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| Owner | Pose |
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| Timekeeper | The mission today starts on the edge of a burned forest on the outskirts of Chicago. Ms. Moissan, the Foundation contact at the Sotheby manor, has provided false credentials and invitations that she's passed to Sonetto to distribute to the others. In order to keep her cover as Sotheby's tutor, though, all she can do besides that is bring Vertin and the others to the forest and drop them off. The Walden is a classy establishment, and a clandestine speakeasy by invitation only, so Sonetto and Vertin have dressed accordingly. Sonetto is wearing a pale yellow dress with a black outline along the edges of its layers, pearls on her wrists and shoulders, with golden clasps for the braids in her hair. Her aesthetic is ruined by the muddy hiking boots that she's wearing, but she's got heels stored in her purse, along with her glasfeder, a radio, a pouch of alchemical reagants, and emergency floppy disks. Vertin's respectable social wear is instead to dress like a witch. A high collared, long sleeved black dress, with wide flowing ruffles at the sleeves and puffing out the circumference of the calf-length skirt. Her blue gem affixes a black cravat instead of white, and a silver-laced corset is stitched into the midriff of the outfit. Her hat, because she can't be without one, is a slouchy woman's hat in black with a wide, wavy brim, which covers one of her eyes in nearly any angle she's looked at. During the ride to the forest, she lays out the plan of action and re-briefs the Elites on the state of the Manus Vindictae. ¤ Between Sotheby's analysis of the potions that White gave Regulus, and preparations by the Laplace Alchemical Department, they've prepared a mixture of powders that should disrupt the purification process of Forget Me Not's alcohol. Vertin explains, for little reason besides personal interest, that it's dried carrageenan in a suspension of acid salts, which will disrupt the smooth alchemical combustion of the potion and cause it to 'clump' erratically into inedible solutions. ¤ The goal is to sneak this substance into the potions that Forget Me Not has stored in the back of the Walden before they're served to guests, thus sabotaging their trust in the reliability of arcanist-made alcohol. This reduced trust will shatter the thin government pretense for allowing the Walden to operate in the open as it has been. ¤ Forget Me Not, according to Vertin's intelligence network, won't be present today due to a dinner with the local elite of Chicago. Still, it's best to not draw attention to yourselves however possible. The 'turned' Manus Vindictae rank and file monsters aren't aggressive until they're told to be or they notice a threat, and they're likely to be staffing the bar. Distracting them without raising suspicion will be one group's responsibility to keep them from investigating the sabotage before it's too late. ¤ Ms. Moissan has acquired invitations, as well as an unusual 'cost' to get past the door. Each entry needs stock certificates worth thousands to tens of thousands of American dollars, written in black and gold on sealed blue paper, with an entirely unsubtle arcane aura to them. When the car comes to a stop at the end of the road, Sonetto opens the door for Vertin to let her out while they bid farewell to Moissan. Vertin smooths down her dress and looks towards the burnt trees, where the fading sunlight vanishes into charcoal darkness after just a short distance. Sonetto holds out her glasfeder like a torch, pen tip glowing brightly and casting the light forwards. |
| Timekeeper | The forest in front of you is suspended in a deathly trance, unnaturally lifeless for how long ago the forest fire that raged through it clearly was. The bark on all of the trees is cracked, black and grey and dead, crumbling to join the fine carpet of ash on the ground whenever touched. Nothing regrows where the underbrush was, only dead leaves and soot, as if the woods are perpetually holding their breath in the aftermath. It's cold, years after with no sign of recovery. "We'll make our way to the Walden through here; it's inside of the woods. Stick to the paths and we'll be alright." There's a dirt path heading into the darkness that Vertin starts on unhesitatingly, while Sonetto sweeps her light from side to side uncertainly. Not wanting to be too far behind Vertin, she hurries forwards again, shining the light onto tangled dry branches that suggest moving humanoid silhouettes until the illusion is dispelled by the torch. "Timekeeper...? Wasn't it misty, earlier? And was this path here?" "Hm. I met a woman in the woods who cleared it up for us somewhat. We won't have to worry about the ghosts we saw earlier either." |
| Riku Asakura | Riku was made aware of the need for secrecy early in the situation, so tonight he's dressed up. He's wearing a suit and tie, a black suit with a white undershirt underneath it. He's got a pair of suede dress shoes with black socks. Overall, he's attempting to fit into the style, but nothing is going to change the fact that he's too honest for his own good and will likely look like a mark to the Walden's staff. He also has a pair of glasses on his face, with glass lenses that don't really help him see but make him look more like a salaryman getting off work early and trying to relax. Riku walks up towards Vertin and Sonetto as he catches the tail end of the conversation about ghosts. "Ghosts..?" he asks, unsure about any supernatural presences, even though he knows a literal ghost in the form of Poltergeist in Vertin's suitcase. Ghosts give him a bit of a chill down his spine, but he trusts his two companions not to steer him wrong in this. "So we just have to distract the front without making a mess?" he asks to gain assurance on his part of the plan. It's not like he'll be transforming into Geed or anything. |
| Regulus | Regulus has disguised herself today by not wearing her sunglasses resulting in her inherently dewy eyes being quite visible and has swapped in a 1920s era ankle length black skirt and stockings along with black dress shoes though without heels because Regulus is expecting to have to run around a lot today. She's wearing a white short sleeved blouse, and a red wide wavy brimmed hat with a black plume as its centerpiece. She is wearing the hat so APPLe can hide underneath! APPLe is also in charge of holding onto the SUBSTANCE develolped by the Laplace Alchemical Department while hiding out in Regulus's hat. Without the Manus Vindictae APPLe skin out yet, Regulus is just going to have to sneak APPLe out of her hat at a tactically advantageous moment. She is being SOOOO helpful, Regulus thinks. They'll save the day and stop the Storm and then ... does that mean she goes back to her own time? Or is it like they'll be stuck in the 1920's after? Thinking about this makes Regulus sad so she stops thinking about it immediately!! "Thanks for the ride!" Regulus tells Ms. Moissan not really because she's got any sort of read on Ms. Moissan just yet but she likes Sotheby because of how endlessly endearing she is so she wants to be nice to Ms. Moissan too. Regulus is pretty certain this is Druvis's forest from what she's talked about with White beforehand but she's not really sure what Sonetto knows so she keeps quiet about it until... ''I met a woman in the woods who cleared it up for us somewhat.'' "H..huh? You checked this place out by yourself, Vertin, love?" It sounds like it worked out but she can't help but worry! "That was, uh, nice of her but isn't that a bit dangerous?" As if having the almighty Regulus around would have made it less so. |
| Tamamo | Tamamo has once again made an attempt to fit in, and the slinky black evening wear is technically accurate with its shining patterns and despite its gold thread, but in terms of avoiding attention, the manner in which she chooses to dress... doesn't really matter, really. She always has, at minimum, the ghostly impression of three tails behind her, like a gas-stove flame, shifting between gold and blue-hot, though with nary a flicker in form. She always has those tall ears. It would take a Sotheby-level hat to hide them, and she probably wouldn't, anyway, because that wouldn't be terribly comfortable. That she wears high heels to match her dress is only a sign of effort she's putting in, rather than of results that can be expected. Of course, she has other means. Her talismans are tucked away in easy reach, and her divine Charm is most easily suited for shifting perceptions of those who happen to be staring. 'So we just have to distract the front without making a mess?' "Easy enough, no?" Each entry needs stock certificates worth thousands to tens of thousands of American dollars, written in black and gold on sealed blue paper, with an entirely unsubtle arcane aura to them. "These are... enchanted in some way, yes? The certificates themselves should be easy enough to acquire. However..." Nothing regrows where the underbrush was, only dead leaves and soot, as if the woods are perpetually holding their breath in the aftermath. "This place is... rather, this was recently burned, or... was it not? How strange. I might look into the cause of this chill, but that... ah, that would not be very helpful to our mission, now, would it?" Tamamo wrings her hands, taking a moment to brush over a diamond ring. "I shall refrain from resolving lingering curses, for the moment, I suppose." |
