314/Job Qualifications

Job Qualifications
Date of Scene:	30 July 2014
Location:	Boston-666
Synopsis:	At the behest of Saber, Bedivere is taken to Heaven or Hell to meet with Psyber about a job opportunity...
Cast of Characters:	253, 346, 482

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Psyber (253) has posed:
    It's a relatively mundane and ordinary summer day in Boston. There is nothing of particular note or importance going on the city, nor for Psyber, anywhere in the Multiverse. A rare stretch of downtime in his normally crowded schedule of hopping from place to place and helping out in any number of large incidents around the world-sphere that comprises this universe.

    So in the front office the building, its head and proprietor is sitting at a desk with a copy of the Boston Herald in his hands. Feet are kicked up on the reception desk, he's leaning back in the chair at it, and he's only half-paying attention to the lobby while he browses through whatever section of the newspaper currently has his eye. Possibly the classified.

    The weather is a balmy 78 degrees with only a 38 percent humidity and some slight clouds in the sky.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Unless one counts the vastness of Njorun Station, this is in fact Sir Bedivere's first visit to a major, modern city.

In this unfamiliar environment, Arturia has the benefit of her Servant status to fall back on. The aggregate knowledge of the Throne of Heroes fills in the gaps of the centuries for her, lending her a certain familiarity that would otherwise be lacking in a mortal. The culture shock simply has no way to affect her nearly as hard.

Her marshal's not so lucky.

Tall and elegant in a charcoal grey three-piece suit which sets off his pale hair and the subtle violet of his eyes quite nicely, Bedivere of Britannia is nonetheless an outsider here. It shows in the way he tries so hard not to gawk, yet watches everything from the periphery of his vision.

There are few things he misses; his keen observations had once served king and court, and now he almost finds himself cursing them -- there's simply too much to take in, here, and too much that he flat-out doesn't understand.

And even the weather, too; so strange, so foreign to his senses. Camelot had been somewhat cooler, and considerably more humid, with a preference for raining often. While sunny days weren't rare, there had always been a fairly even balance of rain and sun, and the sun had never been quite so warm as here.

Somehow they'd got to the office tower without incident, though, with Bedivere resolving to ask Arturia his hundreds of questions later. It wouldn't do to embarrass himself, or her, before the man she regarded as a superior of some kind. Truth be told, the particulars of that still escaped him, but he wouldn't dare place her standing into any sort of jeopardy.

Still, somehow he's the first one in the door. Maybe it's his desire to get out of the input overload of "outside."

He finds himself within the lobby of Heaven or Hell, and once again the tall knight with the violet eyes is reduced to staring like a peasant. He does, at least, have the good grace to keep his mouth shut this time.

Finally, his eyes track to the desk at the rustle of newsprint, settling on Psyber.

"Ah..." His voice is quiet, not nearly loud enough to echo in the spacious lobby. Like a portcullis slamming down, that almost childlike wonder is gone, replaced in an instant by the mask that had served him in duty so well; the air of a capable professional, even though he must be having such a horrible sensation of 'fish out of water.'

Bedivere inclines his head politely.

"Good day to you, Sir Psyber."

Saber (346) has posed:
     There was not any good way to have prepared the Marshal of Camelot for what was, in a sense, hell. The demons who occupied the world of her half-angel employer were not what their world thought of; and their cosmology was radically different. The best Saber had been able to hope for was to explain that the people were best thought of as, well, aliens. Not that this was really any better, but that was far less likely to spook her most loyal knight.

     Probably.

     It was a lot to ask of him, but the multiverse demanded some flexibility of mind, which had tested even the King of Knights. While Arturia had had some benefits of knowledge imparted by the Holy Grail it had certainly told her nothing of the vast multitude of worlds beyond her own. Having to adjust to a "hell" which was not Hell at all had been one among many new realities which had demanded simply being accepted without too much questioning.

