Order in the Chaos

Ned
These days, life was becoming serious. Or at least, in danger of becoming serious.

Even transition as those who opt to be when life becomes too mundane, civil or routine, there is room for a bit of a step back. A carefully executed measure of 'Fuck off, World, i'm drinking tonight' and that seems to be where Ned has found himself.

The Bar's name is the Lilyput. Someone was being funny when they looked up fairy tales, because half of the bar's patrons, which number at most, six or seven, are the burly types, with too much beer in their guts and too few words that belonged in any language proper. The beer was piss poor at best while the liquor was ancient with gummy rims and a butch dyke bartender that wore notches of ink along her inner arm for each of the drunks that had called her as much over the years.

But! The place had pool tables that rarely saw use. Pool cues that were slightly warped and a rack of balls with two '8s' and a lot more stripes than solids. It was here, Ned found himself, edge of downtown, sighting down the length of a freshly chalked pool cue, aiming up on one of the Eight balls. Which was odd, if only because all the other balls looked like they were still on the table.

There was an untouched pint of something sitting on the corner of the table, over the pocket, like some obstacle to be paid mind. The shot he was looking to take was four different banks and a fleeting hail mary suggestion at the First of three orange stripe balls to be sunk in a distant corner.



Ned
(Entropy 1: What're the odds? Diff 4 - 1 for Quint)

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (9, 10) ( success x 2 )

River
The place had pool tables that nobody ever saw, and when she walks in the door that is the first thing that she sees. The first thing that she looks at- pool tables. Eyes go from the pool tables to the exits (two, three if you count the window. She could make the window if she needed) to the bartender with the piss poor beer selection. River's lips turn up at the corners.

Maybe she doesn't belong here. She's a bit too femme for the standard clientele, raises the average appearance of the patrons by a significant portion. Not that it's hard. River isn't short or tall- maybe five and a half feet tall in a comfortable dress that hits mid thigh and a pair of boots (because she knows better than to wear sandals in a place like this.) She doesn't have a lot in the way of shoes- it was either the boots or the pair of emergency flats. Didn't feel like wearing those today so it was the boots.

We digress. Nobody cares about her boots so much as what she does next. Swings by the bar to order a beer in a can (can't fuck that up, even if it's Natural Lite). Eyes keep going back to the pool tablle.

Pays cash for her beer with a little smile and saunters along that way.

Must be slumming it.

Ned
"....Cues are crooked. Balls put the normal rules out of play. Gonna have to get creat-...ive."

Ned's talking. River's on her way over and she's a peripheral glimpse. No one in the bar had moved more than a few feet in any direction since he'd arrived, making her stand out without even a stare cast her way. He's thrown the first shot and watched the probabilities peel away as the ball banked once, twice, a third time, only to sail wide on the fourth bounce with a frown.

It's only as she gets within a few feet that his eyes slip toward her, lining up another shot (Purple, Solid, caught in a nest of raibow stripe soldiery for protection). The boots are given a glance (more like the legs in them) and the outfit a second or two longer than a glance before he's raising brows and eyes toward her features. A quick smile that's doused (Like he was resisting some reflex from long ago), gaze switching to the can in her hand.

"Smart choice."

Then he's down to lining the shot up again, brow furrowing and dancing amid the balls of the table with a carefully executed regard.

River
She raises her can, takes a pull and doesn't make a face. At least the beer isn't warm, and that she can count as a blessing. The woman came here to play pool, and that was what it was worth. Gaze pulls from Ned to the table again. To the balls all spread out nice and neat and clean- she likes games like this. Comes down to math and numbers and skill.

Not quite the way she likes cards, but close enough.

"Guess if you brought your own you'd be in trouble. Nobody likes a hustler," River tells him. Replies, even, and her tone is conversational.

She has an accent, a lilt and pattern to her speech that only comes when English isn't your first language. Perhaps from some Spanish speaking country but hard to place when you haven't been all over the world to find the specifics of her speech patterns (they're Cuban, though, if one is curious.) River does flash a smile back at Ned, not at all an impulse she curbs.

"Try the other end?"

Ned
"....Odds play themselves in predictable patterns. I came here for the chaos tables like these can provide."

The next shot sinks the purple. Splits the guard of two of the stripes just to get at their general, who goes down spinning into the corner pocket, leaving the white ball to slowly spin toward the nearby pint glass he's left on the edge. It trembles slightly but doesn't fall and his gaze rests on the piece of glassware for a calculating moment. He huffs and turns to look at her, reaching for the chalk on his way around the table again.

"Gets me in better shape and provides more interesting odds." A pause, his brow furrowing, gaze slipping around to the various bodies in the bar. Few are paying attention, none of them either of the two youngsters by the pool table. The Dyke butch is watching some small TV she keeps behind the counter, chuckling to herself at whatever's there.

"...You look like you belong in a club somewhere. Or a penthouse." If these were the old days Ned might have lined that up with a line suggestive of something. As it stands, he leaves it there and that makes it sound more like a question than a pick up. He finshes chalking the cue and re-adjusts the pint glass. He didn't like the odds of it falling, apparently.

Grace
[Awareness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

River
[Entropy 1: Hows this business going to pan out?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

River
He says he's getting in better shape and it provides more interesting odds. River takes a second, seems like she's fidgeting. One step, two step. Side back. Stop. Little but rhythmic and intentional. She's more focused on the table than him at that juncture.

River doesn't speak idly. Looks at him directly when he says that she looks like she belongs in either a club or a penthouse. Doesn't shy away from eye contact and takes her time to come up with words. They're all chosen carefully, not tossed out in random array, not pushed around like she has dozens of things to say or like she is a verbose creature. No, River Vasquez says what she means so she takes her time saying those things.

"It's laundry day," like that explains everything, "I didn't know where I was going until I started driving. This seemed like the right place."

A second.

"Red in the side pocket is your best bet right now."

Ned
"Quick to decide, shy on plans."

It sounded like a platitude or a phrasing of some sort. Ned chuffs a soft laugh that doesn't last long. His gaze falls to regard the table, brow furrowing at the shot she is suggesting. He slips around the corner with the pint glass, leaning away from it to ensure a lack of contact. His gaze takes in the banks he'll need to take to pull that off and he frowns, eyes slipping back up toward her quizzically.

"...Are you kidding?" A disbelieving quirk of a smile. "Because the Green stripe is a much safer bet."

River
"Green stripe sets you up to be blocked by the eight ball, too much of a risk. I don't know how hard your standard stroke is, but if you err on the rough side you'll be in a world of trouble," she says, knowing and like she knows the facts. They're looking at the same field of play, though.

Walks around the table slowly.

"If it errs right, though... green stripe's safer."

Grace
The presence of interesting people inside this dive bar was felt before she stepped inside. Truly, her entrance might not have happened had she been a little less aware of these eddies in the universal tide. She halfway expected to find Elijah/William in here with his tequila or something, but no. It's River and Ned. Her head cocks, a little sideways smile when she sees them playing pool.

Her t-shirt today is a grey thing with the words "Can't stop, won't stop," superimposed over the symbol for pi. Yup, she is that kind of nerd.

She doesn't go directly over just yet. At the bar, she asks the tender for a beer and tips the woman suspiciously well for someone dressed in holey jeans and sneakers. Money never seemed very important anyway, and now? Well, now it might as well be Monopoly money, except that collecting Monopoly money actually means you win a game, at least.

There's a pool game on, thinking of...

Ned
"...You always plan for things to go wrong?"

Ned doesn't sound perturbed, more...dismissive. Almost casually comfortable in his airs. Entropy was something new, afterall and he was swinging the hang of it. Slowly, but surely. If the air around him was a touch monitored and a touch stuffy for it, then so be it. He settles forward, lining up the shot carefully, gaze following the bounce of the balls in the future toward the predicted ends and scenarios they were both seeing.

The cue slides back and he pauses. His brow knits and his eyes flick again and again, following the paths he's laid out. A moment later and his footing shifts, aim adjusting behind the white ball again, to localize the Red. The eyes do their dance once more and there's a brief hint of something under his features. The knitting smooths and he pulls away from he shot without having taken it, regarding her fresh, new and....intrigued.

"Alright. How do you know that?"

River
You always plan for things to go wrong?
"When you are aware that the worst possible scenario is something you can handle, anything else is inconsequential."

And she- radiant and resolved like an unconquered sun- stands and observes. She's not something that belongs here, too bright. These kinds of bars don't flourish in sunlight; their fruits grow best under cover of darkness. It's strange to see her at this particular bar. Grace has seen her at bars before, but she usually goes somewhere... nicer. She ended up watching Zombieland with Grace and Samir the last time these two went out to a bar.

Overall, it was a good night.

She raises her beer to the Mercurial Elite, a salute to get her attention before attentions go back to Ned. Direct and focused. Her expression goes playful.

"Predictable patterns. The curve of the cue is just an added complication, but there's order in the chaos here. You just have to look harder at it to notice."


Ned
(Wits 4 (Quick Thinking) + Investigation 2)

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 2

Ned
"Looking harder narrows your focus."

It's chiding. Almost. A touch self-deprecating as well and there's something there beneath the surface that catches on his face a moment, before submerging again. Probability suggests trauma has the best chance, while a bit of brooding to stir her to weak-kneed lust is the secondary suggestion. He lines up the shot, gaze falling into the table and takes it.

