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Chloe had no idea what that lightning or sonic boom was, but it was something she couldn't just ignore. Such a blatant display of power. Such a familiar feeling as her own, too, but so very different. Another one, then? Hm. Usually such things would try to be a little more subtle about their influence, unlike her own patrons desire for destruction - which is what made this particularly interesting. A horror who wasn't afraid of being seen? Or at least, someone with the powers of one. A small spike of pain in her head indicated Iesud's displeasure and desire for haste.
"Yes yes, I'm investigating. No need to get all rawr-rawr fire breathing angry dragon." She huffed, dropping down to street level, feet landing on the ground momentarily. Whoever it was, was moving quite fast and doing their best to potentially lose any tails they might have. Unfortunately for them, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She wasn't going to let whoever this was escape so easily.
Picking up the trail again, Chloe swiftly moved once more. Iesud for the most part was as silent as usual, aside from the usual feelings of aggression and grumble of displeasure. She could guess why - this power scared him. Which was also why she was highly interested in it. She just had to figure out who it was coming from, and see if she could strike a deal with them. If they were friendly. Well, even if they weren't, surely they'd be interested in what she had to say.
The man-made light of Penrose at night was very bright, but something brought a stillness to the air. If the city was a lady, she was holding her breath in anticipation. Or, more aptly, Fear.
The Faceless Bastard stalked alone on the darkened streets, winding around different back streets and thoroughfares in the most frustrating ways he could think of taking. He couldn't just assume Treefingers or their potential accomplice wouldn't try to follow him, and take him off the board as well. Why they chose to shoot the Masked Massacrer instead of him was unclear, but he had his suspicions. Glass Prisoners tended to stay alive long enough to play the part of a chronicler, with Blogger as the usual method of sharing that story. His guess was that the Masked Massacrer's time had run out, and he was the next one up to the keyboard. It wasn't always a death sentence, but it meant that you were Fated to at least witness *something* big. Like greenlight, that old bastard.
At this point, The Faceless Bastard had cut through the subway for the fifth time. He'd found a long flashlight in a side pouch of the Masked Massacrer's backpack, one of the kind that was heavy enough to use as a club and built solidly enough to keep using it that way. She'd had great taste in flashlights, too. Shame she was dead. He held the flashlight in his left hand, loose enough to look casual but not enough for it to slip out of his grip.
He hopped down to the tracks, intending on following the tunnels for a while. And as he walked along, something on the walls caught his eye. "What've we got here?" He switched the light on and pointed into the shadows. Graffiti covered the walls as heavily as advertisements cover professional racecars, but the tunnel was otherwise clear. He focused his attention to the graffiti on the walls. Might as well get a better idea of the current situation.
Great. Timberwolf activity. Archie and his cultist cronies were in town. Yet another group of assholes that didn't like him.
Philosophical bullshit. Probably written by the same cultist.
"...those assholes tend to be the mad doctor type, but not kind that cooks up Semtek." He moved the flashlight's beam around. He needed to see how deep that rabbit hole went.
Whoever this was, was being far too obtuse. Hmph. Should just confidently stroll about. If they were that strong, they wouldn't have such a worry, would they? Should just let whoever thought they were strong enough to fight them walk up. So why where they being so needlessly cloak and dagger?
The night air would have probably made someone dressed as lightly as her shiver, but she had bigger issues than her revealing clothing to attend too. The city was, too, it seemed. Something caused it to shiver, silence itself. Was it this person she was tracking? She allowed her feet to once again touch the ground near the exit of a subway for the fifth time. Hmph. This was starting to annoy her, but the pain in her skull from the irritable dragons urging made her more than eager to continue.
Gah, one of these days soon, she'd be the one in charge. Not that pathetic rotting old dragon.
"Grh-" He didn't like that thought. She winced, holding her head with a hand. "Have you ever tried honey instead of vinegar?" She grumbled aloud. "You might actually make me prefer you if you tried that every now and then." Exhaling, Chloe let her orb float in a circle around her, taking a brief look around at her surroundings. The path was easy enough to follow - the traces of residual eldritch magics were powerful, and obvious to anyone with a modicum of skill.
"Well at least he's not being as clever as he thinks. What, are they trying to just get me off their trail with boredom? Chuckling lightly, she hopped down onto the tracks following the trail. What was Penny up to right now, she wondered? She said she had something to go do. A meeting with the Mint. Hmph, she hoped they didn't lay a hand on her precious little Penny. Oh well, the Mint would get theirs soon enough. She just needed time. And if this person she was tracking was anything like she hoped...then this would expedite the process quite a bit.
Walking further into the tunnel, The Faceless Bastard spotted the next part of the graffiti conversation.
"...on top of everything in this clusterfuck sundae, now we've got 'Magical Girls?' I'll have to track down that blog, but..." He wasn't that far from O'Briens. Maybe someone there would have spotted the name of that Runner's blog. If there was any doubt of him going there tonight, that put the last of them to rest.
The Faceless Bastard kept walking down the tunnel with renewed purpose. Although, as he got twenty steps away from his exit, he could have sworn he heard someone laughing. As he instinctively turned towards the sound, he spotted another bit of graffiti on the wall.
No, that chill running over his spine was just from The Morphs shifting inside of him. But he walked a little faster up the last of those access stairs.
The Faceless Bastard emerged from the service access stairwell, taking a deep breath of the night air. He was only a block from O'Briens at this point, but he figured he'd spent enough time walking around Penrose. Best not waste anymore of his time at that point. He strolled along, casual as one can be, down the back street.
The first thing he noticed was that O'Briens had gotten a new sign. It wasn't that big of a surprise, what with the explosion in Ontario taking the first one out of commission. This version had the lettering in some kind of gold-colored metal over a green background, possibly to make it look a little more like an Irish pub than what it really was. Thankfully, it didn't go so far as to add a tacky four-leaf clover, but The Faceless Bastard noticed that it kept the ⨂ symbol on the sign. Yep, it was ⨂'Briens all right.
He went down the concrete steps to the door. Looked like your average solid core wooden door, but as he opend it, a closer inspection revealed that was just a veneer placed on solid steel. As he walked in, he could see it looked like a textbook depiction of a dive bar: brick walls, plenty of sturdy looking wooden tables, the pool table in the corner. The selection of booze was bigger than the last place ever had over the bar, that was for certain. Sullivan was serving a couple of drinks to a pair of girls sitting at the end of the bar, who were deep in conversation about something.
One of the patrons, wrapped in towels but still soaked to the bone, looked up at him and said, "Hellay!"
The Faceless Bastard waved back, and made a note not to let them anywhere near his drink. It wasn't like they'd slip him a mickey - though to be frank they were so covered in towels that their gender was all but incomprehensible - but you don't live long by letting a Camper play around with your drink. Not in the sense that mattered, anyways.
Come to think of it, O'Briens was pretty packed. Oathkeepers still in their scrubs were chatting each other up over cheesesteaks and beer. The faint smell of rust and musk drifted over from some Blood Vessels playing darts, and terribly at that. Thankfully, none of the trademark biker leather or gas masks that marked a Timberwolf were anywhere in sight.
