[Changeling] A Gathering of Mists IC II: Some things just need doing

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Originally Posted by PhoeKun

The first smile Kalina has allowed herself since the warehouse disaster began. She lets out a small puff of a half chuckle and shakes her head.

"You won the fight, yes. Now comes the war."

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"Do I get an army?" asked Stephanie. "Or at least an aspirin?"

"You get the rest of the night off. Then we reassess and... pray that goblet is where we left it. It's going to be really hard facing another one without knowing what the hell it is."

Kalina pushes away a long since drained glass of milk, and sinks into her chair.

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Originally Posted by PhoeKun

"You get the rest of the night off. Then we reassess and... pray that goblet is where we left it. It's going to be really hard facing another one without knowing what the hell it is."

Kalina pushes away a long since drained glass of milk, and sinks into her chair.

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"What it was is nasty," Stephanie said, sticking her tongue out. "I sure hope there's a better way to empty those things than drinking it all and then barfing it all up."

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

"What it was is nasty," Stephanie said, sticking her tongue out. "I sure hope there's a better way to empty those things than drinking it all and then barfing it all up."

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"You're not allowed to do that again. We need to learn more about this operation so we can break it up without... without killing ourselves."

A sigh. Juggling speed and proper technique is hard. Especially when every compassionate spot in your heart is screaming at you to end the bastard now.

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Originally Posted by PhoeKun

"You're not allowed to do that again. We need to learn more about this operation so we can break it up without... without killing ourselves."

A sigh. Juggling speed and proper technique is hard. Especially when every compassionate spot in your heart is screaming at you to end the bastard now.

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"Okay," said Stephanie. Simple command, instruction as to what to do next - questioning it never crossed her mind. "Speaking of preparations, is Marchy back yet?"

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

"Okay," said Stephanie. Simple command, instruction as to what to do next - questioning it never crossed her mind. "Speaking of preparations, is Marchy back yet?"

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Oh. Right. That whole thing. Kalina rubs at her forehead in the darkness.

"I haven't seen her." A pause. "...Are you holding up ok?"

"Am I...?"

Stephanie drifted off a little bit.

"I'm doing fine. I'm just in a world that feels like it's falling apart, and I can't make it more like I am."

Charlotte stays on the floor, not looking up from
Her place of weariness and supplication.

"Children are taken in the night. With silence, with violence, with pain. They are taken to be acceptable losses, unwilling sacrifice. He who would stop the Others from claiming children's lives does so by claiming children's lives, and sees not his crime. We bring to one who would stand and stop this the intensity to be seen, respected, acknowledged and feared so her voice may ring with authority and her hand – stayed or swinging – be just."

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

"Am I...?"

Stephanie drifted off a little bit.

"I'm doing fine. I'm just in a world that feels like it's falling apart, and I can't make it more like I am."

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Kalina sits upright in her chair. She cocks her head, lets her hair fall over the table. Huh.

"...Broken, huh? The whole world?"

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Originally Posted by PhoeKun

Kalina sits upright in her chair. She cocks her head, lets her hair fall over the table. Huh.

"...Broken, huh? The whole world?"

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"Yeah... it's like, it's not organised," said Stephanie. "It's like I'm not sure what the world is trying to be, but I can see it's not trying to be happy. I don't know, I don't know how to say this. Like everything is going in a different direction and none of them are right?"

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

"Yeah... it's like, it's not organised," said Stephanie. "It's like I'm not sure what the world is trying to be, but I can see it's not trying to be happy. I don't know, I don't know how to say this. Like everything is going in a different direction and none of them are right?"

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"What exactly do think the world is, some kind of giant machine? Do you think it could honestly manage to drag itself in any sort of unified direction at all?"

Kalina jerks upright in her seat again. Her eyes flash in the dark.

"Happiness is special. It's so special it's worth suffering for. And you, little miss potential, are so full of chances to spread it around that it's a wonder little flowers don't spring up where you walk. But not even you get to throw around clever quips and expect things to just magically improve. You have to work, you have to..." She lets out a deep, shuddering breath and claws at her face. Fighting for composure, "when you're interrogating someone, you can't just make fun of them and then they'll spill all of their secrets to you. You have to think, appeal to them, ask a f-- ask a question! But you..."

The rest of her energy deserts her. She slumps forward again, burying her face in her hands.

"You just stood there and watched."

"I've never captured anyone before!" Stephanie said, face flushed, eyes wide. Not defensive, speaking too fast and earnestly for that - desperate to explain. "It's always been me captured! And when that happens all I can do is taunt them until they make a mistake and take it from there!"

