Dr. Grey actually laughed, setting down the empty bowl that had been in his hands for a few moments. The sound of the laugh was genuine but discordant all the same. "I meant share my research with the rest of the order, of course. It's not like my name could sway a publisher to print something for me, these days. That room sounds perfect. I am a trained physician too, so I'll make sure to keep a part of it stocked and ready for actual medical situations. It has been a while since I've worked with living sub-... patients." 'Other then myself that is.'
The correction was probably too late to undo the harm, but it was more for himself anyway. A gentle reminder that living 'patients' were not to be studied, just fixed. Tedious, but likely of some value to a group like this when divine magic was needed for other things. He gave a small smile again, but this one was most decidedly fake. It was meant to be polite, to put others at ease, but either he was so bad it didn't make a difference or he hadn't practiced it in a long time. Beneath those overly reflective glasses of his, the smile was simply unnerving. Or perhaps insulting.
The good doctor leaned back, apparently content with where his negotiations had gone. He didn't seem suspicious, or he simply didn't care, if the group before him was actually what they said they were. Still, he hadn't actually said yes yet either, had he?
Stella's eyes widen in discomfort at Dr. Grey's slip, shooting a nervous look toward Alandre before shoving it off to address Raz's question. "There is something collaborative in play. Most conspiracies tend to have one small group acting on their own, but in each organization we believe to be infiltrated, we've seen cooperation. A student at the Arcanimirium whose father sits on the Peal District council goes missing, reported only by his family when he fails to visit for several weekends in a row. The district does little, the guard ignores him, and the academy claims that he is busy studying and hasn't left the school, only to be found a day later, rituallistically slain in the home of a missing city guardsman, dead for three days when we found him.Neither his death nor the death of a missing guardsman are looked into where usually such a finding would stir the watch into a frenzied investigation. Then, his body disappears from our morgue, and his father claims that he is being stalked by the risen corpse of his son. Messages like 'They will hold me in this decaying prison until you change your course' are smeared in animal blood across his door. Then he and his entire family are found massacred by a burst of cold that left the entire room around them frozen, and our missing cadaver lying on the floor covered in cuts. Our experts say it was the Detonate spell, cast by himself, a low apprentice. The palace, the Arcanimirium, and the guard all did nothing about the wholeslae slaughter of a seated politician's family. Do you have a better suggestion?"
Alandre closes his eyes, wincing a little at Erasmus's implications and calming himself before speaking. "Does claiming she hasn't gone on a mission in months add up? A Pathfinder dying in the field is nothing new, but never is it treated with such silence and suspicion. They're memorialized as heroes, their families notified and allowed to grieve, rather than lying about correspondence and claiming she hasn't gone on a mission in months, all of her paperwork conventiently gone when they need it. Please humour me, Mr. Ames, and imagine you were hired for a job that involved retrieving something. You discovered it was significantly more powerful than you were led to believe, and your employer wishes to visit you and the object rather than you bringing it to them. You hole up an inn for a few days while your employer makes it to you, and then you're never heard from again and your employer refuses to acknowledge they ever hired you. Would it be more likely you're lying, or that your employer was tying up loose ends?"
While Laurence is initially moved by Alandre's story about his daughter, the investigator has been told a lot of stories in his life and to date the vast majority of them were untrue. He does not wear his scrutiny on his sleeve in Annabeth's manner, but instead stills his breathing and observes the man's facial expressions, his ticks and tells of emotion, the practiced movement of his mouth to see how many times he has told the story and with how many variations and other telltale signs to determine a man's motive.
"Absalom is a very big city. A lot of very bad things can hide in a very big city," Laurence observes after a slow nod. "I also understand that you are risking much of your operation to divulge any more than you already have in order to convince us to join your clandestine operation. And this, in turn, may pose further risk to your daughter."
If she still lives goes without saying. A father must and often will retain hope unto the bitter end, and sometimes even beyond, a fact Laurence understands instinctually and has recently witnessed in the pleas of the fathers of those missing, would-be slaves. His gaze meets Alandre's and he hopes to communicate his empathy in just that one look.
"I assume that is where we would come in. As a Pathfinder, she had access to a great deal of information and is one of your strongest leads right now. But each of you have your own areas to monitor and are, I intuit, stretched too thin and perhaps too well known to dedicate the resources to that task. While the threat of any cult or conspiracy, of any kind, working its influence on Absalom's institutions is a danger to everyone, it would seem your daughter is in the most immediate danger."
