"It is alright. I am used to supicions being directed my way. I would say so is Savalos. We are dealing with an enemy that can see and manipulate the future. We ourselves are still working on how to counter that in an enemy."
I kill off the lho-stick, relieved with the psyker's spirit of forgiveness and empathy.
"I understand. Thank you."
Time to hypothesize.
"Let's assume the death of the Co-Governor derailed some aspect of the Enemy's plan. Perhaps that is what prompted the meeting between Trizo and Leprade tonight?"
"Only one way to find out."
"All I know for certain is this Regicide game has been going on for over three years. I expect we are all represented on that board. We already know who is playing White side. If we can find a list of Krades peers it might give us an idea who's moving the Black pieces."
I study the pieces again. I look to see if any of them represent the Prisnor or the Hitchhiker. If they do I suspect I know on which sides they are on. I also look at the symbology of the pieces in regards to how they match up with the Heretic Wake Deck Cards I hold in my pocket.
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
"I am fine." Vincent tells the psyker as he examines the bewildering array of controls before him.
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
Noting Vincent's difficulties with the cogitator control array, Launce moves over to examine them himself. He nods thoughtfully to Vincent, the concern for the exhausted clerk evident on his face.
"Allow me."
The tech-priest extends his electro-graft to one of the many vacant ports, and connects it, holding both hands rigidly over the nearest keypad. There is an ominous delay of several moments, wherein Ryuk wonders if the tech-priest has perished, so still is his body and rigid his posture, but then, in a flurry of activity, Launce's hands begin to fly over the keys like a maestro Ministorum organist. Lights begin to flicker to life across the panel and brief bursts of binary utterances escape from the entranced servant of the Omnissiah's slack mouth.
It is all over fairly quickly, and Launce then regains some semblance of normality. He remains connected to the console but turns to speak to Vincent in a voice that is both expectant and weary.
"I have obtained access to the root control systems of the Panopticon cogitator core---there is---much utility here...what is it you wish me to do?"
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, Lux-Suite Tower #5, Room 808
Savalos studies the board, but finds no further revelation forthcoming. His burst of elation and certainty of what Iacton's bizarrely oblique revelation portended has passed, gone as soon as it came. It is as if whatever strange force refined his perceptions to such a staggering clarity moments ago while watching has passed. The sensation recalls brief, dream-like flashes of his time with K'lei-eth at the Wellspring of E'auvennade. Glancing at Uriah, he can see that the psyker has experience something very similar.
Savalos looks down at the board again, noting how the White Empress has also fallen. This requires no supernatural awareness for him to comprehend, and his thoughts turn to his mother, Ariella.
Uriah studies the board again, the brief flash of the witch's prescient presence gone again from his consciousness. The Black Inquisitor. There is a message here, and some dark part of him senses the answer close at hand.
Dunkan says little, his own attention fixated upon the nearly finished game of Regicide. His eyes never waver from the pieces. His voice still remains grim; foreboding.
"Let's assume the death of the Co-Governor derailed some aspect of the Enemy's plan. Perhaps that is what prompted the meeting between Trizo and Leprade tonight?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
"Whatever the case may be, we have little time left to prepare for the Pinnacle, we should begin soon. I fear we may have very little time left at all."
He finally tears his eyes away from the board, and Wardja can't help but avert his eyes from the haunted look on the heretek's face.
"I fear this is true for all of Oremor."
Somewhere Dark
Kaltos again hears the distant thumping of powerful machinery from somewhere beyond the thick walls of his cell.
Now that his potentia coil is again fully recharged, he finds he can cogitate more efficiently about his present predicament. Additionally, his internal gyro-sensoria's quantification has increased by several orders of magnitude with regard to accuracy. He can now easily derive that his prison is moving at approximately 2.271 kilometers per hour in a rough southeasterly direction with relation to the Orcut VII hive, but his geosynchronous self-locator is returning nothing about his present position on Oremor itself.
I push the Regicide board away with the memory of how my mother died. We can't let this aura of doom get to us otherwise we are already beaten.
"Well I'm not much for Regicide, but I am a card player. The most important rule to remember with cards is that the game isn't over til the last card is played. And from where I am sitting we still have a number of cards in our hand."
"So how is Old Bones coming along?"
"Wardja may as well lay out your entire plan for the game table. Don't want to risk any of second guessing what we are suppose to be doing. Though if things go to frag I am planning on venting Trizo, and clubbing Leprade so the interrogators can have a turn with him."
My thoughts turn to Krade, and the game being played. Trying to follow his footsteps so I can see his moves. Wondering who is sitting opposite of him at the game table rolling dice with all our lives.
I also wonder how much of the game has changed since the healing of the Well Spring. Or if my actions were all apart of Krades plan. No sense second guessing myself on that. Just take heart that I did something good. And wonder where is little Maia is now in all of this...?
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
"I have obtained access to the root control systems of the Panopticon cogitator core---there is---much utility here...what is it you wish me to do?"
"I want to see the sky and to walk beneath the stars."
"I want to be far away from this... prison."
"Wardja may as well lay out your entire plan for the game table. Don't want to risk any of second guessing what we are suppose to be doing. Though if things go to frag I am planning on venting Trizo, and clubbing Leprade so the interrogators can have a turn with him."
The others turn and look at me. I pull out another lho and tap it against the table to pack the leaf in tighter.
"Tournament is at the Pinnacle of Pearl facility here in the casino. Real up-hive swank. My team will have a couple of rooms near the gaming floor where we can stage out of sight and maintain observation. Beij, Gereos and a few of my arbites on loan from Halleon will locate there."
"I'd like to have team members on the floor; Beij will pose as a serving girl." I look over at the sergeant, "Einhardt I'm hoping you can also be wait-staff."
My gaze passes over the administratum clerk. Nervous, book-type. Don't really want him in the field. "Bothle, might suggest you aid Gereos with surveillance."
"Their is a viewing gallery with sufficient cover to place some agents, ready to make a move. Trantor, maybe you can watch from there? The deck will allow for a certain flexibility in response based upon what you observe."
Skeit. I need to light this thing.
"Gereos has access to the floor's camera equipment. The casino keeps a close eye on matters to prevent cheating, stealing, and so on. But we'll use it to monitor Leprade, Trizo, and their cronies' movements. Dunkan--Is there a way you can tell if anyone else is jacked into the system? We have to assume the Enemy will also be watching."
