_______________________________

The courtyard is quiet, dark, and deserted, except for the still forms of a young man and a young woman. The man sits, perfectly still, the breadth and depth of his considerable will focused inwards. The young redheaded woman kneels nearby, waiting patiently, as is her wont.

She blinks, once in the darkness, although no visible sound or movement has disturbed the yard. She nods, the gesture seemingly pointless, and returns to the stillness of her waiting.

A moment later the man speaks, dispelling the notion that he was unaware of what had transpired.

"A message, Lyra?" he prompts gently.

"It is. Kiren has a task, from...from Her, he says." She mentions it with only slight reluctance, born from a long experience in the types of tasks set before the young man. They were never easy, and never safe...

"We are to report to an address in Prague at 6pm in three days. We'll learn more after we arrive."

________________________________


"So you actually expect me to believe you have no idea what happened in that parking complex? You called me from that same area not two days before asking about some missing university kids, and now there are rumors that the light show people saw was some kind of magical strike team attacking something nobody's ever seen before. And you don't know anything about it?" Her question was pointed, but accompanied by the same small smile she always wore when she knew it was useless.

Kelly always seemed to know a little too much about things that were going on, but the support team her show provided her explained alot of it. And she was, to put it nicely, persistent.

He grinned at her across the table, taking another sip of the local red. "Not a thing."

The conversation was interrupted as the waiter stepped over, handing a small, hand written note to the slim elf.

My apologies, Fortune, for interrupting your dinner. We have a matter that requires your urgent attention. There is a plane waiting for you at the local field, readying to fly in two hours. You should be in Prague by 12:00pm tomorrow, giving you plenty of time to arrive at this address by 6:00pm.

You have our utmost appreciation for your efforts, as always.
Sean.

She arched her brows at him across the top of the note as he looked up. "That mysterious 'work', again?" she asked, half curious and half disappointed.

____________________________________

The figure slunk through the night, trenchcoat flapping, hat pulled down low over his brow as he moved from pool of light to shadow, footsteps silent on the concrete. A figure ahead of him moved just as silently through the streets, apparently oblivious to his tail.

He turned a corner, and the figure in the back quickened his step slightly to make up the distance. Rounding the corner, he hesitated for just a moment. The street ahead was clear. The figure was gone, and there was no other movement down the avenue.

Just to his right, a soft voice floated out of the alleyway. "I can smell you, you know..."

He spun, hand instinctively reaching under the loose trenchcoat he wore. He spotted a pair of milky white eyes in the darkness, and a sigh of relief escaped him.

"The Brothers say you're to report here for an assignment for the Hand." The previously trailing figure stepped forward, revealing the faint yellowish cast to his skin and the milky white pupils of his own eyes as he handed over a small folded piece of paper.

"Tomorrow, by 6pm." He glanced nervously about, but by the time he looked back to the alleyway, it was empty.

_____________________________________

The pack moved like a scattered, silent river under the moonlight, occasional yips and howls coordinating the movement of 20+ bodies in the night. Surprisingly, an orc ran in their midst, his movements as confident and in tune as any of the pack. Ahead of them, bodies scuttered through the movement, game scattering in all directions ahead of the rushing predators.

Several quick, sharp noises up ahead, followed by a long, drawn out howl told the runners their task was done. He followed the group of them as they condensed, flowing through the trees in the forest, coming upon a small clearing. In the clearing, the forms of several more of the pack were obvious, the dark fur in stark contrast to moonlit brush, hunched over the form of 3 deer, 2 stags and 1 doe, blood still steaming into the night air.

Most of the pack ate in human form, huddled around a small campfire built in consideration of the one pack member that couldn't eat his meat raw. As he tore a chunk of flesh from the flank in his hands, Gault turned to look at the orc.

"The Elders say they've a task, something you're well suited for." The words were harsh in the shifters throat, the French stuttered with the harsh Russian accent of his first language.

The orc paused, looking up from his food. "Did they say what, or where?"

The shifter shook his head as he tore off another chunk of flesh. He talked around the meat, alternating speech with chewing. "They said the information had already been sent to your LTG. You leave tomorrow. I think it involves the Council."

The orc nodded, turning back to his food. There would be time enough tomorrow to head back to the helicopter and retrieve the information. Tonight would be spent with the pack.

_______________________________________

The darkness of pure bliss receded slowly, the dim light of the candles slowly penetrating the estatic haze of feeding she always experienced at his hands. She blink slowly, languidly, and looked around the exquisite chamber. Years ago, when they'd first met, this had all been in the sewers, hidden away. But she'd help him. She'd brought him food, helped him plan, and together they'd forced their way back into the underworld, back into the true politics that lay behind the day to day lives of the Blind. She never fooled herself, she wasn't unique, and he could have his pick if he so chose. But she was loyal, and competent, and they'd achieved much together.

She sat up slowly, glancing over at the figure in the high backed chair perched in front of the fire. She slid off the bed and over to him, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"You seem troubled," she spoke quietly, using English because it pleased him to hear her speak the languages he'd taught her.

"Nevermore." He had always liked the name she had adopted.

"You have a task. There is an address on the card on my desk. You will be there tomorrow at 6:00pm, and you will do what is asked of you." He fell quiet, utterly confident of her obediance.

The moment gone, she nodded silently and turned, scooping up the holster with the pair of pistols she always carried with her, taking the address from his desk as she left.

________________________________________

The ballroom was glorious, decorated in an old world style that existed in very few places in this modern world of steel and glass. Old fashioned chandoliers decorated the vaulted ceilings, and the candlelight softly filled the voluminous space. The dancers, swirling among the dancing light and the heavenly waltz, were a thing of splendor unto themselves. Old fashioned linen mingled with new polymers, and fey mixed with elves, humans, and even the Johnny-come-lately changlings, obvious from the wild assortment of evolutions they encompassed. Many wore masks, ranging from ornate gold and gilt constructions to simple slips of paper, hardly painted and barely covering the eyes.

Twilight twirled among the dancers, exceptional in her grace even in the room full of the exceptionally graceful, changing partners as the dance demanded. One such spun into her embrace, a smiling cats face covering his. He chuckled lightly, the sound barely audible over the music, and leaned close, closer then was appropriate. She recognized the sound of Joshua's voice as he whispered into her ear, flawlessly maintaining the dance.

"Plans shift, alliances crumble and fade, and Darkness moves across the playing field."

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, and she pulled back to look at him, but he was already spinning away, caught up and disappearing in the flow of dancers. Feeling a prick, she touched her chest lightly, realizing he'd slipped a small business card under the edge of her dress. The address was in Prague, and the time was 6:00pm, barely more then 10 hours once time changes were taken into consideration.

_________________________________________

The shotgun roared, filling the cramped space with it's sound, and the the slugs ripping through the hide of the crouched, clawed figure hunched over the three bodies. The people wouldn't be getting back up, and Will fired again as he caught sight of the frozen scream on the face of one of the college age girls. The creature screamed, rearing up and rising to a height of just under three meters, towering over the small human, wings spreading out behind it as it lept towards what it considered just new prey.

The human's eyes fell to slits, and as the massive body of the gargoyle fell towards him, the nodachi flowed into his hands, power singing through the blade as his will released the bonds that held it in check. The creature had time to widen it's eyes before he buried over a meter of the blade in it's chest, the tip dipping to the ground as the creature abruptly became dead weight.