| Lilian Rook | Dressing to disguise at the Walden should be easy. Lilian has never been there, but she's been to a million and one of the places it, by all accounts, sounds as if it's trying to be. Even discarding Schneider, the only frequenter she knows of, as an aesthetic basis, it seems so easy that she must have decided to almost make a costume of it. She started with a chiffon and black silk evening dress with a steep backless cut and a teardrop keyhole, went for charmeuse opera-length gloves and a broad, midnight blue chiffon waist tie, wore her increasingly-favourite double-strapped 'formal' sword belt loose on her hip, picked innerdress fabric patterned by subtle iridescence to match the pale off-gold embroidery on the skirt, then picked out an eclectic-but-matching selection of jewellery; bracelets, armband, earrings, and an honest to god fifty-thousand-credit torc; mainly using white gold, diamond, and lazuli. Her custom-ordered alchemical-coded fasteners get to be reused in place of glove buttons, though it seems she couldn't refrain from one little rune-decorated charm hanging off her belt. She has a brand new luxury leather bag to go with it, round-cornered and subtly riveted for bulky carry, the contents of which she doesn't have to change at all. The same hair ornament as always goes without saying, though she has her hair tied up in a complicated braided bun; all the better to flaunt the eye-catching array on her back at an establishment that favours arcanists. Black heels go without saying. The fact that she wore heavier liner and shadow than usual, along with a darker shade of that dramatic green lipstick she sometimes uses, indicates wordless intent. Night Mist, form of pendant, rests precisely in the tactical teardrop cutout, displayed on purpose. Magnetite and black-patina'd silver works well with this outfit, for once. Along the way, Lilian double checks her bag, quadruple checks her hair and makeup, and comments that the Foundation action plan is 'unambitions, but easily doable', and that the alchemical solution itself is 'surprisingly clever', listing off her own estimation of the potion's manufacturing process from when White gave her a sample, just to feel important. She's just on about 'The combustion of bodily sulfur and fermentation of ingredients dessicated with a nitrogenous base' when the car rolls to a stop. Sonetto's glasfeder is enough, but Lilian makes sure to summon her eerie green-blue will-o'-wisp lights with her usual fingersnap all the same; it's necessary to do her part to lead Tamamo, at least. Then, and only then, once her heels have hit the dirt, does she stop to really take in the sight of the woods, utterly obliterated by fire. A bothersome thought weighs on her for a whole minute before she finally voices it: "Doesn't it look like this happened yesterday? Even if it never recovered, the bark shouldn't be ready to disintegrate like this. I've seen plenty of trees that've caught fire from lightning." 'Timekeeper...? Wasn't it misty, earlier? And was this path here?' 'Hm. I met a woman in the woods who cleared it up for us somewhat.' Lilian perks up at the word 'ghosts', and decides to ask rather than nod. "You've scouted the area already, then? Who is this woman? A Foundation contact, or a local black sheep?" she says, taking the conversational excuse to double examine both girls. Almost compulsively, she claps her hands together softly and coos "Oh my goodness though, you really can pull off all sorts of-- My my, just look at you! I mean, who knew? The most difficult part of this is going to be maintaining my cover instead of--" She makes an unintelligible grabby-gesture with both hands. |
| Tamamo | Considering the location in the context of the destination, Tamamo gets around to saying, "Is it usual for drinking establishments to be so far from other buildings? I had thought it rather rare. Is it not a 'party' setting, after all?" |
| Lilian Rook | Lilian shakes her head, her hand drifting towards Tamamo's by reflex. "Alcohol is illegal in this country at this time, remember? I imagine it has to be out here for reasons of being not worth bothering with; doubly so for being run by arcanists." |
| Timekeeper | "So we just have to distract the front without making a mess?" "You and I will be distracting from the front of the house, yes." Vertin responds to Riku while following the path. "If something goes terribly wrong and we have to fight, it'll only be to escape. As a Manus safehouse at the epicenter of the future Storm, it's bound to be stocked with followers even without Forget Me Not himself present." To Regulus, and on the topic of ghosts, Vertin shakes her head. Sonetto is, for once, in more agreement with Regulus about how nerve-wracking this situation should be, and her grip on her glasfeder is tensely ready to transition it from torch to weapon at any moment. "Ms. Moissan, Timekeeper, and I passed through earlier, where we were assaulted by spirits and separated while finding the best path through the woods. There was a wind that cleared the mist, and at the time it seemed like it was a stroke of luck, but now...." "A druid," Vertin elaborates in their simple and direct way. "She introduced herself as Miss Druvis III." "An era local, then?" "Right. I don't expect we'll see her again tonight." "These are... enchanted in some way, yes?" "They are," Vertin confirms without question, while Sonetto passes out the pairs of papers to all of the Elites. Vertin holds up her own stock certificate, gold lining on the blue envelope catching the nearly nonexistent light. "These weren't present in the original path of 1929. The arcanum on it is... networking of some sort." With Lilian examining their outfit, Vertin lifts one of her tall black heeled boots behind herself, pleased about fashion compliments as she always is. "Thank you. As fond as I am of my uniform, I've always thought that it's somewhat of a shame how seriously they took me when I requested that it be considered my uniform. I hardly ever have the chance to wear anything else for work." Vertin placidly ignores the grabbyhands, but Sonetto is startled to attention by them and completely unsure of what Lilian means to convey by them. Assuming that Lilian is asking for something, she bemusedly holds out one of her hands palm-up, like a dog commanded to shake. "Ah, I have a wide variety of formal dresses. The seamstress often discusses new attire with me before major functions." The walk is relatively uneventful, besides the dark and the bad vibes. There's glints of teeth and skittering shapes just outside of the range of the light, but the menaces in the woods have already been told off once today, so they're not confident in hassling any passers-through again so soon. "Is it usual for drinking establishments to be so far from other buildings?" "It is not. According to the Illinois state zoning laws title 2 section 204a, um," That hesitation comes from a slightly awkward look coming across Sonetto's face, rather than from needing a moment to recall the information. "In 1929, arcanist-owned establishments were not allowed within a certain radius of residental zones or any human-owned establishment that served food without an expensive permit purchased from the local government, implemented after concerned involving poisonous fumes created during alchemy." Vertin adds, neutrally, as the edge of the forest comes closer, "It's entirely likely that, in the original timeline, the Walden saw next to no patronage before being shut down." |
