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Timekeeper <Q-Conversation> Vertin clicks on, curt in a way that immediately sounds like Business. "Hello everyone."
<Q-Conversation> Vertin says, "On this day in history, October thirteenth, 1928, a conflict between human and arcanist gangs results in the death of all seven arcanists involved. This escalated the already negative relations between humans and arcanists in the era, resulting in a cascade of further violence."
<Q-Conversation> Vertin says, "The Foundation has assigned me a mission to prevent this from occuring."
<Q-Conversation> Vertin says, "However, my own informants have told me of movements of the Manus Vindictae to involve themselves with this historical event as well, so I've come to request your aid again."

    It's chilly on the other side of the Chicago warpgate. The wing of the Ford factory that holds it has been fully cut off from the rest, so the high concrete walls and bare floor leech even more heat out of the air, with just a trail of lights along the floor to lead the way outside. Vertin is waiting by the door, leaning up against the wall with a flat expression, while Sonetto stiffly stands beside her holding Vertin's suitcase in front of her with both hands. Regulus and APPLe are already there with them, preemptively let out of the suitcase, and accompanying them even on an official Foundation mission.

    "Thank you for coming." Vertin's greeting is brief, but not hurried. According to the records of history, there should be a couple hours until the massacre happens, and while Vertin is the kind of person to arrive thirty minutes late to parties and thirty minutes early to work, there's still more than enough time. She pushes herself off the wall, holding out her hand for Sonetto to return the suitcase handle to her.

    "There is a reason why I asked for your assistance rather than handling it with my own team. I have heard," Through Regulus, but there's a distinct hesitance to trust everyone enough to just announce that. That the Foundation is not alone in reaching out for manpower from the multiverse. An unknown number of Elites have been contacted and swayed by the Manus Vindictae to provide similar backup, thereby escalating the conflicts between us."

    She shakes her head. "I cannot say for certain whether we'll encounter enemies not local to this world, but now that the Pandora's jar has been opened, I can never be sure that we *won't*." Vertin puts their hand on the door, looking back at the group. "Now, shall we? We've several miles to cover to arrive at the location."

    "Timekeeper... may we take the bus?" "Yes. There should be a bus route nearby." Sonetto dips her chin in a short nod, not precisely 'nervous', but braced in a way that makes all of her mannerisms more rigid.
Timekeeper     Outside, it's not cold enough for snow or frost, but the air feels like it was recently. Dust and smog accumulates as a thin layer of grey slush on the ground as Vertin strides towards the open door of a bus stopped nearby. Vertin glances back to count the group and then retrieves one American dollar bill, offering it to the bus driver.

    There's some indistinct grumbling from the other passengers in the bus, before several of them get up and storm out. Vertin squeezes out of the way without looking and still has a derisive spit aimed at her shoe, while Sonetto is slower to adjust and gets shoulder checked by one on the way out. Her indignant "H-hey!" trails off as she quickly realizes that, if any of them actually did turn around, it'd only be worse for the mission.

    Fewer than half of the passengers remain after that, so the bus is empty enough to talk quietly on the ride there. Vertin stays standing, holding an overhead bar, while Sonetto watches out the window, quietly pensive.

    "Our goal is to separate the two groups before it can escalate to violence, and convince the arcanists to register with the Foundation if possible to keep them out of future danger. Manus Vindictae will undoubtedly be attempting to recruit them, but they aren't opposed to allowing the massacre to proceed partway through to sow more anti-human sentiment before doing so."
Schneider Greco      It's early in the morning, northern Chicago, and unseasonably brisk. No-one is out who can help it. The orange-ish sun casts everything in a slightly-off tone, as if it, too, knew what happens today.

     For Vertin's bunch, walking after the bus stop, the parking garage soon comes into view. It's a humble one-story brick building barely distinguishable from the rest, not at all like the modern name evokes.

     A simple car-sized wooden door can fold up to let vehicles in. Through its glass panes one can see the building's mostly empty: just a sturdy wood-plank floor where a few cars are already parked against the walls, with a gentle ramp leading down to an ill-fated dirt-floored basement. On the far side of the building, another big door opens to an alleyway.

     For now all is quiet. The nearby businesses are mostly pleasure, which is on no-one's mind. Even the car-traffic seems sleepy, and there aren't many passers-by to crunch the snow with their footfalls.

     It's 'fated' that, in perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, a number of human gangsters will escort arcanist bootleggers who had expected to meet them down to that basement at gunpoint. The basement will muffle the gunshots nicely, and six of seven of them will be dead by the time anyone investigates.

     But everyone knows by now that history can be changed.

     For now, the world- what part of it is conscious of the future- holds its breath, while the rest sleeps peacefully. Snow still falls just as sweetly whether anyone--

             BANG.

     The alley backdoor's glass panes, visible across the garage's open floor, splatter red.

     - - - -
Schneider Greco      TEN MINUTES AGO:

     The Concord elites get to ride in the same stiff, rickety car again. Cosimo is the driver; he greets the Partners with an awkwardly game smile and a little wave, before getting in. Schneider is already in the back seat behind him, lounging luxuriously, and invites her allies in with a beckoning gesture of her handgun.

"I really do appreciate you guys. I mean, my neck's still a little stiff, but..."
"Show our fair governors your gratitude another time. You're only to drop us off, Cosimo."
"You sure you wanna rely on that 'weird thing' to get you out of there, boss?
"Has our Lord Forget-Me-Not failed me before?"

     In the hand that isn't holding a gun, Schneider flourishes some kind of... historically-inappropriate floppy disk. It's got a ritual circle drawn on it, where the label might be.

     NOW:

     Behind the parking garage, Schneider's car pulls in with her Concord friends just as a well-dressed bunch of humans is beginning to menace a scruffier bunch of arcanists.

     The former are four men ("from Moran's gang", she'd explained) in working-men's suits; the latter are seven guys dressed casual in button-ups. The former have their polished black car; the latter have their wooden-backed pickup truck. The former have tommy-guns and a shotgun; the latter have revolvers at best, and a couple even seem unarmed.

     This was supposed to be a business deal. Instead it became a 'hands above your head' situation ten seconds ago, with the newsboy-cap-wearing leader ("Tommy's bunch", Schneider called them, so that's Tommy?) fruitlessly trying to de-escalate with the stony-faced hitmen.

     Just now, it became panic, as Schneider casually painted the back of the garage with the lead Moran hitman's brains before she'd even fully stepped out of her car.

     "James Clark," she pronounces smoothly, before the smoke has dissipated or his body's hit the ground. She shuts the car door behind her and draws her other handgun in one movement. The remaining three didn't have their guns raised yet; they back up, paralyzed by the suddenness.

"Who the hell--?!"
"God, help us!"
"Holy shh--"
"Peter Gusenberg..." BANG.

     Right now everyone looks terrified Schneider might shoot them next, but she's probably got the gangsters in hand. It's Vertin's crew, likely soon to be barging through the garage, that merits the Concord elites' attention more- or maybe trying to get the scruffy arcanist bootleggers to realize they've been saved.
Odette Raskins Odette's dealt with gunshot wounds before. As long as she's not dealing with some kind of strange magical injuries she can't make heads or tails of, it should be fairly straightforward to handle anything that she'll run into. Despite knowing this, however, she can't help but feel uneasy as she arrives at the Chicago warp gate, dressed in her usual EMT gear with a slightly thicker windbreaker to keep the chill from seeping through to her bones.

"Thanks for calling us, Miss Vertin. Hi, Miss Sonetto. Haaah... O-of course it couldn't be easy, now that everyone knows that the.. Um. That all this and everyone's around." She chuckles awkwardly as she greets Vertin and Sonetto with a timid little wave, readjusting the strap of her carrying case to keep it more flush against her back while it's not in immediate use.

The discomfort doesn't fade as she mulls over what precisely is causing it, and it takes until everyone's on the bus for her to finally pinpoint it. "Manus Vindictae... I get that it'd be pretty bad if they got any new recruits out of this, but we're all trying to save these Arcanists. Shouldn't saving them before anything bad happens be a cakewalk, even if we might have to do a little extra convincing to keep them from joining up with Manus afterwards?"

As she finishes that question, though, she's already looking troubled again. "... Unles they make things worse by just killing all the human gangsters instead. Th.. Then we're probably still at square one, huh? But if we've got a few hours to spare, we might even be able to stop it all before it starts, right?"
Riku Asakura Riku arrives at the bus stop with his usual get-up.  His jean jacket is buttoned closed, though, to try and protect him from the cold, but he's still got the jeans and the sneakers on.  He's ready for action, carrying his Ultraman equipment greebles on his belt and ready to help change history for the better.  

"Thanks for the heads up on this matter, Ms. Vertin.  I'm happy to provide any assistance as necessary." He says politely to Vertin and Sonetto.  "How are you both doing, by the way?  Good, I hope?" he asks, though likely they are both nervous before the mission starts, like he is.  Well, maybe not nervous, but a bundle of pent-up energy.  

"What do we need to do to save the arcanists by the way?  Just get them out of there or stop the human gangsters?"

On the bus, Riku sits down easily enough, waiting for the drive to be complete.  Though he's never been on such an old-fashioned bus before, it's a new experience for him.  
Flamel Parsons     Flamel Parsons, as always, is from a Vague Yet Ominous Government Organization -- and maybe now moreso than ever. Today, perhaps, is the one time he's adjusted his timeless appearance for this world: His tie and the inner lining of his jacket are all a deep blue, signifying alliance with something in particular.

    He's, admittedly, not a fan of solving this with ultraviolence, but this is Schneider's operation more than his own. Instead, he approaches the main signatures of high-intensity fear. "Hey there!" He exclaims positively to the arcanists, talking past the humans as if he couldn't see them -- readied with his Shield and Invisibility to deal with problems from the hitmen. "I'm Flamel Parsons, agent of a vague yet ominous organization. I'm told you're having some health and safety troubles in your work dealings, and I represent a group that wants to help out."

    He kneels down, briefly, brushing a finger against red splatter. The small remnants of brain matter contain just a little bit of psychic energy, which he strands out with an opposite finger into a series of helpful images explaining, at least, what Moran's gang intended. "These men sure had some horrible ways they planned to treat you!" He says, unnerved at the display. "Now, we have some ways to help get you to safety, but don't let me take your autonomy by any means. Maybe you have a better place you'd like to go, to deal with any threats from Moran? I'd be happy to help you make your way there instead, if you prefer!" He examines the memories from the brain-splatter... "Which one of you is Tommy...?"

    That sense of bright, friendly optimism never wavers. He's just here to help, as a representative of a stable authority that won't deprive anyone of autonomy but will give plenty of options. He's exuding the strongest possible psychic influence of pure, absolute telepathic calm -- or rather, he's speaking in his helpful government tone, which is basically the same thing.
White White isn't looking forward to today. She had just had that conversation with Persephone, and now she's here risking her reputation. Batting for both sides, even if she doesn't care for either organization... And yet, it still feels like the only right thing to do. It feels strange, trying to be honest with herself only to look dishonest to everyone else. She's just going to have to do what she can, like always. Ugh... And of course, it's cold too. It's a good thing she was planning on wearing her hood raised today, and it doesn't feel wrong to cinch her sleeves tighter or throw on her white fluff-trimmed jacket either.

     On the car ride, even in her unusual mood, she still spares Cosimo a small nod. "Glad... you're feeling okay." She can already imagine why Schneider just wants him to drop them off, and it doesn't earn her any extra scrutiny beyond the briefest acknowledging look. It's a good choice... Especially with where White's imagination is going today.

     Coming out of the car with Schneider already starting to take shots, White doesn't see much of a need to help there, save for providing some insurance; tough strands of webbing arc from her fingertips to the floor, and from there to the muzzles of the hitmen's firearms to keep them pointed downward under tension. From there, knowing Vertin and others will be coming, there's little to do except to post up near the alley entrance and watch the streets. There's no scythe in her hands, and she's still standing in her usual stiffly neat way with her hands folded, like it's a comfort posture.

Her eyes then open to peer far down the street in either direction; thanks to the Evil Eye's acuity the sides and corners of other buildings are made irrelevant to her line of sight. She doesn't flinch at the gunshots or splatter. She might as well be a door-camera, only waiting to announce someone's arrival.

     She checks with Shelob in the meantime too, hoping for more information about who is coming, but it seems doubtful that she'd get anything telling from that spider's observations at present; either because the plans weren't made in Vertin's suitcase at all, or because someone suspecting themselves being observed might have just put the spider in a little box or something beforehand.
Odette Raskins Feeling a little less antsy than she did on the bus, Odette's still tapping her fingers rhythmically along the outside of her case as she runs through all sorts of potential injuries that she might expect to see in her head. Gunshots? Check, likely. Blunt force trauma? Check, also likely. Burns? Check, maybe a little less likely. "Should be... Okay. W-we've got this. We're ahead of schedule, so anyone that's in-"

Her anxiety promptly spikes through the roof as she sees the red on the window just before she hears the gunshot, partially because that is a color that should not suddenly be appearing on a window, and also becaus she recognizes some of the bits even from this distance. Choking out a strained noise, her arm warps around the carrying case with all her supplies in it as she starts digging frantically through it. "No no no no... I-it was supposed to be later, not..!"

That's one gunshot. Were they too late? Was the Manus too late, too? Trying to push those questions out of her mind, Odette hurries across the garage floor towards that alley's backdoor, regretting moments after slamming herself into it in an attempt to get it open that she probably should have left that task to someone far better at getting shot than she is.
Tamiel Luxis     Tamiel was dressed the same as she was before, in this world. Long trousers, wings uncomfortably tucked underneath a heavy coat. Her halo hidden under a newsboy cap. This world was unfriendly, as so many of them were. While angelic grace always helped to take the edge off of confrontations, even with people with disdain for the strange, she imagined the first thought at the sight of her wings wouldn't be 'angel,' but 'arcanist.'