There was a few spots open at the bar near those girls, and, for lack of better options, he cooly went and sat down in the center of those three empty spots. On his right, he could spot the familiar eye-shaped tattoo on a patron's hand. Dammit, even the Gavels were in this town. The Faceless Bastard found it interesting that the guy wasn't going nuts in this place, surrounded by so many criminals.
"Long time no see, Faceless." He turned at the sound of Sullivan's heavy Canadian accent. "What can I get you for?"
"Nice to see you too, Sullivan. Any good microbrews from around here?"
Chloe continued the chase, her wings carrying her swiftly through the tunnels. Whoever it was she was tracking lingered here for a bit. Checking the local artwork, hm? Humorous. Well, she couldn't spare the time to similarly enjoy it lest she let her quarry escape. The traces were becoming fainter, and if she hoped to track them then she'd need to hurry. Soon, her flight carried her up a service stairwell, and back out into the night air.
They were close.
Slowing her pace slightly, she focused. A few spirits emerged from her crystal ball - small things. Harmles poltergeists to be used as scouts of sorts. Make sure she wasn't about to be ambushed or otherwise walk into danger. She had other spirits in her employment, but no need to cause a huge ruckus just yet. She followed in the Faceless Bastards footsteps, eventually finding a quaint little place called O'breins, where the trail led into.
Curious.
Now she could go in looking like a cosplaying stripper, but she had a little more class than that. With a quick thought, her magical girl outfit was dispelled, leaving her in her normal black and red gothic loli styled dress. She'd likely look more than a little out of place once she entered, but such was fine. Easier to judge who exactly she was tracking here. Confidently, she walked down the stairs, and pushed open the door to the dive bar.
"Eugh, I didn't think I'd ever find myself in quite such a...cozy place." Chloe mused, taking a quick observation of the bar. Surprisingly though, they had no one to turn away an obviously underaged person such as herself. Not that it'd do them any good. She'd just ignore them and waltz in anyways, even if she had to get a little rough, and as expected she looked quite out of place.
Out of costume, her third eye was far less effective, but she could put two and two together rather easily. She'd just needed to take a moment to observe.
The fellow covered in towels noted the new arrival, and gave them a friendly "Hellay!"
Chloe wasn't quite certain what this thing was, but it certainly wasn't human, and what was with that weird way of saying hello?
"What manner of disgusting thing are you?" Chloe raised an eyebrow, frowing in displeasure at this thing that was speaking to her. Urgh, some creatures just needed to really cease their existence. Nothing more than a blight upon her world. "Out of my way, you aren't my quarry and I have little time to entertain whatever manner of filth you are."
The towel fellow paused. Then they said "Hellay" again, but this time in the inflection of a confused question. They shook their head, getting a few drops on a nearby patron, who immediately started dabbing away the moisture with bar napkins as if covered in fire ants.
"...right." Chloe raised an eyebrow, glancing over to the patron swiftly wiping up whatever liquid that was from their clothing. Probably a bad idea to touch it, then. "Well have fun being whatver manner of creature you are, I have better things to do."
The towel fellow merely blinked at her from where they were sitting. "Well have fun," they said, matching Chloe's tone with eerie precision. It went back to its drink, which looked rather clear. Vodka, maybe? Water? Hard to tell what it was, from a glance, but something told her she wouldn't want to try any. "...little time...to entertain..."
Walking past the creature, Chloe studied the bar quietly. Well, no one questioned a little girl being in the place yet, so this was probably a gathering for all sorts of sordid people if that...whatever it was, was any indication. Ah, perhaps this was going to be a gold mine of good opporunities. It didn't take her long to find her presumed quarry. Someone who looked like they hadn't been there for long, and he reeked of the same magic she had been following.
"Hm...this is quite the nice place, isn't it?" She walked over to where the Faceless Bastard was sitting. "You know, for someone who tried so hard to lose any tails, you certainly didn't mind showing off quite a bit back there."
The Faceless Bastard glanced over at the girl, running her appearance through some mental checklists. She didn’t fit the description of any Servant he’d ever seen – and sure as hell wasn’t a Doll, or else he’d just be having this conversation with Sullivan – so that left a few options.
A Runner, in which case they were a really fucking stupid one. You’re supposed to run *away* from the Fears and their Servants, that’s what the term fucking means. Or, spinning off from that, a Fighter. A really fucking bold one, but a lot of those types either die fast or have an affair with Lady Luck. He wasn’t sure how literal that was supposed to be, but he wouldn’t throw the possibility out.
Some kid who read too much Nancy Drew… which honestly, kudos for keeping up, but the absolute worst fucking place to follow a guy. Out of the corner of his mask’s eyeholes, he could spot one of the Blood Vessels eyeing her up like a piece of meat. Whether it was the kind one eats, kills, or fucks…or hell, even what order... he honestly didn’t want to think about.
Treefingers’ accomplice. Most likely person to have picked up on his trail, after maybe Treefingers. Probably not Treefingers, but if an Illim can disguise themselves so thoroughly, it wasn’t out of the question for such an unknown.
The Adrift. The kind of elaborate, childish getup and form fit the bill well enough. Then again, really easy to tell if it was her.
A final possibility came to mind: one of those “Magical Girls” that graffiti mentioned.
Five different cards on hand. Time to play some poker.
Three seconds had passed since she’d spoken. The Faceless Bastard took a casual, slow pull from his bottle of MacAnally’s Pale. It was the best beer he’d ever had, and he was gonna enjoy it, dammit. ”Why don’t you take a seat, kiddo?” He casually motioned to the seat on his right. “All that walking must’ve taken something out of you.”
"Kiddo, huh?" Cautious, but not overly stupid enough to try something right then and there. How quaint. She took a seat where indicated, doing her best to ignore that disgusting alcohol he was drinking. Ah, why'd it have to be some place like this. Why couldn't it be a fancy tea house or a upperclass club? "I haven't been called that in awhile. Still infuriating as ever. Can't say flying really tires the feet, though."
Now, Chloe had a few options here. It was clear this place seemed to be some sort of gathering ground for the supernatural. Other magical girls weren't present, and this amount of activity not drawing attention before would be odd. Must have some way to disguise itself. How best to approach? Well, might as well not beat around the bush.
"So I'm curious," Chloe continued to watch the man in front of her, watching for his reactions in case she needed to defend herself. "Who do you serve? And don't lie. I saw that little lightning trick of yours - your abilities obviously come from those that exist outside our normal concept of reality."
Well, that narrowed things down considerably. She sure as hell wasn’t The Adrift – for a start, she wasn’t making any creepy, unchildlike passes at him. And unless she was the freshest Runner around, she wasn’t one of those either. Information about The Morphs isn’t exactly hard to find in the blogosphere, and he was one of the most famous of their Nests… for better or worse.
