[Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

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[Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EtB » Fri Jun 06, 2014 1:16 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


So now Lerrick had a destination and an intent in mind, as he quietly leaves Susan's room, and Meadow to her work. This was as close as he often got to a plan, in the minds of his peers. Grudgingly, he admitted they were not entirely wrong, but situations were so fluid; his plans were kind of amorphous out of necessity, since he often was forced to operate on limited information.

This time, though, he had a fairly good idea of what was necessary. The ambulance dock was probably restricted, but that wasn't an enormous problem. Even in a busy hospital, there are areas that are silent and unoccupied, and Lerrick did not need long. Willing and able to risk a little vulgarity for the sake of expedience, Lerrick ducked into an empty side corridor and tugged on his leather half-gloves. First, he covers his eyes with his left hand, and whispers, "Occulto." As the words leaves his lips, he turns his left hand so that the palm is facing outward, and opens his eyes.

Invisibility, he notes as he stares through his hand, is kind of creepy.

The next is a bit tricker, and his eyes dart to his ever-present companion, the golden dragon-mist-spirit that has followed him through the halls and is currently negotiating loose knots in the air with its body, twisting, coiling, and twining around itself. Taking a deep breath, his hand goes over his mouth, and the word he speaks is a barely breathed, "Quies."

The twisting spirit stops, turns, and looks at him, hanging in the air, and cocks its head. Lerrick smirks at it, then waits. There are doors in a hospital, some of which need to be opened with cards or the like. Lerrick was waiting for someone to follow. Not the doctors, no. Doctors won't go TO the ambulance dock.

But cleaning people will.

Silent and invisible, Lerrick traces his way down, the sound of his footsteps, breathing, even his speech translated into the Twilight. He expected to speak to spirits, after all. He just didn't want to disturb the Sleepers in the area.

"I don't suppose you plan on being any help," he asks the spirit that follows him.

I plan no more than you do.

"Oh, very funny," Lerrick drawls in response, rolling his eyes. The doors at the end of the hallway they pass through burst open, and several men are rolling a gurney down the hallway at high speed. Lerrick presses himself against a wall as they pass, eying the bloody, battered figure on the stretcher, and then bolts for the door, slipping through just as it closes.

The ambulance sits, idling outside; and on its top, sitting and eating what looks like a brown-bag lunch, is an impish figure, glowing a faint green, with an oversized head that seems to consist largely of long, pointed nose, a rotund little body, spindly limbs, and far too many fingers for comfort. As Lerrick approaches, it notes him, and stands up, clapping its hands.

Almost a dozen of the little bastards pop out of every conceivable space, and Lerrick's eyes dart, taking them in.

"....you guys wanna job?" he asks hopefully.
Spoiler: show
Forces + Gnosis, Vulgar, Personal Invisibility
Dox 2 (Base), -1 for Tool (Gloves), letting the last point roll
EtB rolled 1d10:
3

Spellcast
EtB rolled 6d10:
9, 9, 1, 9, 9, 9
+2 Stealth for Extraordinary Success for scene

Second spell: Forces+Gnosis, funnel sound into Twilight (Spirit 2), Vulgar
Dox 3 (Base +1 previous vulgar), -1 Tool (gloves), -1 Mana, let last point roll
EtB rolled 1d10:
1

Spellcast
EtB rolled 6d10:
7, 1, 4, 7, 8, 6
Dex+Stealth+2, -1 Untrained
EtB rolled 3d10:
9, 10, 8
Explode 10
EtB rolled 1d10:
6

Let's be nice to the spirit imps!
EtB rolled 3d10:
4, 10, 3
Explode 10
EtB rolled 1d10:
1
EtB
 
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EvilSqueegee » Sun Jun 08, 2014 6:53 pm

The implings, all of them with food-stained faces and big, wide eyes, perk up and look in Lerrick’s direction. His offer definitely catches their attention — often times, a Magus with an offer is worth listening to. Often times a Magus with an offer is good reason to run screaming, though.

From behind the ambulance, around the corner, behind the bushes, in the cabin, in the trailer — everywhere, just beyond vision, the little things pop up. It’s impressive, their propensity for hiding in little nooks and crannies. It helps that some of them are small enough to have hidden themselves behind the ambulance’s sun visors, but not all of them are so easily tucked away. The horse-sized Imp popping out from behind the garbage can, for instance, is a particularly single work of stealth.

