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Calvin Nash      Pawhuska, Oklahoma is a lot different from Ossabaw Island. Arriving is done, if not by your own means, then by the Assembly's Terminal network. Travel through the Terminals is fast and strange. In the blink of an eye there is an ephemeral yet intense and blend of emotions. Not unlike the sense of realizing that you're angry or sad because you're tired or hungry and not actually because of what's in front of you, it passes soon enough, but there's nothing tangible to put your finger on as to why you might feel a mix of elation and terror, or sadness and anger, or interminable boredom and confusion. It's simply there and gone, as if it were the wind whipping past you. Maybe it was, since the Terminals work by shunting travelers through the Expanse, the realm of emotional energy and raw spiritual potential.

    Whereas the island wasn't originally intended to be a full-blown settlement, once upon a time, many, many years ago, this town was one of the busiest places in the United States. The terminal exits into a gatehouse which was once a dollar store, judging by the cleaned-out shelves and the spaces where freezers and refrigerators once sat. The guards, much like on Ossabaw, are two Demon Marshals primarily concerned with noting down comings and goings.

    Strategically placed next down the street from the gatehouse is a general store run by a Mr. and Mrs. Bigheart, an old married couple who sell various snacks, conveniences and pastimes for travelers. Two vehicles are parked outside--neither is Calvin's light pickup, but it's not hard to see which one of the vehicles is his, considering only one has Marshal livery. That one is a lifted, matte white four door Chevy with a long bed, and heavy offroading tires like the ones he used in Atlanta. A light bar is mounted on the top of the cab. The other is an SUV, and must be Knight Captain Richards', owing to the fact that it sports livery in stark contrast to the pentacle-and-Ossabaw-cameo of the Marshals. A silver jeep sports the blue cross emblem of the Knights Templar; the hood and the space under the cross read 'MILLENNIUM MINISTRY - KNIGHTS TEMPLAR'.

    Mrs. Bigheart (Laura, she amiably insists) is happy to see travelers, though sad that it's under these circumstances. Apparently, it was much more common in past years, and somewhat moreso in prior months. Calvin's recommendation was to bring something like what the Bighearts are selling, so anyone who didn't will find their prices as agreeable as Laura is. Mr. Bigheart (Tommy) isn't sour or even unsociable--just a really taciturn sort of guy. His one syllable answers, and the rare more-thans, are as good-natured and sociable as Laura's, and he listens with alert nods and bright eyes despite the wrinkles encroaching at the corners.

    "This place is just about spotless," Richards states with the same mild awe that Laura and Tommy regard her post-apocalypse ring mail and tabard. "The town, I mean. I've seen places that didn't get hit, but how do y'all keep it clear of the usuals?" Much of the town still seems intact, if not thriving; the usual suspects of post-apocalyptic neglect, like moldy dilapidated buildings, burst gas and water lines warping the roads and rubble.

    "Had help," Tommy grunts with a smile, leaning on a broom. His greying hair is tied back in a ponytail.

    Laura nods, her curly, likewise graying locks bobbing alongside her hoop earrings. "The roads are all dirt, or gravel, now, but they used to be paved. Don't know if we coulda done it by ourselves, but, after the first few weeks, a lotta people came in from other parts of the state."

    "Oil wells wasn't capped," nods Tommy.

    "Y'all still have *oil?*" Richards boggles.
Calvin Nash     Laura smiles sadly. "Well, not exactly. They were startin' to dry up even before the bombs. And even then, the people that owned 'em weren't always as quick as they shoulda been to close 'em up. Osage County took a few," she remembers sadly. "Any that were still workin' sure ain't now. But the ones that dried up before, or the ones they didn't hit, well, the wells have gotta be capped, like Tommy said, or people get sick."

     "Methane," Tommy intones gravely. "Oil in the groundwater."

     "Breaks my heart," Laura nods, "To think of who all didn't make it. But *lots* of people came here, because it was the seat of the Osage Nation. I guess they hoped it was far enough from the oil fields to have avoided the bombs, and far enough from the bombs to not get no fallout, that things'd still be runnin' here."

