Echoes. This building is full of them. The early morning sun is shrouded by clouds, as you step into the long abandoned factory, which seems better lit than the outside. You aren't sure how, or why, but this building seems to have retained strong memories of the past.
The effect is disconcerting. You see this building in two layers, one of the dark and overgrown concrete tomb it now is, and another of the brighter days, machinery whirring eagerly and men stepping about in hard hats and flannel shirts, doing their business like every other day. Distinguishing between these two times is hard- and it takes your full concentration to ignore the residual memories and to focus on the ruin as it is.
A sign indicates stairs to the left: it exists only in the past, yet in the future you saw that same sign worn on the far side of the floor. Carefully, you take the stairs. Some stairs no longer exist, and the handrail overlaps in your vision as a well polished steel pole, and a rusty jagged deathtrap.
At the top of the stairs is a small room. About a dozen plush chairs are arranged around a decently sized table; the room is very well lit by what appears to be a chandalier; and another door can be seen at the back of the room. You blink a few times, trying to see the room as it is now, before you realise that this is how it was and still is; the only difference being a small propped-up note on the table.
Will be along shortly. Play nice.
J.
PS: Check under note for conversational ice-breaker.
Morris paced around the entrance uneasily. He shouldn't have come here. He had a bad feeling. He's been getting a lot of that lately. The back of his hand had a fresh scar from when he tried to cut the number off in one of his...more impulsive moments. Since then he'd been trying to put a stop to that kind of behavior. He didn't want to be kicked out of the Brim for being a headcase like some of those court scumbags. Morris kept away from the Hedge for good measure too. Sure it was duty to be vigilant and stuff, but he needed a break for once damnit. Considering the circumstances was more than fair in his opinion. He heard some garbage about a meeting for the people with the numbers on his hands, and showed up in hopes of getting some quick info, and because nothing could get much worse. Immediately after hitching into Detroit proper, he regretted it.
He stood alone, occasionally sneering through crooked, skeletal teeth at some of the passersby. He had not really met the acquaintance of the majority of the people there, since there were court people. He knew OF many people there, but he didn't get to know them personally, nor did he want to, but that didn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't gather info and use their own bs politics against them if he had the opportunity.
So Morris stood around in this polluted, sycophantic hellhole waiting for more wretched courtiers, so he could get this over with, take off and plan for the worst case scenario.
Marshall wandered slowly toward the plant. He couldn't help but wonder what this was all about. He wore leather gloves to conceal the mark on his hand, he didn't much care for the thought of being marked like that. From his memories of Arcadia, Jack had spent his time there as a god among insects, now he was just fine with being forgotten. He patted the pocket of his long black wool coat, just to make sure the gun was still there. It was a nine millimeter Glock 17, similar enough to the pistol he'd carried as a cop. He was committing a crime by carrying it, and it made him worry that he'd be searched, but he was more worried about wandering around without it, so damned if you do. . .
Like the gloves, the coat was more about concealment than comfort. Every since swearing his oath to Winter, Jack found that he didn't really get cold anymore. He did, however, get hot, and he was hovering right near that line between tolerable and too warm, such was the price he paid.
When he came upon the factory, he stopped in his tracks. He cast his gaze to the left and right, to see if there were passersby, and if they were seeing the same weird double vision as he was. Finally, he approached. He wasn't expected to see anyone there yet, so his hand dropped into his pocket when he saw a stranger. He felt odd that he was reassured by the fact that the man looked somewhat, uh, undead. At least Jack had an idea of just what kind of freak he was dealing with. "Who are you?" He commanded, a low growl in his voice that could have as easily been part of his mein as an affectation. He kept his hand on the gun in his pocket, determined that he would keep it close at hand until he saw reason not to. "Are you one of them? He added, watching for the other man's hand, looking for the same mark that adorned his own hand, beneath the glove.