Red goes down after two solid clacks and the white ball sits clear of the first of two 8s, the second a haunted presence hovering infront of his pint-glass pocket. He leans one hand on the table, eyeballing that pint glass and then, with a face like sharp nettles under the feet, turns to regard her again.

"Narrowed focus means you miss the rest of it. Maybe even the best of it-" He interrupts himself when he follows her gaze to the bar, brow knitting and mouth hanging open as he spies Grace. A 'huh' suddenly escapes him and the brief recognition of the familiar woman puts several pieces into play about his 'New Friend'.

He's turning back toward her and suddenly the game is something brand new. His features are a touch flat and his regard is...not hostile but well-guarded.

"Who are you?"

Grace
Grace returns the salute in kind, and walks over to the assembly of people busying themselves by whacking balls with sticks. Humans, man. They'll do anything for a distraction. There's so many variations on the "whack a ball with a stick" game, you'd think they were obsessed.

"Order in the chaos? Mmm," Grace says, as though she's answering Ned's question and asking one of River. It could be both.

"This is River. We're roomates."

River
She sidles up to Grace, gives her a little hip bump in greeting. She assumes familiarity, yes, and it's fun to make some casual contact with Grace because, well, she thinks Grace is fun. She likes hanging out with her room mate. She transfers the beer to her other hand, consider's shaking Ned's but decides against it.

Almost does put her hand out, though, comes close and it's obvious.

"River Vasquez, probability enthusiast."

Ned
"Quaint."

He says it without the vitriol to make it sarcastic. Instead, it is delivered somewhat flatly and his eyes adjust to settle on Grace, jaw working a slightly circuit around as if he's rolling some piece of gristle between his teeth.

"That mean the two of your are in a Cabal or just...shacking up and keeping out of each other's way?"

A pause, his eyes falling to the pool table again, the angles explored with careful plucks and glances.

"...And how's the hunt going for that serial killer...Any new info.?"

River
"... it's not me." She tells Grace.

Which is possibly the worst Chakravanti joke ever.

Ned
"...If it was we'd be having a different talk..." Second worst.

Grace
Shacking up. With River? Wrong Chakravanti, she thinks to herself, the humor of it making its way to her face. "Oh, hah, no, I mean... It's just a roomate thing, not a... Hah!"

Not either of those, Ned.

Then, the topic changes, and Grace is still smiling awkwardly when he says it. Serial killer. Yes. Right. Readjust the face for that.

River follows all that up with a joke, and -- screw it. Whatever you want to do, facial expression. What. Ever.

"Ahh, no. I'm afraid it's kicking my ass along with everything else. I've got my claws in another killer, if that's any consolation."

River
"You stay busy when I'm out of town, what's going on?" Brows raise for a second nad she takes a pull off of her shitty, shitty beer as though she has no problem with its flavor whatsoever.

Casual nature aside, the question is direct and wears an undercurrent of seriousness.

Ned
"It isn't."

Ned's frown at Grace is deeper now. Another one? He stares at her with something akin to Paranoid insight, Entropy flicking off her facial features which have one the route of slackened honesty, making the probabilities of her joking around rather slim.

"You telling me there are more than one? Or is this just...a separate one in addition to the one you're having trouble finding."

He flicks his eyes toward River, brow perked.

"Five dead...Initiates was it? Someone scrubbed the crime scenes pretty heavily. Left behind nothing more than a partial print and an eyelash or some such. According to Grace and confirmed by The D-....my Mentor. That's as far as anyone went with it though."

If that information doesn't sit well with Ned, he wears it like the colours of a favoured sport's team. Plainly and with greed.

Grace
"Busy busy, yup," Grace says. "Mike's in town for a reason, you know. Moral support and all that." She sighs a bit.

"I had some other mess to clean up before I found out about the murders. I found a... bad site. Live streaming snuff porn. Been fixing that. And yes, prepping the stuff I need for taking on a Mage murderer."

She looks at her beer. It doesn't seem quite enough. She drinks it, though. Of course she does.

River
"Mike's in town?"

Just a little too quick with that. River shakes her head, puts a hand up and continues on with the thought.

"Sounds like somebody is getting paid off to scrub the scenes. If it was magickal tampering they would have been thorough. A professional doesn't leave tracks."

Ned
"Last i checked, there's more than a few of us in town might help with all that. Might be time to share the wealth of information a bit, yeah?"

Ned's next shot cracks sharply, the Eight ball vanishing into a pocket with little fanfare. He sets the cue on the table and then moves over to his pint, eyeballing it suspiciously. River's surprise around the pool table draw's Ned's glance toward her, then down and away. He drains a chunk of the pint before setting it on one of the end table's nearby with a ghastly look on his face.

"Suddenly remember why I quit."

He turns to look back at the other two, brow knit, part in disgust with the beer still on his tongue, partly for the topics being talked about.

"What's been done so far to track the Killer? The Worker one. Beyond investigating the scene." A pause. "..And who's Mike?"

Grace
"They're both Worker ones, Ned," Grace says, and ugh, this beer is awful. Yeah, someone tortured a Mage on live television. Let that scenario play out in your head. Guess what happened?

"I used to have a way to make sure everybody knew about these things, but the fucking Techs got it. I have been trying to make sure people know, but starting a bunch of phone conversations talking about murder is a great way to get the NSA breathing down your neck too. Been there, done that."

So. Doesn't that make you feel so comfortable, Ned?

"Mike's ahhh... Well, he's my boyfriend."

Ned
"....Then you're talking to the wrong ones."

He clucks his tongue, sharply, eyeballing Grace. "Because most of the 'old guard' I've run into are more concerned with keeping secrets and playing careful then actually doing something but they seem to be the only ones who actually get any of the info..."

Ned scrubs at his brow for a second.

"Am I up to date on the Colorado Springs deal? Eyelash and Partial Print? Any remains of the bodies themselves? I.Ds or Names?"

Grace
Grace squints at Ned. "Right. So, if I remember right, you found out about it what... a day after I did? What was I supposed to do, call you up an hour after I found out -- from your mentor no less? Here's an idea for you -- why don't you help me 'share the wealth of information'?"

Nobody has ever accused Grace of keeping secrets, playing careful, and not doing. The polar opposite, yes. Definitely that.

"You think I'm here to slack off? I think I kind of need a bit of a break, considering I've been doing pretty much nothing else besides dismantling some of the vilest shit you can imagine. Like, an hour ago, Ned."

She blinks. Looks away.

"You are up to date. I'll have more stuff soon. But I don't know any more than what the Doc does right now, I'm sorry." And she means that. It weighs on her. Will another die because those who were looking were too slow?

Ned
"No I'm telling you to broaden. Your network fell apart and you're running off-grid to keep ahead of those tracking you down and not even your Roommate knew any of this before this particular moment. No one's telling you to do what you're doing, but you're doing it anyway and that's..."

He pauses. Going back in time briefly to a conversation he had with someone. He had a lot to say about 'Purpose'.

"I think you're here to do something right but you've got a lot of obstacles to go around to do it. Problem isn't who is doing the talking the problem is who's listening and how many obstacles you have to go around to get them to do so. Keep doing that. They need to know but...I'm not an obstacle. I'm not going to get in your way and I get the feeling there's a few others who don't know, that might feel that way as well."

Ned's tossing a five down on the table next to his beer. A five and some change. Cheap was cheap, expected.

"I need to have a talk with someone. I have your number, I'll send along a Text and in the meantime, try to sort out some method of communication that isn't digital....Meantime, you find anything else out-" He digs around in his pocket for a pen, snatching a napkin from one of the dispensers "-write it out and put it in this P.O box. Outside of the uni. Slower than a text but more secure in the end, yeah?"

He thrusts the paper out at her, brow perked.

Grace
She's a little perturbed by him, yeah. The 'old guard' in Denver includes her. It includes people she's been through a lot with. But, when he says that no one's telling her to do anything, she gives one of the 8-balls a sardonic grin.

"Nobody tells me what to do," she says. "Ask Mike about that sometime."

Michael MacCarrick. Adept of the Chakravanti. Master assassin. Receiver of at least one epic rant about how he was not to tell Grace to back down. When she says nobody, she means it.

"I'll make sure you're notified," she says, taking the address for the P.O. box. "If I use the mail, I'll send you a text back, Okay? Just so you're not, like, checking it every hour or something."

Ned
"One Letter. Your choice. Digital Voodoo....or something like that."

He grins back and stuff his hands in his pockets, little more than a nod offered because hey. This wasn't the good bye. This was a 'let's get to work'.

Making Myths (Red Room SL)

flux
There is work to be done.

Ther eis a video that is still floating around the web, being slowly copied and shared and disseminated in a fashion that all things do. It is a slow moving virus, but a virus none the less. Something that replicates and moves along because people are digitally making out and swapping data and there is a chance that slowly, ever-so-slowly, it's gaining popularity and becoming another one of those urban legends on the deep web.

There is a chance that there are offline copies, now, but those are unreachable. The online copies though, the things people are most readily accessing, are still out there. Because seriously, who burns CDs anymore?

Grace
There's something not quite right about removing data from the internet. It's possible, right? For someone like Grace, especially. But there's something about the internet itself that refuses to be silenced. The Streisand Effect is a thing. People don't like to be told no. It's something that resonates deep in the recesses of Grace's very heart, that. And yet, here she is, saying no. At first, she decided not to, but Angela was right. There are other people out there who will understand exactly what happened to Lydia.

