6h30 PM. Just past most people's dinner time. Which is the perfect time to bother them, Henry reasoned. He dialed the number he'd gotten for Spade's phone, and waited for the Councilor to pick up.

Spade does answer and he sounds confused. "Hello?" he asks carefully.

There's a slight sound behind Henry as he speaks... Wind? "Spade. Henry Pym." He lets that information sink in, and gives the other man a chance to remember him. He certainly remembered enough at the Consilium. The thought was bitter.

Some save Spade, pulled him back down from the clouds. Yes, Spade remembered "Henry Pym." The man was a "Guardian right? Is this the part where you tell me something you want me to know or ask me for something you feel I should give?" Yeah. Spade loves the Guardian's

Henry could almost smile. Those words were the kind of joke he shared with his contacts and buddies. The Councilor seemed honest. Which only means he has something to hide. "Careful with those words, the walls have ears" he warns. "And actually, this is the part where I say we need to talk, and you name a time and place," he answers with a rough imitation of Spade's tone. "Soon," he adds, pre-empting the inevitable 'how about never?' that always came.

But not so now. Instead he Pre-empts "Now would, yes. Soon would be great." Spade gives an address with an apartment number.
"You like roast chicken salad?" Spade asks quickly.

Henry pauses. Roast chicken salad? An apartment? Like... a social call? That was definitely weird. What happened to whispered meetings in dirty-smelling shadows? It takes him a few seconds to answer. "Chicken salad sounds dandy. I'll be there in... 40 minutes. See you soon." Unless there are other pleasantries to exchange, he hangs up and starts getting ready.

Spade hangs up and start making a second plate.

Forty minutes later, on the dot, Henry rings the doorbell to the apartment building, wearing what can only be called his 'usual suit', his Pattern laden with spells, ones he only rarely used.

((Active on Henry : Sense sympathy, Memory hole, Mental shield, Body mastery))

((Spade has Active: SUpernal Sight(Cloaked at 3) and Magic Sheild (Primed and Cloaked at 3))

The door opens Spade looks out. He growls in anger and slams the door, it bounces back open and Spade is gone.

Inside the living space is clean and ordered. Printed art adorns the walls framed with think plain wood. They show something like Atlantian Runes styled in unusual ways, each black on a white background. To the left of the half open door is a short wall that divides the living room from the kitchen. This wall becomes a counter and on it sits a golden colored cat. The Cat is watching the door.

To the left is the living room. Pleathor furniture sits facing an average LCD Screen. Every thing is decorated black and white. Beyond the living room and dinning space is a hallway the turns back out of sight. Two plates of something on lettuce sit on the table. A computer can be seen if Henry comes farther in; hidden by the kitchen counter.

Henry frowns at Spade's sudden turning-around and disappearing. Must have gotten some bad news in the last half-hour. Still, he takes the open door as an invitation to come in. As softly as he can manage, he closes the door behind him, and starts to turn towards the rest of the apartment, wondering there the Councilor's went off to.

Which wasn't far at all. The Door swings shut and there the Obrimos is, a pistol lowered on Henry's chest. "Why the hell would you come to my home light up like a Christmas tree?" Spade growls out. He lowers the gun and moves past Henry into the house.

He pulls out a chair from the table and sits down, setting the gun down within arms reach. "Even Reign knows not to run across town like that." Spade frown at Henry, then holds up a hand pointing the wall, then his ear and he casts, the second doing the job. "We can speak freely now."

He wears his usually dirt stained jeans and a blue tshirt. Page leaps up on the table and sniffs at the plates before Spade pushes him back to the floor. "And your Salad is going bad"

((Influence Sound added to the two cloaked spells.))

When Henry sees the Councilor's weapon, his only reaction is to spread his hands a few inches away from his body. So, that's the tone being set. Fine. He listens to the Councilor's demands, not bothering to answer them with a gun pointed at him. Whoever this Reign was, she certainly wasn't on Guardian business, which explained why she could be careless. Since the Councilor hasn't exactly been explicit, the spells stay up.

