Edge Town-City of Light

"I have no idea who that was." Jackie shook her head. "I didn't intend for that to happen. My job was just to make you chase me down for my boss - and I'm not talking about the guy with the tacky clothes and the silly moustache over there." She thumbed in the direction of Roberto with a bit of a sneer on her face.

"The fact that you're here and I'm here is just dumb coincidence. Just...make sure Roberto doesn't figure out you've got some kind of talent, okay?"

"Certainly." Roberto folded his arms behind his back, the very figure of overwrought professionalism. "I'll endeavor to arrange a meeting as soon as I'm able. It may take a little time, though. He's quite...busy, as of late."

Celes and Jarl

Celes looks thoughtful, running through her memories of her grandmother's stories. A smile starts to dance on her lips—an actual one, a contrast from the frowns and blank face she'd had upon Jarl's arrival.

"Now you have me wondering. A military man—part of the resistance. I know a few stories where my grandmother worked with people like that closely. Do you know if he fought to defend Chat Noir? The cafe was raided, in the final days of the occupation. Before it was burned down, resistance fighters bought time for civilians within to be smuggled out. It was a heroic defiance!"

Celes gestures to the wall, at one of the few unmarked paintings, a small relief of a building on fire, black silhouettes holding off a horde outside.

Frowning, another thought seemed to occur to her.

"He could also have been part of the gangs. The passionate and brave would wander the city in small bands, setting on off-duty soldiers and even patrols, and beating them to an inch of their life. Collaborators got even worse. Ugly work, perhaps, but effective intimidation!"

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Alexander

Ah, our dear local thug is busy "of late." How interesting. I really must meet him.

He kept his easy smile, still casting superstitious glances at Ms Wagner and Roberto's assistant. Now that they were calmer, it seemed like they were trading secrets. That only made him more curious. Turning back to Roberto, he asked the final matter on his mind.

"You seem to be a man capable of keeping secrets. If I happened to be in the business of trying to find magical secret societies, where would I start?"

He followed the words with a wink, carefully studying the man's reaction.

edited 11th Apr '17 11:49:30 AM by DrTentacles

Tim still considered his next conversational steps as he remembered something. Opening his bag, he pulled out a small, plastic ball. Hollowed, inside was a small copper circle.

Lets see if that works He thought and empowered the circle inside the ball with a effort of will. Then he held out the ball toward the magic energy where the artifact used to be and tried to draw some of it into the circle.

Maybe we can do a tracking spell or get a better look at it in a better setting.

Not too long ago, heck even after he'd learned that magic was a thing, Terry would have suspected that Jackie was bullshitting wildly in a desperate attempt to save herself from the consequences of a botched job. Drawing Anne out to some secret second boss, who was unrelated to the person they'd actually run into, all in an attempt to help her, it all sounded like overcomplicated conspiracy theorist bullshit.

Unfortunately, overcomplicated conspiracy theorist bullshit was a firmly established part of Terry's life now. (Fuck's sake, this conversation was only happening because he'd stumbled into rescuing an alchemist from vampire and learning that she'd had a run-in with the assistant to Alex's contact.) And Jackie knew Anne had "talent," too. The only real question at this point was whether them meeting was actually a coincidence or more sneaky sneaky machinations.

The only reason Annette even considered Jackie's words was because it sounded less ridiculous that she'd been honestly trying to help her, somehow, than it was to think that this woman had been really trying to rob her. Because she was a shit thief. Annette chewed lightly on her lower lip as he thought about this mess. So somebody had noticed her and her talent? How? She wasn't obvious by any means—hell, she'd been sure to only use potions in her hotel room. Had they been spying on her and David?

Memo to me: freak out about that after this conversation.

She sighed and looked away from Alexander and Roberto, despite Jackie's gesture towards him. Why would some random arms dealer have a problem with her? She was a nobody, except for the alchemy. This was just getting more and more complicated. And that was without reminding herself that there were at least three vampires and a werewolf in the room.

"...pretend I b-believe you for a moment," she whispered, "Am I in d-danger? Or my son? If I a-am, give me an actual w-way to contact you that doesn't involve you stealing my m-money."