Morris stared blankly for a minute. Gazing into the distance with his empty looking eye sockets. Then he burst out laughing. Morris laughed so hard that he started coughing out reddish colored dust. "Oh man, haha, these guys only take the best and brightest eh?" he followed his words with a hacking cough and some more laughter. "Get a load of this guy. Demanding to know who I am." He took his hand with the number, which had a big scar running down it out of his pocket. Then he balled both his hands into fists. His tone changed. "Seriously big, dumb and ugly, sit down, shut up and don't do nothing stupid. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't supposed to be."
"Who did this to me? What's going on? Why was I summoned to this place?" Terrence waited in the shadows across the street from the plant. "Who are these people? Oh, good, they're distracted." He takes a minute to recheck his lockppicks, throwing knives, and other necessities and waits for an opportune moment to slip past the arguing men.
"I don't like this. Something about this doesn't feel right. Did the feds set this up? And what does this number have to do with anything?"
The young man chuckles, looking up at the building and getting a good image in his mind of it. It is only after looking around for a couple of moments that he enters.
He brushes the bit of dirt from his fur as he enters in, blinking several moments before he realizes that the double vision is not something wrong with his vision, but something of the place.
A physical riddle, huh?...Interesting interesting...I'm sure the others would be quite interested in studying these bits and pieces.
It is only after going up the stairs and seeing the series of strange other folks that he also momentarily stiffens. Not showing his back to any of the three, he takes a quick look at the card, then to his hand, and then back to the card.
"So...everyone's waiting on this....J individual, I'm assuming?" He keeps his hands in his pockets, as he waits for the others to speak, the light fall frost growing briefly on his antlers, only to flake off and fall as brown dust, disappearing moments before touching the ground.
Amy walked out of the shadows into the overhead light. Come now boys, no need to bicker... She pushed her glasses up her nose and walked up to them. Things are crappy enough as it is... She looked down at her hand and did a quick scan of the others. Assuming this is the right place, everyone should have this strange anomaly on their hands... I hope these people arent idiots... Thats all I need. They probably are... Pushing her hair out of her face she attempted a smile, which only made her look gassy. Im Amy. You are?... Probably poor shmucks like me, nothing too special...
Leon's fingers twitched to hold a paintbrush right now. The dual vision before him... If he didn't know better he'd swear he was on acid right now. The call of inspiration was hushed however by the sounds of raised voices from upstairs. He sighs, leaving his confusing vigil, and making his way to the steps, blinking in surprise at the room. He paused at the top of the steps to glance back to make sure the double-vision hadn't faded before stepping into the room, and rolling his eyes at finding Morris engaged in an argument.
"Lord Jeremiah. Don't you people read the invites?" he asks with an amused smirk, raising his hand to flash it at the other arrivals, glancing at their hands in turn. The number and the dream that had accompanied it's appearance had caused quite a stir in the young beast. The intensity of the emotions evoked by his keeper had caught him quite off guard, how much he had missed the feel of her touch, and her parting kiss... It wasn't for a few hours after he woke that he noticed the number, jittery as he had been, and not until he spotted everyone else with numbers one higher than his own that he started to worry. The invitation extended by Lord Jeremiah seemed the perfect chance for an explanation, or to at least learn something more. It wouldn't pay to just ignore such a warning, no matter it's origins.
"Ahhh, a voice of reason." he says, smiling at Amy, it only faltering slightly as he takes in her Mien. Changelings really were an ugly lot weren't they? It could be worse perhaps... "Lets all calm down a bit and be civil." he suggests, pushing deeper into the room and settling into one of the comfortable seats, glancing at the note, and then back at it again. He glances at the others before picking it up, wondering what 'ice breaker' their host had provided.
Under the note lies a small pile of ice cubes. On the inside of the note you can read 'Sorry, best I could do in a short notice' in the same flowing handwriting of the first note.
Your host it would appear, has either a very poor sense of humour, or what he thinks is a very good one.
