Michael (Jamie ST)

Michael
Sometime early this morning Grace received a text message from her favorite technologically-impaired Chorister priest. It said:

GRACE HI WOULD YOU DO ME A KINDNESS AND SHOW A FRIEND OF MINE AROUND DENVER HIS NAME IS MICHAEL HE IS WITH THE EUTHANATOI AND HIS FLIGHT SHOULD ARRIVE THIS AFTERNOON

He keeps forgetting he doesn't need to hit the shift key when he's starting a new sentence in text messages. With everything he has working against him he is still a somewhat sharp tack. It doesn't take much to remind him hey Padre could you not so much with the shift key kthnx.

It's easy enough to give one or the other of the new acquaintances the other's number. Pan does not do that unless prompted. He must figure the two of them are smart and resilient people who can figure out how to find each other if they're expecting each other.

Poor Grace.

Grace
If the Techs don't already have a file on Grace Evans a mile thick, she'd be surprised, the way people text her with keywords spattered about in them like candy sprinkles in their all-caps sundae.

But hey, security aside... That's Pan.

Of course she responds, and quickly.

Hey! Long time no see! Of course I will do that thing. When in the afternoon? How are you doing?

Michael
The Technocracy have a file on Francisco Echeverría thick as the man's waist before his stroke back in 2013. Though he is of interest he is of no real use to them. So he keeps company with a bunch of freaks out in Denver. No one cares about Denver. Nothing happens there.

Now he's in Los Angeles. They haven't picked up on that yet.

A LAS 4. I AM WELL THANK YOU. HOW ARE THE KIDS?

And on it went. Just because he answered a different call doesn't mean he doesn't keep tabs on Ginger occasionally. He knows how the kids are. He wants to hear an honest answer.

Sometime around two o'clock in the afternoon he texts her again to tell her that Michael's flight just left Los Angeles and it is on time and to thank her again for her help. And that is the last she hears from him for a while. The man is so busy it's a wonder he hasn't just taught himself to text with the power of his mind.

Four o'clock and the flight lands without incident. Where is Grace?

Grace
The kids are restless and rebelious, as they should be. All doing well though.

They're also alive, and tentatively sane, although she doesn't mention that.

Four o'clock, and Grace is waiting for someone at the baggage claim, leaning against a pillar. She doesn't go so far as to draw up a "Welcome, Michael" sign. She just trusts that they'll be able to find each other.

[Perception + Awareness = Can this be really easy, and I just *notice* you, Euthie?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Michael
Denver has not seen a slew of Euthanatos in the amount of time Grace has been there.

One of them was a prominent and patient law professor who was thin and dressed impeccable and kept her fair hair under control. She was quick and deadly with a weapon and she had a brief hand in keeping Elijah out of trouble. This was a task for which Father Echeverría had also made himself available. Elijah is an apprentice of the Order of Hermes now. Life is funny.

Another of them was a young woman who lived in a loft space in the garage at her uncle's house out in Aurora. She came from California and spoke as if she did not have two synapses to rub together but she was a practiced diviner and when Grace was dying she did not hesitate to come to her house and keep her hydrated. Keep her company so she would not be alone if she died in the night.

Were not for the name Grace may well be expecting a blond woman to step off the plane from Los Angeles to Denver. Hell: this is 2015. Michael could still be a blond woman.

She can feel him before she can see him and that's on account of the strength of his Resonance. He feels like a persistent storm and the unending pursuit of resolution. Steady wind and a sense of unraveling. He has Worked recently and she can feel jangling of mental empowerment and spatial expansion in the flavor of his magick.

Then he steps through the bulletproof barricade between the terminals and the baggage claim area. Yet another business-class traveler carrying a briefcase on his way to retrieve his overnight bag. Tall and in the prime of his life he has fair skin and thick dark hair. Hazel eyes. The sort of hazel that are actually blue but appear green because of the brown encasing their irises. No one even pays attention to things like that. He wears a suit and tie and keeps his right hand in his pocket.

If Grace is watching the first thing she can note about Michael is that he is the sort of person who smiles at and thanks airport TSA officers. This is what he does to the grouchy older man who is charged with manning the station by the partition.

