Edge Town-City of Light

"I'm not sure I find almost being choked to death by Tintin and his dog as an amusing event, but ok."

Leon stiffened slightly as Fortune leaned against him. It was a situation he wasn't used to as nice as it may have been. He hadn't had much in the way of non violent physical contact with people in general since becoming a warden. Let alone with an attractive member of the opposite sex. It took him a moment to get over the shock, but before he could really do anything, like maybe wrap an arm around Fortune's shoulders, Michelle said the police were calling.

"I probably need to take that. Hopefully its not Proteau saying he has a warrant for Jarl's arrest."

He extricated himself from the bed somewhat reluctantly and headed downstairs.

"Thanks, Michele." he said as he took the phone from her. "This is Lichtenberg."

Leon

"Hmm?" Fortune murmured.

"Oh, certainly."

Fortune replied a moment later, her voice entirely too composed and nonchalant, moving back to let Leon stand up again. He could tell she was avoiding eye contact as he left the room.

When Leon picked up the phone, he recognized the voice of Officer Gage on the other end, the man Protaeu had left in charge of the investigation at the docks.

"I was hoping I could find you at this number. We have our warrant. The victim was an employee for the Bassin Le' Arsenal management offices. Are you available to come down and look around? It's very close along the docks."

T&A

"I guess we'll see how everyone takes to you. For now, the show begins..."

Sebastián led them through a series of heavy oaken double doors, the pair slowly creaking open to reveal a large, circular room, gas-lit like the rest of the corridor had been. It looked almost like a tiny Greek theatre, with four layers of stands surrounding a lowered platform.

Altogether, there were maybe twenty individuals, and though they could not tell faces through the silver masks, their ages were somewhat easy to guess - not one of them looked as young as Sebastián, and many of them in fact looked quite old, even for minor practitioners, who tended to age relatively gracefully. Their faces were further concealed by the reflection of the silver masks making it hard to make out individual features. There were men and women alike amongst the gathered.

The scene seemed a perfect metaphor for the Poisoners as a whole: Once, a place like this might have been able to hold twice, or three times their present number. But still, they seemed to cling to old, fading glories.

Terrence, of course, immediately got the scent of someone familiar in the stands. Though she might be wearing the mask, there was no hiding Edith's scent from his mighty canine nose.

Someone was already standing in the circle, in a classy black-and-white tuxedo that, to the best of Anne's observations, probably set him back more money than she made in a year. He was wearing the same black mask as Alex, Terry and Anne, his hands in his pockets. One of the Poisoners, a woman, stepped forward, gesturing to the trio.

"You are late. Take your place below."

edited 9th Apr '18 2:51:00 PM by math792d

"Huh. That was fast. Yeah, just give me a bit to get there."

If Officer Gage didn't have anything else to add to the phone conversation Leon would say goodbye and then hang up. From there he went to find Tim, who was likely in the library.

"Yo, Tim, the warrant for the marina came in. I'm heading out, I'd like a second pair of eyes with me, and I think its best if we keep Jarl as far away from the cops as we possibly can."

Tim poked his head out of the Library and nodded. "That seems the sensible course of action. Give me a few moments to gather my things."

Alexander

Whew. Alexander felt like he was on trial. Or maybe back in college debate club. Either way, the Poisoners knew the value of good theatre. A legion of blank, silver-masked faces starting down at you from on high was the stuff of someone's nightmares. Not his. At least, not yet. Who knew how the rest of the evening went?

He wasn't really rattled, though. To be honest, he was probably better at dealing with crowds than a one-on-one interview. Journalism, Prostitution, or Casinos—they all involved being on stage. Metaphorically. He could keep cool under pressure.

"Apologies. I was being briefed." Alexander responded, keeping his voice cool and respectful, and bowing his head in acknowledgement. He wanted to add something like "I hope you weren't too heartbroken," but he had the sense it would be inappropriate. He was very possibly the Poisoner's first non-human prospect. Which...spoke of desperation, and someone's political maneuvering.

As he walked forward to stand beside the other man on the stage, he took a moment to size them up, raising an eyebrow under his mask. Hmm. The tuxedo was very nice, but looked a little overdone. Like someone was compensating for something? Jesse would probably be able to make a better observation. He stopped a few paces away from the man with a nod of greeting, then turned to the crowd. Masks could only hide so much. It was time to play "spot the fine details."

Annette felt under-dressed for this. Ah well, at least it wasn't as bad as that goddamn restaurant had been.

She looked over the extravagantly dressed fellow on stage only long enough for Alexander and Terry to find a place to stand, then she took a spot slightly behind them both. She did poorly enough in crowds, but all eyes were on them. If she was addressed or called out she might have a panic attack. Good thing there were flashier figures to take the attention away.