     "Wishful thinkin'," chuckles Tommy.

    "Yes, it was, kinda," agrees Laura. "We weren't *all* the way clear of the bombs. Me and Tommy sheltered in the house for a week. Not everybody was lucky enough to make it that long, with no utilities, no water, no shipments and what all. But," she says, "Maybe some of 'em was old enough to remember that there was money here once."

     Tommy nods. "Million Dollar Oak died, what, '80?"

     Laura pauses, her eyes flicking upwards from behind her endearingly gaudy glasses. "Yep, I think it was." She ends up explaining further: "Way before I was thought of, when they first found the oil, Pawhuska here was where they did all the auctioning for the leases and deeds and what all."

    "Funny how that works," says Tommy.

    "It is, ain't it? Kinda like the oil made the town busy again after all those years."

    Calvin sips tea from a glazed clay mug and nods. "See a couple new faces. I got some snacks from these fine young folks here," he says with a smile that the Bighearts return.

    Tommy waves a hand dismissively in good nature. "'Young,' your ass," he amusedly chides.

    "Already loaded the truck up with 'em. Anything catches your eye, make sure you get it now, 'cause it's a long way from here to Texas. Questions before we go?"
Meresankh     Despite her bodyguard's protests, Meresankh has come alone. Seeing as she's getting involved in someone *else's* diplomatic problems, and has a long way to travel from Ossabaw Island, she elected to forgo her royal funeral-ship and instead travel via the Terminals. When she emerges in Pawhuska she takes a moment to inspect her appearance, clearly struck in some way by the rush of strong, fleeting emotion.

    She examines the aisles of the Bighearts' shop with casual interest. She doesn't really *need* anything they're selling, but she settles on a handheld pinball machine. Spoing, spoing-- she's already scored 500 by the time she gets to the counter and pays.

    Once her prize is secured, she walks up to Calvin, gaze fixed on the pinball machine all the while. Spoing. "It is good to see you again, Demon Marshal," she says, with a genuine, almost homey pleasantness in her voice. With most of her attention devoted to pinball, she's somewhat forgetting her usual grandiosity.

    "Questions before we go?"

    "Yes." The queen finally looks up from her choice of amusement. "We are entering Canaan, correct? You have mentioned their relationship with spirits of the Expanse is different than that of the Assembly's Marshals. Could you, or the good Knight Templar, explain this further?"
Futaba Nuki When was the last time Futaba felt bored on a mission? There's probably been several times she's felt like she was just going through the motions, but actual boredom is a rare feeling for her. Although it passes quickly, it gives her some pause and at least a moment to wonder if there's something terribly wrong with her again.

That, too, passes as quickly as the rush of emotions fades in favor of light excitement at seeing a little general all the way out here. She's seen plenty of stores like this before, but seeing slices of civilization and local flavors in unfamiliar locales never gets old for her.

Dressed in her usual jacket and shorts getup with the big scarf, Futaba shows up with a better-than-average plastic bag slung over her shoulder. The bag bears the logo and address of a meat market from Sotenbori, and it's got all sorts of refrigerated snacks from home per Calvin's instructions: little snack sandwiches (fruit and cream, egg salad with chicken, and hard boiled eggs with vegetables), and bottles of fruity soda.

"This is the kinda stuff most places like these sell, right? Anyway, what kinda snacks do they got 'round here...?" Far more interested in what's in the store than what she's brought, Futaba does stop to greet the Richards and Calvin with a casual wave before tilting her head towards the bag behind her. "Hey there! How're you feeling after all that business last time?" She asks Richards first, looking her over out of moderate concern before turning to Calvin. "Oh, any luck getting that new guy sorted out?"

The Bighearts are greeted cheerfully as well, with Futaba even making sure to loop her scarf around her neck a few more times so it doesn't get stuck on something and break something in the store. She's picks out some hats and shirts for home (the tackier the better), and then- "What's your big snack here? Anything all the locals or visitors usually snatch up when they come on by?"