Will flicked the blade clean, resheathing it in a smooth motion as he stepped over to examine the bodies. Lips tightening was the only display of his reaction as he turned away, dropping a small metal canister on the collection of bodies and walking away, form lit in the sudden aura of light as the white phospherus consumed the bodies.

The message was waiting when he got back to his room, small red light beeping insistently, demanding he ignore his aches and pains, his needs and wants, and answer immediately.

Adam Jackson's voice was crisp and curt as ever, a carryover from the military he'd never abandoned.

"Davis. There's trouble stirring among the Low Council. I need your help with this one. I owe someone a favor, and their calling in chips from all over the place to work some kind of op. The meeting's in Prague, tomorrow at 6:00pm local time."

Davis nodded, glancing at the glowing digits of the clock readout on his Trix unit. There would be a plane ticket waiting, but he'd have to leave soon. Much sooner then he'd wanted to move again, never mind travel.

__________________________________________

The pot was lifted, and moved with slow, fluid movements. The tea steamed as it flowed into the small white cup, but the tea itself was the least important part of the ceremony. The cup was lifted, turned, and accepted with precise motions, the slightest sip taken only when the gestures were completed.

Mistress Izumi sat quietly for long moments after that first sip. Minako sat equally as still. It would be a great loss of face to cause a commotion at a moment like this.

She finally glanced down at her, the faintest smile touching her lips, contradicting with the tone of her voice as she spoke, that tone revealing only the most approprite amounts of anxiety or distress.

"An ill wind blows, and the scale is loaded even more heavily on each side, precariously balanced."

"The slightest improper touch, and the balanced is destroyed." Her glance is pointed, for the Mistress, although almost undetectably to most.

As Minako lifts her cup to drink, there is a small card underneath it, with an address and a time printed clearly in flowing calligraphy. The card cleary had not been there moments ago as she had poured the tea. She never ceased to wonder, as she lightly sipped, although such minor events were common in the Master's house.

Izzy stands up from his lotus position and lightly brushes himself off. Pausing for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he begins to follow the path of gravel and stone out of the courtyard.

Did the guildmaster's message contain anything else?

He receives a mental photograph of an arid desert, and laughs merrily. Rounding the next bend, he opens the heavy oak door to the cathedral and steps inside. A welcoming sense of calmness and tranquility greets him as he enters the chamber, as it always does. He will regret leaving this place. Izzy heads up the stairs with long strides and enters the small enclave that he has called his home for the past three months. His belongings are scarce, and everything that he will need to take with him is quickly compacted inside a suitcase in five minutes. Everything else he will leave for Father Callahan to do with as he desires.

Izzy whispers a quick prayer to Callahan's god to ask Him to protect the priest in his absence before stepping out of the church and into the chilly night street. A small dragonfly circles the air above his head momentarily before landing contently on his shoulder. Flipping open his cellular phone, he nimbly punches in Max's number and waits. On the tenth ring, he hears a connection on the other side. No greeting - Izzy grins.

"Hey Max, did I wake you from your sleep? I hope I did! Anyway, I need a ride to Prague ASAP. I don't care whether it's by land or by air, I just need to get there in 48 hours. Can you do it, old man, or do I need to find someone better?"

Izzy - Max snorts into the phone, and in the background you can hear a womans voice ask acridly, "Who the hell is that?"

A series of clicks follow, probably Max accessing his poc-sec, and he grunts out the name of a pilot and an airfield close enough to get to by cab.

"30 minutes." and dial tone fills the line again.

Pulling her hand away from the card in time to meet her next partner, Twilight finishes the dance. Smilling and excusing herself for a moment, the elf glides across the dance floor.

The corset was a new flex-weave material, the latest fashion out of Paris yet her breath was still cut short by the style. An elegant dress that left her without blade, but no weapon would be of use against the Sidhe court. Here, wit and a biting tongue were the chosen tools. Being in the court was always her greatest joy and worst nightmare.

With a deep curtsy and warm thanks for the invitation to such a lovely gala, Twilight departed the ballroom and headed for her car. A momentary pang of regret and loss that she did not have an escort to also apologize to for leaving, but it could not be helped.

Finally in the safety of her own vehicle, the Sidhe agent took a deep breath and began releasing the inner focus that she had maintained through the night. Blonde hair the color of wheat on a summer's day darkened to a burnt auburn. Large pouty lips and high cheek bones, settled back to a more mundane appearance.

Twilight's makeup was shot, the fine brush strokes marred by the shifting flesh and changing skin tone. It was time for work.

The elf drove back to the hotel, showered and packed up the loose items that had been pulled out. Checking for tickets to be pre-arranged, Twilight took the necessary arrangements to have the car returned to the rental office and a taxi ready for the short trip to the airport.

He was ready to bear the weight of Darkness once more.

Weapons were deposited in a waiting chair next to the door as soon as Will shut the door behind him. From there, he weighed his options...bed or shower. Which to chose first?

Unfortunatly the answering machine solved that answer, blinking it's insistance. He perched on the end of the bed as he listened to the message. "No rest for the weary, eh?" he comments as the message completes. Seems he might have time for a shower, but sleep would have to be attended to on the plane.

****

Feeling a bit more human after a shower, Will found himself back on the road, this time towards the airport. What next? If Adam was asking this of him, it was probably something bigger than a gargoyle praying on college students. He took a moment to check the time, wondering if he'd be waking Adam up if he tried returning his call. It would be nice to go into this with a bit more information...

Immediately after Max hangs up, Izzy shoots a second phone call to Ruby's Flower Garden to hash out an order. A couple of minutes later, the clerk assures him that a bouquet of their best white roses will be delivered to a certain Mrs. Faye Wentworth first thing in the morning, with the following note attached: "Thanks for letting me borrow your inferior half at an inconvenient time! " Expected duty fulfilled, the only question that remains was the mode of transportation that he will take to the airfield.

Cab?

Izzy gazes wordlessly down the barren and desolate stretch of road, its cobblestones treaded upon at this hour by neither man nor machine. Lyra giggles softly on her spot atop his shoulder.

Apparently not. What should I do, dear sister?

Do your shapeshifting thing. I always love it when you do that.

Only for you...

After a quick scan to verify that he is indeed alone, Izzy turns down through the nearest alley and focuses his will as he walks, summoning his magic from within. He could hear Lyra's delighted laugh chiming melodically in his mind as his skin begins to break out into brown and black feathers. His lips harden into a beak, and his arms flatten and expand into wings while his fingers transform into cruel talons. As his form shrinks, everything he's wearing and carrying melts into a gooey liquid that oozes into his body. A few seconds later, the alleyway is empty once again, and a great horned owl takes to the sky.

-----

Izzy reaches his destination in slightly under half an hour and smoothly reclaims his human body in mid-descent, hitting the ground jogging.

:: Shutting the door behind her in silence, she pads barefoot down the thickly carpeted hallway to the spiral staircase that led down to the second floor where her private chamber waited. ::

:: Dropping the thin satin gown off her shoulders and to the floor, she steps into the walk-in closet and begins pulling items off hangers; a blouse, a sweater and a pair of jeans, all in black. Once she reaches the rear of the closet, she punches a code in a hidden panel which slides the wall open revealing her working gear. ::

:: Grabbing a small metal suitcase, a prepacked rucksack and her form fitted body armor, she secures the wall and moves back into the room with her gear. After dressing, she dons the weapon harness and secures her pistols along her flanks, but does not attach the custom reload deck. That item, she secures in the foam padded weapon case before locking everything up and taking a seat at the ornate vanity beside her four poster bed. ::

:: After running a brush through her jet black hair, she presses a small switch on the side of the vanity and the center area opens up as a small computer system rises out of the recessed section. Punching up an all too familiar LTG address and password, she waits for authentication as she lays a trod unit over her freshly brushed hair. ::

:: Once the connection is accepted, she plugs into the trod unit and is plunged into the mana-less world of the Matrix. Her avatar, a default image, is a small white rabbit and in this form, she waits in the peaceful blue void for her host to arrive. ::

:: Her rabbit form does not mimic the small smile that touches her lips as she sees the current form of her decker friend. He stands before her in the guise of a Mad Hatter, complete with monocle, purple velvet tophat and goofy grin. ::

"Reading Lewis Carroll again, Fissure?"

