Postcards From Enoch

Jasons' Journal

Dear Mom

Written and left in Jasons' apartment in Enoch

Well, for starters, I'd like to apologize for missing the last 35 birthdays. And I'd like to apologize in advance for missing all the birthdays left. Ditto the rest of the family. But the world's changed, and I've changed quite a bit. That said, I've quite a bit of time on my hands for the forseeable future. There's very little I can actually say, but I'm healthy and self-sufficient. I'm not in prison, but I am pretty far out of the States - such as they are. I'm learning, but it does seem like for every plus there's a minus. I have things, but none of them are a John Elway jersey. I have a computer, but it's not a Commodore 64 from the thrift store. Still, I've got a lot of time to reflect. So, I'll keep you updated, and if a miracle happens I'll be able to hand this to you. Overall, I'm not entirely sure you'd be proud of everything I've done, but as I'm sure you're aware you didn't raise a choir boy. I did however, turn out OK. Relax on that.

Quiet consideration

Choices. As I'm not going at a breakneck pace for the forseeable future, I look back and realize that this current outcome was not inevitable, but that the choices I made created this. There is some measure of pride to be seen, but simultaneously a realization that I could have done it better. Preparations need to be made to prevent similar calamity in the future. Boltholes need to be established and maintained. In this, computers will be a blessing. Sadly, there ain't shit for access here. Seriously, not even dialup. Thus, I'll have to commit these plans to memory. Personal goals still remain; advancement of Auspex, perhaps an innovation is needed - Thaumaturgical knowledge needs to be gained in order to secure the group. Also, we need to determine where we're going to land in order to make our next strikes.

Perhaps I may need to redefine what I consider breakneck.

Additionally, there is a great boon I have to think of. I have a great care for my clan - this is perhaps not odd, as I chose this. But this clan is fractured. I need to find a way to bring them back. It may be a long goal, but I wish to walk the halls of Alamut and read from the great libraries. I think I know what I want; Access to the records the hand has regarding the clan. Haqim created us for a purpose, and I would see that purpose fulfilled.

The Limitless Mindscape

One thing I've been doing some is dreaming. It's odd - I don't remember dreaming a great deal when I was breathing, and I rarely dreamed as a vampire. But now that I have the time, I find myself doing a bit more of it. Of course, now I have a greater range of abilities. Still, I must be cautious - nightmares are also dreams after all. It's a great difference between Enoch and the realm - It's a great honor to be here, but all is darkness. The brightest colors of Enoch are dismal - particularly given the colors I could see in the world. Still, there's an advantage to this dream realm I visit. I see things that people see, do things people do. It grounds and reminds me of all that could be lost in a way that memory simply can't. I need to expand my abilities and bring others here. As a gift, or a boon perhaps. I do need to work on my tan, before I can't.

Forward-Looking Statements

Also in the back of my head, plotting the wherefores and who's of our eventual return. Question - am I still light enough to fake out as a Toreador. Something to consider no matter where we go, as an art fop is generally more tolerated than diablericidal maniac. That said, I'll need to ground myself thoroughly before going to wherever we go. Mask thoughts. American bald eagle, done up in a style like Carnival. Big, brash, and bold. I can make that happen. New identity...John McTavish it is. Next item on the list, laying a more portable groundwork.

Plotting things out

Let's presume for the moment that I can fake out as a Toreador for the moment. Next bit, Tina. Pretty sure she can rock it as well. So what do we "do"? I think I could make it as a metal sculptor, and Tina could be a decent fashionista. The problem is going to be the expectation of Elysium attendance. I'm pretty sure I could get us out of that particular hell with a few short remarks, possibly even a "yo mama" comment. Now for rest of the coterie, I'm pretty sure we can song and dance. Brenda as a caitiff? Meanwhile, Hugo...eeeyeah, maybe he could caitiff it there as well. Cass has the Brujah thing locked down, which makes life a little easier. Still, backgrounds need to be built. And really, what is Elysium but a real-life flame war? Gods but that'll be fun for a few nights.

As far as memory goes, I think I understand Old Me's choices a lot better, now that I can recall them. There's something about humanity that is, for lack of a better word, special. Sometimes, choices are made in an outrageous act of rebellion that resonate through centuries. Having grown up as an outsider, being given the opportunity to rebel in the greatest way possible was quite tantalizing. However, the cost of self-exile is steep. I think knowing this gives me a great sympathy and respect for Brenda. I believes her path is not one of choice as it is necessity - I've seen her lab. Humanity erodes at such acts that are in fact necessary for our goal.

Todo list

Crap. Enforced isolation is driving me batshit. Fortunately, as I'm still self-aware enough to realize I am going crazy, we may as well spend some time working on what I can work on here. To wit, Dream-realm activities. Not going to lie, seeing the sun is a thing. Now to work on swords or archery. I think archery. I wasn't too bad when I was breathing, and there's something about archery that calls to the roots. To sharpen the mind, chess. Then developing a cover story. I think we're going to pose as Toreador from LA, wherever we land. I could be an accountant embraced to ensure Dear Fathers' finances, and then Tina can be my sister the fashion model. I've seen the magazines she hides. Andre could be our bodyguard. Not sure what everyone else has in mind, but that's what I'm going with.

I still need to shoot something and code something. My kingdom for 4 bars. Even on a 3G network.

Back to the library - I still need to learn how to read some of the books here. And some of these tablets. Why tablets? Because that's what people wrote stuff down on before the advent of paper. Quite frankly, it would not surprise me if wars were fought over some of the things written here. It would surprise me less if Haqim came back and said "Guys...this is my laundry list."

Supplemental todo list

Okay, archery? That's a little bizarre. I have perfectly good VanHelsing docs in my head. That's time better spent doing useful things. Like reading. Again, I'm having flashbacks to a youth in the library, surrounded by books. The down side of this library is that I'm reading the books in it like a kindergartner. It's oddly pleasing to see a word I recognize. Okay, cuneiform, but still. Also, the symbolism just straightup hurts. I'd write an app for this, but there's nothing to write an app on. Also, reading up on some Toreador history. If I'm gonna fake it, I best be able to really fake this funk for at least 30 years.

Still haven't narrowed down where we're going to land. Though it's a discussion for everyone as a whole, the first prerequisite is that we're near her, but in a non-sabbat city. That's going to be kinda rough. Although if memory serves, nobody ever told me this would be easy.

Other things to work on. Teaching Hugo Celerity, and style. He has some raw talent and in his wheelhouse, he's got the chops to make it. The problem is he's not exactly, adaptable. And that is going to be something he's going to need. That said, he's got the kit to be exceptional. Now if we could just do something about the obsession with stealing shiny things. and we're really going to have to work on his cover. Charm, speaking well to women and men, dressing...the details make the deal.

Tina, she's turned out to be quite a boon. The only real problem I see there to work on is the humanist aspect. We're going to work on that as well - we have time. But what are the lessons necessary to regain humanity? Again, to the library. Maybe we'll have to consult philosophers - really, what is Humanatis but an ideal? An ideal that we strive for, to treat with the masses better than we are treated. Doing things without expectation of recompense. Doing things that raise others up, and thereby raise ourselves up. I have a belief that we can in fact do what is necessary without sacrificing what we are in order to do so. I will have to set the example of what is right action.

It is quite possible I'm becoming a leader. Fuck.

Additional todo list

Once again, allies may become a need. The more I consider it, the more I think we need some 'acknowledged' sect assistance. The Sabbat are right out. The Camarilla, not so much. They've been around too long and they're a little too...comfortable, as a whole. If my memory is good, I think there's a new kid on the block. They might be of use to us. Of course, we're altering history pretty severely if we do, but still. History as I recall it ended rather badly. I'm going to have to develop a cover that allows for some serious jetsetting. I'll run the idea past Masood, see what he thinks of turning the Justice League into a Giovanni-smoking machine. Still, we'll have to keep everyone in range. Otherwise the whole thing has the potential to be an uncoordinated mess.

Time to go big or go home.

