Edge Town-City of Light

"Wizard. You say the word as though there's a distinction that's important to you."

The mirage laughs. It isn't a mocking sound—it's rich, warm, and full-bodied, as though enjoying the simple absurdity of the conversation.

"I would call you a pháp sư. But this is your head, and my body, so things translate imperfectly."

The mirage clicks it's tongue—or makes a noise like it, at least.

"Gah! Enough of the formalities. Here's my deal—I am a Spirit of passion, of Linh. You know, waves, wind? Rebellion of spirit again the drab. Poetry. I was imprisoned in a brush carved from the leg bone of a pháp sư as punishment for a prank. Grim, huh? So for the last—oh—long, long set of years, I've been guiding mortals into embracing their passion, and creating art. Only fun I get anymore."

Jarl

Jarl threw Fortune an aside glance before his eyes almost instinctively turned away. He'd just had a meeting with Jack Frost, and his body had just exerted itself keeping him warm through a Faerie-aided snow cloud - he doubted Fortune would give him the time of day, as things were now. Instead, he waved at Michelle.

"Salut. Oh yes, sorry about that. If it's any consolation, his daughter's going to be alright." The letter in his pocket was starting to burn a hole through it, but he knew better than to interrupt Tim, and he didn't want to repeat himself. Instead, he just smiled at Michelle and made himself a cup of tea.

"Reading something interesting?"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Team T&A

Edith had, thus far, managed to keep remarkably quiet, merely observing from the side of the room as Anne had worked her alchemy, but now, she finally broke her silence with a polite cough.

"While this is all fascinating, we're all now very well-fed. As grateful as I am that you saved my life, I do believe there was something you wanted, no? Access to the Poisoners, if I am not mistaken?"

Annette's grin only got brighter and wider at the reactions from Terry and Bethany. Yes, filling a room with large, flower-scented bubbles was probably not the most useful thing in the world, but it was fun. And sometimes she needed to do fun things with her talent. She pointed at Terry through the bubbles to let him know she was addressing his question first among the slew of them Bethany had rattled off. "Unpoppable enough th-that punching, kicking, body-slamming or otherwise will only get part of you stuck in the bubble while it itself d-doesn't budge. I have tried to poke it with a knife before but..."

There was a moment's pause as she noticed Alexander stab one of the bubbles, and as she had just said, his knife and hand pierced through the bubble.

And then it closed around him.

"...well, that, I guess?" Annette snickered and then moved her hand to point at Bethany instead. "Bubble solution, kaleidoscopes, flowers, sprinkles, laughter, a b-birthday card, and the condensed wonder on the, ah, t-table. A lot. Yes. I haven't tried? And s-sure, if Mr. Thorne says it's okay."

Then Edith spoke up, and Annette's smile was replaced with a surprised yelp as she jumped backward, having forgotten the woman was in the suite at all, and fell backwards into one of the larger bubbles. In which her small body fell through one end and did not come back out the other, leaving her stuck inside a large, blue bubble that still floated a few centimeters off the ground. David blinked at this before bursting into giggles.

Graceful, Annie.

Jarl

Michele glanced up from her book, her mouth opening in question about De Goff’s daughter, then it abruptly snapped shut in response to Jarl’s second question, a faint pink flush rising in her cheeks.

“Oh. It’s nothing much. Just something Bruno lent me.” She looked down at the book, blue eyes fixed on the page, avoiding meeting Jarl’s gaze, and tilting the cover to hide the title.

“An American fantasy novel .Well, a book from a series. About...ah...magic. And kingdoms. That stuff.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Alexander

Alexander frowned down at his bubble-captured hand, trying to figure out a way to get free without dropping the knife. Having a loose blade rattling around with his fingers would be bad.

His frown turned to Bethany after a moment, managing to keep amusement at her excitement out of his expression, thankfully.

“You’re still in trouble, miss.” He said levelly. “I haven’t forgotten about this morning.”

Bethany deflated, letting out a loud humph at the unfairness of the world.

Wait, when had Edith gotten here?

Alexander slide his bubble-enclosed hand behind his back, keeping a firm grip on the blade of the knife, and gave the woman the most professional nod he could, given the circumstances.

