IC: Heresy and Hearsay, The Hunt continues Options

[BishopMcQ]

August 3, 2064:Seattle

Nearly a month has passed since you turned Ulick over to Dorian and the council. For the last two days, Seattle has been locked in an unseasonable storm. The weather has cooled considerably and the rain settled into fog and sleet. Unseasonable weather has stricken across the globe and is believed to be a temporary side effect of polar manastorms shifting tradewinds.

You have begun to formulate plans of action on how to persist in hunting the Templars. In a few hours you are to meet with each other and finalize those actions. Information and reconaissance on Monsignur Leng and Father Roberts has proven inconclusive. Neither has been involved in secular affairs since you began watching.

Crash has not been spotted since the incident Downtown.

[Redjack]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064; Thompson Apartments, Seattle

Martin, Michael, Derrick, Fredrick, Samuel, Habib, Donald, Don, Bob, Robert.... each name, and a multitude of others, walked through his dream headed off to their lives and each one had his face.

He woke with a start, but somehow managed not to awaken her. Lying there in the early morning hours, the light gloomy from the unending storm, several moments are spent simply gazing upon her creamy skin and flowing red hair. Finally, he slides out of the bed and heads off to the bathroom as she continues to sleep. I should just stay in bed. How could there possibly be anything in this day that makes me want to be anyplace else?

But he continues to bathroom none the less. The cold water splashed on his face brings him farther out of the morning stupor and after brushing his teeth he realizes he is too much awake to go back to bed. Like it or not, a new day is here.

He slips into his clothes and gives her a gentle kiss good-bye before slipping out the door. Someday I will slip out for several days and find I have no one to slip back with.. he thinks with a subdued sigh.

As he steps out of the crummy little apartment building and under an awning facing the street he wonders, "Why does she stay in this neighborhood? She has the skills to earn the 'yen to live in a really nice neighborhood.. But he knows that is not her way. As much as their commonalities keep them together, these little differences keep them apart as well.

As he hails a cab, he waves good-bye to Martin and says hello to Michael. Of course this is all done figuratively. Martin is his true name, but in all Seattle, only she knows that. Michael is the man he became long before arriving in Seattle and the primary identity he has created for himself. He has been many people over the past few years.. some mornings he wakes up unsure of what to name to say hello to in the mirror's reflection.....

[Buddha72]

The pose holds her body suspended on a single point of her foot, she feels the tension build and her muscles begins to slowly ache. With a deep breath she pushes aside the discomfort and concentrates on holding the pose as long as possible. She can feel the shift in her own center of gravity as the time stretches on and her body protests the abuse of the situation. The area arround appeats to be a lush and overgrown garden or greenhouse. The distant sounds of a go-gangers seems at odds with her surroudings.

Gellawyn's remains serene and clear as her body burns with liquid pain racing along her limbs. She watches the chronometer in her field of vision as the minutes tick by. I will do 10 more minutes then before. That single thought continues to thrum through her mind and as the display finally reaches the mark, she collapses to the grass allowing her body to shake and spawm from the strain. Staring up through the leaves she tries to get the control back and slowly her limbs quiet and her breathing returns to normal.

She picks herself up and pauses, taking a minute to enjoy HIS garden before moving to the back area where she and Kraxus live, a small room devoid of most personal touches. She heads for the shower while reviewing the plans for the rest of the day. Somewhere Kraxus is pursuing his own regime of discipline and conditioning. Her heart skips at the unbidden image of his graceful and muscled back, the skin welcoming with a light sheen of sweat. She turns the shower colder and takes the image, along with so many others and locks it away deep within herself. The fear gnaws at her that HE will find them in her mind or worse yet already knows but she knows on other purpose or life than this one. She feels the focus return and the silent dread descend as she dresses for the day.

Now she must wait and see what the day brings.

[Fenris]

The scarred and pitted floor of the small concrete room made a constant whispering sound under his feet as he moved across the small area, each step carrying him through the forms of the exercise. His shoulder's ached with the familiar exertion, and he held the long blade high over his head, a pause in the form, and began the rest of his regimen.

