Previously:
Michael and Ihsan arrived in Denver, Colorado on the afternoon of Sunday, October 11th on separate planes. They reconvened at their hotel room downtown after Michael met with the contact of his contact, whose name was Grace, and laid down to take a nap. Naps are important.
The next morning he told Ihsan that he was going to meet with Grace and an apprentice of the Order of Hermes to discuss what happened the night of August 20th, when a chimera composed of two living women fused together attacked said apprentice, whose name was Elijah, and another of Grace's tradition. It was not meant to be a long meeting. It was not. They ran about fifteen minutes longer than he anticipated.
Grace decided to go to the gallery in the Santa Fe Arts District to seek out a painting of the visage of the Nephandus that Elijah's friend, a sleeper art student named Jenn, had hanging in its inventory. Michael decided to accompany her. Considering their quarry it was best if she didn't go alone.
They left Elijah's house over the florist's to find a young Egyptian woman standing next to Michael's Nissan Altima. Oh right. He told her to meet her here after they had both completed their separate tasks. Quick introduction: Ihsan, this is Grace Evans, she's a friend of Father Echeverría's. Grace, this is Ihsan Ghali, a member of the Euthanatos and my former student.
In current traffic it's going to take fifteen minutes to get from Elijah's house to the gallery. The introductions are given quick and as they're climbing into the car.
And now they're off.
Grace
The last few minutes have been tense ones. Michael had the pleasure of meeting Grace when she wasn't quite so wound up, but Ihsan isn't going to be so lucky. Grace has just had to stand up to the Euthanatos Adept in order to earn the privilege of being allowed to continue sharing what she knows with him. She had to accept something cast upon her that she didn't (still doesn't) quite understand, as the man stood in front of her, barring her path.
And they have both just found out something alarming.
So, this is not a cool, calm, smiling Grace that Ihsan gets to meet. This is Grace on a mission. Her eyes are sharp things that she doesn't keep sheathed. The wings that one can feel (but not see) emerging from her back threaten to propel her faster than she should really go. They don't have a lot of time.
"Hi. We've got to go buy a painting," she says, as the introductions are completed, and she hurries herself into the back seat of Michael's car.
Ihsan
The woman standing beside the car was somewhere in her mid-twenties and dressed in modern fashions-- a pair of black skinny jeans tucked into black calf-high boots, with a maroon knit sweater that looked prone to slipping off her shoulder. Her dense black hair was tied down her shoulder in a braid, and she stood leaned back against the car with ankles crossed and smartphone in hand.
When the two arrived she looked up with eyes as pitch dark as her hair, and revealed a face that was built long and hard by default, but pretty even with the underlighting that the screen of her phone cast. She was about to offer a smile in greeting, but the expression stumbled and fell off her face when the full force of Grace on a Mission was met.
Soon the phone was tucked away and she was tucked as well, but into the passenger seat of the car. There was a messenger bag on the car floor by her feet, which the phone was tucked into before she straightened up and buckled up too.
"A painting? Has a muse come to bite toes?"
Michael
Though he does not walk with the same sharp determination as does the Mercurial Elite the other Euthanatos always moves with a sense of purpose. A trip to the grocery store is a journey that requires his full attention. When they come upon the car and Ihsan looks up from her phone Michael makes eye contact with her. Sees the smile that almost came to pass. Offers her one of his own.
Then they're in the car. He starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt and reverses away from the curb.
"Ah, this is taking me back," he says before he shifts into first gear again and sets them on their way. As for the muse: "I'm afraid so. A painting of our friend The Artist has a price tag on it, and a Sleeper's signature is on it."
Grace
Grace has been ignoring her phone lately. It's been almost an hour now. And so, she goes to check. That's right, new person, this Virtual Adept is going to say hi and then immediately bury her face in a screen. Sure enough, Ginger bears some fruit. She reads, frowns.
"Unless we have another murderer in town who leaves behind a faint resonance, I'd say the latest killing happened on East Colfax, a few hours ago. I'm asking for more details. We've got a couple members of the police in Denver who are Awake, and at least one of them talks to me."
See, Michael, this is why you keep Grace around.
Then, she closes out of Ginger's messages, and starts messing around with the Other programs...
Ihsan
Up in the front seat, Ihsan opted to roll down the window at a stop light. She'd pushed her sweater sleeves up to her elbow so the fabric wouldn't get too dirty when she decided to hook her elbow out the open window. Hairs gone loose near the front of her head fluttered and whipped about in the wind, depending on how fast they were going at any given point.