| Timekeeper | With the woods being unnaturally silent as they are, you hear the Walden before you see it. Noises of faint music, car tires rolling on pavement, and indistinct conversation filter through the dead trees, and Sonetto stops to switch out her boots for black heels to complete her outfit. The ground is soft enough to be unsteady even for the short meters before exiting the forest, so Vertin lends her an arm to balance on. Despite only being a short distance away from the built-up urbanization of one of the biggest cities in the country, the Walden clings to the scorched forest closely enough to look like it's from an entirely different era. The trees peter off into the paved surroundings of a bar that's unashamed of being a bar even at the height of Prohibition, with one dirt road leading towards the rest of the city. Warm light spills out of the windows and reaches all the way to the treeline, reflecting off of the burnt bark like another fire. There's a thin trickle of cars pulling up and letting out passengers for the night at the bar, but maybe surprisingly, you're not the only ones walking through the forest to arrive. By the door are two large bouncers, seven feet tall with stony inhuman helmets, wearing slick black jackets splattered with blue. They check the invitations and the stock certificates of each guest before letting them through, silently forboding like mechanical soldiers. They don't register you as individuals, or ask for the reason of your invitation to verify your identities or anything-- if that matters, it'll be inside. What they do check for sure, though, are the stock certificates. The arcane aura within them flares to life when popped open for examination, and a disembodied New York accent starts rattling off names and numbers like a rapid firing prerecorded message. "Authenticated, approved, updated," comes through the babbling, as well as the crisp advertisement for "blue-chip stock". Once the arcane stock reads off the thousands of dollars in whatever company, it continues with "The real estate market is on *fire* today! Hey, we've got customized recommendations based on your previous stock-buying activity, so--" It continues, until the envelopes are closed again. There's a live jazz band inside, tucked away in an alcove on the far side, but the music is almost drowned out completely where you pass through the doors. It's a sea of people shouting, laughing, drink cups clinking, and the rowdy cheers and boos of those at the bar. The tables have brewing flasks with white and black roses in place of vases, alembics brew coffee right on the bar, and every shotglass and cup is full of a fluid that looks almost like pure water, with sparkling golden flecks floating in it. Helmeted Manus goons in suits and halter dresses walk around serving drinks in professional and inhuman silence. Ironically though, just at a glance, it's obvious that almost every customer in here is *human*, despite the aesthetic. Vertin and Lilian, for dressing as they have, stick out-- not as severely as they would in the middle of the city, but more than they'd expect for an 'arcanist establishment'. The most unique thing, and the focus of most of the bar's attention, is what's set up behind the bar in lieu of the typical wine bottles or sportscasting TV. A magical stock tickerboard, nearly the size of the wall, made of constantly downwards-flowing sand that shifts to change numbers fluidly with each market price update. In addition to the crowd of shouting men groaning or cheering each time a number changes, there's a constant mind-numbing roar of that identical New York accent coming from a thousand different stock tickets, proclaiming "Sold!" or ". . . Trading at 35, 36 dollars, trending upwards, so buy quick!", like physically embodied stock trading apps and advertisements, nearly a hundred years earlier than those should exist. |
| Timekeeper | There's also, on stage, a small woman with a pair of guns, dueling against a man three times her size for a prize fight. Vertin's eyes widen, and she hisses with her voice low. "Shit. Schneider!" Sonetto notices her second, stunlocked by the noise and the motion, and she slips her hand into her purse to fidget with her wand immediately. "I believe that we should treat it as a certainty that she will recognize any of us on sight, even Miss Tamamo. We do not know what records the Manus Vindictae have drilled her on." Vertin gravitates towards the bar, leaning her elbows against it and watching the bar out of the corner of her vision. Right there, just behind the bar, is a staff-only door that the waiters keep bringing those alcoholic potion bottles out through, which Vertin nods towards to direct the group's attention. "Right. Lay low and blend into the crowd. We can't make a go at the door until we appear to be regular customers." As the bartender-- another high-collared suited and helmeted man, almost indistinguishable from the ones at the door-- passes near, Vertin raises her hand to signal him to pause their conversation. "A boulevardier for me, please." What would normally be a cocktail is poured from a single alchemical flask into her cup, transparent and gold just like every other. Vertin sips from it, wrinkling her nose briefly at the dissonance between the absence of smell and what she's tasting. "Regulus, Sonetto, Lilian-- you'll sabotage the potion supply, or the still itself, or whatever fluid storage he's got back there. Split up if you must, but not so far apart that you can be flanked. Miss Tamamo, Riku, and I, will try and delay the waiters from returning through the door behind you as long as we can." |
| Riku Asakura | 'You and I will be distracting from the front of the house, yes.' "Me and you..? Well, that makes sense, because if we need to fight, I'm your guy," he says, not having much knowledge in either booze making or alchemical concoctions. He checks on his devices during the walk across the haunted woods towards the Walden, making sure he has everything he needs to go into Geed should the need arise. The first thing he hears is the music and the ruckus coming from the patrons of the establishment. He presents his paper, and once inside, he notices Schneider, who was pointed out by Vertin. His own eyes widen. She would definitely recognize them. His own head ducks into the bar and looks around for someplace to be distant from Schneider, who scares him more than just a little bit. 'Miss Tamamo, Riku, and I, will try and delay the waiters from returning through the door behind you as long as we can.' "What can we do to delay them? Ask them out on a date?" he asks, asking in incredulity, but not sure actually what to do to delay the waiters. |
| Regulus | ''She introduced herself as Miss Druvis III.'' Regulus thinks--didn't she tell Vertin about Druvis? She must not have if she's saying it like that. Or she's saying it like that for the Foundation. She genuinely doesn't remember if she told Vertin or not but ... yes, Vertin must've known. She does generally trust Vertin's instinct and she does remember hearing Druvis wasn't exactly hyper on board with the Goopus Vindictae. "Well, let's try and be in and out lickety split. I wouldn't want to be around to get caught by Manus Vindictae OR by angry patrons that their drinks just went sour either." Seems pretty busy, and she can actually really jive with the jazz band that's playing, but the Manus goons keep Regulus from relaxing like she might otherwise in an environment like this. No forgetting the mission here. Sh etakes a long look around at the patrons. Geeze, she thinks, aren't they even the slightest bit creeped out at being served drinks by goopy goons? Maybe the thrill of infinite stonks go up is enough to soothe over the unease of manus minions. ''Shit. Schneider!'' Regulus almost immediately goes invisible but remembers at the last second that there's a ton of eyes pointed in their direction. If she's going to turn anybody invisible she should make sure it's at a point where she's reasonably sure everybody's paying their own business. Pleeease don't shoot me, Regulus thinks, we've been on an adventure together, we're basically buddies and pals right now and also shooting my ghost counts as shooting me, thank you. Peace and love, you said it, same team so keep quiet. mhm mhm mhm. Regulus is thinking this all the way through. "Least she seems busy but she seems the per-cep-tive short." She adds. "Once we're out of sight," She tells Sonetto and Lilian. "I can invisible us, but we should try and find our way through there--or maybe to a cellar ors omething." She murmurs, bobbing her head over to the staff entrance. |
| Schneider Greco | Bright spotlights shine down on the raised gladiatorial stage, where an enclosing magic circle protects the onlookers from stray bullets. The girl named Schneider Greco likely can't see you for the blinding glare. It's still best not to push your luck. (Is it on purpose, that the bloodsport-onlookers can feel anonymized from her? Nobody likes the entertainment looking them in the eye.) That half-naked waifish girl seems to be fighting another arcanist, tonight; a tall blonde man in a red suit; though he gave up on using his wand a moment ago, and stole one of her guns; she doggedly wrestles his arm to keep him from pointing the gun at her, and he does the same, hand gripping her wrist. She looks like she's losing. She always looks like she's losing, though. The crowd murmurs about her like she's a favorite; sometimes she even gets more attention than the dripping-sand stock ticker. They roar when she starts bleeding from the forehead after a headbutt, then hold their breath when she stays standing, then sigh when she breaks the grapple by kicking the man's knee. . . . Only a few people seem to be rooting for Schneider. There's a couple of men by the end of the bar, not far from Vertin, whose slightly-coarse suits and worn shoes make them seem like 'the help', but it's not clear what job they have. "Ahhh, she'll be feeling that one, huh..." one says, elbows against the counter. "Can't she wrap it up already?" says the other, rubbing his jaw. "She's gotta make 'em bet against her somehow." "Yeah, but when she gets banged up, she's in a mood..." "Mind your business, Cosimo." "Hey, you were the one sayin'...!" "A boulevardier?" One of them breaks from the topic du jour to look down the bar and remark on Vertin's choice of drink. "What's that?" "Newest thing out of France. You wouldn't know it, Achille." "I said mind your business." "Hey, you're not the boss of me..." |