They all, in their own hap-hazard way, look between Lerrick and his spirit-guardian, hesitantly. Obviously, the presence of another spirit has them a little on edge; it’s no secret that among spirits cannibalism and murder are a common everyday occurance with no moral implications. Their concern is, therefore, clear and justified.

Eventually, though, they hesitantly determine that the Dragon isn’t going to eat them — they think.

One of them steps forward.

“Work-works for the little ones?” it perks, its ears perking up. It’s seemingly infinite fingers fold into one another with a plotting anticipation.

“Woo-Woo likes work-works.” It nods, emphatically.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EtB » Mon Jun 09, 2014 4:34 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


Spoiler: show
Let's try our luck. Manipulation+Subterfuge
EtB rolled 3d10:
7, 4, 4
Lerrick watches the spirits pop out of every conceivable (and a few not so much) hiding place, and his reaction is telling, an immediate shift, a half-turn to present his left side forward, his hand half-raised, his eyes darting and wary, knees bending in a beginning of a defensive crouch.

It is instinctive, this instant shift to the defensive, this readiness to strike, and it's only enhanced by Lerrick's instinctive distrust of spirits as a whole. When nothing presents an immediate threat, however, he relaxes, by slow shades and degrees. and when the spokesman speaks up, Lerrick gazes at him thoughtfully, setting his glasses up on his nose. His sea-blue eyes are still wary, flickering among the creatures, most often toward the larger ones.

The Dragon is, of course, no help whatever, turning over itself in lazy knots nearby, content to let the Mage handle this. It's all part of the education, after all. The Mage, for his part, tries very hard not to grit his teeth.

"Yes," he says shortly, his tone made brusque by his wariness, but he makes an effort to choke it back. "Work-work for Woo-woo and friends. I have a friend. She's hurt. My other friend is helping her. All I want you to do is go up there and keep other spirits from trying to feed off her hurt. Nothing dangerous, nothing hard; I think you'll even like my other friend."

Even as he speaks, Lerrick knows his tone is wrong, and his defensive manner is off-putting. He hopes he hasn't just blown the whole thing.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EvilSqueegee » Tue Jun 10, 2014 3:27 pm

The little horde of greenlings all break into indiscernible mutterings between each other. There is a flurry of discussion, each little entity apparently requiring consultation from each and every other little entity. Their tones are generally questioning, exaggeratedly inquisitive — as if perhaps, through their inquisitive expressions alone, their meaning might be made clear.

This only lasts a few moments, before they answer him.

“Dragon-Magus wants Woo-Woo to protect a flesh-friend from painlings?” one of them speaks.

“But not dangerous, Dragon-Magus says.” Says another, somewhere in the crowd.

“Dragon-Magus thinks Woo-Woo stupid,” another grunts.

“Woo-Woo thinks Dragon-Magus helps Painlings more than Woo-Woos,” the one in front pipes up. “Why help flesh-friend? Painlings hurt, Woo-Woo doesn’t want hurt, could just stay away from Painlings. Woo-woo has free food, free Woo, free fast!” It points back to the ambulance.

“Momma Claire said so!” a voice pipes up in their midst.

For all it’s childlike language and gesture, the spirit seemed quite apt when it came to negotiations. There was, plenty of potential essence to be gathered here, and by the sounds of it, Woo-Woo had permission to feed from a greater spirit. Even without Lerrick’s offer of work, they would still be fairly well off. Besides, as far as the spirits were concerned, Lerrick was definitely the kind of guy who put more injury into the world than he took out of it. They probably viewed him to be quite the nemesis.

‘Momma Claire’ was also something worth considering. A spirit named after the hospital — especially when the hospital was so old — would probably be a pretty powerful entity. A spirit court, brood, tribe, gang or other organization was in place, here. He might be dealing with one small part of a whole. And without further information, he had no way of telling whether or not it protected its own.

Still, though. The spirit hadn’t left or said no, and the look on it’s face was still thinking and whirling over pros and cons in it’s mind. It’d simply asked why it should help. Payment of some kind above and beyond what it already had — not that tit-for-tat, mutual back-scratching or other forms of pacting were at all abnormal among spirits.