For once Grace's trust pays off. Michael looks right at her and then smiles again close-lipped no teeth and takes his right hand out of his pocket to wave before walking towards her.

Grace
What is it with the Euthanatoi and their expressions of power? Michael, in his suit and briefcase is meeting Grace in her jeans-and-sneakers uniform. Her t-shirt today is black with a colorful fractal on it, as though that should have been a sign to the one she's meeting. Chaos math, you know.

At least he doesn't seem to be a jerk.

She watches him come close, and stops leaning against the pillar.

"You're Michael?" she asks.

Michael
For all she knows he is the biggest jerk in the world. Charisma can hide a multitude of sins. But while his resonance is a palpable and strong thing he exudes a warmth that all the fake charisma could not make genuine. Though he does not say so he seems happy to see that she is here.

"Yes," he says. Takes his hand out of his pocket and extends it to her. His voice has no discernible accent. Possibly west coast but he's got a northern sort of paleness to him. He's a handsome fucker. He could have the worst Pittsburgh accent and it would be easy to overlook. "Father Echeverría tells me your name is Grace."

Grace
"That's me," she says. "What did Pan have to say about me? All horrible things, I hope."

There, a smile. Also, an unabashed lack of formality to counter his.

"You have any luggage?"

Michael
That smile reels a humble sort of laugh out of the taller reality deviant. If Pan had had something horrible about her Michael seems like the sort of person who would be able to brush off the accusation and spin it so that whatever he said sounded complementary. Not a liar so much as an executor of creative license.

But no. He laughs like the thought itself is one worth dismissing outright. Then she asks if he has any luggage.

"Yes, and every confidence the airline hasn't lost it." So they wander off in the direction of the baggage carousels. "So, Grace, how much did the good father tell you about why I'm here?"

Must be he's trying to gauge whether small talk would be appropriate or not. He doesn't know Grace. Only has what Pan told him. Grace knows Pan very well. For a man who preaches fairytales and believes a woman named Mary was conceived without sin and gave birth to the son of God and that the whole of the universe began when God rang out a single note he is an honest sort. He may have said something to give Michael the indication that if he didn't want to waste time or have smoke blown up his ass that Grace was the woman to talk to.

Or maybe Michael and Grace share a love of pho. Who the hell knows.

Grace
She follows, not behind him, but to his side, lanky and graceless, despite the name.

"Nothing. He told me somebody named Michael would be here at 4. And nothing else. I don't even know your last name, man. But hey. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's important."

Michael
"Nope. Not important. MacCarrick."

He slaps down that knee-slapper easy as you please and then they're stood by the carousel responsible for the United flight from which he just disembarked. It was a good-sized flight with a diverse demographic of passengers and the two of them blend in despite the strangeness and the weight of their resonances.

Blend in physically at any rate. Folks still give them a wide berth.

"Hold that thought."

He lifts his left wrist and lets the briefcase dangle from his grip as he exposes the wristwatch he wears. It's a little digital number. He presses a couple of buttons and that sense of steadiness grows.

[forces/mind 2: LOL YOU CAN'T HEAR US AND YOU DON'T CARE EITHER. coincidental fuckery. practiced rote. blah blah.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]

Grace
Grace rolls her eyes at his dad joke and groans. Well, Pan was right, she's not one to say what she doesn't mean. She means that groan.

She can also tell when there is Working going on, and raises a brow at it. Feels almost like Kalen when he felt like a storm, but no -- Kalen's was more wild.

"Does that mean we can talk about it?"

Michael
A moment where Michael holds still like to make sure the effect has taken root and he isn't about to undo what he just did with minimal effort. Eyes tick from one side of the room to the other and he does nothing to test his effect's strength. He just knows.

"Now we can," he says as he returns his right hand to his pocket and the briefcase to hanging easy at his side. Then he turns to more fully face Grace. She is not short by any means but Michael has a good head of height on her and wants to speak to her as equals and not a scary towering Death Mage. "For the last two years, I have been tracking the activity of what I believe to be a widderslainte Nephandus. The reincarnated avatar of a dead Nephandus-ready inverted. This individual is capable of changing not only zir--" Yes you heard him right he's using a gender-neutral pronoun. "--face but of, ah... practicing an abominable 'art' known as fleshcrafting. Fusing multiple victims together into killing machines. There's a name for such a creature in Koldunic sorcery, but I don't know enough about blood magic to speak of it at great length. Father Echeverría informed me that such a creature was spotted here in Denver several weeks ago, and I came to find the individual responsible."