| Tamamo | 'Even if it never recovered, the bark shouldn't be ready to disintegrate like this.' Tamamo nods twice, though she doesn't say the 'just so' aloud. Lilian shakes her head, her hand drifting towards Tamamo's by reflex. First touching her hand, Tamamo transitions into taking her arm-in-arm -- although, a moment later, there is every appearance of the approach having been in the opposite direction. She smiles with a soft fufufu drifting in the background. As they begin to walk and talk, however, the forest's oddness encourages free hands. 'I've always thought that it's somewhat of a shame how seriously they took me when I requested that it be considered my uniform.' "Oh, I see! I had wondered as to why that was." It's not perfectly clear what 'that' is. "As it is not a uniform in the sense of uniformity, it is somewhat arbitrary to consider immutable, no?" 'Ah, I have a wide variety of formal dresses. The seamstress often discusses new attire with me before major functions.' "You seem to me one who might be often asked to model, Ms. Sonetto. Is it so?" With one hand supporting her elbow, the other hand raised, Tamamo takes a moment to wonder if she could have included a kiseru. 'In 1929, arcanist-owned establishments...' "They were... assumed to be performing 'alchemy,' even in the case of serving drinks, was it?" Tamamo lets that thought rotate for a bit. She doesn't know that it isn't true, necessarily, the present case being what it is. 'It's entirely likely that, in the original timeline, the Walden saw next to no patronage before being shut down.' "Was the forest haunted in that timeline, as well? The location does seem a bit..." The door men. Conveniently, Tamamo doesn't have to treat them as anything more than an extension of the door. She's only a little curious whether there are eyes to see under those helmets. Her current and continuing impression of the Manus is pretty low! And streaked through with a fair bit of 'oh, ew,' that she keeps to herself. She waits until they're past to lean in and quietly ask Lilian, "Would a real estate market not be rather difficult to operate while a world is being repeatedly reset? Any market, of course, would be affected, but... 'land' especially, no?" |
| Lilian Rook | 'As a Manus safehouse at the epicenter of the future Storm, it's bound to be stocked with followers even without Forget Me Not himself present.' "That name again." Lilian says, more or less to herself. Her pensive expression weighs in excess of how much she has ever heard attached to the man's moniker; which is almost nothing, compared to half the people here. "I know it won't mean anything to you now, and in a perfect world, it wouldn't ever mean anything to you at all," she says, just slightly avoiding eye contact with Vertin while still obviously 'focusing on her'. A difficult-to-place sense of reluctance bleeds into her voice. "But if it comes to a fight, you should leave it to me. I don't intend to underestimate Manus Vindictae twice." 'A druid' 'An era local, then?' 'Right. I don't expect we'll see her again tonight.' Lilian's attention is caught a second time. She glances between Vertin and Sonetto, then looks past them. "That's a shame. I'd adore an opportunity to speak to . . . well, almost anyone else who has any knowledge in the art. It's not exactly common." She takes a second look at her bond papers, takes all of one and a half seconds to contemplate what 'networking' means, and the enthusiasm drains out of her face, slight as it was. "I see. They're quite clever themselves, aren't they?" 'I hardly ever have the chance to wear anything else for work.' 'The seamstress often discusses new attire with me before major functions.' Lilian can still smile for that, though. "Well, as you may have guessed by the variety of hats I wear, I'm not about to disparage the importance of uniforms." Lilian says. "But it's a waste to wear nothing else, I agree. I'm very glad that someone in that place understands the valuable material they're working with." She glances down at Sonetto's hands, blinks, and then waves hers airily, cancelling this interaction like pressing B out of a conversation. "Don't worry. I wasn't serious. I'll keep my hands to myself." Or so Lilian says, before taking Tamamo's arm anyways. 'In 1929, arcanist-owned establishments were not allowed within a certain radius of residental zones or any human-owned establishment that served food' A flicker of sourceless disgust crosses Lilian's features before she smooths her expression out to neutral. Months ago, when this sort of thing had been discussed in front of her, she'd only looked mildly uneasy. The intensity of her dislike has increased radically over time. Mesmer Junior's vitriolic rhetoric about arcanists probably accounts for most of it, but it can't be all. "In that case," Lilian starts, then purposefully trails off instead of finishing. . . . . . . . . Honestly, the business of the bar suits her. Tamamo knows more than just about anyone how much Lilian actually prefers night life over daytime business. Dark outside, warm inside, constant sound, and high energy, are exactly how she best tolerates crowds, and it's not exactly often she gets to take Tamamo to just 'a bar' anyways, so by the time the group reaches the door (she puts herself behind Vertin and Sonetto by two entrants, seeing as her cover identity doesn't put her in the same group, and has obviously dismissed her lights some time ago), her spirits are back up again. When given back, she lets the stock certificate ramble on for a while, dimly curious about the market even under these circumstances, and wondering what sort of fast money she can make in this era with the knowledge she already has. It's not as if she'd have to pay off a loan if the Storm comes, so . . . |
| Tamamo | The bar. The noise.} "I would have rather listened to the music, but..." Even if there was a continuation to that sentence, it would be difficult to make it out. The presence of alchemy, everywhere, leaves her wondering if that law was necessary, after all. Is this a special case? But if there were also noxious fumes, it could hardly maintain its popularity. Are the customers quite alright? She could seek to examine some of them, but-- 'Shit. Schneider!' A subtle tuning of her Charm is all that's needed to ensure that any looking toward her see nothing remarkable for the environment. Tamamo makes her way to the bar to give it her patronage. '...will try and delay the waiters from returning through the door behind you as long as we can.' 'What can we do to delay them?' "Oh, bartender! You can make a Ramos Gin Fizz, no?" Knowing exactly what she's asking for, having done at least a little research into the drinks of the turn of the century, Tamamo's fully prepared to stop and ask it be done again, properly, as well as to argue that any place so exclusive should surely serve what's requested, no matter how tricky (read: notoriously time-consuming and prone to being ruined). |