David, having been mostly on the edge of this conversation and noticing (unlike his mother) that the deal going on in the next room involved some very big knives and very real guns, had moved from standing awkwardly in the middle of the room to out of sight of the door, closer to where Terry was. He looked up at him and asked in a very serious but very quiet voice: "Do you turn into a big wolf? Or a small wolf?"

"Big wolf," Terry murmured back, doing his best to keep tabs on all the conversations in the room. "It's gotta weigh the same as I do, which is pretty big on a wolf. You gotta be really good at the shifting thing to turn into something smaller than you are, 'cause it means you gotta shove all the extra you-flesh into another dimension until you shift back. Like in Animorphs, except without the spaceships running into it. And to turn into something bigger, you'd need to do the reverse, but I've never heard of anyone who can actually pull it off." Hm. Wonder if the kid might be interested in learning how to were-

Actually given the relationship between shifting and nudity Annette would probably transmute Terry into salt from the inside out if he tried. Bad idea.

Not-Wizards

"Your son's not in any danger unless he has a talent of his own." Jackie shook her head. "Samson's after you. He's always looking for new talents, especially ones who aren't local. Makes it much easier to keep them here, since search efforts usually take a while to start up. If they ever do."

She fiddled around in her pockets until she found a little slip of paper and a pen, hurriedly scribbling on the paper and handing it to Anne. A phone number, and an address.

"I don't know if you can use phones. If you can't, just drop by some time after eight."

Roberto scratched his chin. "Well, I can think of a couple of ways to at least sate your curiosity on that front. There's always the Church, of course - many of them will have a man or woman in the congregation who knows about our little world. Just ask for the Ordo Torco, and you'll be pointed in the right direction."

"If you don't fancy your chances at talking to His Holiness' heavily armed lambs, there is supposed to be a little treasure hunting society that meets in the old catacombs underneath the streets. Many of them are, how to put it nicely...bored idiot teenagers? But there are a few genuine talents among them, and they may have stumbled into a bit of truth underneath all the conspiracy theories and nonsense. Well worth your time in either case, I would think."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jarl

"I remember his notes mentioning having been part of the gangs hunting down collaborators and agents of the regime." Jarl nodded, scratching the back of his neck like he was recalling a dim memory, which he was. "He liked working in small, close-knit teams." Probably set off his lycanthrope instincts. "Plus, when you're six foot four and built like a brick wall, you probably have a very convincing right hook." A smile crossed his lips.

Alexander

Ordo Torco. Such a friendly-sounding name. Pretty sure even if I say my Hail Mary's properly, I'm going to end up shooting someone.

As fun as gun-battles with heavily armed nuns sounded, trying to make friends in the city first sounded like a better idea. Maybe he could even find some competent new employee prospects. He raised an eyebrow at Roberto, voice dry.

"You're trying to send me to church? I thought we were friends. I'll visit the Catacombs. Something about brooding in a crypt appeals to my heritage."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Wizards Three

Celes stood, blanket still draped around her shoulders, nearly doubling her apparent size, and reached under the coffee table, pulling out a stack of old photo albums. After a few minutes of sorting through them, she flipped to a page in particular. It contained grainy, black-and-white shots of WW 2-era France. Pictures of normalcy mixed in with tanks and soldiers. Making a small noise of satisfaction, she carefully slid one out of it's place.

It was a shot of a dirty, narrow street, a group of men with their backs turned to the camera walking shoulder to shoulder. Most of them carried improvised weapons of some sort—clubs, pool cues, brass knuckles. One of them—on the far left—was extremely tall, and well-built, even more so than the rest. Without a face, it was impossible to be certain—but it could have been Jarl's grandfather.

"This photo always struck me. Something about the facelessness and determination. My grandmother always looked sad, when she talked about the gangs. Most of them left Paris after the war—split up, and avoided each other. They did some violent, ugly things, and couldn't stand the reminder."

____________________________________________________________________________

The magical signature flows in Tim's brass circle. Over time, it will fade, but it will linger long enough for a full analysis later.

Now, he's faced with a decision—confront Celes about the theft and paintbrush, or stay silent. All of them still have yet to ask directly about the Poisoners, or any cache of artifacts.

edited 14th Apr '17 11:24:22 AM by DrTentacles

Tim stood there, pondering the little ball and considered his next few steps. He could appreciate the reasons for going at it at a oblique approach but...