So those cards went back to the dealer. In their place, he got a pair of Jokers. It was still possible that this was Treefingers’ accomplice, but it seemed unlikely at this point. The reaction to “kiddo” could have implied she was older than she looked, but it wasn’t enough to confirm anything concrete. It could have been another point in favor of Nancy Drew, a ‘hardboiled’ kid detective who wants to solve mysteries and be taken seriously.
Or that was another point in favor of the ever mysterious ‘magical girl,’ which – if the graffiti was any hint – also explained why she didn’t recognize the Morphs for what they were. And that little ‘flying’ remark, too. Though if Nancy Drew got ahold of a magic carpet or some shit, that could also explain it.
In this game, though, he had an advantage. Poker’s not really a game about playing the best hand – it’s about playing the people. Learn when they’re bluffing, get them to fall for your own.
One of many perks of being a Nest for the Morphs was the ability to use their connection to replace his eyesight. Obviously, he wasn’t shown anything from inside of him – which he was eternally grateful for – but this allowed him to see things in ways that most people couldn’t. For example, splitting his attention between this girl and on the Gavel sitting next to her.
The second she had sat down, that tattooed hand twitched. Whatever kind of self-control that Gavel had while sitting in a room full of Servants, it cracked. Not enough to go past that twitch, but The Faceless Bastard could tell from that reaction that this girl had some kind of sin on her hands. And with Blood Vessels in the room, it had to be something big.
He wasn’t sure if there’d be a finger twitch here or there if she started lying, but if that were the case she was telling the truth. So far, at least.
“Depends on what you define as ‘our normal concept of reality…’” He decided to be diplomatic. “…miss.” The Faceless Bastard took a thoughtful sip. Best not to risk throwing down, not before he had a better idea of what was in front of him. “If ‘we’ share a ‘normal concept of reality,’ well, that means we need to be on the same page.” He took another slow, deliberate pull to let that sink in. “To some people, ‘Magical Girls’ are a standard part of the ‘reality’ bundle. To others, not so much.”
"Magical girls huh," She smirked. "Now, whatever makes you think such childish beings exist?" Chloe mused playfully. He wasn't going to give her information so easily, was he? Well that was fine. She'd just need to make him an offer he couldn't refuse, as they say. "Certainly they're quite popular among the childish and some...creepy older men. You wouldn't be one of those?" She teased before sighing, a small twinge of impatience meeting her skull.
"Tsk, okay fine. I'll hurry up." She seemed to be speaking to herself there - or perhaps someone else that the Faceless couldn't see. "Never lets me have any fun these days. Hmph." She turned her attention back to the man. "What I am doesn't matter. Don't worry your pretty little birdies over it." She leaned on the counter top. "I am in need of...help. And you seem like someone who could point me in the right direction. Where could I find information on what certain people would call an 'Old God', hm?"
"The library," he deadpanned. "But I'm guessing you're at least a little familiar with Lovecraft." Another point for Nancy Drew, if it weren't for that little dodge she tried to pull. But that aside she just did, now that was interesting. He didn't see any wireless earpiece, so she had at least some other kind of communication. Or she was crazy. Maybe another clue he was onto something with that Magical Girl guess.
The Faceless Bastard sighed. "Alright, look. You seem like a sharp kid, with big enough stones to follow me. But I don't know if you've noticed, but you've waltzed into a real dangerous place. And frankly... if you start thinking any of these other as- ahem, yahoos, are a better option? You're gonna get eaten alive. Literally. In some cases at least. EAT'll do it the metaphorical way, like what happened to Towel Boy over there." He vaguely gestured in their direction.
'Towel Boy', meanwhile, was muttering something that sounded like, "...have fun... little time... to entertain...whatever... disgusting manner of filth...are you."
Chloe smiled. This. little. Bastard.
She was growing bored of this farce. Why couldn't things ever just be easy? She wasn't here for idle chat. He was being needlessly obtuse and she didn't like it. She had a schedule to keep. Places to be, things to do, people to murder. People just couldn't let her have her way, could they. Always had to fight, rolling around in their own filth.
"You seem to think these pathetic worms are enough to make me afraid of them." Chloe's tone took a darker inflection despite her smile. "...tell me, have you ever seen a persons soul before? Because I have. They're quite beautiful. Wiggling. Squirming. Screaming. They make such beautiful decorations." She paused, still smiling. "What color is yours, I wonder? Or would you even have one left? I'll ask one more time. If I wanted to find information - and potentially help. Where would I find it?"
Great, now those Gavels were staring. If she didn’t start something in the next few seconds, they would. And with this place being such a powderkeg, the bang'd attract all kinds of trouble. The Faceless Bastard calmly took off his hat and set it on the bar. “No need to get so worked up,” he said. Without making the movement too sudden, he lifted up his mask to reveal the hole in his head, most of the visible Morphs looking at this girl sitting next to him. “I just thought I’d let you know that it’s not too late to back down. Before you start getting involved in something you might regret.”
The pair of Gavels sitting behind the girl stiffened, and got real interested in their beers.
Yeah, unless Nancy Drew’s middle name was Gozer, no question of what she was now. “…look, I’ve been in your position before. It’s how I got these scars.” He gestured vaguely towards his lack-of-a-face, before picking up the bottle of MacAnally’s Pale. Empty. He set it down again with a sigh. This girl was reminding him too much of himself. He was gonna need several more drinks before the night's end. “If you’re really sure that you can’t get help from your normal circles? Fine. I’ll point you in the right directions.”
He reached into one of his coat’s inside pockets and pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper. “Couple of things you’ll want to know before you do, though. The price for help can get pretty steep, depending on who you go to.” He didn’t gesture this time, because that message was so obvious it’d be insulting to make it even more so. “You want information? That’s easier to get ahold of then you'd think. A woman called Scribe Sigma used to update a blog.” He wrote down the url on the pad. “Named after the organization she works for, calling themselves 'The Archive.' Posted a lot of "unclassified material" on the topic, or at least the kinds of information they wouldn't charge less than extortionate prices. But it's enough to get you started at least. You’ll start to learn that the blogosphere’s your best bet for information, no strings attached. Apart from that, pay attention to the local graffiti, and the bottoms of milk cartons. Runners leave all kinds of information for each other that way, and their "Runner Milk Carton Code" isn't too hard to crack.”
The Faceless Bastard paused. “Of course, if you absolutely need more than information for… whatever it is you need help doing… I can point you towards the ones least likely to screw you over in the long run. Fair enough?”
"See? Was that so hard?" She leaned back in her chair. "Your concern is actually rather adorable! If you were a girl I'd already have dragged you back to my place. I could turn you into a pretty little one, you know. Get rid of those nasty scars and everything...but I have a feeling you'd decline." Blogs, huh? Ah, being mildly technologically inept was a bit...rough, wasn't it? She had never been good with computers, but perhaps it was time to invest in a good one. Isana's old gaming rig should be around her house somewhere.
"So what of these people least likely to screw me over? I'd be kind of curious to see them try."