     Still, Bedivere was keen of mind and observation both; he'd adjust eventually. Hence, the formal introduction to the man whom others in the services of the Heaven or Hell agency somewhat affectionately called 'Boss'. And that 'boss' had muttered complaints often enough about various nuisances such as paperwork. Something her aide-de-camp was well versed in. It might not have necessarily been an entertaining form of work, but perhaps something like this to busy himself with would help with the adjustment process...and more importantly, keep Bedivere from killing himself out in the field while he recovered.

    She would have to content herself with answering all his coming multitude of questions later -- which she hardly minded -- in lieu of more immediate business.

     Grateful to be out of the heat -- in spite of having lived for five years in the multiverse, she still preferred the somewhat more mild climate of Britain -- she nodded to Psyber as he lounged in his chair. Thankfully, the lobby was not the disaster area his office could sometimes be. Hopefully, he hadn't been drinking as of late, though Saber doubted he'd needed to. "Greetings, Sir Psyber. I did not have the opportunity to express my gratutde over your assistance previously."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber looks up from his paper, ruby gaze peering over the top of the article that he was just looking at as the two knights enter the lobby of his office building. He tilts his head a bit at their arrival, turning the page before slowly folding it and setting it down on his desk in front of himself.

    Whatever thoughts he holds about the arrival of them both, he keeps them to himself. He simply removes his feet from the desk and takes a more upright seating position, watching them as they approach, "Greetings. Welcome to the office, you two." He has a friendly tone to his voice, eyes flicking between the both of them. He may be mentally judging if they're here to ask him about Mordred or for something else.

    "There's no need to thank me for assistance, it's rather what the Union pays me for," He notes to Saber, sitting back in his seat a bit more as a hand comes up to run through rust-colored hair before he drums his fingers on the desk, "So what can I do for you both today?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The taller knight stops in the central area of the lobby, perhaps unwilling to intrude too deeply. He is conscientious, perhaps even self-conscious.

Bedivere remains motionless. There is an almost preternatural stillness to him; at odds with the way violet eyes flick this way and that, studying, taking note of details, perhaps filing away things he might like to ask Arturia about later.

Even modern attire can't seem to disguise the archaic air about both knights -- though perhaps Arturia is able to hide hers a bit better. They match well, somehow lending an air of leader and loyal follower. Even the redstone stud in Bedivere's ears seem to have shifted slightly. Arturia wears one of them, now, for even in the dimmer light of the lobby, they clearly match; the same blood-coloured stone and delicate brass hook.

Somewhat self-consciously, the taller knight reaches up and tugs at the stud stil in his left ear, mouth thinning as though he's not quite certain what to say or do. This wasn't his idea. He would never have put out either king or agent this way if it were up to him.

"I thank you for your hospitality," he says simply, arm dropping to his sides; he straightens and inclines forward, one arm over his stomach, in a formal and respectful bow. If he has anything to say about Mordred, though, he doesn't mention it.

When Psyber asks what their business is, he simply glances at Arturia. They know each other well, though, and he need not open his mouth to get his point across. I respectfully defer to you in this, my king.

...It was her idea, anyway.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Arturia had certainly caught Psyber's familiarity with Mordred the last time they were all together -- as well as some of the more recent turn of events that she had yet to address, such as that whole god-eating incident -- but he was in luck today. She might ask him about all that at a later time, when he had graciously decided to tell her about her 'son' and what was going on other than one of their associates being the Saber of Red's Master. But for the moment, she had other concerns.

     Likewise, she caught her marshal's subtle glance, deferring to her on the matter. That was what she was there for, after all. And she didn't mind; she wanted to be of some help to him, as he had been to her for nearly twenty years of her reign. Even the less-astute would be able to see some kind of bond between knight and king, though most might assume -- admittedly correctly -- that the petite blonde was his superior in some way. The more keen-eyed, however, might catch much more subtle nuances of their unbreakable bond; the unspoken communicative glances, the red stones in the opposite ears.