Starting a War

In the category of "Go big", I submit the following:

To the members of Clan Rosselini,

Greetings. I wish to convey my admiration for you - the events of Cagliari most certainly have placed your name where ears can hear them. However, I have a deep concern for you, as your masters do not share my admiration. Let us set them aside for the moment while I ask a question of you; who are the greatest masters of necromancy? Some of you may have been slightly dumbfounded, thinking we were leaving the Giovanni aside. We are, for though they may tell you of their history, and even preen over certain aspects of it, the simple truth remains - they are not the best. They are however, very good at using a tool that fits their desires, and they have the luck that the Devil Himself would admire.

History is written by the victors, and in a sense, they have won. But listen to their history, and a pattern emerges. Their victory is gained on the ashes of others, those who have the misfortune to have another family name. Your victories, their laurels. In truth, how far would they really be if you were not there? If any of the others had not fallen under their sway? If Fortune had looked right instead of left, where would you be? Would the roles be reversed, with Augustus taking orders from Rosura, and having his failures recounted every time he wished to see something done?

Again I sense questions - what's my motivation for this? Simple, really. I am a historian of sorts, and in history do I read the future. Combine that with a small amount of secret knowledge, and a historian can see into the future. A future that stretches onward for millennia, with the Rosselini as First Among Lapdogs. Is this truly a fit fate for you? I suppose there are some who are content to carve the kings' throne, to sweep and dust and ensure the palace is neat, but I personally think such drudgery a poor existence. Look upon your brethren, and decide if living in a shadow is your deserved fate when you lit the torch. Consider the fallout from Cagliari, and ask why such things must be. Ask yourselves if it is time to renegotiate the contracts that bring you your nightly vitae, and bring childer into the darkness.

Ask yourselves if it is time for Clan Rosselini to take its' rightful place. The Giovanni have power over you so long as you let them. Certainly my words will be seen as an affront, a sin against The Way Things Are. I suppose if you are content, you have every right to remain so. Carve the throne. But for many of you, I sense reality seeping in, ever so slightly. I encourage you to marshal yourselves, for the war has already begun - in the demands, in the restrictions, in a thousand ways made subtly manifest is your place as the eternal servant being reiterated. Let history be the judge of your actions.

This may need re-write. Bounce it off a few other people. I'm not ignoring the irony that I'm starting a war among vampires as I'm trying to end one among the humans. There may be sleepless days ahead as I worry about just what the hell I'm unleashing.

Going slightly mad

All of this plotting and planning is perhaps a distraction. I'll be honest, I don't just miss computers and guns. I need them. Seriously, I was fiddling with an abacus and found myself coding a hello world. In binary. If I were to drain all the emotion, I would say I'm a few fries short of a happy meal. But, since I am a creature of emotional states and desires, I have to reply to myself that I am in fact doing something of importance, and that what I do is a thing that is in fact necessary.

This must be what going mad feels like.

Back to the point of the matter, Enoch is in and of itself a wondrous structure. The most ancient of our kind walked these streets, begat their childer, lived among people, bartered with them, and sowed the very seeds of eternal wars. Even with people who don't have a jot of Auspex, this place resonates, but the only emotion I truly feel from it is that of age. I saw the Titanic exhibit once when it went through Denver - it was amazingly powerful, and walking through and touching its' hull, I could barely conceive of the forces that went into its' craft, and its' eventual demise. I will declare to this night the hull was still cold from the sea.

And I find I've digressed again. How do the Malkavians cope.

I'm working very hard to not alienate, because the things I miss are my own. I can't let this stop me from making my way back to the land of the living, and thereupon make some serious headway with what must be done. Can we do it without destroying our souls? Weighing everything in the balance, I find a trade acceptable. I can regain what is lost. The Giovanni will not have such good fortune.

Time to refocus and pull mine shite together. I know better. This is not the time to be falling apart. The world may indeed be on the precipice of apocalypse, but I am not going to have to need a moment and let the world fall. Chance has landed us with a multitude of things - the opportunity to make the world a better place. How many people can truly say that? If granted the chance, how many people would hesitate?

And so now I look at the part of myself that's not ranting and raving and prepared to swap rooms with a Nos if there's a decent connection in the deal. The part of me that is sitting like the chess player I used to be, plotting out a series of 5 or 6 moves in preparation for the win. Boston. Perhaps it'll take a decade or three, but I will make that city mine, and then after the vault is neutralized, I'll leave it.

I've always kind of hated Boston. Centuries of self-righteousness smugness based off of the fact that they drunk-dialed King George to tell him to fuck off first. Currently a Giovanni city in all but name, it shows where the Camarilla is weak. Now would be the time to bring the League from a West-coast anomaly to a force to be negotiated with, and ceded to. While the Sabbat has a no-holds barred policy because they are predicated on "Not that", the League may be a more acceptable partner to keep the forces of anarchy and the desire for self-determination channeled. The elders may not like it, but that's because the league is more predicated on positions due to talent within the area, not favors owed. So we'll need to campaign aggressively, but not gain a position. Every offer must be weighed in the balance of "Will this help us take the Boston Vault."

For now, I need information. Data-data-data, I cannot make bricks without clay. I need to keep an eye out for the things Brenda needs. I need to keep an eye on the Giovanni financials. I need to build my own finances. Wherever we go, we're going to hit the ground running.

Creating a new character

Alright, time to pull my head out here. So to make this happen, I have to re-imagine myself. So I put myself in an old, old headspace. That of teenaged me, creating a new character for D&D. But using myself as the template,and filing off the serial numbers a touch. First thing to worry about, skin tone. For that, we're turning the clock back a bit and claiming native American-ness. Need to be a little taller though. 5'6" or so. Longer hair, like down to the knees, make it black. And...sadly, I'm gonna have to lose the goatee. This is more of a sacrifice then I thought, but we can work it.

Now then, a name and a Clan. I know I had the McTavish alias picked, but I may have go more...ethnic. Digging back into the memory bank for some names, and it's slightly amusing; there really aren't any "ethnic" names in my personal family tree. Honestly, the names in my family tree are Parenteau, McNickle, Carlson, and some others. So yeah, gonna have to off-board on the name. Jeff Bear Track. It's a start.

Next, comes the part where I figure out why I was embraced by a Toreador. We'll call it because of my coding skills. Electronic artiste, provided by a tribal grant. Now traveling the world to see the great art of the clan. Sure, that'll work. Enough of a sop to the ego, makes them think I'm a wide-eyed naif. Also has a built in excuse for disappearing from Elysium for nights on end.

About the only thing left is the name itself and the minor physical alterations necessary to sell the look.

Vacationing in Mauritius

No gonna lie, it's been an interesting year. I mean I really don't need to sleep, time is a very...odd thing. I check in with Cass now and again to make sure I know what day it is...and occasionally what month it is. It's a cheat, but I use celerity to mark the time. A few seconds of frenetic action, then I know when an hour has passed. I should backtrack a bit, really. I've skipped a few things, I see now. As far as my financial standing goes, the Hand is going to take care of it - it'll be dispersed and converted into something else, most likely land. By the time I'm back, I should have access to the bank accounts and whatnot necessary. Given how much I have, I may have a large stake in something like...well, probably a chunk of Africa or Europe. I checked the balance sheet a few times, and I am in fact worth more than a few countries the last time I looked. Admittedly small countries, but still. I am nothing if not a creature of ego.

Enoch has a way of putting that ego in check, however. Masood and I took a walk-around, and saw some very powerful things - the gardens of Malkav, beautiful in some way. The temple of Lilith, where the chatterlings are kept and educated. Note to self - if here for another year, offer to teach the kids how to deal with technology. I spoke with Narbonidas at the Tower of Stars and discussed a ton of things - apparently I'm more of an oddity here than usual; not so many viziers here, really. Essentially me, Tina, and Masood are a sizable fraction of the total viziers of the Hand. Gods help us. That said, I'm working on my swordplay; Masood has taught me quite a bit in regard to the scimitar. It does lend itself toward slashing, but he has given me a beautifully jeweled scimitar for my American Express card. It doesn't have the same heft as my pistols, but it's strangely comfortable. I think it's because it's from Masood. Narbonidas is enchanting it to do a bit more against the occasional spectral assault. Handy things. Also, the practice with the sword helps me get used to my new body. Taller, a little lankier, and the hair is going to take some getting used to.