She spoke clearly and loudly enough, in accented but understandable English (her Egyptian-Arabic accent was a dense one, the language was clearly learned later in life as opposed to being spoken in the household). The car-generated wind would try to eat her speech but fail.
"So, what, you think our Artist is going to come find her? Why bother, unless he destroys the painting first? Or is--..." She was thinking out loud, and demonstrating the fact that she could piece puzzles together but wasn't necessarily the smartest about it.
"Is that the idea? We're going to get the painting to get him to come to us?" Pause. "....We could stop at a bar first, if that's the case."
Michael
Though Michael has not been the most inclusive partner in crime in the history of the planet he had given Ihsan a briefing prior to their parting ways with the intention to meet up again in Denver. This Nephandus has been around for several decades and has been known to him personally for several of his past lives and he began receiving taunting telepathic messages from it. Zir, he calls it. A genderfluid pronoun rather than a dehumanizing one.
Sympathy for one on the path to Descension or at the very least an understanding that if he ceases to think of the things he hunts with respect then he himself will start to walk a dark path.
This Nephandus likes to make killing machines out of the forms of two or more women. These are the things they know about it.
"Not exactly," says Michael, "although that would be preferable to trying to chase zir. Our fear is that, having seen a painting with zir face on it, The Artist will try and find the young woman who created it. It was a fantastic painting, Ihsan. Defies description."
Grace
"I would rather this Artist not take notice of my Sleeper friend if I can avoid it," Grace says, face still buried in her phone.
Elijah would never forgive himself if Jenn got hurt. Maybe that would be enough of a shock to get him to actually think about security though. Probably not, she thinks, with a sigh.
Grace, however, is thinking about security. As they drive along, she has started her Work. A cognitive firewall is going up, as is basic precaution when dealing with something that can potentially reach through space and wrench your brains out.
[Mind 1, diff 4 - 1 (Taking time) = Mind Shielding.
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (2, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Ihsan
"Yeah," Ihsan said in agreement to Grace in the backseat. She didn't know this Sleeper, didn't seem like she would be inclined to care about her well-being either. That lack of investment was audible in her voice, like she was distractedly agreeing while still thinking about something else.
A sniff against the slight runniness of nose that the wind and allergens on it was causing, and she vocalized whatever thought she was dwelling on.
"Did he pose for this painting, or....," she let the thought trail off, losing words for it, and continued on with the rest of her thought while twisting her hand and wrist into the wind to show that she was continuing along. "Because this Sleeper couldn't have seen the Artist and decided 'You know what, I'm going to paint his face and put it on display to piss him off' if they had any context for how wicked he is."
Michael could try to correct her to use 'zir' all he wanted, she seemed to keep forgetting to use it. Or just didn't give a damn.
Michael
Though the pronoun he's chosen is his own preference Michael doesn't do anything other than continue using it. No point lecturing Ihsan on why referring to the individual as in the masculine isn't accurate.
Before he answers Mike lets his eyes flick to the rearview mirror to see what Grace is doing. Though he isn't speeding or driving like a reckless asshole he has yet to hit a red light. No one is driving super slow in front of him. No pedestrians have tried to run across the road and forced him to stomp on the brakes yet.
"It's my understanding," he says, "that Jenn created the painting based on a description given to her by Elijah, who looked back in time to see how the chimera... came to be."
A beat.
"What was that about a killing on East Colfax?"
Grace
Grace would explain more, but she's busy tying knots into the fractal of her mind, sealing off the edges so that nothing untoward can peel their way into it. It takes a measure of concentration. If you fuck it up, you're fucking up your own brain.
"It was a man. Had his stomach and throat slit open," she says, and her voice is airy, distracted. "I can put you in touch with the guy who found out about it. He's a cop, so probably through his job."
That's about all she can say at the moment, and those words are strange ones with long pauses in between them.
[Extending!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN3 (1, 2, 9, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Grace
[With the right number of dice this time...]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Ihsan
"And then they both decided to sell it."
Ihsan was squinting with some mingling of disappointment in these strangers and puzzled thought on her face. Straight out the window. She didn't have long to dwell, though, for soon enough the car was pulling up against some new curb elsewhere in the city and going into park.