Sometimes, people's lives are more important than ideology.

She's got her hack on in the parking lot outside a Carl's Jr, leeching wifi and prepping a small hen-and-chicks plant for its moment of glory -- being the processor in her quantum computer.

[Life 2, Entropy 3, Forces 2 and Corr 3 -- Plant-Based Quantum Computing. Diff 6 - 1 (personalized instrument) - 1 (taking time)]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[Extends!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (2, 5, 6) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Grace
[Computers, Diff 7 - 3 (Chloe) -- Accessing Sasha's botnet]

Dice: 9 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 7 )

Grace
[I should have double-10'sed that, but hey.... Overkill much?]

flux
(Yeah, no, you got in just fine. LOL)

Grace
The first step is to go back to the root -- Sasha. From there, all the branches and leaves of video virus sprout. The fact that he built a botnet into the video makes things so much easier. The first few steps are going to be nicely easy. The next -- tracing which places the video has been uploaded to afterwards? Not so easy.

She finds it to be simple, really. Surprising, how many people out there had access to Mortis Cafe. Even more surprising how many of those decided to download a video from the site and let it infect them. Works out in her favor though.

In order to avoid too many questions, she goes for a less obvious route than erasure. Corrupted hard drives happen. Make it look like a consequence of that virus that went unnoticed so far. It's not like these people have much worth keeping on their computers anyway, right? Fucking snuff porn enthusiasts...

flux
This is the kind of network that should have been hard to access. Sure, Grace was a Goddess with a computer. She could have broken into the NSa's records right now and seen the cell phoen record of every global citizen with the kinds of skills that she had- the woman has successfully hacked the Technocracy before and got away relatively unscathed.

There were a lot of stupid whales out there, and there were a lot of easily found copies of that file that Sasha put out there. Corrupting the people's hard drives shouldn't have been a problem in the slightest and she could find computers from across the globe- some real and some virtual and some with genuine IPs and some with spoofed ones, all available for the pickings.

Only a moron would keep this thing on their connected hard drive.

Grace is just culling the herd.

Grace
[Computers, Diff 8 - 3 (Chloe) -- Trimming off the first branches of the tree of suck!]

Dice: 9 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 9 ) [Doubling Tens]

Grace
Not everybody is so dumb as to access the dark web without a prophylactic. Some people surely did not fall for the Trojan Horse, and these are the ones that Grace goes after next. Mirror sites, shared resources, places where the file sits waiting for some other rube to download it and get ensnared. For these, she corrupts the file. It is no longer accessible. It errors out. It might as well be gone.

For all their security, Grace susses them out and cracks their hashes with the help of a computer that can try every possibility at once. Thanks, Chloe.

Again, not too much of a problem, for her.

The next step, though? May be a little tough. The real pros like to hide, as she does, behind trails of dead ends and multiple proxies. They like to encrypt and encrypt and encrypt again, in chains and shells that you only know are empty until you get to the core and have to backtrack. People with real time on their hands can slip between all the cracks in the dark.

They're also going to be the ones asking the most questions when their shit goes missing. Well. Life is tough, isn't it? Viruses are sneaky things...

[Computers, Diff 9 - 3 (Chloe) -- Trimming off the second branches of the tree of suck!]

Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 7 ) [Doubling Tens]

flux
This comes from the simply curious. The people who clicked on something because someone said it was a real WTF video. This is the work of users who found something interesting and kept the tradition alive. Sometimes,t hese people are information hoarders. Sometimes, these people hoild onto the knowledge they have like precious treasures but not precious enough. Hold onto it because it was interesting but, usually, this stuff goes the way of the original Mr. Hands video. Sure, you could find it, but mostly can't nowadays. Grace is working along to make it more like some of the lost footage of the internet. The things that people saw once but can never really pull up again.

If you destroy the data, did it ever really happen?

Real pros like to hide, yes, and she's hunted down a real pro before because she is one. These are the kinds of people who were on par with the young man who started this mess, the one who decided to upload the video and take it out of people's hides for the sake of revenge. Sasha isn't an isolated young man- there are worlds of people who are like him. These are the people who understand that you win some you lose some.

Eventually, over the course of several weeks, Grace is fairly certain that she got the existing copies of the file off of the web, perhaps a little disturbed by how easy it was. Perhaps a little disturbed by the fact that it appears she had an easy task ahead of her.

No, the only copies of this video that exist are the ones that she can't touch without specifically knowing who has it and specifically being able to teleport the specific offline storage space out her way.

Grace
It's the making of a myth, at this point. She'll keep an eye on it, watch to see if the offline becomes online again. But mostly, people should forget, in time. They might not forget that it happened at all, but what did they really see? A "Red Room" video that gets conveniently edited as soon as actual damage is about to be incurred? I mean, it's an obvious fake to begin with.

This is what Grace hopes, anyway.

The next thing on her list (it is a long list, by now) is to ensure that Vivid Xxxtreme isn't a business anymore. She's called Mike, by this point. Told him about the worst of the lot, in hopes that he takes care of good old Doc Brad. She has faith in him. He kills people quite well. And she is turning out to be quite the killer of organizations, herself.

Let's take another one down.

flux
Vivid Xxxtreme is a business that had the unfortunate fortunateness of having a lot of enemies and a very good IT support team. After the little break in that Sasha and Grace pulled, it would seem that security got an upgrade. Nothing that she couldn't handle, of course, but enough of an upgrade that it was a bit of a headache for her to deal with.

Well, a headache if she were drunk and had two working fingers.

She's found some pretty prevalent shell companies before, little offshoots and sites that all worked under the Vivid Xxxtreme brand name. The Leather Library Archives was one such company that was bought out as of late, specializing in vintage BDSM that was actually 100% above board before being taken over. Hijab Hotties, which ran out of Pakistan according to the website (which actually ran out of Pakistan, Ohio), was another shell that seemed to exist only to launder money.

With quite a lot of digging, the name Grant Kherrington Jr. came up.

Grace
Grant. Lydia had mentioned a Grant, hadn't she? Someone, perhaps the only one, who was nice to her during her ordeal. It's not exactly a common name either.

Who is Grant Kherrington Junior in this scheme? It deserves a bit more poking around, doesn't it?

Grace
[Investigation 0 / Int 4 = poking around about Grant Kherrington Jr.  Diff 7 + 1 (because 0 Investigation). Spending WP because...]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 8, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

flux
What Grace finds is a little bit of interesting information while she is digging.

Grant Kherrington Junior (Independent film director)was married to scream queen Elizabeth Bartlett- an actress who was pretty prominent in the indie horror scene in the 1980's and early 90's who also did some documentary work herself.  She was cast to play Gia Carangi in the movie Gia and filmed some of the initial scenes before she got pregnant with her son- Grant Kherrington the third- and backed out of the movie

She was set to play Satine in Moulin Rouge and had some of the scenes filmed before she and her son died in a rather violent home invasion. Grant Kherrington Jr went from indie film production to working in the porn industry. Even then, he bowed out a few years later and became artistic director of vivid Xxxtreme in 2014.



Oddly enough, around the same time that Mortis Cafe came into being.

Grace
Elizabeth Bartlett. Sasha mentioned that Nomz's mom was a scream queen... someone who isn't around anymore. Bunny. Elizabeth 'Bunny' Bartlett? A rather morbid thought comes to mind. A violent home invasion sounds like the perfect cover-up for what typically goes down at Mortis Cafe.If that's who we're dealing with -- they say her son died, right?

Maybe that was just an excuse to keep him out of school?

There's another name on her list, then. Perhaps another who needs to be.... recycled.

Grace
[Computers, Diff 8 - 3 (Chloe) -- Kill the beast that is Vivid Xxxtreme. Strip accounts and steal identities, woo!]

Dice: 9 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 8 ) [Doubling Tens]

flux
It's done, easily enough she knows that it is only a matter of time before the company falls apart, before the money making beast is dismantled and the employees revolt. Once people realize it's hemorrhaging money it'll be too late. They won't be able to maintain their servers and assets will be sold off.

People who took their money and ran may have disappeared, but there's always a trail for that. Not everyone in this Hellish operation knew the extent of its depravity.

In a month's time, nobody will remember that the company existed save for videos saved on their hard drives and a twelve dollar refund for people who bought lifetime subscriptions.

Grace
Once the hit is done, it looks like nothing's happened at all. It'll continue looking like that, until the finance guys catch on, and then... Well. There's nothing they can do, really. A lot of their funds were illegally sourced. Crying about losing will only bring questions they can't answer, and by then they won't have the money to successfully buy their way out of justice.

There is no justice, really. None that can be found in the so-called 'justice system' at least. There is this, though. And this feels... close enough. The wretched business will die off, and perhaps some of the corrupted-to-the-core people running it along with.

Speaking of which.... What is Grant Kherrington Junior up to these days, she wonders?

Grace
[Computers, Diff 7 - 3 (Chloe) = Now that we have all the info on the finances, what is Grant Kherrington Junior spending his money on?]

Dice: 9 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 7 ) [Doubling Tens]

flux
It doesn't take a lot of doing. Someone may have set up other accounts for him that aren't in his name but, for the most part, it would appear that whoever did that did such a good job that even Grant doesn't know where all of his things may be. Maybe his assets exist physically, but it would appear that the digital ssets are pretty impressive.