Again in the humbling is the local languages, which haven't been spoken by mortal men in hundreds of millennia. While I'm not fluent, I can get by well enough to make the wraiths understand me. That was several months shot to hell, but hey if I'm coming back here, I'm going to be understood by god. The other thing that gives me a bit of a squick is the slave pits of Irad. Seriously, it's weird that people...are here. Pretty much taken from everywhere, probably so they can't rise up. But I've taken one for my exclusive use as a food source. She's very...skittish. She's depressed, but I think she can be of, while not use, she can be an example for Tina - possibly have her pick out her own from Irads' pits. We just need to be sparing with blood use, which shouldn't be a problem. Masood was much kinder than me, to be honest. He doctored some of the slaves - to be honest, had I had a doctors' bag I'd probably have been there with him. Speaking of humanity, Tina. We had a long (read: couple days) conversation regarding humanity and its' positive aspects. While freely admitting that our eventual goals will erode at our humanity, this is our challenge. Humanities aspects are to be admired, not seen as an inconvenience. We are humanists, that we may preserve and minimize the damage to humanity our actions will do. That said, Tina is going to redouble her efforts to be humane.

And then Brenda came around with a proposal. We get a week off to go back to the world and help her with a thing in Mauritius. Weird shit is afoot, and we get to check it out.

Coming back to the lands of the living was an exercise in awesome. Colors. I saw colors. While for most, this is an experience that's meh, I remind the Gentle Reader that after a year watching 50 million shades of gray, this was an unholy awesome experience. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, and all the colors of the spectrum that I could possibly want. My eyes thought this backwater shithole of a port was a ripe slice of heaven. And the tech. So awesome. I mean it was closed beta when I left and now it's in ports. Meanwhile, my POS has bars, but it's updating. And updating. Annoying, but I had colors to see...which is probably why my cash got lifted.

Dammit. I mean, it was only 10 grand, but it was the only 10 grand I had. So now I had to go find who had my cash and gently educate them. It took a minute or two, but I finally heard what was probably the happy cry of a street meat who hit the lottery. So I darted and found the exact opposite. Little kid who mighta been 8 or 9 with a slashed femoral artery. Quick assessment, I had to time this just right - and I did, giving some mouth to mouth vitae-transfer, which got the kid just onto the side of "gonna live". After that it was a semi-simple matter to ask the right questions to give me an image of who had done this, and the chase was on. Brenda was miffed that I had cockblocked the grim reaper, and we had a spirited discussion while my predatory muscles flexed for the run and the chase. Sometimes, it's good to give into your baser instincts a touch. It felt good. Really good, actually. Wind, dekeing through the crowds, keeping track of everyone and finally arriving at Cass with the perpetrator in some sort of cop-academy double arm bar. The others were out of the fight, but I the leader was still spitting trash at Cass in several languages. 1, that's not how you treat a lady. 2, that's definitely not how you treat a lady who could dislocate both your shoulders in the time it takes you to draw a breath.

With Hugo mopping up, I felt it incumbent to lesson the young punk who'd tried to kill over what was rightfully my money and was a remorseless little twit. I wasn't entirely heartless - as the branch is bent, so the tree shall grow. However, on the other side of that was the grand tradition of the west, where a wronged man shall extract justice. In between these, was me. And so a modified Texas affirmative defense was in order - "Your Honor, he needed a kick in the nuts." The crowd was simultaneously horrified and appreciative. I mean, on the one hand, this kid was apparently pretty known as a punk. On the other hand, he was pretty much a defenseless opponent. Fortunately nobody was leaping to the little punks' defense, which gave me enough time to take my cash and leave enough for him to have a reason to be arrested. Which he was, and that left us time to get our collective asses to meet our contact, with enough time to burn.

Brenda had an idea, but she needed some animals. That's Hugo's gig, and he did better...or worse then expected. He summoned a few rats, and then he sang the song that the cat people sing when in hopes of rescue. It was amusing on several levels. Seriously, Cass and I were watching and really not sure what to do. So I just mentioned to Cass being a young man and wishing to be buried in pussy - this was not how that dream went. A commentary on life - and it sure as hell beat watching my phones' update progress. Cass thought it was funny, and I'm sure Hugo would have thought it funny had he not been in the middle of a mess. Eventually, the cats fled courtesy of some illusionary water. Hey, when life gives you lemons, add water.

Whatever plan Brenda had for the animals was promptly shelved. So, that sorted, we actually got around to meeting our contact. We mucked about for a bit, discussed all the nitty gritty and were given the run of a pretty good stock of weapons. Shotguns and pistols were the order of the day - from the maps, it looked like it was going to be close-quarters asskicking time. And on the off chance I ran out of ammo before I ran out of targets, a nice little axe was also found to hang from my belt. After that we discussed extraction plans and where to go after the deeds were done. And a few people got a quick jack-up on their weapons just in case.

A quick trip and recon were the next things to be done. We drove out there, and I left my body behind for the astral. Number one, I am still damn sexy in the astral, but I'm still the damn sexy original me, and not the slightly taller and longer-haired Salish boy I have chosen to become. Self-image plays a lot into this. Speaking of self-image, the house was jacked up and looking like a wasps nest, the dogs were reminiscent of Cereberus, and whatever was in the pool was some kind of hideous. Back to my body (in 2.6139 seconds according to Cass' internal Timex) and reporting in. First order of business, the dogs. Pistol out and several very quiet shots later, Cass and I had sent the dogs to a farm upstate where they could play with the other three-headed beasts from mans' darkest nightmares, chase fluffy bunnies, and do whatever the hell else such lost creatures did. Then came the pool house - and...whatever was in the pool needed to go first. Out came the shotgun, and one very impressive round later, whatever was in the pool hated life right then. It was at that moment that I remembered what we'd forgotten. Body Armor. I was reminded of this when I got gangtackled by either several somethings or one big something with a lot more teeth then anything ought to have.

I came to a few seconds later to discover the fight was pretty much over and the pool and backyard had been redecorated in Early Splatterpunk. It was gross, but I chugged out the blood from the little beggars and healed up enough that I didn't need to use my shotgun for a cane. It'd do. After sweeping and clearing the place (Horror movie directors could take notes. The horror of a living flesh house is that it's there, oppressively. Not the jump scare, the idea of someone putting massive effort into this as a Good Thing.) we found gas and matches. Damn shame what happened after that, but we got the hell out and back. Fortunately our contact was a restaurant guy. I'm going to have him whip up something for my food source. I mean really, all they have to eat on that island is some black grain that they make into something that looks like черный хлеб. I mean really, it's kinda nasty-tasting, but if there's nothing else, I suppose it's a thing to eat. Still, I think a gyro and a salad might be appreciated by her. Also - need to check on the Greece-Turkey thing. See if they actually managed a peace agreement, or at least a cease-fire.

You're not my Mummy!

So it's already been another year. I mean really, how can you tell in this place. To finish up Mauritius, we had about 4 days to kill after we did the thing. Night 1, healing, night two, opening up a slush fund with the Bank of France under a new pseudonym and making several deposits of some horse racing winnings and more than a few other card game wins. I have a shiny '68 Aston Martin and several other investment properties - resort in Australia, some farmland in South Africa, and a small island off the coast of India. I'll leave it to the bank to manage them appropriately, and I may even visit them in a decade or so. They'll make nice boltholes. Meanwhile, Greece has basically been annexed by Turkey. Meh. On the one hand, annoyed that my little efforts in the peace process went to hell, on the other hand...not much I could do to change what happened.