Nevermore -

The mad grin cracks a little wider, and the figure of the Mad Hatter gives you an elaborate bow.

"Reading good books is like visiting old friends..it never grows old, and you're always happy to go there again.

How have you been, my darling white rabbit?"

Izzy - The airfield, if one could call it that, was scarcely more then some paved tarmac in the middle of the sand, with a lonely looking pair of hangings flanking the single lane. Parked near the end of one of the lanes is a jet black Thunderbird, a blood-red racing stripe off center running down the center of the jet.

A figure moves around the plane, hands roaming over it like a jockey checking a prize stallion before a race. It glances up and moves towards you as you walk up.

As the figure approaches, details detach themselves from the dim light of the night surrounding you. Short cropped hair, probably light brown or blond, a narrow face and neck, probably European. She's dressed in a flat black jumpsuit, a series of flat panel readouts running up her left arm. She glances at Lyra and back to you, apparently unsurprised to see you arrive out of nowhere from the desert.

"I was told one.", she says briskly.

Freddie
Freddie smiles to himself. Prague? I love Prague. Twelve hundred clicks, eighteen hours to get there? I better get moving if I want to have time for a nap after I arrive.
He leaves the shadows with the reluctance of any creature born to them, raised in them, home in them. He heads back the way he came, reaching White-Kennet Street in a moment and waves down a cab "Marlybone and Baker please", he tells the Orc at the wheel.
Walking the rain soaked half a block to 25B, he wonders what could be so important. Usually he's involved in not only planning, but in whether or not the Op in question should be run. Not always, or course. Where ever the Brothers think he is most useful is where he'll be.

Hanging his brown Secure Longcoat and brown fedorah on the coat rack, dripping on the front rug, Freddie hits the message button on his telcom and lets it play, while he goes to the refrigerator and removes a sealed metal tin. Within is found a kilo of raw meat, courtesy of the brotherhoods contacts at the morgue. He quickly cuts it into chucks, putting about half on a saucer and half in a ziplock bag which he drops on the counter.
Still chewing, he strips off the slightly damp Saville Row suit, removing everything associated with the name Robert Englund from it and dropping it in the wall safe in his bedroom. Taking a pre-packed suit bag and duffle from the closet, he prepares for the trip. Form fitting body armor, secure ultra-vest, jeans, flannel shirt and rain suit. Taking the silver stick with the name Wes Craven on it and two certified sticks from the safe, he locks it, spinning the dial twice. He grabs his snack bag, puts it inside the rain suit, and heads down the back stairway into the garage.
There, he finds his gleaming Harley-Davidson Electroglide waiting for him. The duffle goes on the rack, the suit bag gets bungee corded to the back seat, the helmet gets strapped on and he rolls out of the garage.
He grins beneath his helmet as he guns the huge engine and heads for the freeway.
Stopped at a light he thinks Twelve hundred clicks. Should be there and in bed by morning. He spins the tires as he takes a left across trafic and hits the on ramp at 110.

Minako
Holding the bow deep and waitng for Izumi to turn away first, she waits to sound of the door closing. The finality of the sound sends a shover down her spine. She straightens and braces herself for the city outside the walls of the garden. Stepping from the walkway, she moves down the path to the outer gate. Already she can hear the run falling and sounds of cars passing by.

Pausing by the gate, she opens the bambo umbrella, and steps gingerly out in the flow of people moving along the street. Almost immediately she feels the ripple through the crowd at the sight of her kimono and traditional makeup. She suppresses the urge to giggle at the reaction as she glides down the street. Stopping at the corner, she struggles to hail down a cab. She's glad for the make up to cover her red face at this unseemly behaviour. Finally, a young woman stops and gets her cab. Smiling and giving a grateful bow and slides into the back of the cab. She gives her address and sits back, relaxing for the first time since her visit began to Izumi's.

Looking out the window, she watches the grey old exterior of Prague pass by. She once again feels the dizzying sense of being swallowed whole by the sheer age of the city. Even after being here for over 3 years, she stills feels a pang of longing for her home. The gardens, the quiet and the language tug at her, whispers of comfort and belonging but she pushes them aside. When a member of the Council asks you to come and stay for awhile, you recognize there was never a question but rather an edict. Despite her fondness for Tashi she still found the change hard to bear at times. With a start, the driver annouces her arrival at the address. Fumbling at her pouch, she asks for forgiveness for her rudeness and overpays the driver to cover her lapse in attention.

Stepping back into the cold and rain, she quickly moves to the cover the roof hanging over the entryway to her home provides. She unlocks the door and crosses the threshold, feeling the tingle of the wards as she does so. Sliding out of her shoes and slipping on a pair of house sandles, she places the umbrella in a stand near the door. Walking down the hall, she only pauses to turn the lights on. The small modest space is washed in a warm electric glow from the lamps scattered around the room. While humble and small, she still feels comforted by her things. Moving to a table with a cushion set to the side. She folds herself into the cushion and removes a small wooden box from a nearby table. A series of touches and the box pops open. Pulling out a small slik drawstring puch. She takes a moment to center herself and then reaches into the bag and scatters a handful of coins to the table.

Let us see what the fates hold for me....

He sits by the fire and stares into the flames, a big figure in dark leathers, looking like something primal from the dawn of time. It's easy enough to picture this same figure sitting beside a fire, humming the same rythmic chants under his breath as he prepares himself to go out the next day to bring down the great mammoth that will feed his tribe. His shoulder length hair, unbraided for the first time that day, hangs about his face but cannot hide the rough square face, the protuding tusks, or the leather-like red skined features.

Softly, like the wind rustling the trees, he chants to himself, rocking in time to his own tune. His hands move of their own will, caressing the tomahawk and knife and his belt, the traditional weapons of his people. Then they reach out and touch the still warm corpse of the deer, covering his fingers in the blood of the fresh kill, using it to draw on his war paint.

Most Navajos revile anything to do with death, they view it as unclean, but to him it was an acknowledgement to the natural way.

That one must live another must die, this is the Way and it is right.

Prepared now, he rises, and with only a nod to his pack leader he runs silently into the night.

Jason Donovan looks up from the note, taking in Kelly's slight frown. The expression is echoed on his face, as he was quite fond of these dinners with the bubbly reporter, and the verbal sparring that usually accompanied them. The small pang of regret was short-lived though, as the excitement of a new assignment worked it's particular kind of magic on the lean, elegantly-attired elf.

"No, not work. Merely a small favor for a friend, but unfortunately it is pressing just the same. I sincerely regret having to cut our dinner short, but I know you, of all people, know how it is."

He pauses, finishing the glass of red wine while the red-haired elf half-heartedly presses him for more information. His genuine smile of amusement is reflected in his violet eyes as he shakes his head in response.

"You just don't ever give up, do you?"