“Yes. Can you take me to them?”

edited 7th Nov '17 11:17:30 AM by DrTentacles

Terry let Alex deal with the negotiations while he focused on sticking his hand through Anne's bubble so he could pull her out. "I don't know if this is ever going to be the most useful option we have available, but I definitely want to see it used in the field now. Some of the types we mix it up with, seeing them flailing around trying to deal with brightly colored bubbles is going to be hilarious."

Jarl

Jarl gave the cover a sideways glance and gauged Michele's reaction. Right. That kind of book. He just smiled and sipped from his cup of tea, his English accent particularly pronounced. "Your secret is safe with my indifference. Just trying to make conversation. I know better than to disturb Tim when he's working, and I know better than to have to explain things twice by going to tell Leon first."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

T&A

"I cannot." Edith shook her head. "I cannot give you access on my own. That is a decision reserved for the Poisoners to make in number. I can, however, begin you on the process of contacting them yourself." She glanced around the room, arms folded behind her back. "I understand you met some of the local Paranet last night. There is a...difference, between us and them. Access is not a thing to be given, access is a thing to be earned. Become worthy of their attention, and you just might."

"And does creating art have to involve generating murderous paint creatures? Cause if that's your idea of fun, I can see why someone sealed you away."

Leon might have been trying to remain calm but some anger still slipped out. He didn't know any of the victims, but they were still people dead for the pettiest of reasons. His hands may not have been clean either, but its not like he found that aspect of his job fun.

Leon

"Murderous paint monsters? Come on! You claim to be a wizard."

The clouds above the mirage rumbled with thunder, no longer clean, white wisps. They'd grown dark and heavy with rain, heralds of an oncoming storm.

"Intent! Intent is what shapes Linte."

The brush's spirit barks out a short, but heartily amused laugh.

"If my creatures murdered, it's because that was the intent of my wielder. In this brush, I cannot refuse. Muddled, unfocused desires leads to messy, destructive art."

edited 9th Nov '17 12:33:45 PM by DrTentacles

Alexander

Alexander's expression changed to a disarming, and suspiciously innocent smile, even while he considered the merits of using his Hunger to force her to bring him to the Poisoners. Certainly, she was a little too old to be entirely taken in by his charms, but she wasn't dead. And it wasn't as if he'd have to sleep with her.

Probably.

On the other hand, she was one member of a large, annoying vague council. A council that had, thus far, evaded being infiltrated by vampires as far as he knew. And this was exactly what any sane person dealing with an incubus would expect.

No seduction, then.

"Madame Edith. You're looking at me. Are you actually saying that I'm not worthy of everyone's attention?" He said, keeping the same smile on his face. Time to see what her little test was.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jarl

Michele's face was still a bit pink, but she looked up from the book, amused at Jarl's response.

"It's good book. Bruno lent it to me. It's got some really deep and rich characters, and an interesting magic style—there's a kingdom that got erased from the memory of everyone, except those who used to live in it." She explained, clearly a bit more than casually invested in the story.

"Not my usual thing, though."

She cleared her throat, looking around for another subject. One presented itself in the form of Bruno, the lanky, straw-haired student tromping down the stairs, a heaping hamper of laundry in his arms, overflowing with clothes.

"What's that, Michele? Something about the book I lent you?" He exclaimed cheerful, the large grin on his face almost hidden by the mountain of clothes.

"You didn't hear anything." She said flatly.

Bruno tromped over to the basement door, and fumbled to the handle. As he reached it, Michele connected two and two together.

"Wait, Von Hochberg is working!" She exclaimed.

The warning came too late—the moment Bruno cracked open the door, an awful smell began to waft from the depths below.

edited 9th Nov '17 12:30:42 PM by DrTentacles

Jarl

"Rule number one, guys: Don't interrupt the wizard when he's wizarding!"

Jarl didn't have a clue if the foul-smelling whatever was dangerous (it didn't immediately smell like it, but you never knew,) but just to be on the safe side, he opened the neighboring window and through out his hand with a cry of "Ríða!"

