Status
"So..."
The Angel looked more like his Demonic half, in a dark blue hoodie. Inside the small apartment, which the living room had been cleared of the folding chairs, was probably over-dressed. But, things might get cold. Colder. Brows bounced up into the mop, above slightly wide eyes. Long fingers chopped through cuts of a deck of cards, bleeding off the nervous energy that could just as easily be seen in the eyes and slightly jumpy movements.
"I didn't drink anything. For, like, two hours. Just in case, you know? Sometimes being cold makes me, you know. Need to. Go. I assume it's going to be cold. Right? And there's not going to be, uh, bathrooms. So, yeah. I didn't drink anything."
Where's Fodor's when you really need it? Maybe it wouldn't be cold. Maybe bodily functions wouldn't be a thing. Who knows.
"And, uh. Thanks."
The words aren't great, but the sentiment is sincere. It's strange. Aside from Avis? They'd spent more time together than anyone else, lately.
He'd arrived in a gray wool overcoat atop a black sports coat and unbuttoned blue shirt, as if he were ready for a formal outing. Star's second request had been strange to Truce. The Thearch had considered taking others before, but there were too many risks, too many unknowns. Only recently had he become comfortable enough with his understanding of that realm. And that was why he agreed. But would Star really gain a better insight into the Moros Path from this? Or had the Guardian been using him from the beginning for some hidden purpose?
"You are welcome, of course," answers Truce with a soft smile. "Though perhaps you should save your thanks until we return. The Twilight realm has its own dangers, but I should be able to prevent anything from harming us. And that's probably a good idea. It's best you don't have any physical distractions during our stay," he remarks at the mention of fluids.
"Now then, I'm going to open the Gate. It's more than likely to draw attention from the Void but I think I can manage it despite that. I can keep it open for about an hour though I may be able to tweak the properties if you'd like to stay longer. Too long and it's probably just better if I open it again from the other end," he explains as he moves to the center of the room.
"Okay. Okay."
The words came out at intervals, puntuated with nods. Gates are serious business, yo. Especially if the only Traveling that's ever been done has been through Space.
"I met this guy, in Denver, Keymaster. That was like his thing. Twilight, Shadow, Space, just, wherever. But I never, you know. This is my first time." RIP Keymaster. "Also, uh, yeah. I'm packing. That is, I mean, I've got a gun. Unless I shouldn't."
The cold, heavy weight pressed against the lower back of the Angel, held fast by the jeans and belt. Gangster style. Sort of. But it was the three small small bags in the hoodie pocket that demanded the most attention. One hand cradled them, long fingers alternating between playing with the clear mylar and squeezing the contents within.
"You know, ummm. This is, like, what's the word. Antithesis? But, yeah. Mortemancy is my Inferior, well, for all Angels. And this is, like, super, ummm... Stygian." Angels? Creatures of Light. Sound, and warmth. The cold, dark silence of the grave? Super super creepy. Unnerving. "I'm sorry. My bad. You're trying to, like, do you thing. I'm just, yeah. Kinda. You know. Maybe a little nervous. Right. Okay. I'll, uh..."
A step backwards.
Nobody needs their toes cut off by a Gate opening.
Knowing that Star is armed gives Truce pause, his eyes glancing to the Guardian's beltline. It makes him nervous, but he had said it could be dangerous, so all the more reason to come prepared.
"That's..alright. When we step through we will be converted to a Twilight state of existence, as will your weapon. So it should still be effective, though I'm sure you won't have to use it." Though not completely sure.
With that, Truce begins chanting the words of High Speech as he calls the Imago to his mind. A class ring on his hand acts as a focal point to bypass the Abyss's notice. However, it's clear by Truce's efforts that he's having difficulty getting the Imago to manifest. Truce has never had much luck facing the Abyss. This level of willworking is still new territory to him and the spell fizzles out one after the other. Yet his nimbus flares with each attempt causing wailing moans and ghostly apparitions to appear about his person, their grasping hands reaching out in all directions. It's almost as if the world of the dead are trying to break through to this world. Truce pours Mana from his pattern into the working, forcing it to slip through the vast barrier of the Void, but at the cost of pain wracking his body from the backlash. His hands bruise visibly.
The gate itself seems to be thinly veiled portal, like a shimmering sheet suspended before them in the center of the room. Beyond it the world is cast in an eerie hue with starker shadows and smokey silhouettes.