Grace
A Nephandus. Grace has heard the term before, and her eyes widen a touch. "I'd thought for sure they were a vampire. None of them seemed to be alive."

Was. Past tense. Them.

"Some of us encountered a creation composed of two women in the park one night. It attacked, and it ended up not making it through that encounter. We started looking into the whole 'who' question after that. Led us to a house full of people who were amusing themselves all night by skinning people alive."

"We uh, set fire to their house while they were asleep. I helped make sure the fire didn't get out of control."

The way she says that, like -- fuck Denver. It can be a pain to live here sometimes.

Michael
A canyon of difference lies between someone who is waiting for their turn to speak and someone who is listening with all of their attention to what another person is saying. So he wears a suit and combs his hair with what looks like consummate precision. So he doesn't appear to have an ounce of spare fat on his body and smiles in a way that is both genuine and controlled. Mike listens to Grace. He reacts when she tells him what she tells him: that none of 'them' seemed to be alive.

And she knows that this is new information to him because of the pan-flash frown that tugs at his brow. He doesn't know who 'they' are.

So Grace goes on. Explains how the Denver populace came to know the Nephandus. The entity that attacked Elijah and Samir was a congregation of two teenaged girls. It does not surprise MacCarrick. One would not expect anything to surprise him. He is a Euthanatos Adept. He is pale and he does not blink much. Anything that would shock him would make most people sick.

The Magi of Denver set fire to a house full of people. Alright then.

"Were you able to confirm the whereabouts of the fleshcrafter the night of the fire?"

Grace
"We suspected they were able to change their appearance, what with the whole 'treating flesh like it's clay' trick," she says. "So, I don't know. We had surveillance on the house we traced, but any of them could have been the one you're after -- or none of them. It's hard to say."

If Grace had been able to divine through Time? She might have been able to trace his steps, make note of where he was at all times. But Grace is not Elijah, and Elijah is not Grace. They had to figure their way through this piecemeal.

Michael
Okay. That's a reasonable response. The Euthanatos bobs his head in a nod and the threat of a frown suggests he would have chosen a different course of action but then again his tradition deals in the doling out of justice and the reintroduction of lost souls to the cosmic revolving door. Few Virtual Adepts have any interest in what the Euthanatos do and vice versa.

At the end of the carousel where it butts up against and penetrates the wall the conveyor belt begins to groan. It chugs along empty for several seconds before the first bit of luggage appears. It is not Mike's.

"Were you at the park the night of the attack?"

Grace
"I wasn't, no. Wish I had been. Really wish it. Things might not have gone so out of control," she says, sighs. Samir might not have spent two days wandering the streets with a bitten face, wondering what was real.

"It wasn't a good night for my friends, let's put it that way."

Michael
The Chorister didn't tell Grace a thing about Michael other than his name and his tradition. No indication of what he does to keep his bank account out of the red. People with sincere and intense conviction don't tend to last very long in a bureaucratic environment.

Michael is too earnest to be a peace officer and yet if she mistakes him for one see: Euthanatos.

"I'd like to speak to them, if at all possible."

Grace
"I'll set that up," she says, her eyes alighting on the baggage carousel. How long are they going to be waiting? "I don't think either of them will say no."

She looks around at all the people, and then: "It's weird talking to you about this stuff with all these people around."

Michael
He listens to her pronouncement and he nods like to indicate receipt. Maintains eye contact so much as she will let him and then lets his eyes tick towards the baggage carousel once just to ensure his bag hasn't drifted past yet. It hasn't. He was punctual and punctual people tend to see their bags come off the plane last. First in last out.

"I can imagine it is," he says and there's a quick lopsided flash of a smile as he does imagine it. "They can't hear us, and even if they see us talking, the absence of audio input won't register." A beat. A shift in tone. He's trying to be helpful. "We can postpone further discussion until we're alone, if you'd prefer."