"Me and Thul will be on the floor as gamblers in disguise." I look at the Duct Wolf, wondering if he really knows what Astrid has in store for him. "We'll really have to do you up, Thul, to cover your gang markings. I'll pose as a rich, off-world merchant trader here to kill time and spend money."
"Between our surveillance and field agents, I'm hoping to gain information. Anything we can. About Leprade, Trizo, the Yellowbacks, the Oremor Penal Legions, anything. Priority will be to try and find if the trail of corruption leads higher." I move over to the Regicide board. "We know that Leprade and Trizo are minions. We need to find out who they serve."
I pick up the black Inquisitor and examine the piece. My thoughts drift back to some of the crime scenes I've previously surveyed: the House of Mercy, the Gelt-Down Docks, the Gearbox. All razed. I know it's not the acolytes fault but I have to say it. I look over at Thul. "If, as you say, things go frag and certain targets present themselves--fine. I hope to see Leprade dead too. But keep in mind the greater cause."
I put the piece back on its square and light up my lho-stick.
"Thanks to loyal officers like Luthos and the activities of Iacton and Vendagio, we've been able to put the squeeze on Leprade's arbite support. That may be another reason for their meeting. Or maybe its the assassination of the governor. I don't know. But as you said Thul, there's only one way to find out. That's why I hope we can either see or hear something that will aid our efforts."
"Dunkan, I plan on carrying one of these and may choose an opportune time to use it. Make sure it is properly attenuated and will transmit to our surveillance channel." Out of my pocket I pull a small device out of my pocket and lay it on the table in front of the Heretek.
"OK, that's all I've got. This is an important, very important opportunity. I need feedback. Appreciate, Thul, that you want to hear me out. So... What have I missed? Who else should be on the floor? What other precautions should be made? What other contingencies should be prepared for?"
Gazing around the suite I take another drag and wonder if this meager group will be enough to save a planet.
"I will say, if it does go bad, the first target must be the witch. I will do what I can to stop her, but sometimes the best way is a laspistol to the head."
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
Ryuk looks at Launce wired directly into the illuminated console of jet-black plas, and wonders at what his rescuer and the half-metal-man are referring to. Unused to such technical jargon, he instead reaches out with his mind, apprehensive of just what he might find...
Pushing his mind through the morass of madness that clamors from the depths of the Oubliette, the daemons still seething with anger at having lost their prize, Ryuk tries to focus instead upon the immediate vicinity.
There is nothing.
No thoughts are returned to him, the silence deafening.
Wondering at what became of his one-time jailors, even the other penitents, he is filled with a deep unease. The lingering psychic miasma of the Prisoner is still here, but the scent is cold, as if his progenitor passed this way some time ago.
It is apparent to Ryuk that nothing survived in his wake.
The others turn and look at me. I pull out another lho and tap it against the table to pack the leaf in tighter."Tournament is at the Pinnacle of Pearl facility here in the casino. Real up-hive swank. My team will have a couple of rooms near the gaming floor where we can stage out of sight and maintain observation. Beij, Gereos and a few of my arbites on loan from Halleon will locate there."
"I'd like to have team members on the floor; Beij will pose as a serving girl." I look over at the sergeant, "Einhardt I'm hoping you can also be wait-staff."
Sgt. Einhardt shrugs.
"Fair enough. Just don't expect me to serve Leprade any broiled estuary-krill."
My gaze passes over the administratum clerk. Nervous, book-type. Don't really want him in the field. "Bothle, might suggest you aid Gereos with surveillance."
Bothle, although still a little overwhelmed by just what he has been drawn into, nods sheepishly, but seems to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation and the importance of everything going smoothly.
"There is a viewing gallery with sufficient cover to place some agents, ready to make a move. Trantor, maybe you can watch from there? This will allow for a certain flexibility in response based upon what you observe."
Skeit. I need to light this thing.
"Gereos has access to the floor's camera equipment. The casino keeps a close eye on matters to prevent cheating, stealing, and so on. But we'll use it to monitor Leprade, Trizo, and their cronies' movements. Dunkan--Is there a way you can tell if anyone else is jacked into the system? We have to assume the Enemy will also be watching."
Dunkan smirks slightly, some of the gloom dissolving from his features.
"I can. I knew your team had jacked into the system, but just couldn't determine who or where they exactly were. I'd tell you to give my compliments to your tech-priest, but I don't really need another servant of the Mechanicus wishing me dead."
"As of right now, my only concern was your group, now that I know who they are, picking up on any other interlopers in the data-loom for the Pallazzar should be simple enough."
"I can supply some additional muscle to stay close to the Pinnacle during the match, but I'd advise keeping the bulk of the Gear Box enforcers with Oktammor, Albrek and the others at the cargo-8 in case we need to leave in a hurry. I'll apprise him of what we intend once the plan is finalized. Never hurts to have an Emperor in the hole if everything goes to hell."
"Me and Thul will be on the floor as gamblers in disguise." I look at the Duct Wolf, wondering if he really knows what Astrid has in store for him. "We'll really have to do you up, Thul, to cover your gang markings. I'll pose as a rich, off-world merchant trader here to kill time and spend money."
Savalos' eyebrow arches slightly at this last.
"Between our surveillance and field agents, I'm hoping to gain information. Anything we can. About Leprade, Trizo, the Yellowbacks, the Oremor Penal Legions, anything. Priority will be to try and find if the trail of corruption leads higher." I move over to the Regicide board. "We know that Leprade and Trizo are minions. We need to find out who they serve."
I pick up the black Inquisitor and examine the piece. My thoughts drift back to some of the crime scenes I've previously surveyed: the House of Mercy, the Gelt-Down Docks, the Gearbox. All razed. I know it's not the acolytes fault but I have to say it. I look over at Thul. "If, as you say, things go frag and certain targets present themselves--fine. I hope to see Leprade dead too. But keep in mind the greater cause."
I put the piece back on its square and light up my lho-stick.
Wardja inhales deeply, the lho-smoke filling his lungs and focusing his thoughts.