    Not to say that her choice of outfit had left her free from criticism. Tamiel felt eyes on her (even as she tried to keep her halo from setting her cap askew)--some dame, dressed like a boy, tagging along with a bunch of arcanists earned her no shortage of glares. I should have hid in someone's shadow, she thought, before immediately grimacing at the cowardice of her own thoughts. She kept her head down as humans brushed past, shoulders stiff, biting down hard on her lip.

    She slipped into a seat, making herself smaller as Vertin filled them in. The tension still not totally bled from her. "Okay." Tamiel breathed out. "Keep them apart, move the arcanist's somewhere safe, pitch them safety." Her gaze glanced off of Vertin's suitcase. It's not like there's no hope for them even if the Foundation won't take them in...

    "...I'm more worried about the Manus. And whoever they have with them." Tamiel didn't like the idea of having to fight other elites. What if they were some of the people she'd worked with? It hadn't been long ago that she'd been torn up about Petra--and Tamiel didn't LIKE Petra. What if it was someone she was actually fond of....? She worried at her wrist, her shadow pacing behind her.

    It stamped its foot, raised its hand in a silent snap, and three more humanoid shadows sprung from Tamiel's. Go ahead and watch, came the silent command. They offer the first a salute--and then slipping free out the window. Blink, and you'd miss it.

    Something felt wrong, as they stepped off the bus, heading toward the warehouse. Her shoulders tucked around it, looking for windows and points of vantage, while Tamiel muttered, "I hope we aren't too--"

            BANG.

    Gunshot. Blood across the door. Tamiel's first thought; It's started! Her second. Wasn't it supposed to be in a basement? Biting down, hard, on her lip, Tamiel immediately fell forward into her own shadow, zipping forward at tremendous speed, not through the door but under it.
Timekeeper "Haaah... O-of course it couldn't be easy, now that everyone knows that the.. Um. That all this and everyone's around."

    "Right. Everything becomes more complicated with every new era." They're probably not super tired when they say that!

    "As for saving them, ideally, we would be able to separate them from the situation entirely so that a later flare up of violence won't simply result in the same outcome, if not bloodier. I don't expect them to be entirely cooperative with us even after preventing the shootout and identifying ourselves as representatives of the St. Pavlov Foundation, however."

    Turning away from the window, Sonetto pipes up, "These arcanists are part of a racial gang led by a man named 'Tommy', according to the St. Pavlov Foundation records of the Chicago newspapers of the time. We should be prepared to face danger at their hands and not just from the rival gang known as 'Moran's gang', due to their resistance to obeying principles of law and order, similar to our rescue operation of Regulus."

    Approaching the parking garage, Vertin gives Sonetto a silent look to ask her to quickly check inside the building for an ambush. Seeing nothing, the pair of them approach quietly, with Sonetto pulling up the door and Vertin beckoning everyone to follow them in. There's hardly enough time to get situated before--

BANG.

    Sonetto's eyes widen. "What?! But it is still thirty minutes before any shots will be fired, in the basement!"

    Faster than Vertin, Sonetto dashes out the door to get to the alleyway, intercepting Schneider's gun with a swipe of her arcane glass pen. A trail of light is left behind from its tip, curling into unformed letters and words, as the core of the pen glows faintly in Sonetto's grip. "Stop!!!"

    Vertin follows behind, hand on her hat to keep it steady. Her gaze sweeps across the Concord Partners accompanying Schneider with no change in expression, only to land on Schneider. Her eyes flicker momentarily, but stay steadily locked on her face.

    "You're with the Manus Vindictae, then?" Part of that's to Schneider specifically. Part is to her entourage, to confirm they know their company. Flamel has his hands in a puddle of blood, so she's not really doubting they do.

    "Why?! How could you hate humans so much!" Sonetto is angrily incensed, only holding back from casting an incantation at Schneider for the momentary pause in gunfire and not having Vertin's say-so. To the others, voice shaking slightly, "And you!! Mister Parsons, Miss White! You're betraying us?!"

    Quietly, Vertin murmurs to the Elites on her side, "Be wary of her guns. They're arcane implements."
Riku Asakura Once arrived at the bus stop, Riku walks with the group to where the massacre was supposed to happen.  That was until the gunshot and the splatter of red happened.  Did something happen to change the time earlier?  Were they too late to change history?  The pit in his stomach grows as he throws himself forward.  

"You go!" he says, popping one of his Ultra capsules into their holsters after activating it.  "I go!" he does so again.  On each side of him, a different Ultraman appears.  Today was Ultraman and Ultraman Belial.  "Here we go!" he says and scans each capsule with the Fusion Riser.  "It's time to get ready!" he says, holding the Fusion Riser up and then shouting, "GEEEEEEEEEEEEED!"

He pulls the trigger on the Riser, and blue flame engulfs Riku as he transforms into Ultraman Geed Primitive.  He crashes through the garage door, attempting to make an opening for people to get through as he tears through to the other side and sees what is going on for himself.  
Lilian Rook     'I have heard that the Foundation is not alone in reaching out for manpower from the multiverse. An unknown number of Elites have been contacted and swayed by the Manus Vindictae to provide similar backup, thereby escalating the conflicts between us.'

    "So they're the irritating type of enemy agency to deal with." says Lilian, more to herself than anyone else. "That being the sort which takes every advantage it can get, rather than stubbornly sticking to its past ways and obligingly falling under the steamroller as we go forth." She shakes her head. "Well, there goes the Foundation wrapping it up by the end of the year. No matter."

    Rather than attempting her Chicago wear from before (and not just due to the unpleasant memories of the second time), Lilian has elected for the same thing she wore at Laplace. While it may be true that it doesn't seamlessly blend in with the historical styles of the era as she is familiar with it, nobody from the Foundation or LSCC had even looked twice at it, and materially speaking, it's only 'expensive' rather than 'unavailable' here. 'Looking like a foreigner(?) is better than being discovered as one in disguise' must be what's on her mind, after the time before. It strikes Lilian as strange that she's considering the pace of Chicago to be 'laid back' when the idea of a bus is floated, but early arrivals and periods of travel are something she's growing used to, lately.

    But not what happens when they get to it. Certainly not. The wave of muttering and groaning sets her on high alert with just half lead foot on the bottom step. Frozen for a moment, straining her ears, Sonetto's outcry sends Lilian up over the next two steps just in time to catch the tail end of the disturbance.

    I feels like icewater pours down from the back of her throat and pools in her stomach. Her first instinct is to ignore them to ask Sonetto, numb and even-toned, "Sonetto. Say the word and--" just before she works ahead and understands that Sonetto intends to meekly accept it in advance, at which point she feels her guts twist up around the cold weight.

    Shouting "Enjoy your walk, dickless." off at the already-leaving passenger makes her feel only a little bit better. Stomping a little herself, she only delays a moment to produce another dollar for the bus driver, as if to say 'as an apology for their embarrassing display' to The Help.

    'Our goal is to separate the two groups before it can escalate to violence, and convince the arcanists to register with the Foundation if possible to keep them out of future danger. Manus Vindictae will undoubtedly be attempting to recruit them, but they aren't opposed to allowing the massacre to proceed partway through to sow more anti-human sentiment before doing so.'

    Being tacitly reassured that she's on the side of the good guys for certain does help Lilian's mood a little bit during the ride. "That's a generous reason for handing out a registration. How do you convey 'you're historically significant' to someone who asks why?" amounts to the extent of her thoughts on the subject before they're there. It sounds perfectly simple to her. Overkill for even four people, never mind this many. 'They're just humans after all. How hard could it be?' passes through her mind, and is discarded with prejudice.
Lilian Rook     . . . . . . . .

    That same thought recurs when she holds up her hand to get space to scan through the windows, and sees nothing remotely interesting. Lilian silences the thought more quickly this time, then focuses on the ramp into the basement to get her mind off of it, intentionally conjuring up an unrealistic number of threat scenarios that could come from being ambushed in the dark, underground. The fact that they're all early is set aside, for reasons of her own; she needs to forget that triviality to start feeling the weight of her pendant and her sidearm again. Otherwise, it'll be the miserably frigid air on her legs instead. "Timekeeper. Do you have an operational outline in mind? Or do you typically leave that to Sonetto? If so--"

    BANG.

    "Behind the damn--?!" Economy of words demands something else. "Nóiméad ansin!"

    Lilian reappears on the other side of the parking garage. Grey sludge splashes around the sidelong impact of her boots, causing her to slide, but her grip remains firm on the black sword she's just finished drawing. There should be a look of shock that someone is shooting Moran's men and not Tommy's but she saw that on the way in, and already was, which makes her look less out of place to everyone else now if anything.

    Flamel and White stand out first. She's never seen Schneider before, so she comes into focus third. She hisses "Absolutely typical." at seeing Flamel busying himself with his usual, but finds the momentum to-- "Ansin." --suddenly jump between the Concord gang and the entire group of gangsters.

    'Be wary of her guns. They're arcane implements.'

    "Duly noted." says Lilian, breath fogging. She looks past them at Schneider, and follows in a different tone. "So back off or drop them. Your choice." A saccade latches on to her trigger finger instead, but then doubtfully moves to the other.
Regulus Regulus can have a pretty good poker face but she frowns when Vertin brings up that little bit of intel she was able to bring her. She is glad Vertin didn't say it was from her--if it got back to Madeleine then that might just push her into helping them! Regulus might dislike the Foundation enough to risk her life in avoiding working for them, but she'll never forget the sight of seeing one of her old friends turning into goop.

She worries she's going to see much more images like that soon. In other worlds, it seems even more common--that fragility of life. That dude became liquid.

"Least we'll know who they got to help 'em." Regulus reasons, ever focusing on the optimistic side of things when she can. APPLe floats nearby, loyally and with the qualities of an apple.

She gets on the bus, no problem, though she--coinciding with Sonetto's 'hey!' provides an "Oi, buster!" of her own but soon enough it's the bus. It's bus time. Regulus actually elects to sit nearer to Sonetto than Vertin this time.

"Do you got a cool strategy, Sonetto?" Regulus asks her, thinking about how fucking weird it is that she's now on a team that's out to convince these people to join the Foundation. It does feel a LITTLE different to her now that she knows what that's all about rather than before but it still rubs her the wrong way. "We want to show them we're not scary squares right? Especially right after they've been spooked." She forms two sets of fingerguns and pow pows the air.

But soon enough they're at the garage, Regulus follows along behind Vertin and Sonetto, predictably disappearing from sight as they get close.

''It is still thirty minutes before shots will be fired, in the basement!''

"Don't think Manus Vindictae minds getting started early, love." Regulus says.

''And you!! Mister Parsons, Miss White!''

...Regulus is actually feeling a little betrayed actually, strangely enough, though she tells herself that that's silly--it's not like White owed her anything, but she hjas seen Manus Vindictae's work hasn't she? It feels strange to see her there.

Flamel though? He put on that hella cool concert! It really rubs her the wrong way to see HIM here standing alongside Manus Vindictae.

A quick look over Schneider's guns confirm what Regulus has said about them.

She edges closer while APPLe stays visibly near Sonetto.

"Miss White, Mr. Parsons. Have you elected to sign on with Manus Vindictae? You've seen what they were capable of in 1966--what has convinced you to stand with them?"
Flamel Parsons     "And you!! Mister Parsons, Miss White! You're betraying us?!"
    "Your feelings of betrayal are *valid*," Flamel therapytalks, asiding to Sonetto without even looking at her. "But they're not true. My principle is..." He does glance to her. "I need to be better. Better than I was. I need to not leave people to be hurt by the bigger machinery anymore. Don't take this for some sign that I won't help when you'll have me. But I told you. I'm an agent, representing a larger organization. That means a measure of loyalty to them."

    When things get louder, he does turn. Geed smashing around gets him in a wary stance, protecting the arcanists. Because if Schneider doesn't return with all of them, she'll... His readied stance is firm, but not hostile. Regulus' APPLe gets a calmly-delivered response, one that he's thought out a while. "It's the shortest, straightest, most effective path to help someone survive who ought to." Is all he says. "You can't constantly fight for only the most perfect solution, with the most perfect allies. I know this maybe most of all, as a spy -- ask Bond, too, and he'll tell you the same."

    "So back off or drop them. Your choice."
    <Be *careful*.> Flamel's telepathy sneaks flashes of intel into Schneider's mind if she'll accept them. <She's tough. One of the toughest I know, and definitely the quickest.> One of those intel-thoughts that leaks through is a memory of a certain unthinkably-fast defeat, faster than Flamel could ever hope to have reacted, though the consequence is carefully redacted.
Distortion Dets.     It's a rare thing for the denizens of Moses' Office to leave the boundaries of the City's District 14, let alone to leave the City- strict control of Nest warpgates for even Nest residents means lines, exit authorization, and customs- to have the capacity to leave on short notice for emergent scenarios is purely a boon of contingency planning and Watch connections. Blank papers quickly filled in, and listing the right contact to verify false authorizations, and the cashing-in of old favors, means that Moses, and her gear-toting sidekick Ezra, hardly waste time in the complicated scramble from warp-hub to warp-gate to, ultimately, abandoned factory floor.