The Faceless Bastard put his mask back down. "Now, if anyone's the least likely to screw you over, it'll be The Archive," he said. "Their information's good, and they've got a lot of resources at their disposal, but talking to them's risky. They deal in information exchanges, deals. But at least they're up front about what it'll cost you. They're also a lot more easy to get ahold of then, say, Jack of All. Red glove on his right hand, really trigger happy with granting things that could be interpreted as requests. Information. Power. Stuff like that, he can and will try to give you. But always in a way you'd regret. Like the Monkey's Paw."
"Hmm..." Chloe took a few seconds to process the information she had been given. The Archive, huh. Appropriately named, if what this guy said was true. Perhaps this could be useful. Her patron of course, was growing more irritable by the second. Or was it excitement? It was hard to tell at times. Emotions got muddled because of the nature of them. "So how would I contact the Archive? Go to this blog of this 'Scribe Sigma' and ask for a date?"
The Faceless Bastard shrugged. "You could try that, though I'm pretty sure she's... what, mid-thirties, early forties? Not sure she swings that way, or for jailbait. Either way, she dropped off the grid years ago. Last I heard she had twenty-six years' worth of memories to transcribe." He paused for effect. "You're in luck, though..." He leaned back in his seat, giving the girl a clear view of the two girls at the end of the bar. They were still deep in their conversation, but the grey eyes of the shorter one flickered in their direction. "Two of their members are here tonight."
"...ho~" Chloe smiled, seemingly happy. "Well you've been most helpful, little birdie." She giggled. "But this is where you and I part ways. Thank you for not making this more of a mess than it has to be." Getting up from her seat, Chloe walked away from the faceless. She got what she needed, and if this Archive could help her then she had no reason to continue conversing with man. "Oh...one more thing," She cast a glance to the one at the bar. "Tell your overeager friends here that if they want a good time...just join me out back later. I'll make sure they get entertainment." She mused darkly. Focusing her attention back on the members in the bar, Chloe casually walked over.
"A little birdie told me you might have some information you'd like to share."
The Faceless Bastard simply watched as she walked... all of five steps around his seat to get to the girls on his left. It probably would have been a lot more dramatic if there had been more than one empty seat between him and those Archive girls, but give Spooky Scary Nancy Drew points for trying. He wordlessly wrote down his blog's url onto the notepad, under the other url, along with the note 'If you need to get in contact with me, message me through here.' He then casually tore the paper off, and placed it on the bar right in front of Chloe.
The two girls, who had been sitting at the end of the bar, looked up at Chloe. The one who was not short, a cute blonde girl in a snazzy hat and dark blue coat, glanced over at The Faceless Bastard. He gave a little wave to her, then turned to call Sullivan over for another round. She turned those baby blues back to Chloe as if she was trying to figure out what was with this sassy, lost child. "...that depends on what kind of information you're looking for."
"Well...a little information and perhaps a bit of help." Chloe continued, for the most part ignoring the Faceless already. Perhaps she might contact him later. Perhaps not. He had served his usefulness for the moment and she didn't particularly desire to converse with one such as him. "Information on things old and forgotten, sleeping things."
The blonde girl looked over at the girl sitting next to her, a grey eyed girl in a dark hoodie. "...you've heard correctly." She gestured to the open seat next to the blonde. "Why don't you take a seat, and we can talk business?"
"Lets talk then." Chloe smiled, taking a seat. "Let me introduce myself. I am Chloe...and let me just say you're both quite the cute one aren't you? Let me buy you a drink."
The blonde one smiled. "Scribe Xi. She's Collector Delta," she said, gesturing over her shoulder.
"Hello," Collector Delta said. Her gaze was cold and analytical, the kind that one gets while working out a new puzzle.
"So, were you interested in something specific along those lines?"
"Scribe Xi and Collector Delta." Chloe echoed with a smile. "As for what I want...my lord needs healing. To awaken from his unjust slumber. I think you can help me with that, but I can't say more here with such prying ears and curious eyes. I am fairly certain I already have suitable payment prepared, but we can discuss more in private later."
"I see." Collector Delta took out a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil. She turned to a new page and curtly wrote something on it. "And this private discussion you propose. Do you intend on making your proposal tonight? Or perhaps another time?"
"Well...I wouldn't mind having you two come sleepover at my place tonight." Stretching, Chloe smirked. "Been awhile since I've had two cuties over. We could discuss it tomorrow over breakfast if you do. I've been told I make some pretty great pancakes." She was pretty sure these two wouldn't try anything. She could handle herself if they did - her little apartment had some pretty tough defenses. She made sure of that the moment she moved in. "Otherwise...we could meet somewhere of your choosing, if you prefer. But I assure you, I won't bite unless you want me too~"
"Well, that's pretty hospitable of you." Scribe Xi looked to her friend. "Any objections, Delta?"
Collector Delta hummed thoughtfully. "...none in particular," she said.
Scribe Xi turned back around to Chloe. "In that case, we'll accept your offer."
"Wonderful!" Chloe grinned, hopping out of her chair. "My place isn't far. Right around the corner." She walked back by the Faceless, ignoring him completely seemingly uninterested in his existence any more. "Ugh, I'll be glad to get out of this place. It's nothing but a cesspool of filth." She grunted, pushing open the door to the bar. "Aside from you two, of course."
As the three girls left the bar, The Faceless Bastard finished his second bottle. At this point, there wasn't much more for him to do that night. He knew that at some point in the near future, he'd have that particular urge to blog about the night's events. Hooray for being a Glass fucking Prisoner. Though, considering what would happen the second someone got word about Magreat's whereabouts, and it spread far enough? Perhaps being a Glass Prisoner had its benefits.
But for the rest of the night? He didn't see much else to do, except counting out time. "Hey, Sullivan. I'll have another Pale."
"Hey there." A young, feminine voice spoke up from behind him. Christ, he couldn't just get a drink in peace, could he? "You look like you could use a drinking buddy."
The Faceless Bastard didn't bother turning around. "...you know what? Sure. Why the hell not?"
The chair on his left scraped back a few inches, and a lithe figure hopped up onto the seat. "Mind if I get what you've gotten?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Hey, barkeep! Make it two."
The Faceless Bastard's bottle touched down onto the bar first. "Thanks." The newcomer's bottle reached her a second later, and she gripped it with dainty fingers. She let out a sigh of her own when she did so. Something about that seemed familiar. "Lemme guess: long night?"
"Oh, I don't know..."
The Facless Bastard finally turned to look at his new 'drinking buddy,' and...
...oh you've got to be kidding me.
"I'd say it's still pretty young," said the Masked Massacrer, right before she lifted the bottle to her lips.
Chloe had no idea what that lightning or sonic boom was, but it was something she couldn't just ignore. Such a blatant display of power. Such a familiar feeling as her own, too, but so very different. Another one, then? Hm. Usually such things would try to be a little more subtle about their influence, unlike her own patrons desire for destruction - which is what made this particularly interesting. A horror who wasn't afraid of being seen? Or at least, someone with the powers of one. A small spike of pain in her head indicated Iesud's displeasure and desire for haste.