She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Images and words flashed through her head. A bow dripping with poison, footsteps in the jungle. The knives she'd taken from the bat girl familiar and reassuring against her side.

Then she looked up with stilled eyes and said, "I always just killed my enemies."

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Originally Posted by Raz_Fox

"We demand a weapon for an angel disarmed, who would enact justice on the robber in the night, the despoiler of the home and the ravisher of innocents. The sword: we demand that it be surrendered to our care, not to be drawn until this angel we serve holds it in her hands. And I? I speak by the right of service rendered to the just and the true; my companion by the right of diligent service to the same. We speak by the right of children's tongues, who shall not be silenced by the sinful and the unrighteous." She's using her pastor voice, emphasis flaming behind every other word, armored in conviction and fervor. This, this is the way you talk to angels.

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Originally Posted by SiuiS

"Children are taken in the night. With silence, with violence, with pain. They are taken to be acceptable losses, unwilling sacrifice. He who would stop the Others from claiming children's lives does so by claiming children's lives, and sees not his crime. We bring to one who would stand and stop this the intensity to be seen, respected, acknowledged and feared so her voice may ring with authority and her hand – stayed or swinging – be just."

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YOU SPEAK UNTRUTHS, THOUGH I SENSE NO GUILE IN YOU. YOU CLAIM SERVICE, YET I KNOW NOT THE JUSTICE OF YOUR ANGEL, THAT HER CLAIM SHOULD EXCEED MINE OWN. YOU CLAIM THE LIVES OF CHILDREN HANG IN THE BALANCE. A WORTHY CAUSE, WERE IT SO.

I OFFER YOU THIS, SERVANTS. BEAR MY BRAND AND THE BLADE IS YOURS. IF IT BE WIELDED UNJUSTLY, THE HARM IT INFLICTS SHALL MANIFEST UPON YOU. PRAY YOUR CHOICE OF MASTERS WAS WISE AND DISCERNING.

[Task: Make sure sword is used for good -2 Boon: sword get! +2. Sanction: if the sword is used for evil, each time it inflicts damage, you take the same amount of damage -3, duration year and a day (+3)]

Untruths is the point at which Marchande chokes up. It had been a good run. Well, not really. It had been a short, painful, and generally wasted run, but at least death probably wouldn't hurt too much. Oh, who was she kidding. Knowing everything in Faerie, death was going to hurt like hell. She'd cut long gashes that cauterized themselves instantly, burn the eyes from their sockets and call it mercy, hack off limbs and ears and-

"I SENSE NO GUILE IN YOU."

Oh, well. No need to worry, then. She trembles like a tree about to fall over, only the conviction in her chest keeping her standing - as if she thought she were an equal! - before this angel.

The angel offers her ultimatum. And Marchande, being Marchande, raises one finger, the very image of the vaguely embarrassed lawyer. "We would accept your boon," she says, before Charlotte can speak, "But I could not bear to bring such a weapon to my angel if it were to curse her friends and servants on a whim. I must ask, for we stand between the worlds, caught between a hell and an unclean earth: is the just wielding you desire just in the eyes of..."

And she knows she's supposed to say it. But it's hard. It's really hard. She wants to be honest, and she's supposed to be honest here in front of the burning gaze of the archangel, and the honest answer is that she doesn't care anymore. God never did anything for her all that time, and he doesn't do anything. She'd seen the problem of evil with her own eyes and it was called a Gentleman.

But if they're to get anywhere, she needs to speak an angel's language, and they need to have the same comparison, and she needs to stand tall and bold and not yield. And if He doesn't exist or doesn't care, well, he's still a useful reference point. And if He does, He'd better be on Rose's side. Let the little children come to me.

"The eyes of God, who was and is and is to come? Or in the eyes of the Fae, who twist justice to suit their own ends? If the justice you speak of is their justice, which twists like a snake, I must refuse for the sake of my friend who is your fellow angel. But if the eyes of the LORD are upon us, then I will take the brand and the sword, and guard it with my life. Call me Nimue - I, and I alone." She takes a step closer, one hand pushing Charlotte away.

She is very afraid that it is unbearable. She is like a child looking into the sun, knowing that it will burn her eyes out and leave them dripping red. But if she is not willing to help children, what damn good is she for? Stephanie would take the deal in a heartbeat, even if the light threatened to scour her away. (Or she'd have the opportunity, the lack of responsibility, to run away. To let someone else sweep up the pieces.) And Rose? Rose would do it without a thought, without fear. How lucky, not to be afraid! To be a hero and to do heroic things and not be useless. Heroes are amazing people. All she's good for is... well, this.

Which isn't good enough.