Laurence looks down the table at the treasure hunters, the doctor, and the PIs. "We must decide individually whether or not we wish to be involved. One of you is already negotiating terms, but I understand if any of the rest of you would feel more comfortable taking the offer privately, should any of the rest of us decline. If the rest of you feel it necessary, we may retire upstairs to think upon it for whatever time you deem necessary and then either return to this main room or stay in for the night. That way, one may accept the offer without knowledge from those who decline, and those who decline may do so without judgment."
Realizing that his suggestion may be far too organized for such a group, he shrugs and adds, "Or you may dispense with the suggestion altogether and boldly declare your allegiances for all to hear with nary a care."
"I have little illusion about my daughter being alive," he says, and it doesn't take a careful observation of his mien to hear the pain in his voice. "It's more likely she was dressed as a commoner and left dead in the streets, nameless and insignificant to the guard. If they have such little compulsion against killing then why would they take her prisoner? No, I don't fear any further danger coming upon her, and knowing her soul is at peace has given me purpose. I will risk everything I have to see justice brought to Captain Corten and every other member of whatever vile organization she's a part of." His eyes shut tight, and Kotri's hand is alread at his shoulder, patting it reassuringly.
"If you want to keep it private," the dwarf begins while the noble puts his head into his hands and emotion comes flooding in. "Then you may go up to your rooms and rest. If you are willing to join us, be down here bright and early, as you'll be going with Lieutenant Riodos to begin aiding us. If you'd like to decline, then sleep in, enjoy breakfeast on the house, and then part ways. Although I implore each of you who refuses to please not reveal a word of what's happened here to anybody."
Laurence breathes in through his nose, even forgetting the little "disgraced reject" comment from earlier that had lodged in his craw. "What was her name, m'lord?"
"Now wait just a minute," says Raz, sitting up straighter in his seat. No longer dismissive outright, he's still far from convinced. "Your daughter, she..." He trails off, deciding that the subject required more delicacy than he had the patience for. "It all sounds like a bunch of cover-ups, they probably are. That kinda thing happens a lot." Raz raises both hands, leaning forward slightly. "But where's this super-cult figure in to all this? What's the bigger picture here? What makes you think that these smaller things are all part of a bigger one?" His voice turns accusatory as he says, "What d'you need a couple o' foreign treasure hunters doin' your dirty work for?" He sighs, shaking his head, the disbelief giving way to sober consideration. "I'll take yer money, but this ain't about money. This is about a cause. Right now, I just ain't buyin' it." He takes another drink before adding, "But I never let that stop me before. What d'you think, Baqir?"
Finding stuff was what Miranda was good at - not political intrigue. Needless to say, she felt a little out of her depth. During the conversation she soaked as much information as possible, resisting the urge to retrieve her notebook and writing stuff down. I don't think they would like that ...
"Liana," he says, fighting back tears and pulling himself back together. Once the moment had passed and he seems more whole and stable, he addresses Erasmus. "I meant no offense by the 'foreign' remark, I apologize. But Geb is very different from Absalom, and frankly from all of Avistan. I believe that the change in perspective that outsiders can provide would allow us to think outside of how the city operates, outside our assumptions. The majority of our order has lived somewhere on Avistan our whole lives, so we felt it wise to reach out to people with specialties elsewhere, who could look at situations differently."
"Our belief," Miriel says, [/b]"Is that whatever relic she found with worrying necromantic powers is something the cult wanted. Liana was a divination specialist whose talents and instincts lended themselves to treasure hunting. We suspect they used her abilities to find a power object they sought, then had her slain. Whether a cover-up, or something off the books and unofficial, we don't yet know. There is a lot we're still piecing together, but we've so far been able to connect many of our people of interest to one another in ways that can hardly be coincidental."[/b]
Alandre straightens out his collar and his sleeves, clearing his throat a little. "If you don't wish to support a cause, then we could simply pay you to handle stray threats of the undead. We're driven together by the growing danger and conspiracy, but we still have use for someone well-versed in putting down the risen dead, something you're certainly capable of doing. Whether these forces are working together or not is your decision to believe, but there are still necromancers in this city we'd like put down, and mnoey is little object to me."