"Yes yes, I'm investigating. No need to get all rawr-rawr fire breathing angry dragon." She huffed, dropping down to street level, feet landing on the ground momentarily. Whoever it was, was moving quite fast and doing their best to potentially lose any tails they might have. Unfortunately for them, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She wasn't going to let whoever this was escape so easily.
Picking up the trail again, Chloe swiftly moved once more. Iesud for the most part was as silent as usual, aside from the usual feelings of aggression and grumble of displeasure. She could guess why - this power scared him. Which was also why she was highly interested in it. She just had to figure out who it was coming from, and see if she could strike a deal with them. If they were friendly. Well, even if they weren't, surely they'd be interested in what she had to say.
The man-made light of Penrose at night was very bright, but something brought a stillness to the air. If the city was a lady, she was holding her breath in anticipation. Or, more aptly, Fear.
The Faceless Bastard stalked alone on the darkened streets, winding around different back streets and thoroughfares in the most frustrating ways he could think of taking. He couldn't just assume Treefingers or their potential accomplice wouldn't try to follow him, and take him off the board as well. Why they chose to shoot the Masked Massacrer instead of him was unclear, but he had his suspicions. Glass Prisoners tended to stay alive long enough to play the part of a chronicler, with Blogger as the usual method of sharing that story. His guess was that the Masked Massacrer's time had run out, and he was the next one up to the keyboard. It wasn't always a death sentence, but it meant that you were Fated to at least witness *something* big. Like greenlight, that old bastard.
At this point, The Faceless Bastard had cut through the subway for the fifth time. He'd found a long flashlight in a side pouch of the Masked Massacrer's backpack, one of the kind that was heavy enough to use as a club and built solidly enough to keep using it that way. She'd had great taste in flashlights, too. Shame she was dead. He held the flashlight in his left hand, loose enough to look casual but not enough for it to slip out of his grip.
He hopped down to the tracks, intending on following the tunnels for a while. And as he walked along, something on the walls caught his eye. "What've we got here?" He switched the light on and pointed into the shadows. Graffiti covered the walls as heavily as advertisements cover professional racecars, but the tunnel was otherwise clear. He focused his attention to the graffiti on the walls. Might as well get a better idea of the current situation.
embracethearchangel
Great. Timberwolf activity. Archie and his cultist cronies were in town. Yet another group of assholes that didn't like him.
Christ is gone, he's forgotten what he is.
Philosophical bullshit. Probably written by the same cultist.
Don't go up by Someone's covered that up with black spraypaint. It's Beacon territory.
Fuck me. Even the hospitals in this town aren't safe anymore.
How does Beacon's presence mean the hospitals aren't safe? Is it because one of their fights blew one up a few months ago?
The fuck. I thought Oathbreakers only infected people. When did they move up to bombings?
"...those assholes tend to be the mad doctor type, but not kind that cooks up Semtek." He moved the flashlight's beam around. He needed to see how deep that rabbit hole went.
Whoever this was, was being far too obtuse. Hmph. Should just confidently stroll about. If they were that strong, they wouldn't have such a worry, would they? Should just let whoever thought they were strong enough to fight them walk up. So why where they being so needlessly cloak and dagger?
The night air would have probably made someone dressed as lightly as her shiver, but she had bigger issues than her revealing clothing to attend too. The city was, too, it seemed. Something caused it to shiver, silence itself. Was it this person she was tracking? She allowed her feet to once again touch the ground near the exit of a subway for the fifth time. Hmph. This was starting to annoy her, but the pain in her skull from the irritable dragons urging made her more than eager to continue.
Gah, one of these days soon, she'd be the one in charge. Not that pathetic rotting old dragon.
"Grh-" He didn't like that thought. She winced, holding her head with a hand. "Have you ever tried honey instead of vinegar?" She grumbled aloud. "You might actually make me prefer you if you tried that every now and then." Exhaling, Chloe let her orb float in a circle around her, taking a brief look around at her surroundings. The path was easy enough to follow - the traces of residual eldritch magics were powerful, and obvious to anyone with a modicum of skill.
"Well at least he's not being as clever as he thinks. What, are they trying to just get me off their trail with boredom? Chuckling lightly, she hopped down onto the tracks following the trail. What was Penny up to right now, she wondered? She said she had something to go do. A meeting with the Mint. Hmph, she hoped they didn't lay a hand on her precious little Penny. Oh well, the Mint would get theirs soon enough. She just needed time. And if this person she was tracking was anything like she hoped...then this would expedite the process quite a bit.
Walking further into the tunnel, The Faceless Bastard spotted the next part of the graffiti conversation.
Oathbreakers? Infecting people?? What kind of rumors are these??? Look, the local Beacon may be zealous, but those Magical Girls are good people.
The fuck? Magical Girls? Those exist?
Yes? How do you know about Beacon, but not about Magical Girls?
"The Beacon" is one of the things we call the Fear of Disease. Shows up as a big, imposing motherfucker in a plague doctor outfit. Eldritch as fuck. Doctors in his little cult are called Oathbreakers.
Wait, is this some kind of Horror? And who's "we?"
Fuck it, this would take a lot of spraypaint, just message me on Blogger. Blog name's Illegible again, god fucking damnit. Cover it up once you've written it down.
"...on top of everything in this clusterfuck sundae, now we've got 'Magical Girls?' I'll have to track down that blog, but..." He wasn't that far from O'Briens. Maybe someone there would have spotted the name of that Runner's blog. If there was any doubt of him going there tonight, that put the last of them to rest.
The Faceless Bastard kept walking down the tunnel with renewed purpose. Although, as he got twenty steps away from his exit, he could have sworn he heard someone laughing. As he instinctively turned towards the sound, he spotted another bit of graffiti on the wall.
Don't turn your back on the body.
No, that chill running over his spine was just from The Morphs shifting inside of him. But he walked a little faster up the last of those access stairs.
The Faceless Bastard emerged from the service access stairwell, taking a deep breath of the night air. He was only a block from O'Briens at this point, but he figured he'd spent enough time walking around Penrose. Best not waste anymore of his time at that point. He strolled along, casual as one can be, down the back street.
The first thing he noticed was that O'Briens had gotten a new sign. It wasn't that big of a surprise, what with the explosion in Ontario taking the first one out of commission. This version had the lettering in some kind of gold-colored metal over a green background, possibly to make it look a little more like an Irish pub than what it really was. Thankfully, it didn't go so far as to add a tacky four-leaf clover, but The Faceless Bastard noticed that it kept the ⨂ symbol on the sign. Yep, it was ⨂'Briens all right.
He went down the concrete steps to the door. Looked like your average solid core wooden door, but as he opend it, a closer inspection revealed that was just a veneer placed on solid steel. As he walked in, he could see it looked like a textbook depiction of a dive bar: brick walls, plenty of sturdy looking wooden tables, the pool table in the corner. The selection of booze was bigger than the last place ever had over the bar, that was for certain. Sullivan was serving a couple of drinks to a pair of girls sitting at the end of the bar, who were deep in conversation about something.
One of the patrons, wrapped in towels but still soaked to the bone, looked up at him and said, "Hellay!"