So that done, I brought some of the local food back with me to Enoch for Suhaila (the woman I pulled out of Irads' Crazytown). I think she rather liked it. Suhaila's an interesting one - she was from a well-off Turkish family, was a beard for a gay husband, then somehow offended someone, who had her kidnapped and brought to Enoch. After that, she was currency in the Lord of the Flies thing they've got going on, then I came along. She's happy to be my concubine, and I suppose that's as good a term as any for what's going down here. She makes herself pretty - or as much as she can manage here, with loose but revealing clothes, kohl makeups, and an overall sense of wanting to keep me happy. It doesn't hurt that I do occasionally tend to her needs while taking in my own food. There's a bit of odd psychology at work here - I mean with a random "I need blood, you have blood, gimme" situation, there's a sense of intimacy there, but when you have one vessel that you really do need to take care of, there's a greater bond that forms. Maybe it's the Auspex, but I can tell how she's been feeling for some time before we do the thing. Emotions flavor the blood. For bonus points, we'll draw it out over the course of an hour or two. Suhaila may in fact be the happiest woman in Enoch. She gives awesome massages - which I do occasionally need, because I'm working on my ability to navigate the dream realm, or at least the equivalent here. And they're not all good dreams.

In Enoch, there are 4 tombs. These tombs are supposedly the resting places of Antediluvians, but the names carved on them are Loz, Nergal, and Ninmug. The fourth is unknown. When I dream, they visit me. Loz is a warrior, and his dreams bring blood-fear, fire, and the most primal instincts of flight-or-flight. Even the Beast is cowed in abject terror. He's a titan, at least from my perspective. Mars, Ares, Anhur, Thor, all of them and more. Describing a force of nature is a bitch. But suffice to say when I dream of him, I'm pretty much shit for a long time afterward. Ninmug is a little more mellow, and his dreams are dreams of the future, beyond even the future I remember of the Giovanni nightmare. The Giovanni prospering, the world rebuilding and crafting new cities, new languages, and slowly returning over the course of millenia to rediscovering all that will be lost. In some ways, it's heartening to see the resiliency of the human race as it overcomes things that would fit in quite well with Revelations. That said, I'm still not giving myself a free pass just because I could theoretically ride the apocalypse out. Sometimes the visions are of The First City as it was - Caine, always with a face in shadow, passing judgment over his court. I think I even glimpsed Haqim once. It may have been The Sorcerer, but I can't say - and they didn't wear nametags. But it felt glorious, to be honest. Nergal, is something of an advisor. Her dreams are peaceful and filled with counsel, and she always appears to me as a beauty that far surpasses any in this world. At times it's a little frightening. I mean, this is an immensely powerful creature, why does she speak to me as a near-equal? It's nice to have a wise woman in your corner, but it's...awkward is the only way I can describe it. Either way, she's very invigorating, and she has reminded me that my job is strategy - getting Brenda to the place she needs to be to work her Fuck You Augustus gig. But my job is to know the enemy, and thereby bring about his defeat. The fourth one - no name, but when it visits, again the next couple nights are shaky. Not in a sense of raw force, but in the subtle sense of being watched and judged. It's creepy. Fortunately, I'm not the first and only to have such visions, so that's a comfort of sorts; but I don't think Suhalia really understands why I'm doing this.

During this timeframe, the world isn't standing still. Tina has found her focus - the sword. I've watched her, and she's good. It doesn't hurt that she's learning from a Warrior. I mean Masoods' no small potatoes and I'm learning a ton from him, but I think Tina's going to be the sword-meister. I've guest-lectured for the Erinyes on the subjects I'm really good at, so that they're not stumbling around trying to figure out how the power button works. As a sidebar, I've also discovered that Masoods' focus is in medicine - and we're really...bridging a gap of sorts. I mean, we are somewhat of an age, and we can see enough of ourselves in the other that we have a solid working relationship, at least. I mean, I'll talk to him about most things, and he can offer the advice that only comes with a few more centuries under the belt. Perhaps in a year or so I'll ask about my siblings.

On other fronts, the Rosselini-Giovanni split is happening at a nice pace. The Giovanni are damn near throwing down a pogrom, which is good because the more effort they spend on their cousins, the less they spend on the rest of it. But, until I can get into Baldesars' dreams, that'll be something for popcorn time. And on a final wrapup note, while Masood may not understand technology the way I do, he does understand my need for it, and that I do go a little stircrazy at times.

So he commissioned Hasammeli, the master smith, to forge me...a laptop. It is without a doubt, one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, moreso since it's been forged from a spectre. I mean, we're talking pico-circuitry and a metric fuckton of data storage here. And it's self-recharging as long as I'm gentle. the power is some dark energy that's here but I don't precisely understand - but what I do understand is that if I have to get a fast charge, I have to go out near the dark clouds that have...things, in them. The casing itself is priceless, gems for lights and scrollwork that is effortlessly flowing and functional. I'm going to be months in naming it, for this, this singular one of a kind device brought me to tears unbidden. Especially since it was forged from a single Spectre over the course of a year. Two years total, since it took him a year to figure out how to make one from the plans Masood brought him. I really could have kissed Masood for this, and Hasammeli gets free beer for as long as I can. And the rest of Hasammelis' forge is simply...a masters' forge. We do not want Hugo loose in here.

But, as we turn the page, we now have another job. Just outside the palace proper is a very Egyptian kind of place, and we scored an invite to dinner one night. It was very surreal, and for bonus, we had entertainment and utterly plush divans to settle on and enjoy - it was a delightful 8 courses of blood, starting with an animal appetizer, and slowly moving up through various flavors and aromas, with a dessert course of the fabled Deep-Fried Twinkie™ - I was sated. We spoke at length, and he seemed somewhat surprised that I'm a Vizier - mainly in that between me, Tina, and Masood, we're a good percentage of the total viziers in the Hand. We played cards; seriously, the guy knows damn near every card game that's ever existed, and I swear he had aces in every pocket. We pretty much split in terms of wins - which for me was like being taken to the damn cleaners. I lost more hands that night than I've lost in a decade. Afterward, we spoke at length with our generous host, Inauhaten - aka the architect of multiple temples (Thebes and Karnak) and tombs for the Egyptian 18th Dynasty and a mummy (Seriously, he's a 3000-year old card shark) who had a job for us. Over discussions of lineage and other things, we were given a tale fascinating and frightening.

Backstory time. King Tut was one of a long line of royalty whos' family trees did not fork, as it was thought that only the gods could have children with other gods. Genetics however, doesn't give a squeaky shit about who's a god and who's not, and after several generations of gods having kids with other gods, you get stupid gods. Tuts' sister-wife miscarried twice, and then to ensure she had a child entreated all the gods for a third. This included the forbidden gods, like Set. They did eventually have a living daughter to carry on the line, which was a Good Thing. This child was, however, a dark child. Pets died mysteriously when she was young, and as she approached her majority age servants were executed for frivolous reasonings. The child was executed before she could fully take power, however her mothers' entreaties to the dark gods lived on within her. Her sarcophagus was entombed near her parents, where it was hoped it would be undisturbed for all time.

Wish in one hand, shit in the other - tell me which hand fills up first. I'll wait.

Fast forward to the late 1920's, when a pair of American explorers found the sarcophagus and were looking to make a quick buck or two off selling some authentic Egyptian relics that were really real. Alas, the stock market went to shit and people had to reprioritize - and some chick who'd been dead for 3 millennia was not high on the list, as she wasn't getting any deader and there was the more important question of the time; what was going to be food that night. So the two brothers took their liberated goodies to Ipswitch, Massachusetts and hoped for better days. With the benefit of information, we can all guess how that turned out.

So with that in mind, we need to search Ipswich, recover everything we can, and not run into anything else - because one of her retainers has survived into undeath; quite possibly as a Follower of Set. Recovery of the body is paramount, and the sarcophagus itself has been sealed with 7 keys. Finding a key is bonus. In theory, we can find this thing and be done in a few weeks.

My shopping list includes body armor.

Wherefore Art Thou, My Country?

So...getting to Ipswich was a thing. A thing that's necessary, but nasty. Master Jagdish painted an X in human ash on my face and gave me a push. Then I find myself in the mostly-dark and overwhelmed. Scents, smells, and sounds commence an assault on me to tell me I'm in the really real world again. Squirrel. Honestly, I took a few minutes to absorb and retrain my brain to filter the extraneous noises like heartbeats and insects - the things there aren't many of in the Shadowlands. To be quite honest, each one of these trips is refreshing in its' own way. To the Shadowlands, where there is blissful silence and I can listen to everything. To the realms of humanity, where all is noise and we must separate the wheat from the Wonderbread.