"Thanks to loyal officers like Luthos and the activities of Iacton and Vendagio, we've been able to put the squeeze on Leprade's arbite support. That may be another reason for their meeting. Or maybe its the assassination of the governor. I don't know. But as you said Thul, there's only one way to find out. That's why I hope we can either see or hear something that will aid our efforts."
"Dunkan, I plan on carrying one of these and may choose an opportune time to use it. Make sure it is properly attenuated and will transmit to our surveillance channel." Out of my pocket I pull a small device out of my pocket and lay it on the table in front of the Heretek.
Dunkan picks the device up, examining it with genuine professional curiosity. He smiles when he realizes just what the cleverly designed vox-device does.
"This will be put to good use, I can assure you."
"OK, that's all I've got. This is an important, very important opportunity. I need feedback. I appreciate, Thul, that you want to hear me out. So... What have I missed? Who else should be on the floor? What other precautions should be made? What other contingencies should be prepared for?"
Gazing around the suite I take another drag and wonder if this meager group will be enough to save a planet.
The unlikely assemblage of disparate Inquisitorial acolytes and those that have been caught up in the wake of the events on Oremor listen intently to Wardja's words, knowing full well what they face.
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
"I have obtained access to the root control systems of the Panopticon cogitator core---there is---much utility here...what is it you wish me to do?"
"Determine the extent of the breach, which routes have been compromised."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, Suite #780
Only an hour later, Savalos finds himself in the lavatorium of the arbitrator's surveillance suite looking with disbelief into the wide curving mirror mounted on the wall. Astrid Beij stands behind him, clad in a black, form-fitting, ablative bodyglove that accentuates her athletic physique. Gone is the heavy layer of courtesan cosmetics she wore as Mollene, her pale skin clean and fresh, her dark hair drawn back into a severe bun on the back of her head. She betrays no expression at the stunning results of Savalos' transformation, her visage unreadable, severe, like a bird of prey affixed on the present object of its interest, nothing more. She has not said a word through the whole process, even when prompted by the ganger's friendly attempts.
The acolyte raises his hand to one pale, powdered cheek, feeling the ringlets of the tall, jet-black, pompadour wig he wears atop his freshly shaven scalp. The ringlets of his former mane of purplish hair still litter the floor, the stark color contrasting vividly with the gleaming white marble tile. The ganger marvels at how the skin-tone dusting of body make-up perfectly conceals the numerous tattoos along his arm as he raises his hand to pinch the significantly extended point of his prosthetically-enhanced nose. The faux-dermal material is like a second skin, and almost feels as real as it looks. The ganger in him is positively stupefied by the dramatic change, and when he sneers in genuine derision at the gross affectation of the tiny, circular mole painted on one cheek, the person in the mirror is not him showing contempt, but some arrogant Uphive nobleman staring down his elongated, fox-like proboscis at something beneath his lofty notice. The clothing completes the illusion; a bluish glamweave velvet surcoat with brocaded golden trim, knee-length trousers tucked into limned black stockings, and patent maulchup's leather boots festooned with golden buckles that seem to serve no practical purpose. The jewel encrusted gold and platinum jewelry Savalos finds himself wearing to complete the unlikely ensemble likely could have purchased most of the old Vaxus hab-block level he used to live in as a youth.
The door slowly opens behind him, allowing the chatter of the other members of the Arbites task force and the ambient sounds of the surveillance equipment to intrude. Wardja and Uriah then walk in, closing the door behind them. The arbitrator merely seems impressed at his fellow acolyte's skill at disguise, but the normally reserved Uriah cannot help but smirk slightly at seeing the stunning transformation that Astrid has wrought upon his once ruggedly disposed companion.
Astrid remarks, "I cannot help him act the part, but he will pass as far as appearances go."
"Savalos will do what is necessary. The stakes are too high to do otherwise."
Once again Astrid has outdone herself. This is a vaunted Duct-Wolf? Not seeing any telltale marks I nod at my partner, "Nice work. Adopting the posture and demeanor of an Up-hive swank should come naturally after facing their derision and scorn from birth."
I begin working on my own transformation, beginning with a clean shave of my week-old stubble.
"Savalos will do what is necessary. The stakes are too high to do otherwise."
"The hair will grow back."
I can see now why my mother chose the under hive. This clothing, makeup and perfume makes my skin crawl.
She always wanted me to get acquainted with Spire Folk. Sadly he had to be like this. Don't know if I can pull it off.
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
Launce turns away from Vincent and communes with the machine-spirit of the Panopticon's cogitator array again, his remaining human eye rolling back into his head to show the whites, arms held out delicately, almost marionette-like, twitching in time with the flow of binary data.
His face transitions from an appearance of intense concentration to a dawning dread, true fear pulling his jaw downward in an aghast grimace. Twitching uncontrollably, he roughly yanks the electro-graft free from the console, before collapsing to his knees.
Again himself, Launce turns to Vincent.
"They are free."
In true tech-priest fashion he recognizes almost immediately that his spontaneous utterance does not provide adequate information, and he elaborates before Vincent or Ryuk can reply.
"The Prisoner, he is free. But not just the daemon-host, all of the highest security prisoner-penitents above us in V-Block have been released from their cells."
The tech-priest shakes his head, as if in disbelief, and Vincent is again reminded how unlike the rest of his kind Launce is, with his still human, idiosyncratic mannerisms.
"Moreover, the entire cogitator core of the claustrum has been corrupted, as well as all other redundant subsystems. There is complete power loss to all non-essential systems; even now the last vestiges of emergency power are trickling to the highest priority sections, such as this one. Even this will terminate soon."
Vincent's eidetic mind opens, blooming like the violet chrunia flowers of the Unduz jungles. Perhaps at the mention of V-Block, the implanted memories of Vermillion-coded secure schemas for the construction of the Oubliette's deepest vaults resurface from his implanted memories, files and blueprints sealed away by Inquisitorial Writ upon pain of death by the Ordo Malleus, some even stamped with purity seals and benedictions to the God Emperor.
Despite the thousands of crabbed notes, printed call-outs and technical jargon crowding the visualized page, the relevance of the designs to the present moment is clear to Vincent immediately.