The angel seems to consider Marchande's question, thinking for nearly 30 seconds, it's hands pressed over the sword hilt, waves of heat wafting over Marchande and making her want to start panting.

"THERE IS ONLY JUSTICE" it says at last. "THOSE THAT WOULD TWIST JUSTICE ARE UNJUST."

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

"I've never captured anyone before!" Stephanie said, face flushed, eyes wide. Not defensive, speaking too fast and earnestly for that - desperate to explain. "It's always been me captured! And when that happens all I can do is taunt them until they make a mistake and take it from there!"

She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Images and words flashed through her head. A bow dripping with poison, footsteps in the jungle. The knives she'd taken from the bat girl familiar and reassuring against her side.

Then she looked up with stilled eyes and said, "I always just killed my enemies."

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The only sounds that follow Stephanie's admission are a quiet shuffle of elbows on the surface of the table, and Kalina's breathing - deep and slow and deliberate. It permeates the room. It is the only answer Stephanie receives, the only one that can be given. And then,

"...You're all instincts at this point, aren't you? You don't think." There's no accusation in her tone, for once. Instead, realization. "Why did you kill them? Was there a reason for it all?"

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Originally Posted by PhoeKun

The only sounds that follow Stephanie's admission are a quiet shuffle of elbows on the surface of the table, and Kalina's breathing - deep and slow and deliberate. It permeates the room. It is the only answer Stephanie receives, the only one that can be given. And then,

"...You're all instincts at this point, aren't you? You don't think." There's no accusation in her tone, for once. Instead, realization. "Why did you kill them? Was there a reason for it all?"

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The first sentence sounded too close to thoughts she'd had herself for comfort. She swallowed and nodded.

"A lot of them were shooting at me," she said. "Or trying to kill me in some other way. Like, they were doing bad things and working for bad people but I didn't think about that at the time. It was just action, reaction."

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Originally Posted by Anarion

The angel seems to consider Marchande's question, thinking for nearly 30 seconds, it's hands pressed over the sword hilt, waves of heat wafting over Marchande and making her want to start panting.

"THERE IS ONLY JUSTICE" it says at last. "THOSE THAT WOULD TWIST JUSTICE ARE UNJUST."

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"Justice," Marchande replies, snapping a little at the figure of heat and vengeance and law. "Justice. If you ground up everything that is, every rock and tree and river, and poured it through the tightest sieve, you wouldn't find a speck of justice. What is justice then? If justice is objective, then there must be a standard to be adhered to, whether the arbitrator of justice is a faerie prince or the God of Abraham or the Buddha himself, or even you. And if justice is subjective, I'll be dead the first time it's drawn. Consider, for example, the death of a man known to be a serial killer and child molester. From the perspective of someone who has felt loss because of such a man, his death would be just - and so, I feel, you would claim as well. But from the perspective of his friend, perhaps, the act would be vile and unjust, for no man deserves death for satiating his urges. Am I then to be Baldur, consigned to the grave because one ogress would not weep? But perhaps you are the arbitrator of justice and righteous action, and what you call just is just, and what you call unjust is unjust. Where then are your strictures, where then are the books of the law that you may hand down? To act upon whim and instinct, in cases of life and death, is by its very nature unjust, if we are to say that justice is objective; to enact sentence on one who does not understand their crime is, by its very nature if justice be objective, unjust. God handed down ten commandments at Sinai, and a hundred more to Moses, and this was just."

It is so very hot there in that room. She is taking long, shuddering breaths now, trying desperately not to pant. "If justice is to act in accordance with the will of one greater, tell me who. If justice is to act in accordance with your judgment, give me your strictures. If justice is whatever a man believes is just, go to hell, because Lucifer believed the same thing, and look where that took him."

[If I were doing this right, we would now recreate the Meno Socratic dialogue. I think this would be likely to bore everyone to tears though, so I'm going to short circuit it.]

"JUSTICE IS UNIVERSAL" the angel booms, flapping its wings as scouring winds berate Marchande. "IT IS LAID DOWN IN YOUR BIBLE, OBEYED BY FAE AND MORTAL ALIKE, IF AN OATH IS SO SWORN. IT IS CLEAR TO ALL SAVE THOSE WHO WISH TO VIOLATE ITS PRECEPTS. NOW, THERE SHALL BE NO MORE OF YOUR EQUIVOCATION. DO YOU AGREE WITH MY REQUIREMENT OR SHALL NOT?"

Charlotte watches, listens. This is all so much above and beyond her, these names and places and, and, rules. Not rules that are self apparent or rules that arise from the situation, but thing Marchande calls back from the past, amazing an army of apectres to stand witness to her character.