"Whether or not there is a 'super cult'," Grey begins, having listened enough to think he knew how he would decide, "These events are unusual and right down our alley's. If you do not believe for certain, but still think something odd of the events they speak of, you can always hold your opinion on such things until you find proof of your own. So far, they have not connected the events for us with names or evidence, so it might be they want us to confirm it for ourselves or perhaps they simply can't, knowing this cult exists by what is not there and a gut feeling. Either way, there's definitely something to hunt down in this city. If you're right, and there is no one group, there are possibly several somethings."
Grey pushes his chair back and starts to stand, wishing he had thought to get more food. He looks to the others in the group briefly, as if to try and figure out what they might do. Then he shrugged and made his way upstairs without giving his answer. He knew what it would be and they had already told him the best way to answer their question. Now it was time for bed. It sounded like he would need the rest.
Annabeth nods slowly in agreement with Dr. Grey's sentiment. "Even the best case scenario, of there being many small organizations afoot instead of one large one--and we know for certain there are small cults in play as well, though not with the same aspirations and level of infiltration--is cause for concern. Any one of them could seize major control over a part of the city and cause untold chaos."
Mathias turns and eyes Erasmus cautiously, his crimson irises eerily shining brightly in the lamp light of the late hours. Earlier he seemed more intriguing, but this one could be dangerous for us. If he will sell his gun to fight without believing, is he just as likely sell us out? Will need to keep both eyes on him...
His thoughts are broken by the doctor's words and actions. Why did he leave? He seems committed, though it is strange behavior to just walk off. Damned this strange company in all. But, seems like our little operation isn't so small anymore.
"I don't know 'bout de oters, but Miranda an' I are in. So what di' ye have in min' for us, Lord Barton? Any targets to start wit? And ye've mentioned resources sev'ral times now, I take it ye'll be equippin' us with de tools necessary for our tasks, am I right?" He lifts his mug and drinks to the bottom, placing it down firmly on the table.
Miranda wordlessly nodded in agreement with Gabriel. It looked like this might be their biggest job yet - exciting!
"When you have need for certain resources, naturally, you will receive them. I would hardly send you out to fend for yourselves. As for your first assignment, please come down early for breakfast. You will meet with Lieutenant Riodos at a table, and she will take you to your first task."
"If get queasy, eat light," the steely guardswoman warns. "We're going to the morgue, and I don't want anyone throwing up on their first day."
Baqir sits silently () and listens to everything being said.
It is indeed unlike the Pathfinders to display such coldness and obvious mistruths.
He whispers to Raz
"I apologize for my silence, I was quite lost in thought. I too am having some second thoughts on this whole cause but indeed, we've never let that stop us before."
He looks around. A colorful group of individuals indeed. He regrets his silence and lack of participation during the evening. But close ties are not so easily made anymore he reminds himself.
Yet, we are all misfits one way or another.
Baqir is about to head off to rest but tries to catch Dr. Grey before he leaves. Assuming he knows Dr. Grey is an alchemist by trade, he attempts to ask him some questions about alkahest, a substance he saw numerous times in Osirion and always wanted to understand more.
Mithias flashes his twisted smile, "Well den, twould be best we all git sum sleep. If no'ne has anyting else, I'll be off to me quarters. Giv'n dis late night meetin', de morn will cum all too quickly. G'night all." Mithias stands from his chair, places a hand on Miranda's shoulder, and escorts her up to her room, then secures himself in his own.
Mathias undresses and stows his gear as he had only a few hours earlier, though with a different intent. Now he has a deeper purpose, now he seeks a greater evil, and in the morning, it begins.
Since he and Baqir are of one mind, Raz finishes the plate of potatoes and heads back to bed. He tries not to think about the things Lord Burton suggested as he drifts back to sleep, and he succeeds...for the most part.
The Gilded Unicorn isn't particularly full in the morning, largely due to their surprise midnight closing. Lieutenant Riodos is there though, with some bags under her iron gaze that says she didn't go home to rest a few hours after the meeting. Instead she sits at a table, positioned to get a good view of you as you ascend down the staircase while she works her way through her breakfast. Her face has some age on it, but it's been furthered by stress more than the years themselves, hair turned almost completely gray save for the occasional spot of black. Her stern expression is discerning, watching each of you as you come down the stairs, eagerly awaiting the arrival of each of you.
Though the guard's experession doesn't change much, a quick look over to the counter reveals that the dwarf is very happy to see you coming down early, giving a smile and a little nod to you. As you sit, a hot bowl of porridge and some fresh fruit is put in front of you.