Once the other man has set the gun aside, and made an allusion to the meal going bad, Henry moves, slowly, to the opposite chair. Isn't that cute, the Councilor wants to play at being a Guardian. Fine by me. "Necessary precautions, Councilor, all of them," he says in response to Spade's demands. Slowly, delicately, with a meaningful (envious?) glance at the gun set aside, he spears a piece of salad and chicken on the fork, and brings it to his mouth. Once he's done sampling his first bite, he says, "Nice place you have here." The tone is half-conversationnal, half-completely-serious. Either Henry is trying to defuse the tension, trying to show he's not scared, or... something else entirely.

Spade simply watches for a moment. His eyes noting everything Henry did, the way he sat, the way he ate. Then he smiles in relief, takes the gun and tosses it on the couch. The safety left on the whole time "You are Henry. Still, I figured a Guardian would be more subtle. Why are you here?" Spade reaches for hise plate and stabs at his meal. He's relaxed tenfold.

Henry doesn't reciprocate the relaxed attitude. At least, not visibly. He eats carefully, one bite after the other. "Call it subtlety's day off," he says perfectly seriously. As usual for him, it's unclear if it's meant as a joke. Another bite later, he answers, dead serious, "Your dreams." That last word having just a dollop of doubt in it. "I have questions about them. One question, at least. I wrote it down." He puts the fork aside, and starts to reach inside his jacket. Then stops. "Do you want to reach in, or should I?", he says, his voice full of fake courtesy, his mouth forming a hint of a mocking smile.

"I've seen it before. We don't have to compare." Spade cracks. He laughs at his own joke and waves for Henry to do what he needs to. If Henry was going to assassinate a Councilor tonight Spade would already be dead. But, Henry's mood was making it hard to keep believing that.

A short chuckle is Henry's reaction to the joke. Has he really seen 'it'? Investigate further. He reaches inside his jacket, and pulls out a folded piece of paper, making a show of showing Spade what it is before actually unfolding it and reading it. He frowns, apparently frustrated or confused at the words on the paper. "In your dreams of the end, did I have something with me? Something noone else got to touch, that noone else got to carry?" He's obviously reading word for word. Why he would do that with something he wrote is anyone's guess. He looks up from the paper to watch Spade's reaction.

Spade thinks for a moment, he mind sifting trough the thousand details of his dreams. "A tin lunch pale. Had Gilligan on the front?" Spade is more puzzled over Henry's need to read his own question. Then it dawns on Spade. Henry didn't remember what it said. Why? That was the million dollar question. Spade isn't feeling very comfortable anymore.

Henry watches Spade carefully, gauging the answer, the reaction. The answer apparently doesn't ring a bell with him. He looks down at the sheet again, then into Spade's eyes. He unfolds the last flap on the paper, and silently reads whatever is written there. Whatever it is apparently doesn't shed much light on the question. At least not directly.

"Just a minute," he says. With a twitch of an eye, one of the spells in his Pattern dissipates into nothingness. It takes Henry a few seconds to adjust to the new perspective of reality. He remembered now. That very tin was at his home, waiting for the day he would need it.

((Memory hole --> gone!))

Once he stops having to re-assimilate what he essentially already knew, he folds up the piece of paper again, and stocks it back into his jacket. Digging again into the salad, he asks, "Did you open it?" The serious tone should make it quite clear there is only 1 good answer to that particular question.

"I'm not one to take what's not mine." Spade didn't know what was real and what was not in his dreams. Just that the information was there. "So, is that the only question?" forks some more chicken.

Henry hesitates, debating what to make of the man's answer. "I'll take that as a no," he says, his tone having just a tad of an edge of danger. Certain subjects are best not broached. "One more, actually," he answers. "These dreams." Strange; The skepticism that seemed ingrained in that last word is gone, replaced with something else. Curiosity? "What do you make of them? Any theories?" After all, anything Spade said to the Consilium wasn't necessarily the truth, but surely he wouldn't lie to a Guardian's face, right? It takes Henry a few more seconds to return to eating the salad, having apparently forgotten its very existence for a few moments.