The sounds that occasionally filtered in through the rock dropped away suddenly as a veil of silence descended. He paused for only a moment, and then stretched out with his will, feeling a similar ache as he extended himself, controlling the flows while summoning and weaving new ones. A light blue field surrounded him, the armor spell triggering unbidden memories of the parking structure, and the spike of fear that accompanied the troll turning the shotgun on her.

His body trembled from the exertion, and he let the memory and his feelings for her be swept safely away, safely down inside as he added a third spell, the hissing and sizzling of the concrete beneath his feet blocked by the magic of the silence spell even as the roiling and bubbling aura of acid layered itself over him, eating away in small bits and pieces at even the reinforced concrete beneath his feet. His features shifted and blurred, even as his whole body shook, threatening to drop the blade as he added yet a fourth spell, taking on the appearance of Ulik, face turned up in a righteous sneer.

With a clatter the weighted practice sword hit the floor, his body following not soon after as the spells rapidly unraveled. He lay there for several minutes, satisfied with the mornings exertion. Casting and maintaining the fourth spell had taken almost everything he had, but holding that many simultaneously had been necessary before, and might be again.

He retrieved the practice sword and headed out of the room, anxious to begin to hunt those that had plagued his people for so long. Finally, they were taking the aggressive stance, striking against the Templars instead of reacting to their actions. It would be a good day.

[HeySparky]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064; Stormview Apartments, Everett

Edana wakes up with a gasp. Cold. Shivering. Shards of a nightmare lingering. Heart beating rapidly. Her palid, lanky body is pebbled with gooseflesh and clammy with sweat. Herne lifts his head from his paws and looks at her. Impassiveness gapes like a canyon in the link between Hound and Huntress. His glowing golden eyes blink once.

I gave up after you threw the covers off the last time.

She nods in acknowledgement, sitting up to rub at bleary eyes. "I feel like I've been pulled through a knothole backwards."

Edana feels a sudden fan of affection welling out towards Herne. It's nice to have someone to greet her in the morning. Even if that someone is an unfathomable and sometimes insufferable ancient spirit of The Hunt. Nonetheless, she doesn't always remember to appreciate it.

Don't mention it. Herne gets up and phases through the door off to harass the apartment's resident hearth spirit in his morning rounds.

Edana sits forward putting her face in her hands and carefully picks the fragments of the nightmare from her psyche and puts them back in the scary box in her brain labeled clearly 'Do Not Open.' The gleeful Pandora of her subconscious mind would have its fun again, but not until tomorrow night. She sits back, flipping long white hair out of her face with a sigh and sits quietly looking around the apartement. A presence throbs at her from the bed. The Focus... It is coiled neatly under her pillow. She feels its throb in her bones. Tonight, she thinks at it. Her thoughts are swallowed along the link she share with the focus. Pulled hungrily from her mind. The throbbing subsides.

Tonight. She leans forward again. Tonight she would meet with Kraxus and Gellawyn. But she needed to talk to Townshend again. Their relationship had been strained since Edana had confronted Townshend about what it seemed like he'd known about her past. What it seemed like he'd known, but hadn't thought to share with her. She was still angry that he would have set her up like that. Another - minority - part of her brain was more rational - she wouldn't have trusted the revelations of the past month from any other vector than personal experience.

All roads pointed toward the Templars. Her work for the Brotherhood. For herself. For her parents. The work they all shared in different ways - if she let herself be dramatic and let herself believe the Brotherhood's scholars - her birthright... The Templars held secrets that she had to know.

Crash had vanished right off the map. Edana kept her ears out for rumors of him, of white hats and black hats and gray hats. But nothing... Michael had lapsed into a quiet repose that looked like rest not responding to mechanical, medical or magical stimulus. He was broken. No amount of searching had turned up anything useful about known Templar operatives in Seattle. Every lead was turning into a dead end. Maybe Seattle wasn't the Emerald That Was Not An Emerald after all. Or maybe it was. Edana couldn't be sure.

She knew one thing for certain.

It was time for breakfast.