The Faceless Bastard waved back, and made a note not to let them anywhere near his drink. It wasn't like they'd slip him a mickey - though to be frank they were so covered in towels that their gender was all but incomprehensible - but you don't live long by letting a Camper play around with your drink. Not in the sense that mattered, anyways.
Come to think of it, O'Briens was pretty packed. Oathkeepers still in their scrubs were chatting each other up over cheesesteaks and beer. The faint smell of rust and musk drifted over from some Blood Vessels playing darts, and terribly at that. Thankfully, none of the trademark biker leather or gas masks that marked a Timberwolf were anywhere in sight.
There was a few spots open at the bar near those girls, and, for lack of better options, he cooly went and sat down in the center of those three empty spots. On his right, he could spot the familiar eye-shaped tattoo on a patron's hand. Dammit, even the Gavels were in this town. The Faceless Bastard found it interesting that the guy wasn't going nuts in this place, surrounded by so many criminals.
"Long time no see, Faceless." He turned at the sound of Sullivan's heavy Canadian accent. "What can I get you for?"
"Nice to see you too, Sullivan. Any good microbrews from around here?"
Chloe continued the chase, her wings carrying her swiftly through the tunnels. Whoever it was she was tracking lingered here for a bit. Checking the local artwork, hm? Humorous. Well, she couldn't spare the time to similarly enjoy it lest she let her quarry escape. The traces were becoming fainter, and if she hoped to track them then she'd need to hurry. Soon, her flight carried her up a service stairwell, and back out into the night air.
They were close.
Slowing her pace slightly, she focused. A few spirits emerged from her crystal ball - small things. Harmles poltergeists to be used as scouts of sorts. Make sure she wasn't about to be ambushed or otherwise walk into danger. She had other spirits in her employment, but no need to cause a huge ruckus just yet. She followed in the Faceless Bastards footsteps, eventually finding a quaint little place called O'breins, where the trail led into.
Curious.
Now she could go in looking like a cosplaying stripper, but she had a little more class than that. With a quick thought, her magical girl outfit was dispelled, leaving her in her normal black and red gothic loli styled dress. She'd likely look more than a little out of place once she entered, but such was fine. Easier to judge who exactly she was tracking here. Confidently, she walked down the stairs, and pushed open the door to the dive bar.
"Eugh, I didn't think I'd ever find myself in quite such a...cozy place." Chloe mused, taking a quick observation of the bar. Surprisingly though, they had no one to turn away an obviously underaged person such as herself. Not that it'd do them any good. She'd just ignore them and waltz in anyways, even if she had to get a little rough, and as expected she looked quite out of place.
Out of costume, her third eye was far less effective, but she could put two and two together rather easily. She'd just needed to take a moment to observe.
The fellow covered in towels noted the new arrival, and gave them a friendly "Hellay!"
Chloe wasn't quite certain what this thing was, but it certainly wasn't human, and what was with that weird way of saying hello?
"What manner of disgusting thing are you?" Chloe raised an eyebrow, frowing in displeasure at this thing that was speaking to her. Urgh, some creatures just needed to really cease their existence. Nothing more than a blight upon her world. "Out of my way, you aren't my quarry and I have little time to entertain whatever manner of filth you are."
The towel fellow paused. Then they said "Hellay" again, but this time in the inflection of a confused question. They shook their head, getting a few drops on a nearby patron, who immediately started dabbing away the moisture with bar napkins as if covered in fire ants.
"...right." Chloe raised an eyebrow, glancing over to the patron swiftly wiping up whatever liquid that was from their clothing. Probably a bad idea to touch it, then. "Well have fun being whatver manner of creature you are, I have better things to do."
The towel fellow merely blinked at her from where they were sitting. "Well have fun," they said, matching Chloe's tone with eerie precision. It went back to its drink, which looked rather clear. Vodka, maybe? Water? Hard to tell what it was, from a glance, but something told her she wouldn't want to try any. "...little time...to entertain..."
Walking past the creature, Chloe studied the bar quietly. Well, no one questioned a little girl being in the place yet, so this was probably a gathering for all sorts of sordid people if that...whatever it was, was any indication. Ah, perhaps this was going to be a gold mine of good opporunities. It didn't take her long to find her presumed quarry. Someone who looked like they hadn't been there for long, and he reeked of the same magic she had been following.
"Hm...this is quite the nice place, isn't it?" She walked over to where the Faceless Bastard was sitting. "You know, for someone who tried so hard to lose any tails, you certainly didn't mind showing off quite a bit back there."
The Faceless Bastard glanced over at the girl, running her appearance through some mental checklists. She didn’t fit the description of any Servant he’d ever seen – and sure as hell wasn’t a Doll, or else he’d just be having this conversation with Sullivan – so that left a few options.
A Runner, in which case they were a really fucking stupid one. You’re supposed to run *away* from the Fears and their Servants, that’s what the term fucking means. Or, spinning off from that, a Fighter. A really fucking bold one, but a lot of those types either die fast or have an affair with Lady Luck. He wasn’t sure how literal that was supposed to be, but he wouldn’t throw the possibility out.
Some kid who read too much Nancy Drew… which honestly, kudos for keeping up, but the absolute worst fucking place to follow a guy. Out of the corner of his mask’s eyeholes, he could spot one of the Blood Vessels eyeing her up like a piece of meat. Whether it was the kind one eats, kills, or fucks…or hell, even what order... he honestly didn’t want to think about.
Treefingers’ accomplice. Most likely person to have picked up on his trail, after maybe Treefingers. Probably not Treefingers, but if an Illim can disguise themselves so thoroughly, it wasn’t out of the question for such an unknown.
The Adrift. The kind of elaborate, childish getup and form fit the bill well enough. Then again, really easy to tell if it was her.
A final possibility came to mind: one of those “Magical Girls” that graffiti mentioned.
Five different cards on hand. Time to play some poker.
Three seconds had passed since she’d spoken. The Faceless Bastard took a casual, slow pull from his bottle of MacAnally’s Pale. It was the best beer he’d ever had, and he was gonna enjoy it, dammit. ”Why don’t you take a seat, kiddo?” He casually motioned to the seat on his right. “All that walking must’ve taken something out of you.”
"Kiddo, huh?" Cautious, but not overly stupid enough to try something right then and there. How quaint. She took a seat where indicated, doing her best to ignore that disgusting alcohol he was drinking. Ah, why'd it have to be some place like this. Why couldn't it be a fancy tea house or a upperclass club? "I haven't been called that in awhile. Still infuriating as ever. Can't say flying really tires the feet, though."
Now, Chloe had a few options here. It was clear this place seemed to be some sort of gathering ground for the supernatural. Other magical girls weren't present, and this amount of activity not drawing attention before would be odd. Must have some way to disguise itself. How best to approach? Well, might as well not beat around the bush.
"So I'm curious," Chloe continued to watch the man in front of her, watching for his reactions in case she needed to defend herself. "Who do you serve? And don't lie. I saw that little lightning trick of yours - your abilities obviously come from those that exist outside our normal concept of reality."