Oh, and outside the old door there's a pair of guys having a conversation...probably a couple hundred yards off. Cass did unto the door with grace and aplomb, and we made as nice an exit as we could. Leaves, chills, these are all signs of autumn. Crunchy leaves and whatnot all around, this doesn't feel like a good thing. Plus loud noises might scare off whoever was there. So better late than never, Quietus says hallo. As we're closing in, we hear what they're all about; graverobbing some poor old dead lady.

There are few things that everyone in this group can agree on - one of them is that taking this that have been sent along with the dead is a Bad Idea. I mean, even the cannibal necromancer agrees on this social construct. For me, it goes back to a belief that a persons' most treasured things were theirs, and that these things were to be taken to the afterlife with them, as a symbol of battle or wealth or status. Taking those things from them was interrupting the cycle, and angering the dead. Quite frankly, I'm going to have enough enemies before this is through, so why make another enemy for the sake of a shiny trinket? These two obviously didn't have that problem. Cass scampered up a tree outside the quiet bubble and catcalled the folks. They decided Granny didn't need her stuff taken just yet - so they hauled ass for their truck, which I could see was part of the ipswich cemetery care crew. Sure, they cared. But two warpath-ey indians and their baller sidekick were damn well going to make sure they reconsidered some of their life choices. We gave chase, me darting through the woods and headstones like I'd done it before (growing up in the boonies has its' benefits kids), and Hugo and Cass sailing in my wake with slightly less aplomb. Brenda was sauntering like this was no thing for her.

It really didn't take much to get them out of commission, as when they got to the truck Hugo made them think it wasn't starting (damned annoying to hear the starter grind and grind), Brenda helped out with a dose of obtenebration cloud (It's creepy feeling microtendrils of shadow flitting about your skin, moreso when you're human and can't comprehend shadows doing anything even remotely other then what they do normally) and Ray and the Sidekick totally lost their minds. Ray tried to leave the truck and ran into my arm after I snagged the .357 out of the glovebox that he was reaching for - I mean it wasn't like he was going to show us his registration and insurance after that. The other guy bolted the fuck out of that shitstorm like the draining shade of death itself was coming after him with a Gore-X bladecaster and rotary meat tenderizer (also makes Julienne fries!) and Hugo gave chase, followed thereafter by Cass who gave a rendition of "Armbars for Everyone" in B Major, which did not exactly fly well with them. The coup de grace was delivered by Hugo, as after a quick discussion with Brenda the recently deceased scampered out of her grave and into the nightmares of two people with dexterity and creepy dead-granny movement. Give Granny a kiss, boys.

Side note: This is why I fear the night when Brenda learns chimerstry.

Having relieved themselves of their illgotten gains (along with feces and urine), they'd suffered enough, at least in my opinion. And so after hiding ourselves with Chimerstry (Thanks Hugo) we set off to discover more about where we were. I don't like it a goddamn bit.

A moments' digression, deal with it. A fair chunk of my Army career was spent not too far from here. South Carolina and Virginia to be exact. I remember mostly that it hurt, but that this was making me better in the long run. I remember an hour in an elevated position with most of my weight on my shoulders and arms because we'd hosed up. I remember the first time I felt loves' keen sting, a result of a relationship not too far from here. And this...country, is just not up to the standards I was expected to uphold. Suffice to say after a night of research, the FAS and I are not friends, and I will not weep for its' eventual downfall. I will weep for those bones who rest uneasy in a land that is not the country they gave their most for. One night if I get bored, I'm going to kill the firewall that keeps the FAS in a internet bubble. It really feels like a V for Vendetta kind of thing. Philosophical question - looking at this, and having made a few trips to the favelas, who's really worse off? Peace and security at the expense of liberty, versus abject poverty in relative freedom? This may be a consideration for next year. The price of immortality is watching everyone you love fade and die; they forgot to include your homeland in that old saw. I mean, I've never been what you would call excessively patriotic, but that loss seems to almost be a marker on the road of "you can't go home again, because home's no longer there." Still, all the philosophical musings in the world can't prevent me from thinking for a few moments, "I shaved my head for this?!"

Back to the matter at hand. We're really in a small-ass town, like "I've been in stadiums with more people" small. Which is a blessing in disguise, frankly - while the infrastructure really isn't there to do much, that means a few vampires who are quick on their feet are going to be able to get the thing and get the job done. Rapidly. Walking through the streets to the library with Cass, we noticed that yeah, we're kind of out of place. It's apparently mid-October, and Halloween isn't yet illegal. But going by houses and listening to the news was interesting. It wasn't quite the "If it bleeds, it leads" of my youth, but it was still just as disheartening because everything was spoken in a way to glorify the state. With that firmly lodged in my hindbrain, I decided to check out my phone to see if it had finished downloading updates yet, and it hadn't. Apparently I needed the FAS security app in order to make calls. or do anything. That's pretty friggin annoying, which needed to be fixed posthaste. Cass decided we needed to go to the local historical museum and check out our targets. Which, meh. We do need to get a lay of the land, and we might as well start somewhere. I, however, absconded while Cass had the ladies' attention - finding the admin office was dead easy, registering our sim cards silently somewhat less so, but a password under the keyboard is a thing that never gets old.

Once that was done, lodgings were required - we found a nice little bed and breakfast run by a japanese couple, which was a good thing - there's nooks and crannies where we can hide, and if necessary we can run the old snooze in the closet gig. Walking along I was able to pause for a moment and revel in all the colors. Beautiful stuff. Next stop, for a laptop. Much nicer than the one I've got in Enoch, but a little less traveling through the underworld-ability. Another oddity, the green folding money of my youth is quickly going elsewhere, and I couldn't get to my offshore funds without a crapton of work. But Euros will do just fine - especially when you have some hefty dominate happening. That done, we all collected ourselves and went to a diner, because Brenda wanted to eat something and she likes to gross us out. And I needed to acquaint myself with the computer technology, which led to the earlier depressing epiphany. If we need a car, there's a used car lot. It looks like the only cars left to the public are about 20 years old. They all went to the war effort, and now the FAS security is the only ones with anything remotely modern. They're on electric. A slight economic disparity, and showing subtly who's in charge.

After that, we tripped to where the dead brother was for a wee bit of graverobbing ourselves - Brenda wasnted to check something out and need a pot and some seasonings. Seriously. At the site, we cracked open the grave and let Brenda do her thang. She...cooked. I suppose that's really the only way to explain it, but we spent an hour looking out for anything or anyone coming to do naughty things while Brenda was all witching hour and shit. Whatever she learned from boil boil toil and trouble time was not pleasing to her.

Discussion happened, and we split the party. I know, in D&D it's a total sin, but this is the real world, and sometimes it can't be helped. Brenda and I (She's gotten her auspex up to the point where she can travel with me in the astral realm) were off to search Castle Hill where the brothers supposedly kept their gains (Oh, and where one brother was murdered. In the Study. With The Candlestick. I shit you not) and hopefully find a clue. Meanwhile, Cass and Hugo were heading to the cop-shop for some firearms and body armor. Seriously, I'm packing a .357 with 6 rounds, and no body armor. Effectively, I'm naked.

Speaking of - the astral realm. Brenda was apparently expecting something else, probably because she's been doing all her travel in all the wrong places. I'm not so far distanced from humanity that I can't appreciate a pleasing form - okay, in the Astral Plane, Brenda's pretty flippin' hot. (you can't spell psychotic without hot. Just sayin'.) I'm not sure if that speaks to me, or her. I'm not telling her, because she'd either roll her eyes or go all grade school on me. Either way, the astral plane is a private joy that nobody can take from me.

With that filed under "Shit We Keep To Ourselves", we headed for Castle Hill, a lovely little place for a wedding, but very much not a place to spend the night. The place was huge, and we had to search everything. And pause to read the minds of the bored-ass guards who's main concerns were about how the Red Sox had pissed away yet another season, the patrol routes, and what the hell the Bruins-Celtics-Patriots were thinking with what they were doing. Timing was filed away, I paused to admire the sheer cheek of someone putting a painting of Nathaniel gazing down studiously at the spot where he was murdered, and we began the serious task of finding an Egyptian sarcophagus in a New England mansion. All the while fighting that itching feeling of being watched.