[BishopMcQ]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064--1930; Ballard

The day brings with it an assortment of moments, some of sorrow and some of joy. You have been gathering the last few things you need before meeting. This time would be different. Each would arrive with their purpose known and their eyes open.

After scouring the matrix, there are still no allusions to a meeting. Unlike last time there will be no unexpected guests, only the three who have hunted and one who is known to them. If Crash is watching for you, an entrance like last time would not work.

The storm breaks just as the base of the sun touches the horizon, entering the gloaming.

Martin
The day has been spent finalizing minute details, and looking at the meet site where you are standing now. Slave to the Needle a tattoo parlor that began in the darkest days with guitar wire and an answering machine motor, now offers fully customizable nano-tattoos and for the traditionalist punk a wide selection of inks ranging from standard colors to bioluminescent materials. Rumor has it that they can even offer tattoos and scarification mods that utilize magnetic materials designed to jam internal 'ware and scramble headware memory.

From here, there are four primary exit paths that you have mapped out, in case your contact wasn't on the up and up. The site was well-chosen, giving you plenty of choices and judging by the number of people who stop in front of shops looking at displayed artwork, a small gathering of people wouldn't be noticed.

Elves
The subtle architect of everything around you, He has kept you both busy today. Separated from each other physically, but carrying the bond that thrums between the three of you. All that you are and would become is because of him and the Tir. The Tir needs you, and though you would never meet most of its citizens, nor would they know of your existence, their safety showed your love of them and their contentment showed their love for you.

At His discretion, the gangers didn't take you to the meeting tonight. Instead, Gellawyn drove. No one mentioned the closeness that would be required by sharing the motorcycle.

You drive down the street looking for Edana's Brumby or a sighting of the huntress herself, meeting with the new member of your hunt.

Edana
An answering machine takes the call at the second ring when you try to reach Townshend. For a few seconds, you hesitate not sure of what the words are to close the gap between you both. Leaving a message for him to call you, you hang up the phone.

Later when you leave the apartment, his truck is resting in its traditional spot but the manager unit is closed down tight and uninviting. Making amends will have to wait.

Herne follows behind you, his emotions are as concealed from you as he can. Distant, sensing your own mood. Tonight everything begins again. This time it will be different, you know what your purpose is, you know why you are doing this.

Driving down the streets of Ballard, you are only about twelve blocks from where the accident happened with Michael and the first memorable meeting with Crash. But that was last time...

Ahead of you, you spot the other Michael. Townshend had introduced you back before the fight, he had no love for the Templars and was going to assist you in the coming hunt.

The time has come, now you must simply strut and fret your hour upon the stage.

[Redjack]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064--1930; Ballard
Martin "Red" O'Malley; SIN=Max Smith

Red parked the sedan a few blocks away. This neighborhood wasn't his normal hang out and he wanted to walk a bit before arriving at the meet. The armor jacket was a bit heavy for this time of year, but it helped even more to conceal his Ares that rested in the under arm holster. It also provided pockets for the smaller drones.

The fly-spy was already out and verifying alternate exit points should they be needed. Everything had seemed a little cloak-n-dagger up to this point... just the way he liked it. The minute everyone gets too cozy in planning these things is the minute someone either ends up dead or pinched by the Star...

He walked among the artwork, fitting in as best as possible. He may not know diddly about art, but to his mind most of this drek was not it... Now... Where is my contact..?

[HeySparky]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064--1930; Ballard

Edana and Herne make the last turn off the highway to the narrower streets of Ballard. Herne takes off on his reconaissance run without waiting to be asked, teeth baring in a hound's grin as he heads into the storm.

Edana parks the brumby on the street and feeds the meter off a certified credstick. The brumby's security thrums to life as she steps away from the curb. Herne rejoins her after his loop and falls into step alongside her. She saunters down the street looking curiously into the windows of the shops, her nature and the foci she carries hidden by mysteries learned from the Heirs. She keeps an eye out for the man Townshend said she would meet.