The blond elf chuckles as he signals the waiter for the bill.

"If I had anything to tell you Kelly, you know that I would. Unfortunately though, I have to cut things short now, but I'll be sure to make it up to you next time I'm in London." His grin broadens even further as he gives the trid reporter a wink. "I'll even let you choose the place next time."

Jason slots his credstick, absently noting the big bite that the restaurant takes from his account, then with one final apology he takes his leave. The bustling London street is full of activity, and in no time at all the elf finds himself in the backseat of one of the city's large taxis, on his way to the small airfield.

:: With no more than a hint of a smile towards the friendly interaction, the small rabbit reaches up and presses a floating key nearby which triggers a shared screen to spawn between the two comical figures. On it, lists the complex charts and tables that represent the various assets Nevermore possesses scatter throughout a dozen investment portfolios, international bank accounts and other less than legal resources. ::

"I need you to free up a 100k from the caymen accounts and the Novatech portfolio, wherever it will impact your grand master plan the least. Have it available on the Drechter SIN. Also, I need a flight out of Florance sometime tonight, no later than necessary to arrive in Prauge before noon tomorrow. I'll need to carry my gear so I'll be travelling as Monette Soullier to use her diplomatic papers. Be on your toes, I may have need of you shortly after the meeting I am headed to. Questions?"

As he was thinking of calling Adam back, Will came up with the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. He had probably gotten all the information the councilor was going to give him. It wasn't a reassuring thought, but he'd just have to see what was waiting for him in Prague.

Pulling up at the airport, Will placed a call to Kook. "Evening, Kook. What's the obscure fact of the day?"

Izzy amiably slings his arm over Lyra's shoulders and says with a cheery brightness uncommon to those still awake at this hour of the night, "Oh, you mean her? I think she's just a spectral fragment conjured up by your imagination. Am I right, sis?"

Lyra pouts and expels a soft sigh. One blink later, the place where her body was a moment ago is occupied only by air. The only thing that seems out of place is the disarranged pile of clothes crumpled together on the ground where the young woman stood before. Izzy kneels down, sweeps up the garments and stuffs them into his suitcase in one smooth motion before standing back up.

The young magician flashes the pilot his most charming smile. "See? Nothing to worry about. Now what say we get this show on the road?"

You owe me one. I happen to like riding airplanes.

Quit your whining, I'll get you something nifty when we get to Prague.

Freddie glides off the freeway and on to Belohorska at 530 AM. Seven and a half hours. Not bad. I’ll be in bed by sun up.
Five minutes later, he rolls left on Keplertova and pulls up in front of the art nouveau façade of the Savoy. The very proper desk clerk looks prepared to throw this obvious interloper out, but after slotting the credstick he finds that Mr. Craven has been a guest several times before. His entire personality instantly changes as he hands the credstick back and asks “so will we be needing a suite?”
“Yes, of course” the cultured British accent belying his street trash origins. “I’ll need a bachelor’s suite for at least three days.”
“Of course sir”, he slides over a passcard. “Mr. Craven, this card will get you into your room, the parking garage, the relaxation center and the Continental Lounge located on the top floor. If there is anything else you need, my name is Jan Ryba. Please feel free to call me personally. My private extension can be reached by dialing 133 on any phone in the hotel. Enjoy your stay at the Savoy sir.”
I really love having my butt kissed.
“Thank you Jan. Please put in a 4pm wakeup call for me and make sure I’m not disturbed before then. Thank you.”
Going back outside, he rides his bike down the ramp to the parking garage just as the sun is coming up over the buildings to the east. He parks the bike, grabs his gear, heads up the elevator to his suite on the thirty fifth floor. Five minutes of organizing, five minutes to shower and he’s asleep by 6am.

Twilight sits in front of the mirror, his skin a patchwork of colors, mottled and unclear. Who am I today?

Focussing his thoughts into a single name and sense of identity, slowly the form of a Parisian boils out. Flesh smooths out in a continuous shade, hair color darkens. I am Rhys MacAvee.

Rhys stared at the mirror, waiting for the sense of oneness and personal identity to click in. Once that sense of self is established, he goes through the breathing exercises that would allow him to maintain the minor glamour until the time came to Become again.

Lifting his bag over one shoulder and carrying the small tote in his other, he left the hotel behind. Taking the cab to the airport, the mid-thirties male with dark brown hair checks his tote and slots his cred-stick for the appropriate identification and permits to clear.

With a curt nod to the woman behind the counter, Rhys waits for his flight.

Freddie - The room is posh, but that's too be expected. The service has always been exceptional, and it should be, considering what you pay per night. Even though you just arrived, the bedsheets are already turned down, and room itself has a feeling of just recently having been freshened.

Per your instructions on previous visits, the blinds have been pulled in all the rooms to block the windows, and 2 bottles of your favorite beverage are cooling in electric buckets, guaranteed to keep them at exactly 72.4 degrees, until such time as you choose to partake.

Minako - The coins clatter across the surface of the table and fall into a familiar alignment - Chun - Difficulty at the begining.

The ancient texts surface in your mind, unbidden, in accordance to the scriptures of the I-Ching, and the mana flowing within you twists, subtley changing a few key points in response to the extension of your will:
Nine at the beginning means:
Hesitation and hindrance.
It furthers one to remain persevering.
It furthers one to appoint helpers.

Six in the second place means:
Difficulties pile up.
Horse and wagon part.
He is not a robber;
He wants to woo when the time comes.

Six in the fourth place means:
Horse and wagon part.
Strive for union.
To go brings good fortune.
Everything acts to further.

Nine in the fifth place means:
Difficulties in blessing.
Great perseverance brings good fortune.

Izzy - The pilot raises both eyebrows up towards the line of her close cropped hair, but she says nothing as you scoop the female garments into your suitcase and turns on her heel, striding back towards the Thunderbird.

You have approximately 30 seconds to get yourself situated after you pile into the back of the craft. The majority of the space is cleared out and rigged to tie down cargo, but there are 8 jumpseats in the back, hard, plastic ones that fold down from the walls. She leans over her shoulder and calls back over the roar of the T-birds engines picking up, "Max said enjoy the accomodations, whatever that means."

The jet leaps from the landing strip, the sound of the air moving over the fuselage and the low-key rumbling of the engines making further verbal communication impossible. It doesn't climb high, and never seems to really level out as the pilot proceeds to push the engines well past screaming for the majority of the flight, quick banks and tight turns punctuating the trip.

The landing is just as abrupt as the takeoff. Not jarring, but no wasted space or motion. After a quick check to make sure you're able to work yourself free of the webbed harness attaching you to the seats, she heads outside and proceeds to move through another check over the aircraft, her business with you apparently done now that you've arrived.

Will - The voice of a young boy with a heavy Chutney accent echos back over the line. "Did you know the largest Behemoth that's ever been recorded was 3.4 meters in length, stood 1.8 meters tall at the shoulder, and weighed over 5,000 kilos?" Kook never sounded quite the same twice in a row.

Twilight - The womans glances off briefly in the distance, the distracted look of someone accessing internal memory or displays, and glances back to you with a smile, nodding and indicating that you may proceed with your boarding.

Nevermore - The Mad Hatter cackles ruefully, shaking his head. "Always all business with you...should loosen up, come by for tea.." He sweeps the oversized tophat off his head, reaching in and withdrawing a slim packet of papers. He hands them to you...an e-confirmation for your flight, leaving in 4 hours, arriving in Prague at 11:59am. He motions towards the window you've opened.