Truce quickly pockets his hands, hiding the dull ache they gave him with a forced smile. "There we are...I'll lead the way, shall I?" he says cheerfully as he approaches the Gate.
Ghost Gate, 3suxx
-3 Mana, 2 Bashing
Converted to Twilight.
The Magic Words cause hands to squeeze the bags gently and eyes to fall. It's not exactly feigned disinterest? But there's really no reason to show the flame that's been stoked. Not yet, at least. A month or two ago, the weave would have gotten studied. Not picked apart, just examined and filed away. It's just business. Remember, knowing who didn't do something could be just as important as knowing who did. At least, that's the party line.
A month or two ago, there might have been a snicker or eyeroll.
It's just the way things are. Like the way the difference between Morals and Ethics are explained in Philo 101. But to understand, really understand, what someone is showing you, you've got to understand them. Communication is like that. And it's that understanding, what's been Seen in the past month that purses lips and furrows brows in sympathy at the cost. That cost? It goes in the ledger. Life is a zero sum game whether you know it or not, or think you're playing or not.
"Yeah. Yeah, totally." For a few moments the breach is studied. Wide eyes, wondering eyes. Because that? That's pretty cool. "I'm... I mean, I'm still nervous? But kind of excited."
It's funny when you'd be willing to lie, but don't have to because the lie has become True.
"Anything ever happen to your hands?" A chin jutted at the hidden appendages. "I only ask because, like, for me it's my back. Which I kind of totally messed up once. I was just wondering if, you know. If there's any, like, pattern. Rhyme. Reason."
Because first time skydivers make small talk before they jump out of the plane.
"My hands...?" echoes Truce, some embarrassment in his voice. He lets the words hang for a moment as he mulls over a response. "I, well, it's just a bit of backlash. I used to think it's because the Abyss targets Mudras. But since coming to this city I've been using far more workings without them and still having the same problem..." Another pause. "Actually, I think I just don't have the knack for anything that lacks subtly."
The spells would always go haywire if he were to allow them, and he would always force them into being by sacrificing his pattern. Maybe it had to do with his Awakening at a time when the Scelesti had passed through his home town. But more likely it was just a trait of his personality. Perhaps he would get over it in time.
"How did you mess up your back?" asks Truce, not even sure if Star had meant it in regards to the backlash effect of the Abyss. "If you don't mind my asking."
"Oh, uh, I, like, fell. Just a, uh, job accident." Have a hot steamy helping of embarrassment. Plenty to go around. "No, I just meant, I was just wondering, if there's any pattern. You know. To how backlash... happens. How it, uh, hurts. Nosebleeds, hands, headaches, backs, like, what's the reason? For the differences?"
It's not just for the laughs. Any clue about how the funk seeped through, or if it could be controlled? Guardian's gotta ponder, yo. A half step was taken closer to the Gate.
"That sucks about getting burned by dirty casts. I mean, you guys, I mean, Moros, probably have it as bad as we do. Lightning strikes and flying are great until, you know." Eventually, the tab has to get settled. That's why Park Shenanigans really aren't that funny. "You use a tool? Or throw glitter into the mix? Not just now, but, like, normally."
Prevention is Ninety-Nine Percent education, true story.
The Necromancer thinks a moment, tallying together his experiences to form an answer. "I don't know," he says anticlimactically. "I suppose it could be a project for someone to study and evaluate. But I never thought to examine it that closely before."
Truce takes in the remark about the plight of the Moros, seeing the suffering of the deceased and the burdens that anchored them to the Fallen World. He smiles softly, interpreting Star's message as a means of conveying sympathy. "Mm, yes, well we get by. Perhaps we don't have to deal with anything as flashy as lightning strikes and flying, but the Abyss doesn't take a liking to our meddling in the Twilight realm. But to answer your question, yes, I do make use of a tool. More so as of late. Though it's rare I do anything that would require lacing the working with the Mana infused in my pattern. Still, better safe than sorry, I suppose."
It seems the prudent thing to do. And he is thankful for the Hallow that supplies him with such a steady stream of supernal energy that he can be so liberal with it.
"So, this business of yours in Twilight..." Star had seemed hesitant to discuss the details, but Truce couldn't help but pry as the portal sat there before them.
"You said lately. Think it's just... bad luck? Mind not in the game? Or... something here. Sacramento?"
It's not a deflection. Really. Some people like to talk about Consilium, other like to talk about 'dox. The puzzles people focus on, it's writ in their trade and craft.