His last purchase it would seem was a check for two thousand dollars written to a private investigator- Evan Michaels. He's spent a few things on gas receipts and fast food. It would appear that he's moving his way out of Montana and towards Texas by way of Colorado.

Cabals and Communes

Margot
It was midday Saturday with pleasant weather in June, you had better bet your ass that the park was crowded as hell today.  Clouds passed quickly across the sky in bunches, offering relief from the bright sun and bringing a summer-hot wind along with it.  No rain, though, not in the immediate forecast, so the park was not denied its typical weekend burst of life.

The good news about being surrounded by a sea of joggers with their dogs, clutches of friends playing volleyball or frisbee, and families with their kids picnicing and playing on the playgrounds?

Food trucks.  Plenty of them, parked in a line in the parking lot for the lunchtime push.  There were a couple of stands on the other end of the park, too-- mobile, smaller, one offering tacos, one offering falafels, and a third offering drinks and ice cream and other summertime confections.  It was at the last cart that Margot was standing in conversation with Dr. Sepúlveda while handing a couple of dollar bills to the mustached man running the cart, accepting an iced coffee drink in a plastic to-go cup in return.

They were in a middle of a conversation turned on a more mundane hinge thanks to the ears (and mustache) right in front of them.

"I'm thinking maybe I'll switch jobs and work at a bookstore instead, to keep an eye out for things to add to my Library all the better.  The dispensary's probably not going to have any curious tomes passing over its counter anytime soon."

Sepúlveda
Between the strip club, the Verbena's abode, and the brunch place up on Colfax - where the waitress was glad to see him actually interacting with other people and not just yelling at the two kids who, as far as she can tell, are his parolees or probates or foster kids or god knows what people think when they see Margot and Ned getting chewed out by Dr. Sepúlveda - the Etherite has been having an awful lot of outside time the last twenty-four hours.

Before he goes home, he extracts the kids from their respective places of dwelling with like 15 anchor emojis and a question mark.

And now here we are.

Despite the heat of the day, the Doc is wearing jeans, loafers, and a yellow button-down work shirt underneath a cardigan. His hair is a mess and his glasses could use a polish, but he seems to be in a decent enough mood.

As they wait for Ned to show up, he considers Margot's observations. His eyebrows lift up as if to ask if he's supposed to respond, then sucks an answer out of an eyetooth and says, "If it does, run."

Very funny.

"What sort of 'things' are you looking for?"

Margot
Today Margot was dressed in a china-blue-and-white printed sundress, capped sleeves with a low back and skirt that was loose enough for the breeze to tug but not lift from where it hunt above her knees.  Her hair was down, a straw sunhat on her head in lieu of sunglasses.  Flip flops, though, simple and broken in for park strolling.  Her face wore its standard amount of make-up, which is to say minimal, and she found time somewhere in the mix to paint her short fingernails a bright sunshiney yellow.

She sipped her coffee and wandered idle away from the concessions cart, but didn't walk with direction or purpose so as not to lose the designated meet point and thereby lose or miss Ned.  The game of 'where are you?' text tag was not one of her favorites.

"I don't really know.  I'm hoping to add more things on Prime and Entropy to my shelves, right now they're pretty heavy with medical texts and Spirits and other dimensions.  That stuff is easy enough to pick up, is the more insightful stuff that I want a chance to find."

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda scratches at the crook of his jaw, short nails singing against the growth of beard. Thinking. His own library is expansive. The reason he's renting a suite instead of a room at the Crawford is twofold: he wants to be able to put the kids up if they get into trouble, and he has too many damned books to crash at a bedbug motel by the highway.

Besides. There's a bar downstairs. He might never leave the Crawford.

"You planning on becoming the initiate of a tradition any time soon?"

Ned
Ned shows up with a careful layer of avoidance in his gait and demeanour. His brow has been permanently furrowed for the last week and a bit and one might think this a normal state of affairs. He's taken to t-shirts, blacks, navy blues and the occasional white, with pairs of loose fitting jeans. His converse have been traded in for a nice pair of firm cross-trainers. He's sporting a belt and something like a small harness at his hip, cinched to the belt via a loop. It looks long and slender and empty.

He weaves around various bodies, taking little notice of their brief glances or Saturday afternoon 'pardons' that are few and far between. The careful steps and easy motions came more comfortably now, given he was starting to actively pursue the odd 'anonymity' that hovered around him like a second skin.

Spying the Doc and Margot wasn't difficult. A week ago (not long after The Incident) Ned had opted to download an app onto Margot's phone that tracked Friend locations. She could glance at her phone and know where he was, so long as it was on and vice versa.

"...Working on it." Was his reply to the Doc, a scattered glance cast at the man before eyeballing the Verbena-to-be. "Last I checked though, the options for who to talk to were...limited. Didn't you say you had a line on someone who could make you an offer?"

Margot
Perhaps the question about traditions had been aimed at Margot, but it was Ned's voice that had answered.  He'd come up from the side, and Margot startled just enough to turn her head sharply to find him.  For a moment she eyeballed Ned back (something different there, the Doc may pick up-- a tension, not caution not anger, not the kind of tense that came from fighting but it was something), then let her gaze get pulled away as a particularly young and fluffy puppy ran by with its human on a leash.

"....I'm still going through some formalities, but I've spoken to a couple of Verbena.  I think that's going to work."

She sipped her coffee and wished that she wasn't wearing a dress so that she had a place to tuck her other hand away.

Sepúlveda
[i love rolling empathy so much]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Sepúlveda
And the Doc does pick up on the exaggerated startle reflex in his younger pupil. It isn't a proper panic attack, but she just jump enough that he can tell it was Ned's arrive and the suddenness of it that spooked her.

Rather than drawing attention to it, Sepúlveda does something that will either betray the depths of his capacity for giving a shit, or will make it seem as if he didn't even notice. He does nothing. Just keeps his hands in the pockets of his jeans and heaves a heavy sigh when Ned asks his question.

"If you think it will, it will," he says, to the matter of the Verbenae working for Margot. Out of one of his pockets comes the flask, from which he takes a hard pull. Points at Ned with the finger of the hand holding the flask and frowns, pointed, before putting away the flask. "I said what?"

Ned
"Was talking to Margot."

Ned corrected himself and the Doc together, head bobbing toward her momentarily.

"She mentioned someone that Nick and Pen were going to introduce her to. A while ago..." A pause. Frowning. "I think..." Shaking his head. "I need to have a sit down with Nick. Once I'm sure he doesn't try to convert me to love all the animals and disney princess' damselling, I'm going to apply for the Euthanatos." If Ned seems at all disturbed, cautious or afraid of their surroundings and who might be overhearing them he doesn't let on. This conversation seems to be happening at a careful pace, wandering in no particular direction at all.

His hands jam into his pockets.

"...We need a place to live." Switching lanes with the fluidity of the abrupt. "...And I put in my two weeks notice."

Margot
1````

Sepúlveda
[hi hazel!]

Margot
Margot's eyebrows hopped up in mild surprise when Ned said he was talking to her, like she was under the impression that the question had been for Doc as well.  Then she blinked and nodded her head.  Popped the coffee drink straw from her mouth to answer.

"Yeah, Thane.  And Thane introduced me to this Kat woman, who's a real insightful badass.  She's a disciple of War, too."

Ambling onward, she listened while Ned explained that he was going to apply for the Euthanatos (in a move that no one saw coming).  Her gaze cast forward and to the side, like she was fly fishing for anything else to pay attention to in that moment.  Coffee straw went back into her mouth and she found some geese on the pond to watch paddling instead.  She only had enough time to watch them paddle a dozen meters before the subject of quitting ones job cropped up.

"Shit, already?"  She asked Ned, sounding surprised and looking (as usual) worried.

Sepúlveda
Overtop Margot:

"The fuck'd you do that for?" He rubs his temple with the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, like he's got a headache brewing. Before Ned can answer he goes on: "Good to hear you two have plans."

Because they didn't get a chance to talk about it the night he patched up Ned's collapsed lung, bitching the entire time but not asking too many questions.

Ned
"Makes sense. I don't want to be there anymore and...Well after learning Entropy...I didn't think hospitals could get anymore depressing, really." Ned's frown is deeper, thicker at the mention of this and his head rocks to one side as if to physically clear the expression from his face.

"Doing things officially, means I can maybe look into another area that isn't so time intensive. Pay will be less and really, most of my money goes towards takeout and transportation anyway." A pause. Abruptness: "I gotta start riding my bike more."

Then around at the people they are passing by, as if he'd only just noticed where they are and what normal folks do in situations like this.

"I've got a plan for the near future. Distant is another story..." That frown threatens again. "I want to know how 'safe' we are here and how much or many threats I need to learn about."

Sepúlveda
With the most long-suffering sighs in the history of long-suffering sighs, Andrés takes a few steps away from the kids, wanders off to the shade of an oak tree, and sits down. Or... flops, is more like it, since he ends up on his back.

"The Choir was right," he says, to himself and knowing full well they can still hear him. "The One is punishing me."

Margot
The point about the hospital being all the more depressing with Entropy in the picture was accepted with a nod and Margot contented herself with watching geese and ducks and puppy dogs again.  She got several steps away after Doc veered to the side and Ned no doubt lagged to continue the conversation with him.  Stopped after she realized she was walking alone, turned around, frowned a little, and walked back to stand on the edge of the shadow-splot of the tree that Doc had flopped beneath.

