[IC] England Has No Native Gods

[Raz_Fox]

This is neutral ground, rumbling under your feet. It is not the safest ground, or the cheapest, but it is neutral, which is to say, the Dragon guarantees it. At least, that is the common theory, and one that you have not yet put to the iron test. But as you cross the Thames, let me take a step back.

It was a ghost who extended the invitation to you, Lily. A man named Nicholson, from Glasgow, heart burst open like a plum in his sleep. He met you while you walked back from the corner store, asked in his low voice if he might walk you home - and you knew. Of course you knew. Maybe it was the shadow he was missing, or the melancholy in his voice. Said he'd been asked by a friend to invite you to sight-seeing at Parliament (and every god-chaser knows as that means). Unseasonal fires, he opined, perhaps beyond his remit. And people chasing after them, looking for profit.

It's Nicholson who's sitting across from you in the cab right now. He doesn't breathe, doesn't make any of the small motions that people make when their bodies work. He doesn't need his heavy, wool-lined coat, or the beanie pulled loose over his rough hair, but what soul would take those from him now?

"My boss," he says, in the same way that a djinn might speak of its master, "apologizes for not attending personally. Doesn't get out much." An understatement. It's estimated that Doctor M hasn't left his rent-controlled penthouse in over a decade. "He wants to make you a job offer. You can go places that his folk can't." A passing shadow over his face- a reminder of his current state? "There is strife in the east end. The King's been overreaching. And his smoking friends intend to have an intervention." Careful dancing around the information. Even the legendary circumspection of the London cabbies is not to be too firmly tested.

The offer on hand is this: Bonfire intends to smoke out King Silver. Lure him to a tenement and set it alight. Which means that their own digs will be temporarily vulnerable. The necromancer can provide you information from a casual association, and the aid of his ghosts, in penetrating their defenses and robbing them blind. All he asks in return are a few trinkets, which he will be all too happy to describe for you.

Doctor M does even this meeting at a distance, and that means it might be easier to smoke him on the deal. Or you could do nothing about the entire disaster that's going to go down, which means it's likely folks are going to die and you won't even make a profit off it, which would make it a terrible waste.

Floor's yours. You've got another fifteen minutes until you make it to your destination, anyhow.

[Anarion]

We dream all too often of the dead, one wonders if they truly depart at all or merely shift their forms to the phantasmal. Lily smiles as she is escorted into the cab and gathers her skirt to step up into it. She looks pensive as Nicholson talks, drawing lines in the air, which shimmers ever so faintly around her hand, if you were looking closely. Just a trick of the light, of course, but it helps her to picture where things are in her mind's eye.

"Yeah, what do smokers keep on hand then? It's like, barely worth the effort to go visit if they don't offer guests a good spread. Something good to eat, something dreamy, and nothing that's going to leave us with a hangover the next day, seriously." I wonder how much ghosts read body language, or can piece together Lily's vague gestures as she measures the distance from place to place and the routes they'd need to travel with their haul. She's asking what's on the table for her little group specifically, of course, that would make this job worthwhile, and also about the follow up and whether Doctor M can assist in keeping this whole night quiet if they do it.

[Thanqol]

"Oh hey, I think I get it!" said Brittany. "It's like a riddle! So the King is the Silver King, right? I can figure that one because Casta was talking about him going on the warpath. And the smokers are... ohhh, not the Wyld Hunt they're all fire but no smoke, and the plural implies it's not the Phoenix. Um, those, whatsit arson dudes? Their leader is that one with the dreads? Oh, let me check my notebook."

She rummages for a thick notebook. It's got red leather binding and a pentagram on the cover and crappy paper and she got it for 20 quid at a pop up stall for Christmas gifts and that's a lot to pay for a blank notebook so she's determined to get use out of it. Inside is filled with pages and pages of stuff - drawings of birds, mostly. Birdwatcher drawings, very precise and neat. Then there were drawings of herself as a bird, and then as an anthro hawk, and then all the rest of her friends as anthro animals, and then a cool action scene where they were all jumping and shooting guns while doves burst out from eveywhere. Lily is the most adorable little cow lady, Jack was a fox in a mask, this guy looks like a big grumpy badger to her and she snaps a quick photograph to sketch from later.

Then she flips to the end and turned the book upside down because that was where she wrote all the notes of the things she learned. She tried to keep as much of the flowery strange language that these people used as possible because it always turned out to be extremely literal, even if it made her dot points read a bit like a poetry journal.

"Ah, the Bonfire! And intervening means murdering," she said proudly. "Man, this is great, I bet that if I was a cop I wouldn't have figured that you were talking about robbing people during an assassination at all. I should learn to talk like this!" she said.

Then, a look of horror crossed her face. "They're going to murder the Silver King!? But he's a good guy! Um, I think - is he a good guy? Should we warn him? I mean, is that a thing that people do here, warning other people? Or does that just get you involved deeper?"

[Anarion]

Lily lets out the sort of exasperated sigh that someone lets out when a person who is too old to get it is trying very hard to be cool, but gets right to the point. "The code phrases are so that we don't tell the cabbie what we're talking about, Red. Sir, be assured that your silence will be well-rewarded. And my friend here will be paying for the ride." I look at Redeye pointedly.

[PhoeKun]

"Nah nah nah chief, if we were talkin' in code then mommy's notebook would barely get her past 'hello'. And speaking of, that's really cute! I love the pictures, is that me? Am I a fox? Huh. Would not've guessed. That sounds fun though, I should try that actually..."

Jack twirls a beanie they have no earthly business possessing on the end of a white-gloved finger, which one supposes answers that question. Their face is half covered by a black sick mask, but there's a wide smile hidden in those yellow eyes.

"Like here, lemme break it down for ya. This one time my aunt went clubbing and wore her favorite coat. Only, when she got there she realized she wasn't wearing a coat at all but a silk scarf. And she thinks that's weird obviously but she's not there to wear coats or solve mysteries, she's there to get proper blitzed, so in she goes. And none of her friends are there yet but whatever, so she goes all up to the bartender and she's like, yo give me a backdraft. And he just looks at her like she's the strangest thing he's ever put eyes on, but he is pro-fesh and does her drink up anyway. So he pours the stuff and he lights that **** up and it's just... fwoosh, bright as a comet. And she's smilin' and watching it pour out onto the saucer and he's just shakin' his head on account of how weird she is, but a customer's a customer they say. So now he's got the big glass, right? And he puts out the little one with the big one and it's nice and full of smoke, so he tosses some ice in there and covers it with a hand, then he gives her a straw. And then he says to her he says Hey lady you realize you've got a big angry cat on your shoulders right? And damned if she doesn't, and damned if the thing doesn't near claw her half to death. Actually come to think, never saw her again after that night. Which is why I stopped drinking at parties."

Stars, as you know, speak in stories when they're on a job. Veiled references are too easy to hear and break through, so Jack's kind use something less (and therefore more) reliable. The intended point is relatively simple: that King Silver is going to come out of this legendarily pissed off and convinced someone hit the Bonfire just to get him torched. Between that and actually stealing from the crazy arsonists. Seems like a lot of heat to be putting down on some newbies, maybe you should make sure this offer's on the up and up. Or at least that the score's way juicier than the normal culty stuff, Jack adds by way of tossing the beanie back over to Nicholson.

[Thanqol]

Lily lets out the sort of exasperated sigh that someone lets out when a person who is too old to get it is trying very hard to be cool, but gets right to the point. "The code phrases are so that we don't tell the cabbie what we're talking about, Red. Sir, be assured that your silence will be well-rewarded. And my friend here will be paying for the ride." I look at Redeye pointedly.

"The cabbie's not a zombie!?" said Brittany in shock. "I mean - oh my goodness, I just assumed that everyone involved from a mission from the necromancer would be a zombie. Why are we having a conversation about assassinations in a cab that's not driven by a zombie? Oh, gosh, I really messed up, I'm sorry. I'll talk like one of you from now on."


"Nah nah nah chief, if we were talkin' in code then mommy's notebook would barely get her past 'hello'. And speaking of, that's really cute! I love the pictures, is that me? Am I a fox? Huh. Would not've guessed. That sounds fun though, I should try that actually..."

"Thank you!" Brittany blushes a little. "I was really excited when I heard that jobs had animal codenames down here but it turned out it was only half of them and it seemed like a waste, um so..." she trailed off awkwardly.


Jack twirls a beanie they have no earthly business possessing on the end of a white-gloved finger, which one supposes answers that question. Their face is half covered by a black sick mask, but there's a wide smile hidden in those yellow eyes.

"Like here, lemme break it down for ya. This one time my aunt went clubbing and wore her favorite coat. Only, when she got there she realized she wasn't wearing a coat at all but a silk scarf. And she thinks that's weird obviously but she's not there to wear coats or solve mysteries, she's there to get proper blitzed, so in she goes. And none of her friends are there yet but whatever, so she goes all up to the bartender and she's like, yo give me a backdraft. And he just looks at her like she's the strangest thing he's ever put eyes on, but he is pro-fesh and does her drink up anyway. So he pours the stuff and he lights that **** up and it's just... fwoosh, bright as a comet. And she's smilin' and watching it pour out onto the saucer and he's just shakin' his head on account of how weird she is, but a customer's a customer they say. So now he's got the big glass, right? And he puts out the little one with the big one and it's nice and full of smoke, so he tosses some ice in there and covers it with a hand, then he gives her a straw. And then he says to her he says Hey lady you realize you've got a big angry cat on your shoulders right? And damned if she doesn't, and damned if the thing doesn't near claw her half to death. Actually come to think, never saw her again after that night. Which is why I stopped drinking at parties."

Stars, as you know, speak in stories when they're on a job. Veiled references are too easy to hear and break through, so Jack's kind use something less (and therefore more) reliable. The intended point is relatively simple: that King Silver is going to come out of this legendarily pissed off and convinced someone hit the Bonfire just to get him torched. Between that and actually stealing from the crazy arsonists. Seems like a lot of heat to be putting down on some newbies, maybe you should make sure this offer's on the up and up. Or at least that the score's way juicier than the normal culty stuff, Jack adds by way of tossing the beanie back over to Nicholson.

Brittany stares at Jack for a long moment, and then goes through several pages of her notebook helplessly. "Um... so should we... warn the nice lady that there's a big angry cat on her shoulders so she can keep... donating to the police charity? Also maybe she kills the cat before it comes after the bartender?"

Nailed it.

[Raz_Fox]

Lily lets out the sort of exasperated sigh that someone lets out when a person who is too old to get it is trying very hard to be cool, but gets right to the point. "The code phrases are so that we don't tell the cabbie what we're talking about, Red. Sir, be assured that your silence will be well-rewarded. And my friend here will be paying for the ride." I look at Redeye pointedly.

The other side of the partition between the driver and the passengers is fogged in smoke. You spoke to the man on your way in, it's possible that he's listening- but the cab drivers of London don't speak about what they hear. At least, that's how the story goes. Something about an old oath, or a divine commandment.

It's still better not to chance it, but there's a reason folks have meetings in these black cars.


Brittany stares at Jack for a long moment, and then goes through several pages of her notebook helplessly. "Um... so should we... warn the nice lady that there's a big angry cat on her shoulders so she can keep... donating to the police charity? Also maybe she kills the cat before it comes after the bartender?"

Nailed it.

"That'd be a shame," the ghost says, with a twinge of weariness in his voice. "The boss heard you were a fine lot for parties."