The floorplans show a large, centralized, stasis-sealed spherical vault, shielded by powerful psy-dampers and hexagramtical wards, in turn encircled by seven smaller spherical cells, similarly warded. The entire cyst-like grouping of penitent vaults sits isolated several levels below V-Block itself, accessed only by a single lift system that pierces the bedrock of the claustrum through a further series of psy-shielded, psyho-reactive bulkheads before terminating in a similarly warded cellblock wing that sits atop the eight cells like a lid.
Your mind feels a tickle, and you tease out something further.
No, the lift is not the only way into the Oubliette...one other route exists, but it does not exist on any of the schematics or the ancillary documentation. It comes from the living machine-memory of Logis Blakswann himself, whom nothing in the claustrum could be hidden from: an imprint on the living webwork of the facilities power draws and air handling cycles that reveals a long, diagonal shaft, more or less the modern equivalent of those once used to access certain ancient tombs, originating from a sealed suite of offices designated for visiting agents of the Inquisition in sub-level 7. It terminates at the end of the Oubliette's lowest wing above the eight spherical cells.
"Yes. The Prisoner is free. I sense the deadness in the path he took. He was merciless."
"We should avoid him if we can."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Just once, Savalos wishes it didn't have to be about the numbers.
Looking across the crowded gallery of the Pinnacle of Pearl, his gaze again falls on the odd table edged in the soft, sepia tones of Unduz shellwood. It is roughly kidney-shaped, the surface a downy-soft patina of midnight blue felt comprising a circle at the table's widest point. On the left-most edge, a trailing, curving extension of the table encloses the dealer's side somewhat, holding the stacked chips and Heretic's Wake placards, making the whole thing look something like a sickle shaped teardrop. It fills him with a deep sense of unease when he again counts the ornately carved high-back chairs surrounding it.
Nine.
His attention is diverted for some reason to a slender female form gliding through the crowd of Upspire nobility mingling around the refreshment tables that ring the luxurious sunken circle of the Gran Pallazzar's most elite gambling enclave. As she passes between two ostentatiously dressed harridans bickering over the freshness of the estuary shrimp, he recognizes Astrid Beij, the abitrator, her own transformation rendering her nearly unrecognizable. Where she once affected the sultry and provocatively dressed smile girl, Mollene, she now is positively anonymous, clad in the simple black service dress of the Pinnacle's attentive hospitality staff. The only thing that identifies her is the cold glare she gives Savalos, apparently the distraction that caught his eye a second ago. Her look speaks volumes, reminding him that by gawking he is imperiling the verisimilitude of the disguise she spent so long perfecting for him. He reverts to the pompous sneer he has been maintaining since he and Wardja arrived at the penthouse level of the Gran Pallazzar, hoping it will be satisfactory to her. When he looks again, she is gone, strolling demurely through the throng with her tray.
Wardja makes the subtle exchange from across the room, and suppresses a grin. Two of the arbitrators on loan to him from Ruvos Halleon shadow his movements, garbed in formal-wear themselves but easily identifiable as bodyguards just the same. Of course, this is fine, as no self-respecting executor of the esteemed Skaelen-Har Hegemony would be seen without such protection. He takes in the inconceivably wealthy elites and casino personnel, noting each by turn, wondering if anyone else is something more than they seem. He drags deeply on his lho-stick, unaccustomed to the potency of the high-grade leaf that Astrid insisted he adopt to perfect his masquerade. Sometimes cheaper is better, he thinks, coughing under his breath. He wonders why Savalos was so mesmerized by the table a moment ago. So far there is no sign of their guests of honor, but he imagines that Leprade and Trizo are only running fashionably late.
He has to admit to himself that the Pinnacle really is a marvel. Although the Luminous Antechamber is witnessed by thousands daily and renowned across the sub-sector for its majesty and luminous, almost breathtaking beauty, it seems the management of Gran Pallazzar spared absolutely no expense with their grandest creation, even though only the most powerful and illustrious of Oremor will ever lay eyes upon it. Perhaps it is this exclusivity itself that helps set it apart. The entire level is an oblate-sphere built on a cathedral-like scale, ringed by a single-tiered gallery level and mezzanine midway up its gently curving walls, bounding by low railings overlooking the casino below. The scale and shape of this architectural marvel would be extraordinary even if it were not artistically shaped from a single, titanic pearl harvested from one of Oremor's oldest living things; a deep-vent mollusk of stupefying proportions known as a black nacre. These massive, nigh-mythic dwellers of the deepest ocean rifts are sought sector wide for the quality of their cystic inner treasures, but even the largest are rarely found any bigger than a meter in diameter. It is rumored that several hundred years ago, shortly after the construction of the Gran Pallazzar, the greatest of the gaming magnates of the time in Vaxus District set his extravagant sights on the most breathtaking architectural capstone imaginable for his life's work. The legendary pearl was discovered and harvested at astronomical expense, carved with curving passageways, chambers and vaults by Magos-wielded fusion torches at even greater outlay of gelt, and finally airlifted from the Geltdown Docks to be deposited atop the Gran Pallazzar on the day of its completion. Looking around at the perfect, mirror-sheen iridescence of the rounded walls, walls that seem to exude an indefinable, almost indescribable hue of rainbow-tinged light, even Wardja admits to some awe. Still, there is something about the weird, oil-sheen nacreousness of the undulating every-color that is vaguely disquieting. It is alleged that the entirety of the Pinnacle is illuminated from the light of a single candle at its center, the dim light of this one taper carried and transformed as it is reflected and refracted through the sinuous corridors and curves of the spheroid. Now then, where would that candle be exactly? He wonders about this as he surveys the open space overhead, eyes glancing along the edge of the encircling gallery high above.
Uriah catches his eye, but makes no gesture of acknowledgement from his perch in the very first row of the upper gallery. His vantage point allows him to see far more than the others, and as he finishes his count, he estimates that there are perhaps thirty incredibly wealthy personages milling about around the most expensive, floor-level seats below. There are perhaps three times that many in the gallery level from where he watches, the luxurious refuge of the second-tier ultra-rich, owners of entire manufactories, chartist vessels, or privatized plantation-nations from the Orcut continental interior. Along with these well-heeled personages, the occasional senior Adepta slumming it, and even a few of the more notorious Underhive power-brokers round out the ranks. Many chairs and tables ring the vaguely discomfiting shape of the central gaming table below, and even now, many are making their way to their assigned seating or returning to the enclosed servitor-carried sedan chairs that brought them to the Pinnacle of Pearl. Beside him, the curious of the lesser ultra-wealthy can only gawk at their betters below with jewel encrusted opera glasses, while puffing on the ubiquitous myconoid-filled hookah's that preposterously serve as a vice of choice on this doomed world.