Jack nodded at Amy, recognizing her from around but not really knowing her, not even her name. "I'm Jack Marshall, I think we've met before. You're Winter Court too, right?"
Jack said nothing to anyone else. The matter had already dropped, why were they feeling the need to harp on something that wasn't their business.
Leon lets out an amused snort at the terrible pun, setting the note back atop the icecubes. "Leon Armitage, call me Leon or Leo." he introduces himself, standing up. "I wonder who else we're waiting for."
She shiftes her clothes as she attempted conversation. Nodding to Jack she shrugged.
Im apart of the Winter Court... You can tell, cant you. She let out what could only be assumed as a laugh, though it sounded more like a sob and there was no joy in her face. Wow, I really rock at this conversation thing... How could I not make new friends... Not like anyone here would be a good friend anyway... They'd probably just as soon jump me and eat me than smile and wave. She stares straight at Leon. Probably just another person doomed to hell... and the host.
"Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past." Terrence briefly steps out of the shadowy corner where he's been hiding. "Call me Parker. And I'm not our host, so don't mind me." With that, he ducks back into the shadow.
Quoting Shakespeare, he probably doesnt know what it really means... You cant expect much from a street rat with an affinity to shadow... And what makes him think this is a safe haven. He is going to perish just like the rest of us... Moron. Her eyes flitter to the shadows where he receeded. The Tempest, if I recall. Not that it matters, we wont be around long enough for you to understand the significance... She shrugs and finishes her piercing glare.
"Greeaaaat, a bunch of Winters." Leon sighs, falling back into his seat again, resigning himself to waiting for someone else to show up to see if they'll offer any decent conversation, though he looks hopefully at Morris, wondering if he had anything interesting to talk about.
Jef just smirks, looking at each of them in turn. "You all really are quite morose, aren't you?"
Taking one of the many seats, he stretches out. "My name...well, Ceres works well enough for now. Riddle-finder for the Autumn Court."
And for those who know of the Autumn Court, he has a decent enough reputation of winning most riddle contests and being willing to search for the most archaic bits of knowledge. Of course, it doesn't hurt that his payment typically comes in the form of riddles.
Amy just sighs and shrugs her way to the back corner of the table, plopping down into an unoccupied seat. Morose? Me? Peh... What does it matter, we are probably going to be blown to shreds in a little over a week. Or hit by a comet. Or eaten alive by bugs. Or turned intosmall critters and crushed for the enjoyment of those twisted Fae... So keep joking, leaf boy... Everything begins to die in Autumn.
Lost in thought she stared at the note card, pondering the point of it all in her melancholy posture. Hope we are accompanied soon by everyone. Not that it matters. We're all screwed.
Morris could not quite contain how displeased he was with the current crowd. Echoing Leon's sentiment, he nearly groaned when the two sadsack ones starting pouring in. Bunch of Winters, coming in, acting like the owned the place, making everything cold.
"I'm not with those guys." He said defensively to Jeff. "I ain't even within this prick's jurisdiction. Now he's making me wait, this is b!!#*+$# man."
He left out the part where he popped in from time to time to do 'business'. The tyrant might have wanted to impose more authority over whatever he was doing. OWN him like all the others. He couldn't have that. Not that he didn't probably know already.
Morris walked slightly further from the group and waved Leon over. He whispered to the artist "I think it would be best if my activities in this city were downplayed. Got nothing to hide, but if Jeremiah tries to impose authority on me, it's bad for business you see. We'll chat later if ya want."
"Hmmm.... An arrogant a$$#*&e, a fed, an emo chick, a riddler?, and a courtist who's setting up alliances. Such a wonderful group of people you've run into.... Maybe if I chill out here, everyone will forget about me. Then I can eavesdrop whenever this mystery guy shows up. Slip out. Go back to doing my thing. Yeah, sounds like a plan."