Stars, as you know, speak in stories when they're on a job. Veiled references are too easy to hear and break through, so Jack's kind use something less (and therefore more) reliable. The intended point is relatively simple: that King Silver is going to come out of this legendarily pissed off and convinced someone hit the Bonfire just to get him torched. Between that and actually stealing from the crazy arsonists. Seems like a lot of heat to be putting down on some newbies, maybe you should make sure this offer's on the up and up. Or at least that the score's way juicier than the normal culty stuff, Jack adds by way of tossing the beanie back over to Nicholson.

"Do you know what it means when you dream of smoke? It means that your life is... at a crossroads. At least, that's what I heard." Counterpoint: the charnel-spool of disaster lingers around the lighters and the altars of the Bonfire. That's the sort of thing your canny cult could use for firepower- and is nigh-useless to a man who works singularly with the dead, meaning he's less likely to screw you out of it.

[Anarion]

Better safe than sorry. The cabbie definitely is not a zombie, and barriers are all, in their way, permeable.

"I dream of smoke and I see embers rain down from heaven. Do they leave nothing but ash or does new growth take root?" Lily looks at Redeye and Jack with a smug expression like oh man, that was a good one, wasn't I like poetic and stuff? She just wants some assurance from the spirit that the risk here is worth the payout and that the result isn't just going to be the Bonfire wiping us out. If she feels confident about that, she's on board for this job.

[Thanqol]

"That'd be a shame," the ghost says, with a twinge of weariness in his voice. "The boss heard you were a fine lot for parties."

"Would the party really be ruined if, um, the nice lady doesn't get... okay I'm probably overthinking this, I'm sorry," she said, wilting under his stare. "It'll probably all be fine. Um."


Better safe than sorry. The cabbie definitely is not a zombie, and barriers are all, in their way, permeable.

"I dream of smoke and I see embers rain down from heaven. Do they leave nothing but ash or does new growth take root?" Lily looks at Redeye and Jack with a smug expression like oh man, that was a good one, wasn't I like poetic and stuff? She just wants some assurance from the spirit that the risk here is worth the payout and that the result isn't just going to be the Bonfire wiping us out. If she feels confident about that, she's on board for this job.

Brittany gave a blank stare because all she could think of were dream analysis memes where accepting the new growth means that you'd have multiple lovers or children something, oh! Lily's smiling and looks proud, am I meant to say something? She's looking at me, that must be a question for me. "Um," and she's a legitimate fortune teller so she can probably see the future in the answer to this question. "Oh, sure, well I think is," she turned her head to look out the window and mumbled the rest.

[PhoeKun]

Jack listens to Lily and stares straight at her smug smile. Then they tilt their head to one side, sending a waterfall of jet black hair tumbling down onto the seat next to them. A hand fishes around in a jacket pocket and quickly finds a pair of impressively opaque sunglasses. Jack's eyes disappear, and with them go any easy read on their expression. They sit back up with an exaggerated shrug.

"Oi chief, I don't mean to backseat or nothing, but uh. You talk as pretty as your face is cute so use that gift to say something good. Here, I'll start ya off plain as the sunshine in your eyes: I fell asleep in front of my tv late at night. When I woke up my tv was still there, but the dream I had was gone. So of course I dialed customer service, quick as you please and all they hit me with was 'Sorry sir or madame but we don't cover that type of damage.' Don't that just beat all?"

Counter-counterpoint: it's strange beyond strange to get offered a job with no terms and no expected delivery. Your boss is after something, and getting us on that page will tie this up cleaner than anything else.

[Raz_Fox]

“New growth,” the shade says, after a moment’s careful consideration. “As long as the sparks don’t catch. Rain always comes after them.”

Which is, well, true. In a sense. Those who follow the Canaanites do have a tendency to bring good rain. It just needs to be bought, first.

“He’s looking for part of a tombstone. It’s not for sale, and he wants to add it to his collection.”

[Anarion]

That almost seemed too perfect. A slab of rock that Lily honestly could not come up with a single reason to care about, and that seemed obviously useful for Necromantic rituals and probably nothing else. Where was the catch? On top of that, she had at least the cautious optimism of the fellow proposing the job that everything was okay and they could dodge any retribution afterwards. Her hands, still slightly shifting the air, made their best impression of a gift horse and she pointedly did not look too closely at it.

"Alright, we'll join the party."

[Thanqol]

That almost seemed too perfect. A slab of rock that Lily honestly could not come up with a single reason to care about, and that seemed obviously useful for Necromantic rituals and probably nothing else. Where was the catch? On top of that, she had at least the cautious optimism of the fellow proposing the job that everything was okay and they could dodge any retribution afterwards. Her hands, still slightly shifting the air, made their best impression of a gift horse and she pointedly did not look too closely at it.

"Alright, we'll join the party."

"Oh! Good!" said Brittany. "So that's settled then! Does that mean that we can please get out of the cab soon so that we can talk like normal people?"

[PhoeKun]

Jack takes off their sunglasses exactly long enough to roll their eyes.

"Well ain't that sweet. Thanks for volunteering to carry all the heavy stuff, Redsy~"

[Thanqol]

Jack takes off their sunglasses exactly long enough to roll their eyes.

"Well ain't that sweet. Thanks for volunteering to carry all the heavy stuff, Redsy~"

"Well of course I'm going to carry the heavy stuff, you two are tiny," said Brittany with the distant grumpiness of an experienced mule. Camera gear was heavy.

It was easy to forget, what with the slouch and timidity, but Brittany was really quite a tall person. She had to duck her head to fit in this car and the centre space was all knees because she wasn't so rude as to put her feet up anywhere.

[Raz_Fox]

Here's what I know, then.

The Bonfire operates out of the third floor of an office complex on the East Side, three blocks away from the Thames. Their cover is a minor fire cult: you know, the sort where you get city permits to take out sprinklers and keep fires burning 24/7, as long as you have the proper fire safety. And out here, it's easy to pass inspections every now and then. It's an open secret that they have all sorts of different fuels, some of which would turn your stomach.

It's an easy plan, though, once you boil it down. Through the sewers to the basement. Service elevator up to the third floor. From there, it's just a matter of getting in and out of the suite of rooms unseen.

[3], [6]

From beneath. That's got some major symbolism there, doesn't it? The monster lurking under the bed, the shape in the water that brushes up against your boat. Maybe that's why you notice the ghosts before anything particularly bad happens.

They're a different sort, these. A shadow against the wall that is off-kilter. A hum on the edge of your teeth that's not the fluorescent lights. The smell of Texan barbecue sauce covering roasted... meat.

Trying to get in and out of here in any unnatural sort of way will rile these burnt shades up, hungry for blood and vengeance on anyone around them. So, how are you getting around this one?

[Anarion]

This is very much Lily's thing and she's serious about it. In many ways, she feels the most comfortable with the supernatural because it so perfectly fits with her vision of the dream. Her eyes look only forward to the hallway of ghosts and her mouth rises in a slight smile. Perhaps this is why they were offered this sort of job? It would make sense if the crew's skillset had start to spread.

Lily's skirt brushes the stone floor as she steps foward and speaks quietly.
"Remnants of fiery dreams lingering in the world. They, like all other aspects of the grand dream, are moldable in their turn."
Lily clasps her hands together in prayer. She raises one hand as the other grips her shawl tightly, the deep maroon fabric taut. As her hand rises, it gathers an ethereal light that forms in wisps and specks, like moths to the flame. They dance and hover around for an instant as her breath is still and she does not shudder, and then in an instant, they converge. She lowers her head in soft prayer to Lord Vishnu and whispers quietly to the burnt shadow before us:
"The dream calls you, shadow. This place smells of fire, and you too are the ash that was once burnt, are you not? The great lord Vishnu wills our passage through the embers. Come, assist us."

The burnt shadow will come to us and act as our guide, offering safe passage past its compatriots.

[I have two dice base for this. If somebody helps, I can get a third.]

[Thanqol]

This was the easy part.

She remembered the feeling of Casta standing behind her. Hands firmly adjusting her posture. Leg hooked around her ankle to widen her stance. Tying her hair into a severe and professional bun. Feeling each strap and clasp of her ballistic armour as it was tightened into place. Fingers steady. It was the same physical motion as holding a camera and waiting for her shot. Don't aim at moving targets. Hold your position steady and wait for them to move into your sights. Get the stance right, keep a grip on the fear and breathe out when you're shooting and boom, you're a marksman.

So she had time to think.

She'd obviously been tilted in the car. That was nothing new. Everyone had been going about their oh-so-mysterious look at me I studied poetry at university and I'm determined to use it secret language and she hadn't been able to keep up. Of course she hadn't, idiot, she'd been studying the much more practical skill of photography. And she'd still be snapping pictures of deer if she hadn't wandered into the magical poetry monster dimension.

Oh, of course Brits, because standing on a leaky boat in a sewer aiming guns at megacrocodiles is such a step upwards from photographing majestic animals in their natural habitat? You think you've moved up in the world? In a practical sense all you've done is gone insane from insomnia and cheated on the most amazing person in the world with a crazed subterranean bounty hunter on the rebound.

And now Lily was going to poetry her way past those megacrocodiles with her and she was getting mad about it because her artificial gun masculinity was being challenged? Down and around, Brits. Down and around.

[PhoeKun]

There's a shrug from somewhere off to the side and a hand that claps Brittany on the shoulder, as if to say 'Yeah, not how I'da handled it either'.

"Hey little watchdogs just let us slip by
You won't be in trouble, you don't have to lie
Keep ears on the stuff that my flower just spoke
You're watching the fire, and we're just the smoke."

Jack's fished some small, golden bells tied to red ribbon out of a pocket. They bounce and jingle across the makeshift nursery rhyme and fill the little sewer passageway with music. The bells are not important, of course. Jack ties one into Lily's hair while she's kneeling and praying. The rhyme isn't important, either. Another one gets tied around Brittany's wrist. That's all just to keep a thought focused on one goal. A third bell rolls around on the palm of a gloved hand. And the mind is wont to wander, over rooftops and through doors, up stairways and down elevators, into shadows and across cameras and...

Jingle! Yes, right. Focused.

[I'm helping!]

[Raz_Fox]

For most people, this would be a risky move, here. Doctor M would have no trouble with this, but that would require he be present at the scene, and he wouldn't walk through the front door, let alone go down through the sewers. Do you know what's down there? Everyone's bodily fluids, raw and stinking and mingled together, the putrescence of the city. He'd have to leave the room and go lie down if you even brought the suggestion up.

So that leaves Lily. And while Lily's not a Scion of Hades, or even a priest of the Orphic mysteries... she's in her element, as you said.

This is Controlled (even if you botch it up, they won't flare up immediately- you'll just have to carve more time out and find another way in) and of Standard effect.

[Raz_Fox]

The shape resolves. Oh. She’s young. Likely of the age when calling her a child would be true, but taken as a grave insult. The unfashionable shadow of braces on her teeth.

“Come on, then,” she says, with a toss of the head. Other... shapes... dart after the bell that our Jack rolled down the hall. “I don’t think it’s empty,” she drawls, a bit vacantly, “but Graham Norton’s on, yeah?” She taps the handle of the door and it swings open effortlessly, and, yes, there’s the sound of a studio audience laughing from a room further back.

Inside, though, it looks like... well, the kind of small church that meets in an office building. Faded folding chairs all pointed towards a podium on your left, and behind it, a smoky heap of coals. It’s recently had burnt offerings.

The smell of something burnt is worse in here, lurking under the smell of old chairs and cleaning fluid. The tiles under your feet are smudged, dirty.

No one’s in here, and there’s three doors on the other side of the room, of which one is marked clearly as a one-person restroom. The other two likely lead to back offices; the glow of the television burns under one.

[Thanqol]

The shape resolves. Oh. She’s young. Likely of the age when calling her a child would be true, but taken as a grave insult. The unfashionable shadow of braces on her teeth.