     And for the moment, she was taking command. "I have heard you express some exasperation over matters pertaining to taxes. I believe we might have a means to remedy that...or, more specifically, my marshal might be able to assist you with that."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "No need to bow around me. I don't consider myself a knight, whatever titles various avenues have imposed upon me," Psyber smiles faintly, "Privately, I believe very few hold the right to truly call themselves knights, and that many in the Union merely pretend at such. So I try to respect true knights like yourselves by not being treated as any manner of nobility or knighthood."

    Psyber reaches towards his jacket, having said that in response to the bowing and the 'sirs' and the deferential attitudes. The half-angel pulls out a crumpled and half-crushed pack of Lucky Strikes, sticking one in his mouth and then lighting it. He exhales a line of smoke away from his two visitors and then taps it at an ash tray, "But I digress."

    "I see, someone to manage finances. If you are willing to work with Mister Auditore at times, I welcome more help towards managing the more technical aspects of my business. While I have refined many aspects of it in recent years, I still maintain that I am no expert in finances, so by all means," Psyber nods his head, looking between them, "I will accept what help I can get."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"My king serves you, and thus I owe you the respect worthy of such a station." Bedivere's gentle reprimand is given in a perfectly reasonable tone, remaining polite and respectful throughout. If one poked him hard enough, he'd probably bleed 'polite' and 'respectful.' "However, if you prefer no title, I shall endeavour to... remember that."

The faint twist of his mouth suggests he'll do it, but he won't /like/ it. Standing on ceremony is as natural to him as breathing. It was a necessity in the midst of Camelot's courtly intrigues... and doubly so for he, a pale-haired commoner, a foreigner, chosen over the landed knights nad nobility that had clamoured to be Marshal of the Realm. Treading cautiously had become a survival skill.

He shifts his weight in clear discomfort under Arturia's praises. Violet eyes dart away, lingering on the distant corners of the room; Bedivere studiously avoids looking at either Arturia and Psyber too directly.

"I have... some... skill... with financial matters," he nearly mumbles, awkwardly. "I was Marshal of Camelot, and served as my king's left hand in all matters pertaining to the kingdom, including the business of daily operations, finances, and taxation of the, ah, commonfolk." He stumbles over the term as though he were distasteful with it -- he had always identified with the peasantry more than the nobility. "If... if it please you, S--Psyber," he corrects himself, violet eyes lifting to meet red.

"I will of course need to educate myself on the matter of modern law and protocol, but it would be no burden to me." He shakes his head; in anybody else it might be hasty flailing, but Bedivere is (fortunately) far more dignified than that. He does reach up to tug at the stud in his left ear, a little nervously. "I, ah, fear that my familiarity does not... I am not..."

He gestures, a little helplessly. The poor thing seems to be suffering acute 'fish out of water' syndrome, and having attention fixed on him's only making it worse.

"My king is more familiar with the current era as a result of being a Servant. I am not a Servant, myself; I am only mortal. I do not have the same, ah, familiarity, and I am still learning. But," he adds, some of that determination familiar to Arturia creeping into his tone, "I shall endeavour to serve you to the best of my ability, provided it does not conflict with my duties to my king."

There's a brief, silent pause.

"...If if please you," he adds, politely.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Addressing her compatriots within the Union by knightly titles was something of a recent habit of Saber's. She tended to regard the Union as an Order, of sorts; an outlook that would probably not change any time soon. Moreover, it was a comforting thought to think of them that way...in spite of the less than completely chivalrous ways of some members. Perhaps even more so, Arturia's reign had been one of at least attempted equality, where commoners were no less valuable than nobility. In fact, in some ways, the peasantry was more valuable; they produced the food and other necessities which were the foundations of the kingdom. That had made her a rather popular monarch among the commoners and had even earned her a very valuable knight -- of commoner stock, himself -- less so among nobles who enjoyed their power and privileges.

     "Very well," was her rather simple response.