Well, that narrowed things down considerably. She sure as hell wasn’t The Adrift – for a start, she wasn’t making any creepy, unchildlike passes at him. And unless she was the freshest Runner around, she wasn’t one of those either. Information about The Morphs isn’t exactly hard to find in the blogosphere, and he was one of the most famous of their Nests… for better or worse.
So those cards went back to the dealer. In their place, he got a pair of Jokers. It was still possible that this was Treefingers’ accomplice, but it seemed unlikely at this point. The reaction to “kiddo” could have implied she was older than she looked, but it wasn’t enough to confirm anything concrete. It could have been another point in favor of Nancy Drew, a ‘hardboiled’ kid detective who wants to solve mysteries and be taken seriously.
Or that was another point in favor of the ever mysterious ‘magical girl,’ which – if the graffiti was any hint – also explained why she didn’t recognize the Morphs for what they were. And that little ‘flying’ remark, too. Though if Nancy Drew got ahold of a magic carpet or some shit, that could also explain it.
In this game, though, he had an advantage. Poker’s not really a game about playing the best hand – it’s about playing the people. Learn when they’re bluffing, get them to fall for your own.
One of many perks of being a Nest for the Morphs was the ability to use their connection to replace his eyesight. Obviously, he wasn’t shown anything from inside of him – which he was eternally grateful for – but this allowed him to see things in ways that most people couldn’t. For example, splitting his attention between this girl and on the Gavel sitting next to her.
The second she had sat down, that tattooed hand twitched. Whatever kind of self-control that Gavel had while sitting in a room full of Servants, it cracked. Not enough to go past that twitch, but The Faceless Bastard could tell from that reaction that this girl had some kind of sin on her hands. And with Blood Vessels in the room, it had to be something big.
He wasn’t sure if there’d be a finger twitch here or there if she started lying, but if that were the case she was telling the truth. So far, at least.
“Depends on what you define as ‘our normal concept of reality…’” He decided to be diplomatic. “…miss.” The Faceless Bastard took a thoughtful sip. Best not to risk throwing down, not before he had a better idea of what was in front of him. “If ‘we’ share a ‘normal concept of reality,’ well, that means we need to be on the same page.” He took another slow, deliberate pull to let that sink in. “To some people, ‘Magical Girls’ are a standard part of the ‘reality’ bundle. To others, not so much.”
"Magical girls huh," She smirked. "Now, whatever makes you think such childish beings exist?" Chloe mused playfully. He wasn't going to give her information so easily, was he? Well that was fine. She'd just need to make him an offer he couldn't refuse, as they say. "Certainly they're quite popular among the childish and some...creepy older men. You wouldn't be one of those?" She teased before sighing, a small twinge of impatience meeting her skull.
"Tsk, okay fine. I'll hurry up." She seemed to be speaking to herself there - or perhaps someone else that the Faceless couldn't see. "Never lets me have any fun these days. Hmph." She turned her attention back to the man. "What I am doesn't matter. Don't worry your pretty little birdies over it." She leaned on the counter top. "I am in need of...help. And you seem like someone who could point me in the right direction. Where could I find information on what certain people would call an 'Old God', hm?"
"The library," he deadpanned. "But I'm guessing you're at least a little familiar with Lovecraft." Another point for Nancy Drew, if it weren't for that little dodge she tried to pull. But that aside she just did, now that was interesting. He didn't see any wireless earpiece, so she had at least some other kind of communication. Or she was crazy. Maybe another clue he was onto something with that Magical Girl guess.
The Faceless Bastard sighed. "Alright, look. You seem like a sharp kid, with big enough stones to follow me. But I don't know if you've noticed, but you've waltzed into a real dangerous place. And frankly... if you start thinking any of these other as- ahem, yahoos, are a better option? You're gonna get eaten alive. Literally. In some cases at least. EAT'll do it the metaphorical way, like what happened to Towel Boy over there." He vaguely gestured in their direction.
'Towel Boy', meanwhile, was muttering something that sounded like, "...have fun... little time... to entertain...whatever... disgusting manner of filth...are you."
Chloe smiled. This. little. Bastard.
She was growing bored of this farce. Why couldn't things ever just be easy? She wasn't here for idle chat. He was being needlessly obtuse and she didn't like it. She had a schedule to keep. Places to be, things to do, people to murder. People just couldn't let her have her way, could they. Always had to fight, rolling around in their own filth.
"You seem to think these pathetic worms are enough to make me afraid of them." Chloe's tone took a darker inflection despite her smile. "...tell me, have you ever seen a persons soul before? Because I have. They're quite beautiful. Wiggling. Squirming. Screaming. They make such beautiful decorations." She paused, still smiling. "What color is yours, I wonder? Or would you even have one left? I'll ask one more time. If I wanted to find information - and potentially help. Where would I find it?"
Great, now those Gavels were staring. If she didn’t start something in the next few seconds, they would. And with this place being such a powderkeg, the bang'd attract all kinds of trouble. The Faceless Bastard calmly took off his hat and set it on the bar. “No need to get so worked up,” he said. Without making the movement too sudden, he lifted up his mask to reveal the hole in his head, most of the visible Morphs looking at this girl sitting next to him. “I just thought I’d let you know that it’s not too late to back down. Before you start getting involved in something you might regret.”
The pair of Gavels sitting behind the girl stiffened, and got real interested in their beers.
Yeah, unless Nancy Drew’s middle name was Gozer, no question of what she was now. “…look, I’ve been in your position before. It’s how I got these scars.” He gestured vaguely towards his lack-of-a-face, before picking up the bottle of MacAnally’s Pale. Empty. He set it down again with a sigh. This girl was reminding him too much of himself. He was gonna need several more drinks before the night's end. “If you’re really sure that you can’t get help from your normal circles? Fine. I’ll point you in the right directions.”
He reached into one of his coat’s inside pockets and pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper. “Couple of things you’ll want to know before you do, though. The price for help can get pretty steep, depending on who you go to.” He didn’t gesture this time, because that message was so obvious it’d be insulting to make it even more so. “You want information? That’s easier to get ahold of then you'd think. A woman called Scribe Sigma used to update a blog.” He wrote down the url on the pad. “Named after the organization she works for, calling themselves 'The Archive.' Posted a lot of "unclassified material" on the topic, or at least the kinds of information they wouldn't charge less than extortionate prices. But it's enough to get you started at least. You’ll start to learn that the blogosphere’s your best bet for information, no strings attached. Apart from that, pay attention to the local graffiti, and the bottoms of milk cartons. Runners leave all kinds of information for each other that way, and their "Runner Milk Carton Code" isn't too hard to crack.”
The Faceless Bastard paused. “Of course, if you absolutely need more than information for… whatever it is you need help doing… I can point you towards the ones least likely to screw you over in the long run. Fair enough?”