“Come on, then,” she says, with a toss of the head. Other... shapes... dart after the bell that our Jack rolled down the hall. “I don’t think it’s empty,” she drawls, a bit vacantly, “but Graham Norton’s on, yeah?” She taps the handle of the door and it swings open effortlessly, and, yes, there’s the sound of a studio audience laughing from a room further back.

Inside, though, it looks like... well, the kind of small church that meets in an office building. Faded folding chairs all pointed towards a podium on your left, and behind it, a smoky heap of coals. It’s recently had burnt offerings.

The smell of something burnt is worse in here, lurking under the smell of old chairs and cleaning fluid. The tiles under your feet are smudged, dirty.

No one’s in here, and there’s three doors on the other side of the room, of which one is marked clearly as a one-person restroom. The other two likely lead to back offices; the glow of the television burns under one.

Sneaking is for hacks.

Casta was really clear on that point. You could creep around all night edging out a 1% better position or you could kick down the door, put guns on everyone, hog tie them, and then loot the place at your own leisure making as much noise as you want.

She'd been there a few times when Casta had done just that. She'd stood in the background while Casta dominated an entire room like a stage magician, convincing men twice her size and with twice as many arms to stay quietly seated while she zip-tied them. It had been like sorcery. Even she'd lost track of what she was meant to be doing.

And she wasn't going to get any good at this job if she let her own neurotic thoughts of how to do things stand in the way.

She checked her pistols then walked over to the room with the TV. Unless stopped she'd then quietly open the door, aim her guns at those inside, and politely say "um, excuse me, can you please put your hands in the air? Thank you."

[PhoeKun]

Rule #1: Never be seen.
Rule#2: Never be seen.
Rule#3: Never be heard.
Rule#33: A hawk in flight will inevitably find rodents everywhere.

Jack palms at their mask dramatically and turns to Lily, holding up a series of pre-prepared index cards. The handwriting, in pen, is inconsistent to the point where it seems to have been made by multiple people.

If you keep mistreating me
Eventually I'm going to fall in love with someone else
Show me how you care

And then, carelessly tossing all three onto the floor, Jack pivots and melts into the darkness on feet as light as moth wings. You will never know anybody half so well as when you see how they keep their bathroom. Why waste time with anything else?

[Anarion]

Lily looks at the index cards, smiles, and blows Jack a kiss before he slips off. She wants to giggle to herself, he's so charming, and perhaps if you're looking closely, you can see that desire cross her face before she suppresses it to be very professionally focused. She had no skill to keep up with Jack, and Redeye over there clearly had something in mind and would probably fumble it if interrupted, so she went to go check out the third door. Lily had neither a lot of combat power or sneakiness, but she was competent enough at poking around and if somebody was hanging around in the dark, she figured she could talk to them well enough.

[Raz_Fox]

Redeye steps into the hotbox. The TV’s got a soap on, and the three young braves in here? High as proverbial kites.

On the walls are the trophies you have come to collect, a serial arsonist’s panoply of burnt and blackened antiques, trash, and personal mementos. All raised up in glory to Moloch, who takes the burnt offerings.

There’s a scrap-welded bull’s head on the wall, and you don’t want to know what’s been burned out in that.

The braves - two young men and a punk rock chick - stare at you with bleary red eyes of their own, trying to compute what’s going on. They have guns, but, like, they’re gonna need a moment to remember that. They’re on the good stuff.

Jack is going to find something very interesting, naturally. Anything in particular you’re looking for?

Lily finds the boss’s office. There’s another smoky brazier in here, and a map of London studded with pins. Bull iconography in the decorations. And, wonder of wonders, an actual salamander in a glass tank near the window. He’s a cheerful little guy, looks a lot like a big newt. He’d make a wonderful pet, or you could sell him on for a nice payday.

I mean, assuming you want to lug the tank around. Or lure him into a hot and preferably non-flammable container.

[Thanqol]

Redeye steps into the hotbox. The TV’s got a soap on, and the three young braves in here? High as proverbial kites.

On the walls are the trophies you have come to collect, a serial arsonist’s panoply of burnt and blackened antiques, trash, and personal mementos. All raised up in glory to Moloch, who takes the burnt offerings.

There’s a scrap-welded bull’s head on the wall, and you don’t want to know what’s been burned out in that.

The braves - two young men and a punk rock chick - stare at you with bleary red eyes of their own, trying to compute what’s going on. They have guns, but, like, they’re gonna need a moment to remember that. They’re on the good stuff.

Don't chicken out don't chicken out don't chicken out.

"Haha, gotcha," said Brittany, chickening out. She holstered her guns and went to sit down by the couch. She picked a coupon book from her pocket and tossed it in the fire all casual-smooth like. "You just going to leave me hanging here?" she said, extending her palm.

She could feel Casta's disapproving stare... but she knew crackheads. Her college roommate had been a creature of sublime funkiness and if there were two things you could say about people who were high it's that they were impossible to intimidate and easy to trick. All she had to do was leave them gaps and their overclocked brains would fill in the story.

Unless they were on PCP. She didn't know what it was with PCP and cannibalism.

[Anarion]

That Salamander seems valuable and cute. Lily steps in and looks around. The map might be useful too, but she can just snap a photo of that and try to figure out the meaning of the pins later. The Salamander though, it's probably not too heavy. Lily doesn't mind doing a little heavy lifting and will gladly just carry the whole cage rather than risk setting something else on fire. Is there a little name placard on the glass case? If not, Lily will immediately start thinking about names for it. Maybe Suzie Salamander?

[PhoeKun]

Silly question, innit? There is plenty of loot elsewhere, surely anyone with eyes will find it. The snatching, that will take hands. Of course, of course. But time enough later. What might Jack be looking for?

It's secrets, dear voice who echoes over heaven, secrets. Ephemeral, valuable things you can take and take and take and still leave everything behind. These of course you do not hide where someone would go looking. These of course you may not think to hide at all. But you put them here all the same in the place that is all at once too mundane and boring to be bothered with and so vulnerable that everyone is afraid of who might see inside. If this is a front, then all of the most tender prizes are behind this door. If it is not this is still true. Might there be a fracture in this little fire starter cult? This is where you'll see it. If someone's hiding drugs from the rest, it's here again. Is it clean? Do they care? Who lives inside this space and what sort of people do they become when no one watches? What will they look for and what will make them follow the finger pointed the wrong way?

All of this. Any of it. And more besides, my dearest voice. What would you be looking for, hm?

[Raz_Fox]

Don't chicken out don't chicken out don't chicken out.

"Haha, gotcha," said Brittany, chickening out. She holstered her guns and went to sit down by the couch. She picked a coupon book from her pocket and tossed it in the fire all casual-smooth like. "You just going to leave me hanging here?" she said, extending her palm.

She could feel Casta's disapproving stare... but she knew crackheads. Her college roommate had been a creature of sublime funkiness and if there were two things you could say about people who were high it's that they were impossible to intimidate and easy to trick. All she had to do was leave them gaps and their overclocked brains would fill in the story.

Unless they were on PCP. She didn't know what it was with PCP and cannibalism.

Okay, so, let me level with you here. I think that the consequence of you blowing this roll is that the clock's looking mighty close to full. Company's expected back any moment. And for the life of me, I think that what happens here is that Redeye ends up losing track of the time. The situation ends up defused, she collects the guns, everything's good, and then she realizes that she took way too long on this. Maybe it's residual, in the air, maybe there's something in what they're smoking- but it's time to bug out, right?


That Salamander seems valuable and cute. Lily steps in and looks around. The map might be useful too, but she can just snap a photo of that and try to figure out the meaning of the pins later. The Salamander though, it's probably not too heavy. Lily doesn't mind doing a little heavy lifting and will gladly just carry the whole cage rather than risk setting something else on fire. Is there a little name placard on the glass case? If not, Lily will immediately start thinking about names for it. Maybe Suzie Salamander?

+1 SALAMANDER ACQUIRED. This is the most important thing that has happened thus far and I am immensely pleased, just as Lily is. So you come back out, and Jack's got something, and... well, Redeye will be out in a moment.


Silly question, innit? There is plenty of loot elsewhere, surely anyone with eyes will find it. The snatching, that will take hands. Of course, of course. But time enough later. What might Jack be looking for?

It's secrets, dear voice who echoes over heaven, secrets. Ephemeral, valuable things you can take and take and take and still leave everything behind. These of course you do not hide where someone would go looking. These of course you may not think to hide at all. But you put them here all the same in the place that is all at once too mundane and boring to be bothered with and so vulnerable that everyone is afraid of who might see inside. If this is a front, then all of the most tender prizes are behind this door. If it is not this is still true. Might there be a fracture in this little fire starter cult? This is where you'll see it. If someone's hiding drugs from the rest, it's here again. Is it clean? Do they care? Who lives inside this space and what sort of people do they become when no one watches? What will they look for and what will make them follow the finger pointed the wrong way?

All of this. Any of it. And more besides, my dearest voice. What would you be looking for, hm?

Well, me, I'd be looking for what Doctor M wants. His little request, nothing major at all- maybe worth pocketing, maybe not. Depends on which way the sticks break going down.

And, thus, naturally, it has been found. It's a bonafide archeological relic, old and smoothed down by rain and wind and disregard, sun-bleached stone woven into a nest of string and lighters and newspaper clippings, all of them obituaries. The same thing that's keeping all those unquiet ghosts outside hopping here.

Trick is going to be removing it without setting them free to burn the place down, right? Or you could just carry off the whole thing, like Lily with the Salamander's tank, but between you and me, the ghosts would totally follow you, and that's the sort of thing that might strike someone as downright harrowing and uncanny. Especially poor Redeye.

[PhoeKun]

There, see? All we had to do was open one door, and now we know so much! Parlor tricks and vengeful ghosts... what a combo. Heh, guess Doc M's got his eyes on the Bonfire's favorite whatsit. Betcha yer name they don't spring for security like this for any of the other goodies they keep around here. It makes a body wonder, though of course there's no time for that. Clock started ticking more or less as soon as the normies took to wandering.

Jack heaves a dramatic but whisper quiet sigh and removes their mask, revealing... well, a face to the dim room, at any rate. The details aren't important. This next bit isn't something you just up and do with a bunch of veiled intentions, is all. See, under better circumstances the best play here would actually be to pluck this whole stupid thing out of the room, because then you would get the ghosts and all the time in the world to turn them to whatever ends you could dream of. Daresay that'd be more valuable than the slab, even. Just yoinkin' it would get messy, though. Someone would be bound to notice, which is why that plan woulda called for one Lily and at least three hours. With no Lilys and, like... thirty minutes? it calls for something a little bit simpler. If for no other reason than to show little miss "But Casta told me" there are other kinds of professionals in the world.

So off goes the mask, and out come the tools. A pen, some tweezers, a stick of incense (promptly lit). Jack grabs some random something from somewhere in this little 'bathroom' and gets to work. The trick here's not to undo this little nest of connections and possessions, it's just to wrap it around something else and let it take hold of that instead. The best security systems in the world'll guard a lump of coal as happily as they'll watch a diamond, ya know?

[We're invoking the supernatural art of Tinker here, to Indiana Jones this tablet. Which hits a 6. Can't really say what my position or effect are]

[Thanqol]

Okay, so, let me level with you here. I think that the consequence of you blowing this roll is that the clock's looking mighty close to full. Company's expected back any moment. And for the life of me, I think that what happens here is that Redeye ends up losing track of the time. The situation ends up defused, she collects the guns, everything's good, and then she realizes that she took way too long on this. Maybe it's residual, in the air, maybe there's something in what they're smoking- but it's time to bug out, right?