Let's see, a dick, a coward, a riddler, a jerk and a girl so morose as to approach parody, what a motley crew we are. He wanted to ask about all of these people, their keepers, their pasts and the dreams. He knew the first two were near verboten, and the third likely was as well."So, does anyone know why this building looks like this?" Jack figured the worst that could happen is that he would be ignored, at best he might actually get them to focus on something other than feeling sorry for themselves.
Whistling tunelessly, the young man casually striding in to the room looks up at the rest of you, the right side of his mouth quirking up in something not quite a smirk before walking over to the note, reading it, then taking one of the ice cubes & smashing it onto the table below.
"My guess is the building is as twisted by that place as the rest of us...
I'd have to do a lot of research to be certain of course." Looking up now, he catches each of your eyes briefly, giving an 'I see you' nod & moving on to another, his nod to Leon a smidge longer & more meaningful than to the rest of you.
A bunch of winters, Morris, and an Autumn. He could respect Autumn, he'd considered it himself but didn't have the sort of... mental agility they favoured. Spring fit him much better but Autumns could be alright company as long as they didn't get too caught up in their own pursuits. His title however made him a bit more hesitant, Riddles made his head hurt.
At Morris' outburst he smiled, the guy could be uptight but he was alright, and a useful person to know. He took the adherence to independence a bit far, almost bordering on xenophobia, but they all coped in their own ways, and his was better than the winters. At the man's signal he moseyed over, and had to stop himself from bursting out laughing, contenting himself with a wry smile. "Sure thing Morris. I don't suppose you know anything about our absent host?" He glances away from the conversation at hand at the sound of another arrival, watching as Jusuf goes so far as to actually smash one of the ice cubes, making him smile again and raise a hand in greeting.
Amy looked up at the entry of the new changling. Whatever is going on with this building, it is beyond my capacity... Figures She did a gentle sweep of the new comer, trying to distract her mind from her lack of knowledge about the subject. Great. Another person who thinks they are better than me. Not that its any where near the truth. That puts us at a moron who likes to stay hidden behind words and shadow, a jackass who arrogantly thinks he is the best in the room, a man so ashamed of being a changeling he actively refuses his kind, even those most similar to him, an Autumn who is nice enough, (who knows when that will change? Tis' the season...), and a guy who is smiling even though we are all doomed to hell. This could get interesting...
She looks at the new mans face just as he locks eyes with her, making her look down and blush. Why is he looking at me? then she noticed he was looking at everyone that same way, lingering on the jackass longer than the rest. See Amy, nothing special about you. As the blush fades away from her cheeks she looks towards the last known location of the moron, checking to see if he is still there. She at least had something in common with him...
"When you look down like that it makes a fellow think you're hiding something." 'Jack' comments as Amy casts her gaze downward in response to his glance. "If you're going to hide, you need to be better at it than that." His voice gentles somewhat, softening the word's criticism.
Amy shrugs. The very fact you think Im hiding something shows how clueless you are... Her eyes never shift from the shadows where the moron lurks. Silly man. He knows nothing of my life. Dont talk to me about life...
"You mean hide like this?" Terrence speaks up from his corner. "I take it no one knows what this meeting is about. What if it's some kind of trap? I'm sure all of us have enemies."
He looks directly at Amy. "I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight." He shifts his gaze to the others, "What about the rest of you?"
Wow, he is speaking poetry to me... Though the fate of those teo young lovers will be the same as ours. She blushes and looks down, sighing longingly.
"If it was a trap, whoever wanted to spring it would have taken us out individually. Yes, we probably do all have enemies...
but we don't all have the same enemies & I would be very surprised if my enemies cared enough about me to want to work with your enemies..."
The unspoken '& vice versa' hangs implicit in everyone's thoughts.
Yes. And my enemies dont care about me at all...She fumbles with the tablecloth, sighing with eyes downcast. It'd be nice of anyone cared, even enemies, but they dont...