| Lilian Rook | "Isn't everyone here a little bit underdressed?" Lilian says out loud; not so much that many people would hear, but enough for her immediate companions. "Hardly the clientele I expected for somewhere like this." Though she isn't taller than the average member of the crowd by far, Lilian still somehow manages to look down her nose at them. "Well, I hadn't really intended to mingle anyways." The stock ticker catches her eye, but only for a moment. "Introduced to the vices of day trading before they can possibly be ready for it." Lilian shakes her head. "Poor souls." she says facetiously. It's hardly her concern right now. In fact, the jazz band has her feeling pretty good about this mission. The exotic-looking drinks catch her attention, the unusual decor seems to be something she finds invigorating, and the unexpected addition of a stage is-- 'Shit. Schneider!' Lilian stifles her own 'Fuck.' just barely. She tries to calculate the odds of being called out by weighing whatever rapport she has with the woman versus her obligations to Manus Vindictae, and comes up blank. She whispers "A gunfight?" instead, as if it's in any way different than Petra's arena show put on for her. 'I believe that we should treat it as a certainty that she will recognize any of us on sight, even Miss Tamamo.' Lilian's hand drifts halfway to her hair, then stubbornly falls away again. "So much for dressing the part." she mutters instead. 'Regulus, Sonetto, Lilian--' Lilian acts as if she isn't listening. Clumping together and muttering amongst themselves any longer won't help at this point, so she moves on with playing the part, recalling her cocktail lore for long enough to pin down a period and order "Blood and sand, or a martinez if you can't." 'Would a real estate market not be rather difficult to operate while a world is being repeatedly reset?' "Of course it is." Lilian says, patiently explaining what she'd already been thinking about anyways. "But if you know when it's going to be, you can always take out loans, buy the property, sell it off at a rate people will buy right up, and never break even with the debtor. If they have accurate knowledge, especially more accurate than the Foundation, then networking with era-native arcanists has its advantages. That's likely why they even implemented the measure at all." Lilian speaks as quietly as she can, before moving along with her drink. She doesn't really want to break from Tamamo, but spending the evening together isn't part of the plan. She drifts away, around the corner of the bar, where she can conveniently watch the tender and overhear certain conversations at the same time. "People who fight for a living seldom have the luxury of choosing how they'll be feeling it tomorrow." Lilian says, over the rim of her glass more than anything. "And head wounds bleed more than they hurt." |
| Lilian Rook | Positioning herself between the ticker and the stage without sitting down makes her out as a clearly still-waiting yet nevertheless entertained 'special client', while giving her extremely short-range access to the back. Even Lilian has to wait for her chance, though; if even Matilda can sense 'arcane fluctuations' of hers, then she can only use the only power she has that doesn't leave them. Of course, she has to wander a little further into the crowd if she wants to disappear, which means doing so before someone opens it up, which also means having to focus in the direction of the bar and stop filtering out the ambient psychic noise, instead 'listening out' for the cognitive impulse top travel between front and back in advance. |
| Schneider Greco | 'Cosimo'- a man with a somewhat broad nose and slicked-back black hair- nods along with Lilian's assertion, and then shoots her a baffled frown. "Huh. You've got a boxer boyfriend, or something?" His eyes scan down from her face to her shoulder and bicep, silently evaluating that 'or something'. "What are you asking ladies about their boyfriends for?" his slightly taller colleague says, side-eyeing. "You know it's not like that!" Cosimo protests, putting up his hands and taking his eyes off Lilian. "Uh-huh. Look, they're not scared to give us both the boot if you keep hasslin' people..." They both nurse their cheaper drinks in small doses for a little while. Tamamo is currently 'nothing remarkable' for the environment, but here, even 'nothing remarkable' must be at least decently easy on the eyes. "Hey, Cosimo. What's a Ramos Gin Fizz." "Here? It's 'please spit in my drink'." "I just told you to behave." "I'm serious! Out south, they got guys just for it..." |
| Lilian Rook | 'Huh. You've got a boxer boyfriend, or something?' Lilian laughs just under her breath, and smiling over her glass again, says, "My elder brother fought in the war." A half-truth only by omission of any particular date. "I'm afraid I don't know any prize fighters myself, but I like to take in what people say when they're clearly invested." she says, and glances up at the stage instead of at Cosimo. "Like right now. I can tell from the way you're talking about her that this sort of thing is practically performance art for her, which means she's very experienced, right? But 'experienced' means you get just a bump on the head ten out of ten times, not that you never get one, or so I've heard from absorbing the same stories about a million times." she laughs lightly. 'I'm serious! Out south, they got guys just for it...' Lilian stares down into her glass misgivingly. "Surely you can't be. Not with drinks like these." |
| Schneider Greco | 'Achille' rolls his eyes- 'guess it can't be helped' when Lilian decides to humor Cosimo. "The war... hell. And what, you're a Brit?" The slightly-shorter man shakes his head with one hand in his pocket. Then he perks, and nod-nods with a self-conscious enthusiasm; it seems like he does appreciate the finer points of Schneider fighting, even if he might be embarrassed to admit it. "But yeah, experienced. That's our girl." He gestures with his little drink, glancing up at the stage. "I mean, she's what, fifteen-for-fifteen right now?" "You'd think they'd make her take a dive sometime. Keep the betting fresh." "Hey, don't say that Achille. They'll get ideas." Lilian objects about the drinks, and Cosimo grimaces ruefully. "Nah. I'm just saying what I'd do, if someone put a Ramos in..." "And that's why we don't get a cushy job." "Oh, I'm sorry, am I dragging you down, Achille?" |
| Lilian Rook | 'The war... hell. And what, you're a Brit?' "Regrettably." Lilian says, in more or less good humour. "No need to worry. I was too young to remember much of it." she says, a little less convincingly. She may be leading them on to believe she's talking about The Great War, but Lilian still has her feelings about her family and the Onslaught. "Fifteen is a red hot winning streak. Thirty is rigged. That I've heard from people who like boxing." 'Nah. I'm just saying what I'd do, if someone put a Ramos in...' 'And that's why we don't get a cushy job.' "A word of advice, boys." Lilian says, to two men she never intends to see ever again. She leans closer, until her pendant separates from her collarbone, and the altered hang of her hair makes the lapis in her earrings catch the light. "No matter how much they provoke you, never let them hear what you're planning." |
| Timekeeper | "As it is not a uniform in the sense of uniformity, it is somewhat arbitrary to consider immutable, no?" "It's a matter of professionalism, I suppose." Vertin shrugs lightly. "I don't necessarily disagree with the choice, given the gravity of our work. I've just had it on the mind when considering what opportunities I'll have when hosting more frequently in my suitcase." "You seem to me one who might be often asked to model, Ms. Sonetto. Is it so?" Sonetto takes this as a matter-of-fact compliment, happy that it's noticed rather than just being happy that it's believed. She nods with a small smile, pearls rattling quietly. "Yes. It is an extension of my job as ceremony ambassador, but I enjoy it quite a lot as well. I have spent time around the seamstresses regularly ever since I was very little, and so I picked up an interest in it from them." "Matilda has often remarked on the same." She seems to have no opinion about this, just wistful curiosity about why so many people seem to make the same comment towards her. What weird form of cheer that Sonetto has fades away by the time she's at the doors of the Walden, though. She's dead serious for the check at the door, and once she's at the bar, she flips the stock certificate over in her fingers, examining it as if it might leap to life and attack her. Murmuring under her breath, "A different speech inscription incantation than is common at the Foundation... but does that mean there are Manus Vindictae collaborators in New York City as well?" "They were... assumed to be performing 'alchemy,' even in the case of serving drinks, was it?" "'Toxic supernatural byproducts', or thereabouts." The subtext of Vertin's aside to Tamamo is an elaborated-upon 'yes'. Her attention, over the rim of her glass, is on Schneider on stage, taking full advantage of the spotlight blindness to watch her with an unreadable expression. It's a perfect disguise, for anyone looking at the group-- no matter what schemes they discuss in sabotaging the bar, Vertin's eyes won't betray the focus of any of them. "What can we do to delay them? Ask them out on a date?" "Sure. Or however else you can." It's impossible to tell how sarcastic or not Vertin is being there. From her expression, it seems to be none at all. Tamamo's tactic prompts her to elaborate, if briefly. "Catch them in conversations, demand drinks, create spills for them to clean. Provoke a fight, if you're able to do so without yourself being a participant. We won't need to buy a lot of time, but we'll need to buy some." "Isn't everyone here a little bit underdressed?" Vertin covers a small smile with her glass, but it freezes before she says anything. Her eyes flick up, to the darkened second floor that overlooks the bar, then back down to the stage. "There's arcanists on the balcony; almost certainly Manus Vindictae. Watch out for them." |