She was reminded how much she hated college.

"Brb," she slurred, moved out of the door, and then propped one of the folding chairs under the doorknob to wedge it shut. She slapped her face a couple of times to reorient herself, checked her phone for the time, and then nervously glances out the windows and takes stock to see if this is too late or Too Very Late.

[Anarion]

Lily happily carries the glass cage out of the office "Yep, I'm definitely naming you Susie" she whispers to herself, doing her best to keep the salamander steady and happy as she moves it. There's nothing really of note for her and she doesn't want to interrupt the others, so she sets the cage down near the lounge exit and starts drawing some glyphs on the floor. Nothing complex, certainly nothing that would identify her. But one of those things that, when somebody shows up and sees that stuff is missing they'll stop and go "woah, boss, what the heck is this?" and try to figure out it out for a few minutes. Which is why hers just says a coded version of "went to get a slushee at the corner store, it's too hot in here."

[Raz_Fox]

There, see? All we had to do was open one door, and now we know so much! Parlor tricks and vengeful ghosts... what a combo. Heh, guess Doc M's got his eyes on the Bonfire's favorite whatsit. Betcha yer name they don't spring for security like this for any of the other goodies they keep around here. It makes a body wonder, though of course there's no time for that. Clock started ticking more or less as soon as the normies took to wandering.

Jack heaves a dramatic but whisper quiet sigh and removes their mask, revealing... well, a face to the dim room, at any rate. The details aren't important. This next bit isn't something you just up and do with a bunch of veiled intentions, is all. See, under better circumstances the best play here would actually be to pluck this whole stupid thing out of the room, because then you would get the ghosts and all the time in the world to turn them to whatever ends you could dream of. Daresay that'd be more valuable than the slab, even. Just yoinkin' it would get messy, though. Someone would be bound to notice, which is why that plan woulda called for one Lily and at least three hours. With no Lilys and, like... thirty minutes? it calls for something a little bit simpler. If for no other reason than to show little miss "But Casta told me" there are other kinds of professionals in the world.

So off goes the mask, and out come the tools. A pen, some tweezers, a stick of incense (promptly lit). Jack grabs some random something from somewhere in this little 'bathroom' and gets to work. The trick here's not to undo this little nest of connections and possessions, it's just to wrap it around something else and let it take hold of that instead. The best security systems in the world'll guard a lump of coal as happily as they'll watch a diamond, ya know?

[We're invoking the supernatural art of Tinker here, to Indiana Jones this tablet. Which hits a 6. Can't really say what my position or effect are]

Oh, you're beautiful, Jack. Beautiful good. Your fingers tickle the stone right out and switch its keening, eager dance partner with a fine little bottle of dish soap (Lavender Scent Bonanza!). It's heavier than, by all rights, it should be. Not Mjolnir drops-to-the-floor only-the-worthy heavy, but noticeable. Doctor M's asking you for something that has a bit of serious mojo to it, if you're any judge.

Now that's done, Redeye's scanning the windows, and Lily's leaving some callsigns. Looks like you've got what you were asked for, though little- wait, hold that thought. Lily's got an actual salamander in a glass aquarium. Definitely serious payday, unless she insists on keeping it and teaching it tricks.


She was reminded how much she hated college.

"Brb," she slurred, moved out of the door, and then propped one of the folding chairs under the doorknob to wedge it shut. She slapped her face a couple of times to reorient herself, checked her phone for the time, and then nervously glances out the windows and takes stock to see if this is too late or Too Very Late.

All right, so. Van lights approaching the building, but they'll have to park in the side street and come around to the front and then come up the stairs. Phew. Lot of work, that. You lot will be out of there by then, no problem, unless something goes south.


Lily happily carries the glass cage out of the office "Yep, I'm definitely naming you Susie" she whispers to herself, doing her best to keep the salamander steady and happy as she moves it. There's nothing really of note for her and she doesn't want to interrupt the others, so she sets the cage down near the lounge exit and starts drawing some glyphs on the floor. Nothing complex, certainly nothing that would identify her. But one of those things that, when somebody shows up and sees that stuff is missing they'll stop and go "woah, boss, what the heck is this?" and try to figure out it out for a few minutes. Which is why hers just says a coded version of "went to get a slushee at the corner store, it's too hot in here."

I don't even think that calls for a roll. You're the Bull. It's good, it'll freak them bad, no problem.


So. There's only one problem, as I see it.

You've got one (1) tablet shard and one (1) salamander. All the other mystically attuned stuff that Doctor M said he'd have no problems with you all keeping? In the room that Redeye just wedged shut. You can bail out now for the low-pay, low-risk end, or you can try to hold up the cavalry and go through with a trash bag and sweep everything into it, while convincing the blazing crew to chill out.

I mean, it's your call.

[Anarion]

Redeye looks a little nervous (or just sleep-deprived? couldn't tell you for sure, but Lily is thinking nervous). "So...uh, thiefy people, we gotta get outta here now, or is there more stuff to do? I got us a new pet, her name's Suzie, and some photos of the maps that the Bonfire uses. Maybe valuable, I'm hoping."

[PhoeKun]

By the time Jack's come back out with the Job part of the job they've got the mask back on, which is good for morale because hoo boy, let me tell you that face is wearing a look nobody should want to see.

"You're keepin' the sally? 'Cause I know a fence who'd... nah. Nah, love. One of ya's gotta buy me say..." Jack peers out the window, "Five minutes? Somewhere in there n' we can have us a payday. 'Less you're chuffed runnin' a gig for a new pet? I ain't here to tell you how to run ****. I just... y'know. Got a way of doing things."

[Thanqol]

By the time Jack's come back out with the Job part of the job they've got the mask back on, which is good for morale because hoo boy, let me tell you that face is wearing a look nobody should want to see.

"You're keepin' the sally? 'Cause I know a fence who'd... nah. Nah, love. One of ya's gotta buy me say..." Jack peers out the window, "Five minutes? Somewhere in there n' we can have us a payday. 'Less you're chuffed runnin' a gig for a new pet? I ain't here to tell you how to run ****. I just... y'know. Got a way of doing things."

"I can get you five minutes," said Brittany. "There are a couple of very drugged up people in there, so, um..." she was going to say be careful but they were already robbing a church and that would make her sound like a worrywart and she was about to go roadblock a bunch of armed goons careful had come and gone. She coughed awkwardly and went down the stairs.

Think of a plan. How to bodyblock a crew of goons for a few minutes? How to... no, she knew how to do this. Casta had trained her for this. Find a concealed spot with good lines of fire and a clear escape route. Settle in, add some camouflage. When they come out fire a couple of bullets over their heads to scare them off and make them seek cover. Drop back in the chaos. Fire, retreat, fire, retreat, create danger and uncertainty. Nobody likes being ambushed.

Easy as cake.

[Using my camouflage skill and attacking from a prepared position, both skirmish and prowl are 1 so I don't need to stress about what stat it is. Two dice either way - 4, 2 - to run a delaying action on the reinforcements]

[Anarion]

"I'm not...necessarily, she just really looked like a Suzie. Anyway, I'll uh, help you look, Jack? I've got another arm, we can do it in 3 minutes."

[PhoeKun]

"Is that so? Then you just do whatever comes natural like."

In a blink, Jack is uncomfortably close to Lily and staring straight into her eyes. They reach a hand up as though to caress one of those perfect cheeks and... roughly claps their palm over Lily's eyes. There's a rustle and some soft shushing sounds, and when Lily can see again Jack's back is turning and she's wearing their mask. The fabric is soft, though the straps maybe a bit tight around the ears. So that's that, then.

There's no time to be clever about this, nor any time to be picky. Truth be told, Jack would be more than happy to cut and run. A theft with no living witness (and no new corpses) is more valuable than one that actually pays well, depending on the currency. But there's still a point of professionalism to consider: with such little loot, it'll be easy as breathing to figure out what the actual target tonight was and from there it's just some back-of-a-napkin maths to figure out who called it in. Doc M may be a weirdo shut in with no manners who doesn't pay... uh, anything, come to think, but a Star never does their employer dirty like that. No obvious threads.

Jack's body melts into a thing of shadow and smoke. The druggies must be used to seeing that sort of thing round these parts; between that and the very obvious 'thiefy person' just over yonder, that ought to be enough to snatch one or maybe two goodies off the walls without it costing the escape route. Ok then. Kick out the chair, open the door. The encore performance starts now.

[I believe they call this the Ghost Veil. Jack is paying the extra Stress to make it last for a few minutes. Prowl at the moment is 4, 2]

[Anarion]

Lily tries not to blush when Jack gets that close, and after a second she even remembers to breathe. He was so charming though, and the way he moved, even slipping into the smoke like that, it was like he really got the world the same way she saw it. And that butt of his...she was supposed to be helping him though, right, right. She lifts a gloved hand and just caresses the air, makes it a little more pliable, a little more in tune with the rhythms of the great lord and a little easier for Jack to make his way.

[spending a stress to help and give Jack an extra die to roll]

[Raz_Fox]

"I can get you five minutes," said Brittany. "There are a couple of very drugged up people in there, so, um..." she was going to say be careful but they were already robbing a church and that would make her sound like a worrywart and she was about to go roadblock a bunch of armed goons careful had come and gone. She coughed awkwardly and went down the stairs.

Think of a plan. How to bodyblock a crew of goons for a few minutes? How to... no, she knew how to do this. Casta had trained her for this. Find a concealed spot with good lines of fire and a clear escape route. Settle in, add some camouflage. When they come out fire a couple of bullets over their heads to scare them off and make them seek cover. Drop back in the chaos. Fire, retreat, fire, retreat, create danger and uncertainty. Nobody likes being ambushed.

Easy as cake.

[Using my camouflage skill and attacking from a prepared position, both skirmish and prowl are 1 so I don't need to stress about what stat it is. Two dice either way - 4, 2 - to run a delaying action on the reinforcements]


"Is that so? Then you just do whatever comes natural like."

In a blink, Jack is uncomfortably close to Lily and staring straight into her eyes. They reach a hand up as though to caress one of those perfect cheeks and... roughly claps their palm over Lily's eyes. There's a rustle and some soft shushing sounds, and when Lily can see again Jack's back is turning and she's wearing their mask. The fabric is soft, though the straps maybe a bit tight around the ears. So that's that, then.

There's no time to be clever about this, nor any time to be picky. Truth be told, Jack would be more than happy to cut and run. A theft with no living witness (and no new corpses) is more valuable than one that actually pays well, depending on the currency. But there's still a point of professionalism to consider: with such little loot, it'll be easy as breathing to figure out what the actual target tonight was and from there it's just some back-of-a-napkin maths to figure out who called it in. Doc M may be a weirdo shut in with no manners who doesn't pay... uh, anything, come to think, but a Star never does their employer dirty like that. No obvious threads.

Jack's body melts into a thing of shadow and smoke. The druggies must be used to seeing that sort of thing round these parts; between that and the very obvious 'thiefy person' just over yonder, that ought to be enough to snatch one or maybe two goodies off the walls without it costing the escape route. Ok then. Kick out the chair, open the door. The encore performance starts now.

[I believe they call this the Ghost Veil. Jack is paying the extra Stress to make it last for a few minutes. Prowl at the moment is 4, 2]

Here's how it goes down, then.

Jack? Untouchable. Terrifying. One of the druggies freaks out and tries to tackle them, ends up careening into the TV and ending up on the floor underneath it. I'll say this much for their chums: they are loyal. While Jack's slipping things off the wall, they're trying to lift the TV, cussing Jack out for being an ******* and spooking him. It's... unclear whether they think Jack is an interloper or an acquaintance playing a mean trick, and they are completely defanged. With the way our Lily is tangling up the dream around here, it's questionable whether they'll even remember why they got so worked up in the first place.