We did find it well secured behind a false wall and down a staircase, and there's a ritual maze that we need to navigate. Also...yeah, I think we're going to need a truck to move this thing. Back to our bodies to plot and plan and maybe, just maybe we'll make it through this. Also, I need to grab some makeup and kit for Suhaila. Maybe a dress? Meh, gotta figure it out tomorrow. Also I need to figure out how to silently move some funds here just in case. And while I sleep, we get to go play in Baldesar Rosselinis' head. Go me.

Enemies of the State

In the midst of the deep considerations of how we're going to infiltrate Castle Hill (complete with orphans of the state and some weirdass spiritual things of an egyptian flavor), Cass and Hugo returned to the bed and breakfast which we had declared to be our base. They smelled of sewer and were bearing gifts from the local FAS armory, however their look was one of "We need to blow this popsicle stand." And thus we headed back to the graveyard where we first came to Ipswich. Troublesome indeed, but once we were back in and took an inventory, I was in a small slice of heaven. There were shotguns, pistols, at least one sniper rifle and a couple drones. And ammo. Enough ammo to start a war with the FAS - which was not the plan, but damned if it's better to have and not need. Contenting myself with that, I figured a night in the crypt with memories of Montreal wasn't so bad. I did not sleep well; as these Egyptian urchin-looking things kept invading my dreams. And Baldesar was nowhere to be seen. Damn him for being awake.

Waking up the next night brought a few realizations. Number one, the cops took a dim view of our trip to the candy store. I know this because a couple cops had made a trip to the sarcophagus - one of them liked cheap cigars, cheap booze, and needed more fiber in his diet. The other one was bathing in Old Spice. Not even a little like the morning coffee of old. But, morning routine sorted and slightly dusted, we had to get Hugo something to eat. He was looking a little blecch, so we went a couple ways where we could find a snack or two. So I traded out the 357 for something with a little more subtlety and went to the drug store. First thing of "It ain't right" - there's drones patterning the street. Shit. Probably looking for us. No problem, we can scoot around those. Got a few things and then went to the coffee shop to find some snacks.

Therein came our first problem - a nice sized board with our pictures on it. Wanted in question for a list of crimes longer than my schwantz. Breaking and entering a federal facility, theft of government property, assaulting a fed, resisting arrest, vandalism, hooliganism - along with that, cautions for the good citizens to not approach and instead inform the feds...it was impressive. Seriously, it was like the good old days of Montreal all over again. However, being that we were in a police state, the system overrides everything. So if we change the system, we'll be left alone to do our deeds. First priority, changing the pictures to "Not us". That way we can say "No, mistaken identity, we're good citizens". With my new laptop, I backtracked and altered the pictures with amazing speed and skill. No lie, the fed security was good - but I'm better. So between the time I got a mocha and by the time we got our bearclaws the deed was done. And the feds were on their way, because a good citizen had narc'ed. But, we were clear as long as we played it cool after all the people were filed out after learning that a police action was in process. I am a meat popsicle.

Second problem arose when not everyone was paying attention to my technological wizardry, and had not lived under a police state. Police State Rule #1: Don't argue with the cops, even if you are a former cop. Cass popped off at the cop, and the situational control was lost. Which is a nice way of saying the cop tried to tase Cass, Hugo totally lost his cool and went fangy-fangy omnomnom time, I shot out three kneecaps, and Cass had a slight weapons malfunction that resulted in the camera and the drone outside being shot to hell. Admittedly, I should have broken out Presence or some Dominate to try and save the moment, but nothing's really going to help Hugo except a few pints of the Old Red Kroovy. Old Sabbat Me came out of his little doghouse with a golf clap and a bucket of popcorn, because this was his kind of party. The orthopedic surgeons will be doing brisk business thanks to me, as there was one more cop out the back with a shotgun. One more kneecap gone, and the next order of business became Acquire Transport. Cop car was out, because there was some manner of biometric security that I did not have time to hack. But there was a 91 jeep right there begging for my loving touch. Hopped in, hotwired it, all easypeasy. Meanwhile, looking back to the door to see what was coming out and it was Cass hauling a pink raisin cop (sigh) over her shoulder and dragging Hugo (amusing). Slinging everyone into the back and then Brenda nudged my brain.

After advising her that subtle had officially gone the way of the dodo, we decided I needed to lead the cops toward the mausoleum hideout so we could turn the tables and lead them into our custody. Reel in the fish by turning on the lights of the jeep and flipping a few shots back at the feds to bring them closer. Too close as it turns out, since they ran me off the road a little bit before the cemetery. Shoulda had Cass drive. Alas, but the resulting firefight was mercifully brief as a kneecap and a hand later the cops were dealt with. There was some bargaining, and I did announce to the cops the The Peoples' Liberation Group For the Free Ejaculation of the Western Alliance was in town, had hostages, and was going out to sea. That's right Jason, start an international incident. That always makes it better.

Seriously, I know why the feds had so much ammo in their stash now. They need it cause they can't aim for shit. In their defense though - I don't think the feds assigned to the sleepy little town of Ipswich are used to having efficient and trained killing machines drop in. Although they're good about backup, as a military unit is coming in with an ETA of 40 minutes - I think we can squirm out of this. The drones are going to be an effective tool, and we'll lead them out to sea while we haul ass for the mansion. I shudder to think what my rap sheet is going to look like after this.

Not-quite-Enemies of the State

So starting from the point where we have two yahoo's who are theoretically the head cops in town. Le sigh. We can't kill them, so now it's time to song and dance. There's some presence, there's some dominate, and suddenly we're an operative team who have arrived on scene to assess, test, probe and surveil for weaknesses, sending our full reports to Internal Affairs division, copies to Joint Special Operations Command. Not gonna lie, we did successfully do that. I would like to thank the Academy for this award. You like me. You really like me. Hugo's poor schlub that he killed is going to be "Declared dead and then reassigned within 24 hours". And because I'm a mind-reader, I told him he could take the flipping cuff key out of his boot and call off the goddamn alert status already. What I forgot to do was get his access codes so I could do a remote wipe of the servers where all the nastynasty pictures of us were. Ah well, we had to return at least some of our haul anyway.

After an inventory (again) wherein we kept the drones, some ammo, grenades, and a few shotguns but stored all the rest of our goodies with Brenda. Now, on the down side, I know Brenda and what she's going to do with the corpse. Hence the going to the source to get the goods is going to be a good job for myself and Cass - mainly because I don't want Cass flipping out at what Brenda does to the cop. So, Cass pushed the jeep out, Hugo fixed the tire (dude has a hell of a trade if this vampiric thief gig doesn't work out,) we lost the jeep seat, Cass traded in some weight to match up what we liberated in ammo, I wrote a preliminary report, and we headed back into the belly of the beast.

We were greeted by the captain and a short platoon of angry looking bereted mofos who were commanded by Lt Col Resting Bitchface. We dropped off what we were going to return, were invited for a drink, which we did. Lt Col starts reading us a light riot act, she knows General BigDick, etc, etc. So I promptly gave out names, ranks, serial numbers, and all the other sundry shit. Apparently Lt Col Resting Bitchface wants us to know that she's Large And In Charge, and that she doesn't care what we think our orders are, while we're on her turf, we're going to be in uniform and we're going to be reporting to her daily. It was kinda like watching someone trying to put a leash on a couple of junkyard dogs. Quite frankly, she's probably worried about how this is going to hose her shot at rank. The poor thing, I suppose I'll have to ease her worries.

Meanwhile, uniforms were brought for us by Corporal Lefty that we had to wear while in her august command presence. Having a few scars to show off, Cass and I changed in front of them. (Not as big a deal as you might think - coed showers and whatnot take the edge off for the non vampires, and for the fanged among us...meh.) So dressed to her satisfaction, we were re-read the "I am your superior officer" BS, and we excused ourselves. No biggie - Seriously, I've blown off Princes and other people who could have a detrimental effect, but I'll play her game while we're working this cover angle.