"I think the beast way is to take them at face value. Shit will happen when the bridge activates. We need to shut it down. I maybe I do. Beyond that I haven't a clue. Tug rips her heart out after you have my life. That's what really pertains to you." Spade smiles wide.

"I don't just let Guardians into my home Henry. Somehow I think I can rely one you. Maybe not trust you. but I know your heart is true. Even if it's older then dirt."
Spade thinks for a moment. "Are you part of a Cabal?"

Henry starts shaking his head at Spade's explanation of the dreams. "Can't be that simple. Has to be a link somewhere." He starts running possibilities through his head, the little gears almost visibly turning. Concentrated as he is, Spade's admission of 'trust' and question don't register. At least, not right away. Once the question is asked, though, he puts aside thoughts of linking that element in with the rest. Need some time to process. He looks at Spade, with a look of curiosity, and just a little incredulity. He ponders a few things he could say : 'You do realize you were pointing a gun at me a few minutes ago' is a prime candidate. Things about having saved his life only in a dream, about reliance and trust being fools' games.

A few other things, from his mentor, from his own learnings, jostled their way to the forefront. And were immediately discarded. Better to play it another way. "No, I'm not. Why?" But he's not that dense. No one asks that kind of question without a specific reason. And giving reasons right before? That didn't leave any mystery; But Henry wanted to hear Spade out. It also gave him time to think.

Spade is silent for a moment. Why? A better question was 'why not?' "Something has bothered me for a while. There are only two or three Cabals in this city. My dreams shed a lot of information that could prove completely useless. But one thing I know is in this 'Alternate-Whatever' we were lost. He huddle around key figures only to watch them die in front of us. And beside that Andrade wields absolute but completely inept power. I don't have to tell the specifics of what I believe about Autocracy." Spade looks around the room for something to use to emphasize his point.

Finding nothing, he sighs and returns to Henry "We can't organize ourselves as independent Mages anymore. Not even you Lone Ranger." Spade frowns, obviously troubled by what he is about to say. "And I honestly can't rely on any other Consilium member but you. I might think your a twisted devil of a man. But...

"But that is you. Not some front used as a bid for power or a cover to hide some perceived weakness. If I was forming a Cabal with the goal of securing the future of this city. The seat of California. The only person I can see sharing that goal is you." Spade quircks his head as it dawns on him. "Well, you and Magister West. But he has a Cabal And I don't think I'm the sort of Awakened Soul he would enlist as an ally if you know what I, of course you do your a Guardian."
He doesn't quite say it like being a guardian was bad..

Henry takes another bite, listening to the Councilor talk. His mind picks and prods at words, at phrases. The corner of his mouth curls in a small smile. "So your logic is that, even though you think I'm some sort of Fu Manchu, you can rely on me because I'm honest about it?" He's amused, and just a little incredulous at the way the Obrimos thinks. Twisted devil of a man indeed. The comparison to Magister West stings a little, and the words 'Lone Ranger' tickle a memory at the back of his mind, and not a pleasant one either. Still, he hides what he thinks of those particular expressions, mostly by telling himself he was always more of a Zorro man anyway.

He chuckles, getting the humor out of his system, before leaning forward, with a conspiratory look. "While we're playing with cards on the table, Councilor," he says seriously, "The Hierarch seat is, at best, a tertiary concern." Whether that's a lie is anyone's guess. "If that's your ultimate goal, so be it. But I won't be dragged into political backroom deals, or bids for power." One of his fingers taps on the table for a few moments, keeping beat with his thoughts. "Keep me out of those, and we just might be able make something like this work." What is he hiding, what is he thinking? The temptation to tear apart Spade's psyche is certainly there, but Henry fights against it, hard.