| Timekeeper | "I can invisible us, but we should try and find our way through there--or maybe to a cellar or something." Sonetto has been paired up with Regulus, and because she is the best assistant ever, she will find a way to survive this. She nods, holding onto a glass that Vertin ordered for her-- a spritzer, as low alcohol as they could-- and scans the terrain of the room to search for hideyholes. "Whether it is Forget Me Not's workshop or a storage cellar, they are certainly acquiring the potion from somewhere. We will need a location to use your arcane skill that is out of the view of the balcony... ah? There. By the musicians." There's a little alcove, sheltered from the rest of the bar by a large vase spilling over with vines and flowers, nearby where the band is playing. The only problem, then, is that for Sonetto and Regulus to get over there, they have to pass through the dance floor. Lilian will be fine either way! She can teleport! Whenever it is that Sonetto, Regulus, and Lilian get past the staff door, the room that it goes into is suddenly cut off from all the liveliness of the bar, with all of its inhabitants uneasily dead silent besides an occasional wordless grunt. The servants bring the alcohol potion up from a stone staircase, and following it down, the assumption that it would lead into the establishment's basement is half-correct, but.... "What...? This is all underground...? Is it for the Manus Vindictae's operations?" Sonetto's disbelief is barely voiced above a breath, in order to not disrupt the invisibility that Regulus cast. To one side of the hallway, doors lead into small storage rooms in the basement of the Walden, for food, tableware, and all the other mundanities of running a bar. To the other side, there's a thin sliver of a cavern that tilts further down, filled with a labyrinth of smoothly carved stone walls and thick with an arcane aura. Thankfully, the Manus servants aren't bringing the potions out from within the labyrinth. The door they *are* coming through, when it opens, has barrels and barrels, potion bottles lining the walls, perfectly simple to dash with the white powder Sonetto brought. The only problem is that before the group passes through, Sonetto tugs on Regulus and Lilian's arms to stop them, and invisibly points at something, which doesn't help at all. Instead, quietly, "There! That array on the ground. That's a Trustbinding Sigil... it will sens out an alarm if it detects that we are not part of the establishment here." She frowns, which is also invisible. "It is an imprecise, simple array, and yet... I do not know how we would trick it. Ah! Dame Rook, could you teleport us across the threshold?" |
| Timekeeper | "Newest thing out of France. You wouldn't know it, Achille." Vertin gives the guys a politely friendly nod, tilting her glass to slant the fluid inside, which is just indistinguishably clear potion. "Whisky, vermouth, Campari. And you're right." Pleasantly, "Are you a hobbyist? I've always thought that cocktail making has gotten less respect than it deserves in the arts." Then, on the topic she cares much more about, though not out of a lack of interest in the other. "I'm not one to get into fights myself, but the way she moves is incredible. Guaranteeing a win against an amateur is one thing, guaranteeing a win against a professional is another thing entirely, and then to do it while providing the stakes of narrative and thrill is nothing short of astounding." The name 'Cosimo' is one she's heard from Schneider before, but... they're enemies, for sure, but only in the loosest sense. Vertin has never held much resentment for the common gangster, and the degrees of separation between them and Manus Vindictae are almost too many to even bother counting. Her eyes slide off to the side. "If she's skilled enough that she needs to be told to lose, she's skilled enough to deserve to be somewhere that respects her capabilities more." Tamamo's tactic works exactly as she'd hope. In the sort of robotic sense that all the other helmeted employees have given, the bartender acquiesces to making her drink, and doesn't have the capacity to express frustration when she complains that it's done wrong after several minutes of shaking. This starts to rile up the stock-watchers, who already have their feelings running high, and they start shouting insults and complaints at the bartender who seems to just be fucking around and slowing down service. Vertin, after the conversation with Cosimo and Achille has moved away from her, groans quietly to herself. She briefly presses her fingers against her eyes, then blinks back to a perfectly neutral expression as if none of that happened at all. Smoothly sliding from the bar to one of the tables looking up at the stage, with the reddest-faced men she can spot at a glance, she looks down at the (losing) betting slip in his hand, and then up at Schneider on the stage. In a quiet, gently unassuming voice, she says to him, "You know, I heard they've been fixing matches." |
| Riku Asakura | 'Sure. Or however else you can.' 'Catch them in conversations, demand drinks, create spills for them to clean.' The initial sarcasm, if there was any, catches Riku off guard, which causes him to cough and look a bit flushed in the face. Such a thing for just a distraction would be... well, something he's not used to. He's not the suave type, or at least he doesn't think himself to be. The follow-up point for Tamamo's sake clears the air a bit and makes things easier. It doesn't lessen the point that they're in the lion's den. Especially with Vertin pointing out that there are arcanists on the balcony. At the bar, Riku looks unsure about what to order, and when it becomes his turn, he thinks for a moment. "Uh... whiskey sour." His knowledge of drinks in the era is limited, and honestly, just limited in general. Last time he was in a bar situation, the hostess just suggested one for him to try. So when he's waiting, he looks at the waitress and smiles. "So how are you this evening? Nobody's been getting fresh with you, right?" He says, looking the part of a salary man just getting off of work. "Today was a long day, for me that is." |
| Regulus | Regulus isn't exactly inclined to talk about Schneider right now that seems like a good way to get Schneider's attention, but it sounds like they're kind of assuming she's going to win, albeit maybe with a few bruises. Well, the two people who seem to be in the know of it. It's terrible, it'd be a great time to bet FOR Schneider and make away with some cash but she has to stay relatively incognito and she feels like Schneider has seen her just way too many times to make any sort of show of herself. The moment that fight ends --- well, she's honestly not sure what Schneider would actually call them out. She seems a bit MISCHEVIOUS after all. But she doesn't really want to risk it. ''Matilda has often remarked on the same.'' Regulus grimaces like she's just drunk the alcohol with the de-goodifying-elixir right then and there. And in truth, she isn't really up for speculating about Manus Vindictae right now and, honestly, if it wasn't for them taking advantage of the Storm wiping out Timelines, she's not sure what she'd think in the grand scheme of things since she is certainly still leery of the Foundation. One Storm at a time is Regulus's present attitude--and she can trust Vertin for anything past that. "Imagine they could be anywhere." She says. "But it's the ones here that we gotta worry about." Regulus doesn't FEEL underdressed except for her shoes but she wants to be able to run away easily so she really had no choice in that regard. ''Ah? There. By the musicians.'' If there's anything Regulus trusts Sonetto with, besides Vertin herself, it is the ability to perform operations like this competently. And honestly, aside from the occassional hiccup, she is kind of digging the back and forth she has with Sonetto so she's happy to work with her. She's too sincere for Regulus to hold a grudge for long, even if that sincerity is sometimes baffling to the Regulus. "Good thinking, love." Regulus murmurs, making her way over. She glances over to Lilian briefly but she can't exactly invisible Lilian while she's in the middle of talking with dudes. Even as unobservant as dudes can be sometimes, they will probably notice a lady vanishing before their very eyes. Once she and Sonetto (and Lilian, if she chooses that route) make it to the alcove, she scans the crowd quickly to look for any possible sideglances, timing the invisibility with a COOL MOVE of Schneider's just to further keep eyes off them while she activates her arcane skill. Once they make it past the staff door, she waits until there's a moment where no goon or staff is nearby to murmur, "Careful, arcane skill doesn't obscure the noises we make." But it's not really necessary, Sonetto is already lowering her voice to match. She supposes it makes SENSE that their real serious operations would be kept far from the prying eyes of their customers, but this operation still feels huger than she expected. "Hard to imagine they had time to set this all up in a few months, it must've been for--is that a ''cave''?" Her eyes widen. "Okay nevermind, they got some serious construction crews at their beck and call." Actually, with those Manus servants, perhaps they had something to do with it, Regulus thinks. They don't seem to be the type to complain about long hours. Regulus is accustomed enough to invisible behavior to peer around in the approximate direction Sonetto is pointing at without being able to see it. It takes her a bit before she notices the Sigil. "Hffh...my little trick won't fool that." She admits. "I think it'd even be able to pick up APPLe." |
