On Her Majesty's Occult Service (Laundry RPG)

The first time ISOSCELES MARKET comes up on the occult radar of Newcastle-upon-Tyne is when the members of the Acquisitions department are abruptly called up to the Station Chief's office for a very rapid briefing.

The office is surprisingly modern for a Laundry-funded establishment; it's likely that the Chief paid for the upgrade out of his own pocket. The office is large enough to accommodate a round-table for briefings, as well as his desk, framed against a window overlooking the city. While this would normally be a dangerous breach of security, there is a cold chill in the air near the window, betraying the presence of an entropic field—likely designed to absorb the effects of laser microphones or bullets. Outside would merely appear to be a heavily tinted window. The whole setup is very clean, with white panelling on the ceiling and walls, with gleaming wooden flooring. The renovations are a far cry from the New Annexe back in London and the majority of the downstairs—he swears up and down that he'll pay for renovations to the rest of the building soon, but he's been saying that as long as anyone's been here.

Today, he is waiting at his desk as everyone files in. Briefing folders are visible on the table.

"Please, take a seat, everyone." He said. "We don't have much time—ISOSCELES MARKET is due to begin in a few hours, and we need you ready when it does."

Quietly taking a seat with her back towards a wall without window or door, or rather more like the minimum exposure to either, Rosella Lacy looks no different then dozens of other drones that fill the ranks of the Department. Slight in build with her red-blond hair in a cheap, short haircut that signals neglect of appearance. The signal's shriek only gets louder when the reflected light from a fluorescent light tan bounces off into your face and then you notice she's wearing a t-shirt with some video game reference you don't understand on it for those SSO5(A or L) and up (seriously, a purple knight with a stupid ':O' expression?)... someone who spent a lot of time indoors in the warming glow of a computer screen.

Except for the device strapped around her head. It may be totally unfamiliar to the average operative's practical experience but it's in all the handbooks from Inhuman Resources on 'Appropriate Treatment of Non-Human Co-Workers', not to mention buried in the employee handbook under the header 'Workplace Hazards' beside coffee makers.

Rosella is one of the universe's less cosmically fortunate, having developed a cancerous brain tumor that causes what the world's occultists have politely named 'Gorgonism' and what is colloquially referred to as being 'a Medusa'. An abomination. An unholy terror. Source of what might be Britain's saving grace from the full horror of CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN. Maybe. Hopefully. At the very least the goggles mean she won't be spontaneously incinerating anyone at the table so her fellow Laundry employees have comparatively little to worry about compared to other more squamous horrors!

She also brought a box of bagels that get shoved to the middle of the table before the briefing folder is cracked.

edited 14th Sep '14 6:25:41 PM by hotelkilo

Udo Aachen is a bulky man: not obviously obese nor especially muscular, just a wide taper out from his head to his waistline, made a little less obvious by his height and by his somewhat ill-fitting tweed suit.

"ISOSCELES MARKET," he says reflectively; there's a slight Bavarian singsong to his English as he plays with a pen. "I think, did not come across my desk? Does it have to do with the promised cubicle upgrade?"

Jennifer Smithson entered the room quietly, realizing that there were already several wary eyes on her. "Hello. Seems like we've got a slight issue here. Mind telling us what it is?"

(I would like to know as well. If it's something that's got more eyes than I do, I'm out.)

Oh, do shut your bloody mouth, Coxikal. You and I both know I could have them ship your arse home on a moment's notice.

( I don't have a mouth, but point well taken.)

edited 14th Sep '14 7:55:17 PM by daird

Marcellus Cerners was last into the room, strolling in with his usual unusually thick physics textbook clutched beneath one arm

"So, the standard doomsday scenario again? I'd have figured that the great-squiggly ones would have gotten bored with that by now"

"Is not always doomsday scenario," says Aachen gloomily. "Sometimes you see power play or idiocy by other branches. Usually Human Resources, sometimes IT mutiny."

"Only when it's not Counterposession taking another head." The Chief commented. "But anyway, let's get started." He clears his throat. "By the authority invested in me by Her Majesty's Government, I have the power to bind and release. I invoke the Veil of Naash-Yet over this meeting." There is an almost imperceptible draft, and he nods. "Right. Please open your folders.