He felt the heavy tug on his mind and the strain on his body as he struggled to contain the magical currents running through his body. Rather than a harsh, heavy wind, he instead went for more of a stiff breeze, letting whatever was stinking up Tim's lab safely drift out of the house and into the Paris streets. And, hopefully, either disappear in the sunlight if it was of a magical nature, or just drift off into the air.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

T&A

Edith folded her arms and tilted her head sideways.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying. I'm saying that my attention does not matter. Their attention does."

edited 9th Nov '17 1:08:48 PM by math792d

Terry's hand was enough leverage for Annette to pull her torso out of the bubble, but her leg was left stuck in it up to the knee. She sighed and kicked at it a couple of times without trying to maintain her dignity at this point. Why bother? Alexander was doing the talking with a bubble on his hand, so there really was no point to maintain appearances now. "I'll keep that in mind in th-the future. Though I'm still not sure if z-zombies will care about them...they could get stuck in them though?"

David batted a bubble at Bethany, his smile still present but growing shy again the calmer the room's atmosphere got (and farther away the cat was). But the ice had been thoroughly broken.

Alexander

Alexander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His remark about deserving everyone's attention had been a playful quip, but there was a truth buried behind it—he had privilege. Between his money, looks, and social status, it was hard to imagine anyone not caring who he was. What sort of hidebound secret society was this?

"Alright. You have my full attention. What will get your associates' interest, if slaying zombies in Parisian catacombs does not?"

edited 10th Nov '17 10:22:13 AM by DrTentacles

"So, you can't even refuse those subconscious not fully realized thoughts? Those brief dark impulses that people almost never actually act on? Desires from a dream? All of those are fair game? ...I'm glad I stuck you in a circle overnight."

Leon sighed, still annoyed with the brush, but realizing he was basically just going to be redirecting blame for those deaths endlessly. Though putting the blame on the necromancer that talked De Goff wasn't going to really hurt his conscience.

"What else can you do besides emotion effecting paintings and paint creatures?"

T&A

"I'm glad you asked. As it were, I was actually scouting out the catacombs for another...promising prospect, but it seems as if you stepped in at an opportune moment." She reaches into her clothes and grabs a note, passing it to Alexander. "Not far from the Place de la Bastille, there is a bar called L'International. It has made a name for itself promoting independently signed groups from across Europe."

"We have it on good authority that a person of mutual interest, Samson Ibn Khalid, is keeping his eyes on some of the international performers. We'd like you to resolve the situation. The manner in which you do will reflect on your likelihood of joining the Poisoners."

Tim, as if called, popped his head out of the basement door, gave Bruno a stare and Jarl a glare. "Can you not vent it outside, if you have to? I am trying to age a book down here and turning a number of potions into smoke to properly suffuse it is a very delicate process."

"Get our foot in the door by taking care of Samson, huh," Terry said, looking unusually serious. From what he'd heard of the ibn Khalid's MO, Terry was almost offended by the man's existence. This was not a situation where he felt inclined to fuck around. "There's a two-birds situation. Can you tell us who exactly he's targeting, or is that one of those things we're supposed to figure out ourselves?"

T&A

"I would tell you if I knew exactly who it was." Edith shrugged. "All we know is that there is a group passing through L'International, and one of its members has been leaving a trail of destruction through the...less savory parts of the European supernatural community along the way. Which person it is, however, is currently unknown to me. Samson may have figured it out."

_____________________________________________________________________

Jarl

"Sorry Tim. Somebody forgot you were working in there. I'm just trying to get the worst of the smell out before Rollo comes down on us all with a vengeance for stinking up the house."

Leon

"People are crazy, friend. Gotta say, I only envy your freedom."

The shimmers around the figure shift, as though it were grinning at him.

"There's a question, though! What can I do? Everyone wants to know. Really, you should be asking what I can help YOU do."

The mirage laughs.

"You ever get a picture stuck in your head, but when you draw it, it comes out look like a mess of lines and lack of skill? Words, a story, caught in the empty space between your ears? I'm the link, the chain, the funnel straight from your head to the canvas."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alexander

Hmm. Probably scouting for Delilah. Sorry, Poisoners. Beat you too it.

Alexander reached out to take the note, staring down at the tiny, crumpled sheet of paper properly. He wanted to ask the Poisoner's preferred method of dealing with Ibn Khalid—if it were left up to him, "sudden death by heart attack" was looking tempting, but that was part of the test, wasn't it? No hints.