    Moses and Ezra are quite a mismatched pair- a short, sharply-dressed older woman, salt-and-pepper hair, smoking an ornate pipe, and looking as (not very) nonchalant as she can about her shoulder-worn jacket not quite being weather suitable, and a towering younger woman, covered halfway to her knees by a patch-cluttered jacket, heavy boots, and gloves, with more blonde wavy hair than a mythical golden fleece could boast- the latter waves, cheery smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, hey, it was a real shocker hearing you pop up on the line again- did your li'l Regulus end up getting back home safe and-"
"Ezra. This is important business. I'd appreciate mindfulness."
"What? She didn't say *anything* about whether she got back after! She coulda gotten grabbed up and eaten, just like, *grah*," Ezra pantomimes monster claws.
Mm. That'd be quite unfortunate."
"Yeah! Just making sure! So, fancy-hat, Vertin! Did she?"
"Either way, we've a job ahead, Ezra. Focus up."

    Keen to the '(someone) and her assistant' dynamic, unconsciously, while assembling in the factory, Ezra copies Sonetto's posture and positioning relative to who she's an assistant for, uncommented (and likely unnoticed) by Moses. She, too, even has a large square carry-case, and it's *also* bigger on the inside! Too bad it's just full of weapons and gear instead of magical secrets, a house, and a Regulus.

'An unknown number of Elites have been contacted and swayed by the Manus Vindictae to provide similar backup, thereby escalating the conflicts between us.'

    Moses bites at the mouthpiece of her pipe, frustrated by that little piece of un-knowledge- "No estimate at all?" A relative stranger to off-world engagements, Moses knits her eyebrows in idle consideration, uncertain whether even the answer of 'a few' could clarify whether that includes the type prone to annihilating city blocks with orbital lasers as a greeting method, or a runabout squad of Trídéag Fixers. The only conclusion she comes to is that she should take another long drag from her smoking pipe.

    Sitting in the early morning cold of the bus, Ezra seems to find a bit of fun by the fact that the frosty air makes her breath mimic the detective's- timing her own breathing to the shorter woman's just to emphasize the similarity. It hardly matters that this is a circumstance for elevated alert, if not the expectation of danger- Ezra's in the habit of holding to a playful demeanor through nearly anything, just as Moses holds to a dour one. Periodically on the ride, Moses checks in with her sidekick-

"The fail state of this task is the killings occurring as they do- did? Ought? It doesn't matter- violence is possible. Inventory the trauma kit?"
"HP Ampules all re-stocked, blood chews, bandages, a good 'ole splint-"
"Mm. And what about extraction? Walk me through your planning."
"Come on, Detective! You know the plan! It goes fizz-hiss, and *pow*, and there's smoke to rival even yours!"
"Mm. I see. And what about..."

    . . .
Distortion Dets.     Moses and Ezra's back-and-forth scenario consideration stops as the bus does, the pair walk with less chatter. Moses chews on the tip of her pipe, eyes squinted at the garage once it's in view- it's sheer habit to note doors and windows, trained back now to only be something she does when expecting some manner of threat, as opposed to every waking moment- domesticity (relatively speaking) has tamed her, but this is one of those moments.

'I don't expect them to be entirely cooperative with us even after preventing the shootout and identifying ourselves as representatives of the St. Pavlov Foundation, however.'

    "How forcible do you plan on being? I've no qualms on the particularities, but for extreme measures, a lack of coordination is disastrous-"

BANG.

    Old habits don't die- at the noise, Moses and Ezra both immediately reach to their sides for weapons; the detective comes up short, no longer one to carry a blade, but Ezra fishes out a long string of (as she so excitedly considered, earlier,) smoke grenades, thumb in the pins- the only thing that stops them from being tossed is a quick warding hand from her superior. The splattered blood (and the implied body it came from) draws a discrete moment of disgust from the detective, when her eyes stray in high-strung situation-scanning.

    Wordlessly, the pair fall in with the Timekeeper and their assistant, not foolish enough to start an engagement, not suicidal enough to intersperse themselves-

    Moses spares another distracted, confused moment, however, to stare at Lilian Rook, as someone who did do that, and more, for the absolute mess of distorted imagery the detective sees no matter where she looks.
White White's timing seems to have been too close to the Timekeeper-group's arrival, and by the time she's preparing for lookout they're already bursting into the scene; it seems like she'll just have to settle for what she can get. Seeing Tamiel's shadow-movements' starting point through any obstacles, she's able to infer the mechanism and devote some of her attention to keeping track of the shadows without turning her head. Sonetto's attack-path is ascertained early enough that White doesn't lunge to try and intercept it either... She has to be selective here. Going by the subtle turn of her head, the glint of pinkish light from her eyes that peeks from beneath her hood, it seems like Riku is her greatest concern with how he's noisily crashing through the building they're situated behind. There are a lot of things to keep track of now, and she's going to be walking a very, very thin rope.

     Sonetto's exclamation does sting a little. What does she even say to something like that? 'No'? She knows how this looks, already. How is she supposed to convince anyone of her intentions on the spot, like this? Even just standing here unarmed... Well, Sonetto knows better than to buy into her posture quite like that. She, and the others, already know it doesn't mean she's harmless. And she's kind of the main person blocking the alley... Ugh. Isn't this when a girl's normally supposed to start crying? All she can really manage is to look a little sulky though, even as it keeps getting worse.

     Because of course, Lilian is here too. She'd told her once that there wasn't much more annoying in a fight than a good swordsperson, and frankly White is feeling a little spited now. The moment she realizes Lilian is in the area, she's already focused on how to deal with her; Lilian herself may start to piece something together from the way White's eyes turn directly her way even with other Elites in another direction, and how it's almost the same moment in time that Lilian 'reappears' near Schneider, that White has a hand extended toward her.

No glyphs, yet at least. No weapon. But Lilian knows that White could be right on her tail already, and White knows that in turn. This 'grabbing' position only ever seems to come out when she plans to teleport someone else; she's aiming to protect Schneider.

     She can't necessarily guarantee anything against Lilian. She's not even sure Lilian thinks of her as human in the sense that she wouldn't try to kill her; she hasn't read Lilian's mind, even if she's read her stats. So the only thing she can really do is be as completely ready as possible to remove Schneider at the drop of a hat... It doesn't seem to distract her from the others, but there's only so much she can do at once, and it leaves her slow to muster even a faint response. Slow enough that it's not until sweet Mister APPLe finally asks her a clear and direct question, that she can provide a simple answer to.

"... No. I haven't." she near-whispers. She doesn't have much hope that they'll look deep enough to believe her, but she doesn't have much focus to spare on 'hope' right now anyway. "Please. Don't overtax me."
Timekeeper "Enjoy your walk, dickless."

    "Yeah?! You got smart words, honey? 'Cause I'll bet my dick's a damn better ride than your broomstick, witch!"

    Vertin hastily leans out to pull Lilian inside the bus, with a heatless "Let's just get on our separate ways, gentlemen," in the direction of the pack of men turning around to hoot and holler at the backtalk.

"That's a generous reason for handing out a registration."

    "A registration as an arcanist, to be clear," Vertin responds to Lilian on the bus with a thin smile. "However, I have a rather successful track record of encouraging applications to the Foundation. All of our new hires from the past twelve years have been from eras within the Storm, after all. They've got a whole slideshow for it."

"Do you got a cool strategy, Sonetto?"

    Sonetto is unsure about being asked by Regulus, but she's in an emotionally unsteady enough position that she will simply take the positive conversation for what it is. However, Regulus clearly does not understand what she has initiated. "Yes. I will be implementing strategy 30-dot-1-Alpha for assessing the dangers of the area as listed in the Field Agent Manual on Safe and Coordinated Confrontations in the Field and from there I will move on to either begin enacting special tactical maneuver Echo-Tango-Oscar or field deescalation methods as described in the Manual for . . ."

    She goes on like that for a while.

"How forcible do you plan on being?"

    Vertin shakes her head. "If it goes poorly, we could take both groups into custody, but by the time that we've deployed violence against either group, our chances of a perfect outcome have plummeted. Use nonlethal violence against the locals of the era as a last resort, but we *do* have dispensation to use it if it's necessary to prevent deaths."

Then, the alleyway.

"Please. Don't overtax me."

    While Sonetto's attention is on Flamel, Vertin is focused on the magic-users in the alleyway; Schneider, and especially White. White probably knows the expression in Vertin's eyes looking at her, even though there's next to no indication of emotion on her face, as their gaze inerringly tracks towards the hand she's preparing to cast with. Rigorous, almost obsessive analysis of threats and outs, the mental checklist of everything she knows about White that can be used against her, coming up with and discarding plans in each moment: the same mindset White has right now on the opposite side.

    "I see. Then why?"

"I need to be better. Better than I was."

    Sonetto is not quite so measured in responding to Flamel. "I cannot understand by what process you could think that this is 'better'! If you are a representative of the Manus Vindictae, then you are an enemy to me! Discard any arcane implements, put your hands above your head, and step away from the civilians and arcanists at once or I will be forced to attack!"

    To the surviving gang members on both sides, "Please do not be alarmed. I am a representative of the St. Pavlov Foundation and I am here to ensure the safety of everyone besides these assassins."
Schneider Greco      "Which one of you is Tommy...?"
     The evident leader of the arcanist bootleggers, the man with the beige suspenders and newsboy cap, has all the color drain from his face while watching Flamel swap up brain-gore with a finger. Behind Flamel, Schneider continues being Schneider, slowing her pace now that White's tied the guns down.

"Jesus fucking Christ man, what's wrong with you? Tell your girl--"
"Frank Gusenberg..."
"Oh, God, don't! What do you want?!"
"--to, uh... ohhh, Christ and Mary."

     (Flamel discovers, through the psychic residue corresponding with Schneider's prior chatter, that this is a dispute about Tommy doing business on Moran's territory- 'make an example' of one intruder, however small-time, and the others will butt out.)

     "Maybe you have a better place you'd like to go...?"
Slowly though, he winds down. "I-- how would I know?! Maybe back home, to--"
"My newest friends," Schneider looks back past Flamel, "the world is ending. Only the Manus can save you."
"The Manus?! Is that who you are? I-- look, I don't care if you're crazies, just get me and my boys out of here!"

     . . .

     The alley behind the garage, where Tamiel shortly slips through and Geed bursts out, is dim and narrow; kettled at one end with two parked cars, and at the other with one. The sun's beams barely reach here, and gray snow clings to the corners.

     That delicate girl stands center-stage, alone. No-one wants within ten feet of her: not the bootleggers she's saving, and not the humans she has backed against a wall.

     She's dressed fifty degrees too cold, a mafioso's impression of a hooker or a hooker's mockery of a mafioso. Her pale skin doesn't goosebump.

     Her utterly indecent flapper-dress's crimson feathers look almost like a splatter of blood across her body, hiding- for a moment- the actual splash of blood on her face. That black mobster coat is far too big for her, but it fits her presence; and gorgeous snakeskin-patterned scarlet guns hang lightly from her fingers, like toys.

     "What has convinced you to stand with them?"
     "Me," she answers APPLe in her breathy purr, without looking over.

     Lilian's the first to get in the way; that's what Lilian does. The two still-living men she positions herself to defend- 'Frank Gusenberg' who'd just been marked for death, and the yet-unnamed fourth- have mixed opinions.
"Ohhh, thank god..."
"Another damn arcanist--?!"
Both are trying to get their guns free of White's thread.

     The girl in red does not blink; neither from that abrupt materialization nor Geed muscling the door a second later. She sizes Lilian up from head to toe, as if appreciating her fashion, and then her eyes widen.

     There is a gleam in her eyes that no other human being has ever had.

     Cheekily, when she sees Lilian tensely watching her triggers, she spins the gun around her finger and then points the barrel at her own face, smiling.

     "Up here, my-lady. Aren't your eyes something? Mhmm~, ahh, but they are uninteresting men."
Schneider Greco      <Tac-Concord> [4] Schneider Greco says, "She does not have the eyes of a killer."

     Schneider looks back at White, knowingly, from the corner of her eye... and then just turns her back on Lilian and walks right past Tamiel and Geed, waltzing lazily towards Sonetto and Vertin behind the ruins of the garage's door. Has she given up on finishing the job? The two remaining Moran hitmen breathe in shaky relief.

     Just then she gestures, with a gun blindly aimed back-and-wide. Lilian can tell the shot wouldn't hit anything. Her back protectively turned to the two Moran gangsters, she can't see a ghost be pulled out of 'Frank Gusenberg's' body and into the path of the bullet.

     BANG. Frank's blood lightly spatters against Lilian's back.

     "My dear lord, aren't you beautiful," she says to Vertin with a sweet-curled smile, barely six feet away. She's within Geed's reach now, but still hasn't so much as looked at him. Purring-smoky-wiggly, like there's an irresistible delight she's just barely holding herself back from: "To think the Foundation was hiding such people. Why do I have the pleasure? Is it because, you governors also know 'history' so well?"

     "Why?! How could you hate humans so much!"
     The expression of wiggly delight extinguishes when she has to look at Sonetto. Only a toying amusement remains. "'Hate', humans? Mhmhm. Governor, if I gave you my gun, would you shoot the humans, or the arcanists?"

     Sonetto's declaration causes a buzz, but it's of a distinctly different tone between the remaining human hitman and the arcanist bootleggers.
"The safety o' everyone?! They're--!"
"Ahhhh, shit--"
"Tommy, you don't got your papers...!"
"They don't got Prohibition over there! What do you want?!"
Regulus ''Regulus clearly does not understand what she has initiated.''

Regulus clearly does not understand what she has initiated. She stares--understanding maybe like a third? A fifth of what's being said? It is fundamentally impossibnle for her to understand the various code-named maneuvers Sonetto's bringing up but now that she has asked about it, she just lets Sonetto go on about it. Maybe it'll at least soothe her nerves.