"Funds are transferred, and you're booked first class. Don't you have anything interesting for me to do?" Despite the crazy lilt to his voice, he almost sounds eager.

Fortune - At mention of your assumed name, the attendant behind the counter at the small airfield directs you to a hanger out near the edge of the tarmac. Inside the cavernous space, a small vessel sits, wings short and stubby, very low to the ground. A tall, slightly overweight figure pushes himself out from underneath it as you walk in.

"Fortune!" Nomad's eyes whirr in the dim lighting, adjusting to focus on you. He stands, patting the small craft lovingly. "Isn't she a beaut?" The vehicle is anything but beautiful, and resembles most a large, multi-port jet engine with a cockpit strapped on the front.

"She'll do over Mach 3! I can't wait to get her in the air...glad you're the first fare. For some reason, alot of my other passengers get airsick. Eh, that's why I prefer to move non-living cargo." The elf shrugs, reaching over to take your bags and tuck them away in the belly of the tiny aircraft.

John Walker - The helicopter is as you left it, undisturbed beneath the canvas netting covering the basic form of the aircraft. Firing it up takes just a few minutes, and soon enough you're airborne and headed from Prague, the Black Forest falling behind you.

Will let out a low whistle at the fact of the day. "That's one big critter. Anyways, was about to hop a flight to Prague, and was wondering what you knew about the place. Particularly about the local Underworld scene."

Kook was eccentric, that's for sure. With his encyclopediac knowledge, he was a sought out individual in the Hunter community. On the rare occasions the decker didn't know the answers, it was astonishing just how fast he was able to find out. He wondered just what sort of deals he had going....but for now, he was content to absorb what Kook had to offer.

"Merci, Madame."

Hefting his carry-on bag higher on to his shoulder, Rhys boards the aircraft. He stows the bag beneath the seat in front of him and idly flips through the datafeeds for emergency procedures and in-flight purchases.

Settling into the seat, it would only be a matter of time until the plane took off and landed halfway across the continent. He had time to read and think on the nebulous nature of the future.

Twilight - The flight is uneventful, but satisfying in that way that only a quickly and competently made travel arrangement can be. You're passed through customs on the other end with a minimum of fuss, probably thanks to the diplomatic status you enjoy. A cab quickly takes you out to your hotel arrangements, a quaint, ancient hotel that more then makes up for it's lack of modern day amenities with pure, old world style charm.

Will - The voice of the young boy hrrmms into the phone. "Prague's pretty hot, at least in light of the Low Council and those associated with it. Lots of vamps, some Animus, not alot of elves and fairy's, and even fewer Hengiyoki. The culture's a little more superstituous, so more stuff gets passed over there then in some other cities, so watch your back. Anything specific you're looking for?"

:: The rabbit jumps up, snatching the outstretched packet in it's mouth before head-butting the bottom of the top hat, causing it to flip upwards and land on Fissures head askew. ::

"Keep your hat on, Mon cherie. I have a feeling I'll have something interesting approximately 24 hours from now.

"Oh, and tea is for British weaklings, but you're always welcome to pop over for a good russian vodka. It'll put hair on your chest."

:: Without giving Fissure a chance to respond, Nevermore logs out of the secured system and transfers the files provided to her pocket secretary before closing down the terminal. Collecting her gear, she double checks that everything she'll need is packed and heads downstairs. ::

:: Handing the bags to an older gentleman waiting in the foyer, she slips into a charcoal grey designer long coat. ::

"Frederick, please have the car ready tomorrow morning at 7am. I will be going to the airport, these bags will be traveling with me. Can you please attach the Soullier diplomatic seal to the rucksack, but leave the gun case unsealed. Also, have Angie bring the Saab around."

:: Nevermore loved the Saab. It was the only car in the Lord's garages that actually belonged solely to her and she took great pride in every customization it had. She smiled as the smooth inky black machine rolled up outside the front entrance as a pert blonde in mechanics overalls hopped out of the drivers side. ::

"Just had her oil changed and rotated her tires. She'll need a new dose of nitrous very soon, but they're on backorder so it'll be another week or so. Try to save it in case you need it."

:: Nevermore nodded once as she passed the young mechanic and slipped into luxurious leather bucket seat. The car shot off into the night leaving nothing but another layer to the tracks already burned into the long driveway. ::

:: The clubs were loud and the crowds were brutal. Nevermore tried her luck in the arena's under Club Noir and utterly trounced a troll bruiser before embarrassing the current favorite brawler, a martial artist from China. The asian had managed to nick her shoulder with a rather impressive maneuver backed up by a force of will only a dying man can muster, but in the end, it was a rather futile effort. She did get a pretty good workout with a Tiger shapeshifter though. In the end, Nevermore's resistance to damage won out over the Tigers ability to regen constantly and though the match was called a draw as neither seemed able to deal a fatal blow, Nevermore was clearly the dominate fighter. ::

:: As usual, she signed her winnings back over to the pit bosses. In the beginning, they had tried keeping her out of the rings when it became clear that her vicious competitiveness and gifts the powerful vampire blood coursing through her system gave her an unbelievable advantage in the rings. ::

:: She didn't care about the money though, she just liked the thrill of combat to the death and made a deal with the scum that ran the arena in order to continue her regular exercise. They'd keep her winnings, she could keep killing their prize fighters. A win-win situation as far as she was concerned. ::

:: Arriving home with just enough time to shower and change, she traded the Saab for a chauffeured Phaeton and headed to the airport. Fissure had done well. The small jet was waiting on the runway and after slipping her guns in the metal case, she attached the Diplomatic seal to the case before exiting the limo and heading up the steel staircase into the plane. It wasn't a private chartered flight, but out of the 12 available seats, only 4 were occupied. The flight attendant checked her bags, taking only a moment check her identification against the diplomatic seals before allowing passenger and baggage to settle in for the flight. ::

:: She had mixed feelings about Prague. The old world nature of it hinted at a past that she had forgotten and kept buried away where it could not cause her pain, but also seemed to fit like an old leather glove. It reminded her of home, both the good and the bad. ::

:: Heading directly to the Rental Car counter, she procures a Leyland-Zil Tsarina under the identity of Jane Truesdell, a mid level exec from Boston and politely declines the offer of added insurance. Checking her watch, she smiles as she has a little more than 5 hours to find and survey the meeting location. ::

Will hmmmed at that. Seems the vamps were a primary suspect there. Well, unless someone just liked the superstitious city for a staging ground. "Have you heard anything about someone trying to pull together a big op?" he asked. It was a long shot, but if anyone knew what Adam wouldn't or couldn't tell him, it was Kook.

Will - You can actually hear the voice of Kook blink over the line. "Hrm....no, no I haven't. I know there's been more activity then usual in the news banks, lots of deleting and replacing going on. Haven't really looked into it though."

Walker allowed the autopilot to manage the donkey work as he pointed the chopper towards the Balkans, he had some calls to make. First to his fixer friend Cairn to arrange for a set of IDs that'll get him through the mire that's Prague's Matrix systems. Nothing terribly fancy just enough to allow him to register at a hotel without using his real name if the need came up. He'd also have to arrange for a rental car and some other ammenities, he'd brought along his Secure Ultravest but relatively little wardrobe, thinking he'd be heading back to Berlin where he'd been staying before the hunt.

Realizing that a summons from the Elders meant something unusual was happening he figured he would need back up, so he settled himself, closed his eyes and sent out a mental summons.

Echo, come meet me in Prague my dear, I believe there is trouble.