No sooner was the car settled into the parked gear when the dark-skinned dark-eyed dark-haired woman pushed open the passenger door both with foot and hand. She jammed hands to pockets soon as she was out on the sidewalk, with a set to her shoulders and elbows and feet that looked impatient and anxious. Wanting to move, to push, to pull, to do something. A buzzing energy that probably wouldn't find its way into an art gallery without the direction of the incredibly focused charismatic older man leading the charge.
Michael
And then they both decided to sell it.
"It was a tremendous painting," he says again.
Onto the matter of the man found dead in an apartment. Not necessarily his apartment but an apartment. He glances sidelong at Ihsan to see if he can glean what she might be thinking. Their target doesn't use knives to make zir kills. Ze uses unspeakable magick. Knives make it sounds like the work of another person.
One thing at a time.
I can put you in touch with the guy who found out about it. He's a cop, so probably through his job.
"If you would. I doubt it's the same individual, but it can't hurt to rule it out."
Then they've arrived. Mike finds a parking space on the street less than half a block from the gallery and leaves the Altima there. As the young women head towards the front door he stays behind at the car to tap out a message on his cellphone.
It doesn't take long for Grace and Ihsan to find a curator or an intern or whatever the sharp-dressed blond woman in a pencil skirt and demure pumps is. She's leaning against a desk writing something on a clipboard when the door opens. No one else is in here. Her eyebrows lift when she sees them but she doesn't seem alarmed.
"Good afternoon," she says. Her accent sounds like she's trying hard to sound as if she doesn't have an accent.
Grace
It should be good enough, she thinks. Should be. The feeling of glitchy, slippery freedom ebbs as she closes out the mental program, but it's still running -- a daemon in the background of her mind.
"Perhaps. But I can rarely give Elijah credit for having any idea of what his actions might result in in the future," she says. "I doubt he had a second thought about what anyone would think upon seeing the face of a murderer hanging up somewhere, painted by nobody in particular. Remember, we first thought it was vampires. Vampires tend to have a lot of friends."
He's got a severe lack of foresight, that Elijah. Very strange, considering the sphere of Time is his whole thing.
Michael says that he doesn't think it's the same individual, and Grace rolls her eyes. Not at him, at the world. Why do you have to be so fucked up, Denver? "You mean there's two of them now? Perfect."
They get out of the car, and head off to find that curator.
"Hi," says the woman in blue jeans and a zipped-up grey turtleneck jacket. Not exactly high classy style, except maybe this is one of those horribly rich people who sets out to look like a starving student? It happens. "Do you have anything... just super striking? I'm looking for something for a friend."
Ihsan
Together two women walk into the gallery. Grace having just recently shaken deep technological distraction away after fortifying her own mind (just in case), in her student-esque attire, and Ihsan with her heavy dark colors and resting severe face. They found a curator, and Grace began by saying she wanted something striking for a friend.
Ihsan looked bored with trying to fish for the right answer. She wasn't the kind to catch her fish with a lure and line-- she was a spearhunter instead.
"I was thinking of a portrait. Something amazing, like hyper-realism or something exactly the opposite of it." There's the air of privilege about her, it was how she managed to be dismissive and bored even when talking about buying what could very well be the most expensive painting in the house. Money wasn't a factor with this woman, she probably paid way too much money for that hairstyle she wore.
"I want it to stare that bitch in the face whenever she's trying to relax in her reading room."
And then she smiled all white teeth that, if only for half a second, looked like they may have learned to rip and tear some number of years ago.
Michael
Well then.
The woman stops leaning against the deck and knits her fingers together. Holds them in front of her as she turns to face the two women. They don't look like this place's typical clientele but in a city teeming with hipsters and upper middle-class transplants 'typical' doesn't seem to exist anymore.
Super striking. Portrait. Hyper-realistic.
Not until Ihsan says she's looking for something to stare a bitch in the face when she's trying to relax does a lightbulb come on over the woman's head. A lightbulb comes on and then she goes still. Instinctive predator-in-the-room still. That could be the collective weirdness of the two women's resonance finally registering with her but more likely it has to do with her remembering the painting.
"We did," she says. "It sold, though. A few days ago. I have a few other portraits I would be glad to show you."
Grace
[Perception + Subterfuge = bullshit, lady]
Grace frowns at the woman. Elijah didn't mention that it had been sold. Wouldn't that be a thing that Jenn would have told him?