“Woo-Woo’s fast-food,” it motions back to the horde of ambulances, “Make the fast-food better. Faster. Foodier. Louder. Woo-Woo helps Magus if he helps Woo-Woo, but Painlings might hurt so Woo-Woo wants a super good fastfood for it.”

Brushing against the Veil in exchange for his requested service… Hm.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EtB » Wed Jun 11, 2014 9:56 pm

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter



Spoiler: show
Prime 3 + Gnosis 3, Imbue Item
EtB rolled 8d10:
4, 1, 3, 9, 10, 2, 5, 10
EtB rolled 8d10:
5, 10, 6, 6, 8, 4, 4, 6
EtB rolled 8d10:
7, 6, 10, 10, 8, 4, 6, 7
EtB rolled 8d10:
9, 10, 4, 8, 6, 5, 1, 1
Explosions
EtB rolled 3d10:
5, 10, 3
EtB rolled 1d10:
6
EtB rolled 2d10:
2, 10
EtB rolled 1d10:
9
EtB rolled 1d10:
7

Forces 3+Gnosis 3, Kinetic Enhancement
EtB rolled 8d10:
7, 6, 3, 2, 3, 8, 9, 1
Forces 3+Gnosis 3, Sonic Enhancement
EtB rolled 8d10:
7, 3, 9, 1, 5, 2, 3, 5

Lerrick eyes the spirit spokesman for a moment, then allows his eyes to wander the loading dock, finally resting unhappily on the ambulance. He opens his mouth, prepared to tell the imps that he had no idea how he could even do that, when the puzzle, in his mind, begins to solve itself. His mouth closes slowly, his eyes unfocusing as he looks inward, as if reading a book in his mind.

"....all right," he says after a moment, then claps his hands together, steps forward, and touches his hand to the hood of the idling vehicle. It immediately dies. This catches the attention of one of the attendant EMT's, who curses and tries the key as Lerrick, invisible, stands there with his hand on the hood. A little smirk rides Lerrick's face as the EMT tries the key, and fails. The engine makes a coughing noise, but does not turn over. At the fourth attempt, Lerrick lifts his hand from the hood, and the vehicle starts again....only to cough and sputter as Lerrick hovers his hand just over the metal.

"I think I better get her to the garage," the EMT grumbles, and Lerrick quickly steps to grab hold of the back of the vehicle. The garage is on site, and not far, and Lerrick rides it with the little spirits, not explaining his plan, just smirking at them when they ask.

When the ambulance is parked and the EMT gone, Lerrick steps down and cracks his knuckles. "All right," he says to the watching spirits, if they remain in attendance. "You wanted more faster, more woo woo? You shall have it."

And with that, he begins to chant, building power. As he chants, he takes a pocketknife from his pocket and shaves small slivers of leather from the sole of his sneakers. He places these aside, and casts about, finding a discarded walkie-talkie, and swiftly dashes it against the ground, shattering the casing. He pokes about in the broken pieces, coming up with the speaker and the battery. He nods, and smirks, the chant still flowing from his lips.

He begins, then, casting the net of magic over the vehicle, tracing symbols in the air that glow in the Twilight, then settle over the ambulance, making a faint tracery and moving slowly over the steel surface. This is the longest part, and Lerrick works without hesitation, smoothly and surely. Speed has always been his greatest ally, but here he is patient and careful, relying more on steadiness than on haste.

When the net is finally done, Lerrick works on the rotes to be added onto the vehicle. The slivers of shoe rubber, he wedges between the treads of the ambulance's tires. They will not stay there, but they do not need to, not more than a few minutes, anyway. Then, he climbs onto the ambulance, and reaching in, stuffs the speaker and battery of the broken walkie into the central airhorn of the ambulance's siren. Again, it probably won't stay -- but it needn't. The referents were what was needed, and Lerrick had cast his rotes onto the objects like seeds. He releases them both, watching the magic grow over the ambulance like spreading vines, catch in the net, then slowly grow to weave over the whole vehicle, like ivy propagating on a trellis.

Or kudzu.

Four and a half hours of work, with two rests; six hours then, and Lerrick steps back, releasing the spell. Finally, he turns to one of the spirits, the spokesman, if he can be found.