It is an amazing thing to see, this friend of hers who shines so bright herself as to challenge a furnace for it's glow.

And then the end, the words she speaks, those make sense. Charlotte does not know the answer, not really. It is not about which rules are spoken, it is which rules she accepts. That is the power of the counter offer, non? To say for yourself what the rules are, and accept them, and see if the other does too?

Marchande's stilling hand becomes instea the post by which she rises, as Charlotte pulls and presses just above the elbow's juncture, rising. Shaking. "Justice of a sword is to stick your hand in the wolf's mouth, miss, while they bind it. Justice is all mete with what they earn, not... Math. If both are unjust, both must be punished, and that does not diminish the justness of it."

Still she stands behind, sheltered a little from the blaze in the dark by Marchande's silhouette. "I accept that Rose who woul cut unjustly does so for just reasons. I would accept that my flesh and form would be—" a gesture to the burnt blood with rent hands and smoking, crisped bowls of tears, "—I have accepted such sacrifice, Marchande, and I would again if you would allow. You have done more than enough and more again, and I cannot ask of you to do this for me."

"Oh, so it is biblical justice. Well, then, I'll be Rose's Lady of the Lake. Brand me and give me the sword, and I'll do my damnedest to ensure that it's never drawn unjustly. Because I trust Rose not to go off the deep end and start using kids as tinder and firewood, unlike some people in crazy old San Francisco." Marchande barely restrains herself from continuing to ramble about how some people couldn't tell the difference between clarification of terms and equivocation. The nerve of some people.

Then, to Charlotte: "What? Charlotte, just because- look, you heal fast, faster than I'd thought possible, but I'm not sure you're ready for something like this. You know you have problems with seeing everything clearly; you might make a mistake, let the wrong person have the sword, allow Rose to draw it unjustly. Let me take this. For Rose and Stephanie."

[The angel is the one offering the deal here, willpower not required, although this does not mean that all deals offered by others never require willpower, just that this one doesn't.]

"VERY WELL. THEN KNEEL."

As Marchande and Charlotte kneel, the angel raises the tip of the sword to their necks, even as the red strands of Wyrd coil and bind around them, swirling at the base of the sword. As it touches Marchande, the flames swirl at the tip and a small blackened circle appears in her fur down to the skin, just above the right shoulder. In it's center, a tiny woman wearing a blindfold and holding aloft her scales and her sword: the well-known symbol of the lady Justice.

http://t2.ftcdn.net/jpg/00/39/51/21/...RET31CRL7Q.jpg

Charlotte's is somewhat more of a challenge. The fire does not touch her, and as the strands settle into place, the angel carves the symbol in blood upon her neck, just barely piercing the surface, causing minimal pain.

When it is done, the angel kneels with Charlotte and Marchande and takes the blade in both hands, palms up. It reverently lowers the blade to the ground. The flames subside to a dull smolder as it does so, most of the heat leaving the room, the stone blade itself smoldering dully on the ground before Marchande and Charlotte.

The angel then rises upwards, beating its wings once, twice, thrice and fades back into the picture, no longer holding a sword, but its hands open in a gesture of supplication to the heavens.

Marchande picks the sword up reverently. It's heavy, and not as hot as she thought it would be, and it is frighteningly important. If this long stone blade stabbed someone through the heart, she'd die.

"First things first," she says, trying not to drop it. "Charlotte, I'm going to need some kind of scabbard for this. I'm not going to walk around town carrying this. I'd get arrested at the very least before I went three blocks. Sheathed properly, I can claim it's a prop that I bought off a movie set and am bringing home, or something of that nature. Plus, it is amazingly heavy." She straightened as best she could, holding it tip-down like the angel. "Secondly. If my guess is right, you're pretty hungry for glamour. I am, too. Let's see if there isn't some emotions we can't taste before the night's through. On our way back to Rose, of course."

"Oui. Arthur required oath to stay the night last time, perhaps again this would work?"

And then, upon relection, "What does this look like to normal people? Perhaps we can walk home and say it is a lawn ornament, a gnomon for a fanciful sundial or a statue?"

As the heat dies down and the angel recedes, the door also flies open. Peter is standing there, drawn up to his full height and filling the whole doorframe, with Arthur smirking just behind him.

"I'm not deaf, y'know!" He shouts. "You think because you offered to help me, that you can just barge into my castle and do whatever you want?! You've defaced my whole wall, and..."
His eyes suddenly gleam as he sees the blade. "And made quite a fine work, there. Don't you think," his tone is suddenly much more pleasant, "that it would be fair to render some payment for the use of the premises? And perhaps for my aid regaining the Glamour you must have spent in the process?"

