July stood outside the van with the rest of them waiting to see what would happen next as Avis knocked on the door.
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July stood outside the van with the rest of them waiting to see what would happen next as Avis knocked on the door.
Theory and Plans have one thing in common: they usually fall apart when things actually begin to happen. Are the Threats ready for this? It remains to be seen. The Morning, because it is the Morning, shines rather brightly promising another day without rain in the parched Sacramento landscape.
Knocking echos hollowly into the Museum.
It's a Monday, and as such the parking-lot is conspicuously empty.
Another minute or two passes when the faint squeak of a wheel can be heard just beyond the closed loading bay door.
Finally and with some trouble, the Sleepwalker Factotum – Gina opens it. She's beautiful, in that girl-next-door way with golden strands of honey blonde hair and smart work-wear that makes her seem just like another secretary in the midst. Pushing back some strands she pulls the cart through the door revealing a large crystal of golden orange, seeming to pulse with its own light.
“Your contact is the Maga Sycamore. She's the current Matron of the Copse. Information like directions is in a folder beneath the crystal. Do you have any other questions?”
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"Yeah, you couldn't have put this into a box?" Avis asked incredulously, looking up from the Crystal to Gina. Like, ok, maybe this was a sign of trust or something, to show them that it was really the crystal and that it was ok to look, but come on. This was clearly a valuable artifact, the least they could do was give it some sort of protection and not just leave it plain to see for any old motherfucker.
“If I could,” Gina answers Avis in a tone so-dead pan there's nothing but seriousness in it, “I would. But it doesn't like being confined in a box.” Gina looks at the large crystal with a suspicious, side-long look. It hums with power, like a song or a lullaby sung by a mother or a great-aunt.
Standing akimbo, the Sleepwalker waits for the Awakened to either pepper her with any more questions, or to watch them take the crystal into their imaginative van.
In mechanics terms, there's a faint bit of ambient mana coming off of the crystal. Only 1 mana may be used from the crystal, by anyone, every page or every 10 replies. This does not stack.
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Damn how did the Mysterium get hold of that? Ahem, her. She's cute And hot...and a nerd? What givessss. O hey that stone is glowing..shit. A hand half raises as Avis asks the obvious then drops as Gina shares the bad news.
"So I'm going to make a guess that it won't mind being in a van since it didn't mind being in a building?" That's a light show around the stone..thing..artifact.
"Touching it is safe right?" Eyes jump to Gina but quickly look back intently at the stone. Nope not scoping out the hot bookworm right now.
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"Is it fragile? Like, as in, you know. Breakable."
Check that out. The rock, Arthur, the rock. See the glow? There's a method to the madness. Okay, maybe not madness. Just questions.
"Like, would it be bad, or anything. If it got chipped? Or cracked?"
Totally.
Innocent.
Questions.
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Emrys had questions, lots of questions, but rather then barrage the sleepwalker with redundant questions she had probably already typed up the answers to he went for the folder under the crystal. No straps, gloves, or warnings told Emrys his hand wouldn't fall off from touching the crystal so he tilted it slightly to pull out the folder. As he popped the folder open he began to skim the contents, looking particularly for anyone who would try and stop them and what exactly the crystal was. He had a feeling he'd have questions for the Sleepwalker about one of those, unless it was something he could Divine.
“No,” Gina answers, using her phone-voice for Star. “It isn't fragile and, unless you are planning on taking a jack-hammer to it, I doubt you can chip it.” Which is to say, to the woman's knowledge, it's indestructible. Atlantean.
“While it, itself, might not be fragile – the power charged within – is. I'm sure the Copse would be fairly upset to find that the Crystal was sullen for the next Lustrum. And if it is, you would have failed your favor for Tyria.”
A long-look settles on Star, then on Emrys as he bounds forward and swipes the folder. Within are a couple of pictures of people: Sycamore, the contact, is a California Blonde with bright green eyes who looks like she should be on the water than living around trees.
The location is within the Red Wood Forest, hidden away.
The Crystal itself powers the protective wards and protections the Copse uses and they ally themselves to the Mysterium for the Mysterium's capability in performing the rituals to power the crystal. Tyria, then, is well-known to them.
As for who might be after it, the first name on the list is Vector. A Seer who once upon a time held the Museum hostage for some Trench Journals. It only lists him as an Obrimos who has seen too many of the Star Wars films.
“And yes,” Gina concludes, “you can touch it.”
Ermac chuckled as Star sent out his message. "You troll," he remarked to the Obrimos.
Sensing the multitude of wave-lengths, data streams, and electromagnetic "noise" surrounding him was an unusual experience. It was something out of a movie.
Gina mentioning that the power inside did not like being confined, Ermac finally asked, "Is the power within sentient in any way? Can it communicate?"
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Okay.
A soft snicker escaped.
Doubting an Angel with an affinity for Stygia could chip something? Careful, yo. Nobody said the crystal couldn't be in the shape of huge phallus when it arrived. God made the Heavens and Earth, but when he wanted them shattered, He sent Angels.
Feel that?
A retort to correct Gina about the precise wording of the favor was forgotten as thoughts turned; turned and twisted, like a Moebius strip. Was it doable? Maybe. A convergence, a Hallow, spun inward, tighter and tighter, until it was a lodestone. Pin the weave, invert it... or maybe, do it slow enough that the weave wasn't even needed anymore.
Totally doable.
"Dude." C'mon, Ermac. "It's just, like, a portable fountain. Not Deep Thought."
Someone's getting their Wings revoked.
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