"The event the fortune-tellers down in London have codenamed ISOSCELES MARKET has moved into our neck of the woods, and by the rules that means it's our job. Of course, Acquisitions has been kicking up a fuss because they think it's their territory, so you're the only ones who'll be in the field for this one.

"ISOSCELES MARKET is, to put it succinctly, an auction. Everything from ritual blades to alien alloys and psionic amplifiers; if it's occult, you can find it in the MARKET sooner or later. It caters to the high-powered and rich circles, mostly brainless idiots who doesn't know what they're getting into and just think they'll dabble for a bit." He rolled his eyes. "Of course, it also attracts those more...in the know.

"Some of our assets within the 'marketeers' as we call them have reported an upswing in unusual clientele, typically focused on individual items and willing to spend lots of money to get them. London thinks that these buyers are cultists, looking to get their hands on something of ritual importance. If you'll see the attached picture."

The attached picture was of a blank white mask, lacking any features but a single eye-hole, and appearing to be made from porcelain. It lay in a glass case on red velvet, and the picture was apparently clipped from a brochure, considering the quality.

"The highest level of interest has been around this mask." The Chief said. "To the point where our assets cannot divert suspicion from it and cannot passively prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. They have called for backup. Gentlemen—and ladies—you are their backup.

"You are to attend the auction for this mask, acquire it using whatever means necessary, and return it to Acquisitions' warehouse. You will have a budget of two million pounds sterling, exclusively," he paused to let that word sink in, "for the auction. I don't need to tell you what will happen if Accounting hears you've misused funds. Any other requests can be filed through the appropriate channels. I doubt they'll be denied as long as they're reasonable.

"Any questions?"

edited 15th Sep '14 5:08:12 AM by Wysp

"Do we know what it is?" Rosella asks, looking up from her folder and already feeling silly for asking, "Or what it might do?"

"Or better yet, how to deactivate the bloody thing when it inevitably activates?"

"Depends if we are cleared for it," says Udo, scratching the side of his nose. He'd nodded at the two million figure. "Where is time and place of auction? And who is involved?"

"The former Newcastle Museum of Antiquities, prior to its demolishing, was a fairly extensive collection and as such it necessitated the creation of extensive sub-basements beneath the structure. The British government being what it is, these basements were not filled in when the building was removed and still exist. It is our understanding that the venue is located in these sub-basements. The auction begins in five hours. We have little intelligence on who is attending, our assets do not know who will show up until they do."

edited 16th Sep '14 5:05:20 AM by Wysp

"Fuenf Stunden?!" Udo's languorous stupor is gone, giving way to the shock normally reserved for the news that that Home Office had lost a departmental laptop. "Aber man kann gar nicht—"

With a visible effort he restrained himself. "Very sorry," he says, obviously not meaning it. "But this is short notice! No Code Blue transport—no, of course no. Then...must get equipment sign-off from armory, transport, cover story..."

"Quickly," she adds, pauses, then qualifies herself, "Perhaps with more haste then that word would usually generate, right, Mr. Aachen?"

The Chief's silence is as good a confirmation that either he didn't know or couldn't tell them. Which it was only really mattered in the long run... "I've got some government vehicle requisition forms in my desk, if anyone's been to the defensive driving course and taken the online gov vehicle class," Gently closing her briefing folder Rosella pushes back on her chair before snapping a finger, "That's right, cover story. Literally what am I supposed to cover my face with? Or do you want me hanging back for support."

She purses her lips so thin the line could be drawn with a drafting pen.

edited 16th Sep '14 4:00:36 PM by hotelkilo

"I have taken the liberty of arranging transport. You'll be on the Metro in four and a half hours. As for covers, London handed down some cover identities to fit the mission." The Chief said. "Try not to get them blown. Mr. Aachen, you're the manager for our Acquisitions office anyway, so you'll be taking point."

He stood up. "That's all I have for you. Good luck, gentlemen—and lady. I expect to hear good news by tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

Jennifer headed down to get equipped for the mission. "A facial glamour, a radiation ward, and the most expensive dress you got. I promise not to spill anything on it."

The glamour and ward went fine, but the dress was another thing entirely. It was a grey mess with several loose threads and a cut that could only be described as unflattering.

(Did you fall from heaven? Because you look divine.)

Are... are you hitting on me??

(Don't be silly. You're not my type.)

What's your type?

(Row of tentacles around the hips, lidless eyes on the soles of the feet. You know, that sort of thing.)