Of course he doesn't think twice once he's fired off the effect. He's an Adept. They're the closest thing the world has to Masters now. Masters used to be the closest thing the world had to gods.

Grace
"That's really cool," she says, nods at him. "I usually just send people extremely encrypted text messages."

She tilts her head when he suggests that they hold off until they're alone. "No. It's okay. I need to expose myself to new things."

Michael
I usually just send people extremely encrypted text messages.

If he lives to be fifty Michael will have deep laugh lines around his eyes. He already has the lively eyes of a kind and happy spirit but he also has lines between his brows where thought has furrowed them. She says this and it strikes him as charming and humorous and so he lets himself laugh. It's an honest laugh. He has nothing to hide from her.

But it's okay. This is a new experience for her.

"Well, alright then. I'm happy to provide you the opportunity." Another quick flash of a smile. Another glance at the carousel. Back to brass tacks. "Were there any casualties the night of the attack?"

Grace
"No deaths, except for the two young women," she says. "Aside from that, yes. There were casualties. I don't feel comfortable talking about the specifics of what happened to other people though. Maybe they'll tell you when you meet?"

Meaning, she doesn't want to tell this stranger that Samir went into Quiet and had to be pulled off the street before he hurt himself or someone else. She doesn't want to tell someone else's secrets. She may have assisted in an act of arson and murder, but she has some morals.

Michael
This is fair. She reads no sign of protest in his eyes. It's worth mentioning that he has warm eyes though his resonance would feel wild were not for that steadiness underneath it all. Wild things can be hot as hell but warmth requires some restraint.

"Maybe. If they don't, I understand. Are you comfortable giving me their names? I'd like to contact them myself. Save us all some trouble."

Grace
"Sure, yeah. One's Elijah Poirot. The other is Samir. Um... I don't actually know his last name. Goes by slakhani in the places where it matters."

Meaning, online.

"You may not want to just pop in on... either of them. I'll give them a head's up that you're coming by."

Michael
No. No he does not want to just pop in on them. He smiles that automatic but not thoughtless smile of his when Grace offers to warn these two young men that he's coming for them. Doesn't write any of this down. If she gets the impression that he doesn't need to then she has been paying attention.

"Thank you," he says. Oh. There's his bag. An inconspicuous black number. It would have fit in the overhead compartment but that would not have been considerate to the other passengers. Mike starts to drift towards it. The cloaking effect goes with him. "I haven't been able to establish a pattern in this individual's activity, only zir victims."

Mike sets down his briefcase before he takes his suitcase from the conveyor and releases the side handle from its Velcro containment. A briefcase in one hand and a suitcase in the other. Couldn't have sprung for a wheelie bag like a normal person.

"As far as I can tell, ze was active in southern California for several years before veering northeast. I believe ze's targeting young women, but it's difficult to prove with the bodies being in the condition they're in."

Grace
"Women have two X chromosomes. It's the only way I could tell," she says. "Thanks to the condition of the bodies."

Which was a chimera, their cells fused into one hideous mass.

"I suppose they might have control over the genetics too, but that would be a stretch. That would involve complete reprogramming of the organism."

She uses 'they' as a gender-neutral pronoun. He uses 'ze'. Let's call the whole thing off?

Michael
At this point Grace could walk away from this and still sleep just fine at night. Mike isn't here because he wants to drag the entire populace of Denver into his quest for - what. Justice? Order? Restoration of Creation's balance? She hasn't asked and no one has told her and now that he has his bag back in his possession the Euthanatos is content to walk away from the baggage claim and towards the front door.

It is a brazen thing to assume that Grace is going to drive him anywhere. He does not assume. He would not have made it so far in his life if he assumed rather than gathering evidence.

"Yes," he says. It's easier to make cosmetic changes than molecular ones. "I don't believe this individual is engaged in such a careful pursuit. I'm not sure what zir motive is. I don't care to find out, but..."

But he who is not bold enough to be stared at from across the abyss is not bold enough to stare into it himself.

Grace
"Is there a honestly a motive worth knowing when the person is making people-chimeras and unleashing them in hopes that they kill random people?"