"We'll talk details once everyone is down," Stella says, eyes rarely moving from the stairs. "Or, when it's late enough to call them a lost cause."
Baqir volunteers help in waking up late comers.
"I know a few methods."
He smiles at Raz.
"We're rather good at waking things up."
Miranda arrives downstairs as she left last evening, in tow with her much larger companion Mathias. With a large yawn she takes her seats and nods towards the others, glad to see them up as well. Baqur she hadn't had time to introduce herself to, so he got an extra nod and a grin. She pokes a bit in her food, but it doesn't take too long for her to work up an appetite and the porridge and fruit rapidly disappears. While she is no Dr. Grey, she too can eat a surprising amount for her size.
Raz glares at Baqir, the multiple early awakenings showing on his face. "Me an' the mummies have one thing in common. We'd rather be sleepin'." He props his head up with one hand as he slowly shovels the porridge into his face. "Mornin', Tombstone," he says as Miranda and Mathias arrive.
Dr. Grey was one of the later ones to come down. This didn't surprise him, though despite what little time he had left he was quick to order a very large meal. Unlike the day before, where he had worn his clothes, or the night where he had worn his chain shirt beneath, Dr. Grey was fully outfitted today. A long spear rested on his back wrapped in a leather sling of sorts. Across his chest were several vials in a thin bandoleer. There were covers for each, but people had a chance to see one of the vials as he was closing the cover to it. It was glowing. As always, he did have his glasses on though.
He was quick to size up the others, seemingly surprised at the presence of one or two of them and unsurprised at some of the others. When food arrived, he was quick to devour it. He only had enough for three men this morning, apparently still sated from the meal the day before.
Laurence returns to his room after agreeing to the Lord's offer without any particular explanation as to his motives, just a simple nod followed by a good night. He returns to his room and takes a short nap from which he awakens not with a start but with a gradual rise of anticipation. When anticipation outpaces slumber he gets up, fetches a bowl of water from a washroom, and clean shaves himself, trims his nose hairs and applies a fingerful of wax to his mustache, curling each end once around his index finger before running it through and out. He is up early enough to appreciate the sunrise, and he does so from the balcony, reading over his puzzle book for the day.
You are given a set of scales and 12 marbles. The scales are of the old balance variety. That is, a small dish hangs from each end of a rod that is balanced in the middle. The device enables you to conclude either that the contents of the dishes weigh the same or that the dish that falls lower has heavier contents than the other.
The 12 marbles appear to be identical. In fact, 11 of them are identical, and one is of a different weight. Your task is to identify the unusual marble and discard it. You are allowed to use the scales three times if you wish, but no more.
Note that the unusual marble may be heavier or lighter than the others. You are asked to both identify it and determine whether it is heavy or light.
He exhales a stream of smoke into the cool morning air and chuckles, putting the graphite pencil to the page to work out the details. After an hour or so, the frustration is clear on his face and the page is overborne with grid-like numbers and figures. He spends the next half hour or so with his mithral chain shirt on a display bust, buffing it to a shine with a sheepskin cloth and a canister of polish and, after admiring the way it captures the morning light, dresses much the same way he did earlier to come down for breakfast, intending to don his armor after a light meal.
Descending the staircase, he greets the lieutenant with a good morning and, when served porridge and fresh fruit, favors the fruit while asking Mrs. Davids, "Might I trouble you for a pinch of cinnamon, madam?"
There is a ritual to his dining, one that involves a kerchief in the collar and one in the lap as though he expects the porridge to be a dribbly mess. Each spoonful gets a cooling blow and is slowly sipped from its lip rather than crammed into his mouth. He does not make small talk during his meal, for to try to hold conversation while one's mouth is full would be rude and, judging from the Lieutenant's look this morning, they are on a schedule. Once done, however, he busses his own eating space and folds the kerchiefs over thrice apiece, setting them aside before asking, "What trouble is afoot at the morgue?"
Mathias comes downstairs in a slightly distracted state. Normally the prospect of a new job would have him driven and focused, yet the questions that arose in his dreams have left him ill at ease. He remembered little of the dreams themselves, yet could distinctly see the face of the stranger, the man he'd met on the road, the man who'd come to claim his soul. Why had he dreamt of him last night?