"Enemies are quite intelligent, overall. No, they might not care about us, but our enemies would either want us dead or teamed up against one of their enemies." The strange beast man muses slowly. "But if this were a trap, we'd have many, many more issues, and would be in much more trouble right now."
He blinks, momentarily closing his eyes, in hopes of getting past that horrible sense of double vision.
@Jusuf Describing this building as having a mask and mien is pretty close to what it is. Neither of them though come through as horrific or beautiful (or both), which are two norms for a fae twisted area. You can't tell exactly what is causing this, but it is very similar to your hypothesis. As for what's driving them, the courtiers are probably being driven by their court emotion. All of them are curious about the number; seeing their keeper in their dreams is a very motivating factor one way or another.
@Amy, Jef. Well, you tried. You conclude it's probably a building.
The sound of a key being inserted into a lock, and the door at the other side of the room turns. In steps a thin man dressed in smart casuals, which turn out to consist of grey on more grey. Looking at the group, he smiles and gives a quick, mocking bow, before taking the closest seat. Pale skin,black hair, brown eyes. Could be anyone.
At this stage you recall that none of you have met Lord Jeremiah before, nor could you name his court. No court trappings mark him, nor any other obvious giveaways.
"Is this everyone? Yes, I think we're all here. Apologies, I was delayed by external factors." His speech is well mannered, but there is a tinge of some humour that only he can see to it all, a smirk on his face the entire time.
"No sense wasting time here, then. Right! I have been asked to gather you all here because of these strange numbers, correct?" he glances at the back of Amy's hand, but he doesn't appear to react to anything there. "Why don't we start with these numbers? What are they, how did they appear?
From inside his shirt his pulls a small yellow folder, placing it carefully on the table. "I made several presumptions that whatever it is can't be good. I have some notes of unusual goings on in the past week or so, but I'm afraid that's about all I have.
Lord Jeremiah placed one hand on the folder and looked around the room at each of them, in an unspoken question. Who would explain?
Jef speaks up first. "They've been counting down for a series of days. Not sure for what, though. A truly proper riddle, though."
"You've yet to explain your interest." Jusuf replies flatly, his gaze briefly flicking to Ceres in response to his comment. The faintly amused expression has drained away, veiled suspicion edging in to take it's place. "For that matter, you've yet to explain why you chose this place for our little 'tete a tete'"
She looks up at the man sitting next to her. Im sure it means death. I just need to find a place for my pet rabbit. She traced the number on the back of her hand mindlessly. Im just kidding. I dont have a rabbit ... It wouldnt like me if I did. She looked around to see how well her joke went over. I wonder if they liked my joke ... Probably not... Im a horrid joke teller...
Her face then changed slightly. Hearing Jacks words refreshed something in her. Looking directly at the man claiming to be Lord Jeremiah. Who are you? Her eyes filled with a different energy than before, not fear but curiosity. Time to learn Amy. Get your head back.
A brief, explosive, snort from 'Jack', combined with a twitch of his lips tells Amy his sense of humor is just foul enough to find her comment funny.
At least a little.
Amys eyes flicker to 'Jack' and back down, her face red. Guess I can be funny... Given the right crowd. She quickly recovers and continues to starr at Lord Jeremiah.
Terrence has quite a few questions but stays quiet for the moment. Better to let the talkative ones keep attention off of him. Especially since this 'Lord Jeremiah' seems to be working under somebody else. Amy's 'joke' does make him let slip a quick smile. "Ah, the subtle art of black humor. And here I thought she was a Debbie Downer type."
Either way, Jack has enough successes there. Lord Jeremiah is not a changeling. Nor is he human. You suspect that he is staying up very late for one of his kind. He doesn't look like he's seen sunlight in years, and there's probably a very good reason why.
He doesn't have a number on his hand.
Lord Jeremiah smiled. "I am Lord Jeremiah Steeds, and this is, well, my home. Mostly though that back door there." he explains, waving a hand backwards.