Uriah takes a final note of the his allies positions below, finally spying Sgt. Einhardt acting with perfect mummery as he pulls the upholstered chair out from beneath a table for some garishly decorated spire-lady in the most servile manner imaginable. She barely acknowledges his presence, merely flipping the violet-plumed boa she wears over one shoulder, as she rigidly sits, the vice-like corset she wears forcing her sit unnaturally upright.
As he looks upon the central portion of the casino floor, Uriah notices a barely discernible recessed circle, about seven meters in diameter, just behind the audience's seating, conspicuous for the fact that no tables or chairs rest upon it. A loose ring of Gran Pallazzar enforcers surround the velvet-ropes cordoning it off. He frowns, trying to guess at what it might be.
Somewhere Dark
Kaltos suddenly registers his strange prison's lateral movement come to a halt. After a short pause, it then begins to slowly ascend, before stopping again. His internal gyroscopic dampers detect a slight sway to his cell as it is arrested following the elevator-like movement.
What, precisely, is happening?
The Oubliette, The Panopticon
"Very well, we will have to travel quickly. We have to leave before the power gives out."
Vincent loosens the Sliver of Calyx in his belt as he fixes the route out of the Oubliette in his mind, preparing to lead the makeshift party out of danger.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Unbelievable construction. The material--Does it have some sort of channeling properties? Is the location of the facility important to warp-sensitive creatures? Skeitan! I wished I had thought of this at Dunkan's. What if Leprade and Trizo's rendezvous is not a meeting but some sort of ceremony? What if they hope to perform some sort of ritual?
When Astrid passes by I order a drink. She knows to bring a faux beverage minus any mind-altering properties.
I spend my time over hearing other Nose Bleeds conversations. Listening to how they talk, and interact with one another. Anything to give me an edge in playing my part. I just hope they leave me alone. I don't know how long I could tolerate talking with such soft people, and there trivial concerns. (My makeup is running, this outfit is to tight. How dare so and so wear the same outfit as me...) Nothing like worrying where your going to get your next meal.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
While Wardja anxiously speculates over the troubling possibility that something in the bizarre architecture of the Pinnacle of Pearl was the reason it was chosen specifically by Leprade and Trizo, perhaps for an as yet unknown affinity to the Warp, Astrid casually passes him a chilled flute containing a sweet-smelling concoction of Oremite juices and ice. Seeing the consternation showing on the face of her boss, she briefly breaks character and gives him a direct glance that reminds him to maintain his cover. She then smiles the polite, clinically sterile smile of an experienced hospitality staffer and continues on her way.
Astrid passes Savalos without a look on the other end of the room just as Thul realizes that one of the spire-snobs' vapid concerns is afflicting him as well. Taking one gloved hand away from his cheek, he finds the fingers dotted with white powder and perspiration. While distracted in this momentary bit of cosmetic maintenance, an elderly woman, well over a century old, garbed in a tightly corseted purple gown approaches him. Her snow-white hair is swept up in a towering bouffant, pierced through in numerous places with ornate jade pins topped with graven faces depicting various and sundry emotional states. Her posture is somewhat stooped and forward leaning, but the golden cane she carries seems more for appearance than anything else, as she is clearly the beneficiary of her fair share of juvenat treatments. She clutches something small and black in both hands, petting and stroking its fuzzy-furred head in adoring caresses. Savalos can just make out two beady eyes regarding him with interest from the thatch of hair covering the thing's pug-face, but cannot tell if the the lap-pet is felid or canid. The aging spire-dame grants him a brittle smile by way of greeting, and then begins a conversation with him in a manner that only the fabulously wealthy, utterly secure in their station in life, can: simultaneously both outwardly warm and dismissively condescending.
"You! I know you from somewhere, your features are so distinctive, and I never forget a face. Harummmmm...your attire is hopelessly out of vogue in the upper spires of Orcut, but you wear it with a confidence that leads me to believe that it is a deliberate affectation on your part, so perhaps you are something of an avante-garde in the fashion industry, yes? Still, though I know many in the profession, you I do not recall. But still, yes, the cheekbones, the eyes, you are known to me, yes? No, no...let me guess...I so love to guess such things!"
Uriah watches Savalos' enter into conversation with an elderly, harridan aristrocrat from the Upspires for a time before turning his attention to the milling throng that even now begins to gravitate into discrete clusters of the mingling elite. Some observation suggests that the social circles forming are predicated upon level of wealth, vocation, and relative standing amongst the assembled spire-born, and he tries to make sense of the patterns among the gallery as the room begins to fill. Those that are accompanied by valets, attendants, and bodyguards or personal security seem to have trains of humanity following in their wake, making it relatively simple to observe the most likely participants in the tournament. A quick glance at those around him in the balcony level suggest that they, too, are partaking in the guilty pleasure of gaping at the elaborate dance of power and politicking that justifies the extravagance of such events. The voidborn psyker tries to drown out the banality of their background thoughts as they burble around him, instead focusing on detecting anything of note that may be occurring below.
Two things immediately cross my mind. She is either a busy body, or she is scouting me out for the benefit of another.
Either case its just my fragging luck. And the fashion industry!?!? By the Throne just shoot me.
I smile warmly at the lady. "Do go on. I would love to see if you can solve the riddle of who I am. That you are making such a game of it."
Gag.... Hopefully she is the type who will do all the talking. Then I can leave to the heretic match.
While Wardja anxiously speculates... Astrid... briefly breaks character and gives him a direct glance that reminds him to maintain his cover...
Astrid's glare is like a slap in the face. Skeit! Focus! I smile and nod as the drink is delivered. After a sip I beckon one of my "bodyguards" as if to whisper something confidential in his ear. Quietly over the bead while shielding my mouth, "Trantor--Are you noticing any warp anomalies?"
I then casually make my way to the gaming tables.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
With his attention focused on picking out the potential participants in the Heretics Wake tournament from the larger throng of mingling spectators, Uriah is the first to notice when Leprade arrives.