Shaking it off, he nods to the others as he sits, then responds to Erasmus' greeting, "An' a pleasant morn to ye, Erazmus. But cum, how fairs evr'one dis morn? An' what draws us to de morgue? Guessin' if de dead wur restless, we'd a gone last night?" After asking he quickly gets to work eating the meal provided for him.
"Good, you're all here," Stella says, less pleased as much as absent of judgement. "We've had a string of suspicious murders in the past few weeks. A quick slashing of the throat. My captain has an 'arrangement' of sorts with the Cult of Norgorber, which is to say he turns his head to assassinations the cult marks, in exchange for a weekly stipend greater than his salary. As a result, any murder where Norgorber's symbol is written on a wall near the body is quietly declared an accident and shoved under the rug. No examination, no looking around or even entertaining the thought that maybe the killer knows about the arrangement and uses the symbol as a smokescreen. He's too afraid of losing his fortune to risk it."
As Stella speaks, Mrs. Davids comes back with a tray full of freshly-squeezed juice, placing one beside each of your plates, adding a small shaker of cinnamon for Laurence before moving back to the counter to resume serving the assorted guests their breakfasts.
"Yesterday morning was the first one I was dispatched to rather than merely hearing about it, and immediately I knew that it was not the Cult of Norgorber. There were signs of struggle and destruction all over, and the victim's slit throat was suspiciously absent of any blood. The damage screamed of 'robbery gone wrong'--although I couldn't look around to see if anything had been stolen--but the absence of blood is even more concerning. The victim's home is off limits, but with a decent lie on your end I can get you into the morgue to examine the body. Suffice to say, I don't believe Norgorber's cult performed this murder."
Dr. Grey tilts his head to the side and listens intently to the woman's words. Every bit was a piece of the puzzle they'd be presented, every scrap of info he could gather up useful. "I am quite good at examining bodies. If given a bit of room I should be able to determine much. And it seems..."
Dr. Grey looks toward the shorter woman, Miranda, with a flash of curiosity in his eyes before his expression fades to the more distant and detached that it normally was. "I'm not the only one." Despite having just eaten a great deal, Dr. Grey didn't seem at all concerned with the idea of examining a dead body. In fact, after speaking, he reached into one of his packs and pulled out what looked like a small set of knives with extremely fine blades. It was in a small pouch, and he examined each for a moment before stowing it away again.
Mathie seems a bit off. I wonder what's gotten to him? He have never been bothered by bodies before, must be something else ... She gave him a quick worried glance then snapped back into attention. The brief had started, she would have to worry about that later! With a grim smile she made a mental note of carving the symbol of Norgorber into the wall should he run across this 'captain' - if he had an accident of course! I *shouldn't* think like that. But I can't help it - he sounds like scum...
She gave the good doctor a small nod in reply to his nod. It might be possible. The departing of the soul usually scrambles it a bit, but definitely possible ...
"Do we have a name of the victim or something similar? We could just claim to be represents of some of his relatives or something. Like a lawyer handling the last will and making sure he is really dead first? Would explain why we would need a Doctor to take a quick look."
Dr. Grey snorts at actually being referred to as a doctor. Along with the small, rather cruel smile from the night before, it was the only show of amusement that the gaunt man gave. The brief sound didn't seem too kind either, but none of his distaste was directed at Miranda.
Laurence is admittedly surprised the topic of her captain hasn't come up before. "How many people aside from yourself know about your captain's arrangment with the cult?"
The investigator seems a little dubious about lying their way into the morgue. "In the effort to solve one problem, a dishonest approach can create several more. I am familiar with the forms required to contract a specialist to assist in an open investigation. And we have a specialist," he nods curtly towards Dr. Grey. "Or is there call for a clandestine approach that I do not see?"
"I'm not an expert on dead bodies. I believe that Grey and some others may be more apt to investigate the cadaver than me. Are there any other routes of investigation we could be pursuing?"
"Darril Bren is the victim's name. Lying is not my forte, so I'll leave the convincing explanation to you, but so long as they believe it isn't for the purpose of a vigilante investigation, it shouldn't arouse much suspicion. The captain's corruption is a very poorly-kept secret, so expect anybody you come across in the employ of the Lotus Guard or the morgue to be aware that these are not to be investigated criminally. That said, the morgue workers receive none of the money, so should you have a reason other than wanting to find his killer they should let you in without much struggle, if they believe you." Stella finishes the last spoonful of porridge before addressing Baqir. "At the moment, the only action we have is the body, but hopefully there will be a lead off of that we can work with. Something that doesn't involve crossing paths with the guard at a crime scene where no crime took place."