Most magicians who had familiar spirits kept them close by but Walker had always believed that Echo deserved to be granted freedom to explore her own interests as well. Generally, when he was with Gualt's pack he allowed her to spend the time as she willed, the only requirement that nothing she did should come back to haunt him. So far she'd never broken that prohibition.

Handing a few euros over to the cabbie, Rhys thanked him and slid his bags out of the backseat.

He checks in to the hotel, takes the key and goes to his room. The archaic charm sets him at ease. Drawing a small basin full of water to set on the counter, Rhys glances at his reflection in the water.

Dipping his hands into the water, he freshens up. The water washes across his face. Each droplet pulls away a piece of self-control until once again Twilight looks into the basin. Each ripple distorts the reflection, no piece clear.

He pulls out his large coat and unzips his tote bag. When the Court spoke, danger would be near. Sliding knives into the bandoleer sewn along the inner left panel of the coat, the patchwork man sighs quietly to himself and extends his mind and senses. On the right, the small extendable batons slid into hidden pockets.

For a meeting with the Lower Council, it would be unseemly to bring in anything heavier.

When it was time, he slid into the snug fitting armor and his black jumpsuit. Settling his coat over his shoulders, Twilight poured the basin of water back into the sink and set out. Walking through the streets would help him re-establish a link to the Old World.

A strong sense of unease settles over her as she deciphers the coins before her. While the business of the Low Council was often perilous, it rarely exploded into violence and death yet there was something here in this reading. A danger she did not see yet or may not before it was too late. Sighing heavily, she returns the coins and their bag to its proper resting place.

Moving to the bed, she begins to shed the layers of silk and robes while pondering the configuration of the coins. Sensing the stirring of deeper currents in the world around her, her skin prickles and a shiver moves across her skin.

Old things are moving into the city, dark things from ages past.

The thought drives sleep from her bones as she lies back into the bed, drawing the blankets around her taking comfort from their flase promise of safety and security. She silents prays that the coming darkness will pass her by and spare humanity. There was little there could do before such a dark tide. She will rise in the morning, dress accordingly and attend the gathering. Hopefully, she was wise enough to see the signs in enough time to divert any lasting harm. With that she falls into a light and fitful sleep.

A small child moves into the room, only after she was certain Minako was asleep, from a smalladjacent room. Her features spoke of a blood relation to the sleeping woman either a grandchild or perhaps a young cousin. She moves to put her discarded garmets away properly, clucking under her breath at her usual disregard for order and decorum. As soon as the door closed, this world was the only one for her it seemed. Moving to the closet, she begins to lay out tomorrow's attire. Layer by layer is arranged and few choice pieces of jewelery left out as suggestions to compliment the clothing selected. After a moment's thought, the young girl removes a long thin wood box from the back of the closet. She opens the box to look over the sleeves inside. Satisfied she closes the box and lays it near the clothes. One last look around, she moves to the entryway to turn off the lights.

The room is swallowed up by the night and the sound of the rain.

Novel and unique. Someone with chips from Adam to be called in was forming up an op, and Kook hadn't heard about it. Nothing like a challenge to get the decker going. "I'd appreciate if you'd look into it. Depending on the terms of agreement, I might be able to tell you about my end."

"Nomad!"

Jason strides forward and clasps the chubby elf's hand.

"Looking good. You're a fair way from home, but it's great to see you again."

Admiring the large, ugly aircraft that the rigger is so obviously proud of, Jason nods in approval, his wide smile carefully concealing the momentary feelings of trepidation at the thought of flying in the monstrous vehicle, especially with a thrillseeker like Nomad at the helm.

The golden-haired elf climbs aboard, following the rigger's instructions as he straps himself in for what should, if the size of those turbines is any indication, prove to be a fairly short flight.

Freddie awakens at 3pm on his own. He doesn't open his eyes until his ears and nose tell him he's alone. Until he knows why he's here, he prefers to stay that way. If he's here to kill, it's better that no one who knows him can place him here. He's just another face in the crowd. One of many near-by just another death in the night.
After stretching out and cleaning up, he finishes the last of the meat, and drops the bag in the incinerator.
Time to get ready.
He stands in front of the mirror and concentrates for a moment and with a sudden ripple, the 2 meter, bald, lanky, naked man is replaced with an image of Stevie Nicks in full Rhianon attire, lacy shawl and all. Another moment of concentration and he hands over the sustaining of the spell to the silver ring on his right hand.
He casts another, and he floats off the floor. A wrinkle of his now unlined brow, and he settles back down. This spell he pushes off to the St. Christopher's medal around his neck.
How nice, monster to Goddess in 3 minutes flat.
Getting into his regular business meeting clothes, form fitting body armor, Brooks Brothers suit, Mortimer Great coat, Charcol Fedorah and black wrap around sunglasses would be disconcerting without previous practice, as the clothes disappeared below the illusion when he put them on. Those whom he was meeting with would most likely see right through the disguise, but to the Blind he would be just another beautiful, eccentric woman in a city filled with beautiful, eccentric women.
By the time he's ready, it's only four. About an hour to sundown.
Time for Stevie to get a drink, and maybe some steak tartare before I head off to the meet.
Stevie floats from the room, her feet barely touching the floor.

Freddie - The weight of hundreds of years of history settles on your shoulders as you move out into the city. The Blind are laughing, joking, smiling, moving about their day, oblivious to the presence of a monster among them. It's still daylight when you leave the hotel, but the masking spell does an excellent job of concealing the constant irritation on your features at the brightness of the light.

Twilight - The location is situated on the corner of a block of buildings, all at least two stories tall, some of them taller. It, like the buildings around it, looks done in an architectural style that went out of vogue some centuries ago. The Blind come, the Blind go, and at least one of them, a young woman walking with her date, who isn't Blind, probably won't be around tomorrow. You sense at least one thing that moves unseen, gliding through your sense like an invisible fog, pausing for a moment in front of the door of your meet location before abruptly passing beyond your ability to track. At the same moment, hear the creak and the soft click of a door opening and closing, although the door you can see remains closed.

A short while after you arrive and begin your watch, a slim woman joins you in your vigil, apparently staking out the same location. She does an excellent job of being unobtrusive, however, and you're positive that the majority of the people moving by even a few feet away from her are unaware of her presence.

Nevermore - The location itself is unremarkable, boasting no more space then a local shopkeep along the street, a mere two stories tall. The tight cofiguration assures that every building is pressed closed to it's neighbor, inevitably sharing a wall.

By the time you arrive, there is already another watcher. He, like you, seems to move very unobtrusively through the crowds, untouched and somewhat seperate, and carries himself much unlike one of the Blind.

The only interesting occurence over the course of your observation is the sound of footsteps moving up to the door you're watching, and the sounds of a door opening and closing, although the only door you can see appears to remain solidly closed.

Walker - You feel/hear the soft mental echo that is Echo's affirmative reply. The trip takes a little more then 6 hours, but you've plenty of time before the meet once you touch down at the tiny airfield a few miles from the city itself.

Fortune - As the elf slides into the pilots seat directly in front of you, he calls back over his shoulder, "You know, I've made some tweaks to the engine, and I'm betting I can do 4!" Your trepidation does not ease at these words, and the small, studdy craft noses out of the hanger and onto the tarmac. You can still hear the tower giving him clearance over the radio as Nomad punches the throttle and the craft shoots forward, like a barely restrained animal on a thin leash. Seconds after you start moving you're airborne, with a long, looping roll as he re-orients the craft, and the craft continues to accelerate. He begins to climb as well, the nose of the craft rising above the horizon as you jet into the sky. The trip is over in a little less then 2 hours, the long arc of your trajectory not technically taking you into sub-orbit, according to Nomad, but pretty damn close. You here a whoop sometime during the descent as your pilot continues to accelerate almost to the very end of the flight. You might surmise he managed to break some record he was holding for himself, but your brain, along with the rest of your internal organs, is in questionable condition after pulling several g's that long.