Redeye, meanwhile... this may be the east side of London, but guns are still guns, and it makes the returning conquering heroes freak something fierce when bullets start singing over their heads. There's a scattering, a yowling, a calling down of fire on your head. Not literal fire. Or even the metaphorical gunfire. But consider yourself marked by fire. Add it to the conditions list, or what have you. The fire will follow.

On the other hand, they're absolutely powerless to stop you from laying down covering fire and then waltzing out with Jack and Lily, so, y'know, good job.

[Raz_Fox]

The Royal parks have been royal since before Brutus arrived on these shores, and though they only still exist within the confines of London at the sufferance of the Dragon, there is a certain degree of diplomatic freedom within these embassies of high Faerie, not least because of what the Tuatha Dé Danaan would do should their flock be harmed. This means, well, if you want to steal dreams from some of the foremost citizens of London, the Hyde Park Ball provides an opportunity too enticing to ignore. After all, the Good Folk are almost dreams themselves.

If this heist works perfectly, without flow or mischance, Jack will walk out of Hyde Park at daybreak with three tokens in their pockets, physical representations of the Dream of London. No one will have been made suspicious, the Queen’s wrath will not be turned against you, and no one will have had a duel, been confronted by a ghost, or slept with someone they weren’t supposed to, Brittany.

On the other hand, this is the Hyde Park Ball. How the hell did you all, you motley and scandalous lot, get tickets? And what are you wearing???

[Thanqol]

or slept with someone they weren’t supposed to, Brittany.

The amount of time I have spent being faithful is orders of magnitude greater than the amount of time I have been cheating and I feel like I should get some credit for that. And besides, all that is behind me and I will soon be an ordinary member of society again.


And what are you wearing???

Brittany is surprisingly at home at balls. Not because she can dress well - she can shut up - but because one of the more profitable gigs for a photographer is doing weddings. Involves a lot of creeping around in the background with a camera wearing nice but extremely drab and unremarkable clothing. It's actually almost like nature photography where you're sneaking up on twitchy little birds, except its much louder and all the birds are drunk and your head gets filled with uncomfortably immediate ideas like 'forever'. So she's dressed in that nondescript shapeless black somewhere between 'roadie' and 'burglar' while drifting around, taking photographs, and trying to remember if eating the fruit means you have to be Hades' wife for all eternity or if she can actually have a crack at the buffet when no one is watching.

She doesn't really know much about the process of stealing dreams so she's mostly equipped to bring violence when exfiltration is needed. In the meantime she hopes she doesn't get pulled into any Faerie Drama.

[PhoeKun]

Well the how, that's pretty simple. First off, everyone's gotta make their own way. That's obvious, innit? Can't go showing up as a group, with all these moving parts and so much to do. A triple exit strategy from an open party? In Hyde Park?? You'd get pinched for sure. Three guests, three agendas. Nobody's gotta know they're keyed to each other. Much safer. Muuuuuuch cleaner. So that's that done and dusted. Anyway, the how. Plan A, we'll call it, was to get close to some fine faerie folk and pull a job or two for 'em, then sorta lighten their pockets a bit while dealing with payment. Didn't really pan out. Nobody really biting on any of the old channels, leastways not anybody with Hyde Park Ball cred. Deadline started getting too close, plus that still left poor Jack with nothing to wear. So instead they crashed plan B's house.

Plan B, you probably know her as Roslyn Kellis, is Old Money rich. And old money doesn't get old without a lot of connections, so yeah she's got an invitation. And now Jack's her +1. Mind, this only happens on three conditions. You might've guessed, but one's that Jack owes Ros a job. Specifically she wants them to relieve the British Museum of a feathered serpent egg that's on loan from somewhere or another I wasn't paying attention. So don't go making too many Jack-centric plans for a minute after tonight. Another condition is that our lovely Lady Kellis wants Jack in her bed for no less than four nights, and every night to bring a different... ah, 'experience'. Oh, and finally she gets to supply Jack's outfit for tonight.

So it is that Jack's millieu tonight is not to blend into the party by being a shadow or even by being bland and forgettable, but by looking so perfect that no one would deny our new belle their place at the ball. For Jack is a study in contrasts: tall, slender, with nary a curve to highlight. A low cut gown without a pretty little chest to show beneath it. The right half is a chessboard patterned party dress that ends just above the knee. It lengthens as it crosses to the left to a full floor length ballroom gown made of fabric sewn together with moonlight and the midnight sky that bounces and shifts up and down their body as they walk. Only one of Cinderella's glass slippers is shown. Whatever the other shoe is, it hides. Around their waist, cinching the two halves together is a large white ribbon tied into an ornate bow like you'd find on the fanciest of birthday presents.

Of sleeves there are none to speak of, just a delicate little frill that flares out over either shoulder in whichever color that side prefers. Their evening gloves are ivory white stretching up and down both arms, cutting to black in a jagged diamond pattern just where the wrists end and Jack's clever hands begin. Around the neck another, smaller, lacier ribbon, this one in black, tied into the same sort of bow that rests on their waist. Jack's tangled, raven hair has been cut and styled: the cutest of flat bangs sit atop their forehead. The right half is trimmed to shoulder length in a set of shaken out curls, while the left has been left as it was and simply combed out into a long ponytail hanging from the side of the head with a ring of pearls wrapped into it. A delicate and beautiful jaw is finally freed from all of Jack's normal sorts of masks, and their lips are painted the crystal blue of the ocean far away from land. The top half of their face is still covered, this time by a rustic orange mask shaped like a fox's face, right down to the little black nose and the pointed ears.

Jack makes their entrance draped around the arm of a much shorter, blonder woman in the world's most perfectly cut tuxedo. So that's the entrance taken care of. Now it's time to dance!

[Anarion]

Lily asked her mom for a ticket. Don't look at her like that, her mom has good connections with the Indian gods and was very happy to hear from her daughter, okay, shut up! Also, her mom wants her to meet a guy or something, whatever.

Look, the important thing is that the door opens up and Lily walks in alone. She has let her hair out. It is thick, dark, straight, and flowing to rest just below her shoulders, combed to perfection. Its darkness contrasts with the vivid red silk of her robes and blends like milk into the dark pool of one bare shoulder. The dress is embroidered with crimson thread that matches the dress, creating subtle patterns of flowers curling lazily down diagonals. Lilies, for herself, and lotuses for the great lord, their larger petals curling around the smaller lilies in nesting pairs, running a slash across her chest, along her thigh, and down one leg in a curl from front to back. One arm is smooth and bare, the other has a full silk sleeve, simple and free of any further design, ending with a slight flair of the fabric that ripples as she moves her arm. The dress is slit narrowly at the leg across from the marching flowers and her legs peek out just barely as she walks. She wears simple shoes, red heels matching the dress, not too high, not meant to attract any particular attention. Fitting enough to be striking at a ball, but compared to many of the guests, of no real note.

Here is the truth with Lily. She doesn't do the kind of fancy that Jack does, or the blending in that Brittany does. No, instead, she leans into who she is with every goal of attracting attention, converts, and targets. The great lord needs great dreams on which to feast and Lily is there to attract them. And so it is her shimmer, for lack of a better word, that makes onlookers hold their breath when she walks into the room. Her whole image, from the tip of the highest loose hair to the sharp souls of her feet seems to shift and shimmer like a mirage. With each step, she leaves an afterimage behind her, as though her soul is not entirely attached to its corporeal shell and needs to make its own way in the wake of the body to which it is tethered. The flowers of the dress seem almost real in the light, as the air shifts and they sway in tune with an unseen rhythm.

She steps gracefully into the ball, trailing a wake that looks down shyly and bends a leg as it crosses the threshold and steps across the carpet. She glances up and meets the eyes of the onlookers and walks lazily to join the dance, leaving a diaphanous trail behind her that she quite hopes will attract a crowd.

[Raz_Fox]

Three is the magic number. Three dreams, three tokens, three anchor points for what London will become. These are as follows:

Casta, a hunter who stalks the underground, who knows this city as well as any taxi driver. She will provide your coming dream with a stable foundation, and a connection to the Dragon (having, as it turns out, come from a family of Aldermen). Notably has had sex with Brittany. Repeatedly. And may be looking to pull her off into the bushes tonight.

Petra, the 36th Star, a clerk whose books are intermingled with the fates of everyone here, whose dreams are labyrinths painted perfectly, which will add the required verisimilitude. Notably, is shocked and appalled that both she and Jack are wearing the same little fox mask.

And the Queen of Hyde Park herself, the Queen of Air and Darkness, emissary of the Tuatha Dé, Mab.

She is, year for year, the longest continuous resident of this city. Winning a token from her would likely be easier than trying to steal it. May or may not actually know what you are up to tonight. It’s always hard to tell with the Good People.

What’s the plan, fine cultists here assembled?

[Anarion]

What’s the plan, fine cultists here assembled?

Three dreams, three tokens, three routes. It's a rule that things come in threes. It's a reflection of the perfect, a sign that the great lord has already placed in the world, so it is itself holy and perfect and precisely as it should be. Thus, there are three ways to power the ritual.

The first is for a valued dreamer to join us through sleep. If one such agreed to it, they would enter a long sleep and their soul would become a beacon in the dreaming world, a shining light unlock its true power. When all is arranged, their combined will would unlock the gate and bring the realms together.

The second is for a lordly dreamer to join us through blessing. Beings with power can, as you well know, grant that power in its myriad forms to others. The power of their dreams, made manifest and freely given will do for the ritual. Such power would need to be placed at key leylines throughout the city and shepherded until all was in place, at which point it would, as with a sleeper, shine forth like a beacon and complete the ritual.

The third is for a stubborn dreamer to join us through theft. Dreams are, after all, ephemeral things and they can be stolen as well as any such form without substance. Which is to say they can be stolen exceptionally well by the right thief. Jack. From there, it is much the same as the others, albeit with greater ire that needs deflection if the theft is discovered.

Lily's inclination is simply that each member of the team seek out one dreamer to complete their task. Perhaps Brittany to Casta, Jack to Petra and Lily to the Queen is too obvious an order, or perhaps just obvious enough? If one of her friends claims a different target, she will happily switch spots with them. And if one of them instead calls for a different method (perhaps a cunning triple theft?) then she is prepared to support that in whatever way she can.

[PhoeKun]

Mmm...k then. Gonna be real with ya, Boss, you lost me somewhere around 'valued dreamer'. Lot of real pretty words there but we're a bit light on specifics and applied skills, like. Now I mean, that's fine and all, grab your partner and take 'em for all their worth, I get you. But uh... yeah. What? So lemme break this down like a fraction for you:

One (1): You may or may not have heard this already, but this is the Hyde Park Ball. Name me a bigger treasure pile in all of London. Go on, name one. I'll wait. These people are wearing more money than Jack's ever held before in their whole career, and that's saying nothing about all of the intangibles: the laughter, the fear, the superiority, hopes, minds, wants. It goes on. A body could get drunk just standing here thinking about it. Jack is not content slipping off into the night with three tokens of three dreams in a three part plan. Jack wants the heist of the century. So they dance. Jack's upbringing hasn't left them with much time or desire to learn the waltz, but lucky them the Lady Kellis knows all the fanciest moves. Music, if you please. Jack be a lady tonight. First we steal attention. Then we steal hearts. In fact, Jack wants to hold nothing less than the heart of the Queen Mab. Everything else, including the three Big Dreams, can flow from that. And if some partygoers should wake up tomorrow morning and realize the stuff they brought with them wasn't exactly nailed down... well.

