He glared inside of it for a second, then tipped it upside down. "Hold that thought," he said, "I need to refill my mug." Having said this, he shifted his book over to his mug arm, freeing up his other arm. He casually reached into his hoodie, going for an inside pocket. Using the opening of his jacket as cover, he almost casually moved an FBI badge into the girl's line of sight.
After a second to let Rebecca process what she spotted, he replaced the badge, made a movement that suspicuously looked like pressing a button, and then took out a metal flask. "We've got thirty seconds," Lee said, as if discussing the weather. "Before anyone realizes their equipment isn't malfunctioning. He and his men are DEA. There's a business card in your back right pocket. Don't reach for it now. Call the number in a week. We'll discuss this again without the encoded messages then." He finished pouring liquid into the mug, then smoothly replaced the flask. He also made that pressing motion again. "No, Officer, no trouble at all."
The moment he mentioned something in her back pocket, Rebecca turned to glance at Len. A second later she turned back, facing Lee once more, but this time with a small smirk on her lips.
"A'ight, fair's to ya." she said, placing the badge back into her outfit,
"Seem's you's ain't a bunch of lunatics after all, eh? Sure, ah'll bite." any semblance of a defensive stance she held prior seemed to drop immediately, as she acclimated to the group and relaxed,
"Still, you's got no business 'ere. Disappearing cathedrals ain't really your thing, or did you's get a new hobby?""Tempting idea, but I'll leave the landmark stealing to Carmen Sandiego," Lee said. He glanced over at the santified chunks of rubble and grimace-smiled. "She leaves less of a mess than the amateurs, anyhow."
Liquid Len coughed. "At any rate, it seems I've spent long enough in this immediate area." Liquid Len nodded to Rebecca. "I wish you luck in your investigation. I only had the one opportunity to visit this cathedral before today - it would be a shame if it were my last."
"Aye, it would be. It were a nice place once." Rebecca replied, and began walking off to the side, around the bikers and Lee, to the point where Binky and the others had reappeared previously,
"If you's get any information yourselves, or somethin' like that, you make sure you's give us a heads up down at the station, a'ight? Ah don't want any withholding of shite that could be useful - terror attacks ain't worth screwing about's with."As she came to the site, she pulled out her phone and started dialling up a number.
"See you's around then, eh."Liquid Len turned to his men. "Brothers," he called. "Prepare yourselves! We're leaving."
Liquid Len looked back at Lee. "Until we meet again."
"Likewise."
Liquid Len began to walk over to his motorcycle.
And that's when they began to hear
the keyboard playing.As she finished dialling the number, Rebecca raised the phone to hear ear, and began speaking in a hushed tone. She backed off, into the shadowy corner of some of the rubble, and vanished into the darkness as Lee and his cohorts began their charade. None of this was especially interesting to her; the most intriguing part, in reality, was how quickly they had adjusted themselves to her bluff. The obfuscation field had tipped her off originally, but it had become much more obvious now that these people weren't ordinary, and, to her slight concern, weren't as well versed with Magical Girls as she would have expected.
Within seconds of her shadow step, she arrived back at her watch point - the place she had started the whole encounter. Phone still to her ear, she kept an eye out below.
"Aye, that's right. 'Ere, let the Boss know, will 'ya? Is probably nothin', but y'know how she gets with this kinda shite. I dunno about you's, but if this does turn into somethin' fruitful for us, I don't wanna be on the side that din't give her the info in the first place."A tall door stood freely in the plaza, open to an epileptically colorful but largely incomprehensible otherworld.A conspicuous figure in the shape of a man stood in the center of the opening, hands at his hips. For a moment, he stood as a white absence in the midst of the chaos.
The silhouetted figure stepped out from the edge of the ontological orifice, facing the opening while walking backwards from it.
"Fuck you and your Volvo, I had the right of way!"The suited man turned away from the portal, and pausing in visible confusion at the 15+ people who were staring at him. Without looking away, he reached behind his back for the keyboard and hit the power button and the music, which must have been programmed to loop, cut off. His attention shifted to one gas-masked man in particular, ignoring the portal closing in the background.
Then he spoke.