Will Davis - You can almost hear Kook nodding. "I'll start pulling the records and cross-referencing the missings spots with whatever else I can get ahold of. Probably won't have any worthwhile for a day or two, but I'll call you then.

Minako - The day dawns pale and grey, similar to many a morning in this old world city. Your tasks and the portents for them lay before you, options opening and closing with the movement and the flow of karma, twisting as it collects the disparate threads of living into the complexly woven tapestry of life.

Walker takes the time to drop off his few items at his hotel, and clean up before the meeting. When its time to leave he pulls on some of the thick armored clothing that was his normal wear and then his SecureTech Ultravest. The only weapons he carries are the tomahawk and long knife he'd spent so long creating, which fit into the custom sheathes under the back of his vest. A little ackward to draw, at least they weren't in plain view for the public to see. Anyone seriously looking would see them easily enough but he hated it when people in the streets began running away when he went out for a stroll.

Prepared, he heads for the meeting.

Half an hour after his arrival in the city of Prague, Izzy finds himself in the lobby of a three star hotel with modest furnishings. He strides up to the elven concierge with a friendly smile on his face and slides his credstick across the counter. The elf scans the credstick and verifies its contents with remarkable alacrity before handing the device back to Izzy.

"Welcome to the Wharton Hotel, Mr. McManus. May I inquire as to how long you will be staying with us?" the concierge asks, his voice tinged with a soft Russian accent.

"Please put me down for two days," Izzy replies.

"Done. If you have any questions or necessities, please do not hesitate to ask for our help. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Thank you, my good man. I'm sure I will."

Once in his room, Izzy dumps his luggage into the closet and grabs himself a seat on a recliner. A quick glance at the electronic clock by the lamp desk tells him that he still has two hours to spare before the scheduled time for the meet. Izzy takes a minute to consider his next move. Upon reaching a decision, he snaps his fingers and three spectral forms slowly apparate in the air in front of him. Connoisseurs of old twentieth century films will recognize the trio to be the infamous long-deceased actors: Moe Howard, Curly Howard, and Larry Fine.

"What's up, boss?" they chant in unison.

"Okay, stooges," Izzy says. "We have another mission before us, and my gut thinks that this one is going to be a whammy. I'm just summoning you guys to tell you to be on your toes. Keep a vigilant watch, and be sure to inform Lyra of anything unusual that you find. When in doubt, report. Remember what I've taught you. If you miss anything, you can forget about attending your beloved strip clubs for a month."

"Got it, boss!"

"We're on it, captain!"

"They're called gentlemen's clubs, sir!"

"Dismissed!" Izzy commands.

Cackling madly with glee, the three spirits take off in separate directions, vanishing as they disappear through the walls.

"I don't know why you even bother keeping those idiots around. How can you trust them?"

Izzy looks over to the bed and discovers that his sister has finally decided to show up. He responds, "They're good at their job, despite what initial impressions may betray. You've seen the suckers in action."

Lyra shrugs and starts pulling on clothes, mixing and matching different garments to create outrageously eccentric outfits that would immediately give any fashion-conscious individual a fatal heart attack upon first sight. Izzy politely turns aside and starts thumbing through a tourist magazine that was left on the desk by the previous occupant of the room. When Lyra has at last decided upon an outfit, she bounces off the bed and kneels down besides Izzy. Izzy tosses the magazine aside and takes her hand, looking her in the eyes.

"What I told the stooges was true. I have an uneasy feeling about this job that I can't quite place. It will undoubtedly contain many risks, and those who walk in may not walk back out. You are not obligated to tread the same path as I - I just want you to know that."

"I know," Lyra says firmly. "I'm with you."

Izzy nods. "I'm going to drop by the place of the meet to give it a quick astral once over to check for any anomalies. Stay here to watch my body."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

Izzy grins. "I'll be fine."

One second the young magician is wide awake and alert, and the next he's slumped over, his eyes closed and his mind robbed of its sensitivities to the world outside his body. Lyra throws one of his arms over her shoulders and hauls him to the bed, gently placing him down. She climbs up to take a seat beside his unconscious body, grabs the remote control for the flatscreen trideo, and starts flipping through channels.

---

Izzy opens his eyes to the astral plane and takes flight.

"Well, assuming I haven't walked into a trap by then, I'll be looking forward to hearing your report. But let's not be negative. Hopefully I'll have a couple more pieces of the puzzle for you by the time you call back. Catch you later." Winding up his call with Kook, Will headed out to catch his charter flight. Boring wasn't going to be an adjective applied to this trip.

Jason was very pleased that the flight, short though it might have been, was finally over. He remained sitting in the cramped aircraft seat for several minutes after it had come to a stop, just to make sure that he still maintained control of his own body.

After several minutes, the elf gingerly extracts himself from the vehicle, grinning to the pudgy, purple-mohawked rigger who was just pulling his bag from its compartment.

"Nice ride Nomad! I take it you actually made 4."

Will Davis - The flight is nice, first class thankfully, and the stewardess, a pert, brunette elf that seems much taken with your somewhat hardened appearance, adds a card with her LTG to your last drink. The city is much as you remember it, Old World style still presiding, with just the occasional glint of steel and glass to remind one that you're in the 21st century.

Fortune - "You know it, abbil. I knew it could, what'd I tell you?" He pats the side of the machine adoringly as you collect your bags.

Izzy withdraws his consciousness back into his body at the hotel and opens his eyes. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he heads to his duffel bag, unzips it, and begins pulling out articles.

"What did you see?" Lyra inquires.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," the slender young man says over his shoulder, stringing up a sash of coins to his waist. "Two people, a man and a woman, have already established a watch over the place, but I don't think that they're enemies. Both are apparently mundane, but I wouldn't discount the possibility that they've got the talent - if they do, they're at least as good as I am. Or, as the case may possibly be, better than I am."

Throwing a cloak over his shoulders, he turns around and grins, his eyes twinkling with the promise of adventure. "This ought to be interesting. Let's go."

Five minutes finds Izzy gliding out towards his destination in the form of a falcon, sailing the thermals with an unlikely dragonfly hitching a ride on his back.

Will pocketed the card with a subtle nod to the woman. She was fairly attractive, though being an elf, it tended to come with the package. Even ugly elves tended to come off as descent. And unlike some Hunters, he could accept that most elves were just as descent as your average joe. Unlike the ancient ones who had been at the game of power for longer than he cared to think about.

Deciding not to think about it, he instead focused on the task ahead. If he found any spare time in between, mabey then he could think about looking up the stewardess. First things first, he collected his bags and hopped a cab to a hotel he had frequented before. Nothing high class, but still had a bit of a homey feel to it. He wondered if he'd be seeing much of it during his stay.

Having found a home for his luggage, Will found himself once more on the move. Sooner or later he'd find some time to catch some sleep. But for now he needed to get a look at the meet sight. And whoever else might be deciding to scope it out as well.

Twilight takes his concentration away from the scene at hand and thinks as he begins to walk away.