Two (2): Can. You. Believe. That. Petra? The Thirty Sixth, a Heavenly Star! And she's gonna go and pull a fashion faux pas like that? Well this is worth the price of admission right here. Jack finds some time off from dancing and mingling and being a star (get it?) to pirouette on over to their rival, offering a champagne flute and the world's least sincere curtsy.

"Well this must be right embarrassing for you, huh?" Blue lips curl upwards

Now mind you, Petra is a mark tonight but she's also a star. I don't need to tell you that means she's here working some kind of angle. And I shouldn't need to tell you how dangerous it is when two stars are in the same place at cross purposes. The teasing is free, but Jackie's got a lot on their plate tonight and looking after this one is a full course meal all its own. Anybody got dibs?

Three (3): Let's actually talk about how you steal a dream, yeah? It can be simple if you're willing to be crude. Just knock them out, slip them one of any number of drugs (I do believe every major in faction has their own cocktail), and let that sucker dribble out their mouth. It's messy, it's gross, and if you cheap out it degrades the quality of the dream, but it's very fast and needs no skill. Or! If you know the proper spells, you can slip inside of them. Sometimes metaphorically, sometimes... not. But either way, you get inside and when you feel it you pluck it clean out. It's another spell to store what you've got in a suitable container, or it'll spill everywhere and spoil. Hope you're a talented musician. Lastly, or leastways lastly so far as Jack knows about these things, maybe there's more to it, people do keep their dreams tucked away inside themselves even when they're awake. The real magic is getting them to open up about it. Make them vulnerable, make them scared, make them fall in love (for the love of God, don't make them angry), and bit by bit watch it come tumbling out. Remember, there's a song in every heart. It's hard and it can be very time consuming, but all you have to do is play it.

[Raz_Fox]

Brittany

Click. Click. Click. Photographs in Hyde Park during the Queen's parties tend to come out... weird, but even all blurred and glittery, they're likely to be hits when you upload them to social media later. #HydePark #Hospitality #GlamourFashion

Over here, note: leather jackets and lots of antler motifs. Looks like the top brass of WyldHunt is here tonight, maybe as guests, maybe because the Queen has need of their services. If violence breaks out, they punch well above their weight class, and they don't stop their pursuit of a target til dawn. In the photographs, they look... gaunt. A bit green. A bit dead. More dead than they look with your eyes, but not so dead that you'd look at them and go "yes, this man is deceased." Just a little hint of the grave, y'know?

Oh, over there: Jack's hateflirting with Petra. Her bodyguard's not in the picture. Odd. Celene is usually so professional. What could provoke that imposing Ethiopian woman to leave her ward's side?

Oh. Oh, that would. Casta got too close to Petra- not that anyone reasonable would see it that way. Heated words are being exchanged. Must be that fairy wine bringing the heart tripping onto the tongue. I mean, are they actually drinking the wine? Hard to tell. Tough to see anyone actually taking a drink, but glasses are emptying and trays are clearing, so it's probably you're just missing it. Probably.

If someone doesn't do something, Celene is going to try to take Casta out.

Oh, and Celene just jabbed a finger at you in the sort of way someone would point at a rat, and Casta has one hand on her belt. Nobody's packing weapons, but if you ask, well, the wait staff will provide. Won't they just.

****

Lily

So here's a question for you, sugar. Seeing as you're the dreamspeaker and the one who sees the dead on the subway. The Amadaun, the Queen's fool, who can strike men down with seizures at a touch of his hand or drive you right into a therapist's office for the rest of your life with a kiss...

Is he actually the real, no fooling, David Bowie, or is he the man post-death (for fairyland and the land of the dead rhyme), or is he a ghoulish impersonator, or what?

He's Ziggy Stardust tonight, either way, with a translucent gossamer cape and hair red as blood, offering you a smile and a dance.

"Valilyana," he says, smooth as steel, "Valilyana, Valilyana. I would like to play a game with you tonight. You may name your price in victory. Simply handle a dispute between a friend and I..."

This is almost certainly a trap. But not a rigged one. That would make its temptation moot. Whatever he wants, you could win. It's possible! It's just not likely.

****

Jack

Petra is saying something at you. A cheap little barb about your originality. How... daring, you look!

It doesn't matter. She's a Star, but not the star shining under the branches tonight.

Queen Mab is stepping down from her throne- not in the political sense, but quite literally- to take a moment to compose herself in a side garden. As she does, she stops a moment, and catches your eye. Your stranger's eyes, those eyes which could belong to anyone. One perfect hand rests against the necklace of opals that rests about her neck- in this moment, and no other, she would allow you to hold her by it in that garden.

Do you?

[Thanqol]

Brittany

Click. Click. Click. Photographs in Hyde Park during the Queen's parties tend to come out... weird, but even all blurred and glittery, they're likely to be hits when you upload them to social media later. #HydePark #Hospitality #GlamourFashion

Over here, note: leather jackets and lots of antler motifs. Looks like the top brass of WyldHunt is here tonight, maybe as guests, maybe because the Queen has need of their services. If violence breaks out, they punch well above their weight class, and they don't stop their pursuit of a target til dawn. In the photographs, they look... gaunt. A bit green. A bit dead. More dead than they look with your eyes, but not so dead that you'd look at them and go "yes, this man is deceased." Just a little hint of the grave, y'know?

Oh, over there: Jack's hateflirting with Petra. Her bodyguard's not in the picture. Odd. Celene is usually so professional. What could provoke that imposing Ethiopian woman to leave her ward's side?

Oh. Oh, that would. Casta got too close to Petra- not that anyone reasonable would see it that way. Heated words are being exchanged. Must be that fairy wine bringing the heart tripping onto the tongue. I mean, are they actually drinking the wine? Hard to tell. Tough to see anyone actually taking a drink, but glasses are emptying and trays are clearing, so it's probably you're just missing it. Probably.

If someone doesn't do something, Celene is going to try to take Casta out.

Oh, and Celene just jabbed a finger at you in the sort of way someone would point at a rat, and Casta has one hand on her belt. Nobody's packing weapons, but if you ask, well, the wait staff will provide. Won't they just.

What do you do when your target is the person who taught you everything you know?

She wished she'd thought of a better excuse when Lily divided up the missions. Now she was stuck facing the impossible task of stealing from someone who was you plus one - and who could also wrap you around her little finger with a smirk and toss of her hair. She'd stewed for days planning this mission and only stupid shyness had stopped her confessing she had no idea what to do.

But then she saw this.

How had she missed it? When she thought of Casta her mind was tangled, abraided, but when she was actually with Casta and she spent all her time mooning over Celene she could hardly stand it. And now with the clarifying lens of anger she could see the flaws she couldn't in her daydreaming-slash-planning sessions. Click click click went the camera, click click click went the gears.

She needed Casta incapacitated but not dead, and the idiot was just about to start a fight with her ex. We're at a party but it's a faerie party and they'd watch their own house burn down if they thought it was a good show. Wait for them to start duelling. If Casta is winning, intervene and duel Casta, if Celene is winning, intervene and duel Celene. Put enough emotional drama in whatever line I use to enter the fray and the faeries will applaud rather than intervene.

Do it. Do it you cowards.

[PhoeKun]

Do you?

"Ah, sweetie. Don't you cry, there'll be others."

Jack grins. Bares teeth. Fox face, wolf smile. Their breath is all over Petra's face. This is it. This is it! This is it this is it thisisitthisisit...

But. Then. A flutter of movement. A meeting of eyes. A vision of perfect loveliness, in darkness and starlight. For one beat, maybe two, Jack's heart stops. And when it starts again, they're gone: nothing but smoke and a kiss in the air where taunts and venom had been a moment ago. Jack dances more than walks, glides more than dances, and floats more than glides across the dance floor. Away, away, away. A wraith, a spirit, a Star. Wrapped in silks and moonbeams, so handsome and so pretty, that body that could belong to anyone. Away to the garden. Away to steal this moment. To take that perfect hand in their own clever sneaky fingers.

And yes, love. To even be so bold as to take these blue painted lips and to kiss that same hand with a touch as light as moth wings.

Jack smiles. Lips pursed demurely. Fox face, maiden's smile.

[Anarion]

****

Lily

So here's a question for you, sugar. Seeing as you're the dreamspeaker and the one who sees the dead on the subway. The Amadaun, the Queen's fool, who can strike men down with seizures at a touch of his hand or drive you right into a therapist's office for the rest of your life with a kiss...

Is he actually the real, no fooling, David Bowie, or is he the man post-death (for fairyland and the land of the dead rhyme), or is he a ghoulish impersonator, or what?

He's Ziggy Stardust tonight, either way, with a translucent gossamer cape and hair red as blood, offering you a smile and a dance.

"Valilyana," he says, smooth as steel, "Valilyana, Valilyana. I would like to play a game with you tonight. You may name your price in victory. Simply handle a dispute between a friend and I..."

This is almost certainly a trap. But not a rigged one. That would make its temptation moot. Whatever he wants, you could win. It's possible! It's just not likely.

****


Is it a stupid question to ask if I'm being foolish with a fool? Lily considers. She could just assist one of the others or pick a target that isn't taken. She had thought to go straight to Mab, to offer her ethereal services in exchange for a small payment of a dream, but she glances up and there's the queen departing and her glance is towards Jack and is Jack following her and ignoring Petra?!

She's taking Ziggy's hands before she's even looking his way, the afterimage of her movements creating a ghost that rises and delicately entwines his hands. "Three dreams of my choosing from anyone who attended tonight's ball." In her head she says and I want to have all the charm of Queen Mab and more but it freezes on her tongue because she is embarrassed to admit that she wants it. It sits in her eyes though, in her sideways glance and the awkward silence that says without sound that she wants something more. It floats in being a girl who is still young and who is not all that terribly hard to read and is very proud simply of not blurting out her innermost feelings to a total stranger just because he's a famous ghost with that indefinable charisma that says that some essence of the real thing is present here. So, yes, that is where her request sits, and of course she accepts his terms immediately and completely and begins dancing with Ziggy Stardust without hesitation, creating a translucent swirl of illusion that he steps deftly through as he leads. She dances and awaits him providing the detail that will, in all honesty, probably doom her, but may also wrap the whole affair up in one fell swoop.

[Raz_Fox]

Brittany

This wouldn't be a fairy party without some good, old-fashioned drama. And cameras don't lie, though people do. A fleeting moment of anguish on Celene's face, caught forever on your lens: she doesn't want to do this. It is killing her to do this. But she strikes Casta upon the cheek, and dueling pistols are provided at once in response to her challenge, by fairy waiters who pull them out of covered silver dishes. Wait, how did they know to have those ready? Is this an assassination going down? More classy than a drive-by, that's for sure.

They're going to straight-up Hamilton this over by the river, which - tonight - flows directly into the deepest parts of London. If someone falls in, they're not going to come back up, most like. Wouldn't you know it, this is the only place and time in London where you can do something like this and not get super arrested by the cops. Keep watching, Redeye-Redeye? You don't have to get involved, you know.

***

Lily

"There is a city," he begins, and of course he is not speaking of the only city that truly matters. "In this city there are two families of gods, of no account but for their natures and their fundamental argument." I hope that you appreciate the fact that you are living out the fantasy of every girl who grew up in the 80s. All you need is the poofy white dress. "The one stands by the door as a watchman, and belongs to the family. The other stays in the kitchen, and belongs to the house. When a family moves from house to house, the gods of the doorway travel with them, and the gods of the kitchen remain behind. Now, the argument is to which belongs the heart of the city. The gods of the doorway believe they are the city's soul, even if they have just arrived last year, and that they take the city with them when they emigrate. The gods of the kitchen, contrariwise, believe that the gods of the doorway are merely guests and that even if every living soul left the city, the gods of the kitchen would remain in the city which existed before stone was ever laid on stone. Now, which do you suppose is right?"