He sighed. I'm not a detective. Neither am I a spy. Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose again. And whatever this is, its either a coincidence of remarkable size or somehow related.

Ach, zur Hölle damit. He told himself and turned around, striding down the stairs and straight at Celes girlfriend.

"Forgive me if this may be a tad direct." He began, speaking hushed but with a pinch of pressure. "Regarding the break-in. Can you tell me exactly what was stolen?"

Samira's eyes widen in surprise, posture suddenly tense and guarded. Her voice is full of confusion, looking over at Celes from the base of the stairs and lowering her tone.

"I-pardon? Paintings, valuables, and family heirlooms. Pourquoi?"

Tim's tone changed a bit, adding a soothing undertone, but he pressed on nonetheless. "What sort of heirlooms exactly?"

Samira's face closed down, but she didn't raise her voice, clearly reluctant to alarm Celes.

"What's the matter? What does this have to do with your university project? You aren't police, are you?"

Tim shook his head. "No, I'm not with the police. You could say I'm a....concerned Third Party."

Samira's frown deepens.

"This is a private matter. An upsetting one. Thank you for your concern, but it's better if you don't get involved."

Tim raised a hand and began to count off. "She's been on edge since it happened. At first it seemed like shock but it hasn't gotten better, has it? In fact it has gotten worse. As if she was not scared but sick?"

Samira's breath hitches, and she shoots Tim a hard glare—wary, upset, and curious. She steps further up the stairs, out of sight of the living room, sitting down on the stares and studying him intently.

"Oui. Explain. What's going on? What do you know?"

Tim cocked his head slightly and took a second to relax his body language.

"Its a bit hard to explain..." he began and then sighed. "Actually that's not true, its pretty easy. There are powers in this world beyond what is taught in schools and universities. There are many words for it, but for the purposes of this discussion lets go with magie."

"My friends and I are searching for traces on some old magie which brought us to Celes. Which is why I am wondering if any of those 'heirlooms' you mentioned might have some sort of power...something Celes is not only used but accustomed to. And if it has been stolen, this presence is now gone..." he finished, hoping she'd come to the conclusion herself.

"Son pinceau."

Samira's voice was a hushed whisper, as though a dark suspicion had been confirmed. Tim's admission of magic clearly brought a score of questions to Samira's mind, but she put them aside for the sake of her current worries.

"You would think me crazy—but I am not sure you are entirely sane either, Monsieur. She had a brush—the Lihn Brush. It was, as you said, magic. It was stolen in the break-in."

edited 14th Apr '17 1:08:27 PM by DrTentacles

"I assure you, I am as sane as any man in this appartment." Tim tried for humor..."What can you tell me about this brush?"

Samira sighs, composing her thoughts.

"It is old—a relic from Vietnam, with a carved bone handle depicting waves. Apparently, it's been passed through Celes's family for generations. It looks like an antique curio, but Celes said that her grandmother had once painted with it—and had told her that it was safe her to do so as well, even as a child. I—she said she can speak to it? That it will answer? As though it were haunted."

A shiver passes through her body.

"I have never done so. But it felt alive, in some way. Not malevolent, but as though someone else was in the room whenever it was out. Celes said that being near it gave her vivid dreams—and the brush would help her bring them to life. I remember trying to wake her sometimes, when she would be thrashing in her sleep—it was impossible. I worried, but it never hurt her, and she is very stubborn."

edited 14th Apr '17 1:27:30 PM by DrTentacles

Tim ran down a depressingly long list of possible sources for this sort of...phenomenon before deciding there was no way of narrowing it down from description alone.

"Was there anything else? Any further 'heirlooms' or maybe documentation on them?"

Samira raises an eyebrow, smoothing her brightly colored dress.

"Old rings, pins, and dresses. That was the only one that was...odd."

And of course it was stolen. Because otherwise it might have been too easy.

"Some documentation then? Family notes?"

Samira sighed, looking down the stairs.

"I'll ask Celes—carefully. I can only go from memory. Her grandmother left a lot of writing."

edited 14th Apr '17 1:55:58 PM by DrTentacles

"Those writings would be most helpful." Tim said, containing his sudden hope of this being true.