The lone entrance from the lower levels of the Gran Pallazzar to the Pinnacle of Pearl is a wide, sweeping, spiral staircase in the center of the casino floor, shaped from the very heart of the hollow, pinkish, nacreous material that comprises the entirety of the expansive room. To Uriah it looks like nothing more than the involute perfection of a spiraling nautiloid shell. Leprade wears all black finery, accented with green trim, and a modest amount of golden jewelry, but otherwise nothing about his attire betrays his station as a senior arbitrator. Four, large, stony-faced men, obviously bodyguards of some type by their confident gait and the barely perceptible bulge of hardened bodygloves beneath their black dress clothing follow in his wake like an unobtrusive wall of implied threat, eyes scanning the casino floor for anything amiss. Two of the four have pronounced ocular augmetics that look like nothing more than affixed, wrap-around glare shades. Leprade moves toward the nearest refreshment table and takes a slim flute of crystal from one of the hospitality staff before casting his own gaze about the proceedings.
Wardja notices Leprade as well, it is impossible not to, really, as the traitor arbitrator and his retinue of low profile enforcers pass within arms-length of him while on his way to the refreshment station. He takes pains not to draw attention, but his instincts as an arbitrator refuse to allow him to refrain from discreetly sizing up his quarry now that he is seeing him for the first time in person. The 77th Precinct Intelligencer is a tall man with a proportionate build and cloudy blue eyes limned by the silvered, ringing flicker of expensive augmetics. His hair is long and steel gray, receding from a pronounced widow's peak and pulled back into a short, hacked-off tail behind his head that is bound in concentric golden rings adorned with petrified drought-crab shell. His nose is long, almost raptor-like, and pulls slightly to the left from being broken and reset imperfectly sometime long ago, the only imperfection to mar otherwise handsome features. He moves with purpose, sparing you and everyone in his path what seems a cursory glance, but is clearly a careful, methodical cataloging of his environment and surroundings.
The old spire-dame obviously takes some imagined slight by something in the forwardness in your manner; it is clear that the nettlesome old woman is used to directing the flow of a conversation.
"A riddle? Pshhht, I do not bandy about with gauche glam-weave fabricators for my own amusement, sir, I merely find something familiar in your countenance that elicited my curiosity. It is your place to answer in a fashion that meets, but does not exceed your station. One would think you have never spoken before to a spire-born! Now, the proper etiquette in this setting is to introduce oneself, straightaway, particularly when speaking to one's betters. Now, how may I address you, that I may make my own introduction?"
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Upper Panopticon/V-Block Sub-Level N
Leaving the Panopticon and the seething bedlam of hungry cries emanating from the abominations that are overrunning the Oubliette below, Vincent, Ryuk, and Launce make their way along narrow gantries and spiraling service stairwells by dint of the senior clerk's almost supernatural recollection of the claustrum's architecture, imparted to him by his communion with Logis Blakswann. Unable to utilize the unpowered lifts, the cautious trio instead find themselves advancing level by level through dust-choked maintenance stairwells to escape the Panopticon, while forcing open heavy bulkhead doors with dormant machine-spirits and long-dead mag-locks. Disturbingly, almost every vault-like door leading to the various levels of V-Block stands open, the individual penitent cells thrown wide, with no sign of struggle or violence. It appears almost as if someone simply let all of those imprisoned here free. The various guard stations they wander through are forlorn and empty, often with half-full cups of caf or long-ashed lho-sticks sitting unattended on workstations as if they were left in haste and never returned to. Munitorum weapon lockers stand empty and ransacked as if those who opened them did so in a great hurry. Vincent keeps expecting to find bodies, or other signs of violence, but none are in evidence, as if there was both a mass exodus of guards and prisoners but somehow no confrontation.
Finally, the group reaches a point in an isolated maintenance corridor on sub-level N of V-Block that gives the senior clerk pause. Examining the stenciled level designation on the wall and the patterns of corrosion along its surface, Vincent chuckles wryly, his eidetic memory coming to the fore again. Looking behind him and to the left he notes the small, inconspicuous black bulge of the hidden picter, the very one that recorded Commmissar Sepuetanq Ekubal's presence during the picter audit that Vincent conducted what seems like several lifetimes ago. It was here that the corrupted Commissar was last observed prior to appearing, impossibly, only seconds later, in the Warden Colonel's dining chamber countless levels and kilometers above. Coincidentally, the location in the senior clerk's mental cartographic recollection of the claustrum complex corresponds roughly to where the undocumented Inquisitorial access shaft's terminus would be located.
Looking around, however, there is no obvious sign of any door or other passageway here.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Wardja notices Leprade as well, it is impossible not to, really, as the traitor arbitrator and his retinue of low profile enforcers pass within arms-length of him while on his way to the refreshment station. He takes pains not to draw attention, but his instincts as an arbitrator refuse to allow him to refrain from discreetly sizing up his quarry now that he is seeing him for the first time in person.. [Leprade] moves with purpose, sparing you and everyone in his path what seems a cursory glance, but is clearly a careful, methodical cataloging of his environment and surroundings.
It is too tempting--Momentarily I let my eyes linger upon the corrupt arbite. I keep my expression as bland as possible. Trying to pick up any clue I can. As we pass my gaze meets his for just a fleeting second. Hoping I don't give any tell-tale signs...
<<None yet.>>
I snort at the Nose Bleeds Matron's response. Sadly I know she is still trying to be civil. Yet when I look into her eyes I realize she and her world are more alien to me than my time spent with K'lei-eth.
There is no way I can BS her, but mixed with a bit of truth maybe I can get her to leave me alone.
"Dear Lady, do not assume because I am dressing down that I am of lower status. As for my name it is Savalos of House Dawnstar. I prefer anonymity at this time."
Deep down I hope honesty works to my advantage. Otherwise this whole situation and stake out just went to Frag.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Upper Panopticon/V-Block Sub-Level N
"Launce, if you were to conceal hidden portal at this location, how would you do it?"
"What makes you suspect that there is a hidden passageway here, Vincent?"
"I do not suspect, I know."