The only way an entity could be mundane without a physical body would be to have a projection of the spirit manifest in such a place. That meant a mage was involved, one powerful enough to travel through the city and tempt the Lower Council by his presence but not strike out. Perhaps the answer would be more apparent later, for now there was at least one invisible entity, cloaked in illusion or more powerful works.

The skin color smooths out enough so as to not raise suspicions, slowly blending as he walks down an alleyway between buildings. Stepping out in to the next boulevard, the elf heads for a nearby street cafe. It takes some convincing, but soon he is walking back toward the meet site with two moderately sized coffees.

He sits down on the steps of a nearby building, and sips his coffee. Nonchalantly, he raises the other cup in an offer to the mysterious figure in the expensive car.

The smell of fresh tea pushes its way through her groggy thoughts as Minako claws her way to awake. The dim light of the dawn washes the room in subdued tones as she tosses back the comforter and makes her way to the small tea service. Picking up the small cup, she sips as she looks over the clothes laid out for today. With a faint smile, she looks over the jewelery laid out, selecting a set that matches her mood. Placing the other pieces back away, she takes a seat and grimaces at the sight of her ruined make up from the day before. That would teach her not to take the extra time before stumbling into bed.

Opening a few drawers she begins the task of removing the make up and preparing her face for a new application today. She goes over her daytime plans while doing it. A quick stop at the market, visit a few friends and then home to change for the meeting tonight. She makes a mental note to call a car service today to make arrangements for this evening. The uncertainity of taxis would have to wait for a night when she had more time to waste. Taking one last look at her face and satisified with what she sees, she turns and moves back to the small table. Grimacing at the sight of the breakfast pastries, she moves them aside and removes several small boxs from underneath the table. Removing the lids, she gingerly withdraws several aged scrolls. Her face lights up at the sight of them as she carefully unrolls them and begins to read over them.

Time passes......

Stepping from the car, she takes a look around and turns to the driver, words are exchanged, and the car drives off. She takes a position at the address she hopes appears casual, well as casual as she could.

Freddie smiles. It's been a while since I've worn Stevie. She appears to be a popular choice. I wonder if any of these even recognize her. Well, maybe some one will this evening. No telling who you'll meet at an Undercouncil meeting. He smiles, remembering the night in London when he met the woman he was sure Stevie was singing about. Luckily, I was wearing Robert Plant that evening.
As he nears his destination, he considers masking his aura, but decides not to. The power of some of these undercouncil members was near godlike, and there was no point in making himself look silly.
Flowing with the crowds, he makes two passes in front of the door. Enough to let other watchers know he's not trying to hide. He finds a seat at a sidewalk caffee a block up the street, orders a cappuccino, and waits.

Murmuring under his breath as Freddie passes, his aura spiking along Twilight's magic sense.

"I once was Blind, but now I see."

The city's foul air left a familiar burn as he scented it, seeking familiar scents, anything unusual to warn him of danger. His hearing was acute enough to hear the rodents scurrying in the dark alley shadows twenty feet away. He moved with the bold, long legged stride of a predator, confident that none in this place would be so foolish as to challenge his right to traveled where he pleased.

Walker closed on the address the Elders had designated, allowing his intellect to worry at the possibilities while his instincts handled the realities. His uncle's warrior training was a deep seated part of his psyche and all of the intellectual pursuits he involved himself in couldn't dull his hunter's edge. He stalked in near silence through the wet concrete and steel trees of this urban jungle. His preternatural senses probing at the darkness and light around him for any predator sufficiently hungry to view him as prey. He'd hunted dangerous creatures on four continents, he knew well the line between predator and prey was thinner than the edge of a knife.

The closer he got to the meeting the more attention he focused on the sensory data flowing to him. His sense sampled the night, seeking sounds, sights, or magic to alert him to danger.

:: Nevermore can't help but smile at the subtle acknowledgement of their shared objective. After taking a moment to weigh the potential dangers, she decides that most likely he is here for the same meeting as she, which means she could easily be working with or against him soon. It would be advantageous to begin a dialogue early. It could either develop into an ally or provide her additional impressions on the opposition. ::

:: Checking her pistols in her holsters, she pulls her jacket over shoulders and exits the exotic car. It's not necessarily overly expensive, but the unusual passenger configuration gives it a slightly alien design. ::

:: Her clothes are standard european fair, dark somber colors, layered clothing to keep out the cold but well tailored to keep her from looking frumpy or overly bundled. ::

:: Her skin is flawless and pale, with dark blue eyes that seem to be unnatural in their darkness. Her hair is inky black with thick full bangs frame her face while the surprising lengths in the back are tied out of her way in a low simple ponytail. Her lips part in a humorless smile at the figure as she takes a seat near him, accepting the coffee with a nod. ::

"Welcome to Prague."

Twilight chose English to start their dialogue. He sips his coffee quietly, a steady contrast to his new companion. With his dischromatic skin and utilitarian coveralls, he is reminiscent of the fairy tale monster, the Patchwork man who eats the souls of mischievous children. Only the tell-tale cloak is missing replaced by a vast sweeping overcoat.

Notes in the stitching would tell the discerning eye that the well-worn coat is actually custom tailored, rather than any one of a hundred other coats found in European department stores for middle class men.

"Wonderful weather we've been having. Much better than the fog in Brittany."

Freddie sipped his cappuccino and looked back at the man who spoke to him as he passed. His aura was obviously masked, as a mundane would never have recognized Freddie, and Freddie chose to respect that. Physically, the elf was rather non-descript, although the overalls were an uncommon sight at this place and time.

Just as Freddie had decided to walk over and start a conversation with the man, a woman sat down beside him. She accepts a cup of coffee and sits down. Well, isn’t this a cozy little party? I guess I’ll join them anyway. What could go wrong?

Freddie leaves his stool and walks back to where the strangers are sitting and says to the man in the coveralls, “when the blind lead the blind, those who can see risk madness”.
Then he had to suppress a giggle as he heard his words coming from Stevie’s mouth, but he covered by smiling and asked “do you mind if I join you?”

"Sit, please. I was just commenting on the weather."

The elf moved over to supply ample space for the newcomer to sit.

"I do not believe introductions have been made. I am Willem. The two of you are?"

Arriving on the scene shortly after the great clock ticks five, Izzy is mildly surprised to discover that the two individuals he had spotted earlier had decided to congregate, and that their number had grown to three in his absence. He briefly considers joining their party for a chat before discarding the idea. There will be more than enough time to make introductions later; certainly, this will be an interesting group to talk to.

Hey, do you know that the girl is really a guy?

Oh really? Which one?

The one with the funky hat.

Good to know.

Izzy greets the coffee crew with a faint nod of the head as he passes by their circle. He walks up to the door of the designated building for the meet, grips the knob and tries it, curious to see what mysteries are awaiting him within the chambers of the edifice.

:: Taking a sip of the well made coffee, she takes a moment survey both her new companions. She weighed the options on whether or not to reveal her identity or use her current pseudonym. In the end, she decides that if this action was meant to develop trust, it was better not to start off with a lie. ::

"I am known as Nevermore, and quite frankly, I prefer the gloom."

:: Her own english is clear and well spoken, but with an underlying accent that hints at eastern eurpoean heritage. ::

Freddie frowns.
"Please forgive the mask I wear, but until I know more about why I'm here, I'm afraid I must keep my name and my face to myself, I hope you understand. I do answer to Bob though. I'm very glad to meet you Nevermore. And you as well Willem"
He turns and nods to the man who walks past and tries the door....