"The Distant Future could range anywhere from dead in the dirt to Ascension, there's no sense in planning it in much detail," she offered over to Ned, then glanced down to where Doc was laying in the grass.

"I think with what we know we're safest here... Just here, in Denver, where we know people and have help.  Outside of that, we're just going to need to learn to ward and banish to stay safe."

Sepúlveda
The Doc peels his glasses off his face and lets them lie bridge-down across his chest, showing no intention or sign of getting back up just yet. Grass gets in his hair and the daylight brings out the green in his eyes and something about the far-off sounds of laughing children and chirping birds and splashing fountains really brings out the surreality of their existences.

This is the reality into which they have Awakened. It doesn't have to be like this. If Sepúlveda decided he wanted to turn the grass purple, he could. One would have to ask why, though, given the backlash bitch-slap he recently absorbed.

"Edward," he says, "based on my own anecdotal evidence, you're safer here than you are in any of the major coastal cities. You're definitely safer here than you are in Chicago. Never go to Mexico. Not because of the drug cartels, sabes, because of the vampires."

Ned
"I hear punishment with God often comes with lessons yet to be learned."

Like it was read off the back of a fortune cookie. Ned veers clear of the other people pushing and shoving past, doing his level best to remain out of their radar which isn't difficult. Arcane made him the 'third member' of this little party, folks would pay less attention to over someone like the Doc (loud and shit givingless) or Margot (Pretty and Expressive).

"I don't want to move cities or pack up and be elsewhere. I want to be better at protecting myself and others. Distant future is all robots and skynet for all I know. I'm more concerned about Localized Distant, as opposed to global. How to make home..." A hand thrown around at the park "...Denver, safe for us. That includes resisting kidnappings, hostages, eavesdropping and ugliness cropping up on repeat." A pause, Ned's purposefully keeping out of the shade of the tree, to one side, face turned up into the sun.

"...Or at least learn how to anticipate." A hand rises to scrub at his chin. "Entropy's helping with that, though."

Margot
The comment about vampires in Mexico piqued some interest in Margot.  Certainly she'd heard about the Mexican plauge of vampirism before, and she was starting to piece together that some of the monsters and fairy tale creatures she'd read about throughout her youth were actually real.  Nobody needed to tell her directly that fairies were real.  Nobody had to tell her that werewolves were either.  Now, of course, she knew nothing of their mechanics societies or politics just yet, but the 'just yet' was the emphasized point in that sentence.  Margot was a smart little student.  She'd figure all this out given the chance and a point in the right direction.

Ned expressed that he wanted to be able to set up a shop, a home, and keep it safe and protected.  She nodded her agreement, and mused quiet and somber.

"I'm reading about the spirits in particular.  The Gauntlet's just.... there's too much come and go, spirits crossing over and bringing things back.  I'm going to learn to..."  She searched for the right word, and even went so far as to reach into the air in front of her with her palm up, fingers curled, like she could pluck what she was trying to say from the very air.

"...To calcify the Gauntlet.  Shove things back across and then seal off the door they came in through.  I'm close.  I'm pretty sure I'm close."

Then she looked down to Doc and tipped her head aside.  Moved the hand that had been word-hunting to stop her hat from slipping off her head when she did.  "Doc, I think what Ned's getting at is that all of this would be easier, keeping each other safe, if we didn't all go to sleep in different places at night.  The salt on my window sill still only does as much good as my prayers and a rosary would right now.  I can't ward up my home, Ned can't his."

Ned
"...And given your history of 'volatile relations' I would think having outside perspectives around to keep an eye on you, would ultimately be better..."

Ned offers on the tail end of Margot's words. Unapologetic, expectant almost.

Sepúlveda
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

He's going to stick to his contention that the volatile relation in question wouldn't have gone so bad if it weren't for the kids antagonizing the Kha'vadi woman, thank you very much.

For this next bit he sits up, using his core muscles rather than his appendages, more graceful than he looks, and takes another swig once he's upright again. His glasses topple to the grass. He leaves them there a moment.

"The odds of you two doing anything of any use to keep me safe is so small I can't--" He puts on his glasses. Squints. "Nope. Still can't... still can't see it. The odds. Because of how small they are. Your outside perspective means precisely dick to me, Ned." He stifles a burp. "If you two want to come play Sleepover at my hotel room, that's... that's fine, but the first time I hear you two... making out, or whatever it is you do in your spare time, through the wall, no more Sleepover."

Grace
She doesn't pick up on the entire conversation, does Grace. Only Margot's worries about wards, and Ned's about volatile relations. She knows what he means by that, she thinks.

Now, Grace, today, is not the most reassuring sort of person to bump into. Mike makes sure that she sleeps, at least, so she doesn't quite look like she's been pulling so many all-nighters it must be finals season. But she's taut -- tense like perhaps there is something to be worried about out there.

"You guys... Hey."

Margot
"Making out?"  Margot cast a look at the Doc that was all incredulity.  "I'm beginning to suspect that you really do think we're fourteen year olds...."

Then, suddenly, a wild Grace appeared.  For a second time that midday there in the park a voice announced a presence prior to the face and body doing so, and for a second time Margot startled with a small bodily jerk and sloshed the ice of her coffee around when she did so.  Had there been no lid then there's a chance it would've spilled down her arm, but bless to-go cups and their foresight for clumsy spills.

"Oh," she said, sounding relieved when she found Grace to be the person who had broken from the crowd of park-goers to say hello.

"Grace, hey.  How are ya?"

Margot?  She looked okay.  That was really the best word for it-- like somebody who didn't sleep enough and worried way too much but still had enough give-a-shit about perceptions that she stood in the sun and pretended that neither of those were the case.

Ned
"A house, Doc. With many layers of walls between me and whatever pervy nonsense you get up to-"

Ned pauses those words when Grace arrives. He isn't so much surprised as he is changing gears, body moving around in a tight circle to grant Grace a bit more surface area beneath the shade of the tree they are 'lounging' under. His smile is tight, tiny and his attention brief, catching her gaze should she throw it at him, momentarily before lifting his face back into the sun.

"...Suns out. Should put any lingering worries you may have about my undeadness to rest." His smile is a bit needling, though the tone doesn't have enough bite to make it sarcasm. "You need more sleep, Lady." Abruptly delivered, eyes peeling open to scan over Grace's features and frame.

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda stares at Ned for a good three beats of silence, his brain flooded with so many one-liners that they gum up the entire works. He chases down the remnants with a wash of tequila or whatever the hell he actually has in his flask.

"Gracia!" he says. "How's that OCR scan coming?"

To his students: "A bunch of apprentices have gone missing in Colorado Springs, two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is paying off the El Paso ME's office, because there's, like, no evidence from either of the crime scenes." A pause. "Oh, shit, did I forget to tell you guys about that? I can't think of what was going on a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't--"

Grace
She can do that, at times -- pop out of nowhere, like the crowd or the background just ejected a person you know. Sometimes, she'll announce her presence by doing something strange in the distance, but that's only if she remembers. It's hard to notice that you are hard to notice.

"I sleep plenty," she replies to Ned. "I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me."

But there, an admission: she needs someone to make sure she sleeps instead of just losing herself in the chase.

"OCRing it, I don't know. I was just going to grab the real deal. I can't stand printouts."

She gives Margot a smile. Don't worry, dear. It'll be fine. "You guys looking for a place to live?"

Margot
If Margot seemed a little solemn earlier (despite the bright sunny summery outfit), that was nothing compared to how very grim she became when Doc began to speak of Apprentices going missing and how some of them had been murdered.  Grace's arrival had been a welcome one, given how a touch of the worry in the corners of Margot's eyes and mouth had faded away, but what good the Virtual Adept's appearance had served to the would-be Verbena's sense of calm was quickly washed away.

"We were out of town."  She said this quick and sharp at the end of Sepúlveda's open-ended musing about what was happening in the past few weeks that may have caused this news to escape his pupils/cabalmates/kids/whatever-the-fuck-that-relationship-was.

Grace's question was absorbed with a brief flutter of hazel eyes back in her direction.  "More like hammering out details for cohabitation," she explained, and then looked back to Doc again with a serious weight to her expression, and dragging her shoulders down as well.

"Isn't anyone besides some paid-off police looking into the matter?  You know, someone like us?"

Sepúlveda
I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me.

"Gross," he says, and takes another drink.

Ned
"...And that never stopped you from Text bombing us before..."

Ned chimes in after Margot, murmuring it with little to no force. If anything, Ned's own concern and worry suddenly goes inward and he seems to pull his attention back from the conversation, allowing Margot to take the first steps in the matter by asking questions.

Sepúlveda
"What never stopped me from text bombing you before?"

Margot
"Distance," Margot sounded clipped and anxious and heard it in her own voice as soon as the word snapped out off her tongue.  She closed her eyes, took a breath in through her nose, then tried again.

"I'm sorry.  Please, though, come on.  What's happening with the apprentices?"

Grace
Grace gives Dr. Sepúlveda the look of pure confusion. "What's gross about sleeping?"

She stops, considers the tree. Still can't figure it out. Decides to drop that thread, because whenever she gets confused like this, it doesn't bode well.

"I am looking into it. Though, I just found out about it, and don't have a whole lot to go on," she says. "Apparently, there were a lot of new Mages in Colorado Springs. There aren't anymore. And whoever's doing it is sweeping their tracks."