''I need to not leave people to be hurt by the bigger machinery anymore.''

Is this the way to go about that, though, Regulus wonders. Or is this just desperation because stopping the bigger machinery from hurting people is the hardest thing in the world. Regulus thinks again to that day her era ended.

''You can't constantly fight for only the most perfect solution.''

"Solutions are often messy." APPLe agrees. "I work with the Captain, so I appreciate that the world is messy--but the Foundation wasn't here to take lives today, we were here to save them. The only ones who came with a plan to kill... was your team here."

''Me.''

APPLe doesn't have eyes from which to look over.

Regulus continues edging inward, though moves quickly as Frank is shot.

Reappearing from behind Schneider, Regulus leaps to grapple her, aimng to grab her arms to try and keep her from blasting those weapons everywhere, twisting her hand up to send a flash of light towards Schneider's face.

"Sonetto! Echo uh Octo--Odette! Can you help that guy??"

She gives up on even saying one of those maneuvers correctly but she did hear White's whisper--she'll have to mention it to Vertin later.
Riku Asakura Geed watches as Scheider goes for another shot, another soul lost to death, and another person who, despite their criminal outlook, won't return home tonight.  Geed almost loses it, but manages to keep himself in check, even as the woman walks within reach of him, and focuses on Vertin.  

Geed doesn't let this opportunity escape him; he reaches down for her, aiming to try and use his giant hands to pin her hands to her side and hold her in his hands.  His body was growing the moment he stepped outside again.  

"How could you be so cold-hearted as to take life so easily?" He asks, unable to understand the reason why anyone would take life like Scheider does.  
Odette Raskins Charging through the door might have been a terrible idea in retrospect, but it does have the convenient side effect of also overloading Odette's mind with even more questions she doesn't have time to actually consider properly right now. Why's Flamel here? Why's White here? Who's that strangely under dressed girl with the even stranger strange gun? Is that blood all over her clothes?

Only after Schneider finally speaks up does she finally get some sorting done in her mind, although she's also doing it under heavy duress. "M.. Mister Flamel! Miss White! Good timing, there's... S-something big's happening, and we need to get all these people out of here, now!" She shouts, being reminded of Vertin's comment earlier in the day about having to separate everyone from this.

"And you!! Mister Parsons, Miss White! You're betraying us?!"
"Your feelings of betrayal are *valid*,"
"But they're not true."

She's also trying really, REALLY hard not to think about who may or may not be betraying who. She's worked with both Flamel and White before, and she's never seen them do anything outright murderous. "This just has to be some kind of... Uh. M-misunderstanding, that's all!" She calls out to Sonetto, already failing to not think about that.

"Geh... We can sort out who's doing what later, but we need to get everyone away from here now! I-if they stay here, things could get even-" Hearing a second gunshot reminds Odette of the brain splatter on the window, and she glances around rapidly to try and find the source of the brain matter to ascertain that gangster's status.

"My dear lord, aren't you beautiful,"
"Governor, if I gave you my gun, would you shoot the humans, or the arcanists?"

All while that's going on, Odette hears Schneider speaking so confoundingly sweetly, and that sends even more chills up Odette's spine. It's only by chance that she sees her holding the gun, but her aim is far too high to have reached Frank, especially with Lilian standing right there. A trick shot maybe? Whatever the case is, there's at least two wounded for Odette to try and keep track of now, and still far too many people for this to be reasonably controlled.

Deep breaths, and then focus. First, she needs to find-oh. There's that one gangster that got shot earlier, and with Flamel's hands all up in his brains! The EMT immediately turns right towards the remaining gangsters while waving desperately at them, leaning just a bit away from where Schneider is as though that slight shift in angle might make her a smaller target and also less obvious when she starts shouting.

"Can you help that guy??"

"Echo...? Erk. On it, Regulus! H-heads down, and come with me if you want to live! If you can't walk, speak up now!" She all but orders the gangsters, medical insignia openly displayed on her cap and jacket. She proceeds to make that order a little more confusing as she scurries towards Frank, trying to hoist him right onto her shoulders for a more hands-on approach to evacuation. "Y-you can worry about papers or whatever when you've gotten out of here alive! Come on, go!"
Tamiel Luxis     White. Flamel. Tamiel's stomach twisted. They'd been so polite and nice to her--she'd helped carry him back out of the Storm, when he'd asked for help. She'd let Wrath come--wasn't she his boss? Did he know? Would he agree with it? The little shadow on the wall squirmed with discomfort, before continuing on. She didn't know that White could 'see' her, a two-dimensional blackness slipping above her across the alley, moving at a steady pace toward the cornered gangsters.

    While Lilian and Sonetto readied to engage and fall into combat, Tamiel fretted. She didn't want to hurt them. But, there's something else I can do, right...? WIth her own way of accessing things, there's not many hurdles that bar her way...

    From the shadows, she sees...Her. The girl is small, but her presence commands. The guns in her hands. The splatter on the wall. Manus moved first. She couldn't help but feel a little fear, an electric thing, up and down her spine. She stopped, a moment, before forcing herself onward.

    At last, she stopped, hung suspended in the air. Tommy's men were...Scared of the Foundation. And why not. But if things kept up like this...Then...The Manus...Those monsters in the bay. Those empty, soulless things, overtaken by their masks.

    Tamiel dripped from the side of the wall, materializing, her wings casting her coat off reflexively, to break her fall. She lands, and looks to the gangsters, and--"If you're willing to hear out the Timekeeper," she gushes out, urgently. Those with the sense to feel it can taste the weight of the arcane in her words, not a compulsion, but a promise--an offer. Not just to Tommy's men, but the hitmen too, offering them the same shadowy swiftness that had carried her into the alley. "And not hurt each other, I can give you the power to GET OUT! Right here! Right now!"
Flamel Parsons     "Tell your girl--"
    "Technically, I'm her guy! Consider me sort of a government official in the pocket of an arcanist criminal, and that's closest to what you'll understand." Flamel says, clearing things up as best he can.

    "I don't care if you're crazies, just get me and my boys out of here!"
    "Excellent idea! That's what I was thinking too." He says, brightly. "Follow my leader, Ms. Greco, and do what she says until you reach our *most unforgettable* ally here." He says, speaking in tones that are encouraging, upbeat, positive -- totally distinct from his bloody hands, the ultraviolence from his companion.

    "Discard any arcane implements, put your hands above your head..."
    "Can't do both of those at once, it's complicated." Flamel pipes up, still cheery and encouraging while he interrupts Sonetto needlessly. But obligingly, he puts another pair of fingers against his temples. "You're the boss." A soft mental hum builds.

    "...And step away from the civilians and arcanists at once or I will be forced to attack!"
    "Hey... 'civilians and arcanists'?" Flamel cuts in again. "Why wasn't that 'civilians and hitmen'? Come on now. What *real* safety can you guarantee them, with the wold ending?"

    Flamel tunes into something odd. "Hold on, let me confabulate something... There we go." Like a new gear locking into place, a motive springs into being:

    "The only ones who came with a plan to kill... was your team here."
    "See, I feel like that's dishonest, or at least not really acting on the big picture." His voice sharpens up. "Because in our approach, some of the people who walked into this lot wind up alive, in some way, in a few years, once the Storm gets here. But if the Foundation has its way, they won't. Maybe they'll walk out of this lot. But they'll be dead before a year is up. It's math, APPLe." He smiles, softly, uneasily. "You know how to do the calculations. Some is more than none."

    Was that his plan all along? No, but by retroactively justifying it, he can evasively focus on his main objective, which is Schneider keeping good standing with Forget-Me-Not. And that may mean acting violently shortly. Once Schneider blasts the ghost, he firms up his stance. A cluster of sickly green question marks appear in a circular halo around him, a visual readying of his Confusion gas grenades. Eyes are on Sonetto, Geed, Tamiel, the ones whose intent to attack he may be able to actually read telepathically and act before they can.

    Geed's the one to go after Schneider. The dot of a confusion grenade streaks towards the giant's face the minute he thinks of striking at Schneider, mostly because he's seen how *tough* Schneider is, but she's definitely small enough for a giant's palm -- better that he disorient the giant and give her room to move. The minute he sees that violence propagate to any other member of the opposing group, they'll get a similar dot rushing forward, airbursting near them in a puff of disorienting, confusing psychic energy.

    Of course, the ones he can't read will get more than a second or two of head-start. And there's at least one major party here who can hide thoughts...
Lilian Rook     'What do you think you're doing here, Parsons?' rises to Lilian's tongue, but he's answering just that before she can ask. It occurs to her that APPLe must really have become attached to him at that concert; or perhaps it was Regulus, and he's only speaking on her behalf. Neither of them have any experience with the exigencies of cross-faction conflicts, neither their sparking off nor cooling down in either direction, and they're in the Watch instead of the Paladins, too; it must be a shock.

    'I need to be better. Better than I was. I need to not leave people to be hurt by the bigger machinery anymore.'

    "Convenient timing." Lilian says, but her heart really isn't in it. It's all been said before, and the 'convenient' time was a while ago by now. "Well the Foundation has it handled. Go home. You're loyal to the Psychonauts, and the Concord, not--"

    §Manus Vindictae?§

    Lilian focuses properly on White, as if doing a double take. Her eyes slice an uncannily clean horizontal line back and forth across the group before doubling back to Schneider, widening.

    "You're kidding."

    The thought that strikes her, right then, is much more important than Moses. A woman she's never met, staring at her from behind like that, where she thinks Lilian won't realize; even if there wasn't a gun for miles, Lilian might still fail to notice it by now.

    §--But it's impossible not to notice her; the person who is the event unfolding and the human part is merely the epicenter. A distortion that has been pending for longer than there has been a distortion phemenon; one that has been gathering pressure and momentum as would a storm, from every moment on its long way crossing the sea between then and now. It's no longer a matter of 'distortion' with her, in the sense of a perversion of a single human form. It's like weather.

    §--Her hands are almost gone. They're little more than wisps of dark, windows into night. Her hands are everywhere else. There are hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. They descend from her and cover the alley like snow, each as-if gloved in black metal, each with a mind of their own. They cover the walls like resting butterflies, tapping and stroking the bricks. They carpet the ground like wild flowers, carving the snow with their fingers, some writing names and drawing designs, others engaged in phantom play. They cling to guns and steering wheels, doorknobs and fire alarms, ladder rungs and loose rocks, as if they'd grown over them like vines.

    §--Her hands are on everyone else as well; everyone but her; not real enough to touch, to change anything about anything, yet hovering so close, trying so hard, that it's as if her hands believe they could be real at any moment. Shoving back Vertin, holding down her hat, toying with the suitcase latches. Clasping over Sonetto's eyes, as if to shield them, laid over her glasfeder hand, as if to guide her writing. Laced together with White's fingers, holding her outstretched hand, running through the braids in her hair.

    §--Hooked around Flamel's sunglasses, waiting to tear them off. Coiled around the throats of the human gangsters. Pressing fingertips to the lips of the arcanists. One is clutched to Schneider's hip, while the other is tugging at the edge of her coat as if to cover her; another presses against her face, as if to turn her gaze aside, and another flirtatiously plays with the trigger of her gun, even while a fifth rifles around in her pockets suspiciously. They're on Moses too; testing, tugging, feeling, stroking, pinching; without any substance, any force, but quiveringly charged with a sense of longing, wrestling intensely with narrowly-winning restraint.

    But what Moses sees has nothing to do with Lilian.
Lilian Rook     'My newest friends. The world is ending. Only the Manus can save you.'

    It finishes her thought for her, but Lilian feels the inertia of her own words, and doesn't resist the rest. "Manus Vindictae allied with the Concord? Why?" she says, the last word meaning so many things at once. " What in god's name convinced you to throw in? The two of you aren't even arcanists; you shouldn't be standing there." is directed at Flamel and White, with little expectation, but a non-zero amount of hope. Yet even still . . .

    §We don't outnumber them by a lot. I should trust that Sonetto is trained to a level that should exceed a gangster, at least; they're both from the same world, so I can leave that one to her. Vertin should know to stay out of the way if they can't fight. Regulus and APPLe-- I'm not about to rely on them, but it means Parsons doesn't have a monopoly on stealth and harassment. That frees up my attention.§

    §White should have it; she's the biggest threat, but it's going to be a nightmare to stay ahead of however many minds she has in there. I've seen her gesture-cast before. Hands first? No-- if she opens her eyes, it'll be too late to just deal with it. The ground is wet. Steam? No, she can see through her eyelids at minimum. Does that mean she can see through the back of her skull too? I could make a straight attack; clean and direct, too quickly for her to react to; but I can't tell if she's already defended herself with silk in some way. It's natural, not magical, so I can't sense it in the space between us. It shouldn't be difficult to shoot her head from this range, but I don't want to draw Winter Crow without an 'incantation'. Maybe--§

    'Up here, my-lady.'

    Lilian's eyes jerk upwards by reflex, and her gaze lands somewhere in her eyelashes, like a near miss.

    'Aren't your eyes something?'

    Back down. Finally, contact. Her pupils dilate just slightly; a telltale mark of reducing her focus and expanding her field of vision, so she can still respond to motion. "I think you may be the first to comment on them before anything else." Lilian says. She's been holding her breath long enough that the words fog. It somehow ruins their sense of gamely neutrality. "I like your hairband too."

    'Mhmm~, ahh, but they are uninteresting men.'

    §She's still talking. Does that mean anything? I at least have to try, don't I?