Terry gave a polite nod to the other prospect, but otherwise kept quiet and meek. The wise hawk hides his talons and all that shit. And the wise hawk also makes a point of not clowning around when being evaluated by a secret society that values discretion and creepy theater. So does the average hawk, for that matter. Say what you like about hawks, they took to dignity easily.

Hm, the particularly rambling thought process might possibly indicate he was a little nervous about all this.

As the trio made their way to the center of the theater, all conversation around the room stopped, and all eyes fixed on them.

The first to step forward was a woman who did not smell familiar to Terry, a stranger. Her accent, when she spoke, was definitely not local - wherever she was from, it was somewhere else in France.

"You stand in the presence of Les Poisoners. For centuries, we have walked the halls of power in the shadows, we have guided the city of Paris, and we have accumulated power. We have been hunted and beaten, but we have bent, never broken."

She gestured around. "There are people here who would see our numbers swell. Who would, for the first time in even the memory of the Council, take new blood into the old families, to bid new faces take their place among us." She quickly retracted her hand. "I disagree. Your presence here is anathema to me. To share our secrets with the outside world would make us useless, vulnerable, undercuts the very secrecy that keeps us alive."

She folded her hand behind her back and nodded. "But, in the interests of my colleagues, and out of respect for their competence, if not their wisdom, I would have you speak." She gestured to Alex, Terry and Anne. "Our other new arrival already did so. I would hear you answer the same question: why are you here? Why do you deserve to be here?"

'Alexander

Well, you see, I need to break into your treasure vault so I can steal…something...to help save my Casino in Las Vegas from ancient norse bullshit.

Sometimes, honesty was probably not the best policy. Especially when the questioner stated she had an axe to grind with him in the same breath as her question.

What did he say, though? He certainly wouldn’t have trusted himself if he were in their shoes. I mean, he wouldn’t have trusted himself period, but especially not in their place. He was a White Court Vampire. Born into wealth and privilege, with family assets that eclipsed the Poisoner’s own. His loyalties were suspect, to put it mildly.

Steady. There must be some reason they’re giving you a chance. Some internal scheme you’re missing. And your companions are right up their recruitment alley.

Well. Maybe Terry and Ms Wagner weren’t exactly their usual recruits, he added in a mental edit, looking at both of their...less than formal...attire compared to everyone else there.

Alright. He needed to fish for his angle. Or at least stall for time.

“Before I answer you, Madame, I need to ask. What do you know about me?” He said calmly, as though he’d expected her question, and already had a reply ready.

edited 11th Apr '18 5:18:19 PM by DrTentacles

T&A

There was a naked pause in the room as Alexander suddenly spoke. Before, there had been an air of calm, of authority, but that was broken when a few of the assorted Poisoners - those close enough to each other to whisper - started leaning against one another, exchanging hushed words that could not be made out in the theatre, but they carried themselves on the wind well enough. One gentleman, confined to a wheelchair, stood out to Terry in particular - probably because he was chatting with Edith. Yes, probably just for that reason.

"We know that you can be counted on to exercise a modicum of discretion, though it seemed to be paired with something of a penchant for violence. We know that you are human, and yet not, and how much you remain human remains to be judged. We know you surround yourself with wealth, power, and family, but we do not know which is most important to you yet."

"You would be the first of your kind-" Vampires, probably "-to be admitted to our order. Your very presence here is in violation of the traditions that made us great. So tell me again, aspirant, why do you deserve to be here?"

Alexander

Well, they’re not wrong about anything. And it’s certainly not the most flattering description I’ve been given.

It was, however, curiously lacking on a few key details. For instance, anything to do with Alexander’s business ventures in Vegas, encounters with norse divinities, or mounting debts and enemies among his own family. That could help him make his case.

Alright. What could they conceivably find out? I’m from Italy by way of Las Vegas. My father was publically murdered last year. My businesses are in trouble. If they get the rough details of Vegas, they’ll probably conclude I’m at odds with the White Council and Monoc, which means we share common interests. The giant, glaring pair of problems are still my divided loyalties, and the fact that there’s no sign I intend to stay in France.

That was about as far ahead as he could think. Empty Night, was he playing this by ear. Time to make his pitch. Something short, snappy, and hopefully enough to put them as off-balance as they’d put him.

“Because right now you all have a choice. Once again, the White Council knows of your existence. And once again, they’re trying to find you, because they want to control you.” He began, focusing on each breath, putting on his best public speaking voice, calm, but projecting it throughout the auditorium. “I suspect you’ve already discovered this, or else you wouldn’t have allowed me here at all.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, sweat beading on his brow. Empty Night. Jarl and Tim were going to kill him for this, if he hadn’t guessed correctly. They were probably going to kill him anyway, just for being here, but this meant his death would be painful.