Sepúlveda
"There's a Chorister on the CSPD who caught wind of what was happening, she mentioned it to me, I scraped up what little evidence the perp or whoever was helping the perp left behind, I gave it to Grace. We're handling it."

That said: "Hey, Grace, that hitman you're shacking up with, I want to sell him an initiate. You think you can get me an estimate?"

Ned
"Sweeping how? Cleaning kill sites? Bodies missing?"

Ned pauses to stare around at the Normals that are haunting the area. His voice is purposefully low and he takes that moment to step a little closer so as to allow his voice to lower.

"...And how far outside of the Springs do the murders go? Is it just that area so far?"

Sepúlveda
"It's just that area. If you want to help, do nothing. I need to have to rescue you two from a serial killer like I need a hole in my head."

Margot
Grace explained what she knew and what she was doing, and the Doc followed up by cutting to the meat of the topic by explaining the situation in an overview.  It must have become apparent that Margot wasn't handling the toying around very well.

Do you see the tandem at play here?  Margot had begun voicing questions and finding information initially and Ned had fallen quiet.  Now here, where he was inquiring about the murder radius, Margot had discovered silence in turn.  Doc spoke of rescuing them from a serial killer and Margot's jaw clenched, lips pressed thin, and brow furrowed heavily-- a hard scowl at a fresh and horrible memory.

Following that she found a spot in the distance behind the tree to stare into unfocused, and took to slowly sipping the rest of her iced coffee through the straw.  A perfect excuse not to speak as any.  That hard frowning moment disconnected her from the discussion and now she seemed to be tuned out and waiting for it to end.

Or grappling with something in her mind and heart on the spot and trying not to lapse into a panicked state.

Maybe all of the above.

Grace
"He's not... exactly a hit man, and you..." Know that. It's just Andrés Sepúlveda being himself. Right. "Want to sell him an initiate?"

She sighs. The man is incomprehensible at best.

"And yeah. As far as anyone can tell, the murderer left only a partial fingerprint and a single hair behind, in five murders. Something fishy's going on, definitely."

She turns her attentions back toward the actual people, notices the discomfort in the area. "Look, after this investigation shit is over, I have a project you guys might be interested in. I've got some money burning a hole in multiple bank accounts just waiting to be spent on some real estate. An apartment complex, you know? For people like us. You'd be able to 'cohabitate' with a lot more ease, maybe?"

Ned
"You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims? I can't imagine awakened dead, being horribly murdered is going to leave a particularly restful spirit."

Ned and Margot both had some experience dealing with that. Well...once. Unpleasantly. It nearly got them killed by Zombies. That had been....fun? No, wrong word. Regardless, Ned seems almost to ignore the Doc's mention of Serial Killers and rescuing them, directing the question toward Grace....which of course, was probably more to do with Doc's irreverent take on Ghosts and the Spirit Sphere in general.

"Relax, Doc." Ned finally turns to look at Andres. "Margot and I are taking a hiatus from 'rushing in to Scooby Doo things'. The more questions I have answers for though, the more likely I can take precautions going to and from home, incase whoever or whatever this is, decides Colorado Springs is all dried up and wants to make a move to bigger pastures."

Then back toward Grace at mention of 'Money' and 'Apartment Complex'.

"Isn't that sort of putting all our eggs in one basket? And wouldn't the multitudes of conflicting Paradigms make for a Paradox buffet of epic proportions?"

Sepúlveda
Want to sell him an initiate?

At least Andrés thinks Andrés is funny. He takes a swallow from the flask instead of answering and looks over his shoulder to make sure Margot hasn't gone too far away. No remorse in his gaze, though it's hard to tell with the glare over his glasses and the fact that he tries to keep his emotional range between Excited and Annoyed.

You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims?

He flicks his eyebrows and cants his head to one side. No. No he did not try that. Because he has no training in Spirit. Still, it's not a bad idea.

Drink.

Margot
[Get out of your head, Margot]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Margot
Margot's silence stretched out long enough that she came back in around talk of moving on from Colorado Springs and into bigger, greener pastures.  Her eyes had been out of focus and she was drifting nearer and nearer to the middle distance that she stared at, and thusly further and further inward (rescue you from a serial killer.... we don't need rescuing, we just proved that... how'd you handle the serial killer, Margot?  what did you do?  what did you do?  what did you--).

With a sudden sniff Margot came back to, ducked her head and lifted her hand.  The wide brim of her hat hid her face from view so that she could more effectively pretend to be catching a bug or bit of pollen out of her eye.  In reality she was brushing away tears and scrubbing at her eyelids fiercely with her fingertips and coaching herself to get it the fuck together.

When she lifted her head to show her face again she looked like she was about ready to cry, or like she had only just recovered from crying perhaps.  She sniffed a little again, swallowed, but her voice was clear enough and steady enough (after the very first syllable) to pass.

"I don't know... I mean, there would be plenty of wards and watches there, but that sounds like a beacon of magick too.  A big old target."

Grace
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Ned," she says, but the smile on her face takes a bit of punch out of the language. "Paradigms making a Paradox buffet? Paradox happens if you screw up or do something wildly out of bounds, but I've never heard of it happening just because people are living together. Besides, you were the ones just talking about cohabitation -- and you're thinking about doing it with him," she says, pointing at Dr. Sepúlveda.

"I can see the wisdom in not putting our eggs in one basket, but I can also see the wisdom of strength in numbers, and having a place with wards and robot dragon security guards... I mean, that sounds so amazingly wise to me," she says, grinning like she might have a touch of mad scientist to her herself.

She shrugs at Margot. "We're always a target. Anyway, it was just a thought. It'll be there, if you guys change your mind. Or even if you just need a place to go for a week or whatever."

Sepúlveda
[http://i.imgur.com/aMgG2jh.gif]

Ned
"....Nevermind how you even police privacy or respect or courtesy...most of us can barely interact without some sort of friction, tension or sarcasm...and that's just us saying hello..."

Ned climbs down the length of the Tree the Doc is stationed under, settling onto his ass with a grunt. His eyes trail towards Margot briefly at the sniff, perceptions catching the downturn of her mood and the silence that had preceded it but he doesn't comment or mention. Simply listens to Grace's commentary and returns to the conversation.

"Difference between a Cabal and a Commune....appreciate the offer though. We'll keep it in mind." Ned's wiping his hands down the length of his jeans, brow furrowing together. "Back up though. You just started the investigation? All you got was a hair and a partial fingerprint. How many did you say have died so far?"

Sepúlveda
[corr 1/time 2: hang on, doing stuff]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 2 )

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda sighs when Ned starts asking more questions. Rather than repeat himself, he rummages through his pocket to remove a device that looks like a GPS and a calculator had a rough night and starts to punch in... coordinates? Time signatures? It's hard to tell even if you're watching him closely.

From the machine comes the garbled noise associated with a tape rewinding. It's the moment they all just shared together, going backwards on the screen. Ned returns to the tree, Margot goes and comes back. He tilts it so Ned can see the screen when the activity starts to move forward again.

--gone missing in Colorado Springs, the image of Sepúlveda is saying.

He then proceeds to talk over himself, saying, "Damn, my hair looks good today."

--and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

"Whoops."

Rewind.

--two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

Yeah he could have just repeated himself with, like, words, but that takes all the fun out of it.

Ned
"....I can do that to...It's called an Iphone, grandpa..."

Sepúlveda
"I'll show you an iPhone, you little shit."

Margot
Margot didn't sit to join the rest of her cabal that they wouldn't outright call one but instead remained standing in the shade that the tree cast.  She glanced down to watch Doc fiddle with some device that literally went back in time and pulled his voice from it to explain to Ned that two out of five missing apprentices were found murdered.  Then they bickered about iPhones.

Margot just sighed and rested her forehead and eyes in one hand, supported the elbow in her other hand.

This moment right here could be the snapshot that their cabal sigil was built off of.  Just take it in for a second.

"Grace," she said to interrupt the two after a second.  "Will you keep me in the loop, please?  I'd like to know how many times a minute I need to check over my shoulder and if that should change."

Grace
It's like watching a dysfunctional family dysfunction, isn't it? Grace's eyes go a little wider, like maybe she's just not ready to appropriately handle Ned and Andrés right now, but then Margot saves her.

Keep her in the loop, she says.

"Of course. Absolutely."

"Um. Also, I'll tell Mike you wanted to sell him an initiate, though I don't know exactly what you mean by that," she says to Sepúlveda.

Ned
"....Wait a minute how many initiates do you know?" Pause. "...Margot's not for sale..." Pause. "Fuck you."

The Case of the Disappearing Rookies

Grace
It takes longer for Andrés to get to this place -- Jubilee Roasting Company. Coffee and art. Grace could care less about the latter, really. The reason this spot was chosen was because it contains caffeine and isn't a Starbucks.

That being said, there is a wall of books here, in old wood shelves. An old, rusted bicycle hangs from a wall. The ceiling is a mess of pipes and ductwork and rafters. And yet, there is also local art on the walls. It is the kind of place that is trying rather hard at hipster.

The coffee is as delightful as one might expect from a small roastery like this one. Grace has herself a tall mug of vanilla latte by the time Andrés arrives, and appears to be scowling into her phone from her table near the wall-o-books.

Dr. Sepúlveda
This time of day, coffeehouses tend to teem with trust fund babies and freelancers and retirees. People who don't have set hours and prefer to drink coffee out in the open, with friends, on couches that have had lord knows how many asses in them since the business's opening. A small establishment like this one draws a smaller crowd, of course, but it is still a crowd.