"Lenny Bruce.""Jordan Dooling."
"We meet again.""It's been a long time."
They both paused.
"Are all drivers in this city so aggressive? Is it a traffic thing, or maybe the road design?" Jordan asked, gesturing towards the direction he came in from.
"I mean, I know D.C. has a reputation for its whole wheel and spoke road layout... thing, but I never knew other city planners took it as a challenge.""Uh... no, it only seems to be those Volvo drivers, the majority of drivers here are fine," Liquid Len(ny Bruce?) said. "Listen, how about I give you a ride?"
"No, no, it's okay. I appreciate the offer, but I still have a few more miles to walk this morning before I hit my step count goal." Jordan cheerfully tipped his hat to everyone.
"Well, you guys have fun at your costume contest!"Then he just walked away, whistling to the tune of "X Gon Give It To Ya" as he left.
Liquid Len shared a wordless glance with Lee, before he got onto his motorcycle and departed the plaza amidst a contemplative chorus of engines.
Lee stood there for a moment, calmly watching them drive farther and farther away. "I'd say it's time for me to make my exit," he said, opening another tunnel into torchlight and the sounds of skittering bones. "Lee Richards withdraws cooly, stage left."
He waved with his free hand, though perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a flicking gesture over the shoulder.
...
But there was someone there who noticed something about the gesture. The girl walked over carefully, bending down once she was close enough to inspect the card he had left behind.
No name. Just a number, and an odd phrase on the back.
With a brief glance towards Speedwagon, Joanna Fujo put in her pocket.
A week later, a communion took place in Penrose. Three people, three girls, met one night, in a hotel room, somewhere in the middle of the city. It had been a week since the disappearance of the Cathedral, and the attack on the stadium; The Boss had been promptly informed of all the goings on soon after they occurred, and had scheduled the meeting well in advance, at Rebecca's recommendation. She was stood towards the door, maintaining distance from the two others that had accompanied her. This wasn't the kind of meeting she was typically invited to, by any stretch of the imagination, and while there was a degree of anxiety, she felt somewhat honoured.
Sat atop one of the beds was
a muscular woman, adorned with what appeared to be an apron, as though she had been plucked from a kitchen to attend the event. Her legs were crossed, and though she paid no heed to Rebecca on her left, her attention was found focussed solely on the person to her right, whom she watched with nervous, anticipatory eyes. Most every other night besides this one she would have been found behind a stove, combining ingredient after ingredient to please a full restaurant. Instead, she was here.
All at the behest of this woman - this girl -
with her fingerless gloves, reddish purple hair, topped with a patchwork hat, and complimented with an equally patchwork coat. While the two girls behind her looked on, eager and anxious for their meeting to begin, the girl stood, next to the window, bathed in the moonlight of Penrose in the night.
"Sasha.""Yes ma'am?" the chef started, now stood up from the bed,
"Are we starting?""Probably." she said as she turned, and drew a smartphone from her pocket,
"Keep an eye on her." her gaze sat trained on Rebecca as she dialed a number with one hand, and Sasha manoeuvred herself into the hallway. The anxious expression of Rebecca escalated into a modicum of fear as the giant, muscled woman placed herself to her side, but upon seeing that Sasha had no intention of hurting her, though, she began to relax.
With the last number entered, The Boss turned back to the window. A soft vibration filled the silence of the hotel room, as she lifted the phone to her ear, and cast her gaze once more unto the skyline, waiting patiently for the other end to pick up the call.
The phone was picked up halfway through the second ring. "Hello," said a male voice. There was a distinctive tinge of vocal fry in the greeting. "Who may I be speaking to?"
"This is Cynthia Martell, Chief of Police for the PCPD. Is this Lee Richards I'm speaking to?" she replied, with a slight glance back towards Rebecca.
"Yeah, I'm Lee Richards," he said, without missing a beat. "I presume your subordinate passed my number along to you?"
Cynthia took a step away from the window, and approached the small hotel table, upon which was laid a number of folders.
"That's correct." she flipped one open, and skimmed through the pages,
"Now, mind explaining to me what your people were doing around our investigation? And more importantly, what you're up to here in Penrose?""I'd be glad to do so," Lee said. "...in person."