Next stop, to the Lieutenant CommGirls' station where we were requisitioning and embargoing the files - okay really I just deleted the shit out of them, and then I looked a little closer and found out that she'd made a hardcopy. I read her mind a little, and discovered points of interest. Point one: She's in love with the captain. Point two: Ezra(!) came in and dominated her into giving him a copy. I discovered that ezra's got a good obfuscate, but not better than me. So I altered her memory just enough so that Hugo was knifing the private instead of chewing his godless throat out, and we exited. A word on the new uniforms...I like them. They have a patterning effect that shifts a little to match the background. Good thing too.

Ezra knowing we're in town is...Bad News. But it's bad news that we can deal with. Next step is going to be another round of recon of Castle Hill - we'll get the centipede drone to search every square inch of the temple and see if we can confirm that the sarcophagus we saw astrally is live or if it's memorex. So cass, Hugo, and Brenda went to take care of that part while I stayed behind and forged us some orders. Not gonna lie, it's a beautiful set of orders and emails that have been forged from JSOC, putting us on temporary duty with internal affairs effectively giving us license to maim and recruit potential people for spookdom. Also, depositing some message traffic for delivery at 0459 that read (more or less) as follows: "Dear Lt Col Resting Bitchface; unless otherwise directed, me and my squad are gonna go do our thing as outlined in our orders previous commencing at 0500. Love and kisses, Major Dick." Hey, I did what she said and checked in - she's got nobody to blame but herself. This would have been a lot easier had I made myself a full bird, but alas.

Sadly, with every high there must be a low. And the low arrived when my oh-shit alarm went off as I was prepping send ye the message traffic. I reached out and everyone else had a creepy feeling too. Except Hugo. However, after listening around they heard howls. And not the good kind either. Load up everything I can and haul ass for the longest 3 minute run of my life back to the cop shop to commandeer a vehicle that wasn't bio-locked and head for the castle hill. And fuhuuuck did I come into something awesome. They managed to drive off two of the furballs, kill one, send one...somewhere, but the last one was going after Brenda with a passion.

Since I know how to make an entrance, I let them know a second before that I was coming in and had friendly flash-bangy grenades coming in to announce my presence. Brenda was a wee bit saddened by this, but it's her ass I was saving and even though we had a pretty good numerical superiority, the rule of thumb when dealing with the hairballs is that there is no such thing as overkill. So we overkilled, and Brenda's shadow form was miffed at me. I'm pretty sure she wanted to "observe the death" or whatever the hell it is that she does, but really there's a factor of expedience that takes precedence over lab work. Of the bodies, one reverted to a wolf, and the other was a human. Nobody I knew, and quite honestly A) I didn't know Ipswich that well and B) I couldn't have made sense of the remains of that face had I tried. Seriously, I couldn't tell mandible from orbital socket. Rule of thumb number 2, bring silver to that party. Subsection to that rule is "Don't drink from them." Cass kinda broke that rule, and I did not like the look in her eyes. Brenda was off schlepping the centipede to the temple for me, and Cass was about to go bonkers, so I did the rational thing.

I jumped into the armored vehicle I'd liberated and locked the goddamn doors. Hugo throw up a cage around Cass after she'd done a little runner and pulled it back to us, where she finally calmed down as Brenda came back looking a little worse for wear. I'll have to get that from her later. For now, we have to play the waiting game while the centipede runs its' course and finds us all the exits to that temple. Good times will be had by all, and Ezra is going to have a baaaaaad day I guarantee.

A New Player Has Entered The Game

So having holed up for a bit, it was fairly obvious that Cass was not coming back from crazy time any time soon, so Brenda coalesced back into her not-quite-normal form and requested distraction for Cass. I obliged, but damn it was creepy. Vulcan Pon Farr ain't got shit on the crazyface Cass was making. Not fun, even a little bit, and a sobering reminder that even under her absolute control, there's a crazy fucker inside every vampire who wants to play jump-rope with my (or anyones') intestines. Upshot is that I was worried there for a second until Brenda tagged her and in no uncertain terms was she sleeping off the firewater.

That crisis averted, Brenda and Hugo (to a lesser extent) were looking a touch needy. So the plan, in theory, was simple. Bring three troopers in, let Brenda and Hugo top off, apply a little dominate, and everyone goes home. Feel free to pause for a moment after you figure out how it went. My words ain't got anywhere else to be.

So it was great right up until I forgot that these guys were carrying for the field. AKA loaded up with their standard assault rifle/pistol/grenade loadout. And as much as I was the wolf leading the lambs to slaughter, they were, in point of fact, my lambs. And these were some moderately badass lambs. Brenda was having a fine old time feeding, but after a little misstep with Dominate (flippin' rookie mistake), Hugo turned Brenda into a werewolf.

Why can't the gorram plan ever go smooth?

All hell officially broke loose at that point. Trooper2 scrambled like a mofo, and her pistol cleared the holster before I was able to knock it just askew. Brenda bit Trooper1's arm off at the forearm after I knocked his assault rifle offtarget with a smooth shot with my pistol - I meant to do that, but the official report will not so reflect. We didn't even get to Trooper3. Alas. So with the engagement shot to hell, Trooper 2 did I thing I would ordinarily applaud, but my applause was muted because she chucked a frag grenade behind her. And behind her was us. Not happy is a me. So I covered Stumpy from the blast, let everyone know I was going to be out covering the mortal side of the population, threw a quick tourniquet on Stumpy, grabbed him and his arm, and lo did I haul dat ass at warp 1 to catch up. There was a chopper en route already - apparently my lambs spook easily or something. At least we got evac, and yes I did wave them down with Stumpys' arm. The poor LT in charge must have been worried, fortunately for him I just needed a detail to drive the car back to base. Stumpy was out cold and thus giving no trouble, so I gave orders to be notified when he came back to consciousness for a debrief (to wit, I still need to dominate his mind.)

So, having sequestered the pair, I proceeded to dominate them into remembering that we went to the carriage house, attacked werewolves, fell back, were counterattacked by said werewolves, and then we evac'ed. It's not going to hold up under minute by minute scrutiny, but damn - combat's a funny thing, y'know? It's not like you can jot down "12:02; opened fire. 12:02:13; arm bitten off. Fuck." and really remember it. So with that done...oh, my lord was it getting close to dawn. That's bad juju for Major Me. So I stopped by the comms group with an abbreviated report and the UNODIR check-in. Lt Colonel will not be pleased. The werewolves will not be pleased. Shockingly, I have not a fuck to give for their feelings.

A quick jog to the farmhouse, and Hugh and Brenda have stumbled into something weird. Like, a farmhouse with three kids chained under the stairwell with various...things (!), two dead foster parents (less ! - perhaps even understandable, given the rest of the house), and at least one dead body buried in the cellar. With that happy thought, we dozed off.

And were awakened at about 2 in the afternoon by tapping. Whoever said no rest for the wicked was not just whistling Dixie. Since my corporeal form is highly flammable, my noncorporeal form decided to check shit out. Especially since Brenda was groggy. No people about, just tapping at the farmhouse. Weird as shit, but since I couldn't really do anything about it except watch, I decided to check out the hive I had stirred. And damn had I stirred a hive. Lt Colonel Resting Bitchface was in high dungeon, with a house-to-house search happening and a request for my scalp writ to the Pentagon and what is this bullshit about werewolves? The captain's a bit more pragmatic, as I saw him take 5 and call someone to get some silver bullets made. Operation "Blame The Fucking Furballs" is going well. I admit, my inner PFC was giggling at making high-ranking officers reach for the Tums. With that happy thought, I went back to my body...and missed.