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Upper Panopticon/V-Block Sub-Level N
Launce stops dead in his tracks at Vincent's decisive, almost ineluctable reply to Ryuk, and turns to stare directly at the place on the wall that the senior clerk gestures toward. He betrays no outward sign of it, but both Ryuk and Vincent can sense, the former psychically, the latter from his supernaturally astute powers of observation, that the tech-priest is visibly awestruck by this seemingly spontaneous, though rather innocuous utterance from Vincent.
In bizarre fashion, Launce segues into a strange, quiet soliloquy. Vincent is immediately reminded of some of the unfathomable things the Logis Blakswann imparted to him prior to his destruction in the Datacore. Mentions of temporal anomalies, possibility clusters, and the inexplicable sense during their conversation that they had spoken in the same circumstances countless times before.
Something about the odd young tech-priest's coy manner, and knowing smile when they first met...as if knew a secret, as if he had played this part countless times before. As if Launce recognized him.
"Finally, I never thought we'd actually reach it. After so many attempts, so many failures..."
Emerging from his reverie, perhaps sensing Vincent's cold gaze upon him, the tech-priest rather self-consciously flips his topknot to his other shoulder, augemtic eye irising closer to closed as he examines the otherwise unremarkable wall minutely.
He sighs deeply, and relents somewhat, knowing that Vincent will not let the moment pass.
What he next says is decidedly unexpected.
"I was born on Oremor, you know."
Rook
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
The spire-dame's pursed lips and haughty air, almost pugnaciously smug in her assumed superiority, undergoes a startling transformation in the instant Savalos' words register with her. Her skin blanches, visible even beneath her caked-on powder veneer, and her old, yellow-white eyes go wide in shock. Even the lap-pet stops mewling for a moment as if sensing his mistresses unease.
Sav knows then that there can be no questioning her certainty as to who he is. She had already recognized the family resemblance he shares with his line, but just had not made the connection.
"I---I---you---but---you..."
Even Savalos is impressed with her decorum and mastery of etiquette as she recovers swiftly from the shock of whatever revelation his identity has meant to her.
"...that is, you have my deepest and most profound apologies, Lord Dawnstar, I had not known that someone of your stature would be attending such a tawdry little fête such as this."
The curiosity, and is it apprehension, fear? Whatever it may be that colors her suddenly dancing old eyes even takes Savalos slightly aback. He realizes then what it conveys. She is reacting like she just found herself speaking to a dead person.
She recovers herself exceptionally well given the circumstances, a testament to her longevity in the cut-and-thrust that is the daily life of Orcut Hive nobility, and leans in rather conspirationally to whisper,
"I am ashamed to admit that I was under the mistake assumption that your line was no more..."
Its almost a relief when the Matron looks as if she is speaking to a ghost. It shows that they are human after all.
I am still not sure if I had made the right decision, but with her showing discretion it does make me feel better about it.
In a low voice, "Your assumption was nearly truth. I hope you keep my identity secret between us until I am ready to announce myself. I am merely here this evening to observe." and learn...
"You now have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I do not know yours Lady......?"
As I await her response. I mull over her words. Someone of my stature. The way the Old She Wolf made it sound; I always thought we were of one of the lesser houses. This Spire Dame noticed me right off. Just how high up the Spire does my blood run?
My mind flashes back to the mural in the Astropathic Choir. The Wolves were the descendents of those who fought to liberate this world. It would only make sense that its Officers would be picked to rule it. The Old She Wolf didn't flee into the Underhive. It was a calculated move against The Hitchhiker.
Sadly I will need Noble Blood to help me learn more about my family. As it stands I don't even know where in the Spires to even start.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
As shrewd as the elderly spire-dame is at maintaining a facade masking her true emotions, she cannot help but reveal a certain amount of self-satisfied smugness, almost bordering on girlish glee at the her discovery of this most wonderful of secrets. Savalos can clearly see that her calculating mind is already projecting the advantage it will give her. She seems to notice his scrutiny, and in true theatrical fashion puts on a face of sober, concerned attention.
"How rude of me, I am the Dowager-Marcheza Cinzia dol Vingere, my late husband, the Marchez of Dannigaça, purchased the Dawnstar family holdings, including Spire 7, the Dawnspindle, at auction following the sorrowful tragedy that befell your relations so many years ago."
She seems to be weighing what you make of this revelation, trying to read into your reaction any further advantage she can. There is no question in your mind that the Dowager-Marcheza could be playing in this tournament should she desire to do so.
"Rest assured, Lord Savalos, your secret could be no safer than with one such as myself. In fact, this serendipitous relationship may prove to be mutually beneficial for our houses should you desire to cultivate it still further."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Wardja has worked time and time again with Astrid, so much so that even the most basic of communications, even absent any outward tone or inflection, can speak volumes due to their familiarity with each other. So heightened is this synergy, particularly now, that he senses the danger implicit in her voice through the microbead, even though it is but a single, clipped word.
<<<Boss...>>>
Watching the ripple of concern flow over the faces of Halleon's two disguised arbitrators that accompany him, Swinthosa Wardja turns slowly on his heel not knowing what to expect, but prepared for anything.
Intelligencer Leprade approaches him, his own security detail in tow, a genial look on his face. Even so, his dissolute blue eyes seem honed to an unreadable focus as the silver-edge of the expensive augmetics contract, his gaze brushing across the faces of your bodyguards before coming to rest on your own.
His voice is light, but something runs beneath it, an undercurrent that puts Wardja on his guard.
"Greetings."
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Intelligencer Poul Leprade of the Adeptus Arbites of Oremor, Vaxus Precinct, and it seems, you, my friend, are the face of the competition."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Upper Panopticon/V-Block Sub-Level N
Launce's hands, bolstered by the extensible auspex devices that telescope from the tip of one finger, make a quick but methodical circuit over the otherwise unremarkable wall. The utility mechadendrite hidden beneath his nearly ruined robes slides beneath his left arm, and works in concert with his organic one, gently tapping the surface of the duralloy with some manner of lobe-shaped, sounding apparatus affixed to the tip.
He speaks while he works.
"I grew up, a feral urchin in the slums of Vaxus District in Orcut Hive, doing whatever it took to survive. I was not a strong child, a weakling compared to many of the other boys, so I took my beatings when fighting over the scraps of sustenance that were to be had, and was often hungry. Nor did I have a voice to beg with, I was a mute, unable to even ask for mercy when the other boys fell on me. There is no such thing as pity in the Underhive, so I used my mind instead. I became a lookout for gangers, serving as their eyes and ears, as my senses were always sharp."