    §"We can test which of us is faster if you like. Or, we can keep talking, like this. If you don't like the people behind me, then just you and I."

    'Another damn arcanist--?!'

    "I could have a human blow your brains out if you prefer, your majesty." Lilian spits back, out of habit, then makes an irritated noise at herself for still being angry about the bus. The only reason she doesn't turn around is because the Concord is still in front of her; and then Schneider is . . .

    §Leaving? Just like that? No, think about it. Manus Vindictae has been surprisingly competent in this era. She's almost certainly under orders not to engage the Foundation's forces at her own discretion. I don't much like her trigger discipline, but I get the sense that she isn't the type who can't keep her head down and follow instructions when she has to. We might--§

    Lilian reacts to the trigger pull. Late. With Schneider facing the other way, there's no other body language to announce it, and with her weapon so obviously displaced, she'd been watching the muzzle for motion instead. She turns to follow the shot out of instinct, but even with an early start, her neck is slower than a bullet.
Timekeeper "Why do I have the pleasure? Is it because, you governors also know 'history' so well?"

    Stoically resolute in the face of being complimented, Vertin's eyes only falter once from staring at Schneider's; sliding to the side to verify the position of the arcanists behind her, at the same time that the wind blows through the alleyway. Bluntly, "You won't kill any more of the humans nor recruit the arcanists today. The Manus Vindictae," They raise their voice, "Are not the only path to safety."

    Vertin slides their fingers surreptitiously inside their waistcoat, pinching around something inside as Schneider gets closer. She assumes Schneider wouldn't know, but it's exactly what she'd do if she was grabbing a floppy disk, and waiting to capitalize on a moment of Schneider's distraction. "What did you give them to bring them to your side? Money, or rhetoric?"

"Governor, if I gave you my gun, would you shoot the humans, or the arcanists?"

    "I would shoot nobody! No one has to die!" Sonetto shouts frustratedly, like Schneider simply doesn't understand that point of view.

    "Sonetto. Secure the surviving human." After giving Sonetto the command, Vertin herself still doesn't leap into action; or at least, not physically. Still tensely observant of everything around her, she gives off the impression of only focusing on Schneider to talk. "There was no reason to kill the humans just to recruit Tommy's people. Why, then? A show of faith? Preemptive revenge?"

    "So long lives this, and this gives life to thee-- this is a protective incantation! Are you capable of standing?" The cursive that Sonetto scrawls in the air wraps around the last surviving human, turning into a shimmering iridescent shield with mirrored words orbiting the inside surface. She kneels down beside him, helping him up to his feet and urging him to run inside the building for cover.

    Then to the arcanists of Tommy's group, "Please do not go with her! She is a member of a very dangerous group!"

"Why wasn't that 'civilians and hitmen'? Come on now. What *real* safety can you guarantee them, with the wold ending?"

    "Each group here besides the Foundation is affiliated with criminal activity!" Sonetto insists back at Flamel, not catching on to the whole telepath thing. "Compared to the risk that is brought upon yourself by associating with criminals, not to mention the moral cost, the Foundation is the only organization that can promise proper safety!"

    Vertin cuts across the conversation to interject, "I can personally guarantee safety for the arcanists that come with us, today and a year from now."

    Sonetto is particularly easy to read for Flamel, so it's unlikely that she gets her incantation targeting him off before a confusion grenade hits her. After all, he was present in 1966, when she specifically described her weakness to Lilian as the time it takes for her to cast! She gets halfway through "Regna sereno intenso ed-- ah-!" before the green gas envelops her.
White White really does wish she had a better, concise, punchy way to sum up her part in things here. There's only so far that a vaguely sad hint-of-a frown can take her, and even if she can recognize a wavelength when looking at Vertin's eyes it doesn't seem like a meaningful bit of eye contact can solve this for her. Her unextended hand's fingers are curled into a half-fist at her side, still; she's tense, understandably, despite her reluctance. The situation really doesn't lend itself to organizing her thoughts when she feels like she needs most of her attention just to try and predict how to handle Lilian or Tamiel's unusual movements. The best she can say back to Vertin off the cuff is... "I want... To protect Miss Schneider."

She's not willing to become more distracted than brief phrases like that, it seems. She's all too aware that she can't afford it right now. She wishes she could, but she sees the way her stance and reactions are being evaluated. Haaaah... This is the worst.

     Schneider is advancing on the others, in spite of Sonetto's firm declaration of intent. White had a mind to try and gently intercept the latter's attack, but... Schneider must know what she's doing. She's *performing*, isn't she? White had no reason to disbelieve Schneider, when she agreed so readily to her request before. If she's interested in the Timekeeper, then she's going to want to talk to her, but this situation is... Her arm lowers as Schneider walks past her nearby, which makes it clear who she was aiming at in the first place.

     Tamiel's first sign of White's attention probably comes when she pops into the open to make her offer to the gangsters and goons; the faint glow of White's eyes casts a vague warmth over Tamiel's skin as un-primed magic seems to occupy her entire visual cone, but there's no hostile effect assigned to the Evil Eye's radius yet. Really, other than a slight shift in her posture, it doesn't seem like White is particularly primed to try and intercept Tamiel at all. Lilian's right there between them, so maybe it's easy to write off as her just being 'too preoccupied'...

     While White she'd begun to move in response to Geed's lunge, Flamel's interception seems to have been timed properly; she can take it well enough on faith that Riku won't leverage his giant-strength to immediately try and pulp Schneider, so she leaves it to the smaller woman to handle staying out of the unwanted grasp unless it seems like she can't manage it.
Lilian Rook     Lilian is left staring, stunned, at Frank's corpse hitting the pavement. The heat of so much fresh blood splattered against her cold skin makes her shiver. All that trying to help did was get it on her face. The thought that naturally comes next gets jammed up in the gears. It takes as long as Schneider getting to Vertin to sort it out.

    'Governor, if I gave you my gun, would you shoot the humans, or the arcanists?'

    Lilian takes a deep breath, then utters the formality as quietly as possible: "Chaill tú sé."

    A second set of gunshots sound off, jumbled-together enough to be a weapon with multiple barrels. The direct center of White's vision is blotted out with three glints of flaming gold that explode a split second later and blast alchemical fire into her eyes. The slush where lilian was standing is scraped sideways; a short spray of it falls short of Schneider.

    Lilian, behind her, swings the hilt of her sword sideways at the back of her head, Winter Crow still gripped in reserve in her left hand. Mid-sprint, her objective must be to disable her with a blow to the back of the head and drive her into the ground, using the blade as a blocking bar at the back of her neck. Either very merciful, or extremely pragmatic; she has two guns, after all.
White Of course, Lilian proves the danger of trying to hold a standoff. White really can't blame her for going for the eyes immediately, either; it was either that or the throat, and frankly the former was a better choice even if White knew it might be coming. Her reflexes compensate for the short-notice after White recognizes that Lilian isn't speaking a language White knows anymore, and White immediately throws her right arm up and tries to curl toward the ground, shielding her face. It'll probably really hurt- fire is effective against her- but she was instantly willing to sacrifice the arm if she had to anyway, and it's quickly beginning to restore itself. As Lilian expected, having to completely cover up like this doesn't stop her from 'seeing' either; White's very first move is to snatch Schneider away through space after having established her target previously, drawing her away from beneath Lilian's blow and between Regulus's arms, and placing Schneider somewhere near the other end of the parking garage, around the space that Riku trampled through on his way toward the alleyway door. Couldn't have done that without preparing in advance, of course.

     From there, things start to become a blur. White's wincing when her face comes up again from behind her arm, and vanishes from the spot herself. First she reappears behind Lilian on the ground, only to vanish again without action and reappear in the *air* this time, hanging from a haphazard strand of webbing between the alley walls to throw an awkward kick while rotating around the string like a monkeybar. Her burned arm hangs at her side while she uses the other to hold herself up, hauling herself up onto the string with perfect balance in an upright squat.

     She doesn't have to *beat* Lilian. She doesn't have to beat anyone here. Frankly, she doesn't care very much about the outcome of Schneider's mission at this point. It's probably painfully obvious from what Lilian might remember of previous conversations that... Well, it's not the worst White could do with those legs. She's still *really* trying to get out of this without pushing things too far, even if she has to look like a weird urban owl to manage it; she's just looming over Lilian like this now, waiting for another move she can predict without letting the knight-commander have the breathing room to bolt off after Schneider.

Flamel? Well, he's fine. Probably. She's just going to pretend he is for right now. She has enough to worry about.
Odette Raskins "Technically, I'm her guy!
I want... To protect Miss Schneider."

With Tamiel providing her own presumably easier out to the gangsters, Odette can dedicate a little more brainpower to people and things that aren't Frank! For starters, Flamel and White literally-not-figuratively confirming that they're now working with Manus Vindictae and, perhaps more importantly, the terrifying lady shooting people.

"Wh..? D-don't follow her! Follow the angelic one up there! The one that isn't shooting anybody!" She pleads, shuffling with her supplies to figure out what she can even do about the one gangster she's already working on carrying out in her arms. The look she gives White and Flamel as her gaze comes back down from Tamiel is a complicated one, too, as neither of them have ever struck her as particularly malicious or even mean people.

She just really needs some time away from the immediate situation to sort out the rest of her thoughts about this.

"Each group here besides the Foundation is affiliated with criminal activity!"

Odette completely avoids looking at Sonetto for a bit 's jaw tenses just a bit, and she finds it even easier to focus on the wounded or dead for the time being.  Is this one even alive anymore?

"Secure the surviving human."

Hearing that from Vertin puts a knot in the pit of Odette's stomach, since that means the answer is probably no. She's not ready to drop the gangster yet, though, but she does do a quick read on him with her medHUD to see if his vitals are still dropping or simply gone at this point.
Regulus ''See, I feel like that's dishonest.''

"The Foundation wanted to prevent this tragedy. The same way they tried to recruit the Captain, which you supported." APPLe says, apparently deciding his way of helping is to argue with Flamel but he's not exactly a fighter. "You said you didn't want to sacrifice to the machine anymore, but I see corpses on the ground. At the most you can say is you picked a different machine."

As Lilian is thinking, APPLe is speaking on behalf of Regulus. He knows how important music is to her, the bonds forged through music and singing and cover bands and silly little basement concerts. Seeing Flamel in this spot is like if Flamel had spitten on the Code of Thirteen in Regulus's mind, or used Night Mist to cut cake. It feels sacriligious to the pirate that forces belonging to what once was a band are abetting a cause which, to Regulus, certainly doesn't look like peace.

But it's not entirely about Regulus either. Not so long ago, Flamel was making the case for Regulus to sign on with the Foundation? What changed, APPLe wonders, or did nothing change at all?

"Were you convincing her to join the Foundation just because it was convenient in the moment?" APPLe asks. "Or did you learn something new?"

''I want... To protect Miss Schneider''

Regulus is more sympathetic to that goal in a situation like this but she already knows how she's going to play it. Check in with White later, learn more of the story that way. But--

''I can personally guarantee safety for the arcanists that come with us.''

"If the Foundation's not your thing, we've got options!" Regulus shouts to essentially back up what she thinks Vertin's angling at there.
Timekeeper ""Manus Vindictae allied with the Concord? Why?"

    Lilian's more capable at drawing the factional boundaries here in the moment than Vertin is. To Vertin, the Concord has assisted her as much as anyone has, and even just a few days ago Flamel was in Laplace for Lilian's own research. Her lips twitch, as stressed as she's seemed so far. "I see. I was careless."

"I want... To protect Miss Schneider."

    "Schneider?" Vertin's quick to connect the name to the mobster in front of her, even with as indirect an introduction as that. Warily, not discounting White entirely but seeing the defense as a near non-sequitur in the moment, Vertin keeps questioning Schneider to keep her attention on her. "Is that safety in question? From the Foundation, the Storm, or the Manus themselves?"
White White can't exactly project her voice well enough to be certain that Vertin will hear her while other things are going on, and she's certainly not turning to face the Timekeeper while she has to keep her attention on Lilian. Can she really narrow it down how Vertin hopes? Can she even prove her suspicions? She didn't exactly put the most forethought into things before making her mind up on how she was going to act... But... Schneider is a short distance away. Her men aren't here. The only other Concordite... Concordian? ... With her is Flamel, who seems to have a loosely similar priority to hers from what she could pick out of his own answers. She could say something. And if she's to believe Persephone... Jesus, she really didn't think this was where her own thoughts were going when she started.

     If her soft, straining voice is audible then Vertin and others may still catch,

     "Maybe."

     It's a *lot* of verbal encoding, honestly. She'd be surprised if anyone understood her at all, let alone right this moment. It probably sounds like she's making fun of them, actually. Now, back to Miss Lilian trying to shoot her down in three, two...
Schneider Greco      "The two of you aren't even arcanists..."
     "I would shoot nobody! No one has to die!"
     Schneider, unbelievably, takes another step towards Vertin while Sonetto rushes past her. Her air-fogging breaths almost touch Vertin now. Her sparkling crimson eyes drink deeply of the Timekeeper's face.

     "Human or arcanist... mhmhm. It matters nothing to me, my-lord. But..."

     "How could you be so cold-hearted as to take life so easily?"
     "There was no reason to kill the humans..."
     "Why all this fuss for them?" Her eyelashes flutter. "If I do not kill these humans now... your Foundation will, when the Storm comes. Those who will be 'washed away'... mmm, are they not already dead?"

     She's a little too absorbed in her flirtatious conversation.

     "... Hm?" Schneider seems only lazily surprised to be wrist-grabbed from behind by Regulus. "Oh, mhmhm, my lady, far too forward~."