"As for who I am, you could call me an information broker. It is not entirely accurate, but it will suffice. This city, as you may be aware, is a hotbed for all kinds of trouble. Many groups in this city are too busy infighting or vying for political power to sometimes see the larger threat looming. It is my job to spot these threats, and advise on them. In this case a client has asked me in assess your worrying habit of seeing imaginary numbers."
He shrugs half-heartedly. "I have had worse."
Jef smirks. "Imaginary numbers?" He seems amused by the man's disbelief.
Amy shrugs, sighing. Wouldnt be the first time someone didnt take me seriously. Tends to happen to me a lot, looking like a paper doll and all or an ordinary girl. Nothing special, so Im disregarded... Ive had worse too, your Lordship. She goes back to absent mindedly stroking her hand.
However, this is no fantasy. If others also are experiencing the same phenomenon then there is some credence into doing research on the subject. You have told us you have done so, so share it with us so we will be able to make informed dicisions on what to do next. If you have the info, spill. Dont waste our precious time. She leans back in her chair, looking Lord Jerimiah straight in the eyes. I dont know exactly what you are, but I cant really pinpoint exactly what I am either. Information is the most important thing here... Stop stalling.
"No, imaginary numbers are mathematical formulae which don't sum properly, used for certain higher maths. You're accusing us of being delusional...
Which you, of all creatures, should know better." 'Jack's voice has regained a measure of it's previous 'not-quite-teasing' character, his expression now one of, if not comfort, at least reduced strain. Nodding in acknowledgment of Amy's words, he adds. "You don't want to waste your own time either. We aren't peers, prey or pupils, so stop playing."
Jack watched the 'man' incredulously, up until now, he hadn't really found anything worth saying. He found something now, however. "So this little meeting involves us telling you what we know, then you snoop around, and your boss hears about what you find days from now, likely after the countdown has already hit zero. Is that about how it goes?" He said, wondering who the benefactor was. It would be pointless to ask, there was no way Steeds would answer if he was a decent information broker. The more disturbing question was who knew he could see the numbers?
(1 sux on occult, 4 sux on streetwise for Jeremiah)
Morris stared blankly and rubbed his eye sockets for a bit. "Yeah, I might know something." Morris says between hissed teeth. "First of all, he's not one of us but not human, and that's a red flag to me. I was expecting some high up winter court a#&&$~&, but now it's some third party city dirtbag with some 'mysterious benefactor'." He cleared his throat, coughing out some more dust. "Well, I'd prefer not to swim with sharks if I can avoid it, and no offense, but until I know more, a lot of you seem an awful lot like sharks and I took an oath against that, so let's get this over with. Then I can go off and get a drink or something." he said as he leered at Jeremiah.
Lord Jeremiah snorted at Morris. "You have no idea how good a drink sounds right now." he said softly. "Anyway, so far as things go I don't know or care if these numbers are real or you are simply being irrational." He covers his mouth with a pale hand, laughing at his own little joke. "But no, the way this works is that I tell you what I know, you go off and snoop around or do some home decorating or whatever the hell you want, and then in a few days we'll meet again and we'll work out if this numbers thing is serious.
Pressing himself further back in the chair, Jeremiah yawns loudly, and rubs a palm over his forehead. "So the gist of it is that I'm assessing a potential threat for my client. Maybe they already know about a threat and just want to gather evidence for it. I don't know, I'm not the client. But I have to figure out what those numbers mean. So to cut to the chase, you swear to me that you'll help me with this assessment, and I'll give you information to investigate it."
"Yeah... that could be a problem. He's not sounding too altruistic, I was hoping this was being organized by someone who could actually help rather than just gathering info on us." Leon says softly, looking around at the others as they pepper Jeremiah with questions. "Christ, who pissed in her coffee this morning..." he mutters; Winters were usually a drag but Amy was taking it to a whole new level.