“They aren’t the only ones either. Like me, I know none of you believe the undead attack I fought off in the Catacombs was random chance. I suspect it was the work of a necromancer, attempting to learn more about you. Others are sure to follow. So the choice is—protect what you've managed to rebuild, or give it up, and go deeper into hiding. I want to help you remain independent. I need your help for the same."

Another deep breath, letting the words fall into the group, taking his time. He couldn’t rush. His mouth felt dry, and his nails were digging into his palms.

edited 12th Apr '18 1:58:06 PM by DrTentacles

T&A

Another naked pause settled over the assembled Poisoners. The woman folded her arms behind her back, looking at Alex.

"We will consider your words," was all she said as the entire assembly turned away, a door opening at the far end of the theatre that they all, in turn, stepped into.

Sebastián went last, giving them a wave as he walked through the door.

Immediately, the other supplicant turned to Alex and the rest. In what was either a supreme display of confidence, or just a casual disrespect for the rules, he pulled his mask off.

The bronzed skin immediately gave him off as North African. Morrocan, most likely. He was short and lanky, the telltale signs of having spent a youth not getting enough to eat, and if it hadn't been for the expensive suit and the fact that it seemed like he'd bothered to cut his beard, he really would've looked like any punk off the streets.

In fact, Anne recognized him. Scruff up the beard a little, ruffle the hair, and you'd have the spitting image of Samson Ibn Khalid.

"Well well. And here I thought I would have to wait another day to meet the man who kidnapped my friend."

edited 13th Apr '18 9:41:00 AM by math792d

Tim stopped, right as they were about to head out. "Wait a moment." He waved at Leon before he walked back to the table and got out a notepad from his bag and began to write:

Jarl,

Leon and I are investigating a separate issue. Rest your head injury and meet us at 10 pm at the Club so we can go in there together.

Don't do anything stupid.

T.

"Just in case."

edited 13th Apr '18 9:59:51 AM by 3of4

Alexander

Alexander let out the breath he'd been holding, unclasping his hands from behind his back. Empty night. He could still feel his stomach twisting into knots. And there was no way to know if what he'd said had been enough. He still had a back-up plan but—

Wait. What was the other prospect saying?

Kidnapped his friend?

"That's odd." His mouth started, too off-guard to even try being polite. "My first thought when I saw your face was 'that man probably doesn't have friends.'"

Shit. Is that Samson?

edited 13th Apr '18 7:23:35 PM by DrTentacles

Huh. Something to make me miss being looked down upon by a crowd of people. Fascinating.

Annette's body went stiff, her spine straightening as her eyes lifted behind the mask to look at the man speaking to Alexander. She recognized his stature and appearance, but most clearly she recognized his voice, even though he had only been speaking French then. Samson. The man who was trying to kidnap her, and her son, was right here in front of her.

He hadn't said anything yet. Had he not recognized her?

Annette drew in a breath between her teeth and bit lightly at her lip. Shit shit shit. He was here. He could do something to her. Anything. Would he? Had Alexander caught on? Her fear was practically radiating off of her. Why was he here? Why were the Poisoners even considering letting a man like him in their group?

Did they...approve of what he did?

Suddenly she didn't want to be here anymore.

Terry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It'd be a lot easier to deal with his wild, paranoid ideas that the vastness of the universe was aligned to fuck with a certain insignificant werewolf if said ideas were ever fucking wrong. "What's this shit about a kidnapping and how is it going to make my life harder?"

And while we're at it, who the fuck are you, why is Anne suddenly so freaked out, and do we still have a clear path to the exit at the top of the stairs?

edited 13th Apr '18 11:03:32 PM by rikalous

T&A

Samson chuckled, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Appearances can be deceiving like that. For example, you look intelligent. And yet, you're trying to blackmail someone in a town you don't know, for the sake of a foreigner."

His head turned sharply to Terry. "Alain. My friend. Who's cooped up somewhere at your behest and due to be exchanged soon."

Wait, that Alain? Then this motherfucker must be-

Terry gave an incredulous bark of laughter and dropped to his knees, hands clasped in entreaty. "Oh you poor baby! A kidnapping! How can you bear up under the weight of such grevious injustice? Why, the only thing that could make it worse is if your hitman was killed and your take stolen! Please, I beg you, tell us how we can make this right and end the agony of your suffering."

Prick. Well, his identity certainly explained why Anne had been so suddenly discommoded. At least he wasn't in a position to make any moves right now, though at 3-to-1 odds Terry almost hoped he'd try.