"This is a secure line, sweetheart." she said, lifting a pen from a pot nearby,
"Had enough wiretapping incidents in the past year to know when to use 'em, and I'm pretty sure now is a good time. At the very least..." with her left hand, she began to write out a transcript for the conversation,
"At the very least you can give me a synopsis.""...fair enough." Lee paused for a moment. "It directly relates to the large number of gangs that have converged upon Penrose in the past several weeks. As part of the local police, you've likely noticed the wave of suddenly unfamiliar iconography, and an vast uptick in graffiti."
A second folder was opened, accompanied by the further flitting of paper. Dozens of police reports, within various parts of the city, pertaining to various individuals and organisations, littered the pages - courtesy of a few well placed calls.
"Aye, that we have. And with all this crap with the Cathedral, and that attack on the Stadium, we've been stretched thin." Cyntha responded, nestling the phone into her shoulder, pushed up to her hat, to allow a free hand for the documents,
"But why would the DEA and FBI be interested in some petty street gangs migrating to the city? Unless there's some grand conspiracy here, I believe it's our purview to deal with it."Lee sighed. "Well, normally you'd be right. If these were just a large hodgepodge of gangs descending on your fair city, it wouldn't be as high of a priority. The thing is, until the tail end of 2015..."
There was a pause, and the quiet sound of Lee sipping whispered from the reciever. "...these gangs were fragments of a larger criminal empire," Lee continued. "Each one compartmentalized, given their own 'trademark' kinds of drugs to place on the market, deliberately made to look from the outside as a large number of unrelated but closely competitive gangs. But at the end of the day, they were all under the thumb of one man. Your subordinate heard me refer to him as
The Viceking."
"And this so called Viceking was killed by a man named Christopher Magreat, I've been informed. Using scientific research and a blog." a hint of sarcasm lingered beneath the words - a personality choice for
Cynthia,
"Lemme rephrase the question. I did some digging, read Dipiere's "The Perfect Paradox", and I'd like to know why you people are impersonating law enforcement - which, I should remind you, is a felony - and wasting my time."Cynthia then reached to a third folder, this one much smaller than the others, and fished out from it a rough transcript of Rebecca's conversation from earlier in the week.
"Lets get to some proper dialogue, and start again, shall we? I've got a lot of stuff here I don't understand, and you've got a lot of answers: Fears, The Viceking, Archangel's, Magreat, Dipiere, and research on Godhood. Care to explain?""In the interest of proper dialogue, though, we might as well get the whole 'stones and glass houses' part out of the way now," Lee said, before taking another sip. "I know that you know that she knows that I know what she really is. And we both know she doesn't work for PCPD.
Now we can continue without any bush-beating." He took another sip.
"Few people in this city can see the full picture of what goes on in Penrose. Independent research can only get you so far, when you're not sure of where you should be looking. And I'll admit, you did well reading
The Perfect Paradox. Even going into this conversation having read that, though, we've still got a lot of ground to cover to get you fully up to speed. So..." Lee took another sip. "I might as well ask you where you want me to start."
"I suppose you're right, a military uniform isn't particularly indicative of a police officer." she turned her head towards Rebecca,
"Maybe you should start carrying around that Artifact I set aside for you, and listen?" when Rebecca nodded in the affirmative,
Cynthia returned to the notes, disinterested in the fact Lee had heard the short interaction,
"The graffiti. What is it, how is it read, how is it used?""'Subjects should, for the sake of clarity, avoid using graffiti for the sake of gang symbols. Graffiti is a means of communication. Write words, or leave a symbol representing either shelter or Fossils. Don't use it for petty gangs, or else you'll cause confusion and people will think it's a new type of Fossil.'" Lee took a sip, presumably from the mug mentioned in Rebecca's report. "A direct quotation from The Code of Abacab, a blog run by an influential Runner by the name of Scarecrow, and one that is generally memorized by others who are Running From The Fears. For the sake of clearing up some of the unfamiliar terminology, 'Fossils' are another name for referring to the Fears themselves."