Jennifer could only sigh as she made her way to the transport.

edited 20th Sep '14 7:47:45 PM by daird

Rosella opts to sidle over to their Eastern comrade before heading to hand in an emergency equipment request. "So, Mr. Aachen, I had an idea. Want to hear it?" she says, the lines at the corner of her mouth breaking apart long enough into a small smile.

"Go on." Udo seems pensive. "Operational plan, perhaps?"

"Of course," Rosella replies with a steady gaze locked on his chest, "Just a thought, but perhaps we should break up into two parties to give a little better coverage of the event? That and staggering our arrival, maybe in pairs, would make our appearance less suspicious? We'd be close enough to one another for support in case of support needing of course."

Realizing that making suggestions to an agent with about 300% more experience then her isn't exactly a good move she smoothly tacks on, "Merely a suggestion of course. You're the expert really, I'm just your approved substitute weapon system."

edited 21st Sep '14 8:24:15 PM by hotelkilo

"As long as you can guarantee that we won't be too far apart, the building was a government building so we should have the blueprints for the basement somewhere. Perhaps even in a briefing folders, although I don't have much hope of that." Marcellus said stuffily

edited 21st Sep '14 9:14:23 PM by Livefox

"The museum wasn't particularly government. It was run by the Society of Antiquaries and the university," she turns to look at Cerners' feet, "I can describe the general design features to you with ease, but without knowing specifically where we'll be down there getting the complete basement plans from the uni and studying them sounds like a waste of time to me. Lacy, by the way, don't think we've met."

Rosella sticks a hand out nearly into his torso.

edited 21st Sep '14 10:17:47 PM by hotelkilo

Udo nodded, tapping a finger against his side as he thought, seemingly not to notice as Lacy accidentally poked Marcellus in the stomach. You got used to that when working around her. "One of us go research building history, I think. Then go in two groups. One wealthy, one anonymous." Come to think of it, he did have a camelhair coat that would suit for the second purpose. "Microphones and earpieces for everyone. Low-level cover stories...maybe the cult of Tshup Aklathep for peasant, wealthy celebrity for noble."

Going in two separate groups with different cover stories was an added layer of complexity, but as an ad hoc security measure it might help. "Also notify Plumbers first if we need to go noisy."

Udo grinned. "Will draw Hand of Glory from armory. Who comes with me?"

edited 23rd Sep '14 7:03:09 PM by SabresEdge

"I should probably hit the books... I've still got a valid Royal Institute subscription card so I can get anyone else in as an assistant to the University library," she says, fidgeting while waiting for her handshake to be accepted, "...but a stop off at the armory couldn't hurt, could it?"

edited 24th Sep '14 10:01:53 AM by hotelkilo

Marcellus blinks at the hand that almost is jabbing him in the chest and reaches out to shake it. "Marcellus Cerners, not quite Dr Cerners I'm afraid. I'm supposed to be the researcher of the little group but I don't suppose there's any time for that with this"

"Never quite know," said Udo. "Research the mask sounds like fine idea. At least find out classification codeword for it."

He grinned. "In meanwhile...tell me what you want from armory. And remember your roles once there."

Gathering-stuff montage!

At the armory: the standard mission loadout, which for him meant class-two wards and Hands of Glory for everyone, plus a mirrored hand for himself, and an extra helping of radiation wards. The usual kit bag of electronic odds and ends, should field sorcery become necessary; also, a Tillinghast resonator—which might prove interesting if he were around Teacake, he mused, although he had quite enough nightmares already. Plus, there were whatever requests his teammates might have requested.

(He'd also put in a request, quite a while ago, for his sawn-down shotgun and exorcism rounds, although for whatever reason Armory balked at letting him carry the thing around in Britain.)

He was ready to go.

"No... I better get going. Better to get back," she says with a sigh. Acknowledging Marcellus with a nod she matches his greeting, "Rosella Lacy, RIBA. Pleasure meeting you Mr. Cerners, but I must be going."

Rose makes a few calls, using her quite legitimate credentials to get some last-minute scans made of the available plans for the basement level with exits and entrances located. Other then that it's a matter of transferring them to her work phone, changing into something... spooky, and wrapping her own head up like a burn victim. All of which she's starting to feel eerily comfortable with.

She's very nearly late, jogging to meet up with her partners in crime.