She sighs. If that thing ever stops doing what they're doing for long enough to give her a verbal manifesto and attempt to explain a motive? She'll use that distraction to gain the upper hand. Interrupting them mid-rant about unleashing the true monstrosity of beautiful women? By shooting them in the head? Not something to look forward to, exactly... But no, Grace would not stop to listen or care about what the abyss has to say to her.

She was asked to show Michael around Denver, and she assented. She goes with him, doesn't abandon him at the airport, no. "You getting a rental? Or, I have a car. Can take you where you need to go."

Michael
This is what separates the two of them. Possibly one of many separations. If he is going to end another individual's life he wants to know why he's doing it. Without examination there can be no reconciliation.

That sigh at the end of her question pegs it as a rhetorical for him though. Michael does not argue with her. His students could attest to the fact that he did not argue with anyone ever. Either he was right or he was wrong.

"I have a rental," he says. "And a hotel room. And a student flying in tonight." Good reminder. He'll need parking validation.

Grace
"Ahh, okay. Well, you have it all taken care of then. If you need me, I'm sure you'll get in touch," she says. "My number's 314-1592."

As if he didn't already have a way to find her if necessary. Mages who are as hot-shit as he tend to.

"If I can help you while you're here, call. Or whatever."

Grace
"Ahh, okay. Well, you have it all taken care of then. If you need me, I'm sure you'll get in touch," she says. "My number's 314-1592."

As if he didn't already have a way to find her if necessary. Mages who are as hot-shit as he tend to.

"If I can help you while you're here, call. Or whatever."

Michael
And he ought to ask her to confirm the area code or write down the number but see again: he doesn't need to. Other than an upward flick of his eyes like to confirm his brain has latched onto it Michael doesn't give any indication that he's going to use physical means of storing her contact information.

Then again he talks about the Nephandus he intends to kill in public with no fear of repercussion. No one will fault Grace for a little banked resentment. Now that they've veered away from topics of violence and reality deviance he pushes another button on the side of his wristwatch. The effect comes apart like a tugged knot. People can hear them again.

"There is one thing you could do for me, actually," he says. This is one of the many whys of Pan's sending him to her rather than anyone else in the city. "The last thing I want to do is step on anyone's toes, so if you could let the rest of your team know I'm in town, I would very much appreciate it."

Grace
"Absolutely. I can do that," she says, little nod of the head. "You hungry?"

Grace may not be able to cook, but damn if she doesn't offer food to everybody she meets, right? She knows where all the good places to eat are. The wonton tacos joint on Federal, the best pho place in the city, that one shop with the lemongrass tofu stirfry, that one place where Kalen grabs udon...

It has, perhaps, something to do with the company she keeps, and the ways in which they tend to bond over a shared love of strangely complicated coffee and other consumables.

"I know a place near here you can get Nigerian food. It's amazing. Jerk goat stew, man. Can't go wrong."

Michael
Stood in line waiting for his turn at the rental counter as they are Michael chose to stand beside Grace rather than try to jostle for a position before or behind her. Don't make too much symbolism of the fact that he stands beside her though they come from different traditions and he possesses more overt power than she does. He just wants to be able to continue the conversation if she isn't ready to leave yet.

Then she asks if he's hungry. Michael looks over at her full-attention lit in his eyes and in his eyes she can see that she had him at 'jerk goat stew.'

"Even if I wasn't famished," he says hint of a smile and then they're moving forward, "I could make room for jerk goat stew."

A middle-aged woman in a depressed-looking red polo shirt calls for the next in line. Michael excuses himself and smiles friendly at the clerk before he walks up to the counter.

"Hi, I have a reservation under--"

Grace
That gets him a broad smile. Okay. Maybe he isn't half bad, she thinks. As if the liking of goat stew makes up for the suit somewhat?

He's busy with the reservation desk, so she occupies her mind elsewhere. Nothing bores a Virtual Adept like a bureaucratic process. Her cell phone emerges from her jeans pocket, and she starts looking up the address of the Nigerian place.

Michael
[and they had a lovely date where nothing happened SCENE WRAPPED]