"Really? Isn't that terrible. The very thing, stolen out from under us... I suppose we could look at what you have, anyway."
She tries to act all disappointed. Really, the gears are going at high speed in her head right now. She's going to hack this gallery's financial records later. Maybe if Jenn's unlucky enough, it would have been bought by the Artist. And then she'd have their credit card information...
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Michael
Ihsan is not so willing to waste time looking for something that isn't there. All Michael has said about her when he has said anything about her is that she is his student. His former student. The Euthanatos swear a life-oath when they take a student into the Shadowlands to complete their diksha. So far as he is concerned he is responsible for all of his former students so long as they continue to exist on this plane.
She is an adventuress. A finder of lost things. Asking questions just slows her down. Ihsan takes her leave then. Goes back outside to tell Mike what they've discovered. She will not still be outside when Grace leaves.
The curator fixes her gaze on Grace a moment. Taking in her wardrobe and her friend's departure.
"Of course," she says. "Right this way."
Michael
[bullshit?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Grace
Ihsan's not getting any brownie points with Grace. Still, she may not be the most insufferable Mage in town, so hey. Whatever. Thanks so much for leaving her alone in this gallery that's being maybe patronized by the incredibly evil. Ihsan just doesn't seem to take things very seriously.
"Who was it that bought the one I'd have been interested in?" Grace asks, following the curator with a bored look at the rest of the paintings available.
Michael
If she were in any real danger Grace would have a Euthanatos Adept outside. Granted that wouldn't do her any good if for whatever reason the Nephandus happened to be monitoring the art gallery and decided now would be a good time to reach through spacetime and force the area around Grace four-dimensional or whatever it is Nephandi do to people they don't like. But this particular Nephandus seems like a busy individual. Ze has plenty more to do than spy on places ze has already been once zir business there is done.
One can hope.
At any rate that bored look is hiding something. The curator has it pegged as an air she's putting on but she can't glean any more than that. Grace's motivation is her own.
"It was a private buyer," she says. Confidentiality. It's everywhere these days.
Grace
Yup, definitely cracking the shit out of whatever servers this place operates later.
As they go, she keeps an eye out for something. An empty spot on the wall perhaps? Would they let such a thing exist, or cover it up quickly with another painting?
"Ahh, yes. Well, you have me curious, you know? Telling me the very thing we were after isn't available anymore. Who painted it? Do you have any more works by that artist?"
Michael
As they walk through the gallery Grace sees plenty of other works of mostly abstract and post-modern art. The pieces that are part of a collection or a series are clustered together in the same area. It stands to reason that the more popular artists have reproductions of their work in the back. In the scant amount of time that has passed since the painting found a buyer they have in fact covered up the blank space with three more pieces that could combined net them maybe half of what the Elegance piece had.
The curator stops near a landscape of two individuals painted in a stark yet captivating style. The asking price is five thousand dollars. It is not nearly as breath-taking as the portrait Jenn painted. Neither is it a painting Jenn created.
Something begins to tell the curator that Grace isn't going to be an easy sell. Or else she's a stalker. They get some strange people in here from time to time.
"I would be glad to find that information for you," says the curator, "but we don't keep electronic records. If you'd like to submit a request in writing, I'd be glad to look into it for you."
Michael
[LOL CHANGE THE FIRST "I would be glad to find that information for you" to "I'm sorry" IDK WHY I HAD HER SAY THAT TWICE]
Grace
Oh, whatever. Who keeps their records on anything but a computer these days? They'd have to take credit cards, because nobody just carries around thousands of dollars worth of cash. That means a computer system of some sort. Okay, so maybe people like Gallowglass would keep paper records out of Luddism's sake, but they're rare.
Again, Grace is calling bullshit.
She'll check the place for computers later, just to be sure.
She gives the curator a sigh, a little shake of the head. "Really? Not even caught up to the twentieth century yet? Don't bother. Listen, if you don't want my business, just say so and let's get this over with."
[Perception/Subt = again, bullshit...]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
Michael
[lol okay]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Michael
A set to the taut woman's jaw. She doesn't need this job. Not after the commission she got off that portrait's sale the other day.
"I'm more than happy to show you other pieces, miss, but I'm not going to divulge personal information about our clients. If that's what you're after, then maybe it's best that you do leave."
Grace
"I was asking for information about your artists. As in, I'd like to see more works by them, with the idea being that I might like something else by them and buy it," she says, as though she is speaking to a child. "But apparently, all I'm going to get today is attitude."