Alexander

Alexander let out a sharp snort of amusement at Terry's mockery. It wasn't like anything he said could make things worse. He'd challenged Samson's power the moment he stepped between him and Annette Wagner.

"I'm actually planning on extorting you for favors, Samson. I have very little interest in involving the local authorities or blackmail. If I did, I would have left your man to the police." He said. Terry's interjection had also given him a moment to compose himself, which meant he could get back to talking with his brain again. "You're right though. I should probably get to know you first. Want to swap facts? I'll start."

Alexander grinned widely, stepping in closer and lowering his voice.

"Our friends upstairs told me where to find Alain and his crew."

Annette threw a worried look between Terry and Alexander as both of them drew attention to themselves right in front of Samson. She might have laughed at Terry's mocking dramatics, but given the person he was hurling them at had made it very clear that his intent was to take her and use her for whatever purposes he wanted...she had very little sense of humor right now. As Alexander stepped between herself and Samson she took the chance to turn away and try to calm herself down. Breathe. She needed to breathe. He couldn't do something here, could he?

...but she could. The last time Alexander had said something about Samson it was...

"Next time you see him, kill him."

She had no weapons. Nothing right now. Not even a potion.

But the chance was right here.

Right in front of them.

It would cost Alexander his place with the Poisoners, though, if they did something like that. Still. They might not get this chance again. Was it worth it? Would it even be possible?

Annette let her frantic mind begin working a dozen different potential ways she could kill Samson before the night had ended. Broken glass. Serving utensils. Guns? Somebody had to have a gun. If she could get them to see him as dangerous, maybe the Poisoners would do it for her.

Annie, what the fuck are you thinking?!

She squeezed her eyes shut and kept her back turned.

You're not a killer! You've only killed one monster in your whole life. Never a person!

But he could hurt David. If he leaves, he will hurt David.

Breathe, Annie.

T&A

"Did they now?" Samson's head tilted sideways, the corners of his mouth twisting into a little grin. For now, his response to Terry's display was the universal sign of dismay at another's actions, delivered through the method of a middle finger.

His attention locked on Alex, but then drifted further towards Anne. He tapped his finger against his chin, pointing at her. "You. I remember you. You were hiding in the closet of that putain Jacqueline, weren't you? It's quite difficult to conceal that hair, though I applaud you for trying."

Annette's breathing hitched.

Jacqueline. Oh. Oh no. She felt her chest go tight, remembering the fear of hiding in that tiny closet with her son—her son who she'd brought right into danger's way—watching Samson threaten Jacqueline. She had pushed it from her mind. It hadn't been her problem. David had been heartbroken, though. They hadn't talked about it yet. How she'd abandoned another person for her safety, for David's safety. He'd probably hurt her for helping them. And he knew it. Knew she'd been there, knew she'd escaped, knew Jacqueline had been trying to save her.

"...Du verdammtes Arschloch..."

Her voice was small, but ice cold, and her hands were shaking at her chest, her breathing shallow and harsh. She turned just her head to look at Samson, her eyes wide like a terrified mouse in the eyes of a hungry cat.

"Ich hoffe du fällst tot um."

Alexander

It had been a long fucking day. Alexander had woken up with a hell of a hangover, been in a bar fight that had escalated into a shoot-out, been turned down romantically by two different women in as many days, found out he was losing his casino to his fucking aunt, downed enough alcohol to try to forget all of that, and then been dragged here, and had to bullshit on the spot to a crowd of french assholes.

And here was this smug asshole, standing there like he was invulnerable, and looking back at poor Ms Wagner, who had nearly as bad a day as he had, she hadn't been quiet because of pure anxiety—she was terrified and furious, and here Samson was, getting in her head, and twisting it around.

Everyone had a breaking point somewhere.

"That's not a fact about yourself, canard" Alexander hissed, pure white eyes the only thing visible through the mask. He pulled back his arm, and launched a full-armed slap at Samson's face.

T&A

Had he knocked even a little harder, Alex would've probably knocked a couple of Samson's teeth out. As it was, it still broke the skin on his lip, causing Alex' gloves to turn red as a trickle of blood ran down his fingers, the gangster almost falling to the ground.

"And now, perhaps," the woman from earlier's voice echoed out, "you can see why I was against the admission of non-humans. They cannot be trusted with the secrets of L'apothicaire. When had she gotten back into the building? The other poisoners were coming out, no doubt because of her voice, but she'd been here...how long, exactly?

Even Terry hadn't picked up a scent. Weird.

Samson stood back up, scraping a finger along his lip where Alex had broken his skin. "Temper, temper."