| Tamamo | 'But if you know when it's going to be, you can always take out loans, buy the property, sell it off at a rate people will buy right up...' "If it is only a matter used to draw in funds from outside their own membership, I suppose..." The interior of the bar, or rather, the distribution of the clientele, soon supports this. 'I've just had it on the mind when considering what opportunities I'll have when hosting more frequently in my suitcase.' "'Hosting' is an occasion for new outfits, surely." 'It is an extension of my job as ceremony ambassador, but I enjoy it quite a lot as well.' "Oh, how fortunate! That you should enjoy something to which you are well suited, I do mean. Ah, but I suppose your appearance is a matter of effort, after all, and it is from this effort that you appear 'well-suited.' Still, I can easily imagine that you would find yourself drawn into such things even lacking prior experience. A seamstress may well-like one of 'professional' bearing, as well." 'Matilda has often remarked on the same.' "Does she also hold an interest in...?" Tamamo thinks about it on her own before nodding. But holding a conversation about that soon becomes impossible. Tamamo's being looked at, but that's normal. If she paid attention to people looking at her, she couldn't get anything done in a crowded bar at all. There's no illusion distorting her appearance, but the conscious perception of it is 'something not worth pointing out,' and if it stays that way, is likely to be forgotten, just like any other face in a crowd. It's for that reason that she's ignoring someone talking about spitting in her drink, but also because she's just so magnanimous. It's above the goopy masks in her scoring, but not by as much as one might think. This starts to rile up the stock-watchers, who already have their feelings running high, and they start shouting insults and complaints at the bartender who seems to just be fucking around and slowing down service. It's the easiest thing in the world. Any attempt to make a Gin Fizz needs to be shaken enough to emulsify, but not so much it's broken and ruins the texture. It needs to be chilled, and yet, ice can ruin the mix. Her opinion on whether a proper Ramos Original includes two drops of vanilla, a matter that will be debated for decades to come, is about to change based solely on which recipe the bartender happens not to follow. This would be bullying if her victim was capable of being bullied. As it is, it's more like performance art. Every step is calculated well in advance, and she puts only just enough frustration in her voice to make it believable that she really does just want her drink. She should be able to keep this up for far longer than anyone -- at least, any group including Lilian, in whom she has placed her utmost trust -- will need. |
| Schneider Greco | "Guess I was a little too young for the War, too," says Cosimo, who looks thirty, but that might just be the hair. "Every generation's got its tragedy. Except us, right? Maybe we're just the lucky ones..." A lopsided, self-conscious grin. Lilian fixes them both with that leaning-in, captivating look. They both widen their eyes a little- Cosimo more than Achille- and the former nods, a little awed. Only after Lilian's out of (ostensible) earshot do either of them speak again. "... Now there's a lady who spits." "Shut up." - - - - "Ahh, well, I dunno. Callin' it a 'hobby' is maybe putting too much shine on me," Cosimo says while amiably rubbing the back of his neck. He settles into a different conversational mode talking to Vertin than with Vertin; at once more and less like a peer. "I just like food. Who doesn't? 'Cept Achille." ... The subject of Schneider's 'moves' has his enthusiasm sinking a little, though. There's a complex knot of feelings in there somewhere. "... Yeah. Yeah, she's pretty good, isn't she." "Better than you, for sure," Achille prods, just for sport. "Yeah," is all Cosimo says, which makes Achille lift a slightly-bushy eyebrow at him. Evidently that's odd. "... Sure, she's better than this," the taller man takes over, looking away. "But what can you do? Nobody decent wants to watch a little girl get beat up, anyway." - - - - BANG. "Shit. Is it over?" It's not, quite. BANG. The blonde man is straddling Schneider on the floor now, using both hands to try to bring the gun to bear against her. She wrestles the first shot to splinter the floor to the right of her head; the second to the left; pops the magazine release while grappling with him, and racks the slide to eject the chambered round just before the trigger clicks pointing at her shoulder. While he fails to process why she isn't being shot- click, click- she grabs the other gun, discarded on the floor; he lunges to pin down her arm; and then it's a blur, but black feathers rip across his chest while she kicks him off, then nail his coat to the floor like animated daggers. She rises for a bow- "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, OUR CHAMPION--" "RIGGED?! YOU TIGHT-ASSED SNIVELING LITTLE--!!" -but the commotion in the front rows about that, incited by Vertin, is none of her business. Her business, now that she's bleeding from her brow and her ears are ringing, is to stumble towards the bar with half-scrunched eyes, silently gesture for a towel, and get to wiping off her face to the mild horror of the other bar-goers. "Ah, shit. You alright, boss?" "What?" "I SAID--" "Speak up!" "Hey, give her a minute..." |
| Lilian Rook | 'Matilda has often remarked on the same.' §Oh my god Sonetto. Please. You're going to kill that girl. How are you the hopeless one and not her?!§ "Anyone would, if they were in the habit of paying close attention to details." says Lilian. 'There's arcanists on the balcony; almost certainly Manus Vindictae. Watch out for them.' "So that's where they're hoarding all the good seats." Lilian murmurs, looking up to the balcony as she shouldn't really be doing. Her dark expression only begins that way; by the time she tears her gaze away again less than two seconds later, it's turned more than a little wistful. She won't say it out loud, but Lilian doesn't feel good at all about taking advantage of anti-arcanist sentiment to stoke antipathy towards someone's personal craft; even if they are, abstractly, evil. She wants to talk to more arcanists, know more about them, hear what they have to say; not constrain herself to the mundane world of stock markets and state laws as always. She considers, so very strongly, going up there herself. She envisions herself walking amongst them, whoever they are, on that balcony that isn't meant to be hers; even if only in the version of the world that is hers alone. Without ever being acknowledged, even if she couldn't speak a word to them, it'd be something. The fact that she won't even get to see their faces; those of the malevolent strangers whose very names cast grandiose shadows over the Foundation's dossiers and files, whom she knows all but nothing about; suddenly fills her with an unexpected sense of burning, restless disappointment. Lilian stares up into the gloomy balcony shade for a little while, hoping to catch even the slightest detail; even a glint of tangible personhood; right up until the time comes. Then she continues on with the mission. As committed as she has been to the 'incantation' pageantry ever since Vertin asked a very particular question, Lilian doesn't feel the need to here. Alone amongst a hundred strangers, drowned out by the crowd, she leaves view with little more than a blink of resignation. . . . . . . . . 'It is an imprecise, simple array, and yet... I do not know how we would trick it. Ah! Dame Rook, could you teleport us across the threshold?' §Oh fuck me.§ Lilian, concealed by shadows rather than invisibility-- at least for the moment-- sighs all too heavily on this subject. §I'm never going to escape this. Not in ten million years.§ "Simple is always the most troublesome." Lilian sighs bitterly. "It takes experience to know that 'less complex' means 'fewer angles of attack'. Let me think." §What the fuck do I do?§ Once again, she scans the employees; visually, mentally, and for what little she can glean from their arcane aura. These people, at least, seem like they won't be making any complicated decisions about lingering 'fluctuations', and so when Lilian weighs 'explaining something that will make her life very tense' against 'risking a very small chance of a complete and total cockup cascade', she reluctantly takes the latter option. "This is going to be rough and approximate. I presume it's touch-only, but I don't want to take any chances, so I'll be routing you in an unusual way." Lilian almost-lies. She traces a fake path with her eyes, whispers "Tú ródhéanach cheana féin." and then, |