The Etherite comes barreling through the front door like a tiny hurricane shaped like a man, briefcase in hand. Does a bit of a wheel-around when the barista greets him. He's dressed as he tends to be when he comes straight from the morgue rather than straight from the federal courthouse: slacks and a button-down shirt, loafers, cardigan, glasses on, hair a mess. This particular barista seems to find him charming. Blame it on the accent.

A moment later he's at Grace's table with a mug of coffee. Sets down the coffee, sets down his briefcase, pulls his flask out of a pocket before dumping himself into the seat across from her.

"Word from Colorado Springs is," he says, pouring a liberal amount of god knows what into his coffee, "five out of seven rookies have gone missing. Well... okay, the word is 'murder,' and their case files look like shit."

Sip. Wince. Glug.

Grace
This is Grace's life now. She gets dragged away from a mission to crack a snuff porn server, to be met by the medical examiner fresh from the morgue to talk about murder. The surreal nature of this isn't exactly lost on her. It's just the background radiation of her life. It goes without saying that things will be surreal. Her eyes still ask why, though.

She squints at  Dr. Sepúlveda. "Five of seven? Rookies?" she lets out a sigh. The only rookie from Colorado Springs she knows is Lydia, and, well, hope the girl is okay at least. Not good odds, though.

"What would anyone gain by..."

But then, she was targeted as a rookie, wasn't she?

Dr. Sepúlveda
This turn of events doesn't seem to strike the Etherite as surreal. His history being such as it is, one almost has to wonder what it would take for this man to sit up and say Yeah you know that is strange. Or maybe one is better off not wondering. There are rumors, see.

Her squinting and sighing provokes his eyebrows to lift and the expression on his face to echo a clear What's the problem? before she tries a different tack.

"By what? Killing newbies?" More booze goes into his coffee, and then he gives a small shrug and takes a nip out of the flask before screwing the cap back on and pocketing it. "They make great Quintessence batteries..."

Grace
Grace blinks at him. "Quintessence. Batteries."

Yeah, okay, Sepúlveda. You can stop saying creepy shit any day now. She looks down into her coffee.

"In what way do the case files look like shit, exactly?"

Dr. Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda will stop saying creepy shit when he's dead.

They swing back to the matter of paperwork which is not only exciting but the catalyst for this conversation. His eyebrows hop up one more time and then he reaches down to haul his briefcase into his lap. Rifles through it as he talks.

"Either the El Paso County ME doesn't know his head from his ass, or someone went in and lifted all the evidence." He frowns at a manila folder, then tosses his glasses onto the table and keeps rifling. "Only thing that's left--" There it is. He tosses a pathetic manila folder in her direction. "--is a partial print and DNA from a hair, which supposedly didn't flag any matches in the database. I can reconstruct the print, but I can't do anything remotely, you know?"

Grace
"I might be able to do something with that hair..." she says, frowning at the manila folder before opening it to inspect the contents.

"But, if someone is really making quintessence batteries out of people and going to great lengths to not be found, I might not be able."

She slides the papers out of the folder, takes an absent-minded drink of her coffee. "I can certainly give it a try."

Dr. Sepúlveda
... I might not be able.

"Iii dooon't knooow what they're doing with them," he says, slow, like she's the one being ridiculous. "I'm a doctor, not a mind reader."

Says the fellow who literally tried to read her mind within the first two minutes of meeting her.

I can certainly give it a try.

"That's the spirit."

Glug.

Grace
"If they're specifically targeting us, they're probably protecting themselves against us. I mean, tactically, doing otherwise could lead to a very short life span. But, I''ll give it a shot," she says, before scowling at a piece of paper pulled from the envelope. Oh, fantastic. They took a picture of DNA data and printed it out. How adorable. Might as well have photographed the paper on a wooden table first before printing it out again.

"Do you have the DNA in data form? Or even... the hair? Otherwise, I'm going to have to OCR and interpret this, and it may not be as accurate."

Dr. Sepúlveda
Though he doesn't come right out and say it, it ought to be obvious to anyone who's spoken to him for longer than five seconds that he barely had two fucks to rub together to create a spark of interest in this dilemma. It's far enough away that it oughtn't concern him. If Martinez really needed the help, she would have asked for help. Et cetera.

Huge sigh.

"You ever try to sign out physical evidence when a case is assigned to you?" he asks. "It's a huge pain in the ass when it's in your jurisdiction, which this isn't."

Grace
Grace rolls her eyes. "Of course I haven't. I've never been anything 'official' with 'cases' and 'jurisdictions'. I guess I'll go crack open some government servers then. They're easy."

Yeah, easy. But now, there's two messes on her plate, with people's lives on the line. Can't exactly stop going. She rubs her eyes, wondering if there will ever be enough time...

"I'll uh... let you know if I find anything, I guess. You and some others I know in Colorado Springs."

Dr. Sepúlveda
"Don't work too hard," he says as he returns his briefcase to order. "Worst case scenario, we get another dead body when the killer strikes again. Fresh evidence!"

He puts on his glasses, kills his coffee, and stands.

"Later!"

And away he goes, off to happy away an hour somewhere else.

Grace
Worst case scenario, some newbie gets killed. Yeah, dude. State the obvious. The creepily obvious. It just gets an eyebrow-raise from Grace. At least she has coffee.

She downs some. Maybe it'll help with this headache.

"Later," she says to his back, and returns to scowling at her phone.

A Date with Death (Red Room SL)

Michael
An hour ahead of L.A., Grace knows the drill by now. It's better to call the Euthanatos Adept in the afternoon if she hopes to get ahold of him. He will not answer his phone if he is turning the Wheel. Administering a Good Death. What have you. This is not one of those times. When she calls, he answers.

"Grace!" Thank you Modern Age and your life-changing caller ID technology. "How are you?"

Grace
The voice on the other line sounds tired. There's more than one way of being tired, really. You can overwork, under sleep, or just be tired of this shit. With Grace right now, it's mostly the third.

"I'll be a lot better once I clean up this mess I found," she says. "But hey, how are you?"

Michael
A small pause in between her question and his answer. She knows what that pause means.

"I'm well. What mess?"

Grace
"I was out doing my thing, and I ran across a myth of the dark net. People say it happens, but nobody can find proof, you know. I did.

"I found a red room. A streaming video site where you can pay to... Suggest things to do to a captive. And they do it. It's a snuff porn thing, basically."

There is a sighing quality to her tone. This is what people sometimes do with the pure freedom that encryption brings. She has a duty as a champion of freedom to ensure that people don't use it to become petty kings over a fief of torturers.

Michael
A thousand miles away, Michael stands from his desk and walks to the plate-glass window looking out over downtown Los Angeles. Shucks back a panel of his suit jacket and hooks his free hand on his hip. Looking out helps him focus his thoughts while Grace explains the mess.

"Finding proof of myths' existence is rarely pleasant," he says. Commiseration, sounds like. Then, "Where is this red room located?"

Grace
"That's part of what I'm trying to figure out right now. I think maybe somewhere in Montana. But first things first right? It gets messier.

"The video I found was of a woman being tortured, but she escaped. She Awakened. The lights went out, and when they came back, she was gone.

"Her boyfriend is this amazing hacker, but he's a Sleeper, and didn't know what he was looking at when he saw it, which of course he did. Started asking questions and trying to get revenge. And then, there was Lydia.

"I found her in Colorado Springs. She's safe, at least. Being taken care of by one of your people."

Michael
"Which person?"

Grace
"Angela Avella was the name she gave me," Grace says, knowing that among their kind, names are rather mutable.

Michael
"Angela..."

Musing. Sifting through the ashes of his recollection to find the face to whom it belongs. This doesn't take long.

"Angela Avella. Does she still do her crossword puzzles with a pen?" That's an easy enough question to answer and the answer isn't important. He does know Angela though. Knows her enough to ask, "Does Angela intend to take on Lydia as an apprentice?"

Grace
"I don't know. At the moment, it just seems like she's taken her in because she's a scared, freshly Awakened person who has no idea what's happened to her yet. Maybe?

"Angela does kind of seem like the kind of person to do her crossword puzzles in pen though. Seems like a good woman for the job."

Michael
Nothing she has said yet has given him the impression that she cannot handle the problem. It is a nagging problem and it is one that could become difficult to solve with too much attention paid to it. She can hear him weighing his options in the scant silence that follows.

"What can I do to help?" is what he comes up with.

Grace
"With the technology side of things, not much. I'm going to try to make the internet forget that that video exists, which will be... Difficult.

"But other than that, there's still a lot of real-life shit going on here. I got the info on a guy who was kicked out of the business for being too gross even for them. Wanted to branch out into new markets, specifically little kids. He runs a Christian charity in Thailand, or so his card says.

"Also, I'm pretty sure their IT support for this whole shit show is a minor. Probably someone's kid who's been press-ganged into helping with the family business. He'll need... Help. Not to mention all the people they've kidnapped.

"It is a colossal mess, Mike. I'm glad for any help, really."

Michael
"Of course. I'll do what I can."

To that end:

"Does the the fellow running the charity in Thailand have a name or an address on his card?"

Grace
"Oh, yes. He goes by Doc Brad, but the name's really Bradley Olliver. Docbrad@internationalcharitiesinc.org."