Lee took another sip. "But about the graffiti itself. While symbols for safety tend to change - for reasons that are easy to puzzle out - if those places are referred to in written graffiti they'll refer to them as 'Trips.' Named so because... well, if you Trip, you stop Running. Also a neat way to signify their impermanence," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"On the other side of that coin, each Fear is associated with some form of symbol, one that stays generally static over time - you can ask your subordinate to draw you the symbol used to designate the Archangel's influence, if she hasn't already. It's the gold one she saw on the back of the bikers' leathers."
"Of course," Lee continued. "Sometimes there'll be blog urls sprayed up during a conversation in graffiti, or at least meaningful fragments of them. Most Runners use Blogger instead of Wordpress, so they'll likely work in the logo to differentiate it from standard graffiti. And while it's common to see them use the 'Simple' theme, they'll at least attempt to use more colors than black and white."
"They'll use these if they want to facilitate online discussions, a more direct set of messages that may be too sensitive or lengthy to get across with spraypaint." Lee sipped. "According to the Code of Abacab, the person for whom the url is intended for is supposed to spray over it with the specific color they were conversing with, to indicate that they've seen it. It's also considered bad form if a Runner who is a third-party does this, unless asked to by either the one whom it was intended for or the original writer themselves."
Cynthia scribbled out the explanation in short hand, forming a near incoherent mess of swirls and squiggles with her weaker hand. Some of the information was useful, other bits not so much, but when Lee finished his speech, she tore the page from the binder, and slid it across the desk in the direction of Sasha. She took it, skimmed it over for a few seconds, nodded, and pulled out a flip phone.
"So the Viceking was one of your Gods, like the Archangel; one of your Fears." she began, as she moved across to pull a laptop from a bag off to the side of the bed,
"I'm sure you understand the concept of Patrons. Where do the powers you people wield come from?""That's a little situational," Lee admitted. "For the most part, it's power passed directly from the Fears to their servants. Sometimes that manifests as a symbiotic relationship, like between The Morphs and their Nests, though for others it tends to be a direct gifting of power. It could also be given as part of a deal with Jack of All, but that path eventually leads to pain and suffering.
"Otherwise it's either tied to possessing relics of an eldritch nature," Lee continued, "...or, in rarer cases, unlocked from within a person, provided the right set of circumstances occur. I suppose you might reconcile that situation with a Magical Girl realizing her bloodline."
"You're willing to give up an awful lot of information, aren't you, Lee? I don't know your world, I don't know your people, and I don't know your practices - and we're still having this conversation." she said aloud, withrdrawing the pen from a second sheet, where the tapped the page twice, in seemingly nothing more than a subconscious tick,
"What are you going to ask me for in return? And just how much can I ask for? - how much information is too much?"Lee sighed deeply. "Listen, Cynthia, or whatever your real name is... originally, yes, I was planning on sticking to the FBI story," Lee admitted. "While it would have been a half-truth, I would have contextualized the Fears and their servants as merely a mundane collection of migrating gangs and domestic terrorists, and convinced you to focus some of your attention on them rather than my allies."
Lee took a long pull from his drink. "Within hours of setting this plan into motion, though, something unforseen changed the situation. It was quite the lightshow. Due to its nature, I doubt either of you missed it."
"You wanted me to waste my time dealing with your problems, so you could, what, find Magreat first? Why would magical protection for mortals get in the way, hmm?""The exact wording protected 'those under a Veil Of Ignorance,'" Lee solemnly said. "Runners, though? They know about the Fears, and barring mental trauma will continue to be aware of this until the day they die. Which means that well-intentioned wish is drawing a lot more attention to those people because
that protection doesn't cover them, and innocent people are
dying thanks to that little loophole."
Lee took another sip from his drink, and then the sound of liquid pouring into the mug made its way through the reciever. "Of course, I can't go directly to the Beacon and ask for them to be protected. I know the offenses their higher-ups deem punishable by excommunication. I know that by the average Magical Girl's definition, I serve a Horror. As soon as that fact came to light, either my contact's life or my own would be in jeopardy, along with their interest in protecting those people."