| Lilian Rook | -----[stop]----- "Ughhhhhhh!" Lilian picks up Regulus from under the waist and carries her 'over her shoulder', in as much as something that organic could be said to occur like this. Putting one practice spin into it, she quickly shucks off her heels, then tries bodily hurling Regulus across the gap, close to scraping the ceiling. When she returns for Sonetto, she picks her up under the thighs and lower back, and more gently lobs her in a parabolic arc. Both freeze near the end. "Motherfuck." Lilian hisses pointlessly to herself. Picking up her heels again, she takes a running jump over the entire floor length of the sigil, and tackles Regulus out of the air with her. The arcanist stops again again just before hitting the floor, but Lilian swears when she doesn't. "Once more unto the breach. Or something." she mutters, depositing her heels and then run-jumping back. "Or perhaps it's no rest for the wicked?" she gripes next, attemting the same thing with Sonetto, and managing to snag her lower back out of the air on the second try. Hissing to herself about the cold, hard floor, Lilian slips her heels back on, and-- "Oh fuck me. APPLe." The heels come off again, Lilian makes a third trip, and just picks APPLe himself up in her hands this time. "I'm going to get fucking tetanus at this rate." Heels back on. Again. -----[start]----- All three arcanists appear on the other side with her. APPLe has runway to catch himself with his usual floating. Regulus is aimed ass-first at the floor. Lilian catches Sonetto out of the air to look cool. Both women are going to experience the confusing sense of being retrocausally squeezed and thrown around though. "It's the perfect place for a secret complex, if nothing else." Lilian mutters, in an oddly bad mood now. She sets Sonetto down from her Tamamo-habituated bridal carry without really thinking about it, staring off towards the labyrinth. "Everyone knows this place is below the table, and that everyone else knows too. It's the sort of place where everyone agrees not to look in the back, because that'd be ruining it for everyone. They can do whatever they want out here. And if they dig under the forest, nobody is going to notice either. We need to come back to reconnoiter that much. Soon." The sabotage is practically a formality at that point. She goes about it with little more to say. |
| Regulus | ''Regulus is aimed ass-first at the floor.'' "Oof...!" Regulus lands roughly on her ass as expressed, though she doesn't seem too put off by it. APPLe wobbles unsteadily before landing back on top of Regulus's head. "Oofh... Looks like you gotta practice that a bit." Regulus tells Lilian. "But it worked out, so don't sweat it...!" And then she gets to the sabotage, humming obliviously along with APPLe as they pour the concoction in. |
| Lilian Rook | 'Oofh... Looks like you gotta practice that a bit.' "I usually work alone." Lilian huff-grumbles. "If you think it's important, then volunteer as a practice dummy and I will." 'But it worked out, so don't sweat it...!' "Hmph." Lilian accepts the mollification in the snottiest little lady way possible. |
| Regulus | ''If you think it's important, then volunteer as a practice dummy and I will.'' "Oh sure, I'm down. I'll bring a helmet or something." Regulus says thoughtlessly, potentially dooming future Regulus but that's future Regulus's problem. |
| Timekeeper | "Hard to imagine they had time to set this all up in a few months, it must've been for--is that a ''cave''?" Even without being able to see her, Sonetto gives off the distinct impression that she's reaching out her hand towards the labyrinth, and her voice is oddly wistful as she lingers for just a moment. "Was this built by human hands, or arcanist skills? I cannot tell at all whether the Walden is the reason for the maze, or the maze is the reason for the Walden. What is it... that lies beneath this city?" "I presume it's touch-only, but I don't want to take any chances, so I'll be routing you in an unusual way." It's pretty much always best to take arcanists at their word when it comes to their magic-- allied ones, at least-- so Sonetto has no question at all as to what Lilian plans to do. The questions that Vertin asks about the nature of a person aren't ones that even come to Sonetto's mind. "Understood, Dame Rook." A moment later, she's involuntarily letting out a little girlish squeak at the strange sensation of having the air squeezed out of her and then falling into Lilian's arms. She cuts it off, as to not betray Regulus's invisibility, and then nods and steps out of Lilian's bridal carry onto the ground as if that's the normalest thing in the world. She peeks past the door down the hallway, and still sees none of the masked Manus goons coming, thanks to the efforts of the group outside. "It's the perfect place for a secret complex, if nothing else." Sonetto makes a soft noise of agreement, briskly distributing little bags of carrageenan to the others. "It is lucky that we came across it today, or else we may never have known about the labyrinth. The direction that it is pointing... north, towards the city?" "RIGGED?! YOU TIGHT-ASSED SNIVELING LITTLE--!!" Vertin, of course, can't be anywhere by the stage when Schneider comes off of it. Conveniently, this also puts her away from the outrage that she started, which the Manus-armored waiters all flock to, attempting to threateningly diffuse the situation before it breaks out into a riot. It spreads like wildfire; with how stacked the sentiment was against Schneider in the first place, the aggrieved gamblers are just happy that someone else said it first so that they wouldn't seem like sore losers for thinking it. The unease in the bar quickly infects even those by the stock tickerboard with no interest in the prizefighting-- arcanists, you know, are infamous for never being what they seem. The rigged fighting, the alien, if convenient, tickerboard, how can you trust anything you see? And even the most fundamental bonds between people, fermented and forged in the brotherhood of good alcohol... "Pffft! HEY!!! THIS TASTES LIKE CAT PISS!" "WHAT'S IN THIS, ROTTEN EGGS?!" "ARE YOU WITCHES TRYING TO SLIP US POISON NOW?!" Vertin rejoins the group, gesturing with her chin towards the door at Sonetto and the others as they slip back into the main bar. Voice low, insistent but not frantic in the building chaos, "We have to go, now. We've done what we need to." |
| Lilian Rook | 'Was this built by human hands, or arcanist skills?' "There's a simple way to tell." Lilian murmurs over her work, not thirty seconds after clearing the sigil. "If it's filled with concrete cells and heaps of contraband, it was made by humans. If it's filled with anything more than that, it was shaped by an arcanist." She states it so certainly that it practically feels like sarcasm; or perhaps it really is something close, at least by way of derision. "I'll put in a priority request to have it seen to. If you're as curious as you seem, you'll come with me." The way she says 'curious', though, is both dismissive and oddly understanding. 'The direction that it is pointing... north, towards the city?' "I wouldn't be shocked if there were a roughshod smuggling tunnel to some warehouse or corner building somewhere. Abandoned or controlled by collaborators. It'd certainly be easier than hustling goods through that forest every time, especially if it's as haunted as you've aid." Lilian crumples up the paper for her portion of the powder, sets theseal she'd popped open back in place with-- well, slightly alarming picture-perfect memory of how it was originally, and claps off her hands just for the feeling of closure. Lilian freezes up, staring back down the corridor in dread. §Oh god. I have to do it again, don't I?§ |