Well. He'd learn as much about them from this as they'd learn about him, hopefully. A bar was good place for a fight. Drinks on hand, lots of noise. Whatever talent Khalid was trying to grab might be a problem, but they'd probably see reason once he laid the options out.

Yeah, this was going to work out fine for him.

Alexander flashed Edith a smile.

"Tell your friends not to blink. I'd hate for them to miss anything, then. Do you have a way to contact you once I've brought down the house?" He quipped. Not that he expected a number.

He dug in his pants pocket, pulling out his phone, and popping up open a group text to his siblings.

J, I need a floor plan, and act schedule for L'International. Bar. Check acts with police+hospital reports. L, music is your scene—got anything? Ibn Khalid and I are competing for recruits, and mommy and daddy's attention. Usual "expect the best, prepare for the worst" deal. Standard deal. Get friendly with the bouncers and staff before, try to get a master key, and bug into the cameras. Also demoing alchemist.

He looked back up, turning to Annette. Who was in a bubble.

Okay.

"Ready for a job, Ms Wagner? How are you with drinks?"

edited 13th Nov '17 9:17:59 PM by DrTentacles

T&A

Edith turned to Alex, a small, crooked smile passing over her face.

"How is it Americans say it? 'Don't call us, we'll call you'? They will be watching. In the meantime..." She started walking toward the exit, waving a hand. "I should find a place with a better threshold to stay. Au revoir, and with any luck, we'll meet again."

Alex' phone was already buzzing. L'International apparently lived up to its name - bands from all over Europe were lined up for the whole week. Any one of them could have been the one.

Lilaine had just responded with a wink emoji.

The bubbles began to slowly disintegrate one by one—leaving a nice floral scent in their wake—as if on cue to the more serious tone the room was taking. Annette tensed up slightly at the mention of Samson. Again. It was like the name was following her around waiting for her to forget about it for just a second before reminding her about the imminent danger it carried. Hell, the man himself was following her, and waiting to kidnap her. But at least whoever this group Alexander and Terry wanted in on were also apparently sick of him. Good.

Now if only David hadn't also heard the name mentioned and gone still, listening more intently than before.

We haven't talked about Jacqueline...

Annette felt the bubble on her leg vanish and it gave her time to catch her balance while considering Alexander's question. She offered a tense, awkward smile. "I mean...mixing d-drinks is no different than alchemy, to an, um, extent...but I've been abstaining from alcohol for a f-few years now. Why?"

"Huh. That's honestly pretty cool. Not immediately useful to the current situation but still cool. Though combined with that paint creature creation, maybe somewhat useful when we inevitably get in another fight. "

Leon hummed to himself thoughtfully. Some of his thoughts on just decorating his apartment back in Vegas, some of them on creating more paint creatures and binding them to his will to deal with whatever else they ended up having to deal with.

"Anyways, I got a few more questions for you, do you have any idea why a necromancer is the one that convinced De Goff to steal you from Celeste? Has a necromancer gotten their hands on you in the past?"

Leon

"'Course you'd want to use me in a fight, with the all the frustration roiling around inside you."

The storm-clouds above the beach rumbled again, self-satisfaction plain in the Linth Brush's voice.

"Dunno too many Necromancers. Definitely none that I've called master. Can't help you there, friend."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jarl and Tim

Michele made a face, carefully marking her place in the book and going to help open some more windows, glaring at Bruno the whole time. A moment later, the glass doors to Rollo's sitting room slid open, revealing Fortune, framed in the gap, knitting needles held in one hand like a blade, nose scrunched in disgust.

"What is that stench? Did something die in here?" She asked, glaring at the wizards and college students.

Michele finished cranking open one of the front windows, shuddering at the gust of cold air that greeted her.

"Blame Bruno. He interrupted a wizard at work, and now it smells like a german football team's locker room."

Fortune's glare turned to rest upon Bruno. Caught between Tim, Michele, and an angry changing, the fair-skinned freshman's face gradually turned a deep, deep red in embarrassment.

"Sorry. Sorry. Pardon. I'll knock next time. Laundry can wait. As long as is needed. Just...tell me when you're done."

Bruno glanced again between Tim, Michele, and Fortune.

"Sorry. My bad."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alexander

Keeping looking, then. Might need mission control during this—don't plan on sleep.