Do I need to spell out that you are out on thin ice? It's political allegory, and it's anyone's guess as to whose side the Amadaun is on; you might think he is on the side of the foreign gods, these gods who come from all over the world to London, but he is a contrarian by nature, and might argue that London is defined by the Dragon who has slept beneath it since before men ever came to these shores.

Answering either way risks offering deadly insult. Remember that the touch of the Amadaun can be just as deadly. How does the rhyme go? Be bold, be bold, but not too bold...

***

Jack

Jack, let me tell you a story. There once was a humble farmer who, looking up from his field, saw a white horse standing riderless and masterless upon the road, with a gleaming silver bridle about its neck. He could no more resist the temptation than any of us could resist a Ferarri sitting in our driveway with the keys still in the ignition. When he touched that silver bridle, his hand stuck fast, and he could no longer bid his fingers release what they held. The horse bolted at once, pulling him helplessly along in its wake, and when it came to the river it dived full and headlong in, and neither of them ever came back up. The farmer's bones are still lying on the riverbed, stripped whole and bare.

The dolphin-flowers wind close about the trellises and the wooden arches of the gazebo. Lay a petal upon your tongue and stay here forever. You stand beneath a blue flower sea, and your hand is caught fast. Perhaps on that necklace. Perhaps somewhere else. A lady never tells.

"Hello, Jack," Mab breathes, one hand whispering upon your chin. The foxglove-bells chime about the hedges. Her tongue is the honeycomb nestled in the lion's ribs. "My breath between the notes. My footfall of a cat. I have meat for you to eat. I have wine for you to drink."

Turns out you're not the only one who's got irons in the fire tonight. I mean, you couldn't have known that Mab let you all attend the party to use the Empty Star for her own purposes, right?

Right?

[Anarion]

[It seems to me that Lily would use a consort roll to gain some additional information to help with the answer. David Bowie seems like a tough nut to crack, so I would expect the effect to be normal or limited and the position to be risky but not desperate at this point. I only have one die for that, but I rolled a 6.]

Lily laughs when he tells the story, one ghostly hand coming to her mouth with a trail from his hand and then dipping back through its own wake. "This is a dispute between a friend and you? Do I know your friend, Ziggy? You and she must be quite at odds over this." Lily might seem a little giddy, she is dancing with the Ziggy Stardust after all, and she knows this is dangerous, knows that even a little slip in one direction could put her at risk, but she still has to keep asking. "Why am I the best suited to settle this dispute of yours? You've offered me anything I could wish for just to help make this decision. Is it a decision that will live in dreams ever after?"

[Thanqol]

Brittany

This wouldn't be a fairy party without some good, old-fashioned drama. And cameras don't lie, though people do. A fleeting moment of anguish on Celene's face, caught forever on your lens: she doesn't want to do this. It is killing her to do this. But she strikes Casta upon the cheek, and dueling pistols are provided at once in response to her challenge, by fairy waiters who pull them out of covered silver dishes. Wait, how did they know to have those ready? Is this an assassination going down? More classy than a drive-by, that's for sure.

They're going to straight-up Hamilton this over by the river, which - tonight - flows directly into the deepest parts of London. If someone falls in, they're not going to come back up, most like. Wouldn't you know it, this is the only place and time in London where you can do something like this and not get super arrested by the cops. Keep watching, Redeye-Redeye? You don't have to get involved, you know.

Before I can answer that, who are we talking for witnesses, seconds, hangers-on? Are there Faerie nobles in attendance and what are their aspects? There are several ways to stage this and there is a profound difference if this is an exhibition before a crowd or intimate violence between just two.

[Raz_Fox]

[It seems to me that Lily would use a consort roll to gain some additional information to help with the answer. David Bowie seems like a tough nut to crack, so I would expect the effect to be normal or limited and the position to be risky but not desperate at this point. I only have one die for that, but I rolled a 6.]

Lily laughs when he tells the story, one ghostly hand coming to her mouth with a trail from his hand and then dipping back through its own wake. "This is a dispute between a friend and you? Do I know your friend, Ziggy? You and she must be quite at odds over this." Lily might seem a little giddy, she is dancing with the Ziggy Stardust after all, and she knows this is dangerous, knows that even a little slip in one direction could put her at risk, but she still has to keep asking. "Why am I the best suited to settle this dispute of yours? You've offered me anything I could wish for just to help make this decision. Is it a decision that will live in dreams ever after?"

I do not think Ziggy will give you the answers here, dear heart, as he cannot plainly. But I will. They are the answers that chime in harmony with your dreaming heart, which sees beyond this half-awake world. It is political allegory; the gods that come with their families the pantheons, the kitchen-gods the dragon. Committing to one or the other, there is the wrong answer, even if those Stardust hands do not glide up your spine and knock your nerves all askew for the rest of your life. It's playing Russian roulette with two chambers left, and your opponent on the other side of the table with a knowing smile like he's rigged it, as if he can decide which chamber the bullet's in while you pull the trigger. So make both chambers one, and the bullet will vanish entirely.

And it is a decision that will live in dreams ever after, if you succeed. I think that he is making up his mind whether he is meant to kill you before you can fulfill your dream. There! It is said! And his decision will lie entirely on your answer. And the horrible thing? Knowing that he may yet kill you, even if it would be done with the greatest regret and an apology kissed into your ear, doesn't spoil the dance. It's a very good dance! He has a wonderful shimmy and leads graciously, our ghostly rock legend does.

"It's Julius Caesar," he says with a wink. It is not Julius Caesar. I think? It might be. "And why not you? Never doubt your own perspective."


Before I can answer that, who are we talking for witnesses, seconds, hangers-on? Are there Faerie nobles in attendance and what are their aspects? There are several ways to stage this and there is a profound difference if this is an exhibition before a crowd or intimate violence between just two.

The witnesses include a very confused teenager who was just trying to deliver a pizza, a thin woman in a hospital nightgown, and a man with a face like winter- an Aesir-blood, he. Seconds are still being established - there's a possible in there. The most senior member of the Good People in attendance is from Golias, with a face like a cloudless summer sky and water dripping from his hands, though if you want to juggle with the rankings the Prince of the Cats might outrank him. The trick is getting a cat to stick their neck out for you.

[PhoeKun]

"Hello, Jack," Mab breathes, one hand whispering upon your chin. The foxglove-bells chime about the hedges. Her tongue is the honeycomb nestled in the lion's ribs. "My breath between the notes. My footfall of a cat. I have meat for you to eat. I have wine for you to drink."

Turns out you're not the only one who's got irons in the fire tonight. I mean, you couldn't have known that Mab let you all attend the party to use the Empty Star for her own purposes, right?

Right?

Well aren't you a right clever one? Actually it's funny you should tell that story, because this one time I did no fooling find a Ferrari sitting in my driveway with the keys in the ignition. Well, a driveway anyhow. I don't got a house, see. But yeah, there I was and there it was and just like you said, how's a body supposed to ignore that when it's staring 'em in the face and all? So of course I jacked it (heh) and drove that ****in' thing for all it was worth. Problem was, London doesn't have great streets for that sorta thing. Problem is, and I've lived a lot of lives, see? Worn a lot of faces. Been a lot of people. But problem was, still is come to think, I never learned to drive. You can imagine what came next.

And you know the thing of it? The real kick in the face? Turns out the whole damn thing was a test. And since I didn't get away clean, since I got pinched, I had to sit there on my ass and watch Petra score all kinds of points over me. Anyhow, since then I've been a bit more on the ball about my legwork.

Jack shivers to feel Mab's fingers under their chin. Their breathing is ragged and gaspy in that way that resembles nothing so much as the buildup to a night of very rough sex. Their body pulls close to the Queen's, their head rests softly on her chest. A low moan escapes their lips. But! Those clever fingers aren't held fast. They playfully caress that necklace and any other part of her that a lady wouldn't tell about. Take a moment and look at Jack's pretty head. Do you see the primrose dotting the inky hair like stars? Go ahead and fondle Jack's waist. And anywhere beneath that, for that matter, I promise they won't mind at all. But start at the ribbon sash, where you will find tucked into it some flowers of St John's Wort. Nothing meant to offend. Nothing meant to harm, but plants that love to guard against faerie mischief and faerie magic (is there a difference?). Jack sighs, still pressed against that chest.

"I will eat your meat and drink your wine, if you give them freely. I will be your princess or your knight. Jack is at your service, Grace. But I wish to hold your heart and call it mine, and see the shimmering dream beating at its core. If only for a while. Tell me: with what shall I bake the bread to offer you in exchange?"

[I believe this is simple enough to be a zero stress Flashback. Jack has also scored a 6 on their Sway roll to parlay (and other stuff) with the queen. I assume the position is risky, or might even be desperate. I won't guess at the base level of effect, but Jack is also pushing themselves to increase it]

[Anarion]

There are layers on layers here. Ziggy says "play my game" and says "pick A or B." And he lies because both A and B are the wrong answer, and his game isn't what he said out loud. But then, neither is simply ending the dance silently and walking away. That wouldn't be playing at all, and Lily might survive but she would hardly expect to receive her reward for such a poor showing. The game is to determine the game, to pierce through the illusion.

"You don't want me to pick a winner, do you?" Lily steps with the drumbeat playing and allows David to twirl her, which blurs into a whirlwind of ghostly light and mist that comes to rest against his oh so soft and sparkly chest. The sequins sparkle in the light and Lily allows herself a moment to just take it in. This was a man who danced in the dream. Perhaps he would understand. "Two sets of gods war with one another, dancing on the stones and the hearths of a city, moving about as the people move and the cars and the lights blur together into an unbroken train. But where then rests the city, Ziggy? And where rests the stone, and the earth, and the cradle of a planet?" Lily laughs wildly and releases herself to the very extent of his arm, leaning back so that Ziggy also must lean back to balance and the two are like a giant V slashed through the center by their locked arms. "You know the whole world rests in the mind of the dreamer. The argument is nothing but a dance on the stage, the people flowing in their lines braced on a vast lotus." She pulls back in, spinning herself to hold Ziggy with both her hands, one around his back, the other balanced delicately on her shoulder and lets the illusion she has been holding drop so that he stares into her wide dark eyes and her smiling face seen clearly for the first time. "The people and the buildings all dream their dreams and join the vaster dream, Ziggy. The heart and soul of the city is in dreams! I want to see the world become beautiful and vast and true to its reality. Neither side of your argument has the right of it."

[Raz_Fox]

Lily!

Ziggy dips you down low in time to that wonderful toe-tapping head-reeling bear, and there’s just a moment with his head low where there’s a flash of relief on his face. Whatever his metric was for killing you - or, at the very least, giving you severe health problems for the rest of your unpleasant life - you passed! Congratulations.

“You will have what you want,” he says, though I’ll note that he says nothing about personally collecting them. If he’s quite lucky, your fellow cultists will handle that. But, say, if none of you get around to handling Petra, he’ll get her dream for you. How gracious!

Then, a warning, as he pulls you close. “The Year King,” he says. The leader of WyldHunt. You get to run the pack for one year, burn bright and glorious, and then - well. There are stories. “When you leave, don’t stop. Don’t stop for anything.”

***

Jack!

“I have need of my heart, Jack,” Mab says in mock admonishment. There is a secret here unfolding like a lotus. “How else will we all find our way past the flood? All of my folk will lose themselves on the road if they cannot guide themselves by its light. Now, if I had a Star...”