     She's the shortest person here, skinny for that height, and no stronger than that size implies. And yet, making sure she can't aim at you is no guarantee of safety. She shuts her eyes in time before the flash can blind her. A sharp heel-kick at Regulus's knee behind her is followed up by a wrist-flick that draws a 'ghost' out of Regulus, like a foggy white echo of her, standing passively at Schneider's gunpoint.

     BANG.

     Shoving Schneider away might divert the bullet in time, but otherwise it goes right through the shoulder of Regulus's ghost, scattering it like fog- and Regulus's actual shoulder bleeds.

     Either way she's free. Riku's hand descending makes her drop the casual act; now she moves with a little urgency, darting out between his fingers while conjuring a ghost of him and putting three shots into his giant ghost's wrist to make him flinch.

     Even forced to move swiftly, she's still smiling in the thick of Vertin's group. Relaxed. There's nothing here she can't handle. Nevermind that kooky Irishwoman with the sword, wherever she is--

     - - - -
Schneider Greco      "Hmph." Schneider, blinkblink-reorienting herself after being White-teleported to safety deeper in the garage, decides this is worth pouting over. She re-emerges next to Vertin, ungratefully waltzing right back into the melee, and brushes greasonously close by Vertin's shoulder. "E' 'rren-ya, no ren-iy-a. Is that truly the accent of the governors?"

     Odette, tragically, discovers that- while there's no entrance wound on Frank- there is an exit wound, and a very messy one. Schneider goes for headshots, and she never seems to miss. With that caliber of bullet, he might as well be decapitated. But she can boss the remaining man to his feet, and he leans on Sonetto with a heavy grunt.

     "I'm not hurt-- oh, God, you are arcanists aren't you?! Hahahaha, ohhh, burn me down..."

     As soon as the last Moran hitman sees an opening, he shoves Sonetto to the ground and sprints down the alleyway, trying to make it to safety. Schneider clucks her tongue disapprovingly. "Ad-am Hee-yer... shall I take the shot, my-lord?" she says to Vertin, raising her gun towards him lazily. But she doesn't pull the trigger just yet.

     "I can personally guarantee safety for the arcanists that come with us..."
     "Schneider? ... Is that safety in question?"
     "Only arcanists? ... My dear lord, it's no point offering them safety. Haven't we given it first?" Schneider gently 'teases' Vertin. "One dry roof is as good as another... even if all might leak. Mhmhm~."

     "I can give you the power to GET OUT! Right here! Right now!"
     ... But Tommy's bunch, the arcanist bootleggers, are much less put off by displays of mystical power than the Moran hitman were. A couple of them- two out of seven- decide to hazard running across the alley towards her, while the rest still cower by their truck.

     "Boys, what are you doin'?!"
     "We can't stay here! I-- I promise!"
     "Tommy, c'mon! Lady, get us the hell out!"

     Schneider isn't much a fan of that. She clucks her tongue, steps away from Vertin, and--

     BANG. The bullet goes right for the base of one of Tamiel's wings. "Don't make promises you can-not keep~."

     Stepping back into the dangerous alleyway, she smiles apologetically at the five 'loyal' bootleggers- rather, the ones who've been too terrified to move much from their cover- and then casually tosses something square at White, before materializing a black umbrella in place of one of her guns and taking a lazy swing at Lilian from the side/behind.

     It's clearly an attempt to catch Lilian's attention more than seriously attack, but there's still weight and more whistling sharpness behind it than a closed umbrella should have.

     ... The umbrella's end is, oddly, an orange claw. It's an EGO gift, for those with the familiarity. "The hairband was a matter of gratitude," she purrs. "Your eyes for beauty are good. Let's have that test, my-lady~."
Riku Asakura Two assaults at once cause the giant to miss his grab.  The grenade hits the head of Geed, causing him to stagger back and fall forward from the blast.  It confuses him for a brief period, long enough for Schneider to get her shots off on his wrist.  They connect, causing sparks to rain from the wrist.  

Holding his hand and shaking off the confusion, he's forced to take a look around at the situation as it changes.  He'll have to rely on Lilian to handle Schneider inside the building, as White teleports her inside.  He can't go back inside without causing a real mess... though that might help, but it'd likely also put the arcanists in danger.  

Instead, he turns his attention to Flamel.  He doesn't want those grenades going off on anyone other than himself.  He reaches up and punches the ground where Flamel's at, trying to get him to either fall over or move, so that he can fire another blast at him from his other hand.  The goal is to keep him distracted from helping Schneider with those grenades or anything else his mind can come up with!  
Flamel Parsons     "I can personally guarantee safety for the arcanists that come with us, today and a year from now."
    Flamel's head quirks. A few things add up in his mind. But he doesn't focus on it. It's not his real motive, after all, it's just one that he needlessly confabulated to defuse Team Timekeeper. It doesn't stop him from striking Sonetto shortly after Geed, aiming for her language center (though for someone so well-read, it won't stay scrambled for long).

    "Or did you learn something new?"
    Flamel vanishes shortly after the stun-grenades, but he keeps up the conversation, telepathically. <That's a great question to ask!> He exclaims approvingly. <In one sense, both are right. In another sense, neither -- I'm working off of some of the same data. And importantly, I'd would *still* advise Regulus to join the Foundation, to go with the Timekeeper. I'm here for the bootleggers, but not her -- that's a key for you.>

    Grenades didn't go out to Regulus, but that was mostly because he would have caught Schneider in the tangle.

    With Sonetto stunned, he has to move fast, because-- Augh! That giant hand slams into the ground near him, knocking him out of invisibility and onto his chest. A heavy Shield shaves away its layers under the beam as he holds his bruised side. "Gah! That was...!" A giant translucent telekinetic hand of his own whooshes from one side, trying to grapple with the arm that sources that huge beam. He may not have the size Geed has, but his telekinesis does. "I've got this one, Schneider, trust me!" He calls out. "Get as many of them to safety as you can!"

    His hand whips out, dispelling the shield and psychically yanking several bright orange flickering exclamation marks out of the disloyal end of Tommy's gang while they flee. Their stress levels drop (will that make them commit to this path, or rethink it?) but Flamel's massively increase as each exclamation mark loads into his skull like a shotgun shell... and then blasts Geed's chest with huge amounts of refined psychic power, over and over, trying to get the giant stumbling back and give Schneider clear room to work, trying to fend him off with huge telekinetic hands and stress-shell shots. Flamel's back on his feet, rising in a battle stance, but Geed *does* have most of his focus... Though, those farther from Schneider get their fair share of the spray. Tamiel and Sonetto might need to dodge attacks of opportunity, when Geed doesn't have Flamel's full focus.
Regulus ''Far too forward~''

"Heh!! In my time, we get to wear what we want and don't even have to be--OWW!" She hisses and flicks Schneider's nose in response with her fingernail only for her ghost to be drawn out and--

APPLe collides into Regulus to force her away from Schneider but the bullet still slams against ghost-Regulus's ghost-shoulder. Regulus yelps as blood drips from her wound. "Aggh you wanker that's my second favorite arm...!"

''If I do not kill these humans now...Your Foundation will, when the Storm comes ... are they not already dead?''

"Ow ow owwww if that's how you feel why are you bothering with killing them??" Regulus says, voice high pitched with frustration and pain.

She sees something tossed towards White and Regulus says, "Aw heck."

Deciding that Lilian probably can handle Schneider, she even defeated the great Regulus after all, she ultimately vanishes from sight again. White's eyes are always closed so she's not going to have much luck blinding so instead she goes for a running tackle, leaping off the ground to try and throw herself into her and grab at the arm that the disk has been thrown towards. While she's trying to steal away the disk in theory, Regulus is under no illusion that she can overpower White--instead she's trying to get a good look at the ritual and try and decipher where it's pointed towards--this operation has gone tits up so now she's coming up with alternative goals in mind.

To try and slow down, Regulus says, "We'll talk later about Schneider okay?" in a soft voice to White--which is her being totally honest, but also her totally trying to get more time to examine that disk.

APPLe can't exactly frown. He isn't a telepath either, but he can certainly get the obvious 'Why?' question from APPLe's mind. But there's still the impression the guy is frowning. He floats by Vertin and holds position.
Lilian Rook     §Regenerator. Typical. I'll have to get her through the spine, just to be safe.§
    White teleporting Schneider away is faster than she expected; Lilian has only ever seen her channel large group teleports through her spider familiars. Hearing that it's slower that way doesn't provide a real benchmark, but at least seeing it does. "Regulus! Stop screwing around! With APPLe on Parsons! Raskins! Forget the fucking extras!! Do what Vertin says then help Sonetto!!"

    White materializes next to Lilian. She pauses mid-word. The space is intuitively too short for her sword, so rather than trying to gain it, Lilian sways back, pulls her alchemical handgun in close to her chest, raising her other elbow to guard, and fires for center mass at point blank. Only one explosive bullet has a realistic chance of hitting before the second teleport; another two streak off into the sky and pop like gold fireworks. She tracks White at almost the moment of the teleport; a lucky guess. "Nóiméad--!"

    Lilian suddenly backs off instead. The swing kick strikes her gauntleted shooting hand, braced against her side to absorb it, and Lilian pivots sharply with the momentum to bring her sword down from her elbow-high stance faster; an attempt to hack through White's leg with the shortest sequence of smallest movements. The awkwardly-timed pause prohibits anything more effective. By the time she works her gun down to her waist and fires again, White is away. Back up in the rafters, Lilian bursts a little more of the ammo stack down at her to judge her reflexes, then holsters Winter Crow amidst the clinking of solid gold shell casings; a smear of waste aether draws a trail down to her skirt settling over her thigh.

    'I see. I was careless.'

    §You were. But I wanted to believe as well.§

    "Geed! Away from Parsons! Check their escape route!" Lilian resumes shouting. She doesn't quite dare take her attention fully away from White, but perhaps something about the short exchange has made her aware of something that dulls the sense of urgency she seems to feel about her. Optimistically, it's the lack of dark magic. "Sonetto! Covering you!"

    'If I do not kill these humans now... your Foundation will, when the Storm comes. Those who will be 'washed away'... mmm, are they not already dead?'

    Lilian's thoughts travel back to a woman, drunk on musing, traipsing to her death over the roof of a skyscraper; the one she ignored, and Rita saved. She winces. Her reply is the same thing she said to motivate herself before: "Not if we stop it in time."
Tamiel Luxis     The light of White's eyes can't help but draw Tamiel's gaze. Her wings strum like tuning forks, reacting to the magic pouring over her. But while she braces, nothing seems to happen. The look on her face is confusion beginning a skirmish with betrayal.

    Her attention finds the gangsters again, and she beckons, "Come on, we can still--"

    BANG

    Would it have been different, if she'd marshalled her shadows? If she'd had all her means at her disposal, wrapped in in her power?

    Maybe.

    But in the instant, it didn't feel like there was warning. Not with her shadows watching from afar, not with the The shards of Tamiel's left wings fracture, scattering shards of warm, luminous glass across the ground. She cries out, clutching at her side, staggering, and with it, her Oath slamed shut, like a door heavy lid held open--around the two runaways who'd accepted it.

    Strands of light pull taut between them, a connection. of shadow whirled and swam across the ground into the arcanist's shadows, and new roads open up. A hop and a skip past learning to knowing, the way that shadows wait and walk, the trick to slipping under doors, the swiftness of the dark flickering away when you flip a switch in the morning.

    "Don't make promises you can-not keep~."

    "I--Have to try!" She fumbled out her quarterstaff, a feeble barrier between herself and the rest of the chaos. "They deserve a choice!"
Odette Raskins "Darn it..." Odette sucks in a terrified breath as she quickly determines that this gangster is also very dead and all but drops him once she realizes how big the exit wound is. Her brief inspection of his head does turn up quite a lot of gruesome information, but even more baffling questions at the same time. How could there only be an exit wound without an entry wound? How did Miss Schneider even shoot it out of him at this angle aiming that high AND with Lilian in the way?

It's almost enough to distract her from Schneider's conversation with Vertin, but not completely. Odette being Odette, of course, means she doesn't notice there's even a hint of flirting in any of it, and instead she just finds her own resolve being tested by what she knows of the Foundation and the Storm already.

"We can't just turn a blind eye to these people, even if they are go... Er. Gangsters!" Close save there. As she says that, she lets that corpse down a little hastily, freeing her hands up to come up to her face defensively when she hears another gunshot. Again, she starts glancing around hastily to see who's bleeding this time around, but comes up blank and keeps her eyes fixed on Schneider for at least a little while longer.

"A-and shooting them is just going to make things worse. The more people that die, the worse off everyone's going to be with things being as tense as they are already!" Odette finds herself trying to plead with Schneider, perhaps holding out hope that that might get anywhere even though she's in the middle of fighting. "Isn't that going to end up with even more arcanists getting hurt? Y-you can't save people if they're dead!"

"Ow ow owwww if that's how you feel why are you bothering with killing them?"

Only after hearing Regulus complain besides Schneider does Odette finally track where that bullet went from that dripping blood. The EMT only makes it a few feet closer before the DJ disappears before her very eyes, and then she's back to trying to figure out where she should actually be going next. The next gunshot comes with spilling glass and noises from Tamiel next, and that gets the EMT to bring out...

The medicated gauze and self-disinfecting bandages, courtesy of Fanar Workshop! The mystery of the no-entry-wound-shots notwithstanding, Odette can at least try and get the exit wound hastily covered up to stop Tamiel from dripping more... Glass? From her side.

"Forget the fucking extras!! Do what Vertin says then help Sonetto!!"