She rolls her eyes, starts stalking away from the woman. Doesn't have time for this, honestly.
As she's walking out, she pulls out her phone. One last thing to check. She remembers the way that monster's flesh seemed -- pieced together by vile magic. Can she sense any of that here? Time to find out.
[Prime 1: See the Code = Can we tell if any yukky Qlippothic magic was used here? Taking time.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (2, 5, 5) ( success x 2 )
Michael
That's the last the curator has to say to her. Grace can feel her eyes on her as she walks away. Outside the day is bright and they still have so many hours of daylight left ahead of them. Michael is still waiting outside the car. Tapping away at his own phone but without the same purpose as Grace taps away at hers. He's communicating.
She needs to keep running the program. The effect isn't yet strong enough to reach back over the weekend.
Grace
Yeah, this isn't the last time Grace is going to scan this place. That curator was acting weird. Either Elijah isn't telling them everything (surprise surprise?) or there's something else fishy going on.
She wanders out of the place, head still stuck in a screen, lounges against the outside wall like she's really looking up where to go next on Google Maps or something.
But no, that's not at all what she's really doing.
[Extending, because ST says so!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Michael
The magick that pings on Grace's screen is not Qlippothic. Not like the warped Life magick she felt when she looked to see what had happened to the fused bodies Kiara and Elijah stashed around the park. Mind magick does hover around the place though. Particularly the curator to whom she just spoke. Grace cannot parse out specifics of what the effect entails. Only that it was cast several days ago and whatever it did to the woman's mind was permanent.
It only takes Michael a few seconds to realize that she's come outside. Resonance traits do not subtle arrivals make. He puts his own phone back into his pocket and starts to walk towards her.
Grace
She gets that result on her screen, and frowns at it. So much frowning going on today. She looks up at Michael's approach then, and starts walking toward him.
"Hey. Got something. Not much."
She looks to the car, like they'd better discuss it in private.
Michael
"Oh?"
That glance back to the Altima doesn't go unnoticed. He uses the key fob on the rental's unencumbered ring to unlock the doors and steps off the curb to walk around to the driver's side. Traffic slides past and he stands still long enough to wait for a gap before slipping into the bucket seat. He locks the doors again without putting the key into the ignition. No point idling. It's bad for the engine and it's bad for the people walking past.
"What'd you find out?"
Grace
She opens the door, slides inside, shuts the door again with a bang that sounds a little too loud. "I imagine Ihsan told you the painting's been sold? Curator was acting weird. Like, nothing I could pin down, just this general 'double-you tee eff' at some of the things she was saying. Like they only keep paper records at an art gallery where they're selling things in the thousands-of-dollars range, and volunteering that information I didn't ask for. And now I think I know why," she says, looks back at the place like it's bothering her.
"She's had her mind altered. Permanently. Didn't feel Qlippothic. Someone else is covering some tracks."
Michael
"It certainly seems that way."
Hmm. Mike awakens the vehicle's engine and prepares to pull into traffic. Whatever they decide to do next they're going to need to be in motion for it anyway.
"Assuming that the Artist now has this portrait, my concern is for Jenn's safety. Am I correct in also assuming that Jenn is not an acolyte of Elijah's? She knows nothing about Awakened society or magick?"
Mike's mind works quickly. Grace has enough time to answer that question but he has another one racked before they've reached the next light:
"How do you intend to keep her safe?"
Grace
"Elijah said she understands that magick exists," Grace says, while looking out the window at the passing scenery. "But not much else. Elijah and Jenn go back from before he Awakened. She lives with him, I think. He probably started talking to her about magick before he even found out it wasn't a good idea to do that with a Sleeper."
And, truth be told, he might not even care that it's not a good idea.
"Maybe she's, you know, in the process of becoming an Acolyte? I have no idea how Hermetics do it. Formal, no doubt. Probably with a lot of chanting, ink, and way too much gold. For some reason, they love gold."
"I intend to keep her safe in a place with a lot of wards up. I intend to tell her not to leave it, unless she wants to risk becoming one half of a monster."
Michael
This Elijah individual is beginning to strike him as naïve and in a bit over his head. But that is a problem for the Order and not for the Euthanatos. He has enough on his plate as it is. And Grace has seen how much he can fit on one plate. The man is trim but he eats as if he doesn't know when his next meal is going to be.