[Redjack]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064, 19:31; Ballard
Martin "Red" O'Malley; SIN=Max Smith

Red spots his contact; He'd met her before with Townshend. He knew tonight was important. It is his chance to... well for lack of a better word interview with her crew. Word is they were good.. and that they were tight.

He moved the fly-spy around and at an altitude of two stories up. As she approached he wasn't able to locate anyone covering her. He continued to watch her through the drone's eyes while pretending to look at artwork. Townsend said he provided a solid recommendation.. But that doesn't mean they won't test me here...

[Buddha72]

Feeling the tug of wind along her form, Gellawyn weaves the bike through the sluggish traffic of the city. She feels the sublte joy of the machine and the power it imparts. The tingle of the mana woven around her and the slight strain of holding the flows rests in the back of her mind as she makes her way to the meeting spot. With a few more turns and a roundabout route through the side streets they arrive a short walk from the location. Parking the bike out of sight and arming the alarm system she looks to Kraxus for any last minute instructions.

[HeySparky]

Edana moves down the block and closes the distance between she and Red with long strides. A dark longcoat flutters with the speed of her passage, opening to reveal glimpses of long pants in a dark brown and a gray knit shirt with a scooped neck. A twisted, light-sucking curve of a black metal torc circles her neck, ends capped with a red, earthy stones. Her white hair is cut shorter than when he last saw, just past her shoulders now, straight and loose. It catches the air, flaring and slipping past the winding horns that spring from behind her temples and sweep back. A raggedy straw hat is pulled down low, her eyes shaded by dark glasses that make her pale skin more striking. Her thin lips pull into a smile as she draws closer.

"Red. How are you?"

Herne. Bring the elves.

Bring them what?

Herne...

You used to be fun.

You used to be funny.

The spirit sends a flirt of feigned ire down the link between them and dashes off to where he was to meet the elves. His hackles raise, as they always do, when he approaches Kraxus' Fuer'yon.

[Redjack]

Sunday, August 3rd, 2064, 19:31; Ballard : Martin "Red" O'Malley; SIN=Max Smith

Martin turns towards the woman, taking a moment. As she smiles, he relaxes and allows a small smile himself. Perhaps it will go this easy... "Wonderful. And yourself?" ...nah.

He kept his link with the fly-spy looking around for the others. If the rumors are true, she doesn't really even need back up.

[Fenris]

He needs say nothing. Closer then siblings, bound by ties stronger then blood, communication was often extraneous and redundant. It still comforted him, in some small way, to have her presence in the back of his mind when possible.

As they neared the outlet of the alleyway where the bike was parked mana shivered around them, gathered by the softly spoken words in Sprethirel. As they moved through pools of light formed by lights behind bars and closed businesses, their forms flickered. In one pool, the elves walked in light armored vests, bow slung over Gellawyn's shoulder, the handle of the Kraxus's claymore visible over his. In the next pool of light, gangers walked in ripped armored jackets, chains wrapped around waists and spiked gloves covering hands. The features were subtly different, similar enough to be recognizable if you knew what you were looking for, but different enough to throw off casual looks and distort descriptions later. The gangers carried no other obvious weapons, but the womans close cut mohawk and the mans cybernetic horns gave them the impression of savageness.

A brief moment allowed him to tap into the world that lived around and below the surface world, teeming with spirits and natural magical entities. A brief supplication and request, and the eyes of people seemed to slide off Gellawyn, Kraxus, and the bike they'd left behind.

He reached out as they continued to walk, gentling touching and then settling a small portion of his conciousness into a link between Gellawyn and himself, repressing the small sense of satisfaction he felt as the link was re-established.

In the astral, the wolf paces around the hound, hackles raised, the animosity between them evident and unabated by time or distance.

He sniffed once, and turned, a brief tendril of thought touching Kraxus' mind and turning the pair of elves in Hernes direction.

[Buddha72]

"It appears our friend is here and waiting." Gellawyn takes the lead and motions for the Herne to lead the way.

[BishopMcQ]

Elves
With the hound leading the way, you quickly see the street where Edana is speaking to a man dressed in an unseasonably heavy coat. He cuts a fairly trim figure and speaks with the relaxed air of someone meeting a passing acquaintance.