He puts aside his dismay for the temperaments of Winters as Jeremiah replies. "So an agreement to share information then? That seems fair." he glances around again, taking in a breath. "Three days ago I had a dream. My... keeper I believe they're called--I was with her again, she put her thumb here." he raises his hand, tapping the number "and told me to look after myself." he shivers a little. "It started on 10, and it's been going down. It's 8 now, and so are theirs. Everyone else's are 9. You... do not have a number. That all I know. A friend told me about this, so I came to see what was going on, it's been freaking me out more than a little."
Amy's eyes light up, curiosity bringing her back even more. I had the same dream... I don't know what it means either, but I've been up thinking about it for the past few nights. Sleep seems to escape me now. She slides her hand through her hair, making her mein look like ink drips through her fingers, and sighs. If this trend continues, I might have to share more information on this subject... If I know anything at all besides whats already been said... She thinks harder, her gears grinding. Completely ignoring the walking corpse, she pushes up her glasses and nonchalantly straightens herself, putting her head back onto the back of the chair. She closes her eyes.
Guess its time to do my thing. She descreetly begins to hum to herself and nods her head back and forth. Trying to be subtle, she begins her trance, trying to sweep away the fog of the future and catch a glimpse of something useful.
Morris ignored this talk about keepers. His was a real scary old bastard, and he feared that this information was too valuable to give away to just anyone.
"Alright, so from what I gather, first of all, in a weird way, this guy's whole racket thing is not...dissimilar to mine you see. He trades in the information though. He's doesn't side with anybody, but don't screw anybody neither. Second he's like, at least 80 or something. He's like got eternal youth or something I guess." He says quietly to Leon.
Morris spoke up to the not-human again. "Alright, so I'm going to level with you gramps. I know you ain't doing this out of the goodness of your heart or whatever. You seem like a businessman type right. I also know you ain't human and you sure as hell ain't one of us and I'm not too happy about non-human outsiders being brought into our business y'see. I mean the wizardy dude was bad enough. Maybe next we'll start having multiethnic gangs of therianthropic thugs if this continues. To say I am apprehensive about working with you is an understatement. I know you have a very good reputation, but only our kind would understand the seriousness our issue, and I have to wonder who exactly decided you was best for the job. So here's my bottom line: I would like to what you are and who is this client before I agree to anything. When I know exactly what I'm agreeing to and who I'm dealing with, we can get on with this 'trade'." Morris glanced around the room.
"I can tell this is a....relatively smart group. They're not going to immediately agree to just anything no matter how scared and desperate they are. That s&*# carries weight here."
(1 success)
'Jack' barks another abortive laugh at their host's joke. As the others respond, he keeps his expression fairly reserved. At Morris' ultimatum, his expression shifts from reserved to flat-out blank as he stands up & walks toward the door.
Within the foggy mists of what is probably the future, Amy can see a great deal of suffering. Not necessarily death. But agony and despair are there. Is this a result of following the path laid out, or what awaits at the end of the countdown? She can't quite tell. The skiens of the future are still too tangled.
"If you want to just walk out, then by all means by my guest. If like this good man says," he gestures to Leon, "Then whatever happens in nine days time doesn't affect me. I can be confident in my survival. You walk out of here and waste what, two, three days finding out what I can just tell you? Try being sensible here. I tell what could be causing problems, and you spare a few minutes later to help me write an assessment report."
Then he turned to Morris, smile vanishing. "I was chosen for this because the client had what I can now see as very reasonable apprehensions that you'd struggled to all work together for someone in the freehold, Courted or Courtless, due to your diverse nature. They have chosen to put personal fame or preferences aside. And no, I can't tell you their name. Firstly, that's really f&&#ing bad for business. Secondly, even if I were so inclined, I still couldn't. I have a pledge with the client to not reveal their identity. So if that helps, then yeah. Your client is Lost, just like you."
"You know, you aren't one of the Kindred either, so screw you, I can't reveal what I am. Maybe you can guess, but I can't just tell you. Gods, you can't just ask someone what he is."