     Saber smiled slightly at the mention of the Italian Hashashin. "Sir Ezio is an honourable man, quite capable...though his ways are somewhat foreign to us," she explained to Bedivere. "He is chivalrous...though his chivalry is in some ways...different than ours. He, too, is from this era's distant past. "

     He's mellowed over the years, but he still has a bit of skirt-chaser left in him. But it would be good for the marshal to meet others who had been as out of their depth when they had first arrived. At least before he'd met Hastur....

     Saber cleared her throat slightly, thinking on how that might take some preparation work first. "Likewise, Sir Bedivere is of a very agile mind and a keen eye. He learns very quickly...though I shall also be on hand to assist in those matters which will require my explanation."

     No, she's not hand-holding, but she does speak his archaic language and has that Grail knowledge, after all.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber doesn't chase any skirts these days! He's too busy dealing with his own dumb shit. Among other, far more secretive reasons. He looks between the two of them as they speak in turn, tilting his head a bit. Red eyes look between the both of them and ponder a bit, his face even.

    "I'll warn you in advance, I have my reasons for everything I do, even if they're not apparent at first. I allow people to question me, but only if you do so politely." He cautions, sighing a bit as he taps his cigarette into an ash tray some more, "Politely being the key word. There will be times when you think me little more than a particularly powerful and ornate jester at best and a blind madman at worst. These are acceptable as long as you treat me with civility. I do all things for a reason, be that reason immediate or farflung to the future."

    He shrugs his shoulders a bit, "Beyond that, if you're willing to get along with the other members of my business, I am willing to bring you on board."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Violet eyes slant sidelong to regard Arturia when she describes Ezio. He hadn't yet had the opportunity to meet the man, although he had heard his name and his voice over the radio. Perhaps he should meet him, some time, knowing that the man is an employee of the agency. After all, it's only polite to know one's coworkers, isn't it? Especially if they'll be collaborating on anything.

"Of course," he says instead. He wouldn't presume to argue, and it's only polite that he meet him. "I should be honoured to meet Sir Auditore. I am familiar with his voice, through the radio, but I have not yet made his acquaintance formally."

Bedivere ducks his head at Arturia's praise, hair falling forward to hide his face. Which is nice, because it's a touch scarlet at such open compliments. "I--I only do what is required of me," he murmurs unhappily. He takes praise about as gracefully as she does. That is to say, 'not at all.'

He blinks somewhat owlishly at Psyber, all traces of embarrassment forgotten. Ah, calling into question any financial decisions?

"I would not dream of doing so otherwise." Bedivere inclines his head, politely. "I have served my king faithfully for near to twenty years. I am reasonably certain she will attest that I have adhered to all of the proper protocols and laws. Of our time," he adds, a little hastily. "My point being, S--Psyber," Dammit he's going to have to correct himself a lot, "I would not dream of behaving in any manner but civilised and polite. A knight must behave with decorum; is he not an example in chivalry and in good behaviour to his fellows?"

Again, that polite bow of his head. "As for the others, I shall strive to do my best, though I confess that I have not yet met them."

Saber (346) has posed:
     Having been a free agent of Heaven or Hell for nearly as long as she had been in the multiverse, the Servant was well-accustomed to Psyber's ways of doing things, as well as what others might have considered all manner of weirdness surrounding him. Of the latter, she had never so much as batted an eyelash -- the greater reality of her own world was, by many standards, apparently even more 'weird' -- and of the former, she had come to realise he was trustworthy for all his abrasive defences. She had not, after all, inquired about Mordred, though she doubtless had wished to.

     Not to mention the fact that the half-angel, like her, carried the Scar of the World Slayer. That had left neither of them unscathed in spirit, something of which Saber had buried until breaking down in front of her lieutenant.

     But the glance she gave to Bedivere was one of approval for his diplomatic and properly knightly answer. As I have said, you can never dishonour me.

     "I can attest to my marshal acting in no way which conflicts with the virtues of chivalry," she spoke out loud, "And conducts himself with the utmost discretion." As well he had to, aside from being a commoner and an outsider, as well as...other, far more dangerous secrets he had harboured. But that was a secret between the knights...for the moment.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber finishes off his cigarette and snuffs it out in the tray in front of him, nodding his head slowly as they both respond to him. He takes a couple moments to brush a few scraps of ash off the table in front of himself. Then he hmms faintly.