"See? Was that so hard?" She leaned back in her chair. "Your concern is actually rather adorable! If you were a girl I'd already have dragged you back to my place. I could turn you into a pretty little one, you know. Get rid of those nasty scars and everything...but I have a feeling you'd decline." Blogs, huh? Ah, being mildly technologically inept was a bit...rough, wasn't it? She had never been good with computers, but perhaps it was time to invest in a good one. Isana's old gaming rig should be around her house somewhere.
"So what of these people least likely to screw me over? I'd be kind of curious to see them try."
The Faceless Bastard put his mask back down. "Now, if anyone's the least likely to screw you over, it'll be The Archive," he said. "Their information's good, and they've got a lot of resources at their disposal, but talking to them's risky. They deal in information exchanges, deals. But at least they're up front about what it'll cost you. They're also a lot more easy to get ahold of then, say, Jack of All. Red glove on his right hand, really trigger happy with granting things that could be interpreted as requests. Information. Power. Stuff like that, he can and will try to give you. But always in a way you'd regret. Like the Monkey's Paw."
"Hmm..." Chloe took a few seconds to process the information she had been given. The Archive, huh. Appropriately named, if what this guy said was true. Perhaps this could be useful. Her patron of course, was growing more irritable by the second. Or was it excitement? It was hard to tell at times. Emotions got muddled because of the nature of them. "So how would I contact the Archive? Go to this blog of this 'Scribe Sigma' and ask for a date?"
The Faceless Bastard shrugged. "You could try that, though I'm pretty sure she's... what, mid-thirties, early forties? Not sure she swings that way, or for jailbait. Either way, she dropped off the grid years ago. Last I heard she had twenty-six years' worth of memories to transcribe." He paused for effect. "You're in luck, though..." He leaned back in his seat, giving the girl a clear view of the two girls at the end of the bar. They were still deep in their conversation, but the grey eyes of the shorter one flickered in their direction. "Two of their members are here tonight."
"...ho~" Chloe smiled, seemingly happy. "Well you've been most helpful, little birdie." She giggled. "But this is where you and I part ways. Thank you for not making this more of a mess than it has to be." Getting up from her seat, Chloe walked away from the faceless. She got what she needed, and if this Archive could help her then she had no reason to continue conversing with man. "Oh...one more thing," She cast a glance to the one at the bar. "Tell your overeager friends here that if they want a good time...just join me out back later. I'll make sure they get entertainment." She mused darkly. Focusing her attention back on the members in the bar, Chloe casually walked over.
"A little birdie told me you might have some information you'd like to share."
The Faceless Bastard simply watched as she walked... all of five steps around his seat to get to the girls on his left. It probably would have been a lot more dramatic if there had been more than one empty seat between him and those Archive girls, but give Spooky Scary Nancy Drew points for trying. He wordlessly wrote down his blog's url onto the notepad, under the other url, along with the note 'If you need to get in contact with me, message me through here.' He then casually tore the paper off, and placed it on the bar right in front of Chloe.
The two girls, who had been sitting at the end of the bar, looked up at Chloe. The one who was not short, a cute blonde girl in a snazzy hat and dark blue coat, glanced over at The Faceless Bastard. He gave a little wave to her, then turned to call Sullivan over for another round. She turned those baby blues back to Chloe as if she was trying to figure out what was with this sassy, lost child. "...that depends on what kind of information you're looking for."
"Well...a little information and perhaps a bit of help." Chloe continued, for the most part ignoring the Faceless already. Perhaps she might contact him later. Perhaps not. He had served his usefulness for the moment and she didn't particularly desire to converse with one such as him. "Information on things old and forgotten, sleeping things."
The blonde girl looked over at the girl sitting next to her, a grey eyed girl in a dark hoodie. "...you've heard correctly." She gestured to the open seat next to the blonde. "Why don't you take a seat, and we can talk business?"
"Lets talk then." Chloe smiled, taking a seat. "Let me introduce myself. I am Chloe...and let me just say you're both quite the cute one aren't you? Let me buy you a drink."
The blonde one smiled. "Scribe Xi. She's Collector Delta," she said, gesturing over her shoulder.
"Hello," Collector Delta said. Her gaze was cold and analytical, the kind that one gets while working out a new puzzle.
"So, were you interested in something specific along those lines?"
"Scribe Xi and Collector Delta." Chloe echoed with a smile. "As for what I want...my lord needs healing. To awaken from his unjust slumber. I think you can help me with that, but I can't say more here with such prying ears and curious eyes. I am fairly certain I already have suitable payment prepared, but we can discuss more in private later."
"I see." Collector Delta took out a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil. She turned to a new page and curtly wrote something on it. "And this private discussion you propose. Do you intend on making your proposal tonight? Or perhaps another time?"
"Well...I wouldn't mind having you two come sleepover at my place tonight." Stretching, Chloe smirked. "Been awhile since I've had two cuties over. We could discuss it tomorrow over breakfast if you do. I've been told I make some pretty great pancakes." She was pretty sure these two wouldn't try anything. She could handle herself if they did - her little apartment had some pretty tough defenses. She made sure of that the moment she moved in. "Otherwise...we could meet somewhere of your choosing, if you prefer. But I assure you, I won't bite unless you want me too~"
"Well, that's pretty hospitable of you." Scribe Xi looked to her friend. "Any objections, Delta?"
Collector Delta hummed thoughtfully. "...none in particular," she said.
Scribe Xi turned back around to Chloe. "In that case, we'll accept your offer."
"Wonderful!" Chloe grinned, hopping out of her chair. "My place isn't far. Right around the corner." She walked back by the Faceless, ignoring him completely seemingly uninterested in his existence any more. "Ugh, I'll be glad to get out of this place. It's nothing but a cesspool of filth." She grunted, pushing open the door to the bar. "Aside from you two, of course."
As the three girls left the bar, The Faceless Bastard finished his second bottle. At this point, there wasn't much more for him to do that night. He knew that at some point in the near future, he'd have that particular urge to blog about the night's events. Hooray for being a Glass fucking Prisoner. Though, considering what would happen the second someone got word about Magreat's whereabouts, and it spread far enough? Perhaps being a Glass Prisoner had its benefits.
But for the rest of the night? He didn't see much else to do, except counting out time. "Hey, Sullivan. I'll have another Pale."
"Hey there." A young, feminine voice spoke up from behind him. Christ, he couldn't just get a drink in peace, could he? "You look like you could use a drinking buddy."
The Faceless Bastard didn't bother turning around. "...you know what? Sure. Why the hell not?"
The chair on his left scraped back a few inches, and a lithe figure hopped up onto the seat. "Mind if I get what you've gotten?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Hey, barkeep! Make it two."
The Faceless Bastard's bottle touched down onto the bar first. "Thanks." The newcomer's bottle reached her a second later, and she gripped it with dainty fingers. She let out a sigh of her own when she did so. Something about that seemed familiar. "Lemme guess: long night?"
"Oh, I don't know..."
The Facless Bastard finally turned to look at his new 'drinking buddy,' and...
...oh you've got to be kidding me.
"I'd say it's still pretty young," said the Masked Massacrer, right before she lifted the bottle to her lips.