On the other end of the call,
Cynthia sighed. A few footsteps, only barely audible, followed, and then came the sound of an object coming into contact with something soft, underlayed quietly with the creaking of wood. Near enough five seconds passed, with
Cynthia laying face down on the bed. Sasha and Rebecca looked on with a modicum of worry, but soon after, their Boss rolled over onto her back, and placed the phone back up to her ear.
"You want me to help protect them, don't you? Talk to Beacon and get them to keep an eye out, maybe deviate some of my resources to your innocent friends." the sound of her climbing off the bed found its way down the line, followed by the dragging of a chair across carpet,
"You're scared, aren't you? It's not a case of getting magical girls on your side, it's because things are fucked - enough to tell an outsider whatever they want to know."Cynthia glanced off towards Sasha, who quickly ended her phonecall. She walked over, taking not two steps to get to the chair, and handed the phone off to her Boss, who quickly began typing up a message.
"Let me tell you some truths. You don't get my name, but I head a news station - the Penrose Independent. The company's listed under Cynthia Martell. I employ several dozens of magical people, and letting Beacon know about your friends is pretty fucking easy." when she finished typing, she turned the phone towards Sasha, who placed herself between it and Rebecca. Once read, she nodded,
"What Fear do you work for, Lee? What do they do, what do you represent - everything.""...well, in the interest of 'keeping the truth truthful...'" Lee's end of the line was silent for a moment. "I work for
the Fear of Memories. Of what they hold. Of losing them. Of becoming nothing more than one, and one day becoming even less than that." Lee took a sip from his mug. "As for what
I represent... I suppose you could say I represent the memory of what I once was."
Lee took another sip. "I can't say for certain what will happen in the coming days. Just know that everything will soon change. It's only a matter of our apocalypse versus theirs." Lee paused. "And for what it's worth, I apologize if I offended you earlier, with my commentary on your organization's... blog design."
Off to the side, barely audible to Lee, was the sound of talking - one voice, steeped thick in a Russian accent, appeared to be arguing with the familiar, Scottish voice of Rebecca. A few words were audible. “Beacon," “The Independent,” “Your job.” It was fragmented, practically unrecognisable from the actual words being spoken, but the discussion seemed heated: Rebecca wasn’t happy with what she was being ordered to do.
”The website is a stop gap. It’s good enough for now.” Cynthia replied,
”But onto actual business - here’s your deal. I’ll get word to Beacon, see about protecting your little runners. And my standby Tracker team will keep an eye and ear to the ground for ‘em, too. Can’t guarantee all of them live, but they’ll be safe where I can find ‘em.”A similar scraping of wood against carpet found its way down the call, as
Cynthia pushed the chair out from under the desk, and took a step towards the window once again.
”I want everything you know in exchange. You said it yourself, there's still so much that I don't understand, and you've piqued my interest. Fears, Magreat, Blogs, Dipiere's Research... All of it exists and I never noticed. That's something worth learning about." at the window, she took one more, cursory look across the city - lips crested with a smile,
"That's the Banker's offer. Deal? - or no deal?""There is so very much to learn," Lee agreed. "It will take time for you to do so, and some lessons will have to be shown, rather than explained over the phone. Language, though useful, does not always lend itself to accurately describing the eldritch." Lee took another sip from his mug. "Do you accept that?"
”Deal.""Then consider it struck. Pleasure doing business with you," Lee said.
Cynthia removed the phone from her ear, and promptly ended the call.
"You's really want me ta do this shite?" Rebecca asked, now that silence had fallen over the room. Her argument with Sasha had ended and all three stood in the quiet.
"You are not monster girl or dark magical girl. You will be fine. More importantly, you know he will have recorded that conversation, yes?""Aye, 'ah might be fine. But fuck's gonna 'appen if ah ain't?""I'll sort out your story and protection later. If anyone, aim for Penny or the Seraph, Alicia. Main objective is giving them the information, your secondary objective is just that - secondary." Cynthia then turned back around to face the two,
"Of course I know, Sasha. That's the idea."Rebecca sighed.
"A'ight fine, ah'll fuckin'... Ah's best be getting paid extra for riskin' me arse, Ma'am."
"So. What do you think?"
& 
& 