    "Very well. Since you agree to my rules of leadership, I see no problem with you joinin the office." He reaches into the desk next to himself and pulls out a packet of papers written in plain English, "These are the frequencies, keycards for the office. You have access t everywhere but the vaults on your own."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Having spoken his part, the pale-haired knight remains silent. He glances briefly to the King of Knights, enough that he can understand the meaning behind that look she shares with him. That he glances away without quite making eye contact is enough to make plain to her his discomfort -- complicated; conflicted.

He still isn't convinced of that, it seems, nor of his right and proper conduct as a knight, though he has followed all of the Laws of Hospitality, and the codes of chivalry, to the letter and spirit.

Bedivere doesn't quite shift his weight, but the way his gaze drops suggests a certain discomfort. Fortunately, before he can think on that too much, he's presented with a pile of paperwork.

Paper is still one of those things that, while extant, was not a major part of life in his world. It was an invention of the Orient, and passing rare in the world Camelot's knights dwelt in. The vellum used in books was more common, and far more expensive; books of any kind were a luxury. Parchment was a poor substitute, fragile and prone to disintegrating, but serviceable for things such as ledgers. But the paper produced by the modern world is several cuts above in terms of quality, and so much cheaper, too.

He runs his fingers over the pages, briefly, indulging in a moment of that wonder before looking to the crisp, neat lettering on the face.

And he stares at them absolutely blankly, with no hint of recognition at all.

"I am honoured to serve," the knight says softly, looking over the rim of the paper-sheaf back to Psyber. "You have my thanks; and I shall repay that by working to the best of my ability." He bows again, formally. "If I should have any concerns, I will be certain to be in touch with you. And if there is aught you should require, I am your humble servant."

Figure of speech, fortunately, and he wouldn't formally submit to the full authority of anybody but the one whom he'd sworn to serve.

"I shall... study these," he adds faintly, indicating the papers. That is to say, he's going to have to have Saber translate for him, because he doesn't understand a damn word of this. The language he speaks is actually an ancient form of Welsh, one that's bound not to be used in the office. He flicks a brief but meaningful look at Saber. H-help. "But, we shall trouble you no more, if you have no more need of us. Yes...?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     For her part, the Servant released a barely audible sigh. I recall someone once implying that I should just accept a compliment for once in my life. She might also be smiling faintly, however, revealing that she was now quite as exasperated as she necessarily let on. So stubborn.

     Not that Arturia had any right to call anyone else stubborn, but she was going to, anyway.

     And then she gave the pile of paperwork a critical eye, tapping her chin with her index finger thoughtfully. If Bedivere was already confused, he was about to be even more so. "Psyber, correct me if I am mistaken, but I had been under the impression that such forms were in the process of being transferred to a 'paperless' medium."

     On the other hand, paper would probably be easier for the already confused Marshal of Camelot, especially since this way she would be able to translate. He would recognise the Roman letters, certainly...but not the words they formed. Worry not, loyal knight, thy king shalt save thee.

     Come to think of it, it would probably be a good idea to help him learn reading English...

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "I prefer to use paper and electronic records. I like computers, but a ledger never betrayed me," Psyber points out to Saber, smiling a bit and tapping his fingers on the desk. He refrains from having a second cigarette for now, shifting in his seat.

    "Anyway, it was nice to see you both. I will look forward to working with you in the field. Remember, you may not be used to be at first, but..." He says, standing up and dusting himself off. He can clearly see that uncomfortable tone from Bedivere. Psyber actually takes a moment and switches languages, moving fluidly into that ancient form of Welsh.

    "Cyfaill cywir mewn ing y'i gwelir." A friend is known in adversity, like gold is known in fire. Psyber rocks back and forth on his feet, "I'm older than most people think, Mister Bedivere. And spent many centuries around that area of the world. Have a pleasant evening."