"Will that suit?" he asks, and if his tone is a trifle cool, he manages not to be rude about it.
EtB
 
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EvilSqueegee » Sun Jun 15, 2014 8:13 pm

Woo-woo exclaims in a glad tone his appreciation, and the horde of little spiritlings stampedes off and over the building, whooping and hollering its name as it flows up the building's walls toward the room Meadow and Susan were in. It would seem that Lerrick's offerings were more than acceptable.

As Lerrick watches the spirits leaving, he is suddenly aware that he can smell cigarette smoke. He's not certain when he started to, or if it just began right then, or if he was smelling it before it happened -- but it was a scent he knew well. There was a particular brand the man-in-suit who had never bothered to give his name, and likely never would, smoked. In fact, Lerrick had never seen him without at least one of them lit.

"Up to the usual," a voice calmly floats up out of the shadows. It was a familiar smell, it was a familiar sound. On the bright side, since Lerrick was aware the man was present, that also meant today was not the day he'd gone too far.

He stepped out of the shadows and took a drag, a nonchalant expression on his face. He was reaching into his inner breast pocket, probably tucking away the smokes.

"You're good for the economy, Lerrick," the man shrugged. His tone of voice was enough to sound as though he'd internally prefaced the statment with an emphatic at least.

"The media would starve without you. Can't you go at least a day without blowing something up as publicly as possible?"

He exhaled a cloud of smoke as if he already knew the answer, obscuring any clear view the Arrow might have of him. It made what the Guardian thought very difficult to discern; it could have just as easily have been a glint of admiration in his eye as a glowering glimpse of despair.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EtB » Tue Jun 17, 2014 11:22 am

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


Lerrick watches the spirit horde depart with a small smile on his face. That smile vanishes as he smells the smoke, replaced with an expression somewhere between resigned and sour; his expressive face goes from almost boyish to grim and stoic with barely a hint in between, thin lips drawn thinner and eyes gone flat behind his glasses. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something stupid.

You don't punch Masks in someone else's territory. It's just not done. While Salem falls under the Boston Consilium's domain, that is still how Lerrick thinks of it -- someone else's territory, and there are things he will not do that he might have in Boston. As glad as he was to be out of Boston.

"I could try," Lerrick replies, making his tone deliberately dubious, as if he were sure of no such thing. "But then the media would starve," he adds dryly, riffing off the other man's own comment. "Bum a smoke?" he asks without changing his tone, fully expecting to be refused. He takes it if it's offered, and if refused, pulls his own pack from a pocket and lights up, the reflex of a smoker seeing another smoker lit up.

"I had reasons," he says shortly. "I doubt you care about them, though I'll explain if you care to hear it. Am I going to have you crawling all over my back every time I make a kill, or can you convince your people to let me work in peace?"

It was, perhaps, not the most politic speech to make, but Lerrick was not known for his political savvy. The truth was, he was capable enough when he stopped to think about it and made an honest effort; the real problem was his lack of patience and his open disdain for any form of diplomacy short of basic tact....which he often ignored. He was blunt, direct, and honest, lying only enough to keep what secrets he must and unhappy about that necessity. The Dragon-spirit, amused, settled over Lerrick's shoulders; the mage could not feel the weight, but he could see it there. He wasn't at all worried about being overheard; only those who could hear in the Twilight could hear his words. He wasn't sure about the other man, but then, the other man wasn't his problem.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EvilSqueegee » Fri Jun 20, 2014 3:53 am

He observes Lerrick for a moment, and then reaches into his inner breast pocket and pulls out a pack of smokes. It's an exotic brand, the label isn't even printed in English. He offers one to Lerrick, and produces a lighter. He doesn't give it to the Arrow, but he does light the smoke if necessary.

He has good taste. The smoke is rich, not the cheap trashy smell one would associate with trailers and filth. There's a particular flavor that comes with them -- an acquired one, but one that's easy to acquire in the first place.

"You're a killer, Lerrick." This isn't an accusation. At least, not coming from him. He says the word killer like it's some kind of profession by which Lerrick can be filed away and categorized. The man's voice is somewhere between the the restrained irritation of a zealot who doesn't want to cross a line, and the patient observance of a computerized surveillance system -- the emotion isn't there, the passion isn't there, but somehow it doesn't need to be. In fact, if there was passion in his voice, it'd lose its impact. His words are just as much a sermon as they are an assessment. "The less you think we should bother you, the more attention you require."