His mechadendrite taps with a hollow bonging sound on one portion of the wall, midway up its height, and his dirty fingers work at scraping the grit and filth away from the surface. He finally slips one nail beneath what appears to be a tiny, circular panel, prying the hinged lid away from where it was flush with the wall. Dropping to his knees, he examines the resultant hole intently, still speaking.
"A long time ago, for me that is, I came to serve a brute named Raucho, an enforcer for one of the hive-gangs on this world. He was a savage who would murder his own mother for the next dose of stimm, but he kept me on because I had a knack for picking out the best marks, those with something worth stealing, that is, who wandered through our little hell. There came a day when I was following some obvious off-worlders, honestly, I was mostly fascinated by one of their number, a strange-looking man with blue skin; tall and thin, I'd never seen anything like him before. Later in life, I'd see more voidborn, but just then, for a child like me, it was like seeing a living, breathing xenos. I trailed them for a time, saw they were armed but lost, and did what I always did, tipped off Raucho for some corpse starch rations. Still, something about it didn't sit right with me then, so I watched as they came to meet their deaths in the roundabout. Something strange happened then. I felt the blue-skinned man touch my mind, a tickle of the Warp that laid bare my thoughts and greatly unsettled me. I could sense the violence that was to come when Raucho confronted them. After the psyker's touch I knew they were not ordinary marks..."
Launce peers into the gap in the door, poking delicately with sliver-like probes that retract from the fingertips of his other hand. He squints slightly, and his augemtic eye irises in time with the real one as he examines what he has discovered.
"Needless to say, Raucho and his gang didn't fair too well. I can't say I was sad. Only worried. My one source of regular food was gone, so I wandered the ruined habs, slowly starving. I woke up some time later to find that an angel was watching over me. She was a beautiful thing, all golden wings, like a girl-child given flight. There was something sad about her, too. She went away soon after, and I would have thought it a fever dream if I didn't see her again, another time."
The young tech-priest drives a narrow file-awl into the hole and twists, exposing an electro-graft port that slowly extends outward from the small declivity in the wall.
"I'd like to say that this experience changed me, but after the angel was gone, I fell in with Terko, one of Raucho's old gangers, one of the lucky ones that had survived that day. I went back to work, until one day a fire fell upon Vaxus, something exploded from our false sky. I followed the metal-man that came out of it for time, and quickly realized there was something about him that reminded me of one of the others. Terko had beaten me, done worse to me since I started working for him, so I made up my mind to end our relationship. I shadowed the new stranger and led Terko and his fellows to him, knowing full well what would happen. He killed Terko easily, and when I moved in to scavenge whatever food I could manage, I was so hungry by then I didn't care what might happen, he didn't hurt me, just flipped me one of the ganger's prybars and went on his way."
Launce's eletro-graft whirs and turns, a chatter of binary interrupting his words for a moment, and the second he retracts it from the port, the whole wall slowly accordions away to reveal a dusty, hollow containing an archway with a massive adamantine blast door set into it, framed in crumbling ferrocrete. He continues speaking, a grim grin of reminiscence on his pale face.
"The tech-priest was gone for a few minutes, but when I happened to look up I saw the girl-angel roosting on an old lumen post over the alleyway he went down, as if marking the way for me. I still can't say why I followed him, but I think it was the angel more than anything else."
Vincent and Ryuk look upon the massive door behind the wall, the senior clerk easily recognizing the massive, stylized "I" emblazoned with the skull motif embossed in its shining surface.
Launce breathes out from his exertions, gazing at the massive bulkhead with distant eyes. Ryuk and Vincent barely here his next words, so softly are they spoken from his gently hissing vox.
"A lot has happened since that day."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
As shrewd as the elderly spire-dame is at maintaining a facade masking her true emotions, she cannot help but reveal a certain amount of self-satisfied smugness, almost bordering on girlish glee at the her discovery of this most wonderful of secrets. Savalos can clearly see that her calculating mind is already projecting the advantage it will give her. She seems to notice his scrutiny, and in true theatrical fashion puts on a face of sober, concerned attention.
"How rude of me, I am the Dowager-Marcheza Cinzia dol Vingere, my late husband, the Marchez of Dannigaça, purchased the Dawnstar family holdings, including Spire 7, the Dawnspindle, at auction following the sorrowful tragedy that befell your relations so many years ago."
She seems to be weighing what you make of this revelation, trying to read into your reaction any further advantage she can. There is no question in your mind that the Dowager-Marcheza could be playing in this tournament should she desire to do so.
"Rest assured, Lord Savalos, your secret could be no safer than with one such as myself. In fact, this serendipitous relationship may prove to be mutually beneficial for our houses should you desire to cultivate it still further."
Seems I will be getting early practice with my poker face this evening. I smile warmly at the Matron. Spending my whole life grouping up around gangers, and Duct Wolves I know the look of a predator when I see one.
"Certainly. Perhaps we will be able to speak more freely at a later time?"
Frag this means I need to dress up like this again.
What concerns me most is how quickly her husband bought up my families spire. A whole spire, thats serious wealth, and some serious cojones to buy it up after the whole family was slaughtered. He was either trying to protect something or get some family secret that is locked away.
Suspicions of who good ol' Marchez is.
"Lady Cinzia, if you permit you the honor of calling you so. Perchance do you have a holo pic of yourself and your late husband? I would so love to look upon the face of the man who brought life back into the Dawnspindle."
As with the Wolves being wiped out. There were still eyes and ears of the survivors. I expect the same here. Loyalty, pride, revenge, whichever I know they have to be out there. Like gangs, they are always contingencies.
All I do know is I have to pay a visit to the Dawnspire. It being Spire 7 is not by chance, and the key Uriah gave me from my mother unlocks the answers why.
Hope the rest of the team is taking notice that I am speaking to this lady a lot longer than I probably should.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Upper Panopticon/V-Block Sub-Level N
Vincent nods periodically as he listens to Launce's monologue, unconsciously maintaining the social niceties he has learned to imitate so well. He files it away in his memory for future reference, usually supremely uninterested in the petty details of others' personal lives, Vincent has the sneaking suspicion this information may prove useful one day.
"Lets be off then."