He swallows a bite of melon with a grimace. The melon tasted fine, but the news that so many people tolerated the captain's corruption did not. Laurence keeps his righteousness in check, however, and responds coolly. "The captain's arrangment is a gross abuse of justice and it is downright criminal that there are so many willing to look the other way. But of the many cults one may encounter, the death cults of Norgorber are some of the worst to cross. Silencing opposition is a specialty of theirs. An obeisance, you might even say."
The investigator nods. "And since the morgue receives no cut of the arrangment and is aware of the disparagement, a little compensation might go a long way with them, too."
"Sir, if you are discreet," he says to Baqir, "then we may be able to ask people around the Bren home what they have seen and what they know. Or with friends and acquaintances of the deceased. But discretion is of the highest order, 'lest we, as the lieutenant warns, arouse suspicion. It would be better to have our specialist examine the body first, however. The more information one has when asking questions, the better."
"I'll leave the... talking... to one of my collegues here. When I was younger I tried to study the art of lying, but no matter what I did, I never seemed to get the hang of it." Grey spoke rather nonchalantly, though there was some whimsical curiosity to it that said he honestly had no idea why people wouldn't take his word for things or trust him. Was it more unsettling that he was unaware of how unsettling he was?
'She had found my inability to lie endearing... said it kept me honest...' The Doctor looked away from the group for a moment, letting his smile be something he could keep to himself. When he turned back to them he was just as condescendingly uninterested as always. "If there's something to learn on the body, I'll learn it. But to get the full extent of answers I'll need time without interference from the locals... or those weak of stomach amongst us."
Laurence stirs a bit more cinnamon into his porridge, speaking to Dr. Grey without looking directly at him. "It would not be my first time to a morgue, so I can be on hand to intercept those who might distract you, but otherwise leave you to your work in peace."
He does look directly at the Lieutenant, however. "Leftenant Riodos, if you do not mind my asking; what is it that compelled you to ally yourself with these people? The Lord has lost a daughter in this. I hope that you have not suffered a similar loss."
"If you believe you could inquire around his home without arousing suspicion, then you may certainly try. It is a definite risk, though, and if you get discovered it would mean I couldn't help you in any capacity, or even be seen with you. In all the places in the Petal District you'd be likely to find somebody willing to talk, I suppose his neighborhood would be one of them. It's where servants of the more generous nobles live, and there is a degree of solidarity among them."
Laurence's other question took her by surprise, eyes going wide a little as she placed her spoon down gently into her bowl and drew in a deep breath, sighing and looking off to Kotri. "Do you remember last night, the noble family I talked about? I was the one who first arrived at the house to find the scene. It was by all rights my case, but my captain was told to close the case without resolution by important figures from both the Arcanimirium and the district council. He's a greedy man more concerned with his career than the right thing, so he did, and made me burn all of my notes on the case right in front of him. Told me if I investigated it any further or asked any questions, I'd be demoted and toil away in the lowest position I could be put into until I retired.
"So naturally, I continued looking into it, because unlike him, career and rank are not my greatest virtues. I went to the Church of Pharasma to inquire about what sort of necromancy may be at work. Three days later I was asked to join the order, once they'd looked into my background and decided I could be an asset. It's true that I have not suffered a tragedy of my own, but my work with the order is driven by the need to do what's right. If I keep in line with the guard and do as I'm told, I'm complicit in its corruption, and I simply won't have that. This is the best way for me to play the game during my shift, and to do what's right off of it." She picked up an apple and took a big bite out of it, hoping that her answer had sufficed.
"Oh joy. An idealist." Dr. Grey sniffs a little and turns away from the woman, finding her suddenly less interesting despite all the information she probably had on the case. In an almost wry tone he adds, under his breath yet loud enough to be heard, “Gods and Goddesses save me from idealists.”
The older woman's eyes narrow as they move toward Dr. Grey. "Hardly an idealist at my age," she grumbles. "The world is s+%&, I just don't use that as an excuse to be corrupt."
Dr. Grey gestures toward her in a 'there you go' sort of manner, as if her response had merely proven his point. Then he stood from his seat, quickly checked the bandoleer and spear, and turned to the others. "Is there anything else to note before you lead us to the morgue?"