She knows, even before she's said the words, that she's probably signing a man's death warrant. But there's no hesitation. They're on the same page here.

She gives him the phone number too, and later on, he'll get some encrypted email with all the messages and forum posts that show the man to be, yes, just as she said.

Michael
Scribble scribble scribble.

"Alright," he says with a jovialness that belies the severity of the solution she knows he's come up with. A final scribble, and then: "I'd like to take you out to dinner after I meet with Mister Olliver, if you would be amenable."

Grace
"Oh!" she says, with a lightheartedness that he hasn't heard in her voice since the start of their conversation. "I'd love that."

There's a breathy sigh on the other end, and then: "Gives me something to look forward to in all this."

Michael
"I find it helpful to have something to look forward to in times of stress."

Like when he's about to board an airplane to interrogate and kill a monster.

"I'll call you when I'm on my way to Denver. In the meantime, be safe. We'll find the red room."

Grace
"I know we will," she says. "I adore you, you know that, right?"

Michael
"I know." I adore you too, he says without saying. "We'll address that after dinner."

So smooth, Michael. So smooth.

Grace
She huffs a low-toned laugh into the phone, and then: "Address it good and proper, huh?"

Not quite as smooth as he. Never was, really.

"I'll be waiting for your call, then."

Michael
"You won't have to wait too long." Because he is literally packing up his briefcase and headed to the airport right now. One of the perks of having a Euthanatos on speed dial. "Be good, Grace."

And off he goes.

Lydia (Red Room SL)

Grace
The first time she found Lydia, the woman was in Colorado Springs, talking to some cops. Grace decided to leave her be, because she wasn't bleeding in the street or something horrible, and it was so definitely naptime. Sleep is important, sometimes. When you remember, and all.

The day after next, when her sleep schedule has been repaired, is when she decides to head out again, Chloe IV underneath the driver's side, on a small road trip.

We're going to Colorado Springs to chase down a newb. Or, at least, get close enough to help her out if needed.

First things first, though, she pulls out the bit of tape with Lydia's hair stuck to it. Got to find the newb again, right? Right.

Hair that used to be on her head. Hair that has a connection to her, that carries her DNA. It's just the thing that Grace needs to forge a link to this specific person she's never met.

[Corr 2, Life 1: Track this person! Diff = 5 -1 (Personalized instrument) -1 (taking time)]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (4, 4, 10) ( success x 3 )

flux
Grace doesn't have too much problem finding the young lady. She finds her outside of an apartment building. The apartment building itself seems to be a hazy location, difficult to really scry but it would appear that Lydia is far enough outside of the location that she's still findable.

She seems to be headed away from the apartment at that particular moment.

Grace
Apartment with wards, eh? Okay. They could be Trads. Or Disparates. Grace sighs. Okay, time to go meet the woman you've been stalking. No nerves, now.

She starts the car and heads out of the dentist's parking lot that had been her temporary hideout.

She's got Cheetos and canned espresso for the ride (because its suuuch a long trip). Let's do this.

flux
Oh god, and it is a drive. Colorado Springs is an hour and some change away, but with the sheer volume of morons that one has to deal with at any given time it feels like it's an eternity when you are driving. Worse than Missouri (and there's a reason that Missouri sounds a lot like the wordmisery.)

But, soon enough, Grace is able to get to the apartment complex and follow along with her little tracking knowledge to find the young woman that she has ever-so-gracefully been stalking.

Or, well, about where she is. When she gets to the location, she has to really focus. She's looking for Lydia, knows she's at the pool, but Grace no doubt overlooks the sunbather a couple times (despite the fact that she is the only one there). Like the girl is a blip in her memory, like the conversation they are about to have is going to be one that she has to really hold onto.

Grace
Arcane meet Arcane, eh? Grace doesn't want to be found out too often either. She knows how it goes. Still, it's annoying being on the opposite end, isn't it?

Grace isn't dressed like a pool-goer. Dark jeans and a blue jacket zipped up almost to her neck complete her ensemble today. That and a wild mop of hair she hasn't brushed.

She sits down on one of the pool chairs next to Lydia, clears her throat, and says "Hi. Sasha is looking for you."

flux
Grace clears her throat, and it does seem to be enough to get Lydia's attention. She pulls her sunglasses down, looks at her and it takes her a minute before she finally seems to register what the lady just said.

And she is immediately on her feet and trying to make a break for the gate. "ANGELA!"

Grace
"Wait! I'm here to help!"

Fuck it. Grace gets to her feet, pulls her phone out of her pocket.

Tries to make a run for it...

flux
It's a mess out here, ladies and gentlemen. Not a lot of people are home, a chick in a swimsuit is making a break for the gate. Grace is making a break for the gate, and from a nearby apartment, there is a lean Hispanic woman making a break out of her front door.

She's built like someone who has done more than a couple foot chases in her life, runs like she is most alive when she is running. Feels determined, more than anything. What detracts from her general aire of authority and strength is the fact that she has run out in a pair of My little Pony pajama pants and a tee shirt that is three sizes too big for her.

Grace
Run, Grace, away from the women who have gotten the wrong idea. Not hard to see why, in hindsight, but you know...

"Please, I'm not here to hurt you! I know it looks bad, I can explain!"

flux
[Angela- vault!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )

flux
The older woman jumped the fence, and while it wasn't graceful it was very clear at that juncture that Grace was in a situation that was about to go from bad to worse. Once she's cleared the gate, though, the Hispanic woman stopped.

Regarded Grace for a minute, and tilted her head to the side before something like recognition dawned on her. She nodded.

"... c'mon, let's go talk. You can explain, I can make tea."

Grace
Grace breathes for a second, because she wasn't quite ready to go sprinting today. Angela, she presumes, isn't ready to tackle her anymore, and that's a good sign.

She nods. "Tea. Tea is good. Okay."

Her phone goes back in her pocket, and raises her hands in a bit of a mock gesture of goodwill.

Please don't shove my head into the pavement, lady.

flux
Lydia makes her way through the gatequickly, and seems keen on keeping Angela between herself and Grace. She hadn't come out with anything at that juncture.

Angela walks at a pace that is leisurely towards an apartment whose door is sitting wide open. "So, where are you from?"

Her tone is conversational, and she waits until everyone is inside of the apartment before she shuts the door.

The place isn't terribly big- it's a one bedroom with a small kitchen and a dining room that seems to act as part dining room and part pantry. What should be the pantry has the door open- it looks like a small library/shrine. Books where the food goes, and a rather ornate set up with flowers and offering bowls and candles and an altar table set out for an effigy of a skeleton in green and gold robes. Cloaked in sunlight with roses at her feet. She looks almost like the Virgin Mary, but one would have to think better of it. The door to the pantry locks from the inside.

"And how do you know my guest?"

Grace
"Denver," she offers, when the question comes up. Grace walks along with them, because the only other option is to flee and let this thread of a mystery hang.

It does let some of the tension out of her shoulders though, when she sees that shrine. Okay, definitely not 'Crats.

"The name's Grace. I'm with the Mercurial Elite. And I know your guest, because I found her boyfriend trying to find her via a hack."

flux
The mention of Denver makes Angela's eyebrows knit together. Her mouth press into a line. She continues on with the heating of water and the brewing of tea, because they were going to have tea and this was going to be a conversation. Grace says she is with the Mercurial Elite.

"Angela Avella, Chakravanti," she offers. Takes another look at Lydia and seems to contemplate how to progress forward.

"What's a Mercurial Elite?" Lydia asks, cocks her head to the side and takes a seat on the couch.

"Reality coders," Angela replies, "what turned you on to Ms. Zharkova's case, Grace?"

She handles these matters like a police officer would. In fact, when her face isn't obscured by distance, it's clear that she is one of the women from the greasy spoon she'd seen when she was scrying.

flux
[Lydia, WP: totally not freaking out over that[

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

flux
"Did you get anything about a location?" Angela asked, seeming to pass voer her own obvious confusion when she mentions something about the dark net- there are things she has no idea about. The digital world isn't her world.

"I heard something about Montana?" Lydia offered, "it was all really blurry... I was meeting with someone to talk about mission work."

flux
Lydia looks absolutely horrified by what Grace is implying- all soft hearted things are, "who would ever do something like that?"

There is a little more from Grace, how she says she's making sure that Lydia was okay before she proceeded, "but what about Grant? There's still people out there."

This seems to surprise Angela. brows raise, but she is in the process of managing tea, so she lets Grace lead the investigation here.

flux
"He said he used to live in California," she said, "Grant Kherrington. We had a couple meals together and then he went away and I went away. They seemed pretty pissed that he was talking to the girls there."

flux
"What makes you sure he hasn't already?" Angela quirks a brow, "how did he see what happened?"

flux
"If there is a video floating around of someone teleporting into Colorado Springs it needs to get buried or debunked so fast that the Technocracy's collective mirror shaded heads spin. We heard things were going down in Denver, and I do not want them here again."

Again, Angela said. Again, like they've had to deal with the technocracy in Colorado Springs (more times than she'd like).

"You understand, my only source of information right now is you and a girl who has become aware of the magickal world for about a minute. If you can deal with whatever is going on online, we can handle the offline repercussions."

flux
"Given that Denver has proven itself to be more reasonable than it has been in the past, you can expect to hear more and see more collaboration with the city of Colorado Springs," she says. Calm. Collected. Ready, "and if you could make sure this young lady gets paid for the time she's worked, that would be greatly appreciated."