I have to admit, there was a moment of "Again with the goddamned Nazis" before I found myself...at a card table. In a 1920's tux, and the makings of a full house in my hand. At least I got that going for me. After winning the hell out of the hand and collecting a pile of banknotes (Oh yeah, I'm definitely dreaming here) I found a paper to discover that I was in or near Cairo. At least it was a Cairo paper, but on the up side Brenda and Hugo are in the dream with me. So the only thing to do is...follow the dream. We saw the brothers Winthrop leaving in a Model T, and we caught the next cab. Habib was kind enough to provide us with cigars and refreshment while our kidneys got jostled. Through Luxor, across the Nile and playing cards some more. Hugo was there first and won a couple hands. And then I sat at the table. The gentlemen were less then pleased, but it was a game, and a game in a dream. Seriously, it feels good to just sit at a table and let the world go away for a minute while teaching people not to draw to an inside straight. Finally I started looking around for the person who created this dream and found Nathaniel watching Nathaniel. 2 and 2 does in fact equal 4, so we walked over to talk to the man. First things first though, I had to concentrate to alter the dream a bit - so I cleaned myself up. It took a second but at least I was cleaned up. Talking to ghosts is difficult when you're being assaulted with your own ballsweat. It's annoying, distracting, and very...ungentlemanly.

That, sadly was the highlight. We talked very briefly, but upshot is that he wants the chick in the coffin just as much as Ezra, except that Ezra became a setite and he became a ghost. Sibling rivalry is such a bitch. Admittedly I lost my shit when he called me a Setite. But really who wouldn't, right? He tried to keep me in there, but I was able to exert just enough control to get my ass out of his dream to wake up. So the bad news is that we not only have to fight a Setite for the sarcophagus, but a Specter as well. Because the gods are seriously bored and figure we need a challenge to keep their interest. For those keeping score at home we're currently fighting a ghost and a setite who are only indirectly helping each other and may sabotage each others' plans as much as ours; meanwhile the FAS military has a presence in that their applecart has totally been upset, and somewhere out there are werewolves who may be perturbed that they're being set up as the fall guys in this. What's life without a little excitement, neh? Now to go find Cass, deal with the silver-leafed bitch, run some interference, collect data from the centipede, and formulate an assault plan. We may need the orphanage evac'ed before we do anything. That's gonna be fun. I may put the shrapnel back in my back for dramatic "I ain't got time to bleed" effect.

Queens' Horsey to Queens' Bishie 3

So having woke up after an unrestful night, with an unknown number of dead people in the basement with me (and let me tell you friends and neighbors that's an unsettling thought) I felt...semi refreshed. First order of business, where the hell's Cass. Apparently she got kinda-sorta buried and was somewhat put out. However on further review, draggin her unconscious body around was inconvenient with regard to the approaching sun, and the expedient option was given mild approval. To business then. Cass was a litttle freaked by the dead bodies in the upstairs, shocked-but-not-shocked as only a cop who worked Vice can be by the kids in the Harry Potter closet, and so she set to getting those things sorted as rapidly ash possible, while I showered off and got my hair properly braided. One does not report in to Lt Colonel Resting Bitchface looking like a ragamuffin, after all. Then Brenda did creepy deadbody shit and they stood up. Oddities were presented in the form of some serious egyptian style tattoos. Fuck. We got that on camera. Afterward, Cass got express her anger upon the two dead bodies upon their walking into the cornfield. Meanwhile, we rifled the place looking for things, and Brenda found some collectibles that went into a wheeliebag (don't ask me the significance, I'm not a crazy necromancer,) and I found a few pictures of their probable associates. After that Cass got the shower and we got ourselves...somewhat presentable. And then we took Hugo with us to meet the wench while Brenda scouted out new digs, our last ones having been utterly remodeled.

The meeting was brief and filled with angry words. I was in a mood because the cop shop had been cordoned off and turned into a fire base. As per protocol, I was relieved of all my weapons. I felt very unnerved by that, and may have been why Cass kinda took the lead. I did adopt a horribly relaxed position while the Lt Colonel read us the riot act because Hugo's papers were not in order, we were bad and we should feel bad and werewolves don't exist. Completely ignoring the three dead ones in the cooler, she had a point. There was a lot of back and forth, we asked her to quit hassling the Pentagon because 99 percent of the pentagon doesn't know we exist, etc, hello it's a frickin' black op. Apparently that didn't register with her because she wants a live one for proof. Even ordered it. We respectfully disagreed with her presumption that such a thing could happen. Okay, we told her to get militarily bent. Cass needed some new togs, which she used to show off her scars from the Emerald Kerfluffle. Blamed werewolves. The Lt Colonel was a little more reasonable after that, and was kind enough to accede to our request that the orphanage be evacuated. Cause, y'know, 3 in the carriage house, they might be using the kids as human shields. Cause they don't have the same respect for life that we do. Ahem.

After that, grabbed my laptop and found it hadn't been screwed with (shocking) and I went to hunt down the comms Lt. - she's got a thing for the captain, and we need to backchannel some things to him in regard to what's happening soon. Bad news, I smelled something like she gotten cut. We spoke and I commented. She looked shocked that I could smell Aquaphor on her and admitted she'd gotten a tattoo. Note to self, not everyone can smell that good. As an enthusiast of the ink I commented with happy sounds and asked her the standard what'd you get where'd you get it is it where I can see it without violating military decorum stuff. She stammered a bit, but I kinda read her mind while she was doing that. It took a couple seconds, and then her mind was an open book like Dick and Jane Learn. The captain "encouraged" her to get an Egyptian cartouche, she can't wait to show him even though it's not something she'd get for herself, and my heart sank. We really need to whack Ezra. That man does nothing but annoy - up to and including encouraging young and impressionable officers to get shite ink.

But, that's a secondary thing; off to review what the centipede found - important shit. Good news, it's got a hell of a good map of the place and it found the emergency exit. Bad news, it didn't find Ezra. Semi-bad news, battery's down to 15%, so we'll need to replace that. Mark that on the todo list and of course we have a problem. To wit; Brenda and not one but two of the goddamn furballs are apparently taking offense at being the fall guys for our shenanigans. Whilst hauling ass toward the action I called 911. I was promptly patched into the military comms where I did as all wise commanders do when the going gets tough, and requested a sniper to flip his thermals on and have a fine old time shooting things.

Bless his heart, he did. The things split up, I took a few moments to survey. No Brenda. But I could smell her, and went in that direction. Cass needed a moment because she still loves her some werewolf blood. Gotta keep telling that shit's bad news, and eventually we'll get through it. Still, we had targets to service, and I was able to catch up - however, the motherfucker dodged. I have no idea how. But he fucking dodged my shot. Sometimes, life just isn't fair. I'll keep my feelings on it to myself, however, as Brenda had what could be politely called a rough night. Seriously, she wasn't dead, but she looked like a half-mile of bad road. She had damn near been decapitated and oh damn did that frighten-anger me. Hauled her back to our new digs and then went rapidly to the copshop, where I promptly requisitioned 10 units of blood, A and O and if he did not produce rapidly, he was going to replace her. I got what I needed and back we went, gogurting the blood down her throat. Not like I was having trouble doing that as someone who was gonna die did a fine trachea removal job on her. (Side note, if I get the chance, that sumbitch is dying.)

Crisis mostly averted, we went to swap the battery out on our centipede. That was a little more problematic then anticipated; the exit that was found is squeezy and probably more for a snake. Fuckin Setites. Also, the pool of poisonous Australian water-snakes was a bad thing. (Note to self, never go to Australia - their motto is "It can kill you in 6 seconds.") A little grapple and swing across, swap the battery, and we're off again. I did leave the grapple and rope just in case. Meanwhile, Hugo was having trouble with the snakes. Apparently his Dr Doolittle schtick does not guarantee that snakes won't kill you. After a little trickery with fire, the poor kid is gassed. We need a couple days off to recharge for the assault. We may not get them. But for the last order of business, I need to keep tabs on the captain through the Lt. With that in mind, breaking into the cop shop was a thing that needed to happen. They upgraded their systems, but given that I'm...pretty good at this computer thing, I can kinda keep up with what they've got. Fractal encryption is a thing - badass, but I'm still better. Admittedly, it took an hour or two to get through everything, but after that I was in and telling the cameras that Daddy wanted to know if Ezra or the captain showed up. The captain did in fact show up, but he's at home working out. That's good, but I have to catch up with the Lt and ask her about the captain and whatnot. Good times, and the Ouchy bullets are loaded. Just in case.