Mathias looks about the company, still trying to fish out everyone's role. It is true that our talents would be put to use at different times. At the moment, it would appear that Dr. Grey and Laurence both fell more on the investigative side with Miranda, whereas Erasmus enters into the realm of disposal and destruction alongside me. Sure they could each cross the line to the other side, but everyone has their specialty. Though something about the doctor... And Baqir? What is his part in all this? His early disappearance last night, and few words since then leave me wondering. Though as a grave robber, I am guessing perhaps entry and combat alike? Hmm, to see...
Continuing to eat his breakfast as he listens to the plan form, Mathias eventually speaks up. "K, so de Doc takes a look at de body, but who will be the silver-tongue takin' care of the story? Meself, well, I'm better when a barbed tongue is needed, if ye get me. Miranda's alright wit de triks... how 'bout any of ye?"
Raz rubs his chin as he listens to the chatter. Sounds like the Captain has a good thing going. He finishes breakfast as the others talk things out, letting the gears grind in his head on how they could get into the morgue.
When Mathias raises the question of the cover story, he looks at Kotri. "You still got that Pharasmin pendant on ya, right?" He holds his hand out to her, asking, "Mind if I take a look at it?"
"Nothing comes to mind," Stella mutters. "I didn't any time to examine things in depth."
"Of course I do, my dear. Several." She doesn't bother reaching for the one beneath her shirt, instead pulling a pristine holy symbol of Pharasma from a desk drawer. "What do you need one for?"
Laurence is attentive and alert while the lieutenant shares her story, drawing a comparison between her experiences and his own. While there are some similarities in that neither was content to allow their superiors to keep brushing obvious matters of importance under the rug, there was the fact that Laurence's past contributed to his hassles perhaps moreso than any corruption in his immediate officer. Her tale was compelling, and the case presented by this order made him wonder if he had already run across a conspiracy during his tenure, unwittingly, and that they were to blame for all of his ills.
But then he remembered that it was his initiative to track down a cult. It was gold from his own pocket that bought information out of frightened witnesses. It was his own arm extended over the chasm, another man's life dangling at its end. No, Laurence decided, he had orchestrated his own poor circumstances.
He cut the doctor a quick glare at his snide commentary, but the unpleasantness passed in a moment. "Charming," was all he had to say, with deliberate sarcasm in case the man was otherwise unable to detect it. When Grey rises and makes ready to leave, Laurence waves a calming hand. "Patience, sir. It is a morgue, and your subject is a corpse. It won't be going anywhere. We have time for people to finish a good meal and, more importantly, devise some kind of actionable plan. In fact, it sounds as though Mr. Ames may be about ready to suggest we convert to the Pharasmin faith today..."
Then, more quietly to the lieutenant as he leans over: "Thank you for sharing that. Your captain deals with very dangerous people and he is bound to reap what he has sown. And he will not like the reaping the cult of Norgorber has in store for him."
Raz eyes the pendant in her hand. "Yeah, that'll do just fine. If you've got a couple more, even better." He looks to Laurnece and explains, "We're investigatin' a body. Nobody better for the job than a couple o' death priests."
"Of course I do. I always keep extras with me, just in case." She pulls out five more pendants from the drawer and lays them on the counter with a smile. "Just bring them back to me, my dear."
Raz grins and takes one, putting it on over is head. Scooping up the rest, he tosses one to each of the others. "If we've got any cassocks layin' around, we could dress Grey up, hide his tools underneath. A couple of us could go plain-clothes." Turning back to Mrs. Davids, he double-checks, "Is that a thing Pharasmins do around these parts?"
Dr. Grey sniffs in disgust as he looks down at his gear. He hadn't expected to take his spear into the morgue but admittedly the rest of it would have been useful to one degree or another. He'd keep at least two vials on him though. "Being of the faith doesn't give us quite as much of a reason to look at the body as you'd expect. Ontop of that, what I'll be doing with the body might not be something one can hide. I don't really care, but our friend here..." Grey nods to the Phasmarin believer, "Might care if we bring the guard down on them for 'mutilating' corpses."
"There is a difference between an autopsy and a mutilation, one would hope. But what is your proposed cover story, Mr. Ames? Why would the Pharasmins be taking interest in the corpse's, ah...inner workings?"