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Originally Posted by Thanqol

The first sentence sounded too close to thoughts she'd had herself for comfort. She swallowed and nodded.

"A lot of them were shooting at me," she said. "Or trying to kill me in some other way. Like, they were doing bad things and working for bad people but I didn't think about that at the time. It was just action, reaction."

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An uneasy quiet settles over the room again. Stephanie's words hang in the air, pressing down on Kalina. She shifts in her chair, breaking the spell.

"...The dead never smile."

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Originally Posted by Anarion

As the heat dies down and the angel recedes, the door also flies open. Peter is standing there, drawn up to his full height and filling the whole doorframe, with Arthur smirking just behind him.

"I'm not deaf, y'know!" He shouts. "You think because you offered to help me, that you can just barge into my castle and do whatever you want?! You've defaced my whole wall, and..."
His eyes suddenly gleam as he sees the blade. "And made quite a fine work, there. Don't you think," his tone is suddenly much more pleasant, "that it would be fair to render some payment for the use of the premises? And perhaps for my aid regaining the Glamour you must have spent in the process?"

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This was... This could go bad. Charlotte has seen this before? The anger in the door like building storm, the eyes like lanterns dancing with laughter behind. The worm tongued goading the majestic and forceful. He planned this.

Charlotte curtsies, as well as one can in a fancilly buckled shirt. The Locked door, the nightlife harvest, Peter was probably nocturnal. "Pardon for waking you, sir. Marchande, this is Peter, the lord of the manor and pro... Prop... Ugh. Owner of the business.

"Excuse, sir, but entrance we took as payment for our efforts with your curse, and help as well. Entry for hospitality from a cold, thorn'd world would be of use, Oui? If I have overstepped, I apologize. I hope this work of art" at which Charlotte is very clear, very deliberate in her gesturing to the painting on the wall, "would be sufficient for damages, non?"

Her breathing is heavy, slow. Deliberate. Behind the mask of weariness is now a hint of fear. Marchande may rescue her again; how would one tell a man who's eye are lit by greed to dowse them? Would he care the sword was cursed?

"Careful, sir," Marchande adds to the tail end of Charlotte's speech. "It's easy to get all worked up and say something you didn't think through when you've just woken up, haven't had your coffee yet, have to work with troublesome artists. But," she says, tapping her lips, "Angels have ears, sir. And angels have very, very high standards." She glances over her shoulder at the painting, which is still so very lifelike - why, one could almost imagine the angel stepping forth again. She shivers, to send a similar shiver down this minotaur's spine. "It might be best if my client and I left, to give you time to freshen up; we can meet again under better circumstances for everyone involved."

She pats one pocket with her free hand, shakes her head in manufactured disappointment, and says, "We'll swap business cards later. Until then!" She places her free hand on Charlotte's shoulder and begins, in the confident manner of someone who knows they own the room, to escort her out.

Peter lets out an unsatisfied grumble at Marchande's words. A deep, threatening sound. Nor does he clear the way out of the door. It occurs to both of you that it would be very helpful if Stephanie and Rose were here now, but c'est la vie.

After a moment he seems to collect himself. "What about a service? I didn't realize the little painter was so talented. And I did ruin her dress the last time she was here." He seems to be straining to be nice, speaking slowly and gruffly. "If she promises to come back in a week and make something for me, well I'm sure by then I could find something new for her to wear and you could both replenish your glamour here before you go."

[Charlotte: Task -2 make a hedgespun piece for Peter next week, duration 1 moon +2.

Peter: Task: open the club for glamour harvest to Charlotte and her friends -2. Duration 1 moon +2]

"Before I agree, monsieur, I must stress. Perhaps it would be better for your condition, were we to do this of our own free wills, unbound by expectation? I would retun that you let me in of the kindness of your heart, not of obligation, monsieur."

The honorific sits crooked in her mouth, and Charlotte works her jaw a bit to get used to the taste. His name didn't fit the situation, and while lord of the house he may be, Marchande may have some scathing things to say about such a word.

"If that sits poorly with you, then we can arrange, but as a separate business from our help with the castle. I could perhaps work on a gift anyway, we're I to know what you might want, but agreements... Marche, would you say I am being too cautious? I am very tired from the efforts. Perhaps my head is full f clouds?"

Spoiler

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attempt to pry, watching for reactions. Trying to see if he is asking for Charlotte to make a specific thing of which he's not spoken, or of he just wants a hedgespun object for flair. If the former, we must of course be concerned, about maybe making him an anti-motley's word or somesuch when our agreed-upon time of friendship is through.

Also, referring Marchande in as manager, possible teamwork to deduce the hidden terms of the agreement.