He lets the statement, and all it's various implications and interpretations, hang on the air for a moment. He exhales a stream of smoke through a beam of sunset-colored light that cuts in through the window. He looks at the people walking around this way and that out in front of the garage, but he's not scanning for threats. If anything, he looks more like a king surveying his kingdom, or a doctor surveying his patients.

"And the media should starve," he mutters. "Poisonous vultures." Another glimpse, perhaps, of the angel within the machine? He shakes his head, finally turning his attention back to Lerrick.

"I'm not here to reprimand you for being foolish, though. I'm here to save your life." He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a small, white, unmarked envelope. He hands it to Lerrick. It's not very heavy, but it is sealed. On the front are printed -- typwriter? -- the words Caution: Cannot Be Un-Known.

So much meaning, all in one little hyphon.

"A gift from the Seer," he says. "She was very insistent. Either I deliver it, or..." He drops his cigarette onto the ground and crushes it under his the sole of his expensive-looking shoe.

"Well, I suppose now we'll never find out." He lights up another smoke, forgetting about the dead one.

"If you read it, don't share. I don't want to know."

With that, he strides toward the door. If he's not stopped, he lets himself out and melts into the crowd.
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EtB » Sat Jun 21, 2014 8:26 am

Lerrick Walker
Shut my eyes, I know it's now or never
Ride or die, I let my heart surrender
Rise up, I was born a fighter
Dancin' in a ring of fire

Obrimos | Adamantine Arrow | Left-Handed Hunter


Taking the offered smoke, Lerrick lights it on his own, inhales, and raises his eyebrows, taking the cigarette from his lips to look at it appreciatively before returning it to its customary post. The Dragon-Mage's expression goes flat at being called a killer, but he cannot contend the point, and doesn't, listening silently to the other man.

"Not my targets," Lerrick says smoothly. Taking the envelope, he turns it over in his hands a few times, then looks up. "Well. Not knowing the consequences, you can't really say you're saving my life, can you? Still," he says, tapping the envelope on one hand, "I appreciate the thought."

He watches the other man go with a speculative look on his face, and then commences to study the envelope minutely, running his fingers over it, listening to the rasp of paper between his fingers, smelling it, even going so far as to lick the paper, tasting it. His examination is thorough and detailed, and quite lengthy. There doesn't seem to be anything particularly threatening in the mass of Shielding rotes he discovers, but then, with all that shielding, he wouldn't really see it, would he?

Sighing, he begins the walk back to Susan's room to see how Meadow is getting along, and as he goes, he shrugs, breaks the seal, and begins to read.

Really. Was there ever any other option?
Spoiler: show
Intelligence+Occult+Resonance Spec, let's spend some time at it. Examining the letter
EtB rolled 6d10:
7, 9, 9, 2, 9, 8
EtB rolled 6d10:
7, 10, 10, 5, 7, 5
EtB rolled 6d10:
6, 6, 1, 2, 4, 10
Explosions
EtB rolled 3d10:
8, 8, 10
EtB rolled 1d10:
1
EtB
 
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Re: [Wild Talents] 1-3: In Medias Res -- Negotiations

Postby EvilSqueegee » Wed Jun 25, 2014 7:43 pm

The paper the message is written on is old - old enough that as Lerrick unfolds it, he can feel it crinkling and threatening to crumple in his hand. At the center of the three-folded, tattered and yellowed page is a small poem, hand-written in fancy script that fell out of fashion centuries ago.

It reads:
Daughter of Cain, Slaughter Again
Three Four Three, and Eight Nine Ten.

Dragon and Cain went up a hill.
In Able's name, they turned their back
On the Ring that aimed to kill.
"Red and blue from blue-blood's black,"
The Songbird sings on the window sill.

"Three Four Three, and Eight Nine Ten."
Daughter of Cain, Slaughter Again.


Beneath it, a small personal message is scrawled. The handwriting here is shaken and light, nothing at all like the cryptic poem above.

You've kicked the hornet's nest. Obrimos. The hunter becomes the hunted at moonrise.
I wish I could tell you more; all I have to offer is this warning from Arcadia. I have seen into the future, and there are three more Liches rising to take the place of the one who has fallen.

They are Old Ones, child. Take great caution.
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