Hearing Lilian keeps Odette's mind from wandering too far regarding Tamiel's injuries, and gets her mind back on track with what she can actually do immediately. She snaps her attention back towards Vertin and Sonetto, then towards...

Wait, which one of these gangsters is the surviving human? The one covered by Sonetto's protective scrawl, probably! She starts rushing in his direction while mostly hoping that Schneider doesn't shoot a new exit wound into either of them while she's not looking, and her hands go right into that carrying case. "Go! Go go go! Gogogogogo!" She shouts at him and nearly crashes into the remaining human gangster as she hurries over, scrambling to get a breathing mask over her face once she sees the gas from Flamel's confusion grenade around Sonetto. She all but shoves herself between Sonetto and Schneider, too, trying to add herself as a layer of protection between the two even while trying to usher the remaining human away from the garage and alleyway.
Timekeeper "Those who will be 'washed away'... mmm, are they not already dead?"

    Similarly not backing down, but nowhere near as much indulgement in the closing distance between them, Vertin's voice stays firm where Schneider's warbles. "Another year of life is a precious thing. Whatever the end is, I'll fight for their ability to have the last second to live as they will."

"Oh, mhmhm, my lady, far too forward~."

    In the instant before Regulus's spirit is drawn out, the spell around Vertin is broken, and she raises her voice to shout. "Regulus! Watch out!"

    Rather than relying on her own meagre arcane skills, Vertin pinches a floppy disk between her fingers, drawing it out of her waistcoat and flinging it in the same motion. The arcane sigil carved into it flares up and then ignites, embers sparking the outline of the carvings on it in the instant before it explodes. A fireball blossoms in the air, forcing the three of them, including Vertin, to duck or else be burned, before Schneider's teleported away by White.

"E' 'rren-ya, no ren-iy-a."

    Vertin is still on her hands and knees by the time Schneider swishes by her, not in a position to do anything to stop her while hot ash still swirls in the air. As she pushes herself up to her feet, Sonetto frowns at Schneider while guiding Adam by the shoulder. "I do not understand what you mean. Where was there an accent?"

"Ad-am Hee-yer... shall I take the shot, my-lord?"

    Sonetto is shoved away with a grunt of shock, and her attempt to grab him before he runs grazes off of her own arcane barrier cast on him. "Ah--! Stop! Come back! Why are you running?!"

    Vertin temporarily ignores Schneider to shout at Riku, with his height to reach clear over the parking lot and cut off the running man's escape. "Geed! Grab him! Adam Heyer!" Then to Schneider, as if her request for permission was entirely genuine, "Don't. There's nothing to be gained from it."

"One dry roof is as good as another... even if all might leak. Mhmhm~."

    "The Manus Vindictae's promise of safety is a lie. They'll kill their own followers just to get ahead." Vertin's grip tightens around the handle of her suitcase. "And you're convincing them to join knowing that. Do you not care about anything besides yourself?"

    When two of Tommy's arcanists split to run, Vertin distracts Schneider in the way that she can: shoving her suitcase into Schneider's chest to practically tackle her off-target. When Schneider's arcane skill starts to materialize again, Vertin shoves her arm aside, but she's still *so* vulnerable to bullets normal-style. "Sonetto! Support Tamiel!"
Timekeeper     "Understood Timekeeper!" Sonetto isn't thrilled to be abandoning her pursuit of Adam Heyer, but she follows Vertin's directions the instant they're spoken. Trying to navigate over the broken wall back into the alleyway, she's harried by Flamel's telekinetic hands, grimacing and swiping ribbons of light at them to wrap around their fingers and yank them away. Standing on top of the rubble, she surveils the direction that Tamiel's led the escapees, and then where White and Lilian are fighting, and where Vertin and Schneider are interlocked. She holds her hand to her chest and closes her eyes, inadvisibly, but necessarily.

    "Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra / trafitto da un raggio di sole:" She holds her glasfeder out in front of her, and a drip of glittering darkness falls from the tip. "Ed è subito sera."

    An array blooms across the ground to encompass the alleyway and building, then bubbles up into a dome. The inside, a hemisphere that blocks out the sky and the frosty brick and concrete of the dismal city around them, is a sparkling tapestry of night sky and stars, ran through with cursive swirls of color, deadening sound like a wide-open field. From each point along the apex of the dome, crystalline prisms of light sprout out and then crash into the ground, hammering down as walls to block Schneider's bullets, and tracing a path towards Flamel and White as well.
Timekeeper     In that moment, in what's become much more of a fight than they expected, Vertin tries their last chance at convincing the holdouts from the arcanist gang. "Please consider what I'm saying. I'm certain that this all has been confusing and alarming, but don't allow yourselves to be pressured into hasty decisions. If you come with us to the Foundation, or even run away today, I assure you that you'll have the time and information to make an informed choice about your futures. Please. Your lives are on the line, but it doesn't have to be today."
Lilian Rook     Whatever the square object is, it's important enough for Schneider to throw it to White. Once again, the breath she draws isn't faster than Schneider's already-planned followup. It's like she's thinking about everything in smaller fragments than usual-- shorter, and with less foresight, with subtle splices gumming up what should be smooth transitions between her actions.

    Up until the umbrella, which is a close combat attack with a weapon, with Lilian having plenty of time to grasp her sword with both hands now.

    The unbreakable fluidity that is more typical of her fighting style comes back just in time to swing her sword around one shoulder, parry the umbrella behind her, duck under her own raised arm, and twist her body ahead of the followthrough, clearly aiming to hurl the weapon straight out of Schneider's hands and across the room. Five feet of sword twirls between her fingers like a baton, and snaps down to aim in Schneider's direction as if on rails. Her stance is effortlessly automatic; which makes the ten seconds prior stand out more and not less.

    'The hairband was a matter of gratitude. Your eyes for beauty are good.'

    "I wouldn't want to give you the wrong impression by starting with your dress." Lilian says. The breath she was holding for an incantation fogs up the flat of her sword instead. She dares to close her eyes, just for a split second, furrowing her blow and blinking away some distraction or another. It's already too late to keep thinking about White. "If you don't hate humans, then why is it worth fighting us to kill just one more? Surely your handlers aren't omniscient." Lilian says.

    When she zones back in, she thoughtlessly licks Frank's blood from the corner of her lips, like removing a tactile nuisance. The tip of her sword corrects itself by milimeters. "No, you're not even a foot soldier at all. That style is too unique. Thin margins, big risks, and blind calls are what hitmen hate most. You don't think about death at all, do you?"

    'Let's have that test, my-lady~.'

    §Oh.§

    ""Nóiméad An--!"" Lilian shouts, then lunges directly towards Schneider instead; banking on the fact that her opponent has heard her say it a few times already and is primed to respond to incantations as a matter of course, the words are chosen as a feint so that she can move the instant Schneider takes action to interrupt her.

    The umbrella is an EGO. Lilian decides to assume it's still in play. Night Mist arcs from one side of her body to the other simultaneous with her first step, covering every angle but a straight thrust. Her boot cracks down the asphalt for a foothold; she diverts towards the alley wall, then kicks off it for height and a double-deflected angle. The thrust she's already lined up in that blink of an eye should skewer straight through Schneider and nail her to the pavement.

    "--Gearradh Sgàil!" Left, right, or teleported towards White instead of away; any possibility but directly backward and forward, or teleported far away, leave Schneider's shadow still directly in line with Lilian's blade.
White When she reappears, the real advantage of White scattering her minions is revealed; she had a precise idea of where each and every person in and near the alley was positioned by the time she returned, and far be it for her to simply arrive right where she left from; she's back at ground level, starting from behind Tamiel! If she can get away with sending the arcanist rescuee-captives away quickly enough, Tammy won't even have hands laid on her; if Tamiel does react to her promptly, though, she's unfortunately going to be turning around into a point-blank exposure to the Evil Eye of Panic, hitting her exactly where White sees she's weakest and acting in the moment where she's hopefully stunned. Sorry Tammy... The unfortunate reality of being caught up in a battlefield, though, is that it's easy to get caught up in attacks that aren't just aimed at you; Sonetto's massive incantation, unsurprisingly, demands attention and White can only call it a punishment for letting the wizard say her stupid magic words unbothered.

     In all too much of a rush, and delaying her from snatching her allies or the arcanists out of the fight just yet out of necessity, White grits her teeth and hammers her palms into the ground. An orange glyph imprints as if seared into the dirt, and a rough counter-spell takes shape to directly, physically challenge the attack and blunt its effects. Her own tiny incantation of "Terrain Spear..!" comes with the implicit times-twenty modifier unspoken, as she tries to joust magic crystals against condensed stone called out of the walls and ground in abundance, in full expectation that it won't fully nullify the attack. If it does, that's a bonus, but she's willing to take a few pretty vicious hits if she has to, with the end of the day in sight.

     ... Though she hasn't quite kept up with how Schneider's doing against Lilian, amidst all of this.
White The exchange with Lilian doesn't exactly go *great* for White. The first reflexive shot after her initial teleportive advance is cast away into the distance somewhere behind White's left shoulder with a close-range teleport spell, barely even apart from the surface of her skin. That was more manageable because she didn't plan on throwing an attack until she went airborne, and she beats herself up a little for not trying to layer the attack any further than a single kick when she does strike; Lilian's blade makes contact with her leg, and only doesn't manage to take it off as planned because White's dress and skin are both far tougher than they appear. Lilian still claims a bit of both with the slash though, even if it doesn't stop White's overall momentum or where she ends up.

     It's safe to say neither of them really gained much from that... Lilian's followup shots seem to have an easy target, but White seems to rip a piece of the garage wall outward using a basic Earth Magic spell; higher-penetration rounds would've gone through in all likelihood, but explosive rounds- ... Well, White might've gotten peppered with splintered cement, but it's not enough to make her flinch. There's a small lurch in her posture, about to try and make another go at Lilian, but she instead suddenly diverts to sprint straight up the wall toward the roof, only throwing back a sudden Evil Eye glare in Lilian's direction, ramping the relative effect of gravity to keep her from raising her gun fast enough to keep up in that moment. She had to reserve that trick; she expects Lilian could compensate for it if she were allowed to get used to it.

     While she makes her vertical sprint, the disk is yanked up toward her by another string of silk, nearly invisible. It doesn't take her long to understand Schneider's plan, and any reluctance in her mind is shunted aside firmly. Schneider's message is sent; just going back and claiming the other Elites were too much to handle won't be enough, like she hoped it would. Schneider gets back into the fray against Lilian herself, and White doesn't have an option but to use the distraction she creates in that moment without delay, or she'll waste it. Pressing her thumb to the disk's center as instructed, White doesn't just vanish to its destination; she leaves a dozen or so of her spiders in her place, which panic and scatter along the walls and ground, skittering between people's feet and away into hiding places, even into adjacent homes if they can find open windows.

Even that is a kind of diversion, though. She can begin to affix a target-lock for teleportation using the spiders to speed things up, selecting each of the arcanists as well as Schneider and Flamel, and nothing at all stops at least Vertin from recognizing the process in motion! ... But even if someone catches and crushes every single spider, White always planned to return to the scene.

     Arriving in the Walden unannounced and alone, White only bothers to delay her return long enough to ascertain who is waiting there when she appears. A quick sweep of the Evil Eye of Analysis for only the most apparent information- names to put to faces, foremost titles to know who to watch later, that kind of thing- and then she's gone again without even a greeting. She'll have time for a deeper analysis later, but she's not willing to leave Schneider waiting on her now.
Tamiel Luxis     "Follow my shadow!" she urged the would-be escapees, one of the ones she'd divested emerged from the ground, making a beckoning motion. "I'll get the others--"

    And then, there was White. "...No!" She rallied, trying to per herself between the Lady and them. "You can't have--"

    She found herself looking into White's eyes.

    The greatest weakness of Tamiel's mental defenses is that she has to keep them actively readied. A shield to be raised. Armor to be donned. Those eyes. Her heart hammered like a hummingbird. She had to get them to...those eyes. The arcanists those eyes. Those eyes. THOSE EYES. If she could just--THOSE EYES.

    Her expression shifted quickly, from determined to struggling to dawning horror. "No no no NO--" She struggled to take off into the sky, away from White--but her wing--her wing was damaged, and instead she came tumbling into the wall in a sharp spiral.

    Her shadows--all of them--felt the reverbing panic, and fled at the same time, falling into the ground and darting to something far away and dark, while Tamiel quivered, haunted by EYES.
White      ---Before White vanished with the disk---

     Just as when Regulus grabbed Schneider, White hadn't expected much from Regulus; it comes as a surprise when she starts trying to run up the wall while reeling the disk in, only to find much more weight on the end of the line than she expected. It was just poor timing on Regulus's part that she didn't manage to get White's arm, and White had been so focused on Lilian she hadn't noticed what Regulus was setting up for either! To her credit though, even as she's hauling Regulus up into the air with her (she really has to dig her boots into the side of the building to keep enough adhesion) she isn't just trying to shake her loose either; Regulus is close enough to human that a fall from this high could still really hurt her and White knows it.

     Instead, after yanking Regulus and the disk up to her own height, White awkwardly has to pry it out of the other woman's grip like trying to remove a stuck hook from a fish's mouth, grasping her with an entire arm around her waist. It's more of a struggle than Regulus might've given herself credit for; White's surprised enough and, thankfully, unwilling enough to just break her fingers that it nearly gives Lilian another chance to shoot her, even if not a clear shot. Her eyes are narrowed, sweat on her face, her jaw tense, all of it clear as day from this close with the sky framing her head from behind.

     "... Okay." she half-breathedly answers, after getting the disk out of Reggie's grubby fingers. "Cover... Your head."