Greenish eyes left the shimmering sheet and flickered downward, then to Truce. A hand slowly slid out out of a hoodie pocket, with a fist full of sandwich bags. Slowly the other hand pried one loose, and held it up. Inside were a pair of small, dull metal ingots. The bag swayed slightly with the weight; perhaps the size of a Zippo.
"I, uh. I need to, ummmm. Perfect it. Them." Maybe Truce knew. It'd be hard to hide, passing them in and out, over and over. Maybe a windmilling arm? See? It's been thought about. But that's Not Cool. Funny how things change. "Sorry, man. I just, you know. I'm kind of, ummm, skittish? After that business with Tyria. I didn't, like, know. What you'd want."
Or demand. Or who would be told.
"You, uh, you got any objections? I mean, yeah, I'm also super curious about... Over There. But, yeah. And, I'd also, kinda, like to keep this on the Dee Ell."
"I'm no practicioner of Fate, but I doubt it's a mere coincidence. It could be that being around more Magi and Supernal activity has drawn more attention to myself. I have to say that this past year alone has been very busy for me. But then again, perhaps I have taken on more than I can handle. It could be that I've simply lost my concentration."
The honest self-evaluation seems to be directed as much to himself as to Star as they continue speaking upon the threshold of the Gate. Truce's eyes move to Star's hands where the small bag and ingots appear.
"Perfect them..." repeats Truce curiously. By his expression Truce doesn't seem to understand the process Star has in mind.
At the mention of Tyria, Truce's attention wanders away from the blocks of metal. "Oh, I understand. That whole business got a bit out of hand, I agree. Everyone's anxious, and I suppose without a strong Mysterium presence perhaps Primoria felt threatened. If that's really all you need I don't see a problem with it. I will keep this between us, though there is something I may ask for in return. Something rather specific if you're willing to hear me out."
It's not as though Star has much choice, considering how much has been shared already. Still, Truce tries to create the illusion that Star holds the power in the decision.
He continues, "There's an announcement I plan on making during the next Consilium regarding some information my Cabal acquired. I'm afraid there'll be a dispute much like the one surrounding Emrys's report. You remember, the one about the notes and the Abyssal radio signal? I'd like it if you could hold off an any objections during the proceedings. I can fill you now on some of the details. I just want the gatherings to continue smoothly. Obviously, if you do have objections as a Guardian of the Veil then I fully expect you to voice them, but perhaps we can conduct that discussion in private."
Perhaps there's still a chance that Truce could grow into a decent politician. Even if unity in the Consilium were an illusion, there is always a chance he could make it real. It's possible this Illusionist could appreciate that effort.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It's like prepping a show, and then waiting to find out if there's going to be any stage time. In the meantime? There's the mystery of the increasingly dirty casts to consider. Hopefully, it's just coincidence. There are always whispers. Not just the Lefties, but other mages, that the Abyss just... is drawn to. Beacons.
Then there's the shoe.
The baggie lowers, as does the mop. Information? That's interesting. If not for that word, it would sound like they'd scored a fat source. Or even an Artifact. But if there's anything the Awakened love more, it's the four one one. Grimoires, some legendary, maybe. Could be a dirty book, with the reference to Emrys. Or maybe Truce was being on the level about just wanting to tone down the arguing. Could be. Agree, and find out. Not so much finding out the What, but how honest the Moros was being Right Now. It's no supernal information, but that doesn't mean it's not valuable.
Besides? The second Sin, after Shame, was Hypocrisy. Calling him out on something dirty after asking him to tear open a hole in the fabric of the Realm? Yeah, hypocrisy. And there was the trapdoor, a private discussion.
"Square deal." And, it was. A step, not a leap, a step of faith, for each of them. "You, uh, you know I can't, like, control July? But I won't warn or encourage him, either."
The baggie disappeared back into the pocket and the hand reappeared as a fist between them.
It's Fist Bump time, yo.
Truce regards the fist, recognizing the gesture after a moment's hesitation. He sheepishly extends his own to tap his own bruised knuckles against Star's.
"Oh, I've already informed the Sentinel. You needn't worry about that. He seems like he needed a little help getting situated to his position." Their discussion had been surprisingly easy. Though the Sentinel remained unpredictable at times, considering the points he had raised during the last gathering.
With the portal between realms before them, Truce finds their business complete for the most part. He would accompany Star unless asked to remain behind. The business seemed to be private. A characteristic of the Guardians, the secrecy. Cloak and dagger. But the true value forged between them is the promise of cooperation, which may lead to more ventures down the long road.
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