Alexander slid his phone back into his pocket, turning his full attention—or at least the part of his attention not currently construction a scheme, on Ms Wagner. She'd make a pretty unobtrusive bartender, until she opened her mouth. The American accent was a bit of a give-away. Along with her inability to speak French. And the pronounced stutter.

"No reason." He replied, crushing his previous plan into a metaphorical ball of paper, and tossing it in the garbage. Service industry infiltration wasn't going to work. None of them spoke French, he was too pretty to be sneaky, and frankly, even if Ms Wagner did speak the language, she might get stepped on if she tried to walk through a crowd on her own.

Who else could get backstage access in a bar?

Groupies? That'd work for him. But that meant trusting in Terrence, and a lesbian single mother's eye for seduction. Well, at least they'd have a diverse set of tastes covered. Maybe he could disguise Terry as his service dog?

He put that under plan "B," for "Better idea needed."

Lilaine could definitely make it in as a performer, and they still probably had a decent piano and vocal act between the two of them, but the bar was already booked well in advance. So they'd have to arrange an accident with another performer. And he didn't know if anyone else among them had musical talent.

Pretending to be cops was right out, of course.

Who else could get backstage at an event like this?

Alexander grinned, turning to Terry.

"Terrence. Did you know my family has a record label?"

edited 16th Nov '17 1:30:08 PM by DrTentacles

"At least our football players don't heatbutt other players in the world cup." Tim shot back at Michele. "I'll need another couple hours, but I have - out of domestic necessity - developed a good spell for cleaning the air of smells and the like."

Jarl

"Just close the door, Tim. I'll do the upper floor cleaning." He pulled a piece of chalk out of a jacket pocket. "Well, assuming your professor won't mind a few easily-removed chalk marks."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

T&A, One Smash Cut Later

L'International was not a particularly large bar. The floor plan gave as much away. Nestled away on the Rue de Oberkampf, close to the site of the Bastille, the club was a snug little thing, recently renovated. The center was mostly occupied by an absolutely massive bar, colorful bottles stocked on the shelves, currently crowded with maybe three dozen concert-goers eager to get their drink on before the next act. A handful of tables and chairs were located at the very edges of the floor, mostly propped up against the walls, and the ceiling mostly consisted of black acoustic padding.

Of course, this wasn't actually where any of the music was. Off to the right from the entrance, past the crowd of partygoers, was a stair leading down. Below was the basement level, a parking garage that had been converted into one of the hottest independent music scenes in Paris, spacious enough to hold a couple hundred people on the dance floor. Alex knew this because his phone currently contained a floor plan courtesy of Jessy, who had also appointed themselves as mission control. He could feel his earpiece buzzing.

"Welcome to one of the most popular musical bars in Paris, everyone. Remember to tip the servers, mind your manners, and please, don't cause a panic."

As it stood right now, Anne couldn't immediately see anyone she recognized. If Samson was here in person, he sure wasn't trying to buy a drink. Then her eyes drifted sideways, towards the stairs, and she saw someone coming upstairs. It wasn't the boss himself. Apparently, he didn't think this was quite important enough to show up in person, but he had sent Gorilla. Somehow he seemed even larger than he had when she'd encountered him in Jackie's apartment, having migrated from 'giant flank of ham in a business suit' to 'twelve chicken dinners stacked on top of one another in a parody of a turtleneck.' Still wearing sunglasses. Indoors. In the winter.

Alex, meanwhile, felt someone bump his shoulder. He turned his head sideways to see Lilaine, giving him a wink, and he felt something heavy in his pocket.

"Frustrated? Of course I'm god damn frustrated. I help avert the apocalypse a few months ago, but it turns out we got another slower burning apocalypse coming. Which is why I'm here in Paris. But Paris had a dumbass art professor with a magic paintbrush, because a necromancer that's supposed to be dead talked him into stealing it. And my friends have done their best to piss off the local in the know law enforcement. For reasons I can't even begin to fathom. And..."

Leon took a deep breath ending his rant there. Though it had been nice to vent a little. Exhaling slowly, he switched gears.

"I might have more questions for you later, might even try painting something, but for now, one last question. Do you want to go back to Celeste? You are kind of a family heirloom for her. Seems rude to just keep you because I retrieved you from the one who stole it from her."