Her quip about the Hermetics' love for gold coaxes an amused exhale out of him.
So how does she intend to keep her safe.
"May I offer an alternative?"
Grace
Her phone pings at her, and she looks it over. Alex is back with some more info.
"Mmm. What alternative?" she says, distracted by her phone.
"My cop buddy came back with a name and address of the latest murder victim in the city. He also says his magic 8-ball says this is going to happen again."
Grace has some sympathy for Alex. What he has to witness all the time isn't pleasant. And then, he goes and tries to forecast a fate for the crime scenes...
Michael
That distraction has Michael staying his tongue while she reads. At this point they appear to be driving aimlessly. They are headed in the general direction of Elijah's house but the latest murder victim's location is past Elijah's house anyway.
"I'm inclined to believe his magic 8-ball." And lo does the alternative disappear into the metaphorical air. "How would you like to proceed?"
Grace
Oh, ho. First it's 'No, I've got this.' and now it's 'How do you want to proceed?'
"With which problem? I'd like to take care of Jenn first. The crime scene is a time-sensitive ordeal too, but in that case, the damage has already been done," she says.
"For the other problem, if it were just me, I'd sit outside the place in my car and see what I can see in that guy's apartment. I'd see if I could find any DNA that doesn't belong to the victim, and I'd attempt to figure out what that resonance reminds me of. I'd also hack into all of the victim's communication devices and see if he received any suspicious texts or phone calls or the like. I'm no good at looking into the past, but I know people who are. Might call them up and see what they can see."
So, you know, she has a plan for everything, Mike.
"Victor Kozlowski, Apt 404, Phoenix Apartments, 7171 E Colfax," she says, just that random bit of information spewing out of nowhere. Watching Michael remember things can be fun.
Michael
Yes Grace he has processed and internalized your desire to exercise some autonomy seeing as this is not his city and just as soon as his business here is finished he can go back to California where you'll never have to deal with him again. Some people take years to change. Life times even. Other people don't bank on having that kind of time.
Or maybe he thinks if he tells you what to do you're going to jump out of the car.
Either way Mike listens until Grace has finished speaking. Does that thing where he glances up towards the heavens as he's committing something to memory and then puts his eyes back on the damned road. He awakens the GPS on the center console.
"Does Jenn have a last name?"
He is treating the GPS interface like a focus. Typing her damned name into the search field rather than an address. That's cute.
"I like the part of your plan where we--" Oh ho now it's 'we.' "--bring her to a safe location and then ward it against intrusion." An affected squint. Gentle teasing: "I'm not so sure I like the part where you tell her if she leaves she'll become the next chimera."
Grace
"Risk. Risk, I said. I just think it's a good idea she should know the risks she facing, rather than just putting her in a room somewhere and telling her she can't leave for no apparent reason."
Note, she's not getting perturbed with Mike again. His teasing is met with more teasing. Ohh, damn. What is Jenn's last name?
"Jenn... ahh... Jenn... I don't know."
She types into her phone again, perhaps trying to find out.
Michael
Mike doesn't tell her her effort is or isn't necessary. He does spare her a glance not to spy on her computer screen but to gauge what her level of attention is in that moment. Of course she's trying to find out. Mercurial Elites can't leave well enough alone when they encounter information that's unknown to them.
The GPS interface emits loud booping noises as Mike finishes his query and waits for the result.
[corr 3: filter all-space. pretty sure this is vulgar. base diff 7, practiced and fast-casting balance out.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (3, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Michael
[This is why she hates you, Mike.]
Grace
She asks Elijah what Jenn's last name is, but he's slow in responding. Certainly not fast enough to beat Michael, who has already seemingly figured out all he needs to know.
Grace's level of attention when he glances at her is: Phone. AKA, the rest of the world may as well be nonexistent.
Michael
"Got her."
Now that he's got a location locked into the GPS he begins the task of using his phone's voice command system to pull up a text message to Ihsan and then get the damned thing to voice-to-text. He appears to have some grasp of the importance of elocution and diction when sending messages.
Not that Grace is paying much attention to what he's doing. Which means she misses out on Ihsan, Grace and I are going to secure Jenn before we proceed. Find out what you can about Victor Kozlowski. K O Z L O W S K I. His body was found at seven-seventeen East Colfax, apartment four-oh-four last night. Also, don't wait up for me, I don't know what time I'll be returning to the room this evening.
Boop.
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