She could've teleported Regulus back to the ground, but instead she shakes her until she's too unbalanced to properly cling to White's clothes, and then tosses her into an open and damaged dumpster. The bags will break her fall!
Regulus Maybe it's more accurate to say White caught a Regulus than the other way around, but she yelps and makes a lot of noise punctured with buggers and the occassional 'load of tosh'es. She is determined! And she's wiggling a lot precariously and her legs are swinging back and forth. By Jove, she's gonna get something for Vertin who so sweetly warned her about GETTING SHOT. Or getting her ghost shot? Bwuh!

"It'll...take more than...that to shake off a once in a lifetime musical ahhh woah woah woah ahhhh h-hey, what did you mean, you're not gonna seriously...??"

She is going to seriously. Regulus yelps as she loses her grip and tumbles into a bundle of trash. "Remember my woooork...!" She shouts though she does, at least, remember to cover her head even as she plummets into the trash.
Schneider Greco      "Where was there an accent?"
     "Si pirdìu," Schneider says, exasperated. "Old hag of the third generation..." (Sonetto is, like, twenty at most.)

     Schneider, jostled off being able to make a follow-up shot against Tamiel by Vertin's suitcase hitting her chest, looks at the Timekeeper with wide-open eyes and no trace of malice.

     They'll kill their own followers just to get ahead."
     Do you not care about anything besides yourself?"
     Something cold is pushing Vertin's chin upwards. But not quiiite so much that she can't still look down into those scarlet eyes. Schneider smiles, as sweetly as anyone has ever smiled while putting a gun to an enemy's throat.

     "My dear lord, has your Foundation never thrown anyone away?" she breathes sweetly. "Now, I will not touch your pretty face, but do-not be a liar to me. I have such cares in my heart." She delicately pulls her arm from Vertin's grip before slipping away.

     With no playfulness, she adds: "They are pure-bloods. They will be well."

     . . .

     The men Tamiel blessed with that darting shadow-travel leave after blurted-out thanks. It's too late for Schneider to interfere. That being the case, she doesn't take a shot at putting the angel down- not that her first one was meant to kill, either.

     "They deserve a choice!"
     "Tch. Chi lussa." Schneider walks by the fallen angel with a look of soft disdain. A straight gaze down the barrel of a handgun, held dismissively at waist level, warns her to stay fallen.

     "If you don't hate humans, then why is it worth fighting..."
     "... if that's how you feel why are you bothering with killing them??"
     "Another year of life is a precious thing."
     "Your Foundation will not even tell them they are dying." It's rare for Schneider's voice to be so joyless. But she admits, lightly: "It would, ahhh... be better for me with no witnesses. And I just do not like them. Oh, well~."

     She can't take a shot at Adam Heyer now because of Sonetto's working, so she seems to lose interest in him. The gruff dark-suited man who'd been so mean to the helpful young arcanist takes to Odette much better; he's probably home free once he can reach the corner and leave the alley.

     "Ah, hahh... fuckin' crazies, shite." He catches his breath for a second, glancing back, and then clapping the redhead(!!) on the shoulder. "Thanks, me petal. You get out of here too. Never know what those people'll do to ya. Ahhh, I gotta tell the boss..."

     . . .
Schneider Greco      "You don't think about death at all, do you?"
     While holding the closed umbrella low like a rapier, Schneider brings her one handgun up to her own blood-spattered cheek and giggle-gasps like Lilian's said something adorable. "Mmmm... my-lady, I think of it day and night," she purrs. But it sounds almost as vulnerable as it does perverted.

     "For a lady to compliment my dress is quite-alright. But saying things like 'extras'... ahh, should you not join the Manus?"

     The slicing lunge, she meets by flicking up the umbrella in a vertical guard and aiming her handgun behind it. The ensuing acrobatics, she tracks with her eyes and the muzzle of her gun with some amusement- what's the point of them?

     Schneider is quick as a whip; weaving just around the plunging stab is easy. Of course, how should she know her shadow's the target?

     Splt. "Nn-- ahh...!"

     Blood drips onto the ground from Schneider's sympathetically-stabbed abdomen. She drops her gun, leans on the umbrella, and with a choked girlish noise of agony, staggers forward and slumps in against Lilian. Her legs tremble a little. It's not center-line enough to kill her quickly, but a stab through the gut like that is--

     Something cold presses against Lilian's abdomen, just a few milliseconds before it gets very hot.

     BANG.
     BANG.
     BANG.

     "Take me seriously, Lady Rook," Schneider says with a lazy bitterness after the gut-pressed triple-tap, straightening up. The stab-wound really is there, seeping blood through red feathers and trickling down her leg. She doesn't seem to care at all. Who can say how the gun found its way back into her hand?

     "Please. Your lives are on the line, but it doesn't have to be today."
     Being fought over like this is a bewildering and terrifying exprerience for the poor bootleggers. One of them's trying to start their truck, to little avail. Another stares Vertin in the eyes, drawn in by their obvious sincerity. He takes a hesitant step towards her, but...

"Artie! What're you doin'! Get back here!"
"She-- she's sayin'..."
"My fair as-so-ciates," Schneider purrs in their direction, "you can come with the law, or you can come with me. I promise, we will have an, ahh... fruitful business association."

     The one who'd looked like splitting off hesitates. The two Tamiel took might be the most you get. With a tilt of her chin, Schneider silently signals to the reappeared White... but finds her gaze magnetized, a little, towards Vertin's sincerity too.

     "... A pity you chose the wrong side."
Flamel Parsons     Backing up, still blasting away, Flamel endures crystaline light hammering down on his body -- though as he dismisses farther-away telekinetics and uses them to swipe away the impacts, after a time. His munitions run dry soon, but by then, Flamel's a ready target for the teleport. Flickering away into invisibility, he smiles that friendly smile, drawing back. "Hope you know," He says. "This doesn't mean I won't still do good work to solve the Storm. Neither of us can afford to back down on it, or anything."

    "I just can't afford to risk her. That's all." White's target-lock fixes. With a short mechanical clatter, translucent spent exclamation marks deprived of their dots spit out the back of his head and clink on the floor, steaming and smoking with glowing orange psychic energy. "A will that strong..."

    "A mind that wants to live so much, is supposed to. Right? It's just the way the world is supposed to work!" His friendly, positive voice flickers out as the teleport kicks in fully. "A Storm should never wash that away."

    He's gone.
Lilian Rook     White's assessment of Lilian is correct; her 'style' even outside of combat is to recruit exactly as much power as is needed to perform any motion, and reserve nothing to push. It's very difficult to actually knock her off-balance, but an interruption is an interruption; comprehending that gravity has suddenly increased and recruiting more bodily power to compensate is a generous quarter second for escape. More hand-tooled ammunition is wasted on air.

    Lilian's assessment of White is incorrect; the pattern with regenerators is that they rely on their regenerative ability to keep themselves alive and go on the offensive, and that assumption leads to a one-handed strike, without sufficient destructive power to actually cleave through her leg.

    The combination of the both rattles Lilian very briefly, but she redoubles her efforts on filing away that information and coming up with countermeasures shortly enough.

    §What is she weak to other than fire? Would a solar attack work? No-- I don't want to kill her, and she's clearly not trying to kill me. A blood transmission, maybe? That'd root her in place. Her eyes won't matter if she can't turn her head; probably. But then what's the point of chasing down a regenerator who can teleport that quickly too? I'll be tying up all my energy in offense just to break even; no doubt she's also thinking that her allies can mop up mine if she gets me away from them. Regulus can't follow orders, so I have to keep creating openings for Sonetto to cast, or else Parsons will keep having a field day.§

    It's right around the time Lilian loses her magical signature anyways. Lilian expects she plans to use the spiders to teleport back to the field from somewhere, and start picking off the others instead. Another two beats per minute to her heart rate.

    'Old hag of the third generation...'

    §What does that even mean?§

    'It would, ahhh... be better for me with no witnesses. And I just do not like them. Oh, well~.'

    The moment that Lilian gives up on asking is all over her face. Without saying a word, she clearly accepts 'I don't like them' as reason enough to kill four men. Or at least, one can hope that she's simply accepted that there's nothing else to be said to this madwoman. It's possible.

    'Mmmm... my-lady, I think of it day and night'

    Then her expression changes once again. A widening, taken-aback gaze. A chilled little exhale. Lilian says "Beg pardon. The opposite end of a line looks very close, when you twist it into a horseshoe." She's already in the midst of reassessing all of her assumptions about the woman in front of her, but Lilian is only halfway through when she has to stop and do it again.

    'But saying things like 'extras'... ahh, should you not join the Manus?'

    §Did I . . . ? No, I must've. No, that's not important. Basque? She's far too much of a-- No, she'd definitely throw that word around to try and cozy up to Manus Vindictae's leg; anyone who'll give her attention, performing to please. I suppose that erases all doubt, then; at least this woman specifically has been working with the Concord for some time. What else has she been doing? No! Focus!§

    A tiny disburbance in Lilian's restless energy presages her attack. A minute adjustment of course at the moment she touches the wall is all she has time for when she notices that Schneider is still tracking her too. Some fiery cousin to relief floods her chest in the moment her target chooses to dodge; it thuds inside her ribcage when she feels the tip of her sword sink through Schneider's shadow, and banishes all thought of her next three maneuvers in order when the gun clatters against the ground and Schneider slumps against her.
White      White should probably be happy she's having her first beam clash... Spell clash? It's mostly just sharp rocks stabbing and grinding past each other, isn't it? Man, this isn't as fun as it always seemed like it would be. It's even worse knowing that Sonetto is definitely not having fun either.

Ah, tune back in, girl. You're starting to zone out. Come on. Just a bit more.

     She doesn't have the voice for a vigorous battle-cry, and it might be strange to just start yelling when she's just touching the ground and doing what amounts to multi-thread mental math at high speed anyway. Any noises she does make are probably drowned out by churning stone, drawn from all the nearby surfaces and plunged individually at Sonetto's crystals, trying to deflect and divert them one-for-one. The opening she's been waiting for likely comes after the volley ends; she probably has a few pieces stuck in her shoulders or back where they splintered off the main mass during her defense, while she was too busy to afford blocking something that wouldn't stop her casting. When that opening arrives, she rushes the final part of the lock-on; Flamel made it easy on her, but Schneider... Jesus Schneider, why do you always have to end up with new holes in your torso?! Having a blade embedded in her body makes it just that littlest bit harder to be sure, but White is very good at what she does. She pushes herself to her feet, grimaces, and swipes her arm sidelong hard enough to almost unbalance herself; all those she meant to collect vanish instantly in a blink of blue without Lilian even feeling a shift from her blade when Schneider is removed from it.

     She'd gone into today full of dread, but feeling like she had a plan at least. White can't help but stand there like a weirdo with her face aimed up at the ceiling when everyone has returned to the Walden, slowly catching breath like she's recovering from a slow jog despite her frazzled expression, burnt and punctured dress, torn hood and slack, bleeding shoulders. That was so, so much worse than she hoped. She kind of just wants to curl up in a ball for a little while as she thinks about how much of the past year's work she might have just flushed down the drain.

You know what? Maybe she will curl up in a ball. Just for a little bit. And that's almost what she does; she sits down on the floor, tucks her knees to her chest, rests her face against her knees- Oww,- picks a crystal shard out of her arm where it had just poked her in the cheek, and decides to indulge in a bit of sulking after flicking it to the floor.

     Is this really going to be worth it? To see the faces of the Manus and really grasp what they have over Schneider? ... Do all of the people she feels this knotted-up sympathy for have to be such convincing performers?
Lilian Rook     Lilian reaches out to catch her with her spare arm, though it isn't necessary. She's breathing heavily, but only a little. Schneider can feel the vibration in her chest when she yells "Raskins! Drop it! Over here! She's going to bleed out if you don't hurry your ass up!" She even starts to lower Schneider down, taking her shoulder by the hand and--

    It's a little odd for a Foundation lapdog to realize that something's up before it happens. It's very odd for Lilian Rook not to realize that's something's up until it's already gotten this far. Schneider feels gauntleted fingers dig into her shoulder as her gun touches Lilian's body, shoving her back just as she pulls the trigger. Lilian's opposite motion backwards doesn't nearly carry her out of the way enough; only so far that Schneider can see her gritted teeth and wide-eyed, stricken stare.

    The muzzle flash only reaches as far as scorching the lace. The bullets make a mockery of how little distance that is.

    The bricks are ripped open in three places. Lilian catches herself just before her knee hits the ground, but she slams Night Mist into the asphalt to steady herself on nothing but instinct. Her blood splashes the pavement beneath her just after. The spray hits the wall. Lilian strangles the urge to make noise, intuiting correctly that she won't get her breath back right away if she does. She leverages her elbow against the hilt of her sword to force herself up up to her feet. Her free hand clutches her waist, fingernails digging into the cloth that's just starting to soak crimson. She strains past the dimmed corners of her vision and the spots flickering in the center to acquire Schneider again; this time more like a wild animal that's come to blows.

    'Take me seriously, Lady Rook'

    §My . . . last name? Nobody . . . I don't think anybody even said--§
    §No; stop fucking around. She isn't someone you can fight while still keeping up this act. Both her hands. Now! Explain to Vertin later! Up! Move!§

    Lilian's held-down breath finally escapes. "That's consent." rasps at the back of her throat. Her blood-slicked hand tears itself away from her abdomen and clenches white-knuckled around her sword. The matching gauntlet crawls up to her elbow from her gloved fingertips. The sudden gathering of arcane energy, palpably intense, is measured with the words, "Cleasanna Lilí Dubha . . ."