Her breath is slow, deliberate, but her grip on you tightens. If you wanted to be insensitive, you might compare it to iron. “If I had the heart of a Star, then that would be a light enough. And you could even hold mine for a time.”

There are three Stars here, a constellation in miniature. One is called Jack, the second is scheming for your ruin, and the third is about to shoot Casta dead. But still! There are options, should you not wish to lose your self and become her shadow until the beginning of the dream.

[Thanqol]

The witnesses include a very confused teenager who was just trying to deliver a pizza, a thin woman in a hospital nightgown, and a man with a face like winter- an Aesir-blood, he. Seconds are still being established - there's a possible in there. The most senior member of the Good People in attendance is from Golias, with a face like a cloudless summer sky and water dripping from his hands, though if you want to juggle with the rankings the Prince of the Cats might outrank him. The trick is getting a cat to stick their neck out for you.

The plan started to form. Perhaps an alliance with the Prince of Cats might allow a speech to be made to Golias, which might serve to flush out the hidden mastermind behind this assassination which would then allow her to...

She abruptly and aggressively gives up. She is not one of these people and cannot play their stupid games. She just needs to get the target.

Brittany lunges out of the crowd, tackles Casta, and they fall together into the river.

[Raz_Fox]

Redeye-Redeye

The current is fierce. The river is shockingly cold, and deep, and it’s plunging down into the parts of London beneath even the Underground. The parts which are one and the same as the underworld.

Now, our friend Ziggy Stardust will find Casta wherever she ends up, and secure that dream - but you don’t know that. What you do know is that you can’t get your head up above the water. What you know is that you are dying. But, oh, how noble!

[Thanqol]

Redeye-Redeye

The current is fierce. The river is shockingly cold, and deep, and it’s plunging down into the parts of London beneath even the Underground. The parts which are one and the same as the underworld.

Now, our friend Ziggy Stardust will find Casta wherever she ends up, and secure that dream - but you don’t know that. What you do know is that you can’t get your head up above the water. What you know is that you are dying. But, oh, how noble!

This river is just a bloody river. Casta is just a bloody idiot. She's going to grip Casta's hand and drag her through this water to whatever shore awaits. If it's just sewers and pipes they were made by humans for humans, whatever pretentious faeries like to imagine, and there will be regularly spaced ladders and places to surface. If it's the realm of ghosts and demons she has four magical pistols loaded with ectoplasmic ammo - hers and Casta's - within arms reach, and ghosts and demons are not creatures of enough patience to wait for them to die before feeding.

Which is it? Will she emerge from here on a rusted old ladder, potentially having to fight a bounty hunter along the way? Or will she make her way through the underworld on a bloody carpet?

Neither shall be a sacrifice. Neither shall be noble. Neither holds her death.

[PhoeKun]

Once upon a time, there was a girl. This girl was not pretty. She was not ugly. She was not smart and she was not stupid. She was not talented, nor was she inept. She had no enemies, but also no friends. She was not exotic. She was not special. She was plain, plain, plain, and her name was Alessa. This unexceptional girl lived an unexceptional life. She went to school, she did her work, she came home. When she'd get there she'd find her father on the couch, watching game shows on the television. Every day, the same greeting. Hello, how are you? How was your day? Fine, thank you. Do you want to watch? And then she would sit down.

Sometimes while she watched these other people competing through the screen she would stop and wonder if that could be her. Maybe her father would notice her, maybe her mother would be proud of her. But she had no head for trivia. She was not lucky (nor unlucky), she couldn't bake or cook. She wasn't even bad enough at these things to wind up on the parody shows. Her story was not inspiring, nobody wanted to see her succeed. Nobody wanted to see her at all. So she sat, and she watched. And she dreamed.

Like everybody else, the girl named Alessa had a dream. She thought her dream was to be noticed. She thought her dream was to be popular. And one night, though the city lights were too bright and she couldn't see anything hanging in the sky, she tried to make her wish upon a star. This wasn't very special, either. In fact, a million other people were trying it right that very second. But just this once, the one in a million shot, came to her and her alone. A star was listening, and it answered.

What you want, I shall give you. What you want, you must take.

The smile fades from Jack's face and they stare up into Mab's eyes. Their own shine like lanterns in the garden. One gloved hand reaches up to touch them, and it comes away wet. Jack stares at their hand in confusion.

Alessa listened to her star. She accepted its words, and she took it into her heart to let it live inside her, just like it asked. And from that moment on, she was special. But from that moment on, she was nobody. Still, she listened to her star. What she asked for, she took. She stole a face. She stole a name. She stole a dress size. Her name was Caitlin now, and nobody was more popular. Caitlin wore the nicest clothes. She kissed all the most handsome boys. She gave herself to the captain of the football team. She even kissed a girl, just to see. She was invited to every party, she decided what was cool, and she never. Ever. Not once, stopped and wondered what the people on the telly were up to, and who would win another game show. She spared no thought to whether her father would see her, or if her mother would be proud.

And still she was empty. Had this truly been her dream? She had conquered high school, and therefore life. She didn't understand what was missing. She asked the star what she should do. And inside her heart, the star smiled. And it whispered:

What you want, I shall give you. What you want, you must take.

Jack's heart is pounding in their chest. They have not been drinking tonight. And yet!

This is a story that you know. You've heard it before. You're hearing it again so that you'll understand. Alessa became Caitlin. Caitlin became Sean. Sean became Arthur, and Arthur became Talia, and Talia Alessa again, still clinging to her star. The girl was not a girl anymore, nor a woman, nor a boy nor a man. The girl was many people, and they were scared. Nobody knew them. They were smoke and they were shadow, and they asked their star for help. But this was always wrong, because there was no longer a star somewhere for them to ask. Or rather there was no girl to ask the question. And when it realized what had happened, at last the star understood its own wish.

What they wanted was...

Jack steps up on tiptoes to kiss Mab full on the lips. They take a step back, grab her hand with a grip as hard as stone and as soft as sand, and place it on their chest where their heart is shining underneath. And they smile softly.

"What you want, I shall give you. What you want, you must take."

[Anarion]

Lily!

Ziggy dips you down low in time to that wonderful toe-tapping head-reeling bear, and there’s just a moment with his head low where there’s a flash of relief on his face. Whatever his metric was for killing you - or, at the very least, giving you severe health problems for the rest of your unpleasant life - you passed! Congratulations.

“You will have what you want,” he says, though I’ll note that he says nothing about personally collecting them. If he’s quite lucky, your fellow cultists will handle that. But, say, if none of you get around to handling Petra, he’ll get her dream for you. How gracious!

Then, a warning, as he pulls you close. “The Year King,” he says. The leader of WyldHunt. You get to run the pack for one year, burn bright and glorious, and then - well. There are stories. “When you leave, don’t stop. Don’t stop for anything.”

***



Lily nods along in time with the music. Care for the hunt, don't stop when you leave. Yes, this was going just as she imagined. Better than she imagined. She was dancing with Ziggy Stardust and he was a wonderful partner and she had figured out something really true and powerful and he agreed with her! It was enough to fill the heart of a young girl and make her feel special. Special enough as the song comes to an end and the music slows to let herself press close to him and rest her head on his sequined chest. Even though it didn't rise and fall in his ghostly body, for her it was real and strong. It felt natural to lean further into him and slide upward and press her mouth to his in a light kiss. He didn't turn away, did he? Certainly not, certainly this was really happening and she could practically float away herself, knowing this had happened.

With her illusion gone, she didn't create quite the same stir in a fairly standard red formal dress of no particular note, but she didn't need to. She was full of confidence and she knew she had backing, so she was simply going to take what she wanted. She walked right up to Petra and looked at her mask. "Hi, Petra. The uh...skill less star? I dunno, whatever Jack said it was, some star!" She declares, loudly enough to not only confront Petra but also attract the attention of other party guests. "I'd like to have your dreams please. I'm going to shape the world into something greater and I need your help to do it! Also, your mask is cute and it matches Jack's, so could I have that as a token to represent your dreams so I can be matching buddies with him please?"

[Raz_Fox]

Redeye-Redeye!

I hate to do this, especially to such a normal young woman. But wishing a thing is so doesn't necessarily mean it's so. And so it is that Brittany Fields, a taxpayer and a faithful aspiring housewife, ends up clinging to a sewage pipe in Xibalba, the place of fear, the haunt of demons and dead men. Did you know that there are a tag-team of demons who live here whose whole thing is hiding in the part of your house you don't sweep and then jumping out to stab you? Like, the pettiness. The victim-blaming. "If you actually took care of your house, then you wouldn't have been stabbed!" Like, piss off.

Casta, sputtering and furious, hauls herself up out of the river. She is entirely not thankful enough that she is not in a river of scorpions right now. It's true! It's here! Maybe you'll fall in later, and you'll be all "aaagh no scorpions my one mortal weakness"

"What the hell, Brit," she says, after pushing her hair up out of her face. Doesn't she look dreamy all drenched like that? Like you want to bundle her up in a blanket and dry her down and maybe get her clothes all off to dry and what are you thinking this is Xibalba there's probably a demon of unfolded laundry waiting to stab you when you go to pick it up. "I had everything under control." She pulls a gun, checks it, reloads it. Dangerous place, this.

"Well. Nothing for it," she sighs, before kneeling down to help you up out of the water. "We've got a few days of shooting asshat demons in the face in front of us. Just follow my lead and everything will be fine."

And you know what?

It probably will be.

Lily!

Petra tosses her drink in your face. It's a punchline, a shock to the face unlike the cold lips of Ziggy Stardust. (They were tender. Of course they were. The dead know nothing but kindness for us, who yet remain.) There is gay and merry laughter, and a waiter takes you aside to help you with your dress. How fortunate, that they had a spare in your size just lying around. When you step out of the hastily-erected boudoir in a dress like a rose unfolding forever into heaven, there is a Harrods bag waiting outside for you.

Inside is one (1) mask from a Skillful Star, one (1) fingerless glove from a bounty hunter who, even now, is headshotting a zombie demon in the Mayan hells alongside Redeye-Redeye, and one (1) delicate silver acorn, engraved with words that it is almost possible to make out. Holding them provokes an overwhelming feeling that, despite it all, everything will be fine. That the time has come for the dream to come to London, for the mountain to come to Muhammad, for everyone to wake up and realize that what they thought they knew was nothing more than a lie, an uncomfortable and ill-fitting lie. You will shut their eyes so they may see. You will usher in the age of the dream, the age of brotherhood, the age of enlightenment. And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

And you know what?

It probably will be.

Jack!

Sometime later, the man who once was David Bowie steps into the garden of dolphin-flowers. Mab is there, alone, in a state of some disarray. But she is Mab, so of course she manages to make it look like an artful disarray. Like she just happened to be posing for an artist. A scarf masterfully brings attention to the bruises on her fair neck, emblems of victory, and the smile on her foxlike face is one of wicked contentment.

"How is our dear Valilyana?" She dabs at her lip with a kerchief, her eyes elsewhere as her fool speaks.

"Worthy," he says. "And safe, insofar as I know. And the Star?"

"Here," she says. She stands, her dark dress whispering about her, and her shadow stretches languorously behind her. It is not her shadow.

It is like being asleep, Jack; or like dreaming with your eyes open as the world moves around you, with nothing to worry about. Your heart beats in her chest, and from here-

You can see it. You can see your light, and the emptiness inside that light, and the words that move within the emptiness. What you want, I shall give you. What you want, you must take.

How could anyone miss that light when the waves of the dream crash up against London? How could anyone not see it, and know to follow?

The Amadaun extends his arm, and Mab takes it, and together, the three of you walk out into the world-which-is, which shall soon be nothing more than the rough stirrings before a deeper slumber.