Crowley sat in the Java Lounge, in the loudest, most comfortable chair he could find. Still in his customary black, baggy, jeans and Metal T-Shirt, he struck a discordant chord with the ambience of the coffee house. Not that it mattered to him. Furled sunglasses hanging from his collar, legs splayed, the rocker idly flipped through the newspapers and magazines he had purloined as he ordered his drink. His free hand idled away tapping beats on the arm of his seat.
Decent coffee. Intellectual stimulation. It served to while away his time. When he wasn't reading, he was testing his vision through the prism of the Space Arcanum. (At least he was a fixed point, this time. The last time he had gotten lost on a main road and he remembered plainly seeing his car in front of him; admittedly, he'd been drinking as well: maybe alcohol and Space don't go well together.) It remained to be seen if he could stretch out a few hours in the good name of the Concilium.
Behind his veneer in insolence and daring, the Acanthus idly wondered if his attempted message had reached the Orders (messages sent to key holdings that he knew off, cryptically worded). A Herald was placing themselves out in the open, should any member of the Charter wish to stop by and chat. About anything. Crowley had come to the opinion that the last incarnation of the Consilium had perceived of as being barely there at all, and he wanted to change that perception. That meant bodies on the ground.
This was the first step.
Cast at home:
failed Sight with TimeTemporal Dodge activateSpace Sight activate, -1 Mana