"Heirarch Seat? You mean. Me as..? You don't think I want? No no. That would destroy the Concilium. tThat duel was to settle Andrade's control. Anything I ever do will be taken alongside that defeat. Andrade always wins. She has nothing to fear from me both in truth and belief." Spade feels he's said too much, and that wasn't even half of it.

"That is how it should be. As for politics. Stay out want if you. There are more important things then toying with the Ladder. I hope I can leave that to Eclipse. I think most of the Council does." Spade adds wryly.

"I told you why I'd ask you, but not what I think I can get from of you. Experience and Subtlety. Both I need if I will become an be Advisor to the Heirarch And Master of the Mighty."

Henry considers that particular little bit. Spade wanted to learn. It was almost like he was asking him for mentoring. There was a capital difference with a Cabal, one that could be summed up in a single question. One Henry knew well, and one he considered asking the Councilor. But he didn't. He had the answer himself.

"Good," he says simply. "Two people won't be taken seriously as a cabal. But otherwise I can live with that. On one condition." He lets a heartbeat go by, before saying, as seriously as he's said anything else, "That tin lunchbox. Not a word to anyone else." Some would say that was perfectly blunt of him. The truth was, by the end of the day, that box wouldn't contain what it did right now. Rely on others to keep secrets only if they aren't secrets.

"I'm going to try and puzzle out the meaning behind those dreams of yours. I'll give you a call when I do. In the meantime," he pulls a pen and piece of paper out of his jacket, and starts scribbling something, "leave a message if you need something." Almost as if he expected not to take the call as soon as it came.

Spade ignores the comment over the box. It wasn't his business anyway. "Let me give you what notes I have taken. Do you think this would help?" Spade stands to grab the note book from his bedroom, quickly returning with it and setting it down for Henry to take.
Guardians. Spade was glad he had finished transcribing the bulk of the notes onto his computer. He would need to pick up a new journal though.

Henry sits still, his eyes following the Councilor until he's gone. Once the book is laid on the table, it takes him all of half a second to palm it and leave the piece of paper in its place. An 'H' is scribbled at the top, with a phone number underneath. He flips at random through a few pages of the book. A dream journal; A complete account. How long has he been writing this? How long has he been keeping it? This wasn't just useful, it could very well be the key. "Any information can help. There's little to go on, too few links to make. There'll be at least a few useful tidbits in here." It was an understatement, a big one. "Anything else, Councilor?" he asks. With little prodding, a journal. What else is he keeping in here?

"No, Just that journal there." Spade picks up the paper and folds it over. "Next time we do this don't freak me out alright?"

Taking the last bite out of his salad, Henry stands. "Freak you out?", he asks, puzzled. A second later, he adds, as though he were doing Spade a big favor, "I'll try not to have as many spells layered on, just so long as you don't point that piece at me again." Because the self-memory-erasure wasn't freaky at all, nooooooo, it was just the spells that made Spade freak. "Thanks for the meal. I'll be on my way." He looks around, checking for any sympathetic connection he might have left behind, giving Spade a chance to speak before he heads out.

"Well at least I can expect a call next time. For a moment I thought you were going to drag me into a spelled cage and haul me into a basement somewhere..." Or wipe Spades mind and leave the Obrimos a huddled mass of third grade education. Or spew microscopic spiders and turn into a bird to to peck out Spade's eyes. Or...
Spade was glad he had managed to make an Ally out of the man. Or at least convince Henry Spade was more valuable alive then locked twenty feet under in a secret chamber filled with Lord knows what. Were those rumors even true?

Henry smiles. "I did call, remember? You're the one who invited me. And besides, don't be ridiculous, my basement is already full." He finishes that statement with a chuckle. Of course Guardians get to joke about that, if noone else does. Because if the rumors are jokes, they can't possibly be true. "I'll be in touch." He's about to head out, before he remembers something. "Oh, one last little thing, Councilor. Don't point out Guardians in a public Consilium like that again. They really hate it." The humor is gone from his voice with that particular sentence. But he could still be joking, right? And with that, he heads out, into the city. Looking at his watch, he realized he was late for a pickup. Damn.