Red
With your attention half-focused on the burgeoning conversation and otherwise watching the feedback from your drone, you catch the appearance of two gangers. They seem focused on you and your companion, though surprisingly unarmed. The hint of an irish wolfhound plays at the edges of your peripheral vision but when turning, you don't see anything.

[Redjack]

Red takes note of the approaching gangers, but continues his conversation with Edna, "I think we may have trouble coming our way. I think we've caught someone's attention."

He moves the fly-spy around to get a better look at the two approaching.

[Fenris]

Kraxus squints suspiciously at the pair, giving a curt nod of acknowledgment to Edana as he affects a rough street slang.

"'aint you two needin' ta be getting on somewheres?" he growls, thumbs hooked in his pockets.

[Buddha72]

Gellawyn takes on the posture of a razor girl ready to throw down like one of the boys. She openly sweeps her eyes up and down the new player, looking him like a piece of meat on the market. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

[Redjack]

Red tries to stay relaxed as the gangers move around them. The fly-spy affords him a perfect view of the duo... and he dares not underestimate either of them. He thinks back to the unarmed self-defense class he took.... Oh hell!! I never showed up to that class.... Too much work involved...

He looks to Edana for a queue.....

[BishopMcQ]

Team

Edana looks to Herne and then the gangers.

"Yeah....uh, I do think we have somewhere to be right now. Come on."

She signals for Red to follow her off the street away from the gangers and in the direction of the meeting place. A few blocks over the two of them come upon a rundown building where several squatters have been living. Scorch marks of a man with large wings are burned through the front door.

As you approach the building, the two gangers come from a different alleyway. With each step closer to the meeting spot, they become more familiar and less street oriented.

"Krax, Gell, this is Red. Red these are the other two I mentioned. Let's head inside and we'll talk."

[Fenris]

Kraxus nods politely at Red, stepping into the building just behind the pair. His gait is smooth, measured, and perfectly in sync with Gellawyn's.

Fuer'yon, check the building, let us know if anything besides us is in here.

A brief glimmer of the wolf's form is visible before it lopes off, rapidly moving through syth-crete and plastic to check rooms and floors, searching for the tell-tale sign of anything alive.

[Redjack]

Red looks the duo over a little.. Yea... I knew they was the other two on the crew... errr... Ok, I do now.. Note to self: anticipate surprises from this team...

Seeing the rest of the team moving in and sweeping the area, Red does his best to just not get in the way... I think next to these guys there's not much I can do but get in the way... He moves the fly-spy around the perimeter, moving it out just a little not sure about the senses of the man given the spiritual wolf form he just witnessed.

[HeySparky]

Edana's chest clenches when she sees the outlined figure burnt into the floor. Why here. The whip under her coat is palpably eager. Bloodthirstiness beats at her, seductive tugs that well up in her... power and glory.

She calls the others to her, "Quickly now, before anyone gets curious," she holds out her hands to be held and calls Herne to her side. Herne manifests, appearing as a tall, powerfully, white hound with a broad, with a blunt-jawed head and glowing eyes. The eyes gleam intelligently as he regards the others. When everyone has joined hands in a circle she murmurs to the Hound. Hide us.

Blindness. Not-ness. Edana squeezes the hands in her own, and grounds herself back into reality. The forms of the others under Herne's glamor shimmer into view. Unsettling.

"Don't let go," she whispers, grinning.

[Redjack]

Red looks around at all the mumbo jumbo, but continues to hold hands. Jeepers, creepers.. This stuff gives me the Willies...

He clenches his hands a little tighter as the white hound appears. Despite the team's apparent control of the supernatural, he'd seen the trids where the smallest defect in a summoning circle caused the summoner to be dragged off to the seventh level of hell.... An he didn't even see a circle here....

[Buddha72]

Gellawyn raises a single eyebrow as the group begins to fade from view. An open question on her face to Edana as she speaks. "It seems your companion has learned a few new tricks since the last time.." Her voice has none of the rough quality one would expect from a street thug or ganger, there is a tonal quality that hints to English not being her native language.