She's probably going to be spending a lot of money, but that's fine. She's saved up for a while, and snacks and souvenirs couldn't be that expensive!

She'll need the snack recharge later, too, after things get a little heavier as the Bighearts speak about the area's history and the decline of the area after the bombs. "Sounds like a rough time for sure... Glad folks like yourselves're holdin' up alright, at least, especially if it's safe enough to stay here with that help o' yours. Nobody's been giving you trouble around here lately, have there?"
Regulus Regulus considers herself very politically aware though, of course, she doesn't consider herself politically aware in a post apocalyptic demon computer world that has Canaanites. But, god, she has to get outside and have an adventure now and then and she still barely knows ANYTHING about the multiverse, so why not pull up the ol' watchboard BBS and pull a basic mission down at like 4 kilobytes a second and insert herself into the story like a sudden hangnail.

She has, apparently, built a portable vinyl player because as she arrives, music is already playing from her half open backpack and she's singing along.

"I'd like to be, under the sea, in an octopus's garden in the shade! He'd let us in, knows where we've been, in his octopus's garden in the shade!"

She's dancing along out in the open, twisting her hips from side to side, swishing her miniskirt from side to side, holding her hands above her head as APPLe follows loyally behind her.

"I'd ask my friends to come and see an octopus's garden with me." APPLe joins in. He apparently is happy to join in as a bandmate in lieu of the others. Regulus spins around and gives APPLe a hifive with her hand, sliding backwards towards the group as she comes out of the Terminal. Maybe ... she's just recovering from the Terminal travel. Or compelled by it.

She takes her time ,boogieing all the way over to the general store and the Bighearts.

"We would sing and dance around because we know we can't be found!"

And then she hops on in, looking around until she spots Calvin. "Hey, I heard that you're in search for answers. Brilliant dj radio pirate, alchemist, and hijacker of the airwaves is here to lend a hand!" She probably read what the mission was about. "Ooh there's snacks?"

r"We have about seven pounds." APPLe adds, regarding payment. Then remembers, "The Captain almost threw one into a fountain but I warned her of the danger of getting soaked."
Dimokratia Dimo had quite positive feelings about operations in the bombed Americas that the Demon Marshals operated in, and positive feelings about Calvin Nash as a mission organizer. A man of local connections and firm loyalties, the Champion appreciated the Marshal's discretion and work ethic. He was a paragon of society, despite his clear organic deficiencies.

That reaction time. Cringe! All because of a nerve structure borrowed from a fish!

Fond enough to continue to take personal hand in the operations and development of the world in cooperation with the Assembly, of course, despite Atlanta being an 'always under attack, all the time, as if a fringe of combative demons could be set dressing and decor' type of situation.

Despite warmly appreciating travel through the Terminal system, Dimo declines its use, instead electing to fly down from a ship in orbit after receiving the rendezvous location. Gliding in like a great silver-spanned bird, Dimo's trails open in great sails of chrome spanned and detailed with fins and foils. Avionics and thrusters work to lift her before landing, chuting against the wind force and smearing in stretch and extension as the systems give way to need of braking material, and then, in a heavy 'THUNK' of a landing, Dimo makes contact with ground and comes almost to a crouch. Behind her, in a wave of slow motion silver, the two streams of silver from the base of her back retract and simplify. From majestic metal wings with all the greebly details to jellyfish trails that wave through the atmosphere in lazy languidity, the process takes no more than two seconds but is quite the flourish of show.

Rising, Dimo takes a moment to surveil the gathering in the small town, sweeping cool blue optics across the town, before a smile takes to her carbon-dark lips. "Calvin, you always bring me to such wonderful places - bright, resolute, yet strangely and beautifully. . ." The Champion searches for a word, meditating to close eyes for a moment, and hangs there.

It doesn't take her ten seconds, but it goes a few ticks. "Desolate. As gorgeous as a green field loosely scattered with flowers, or a salt marsh rolled flat with the perfect conditions."

Having offered her compliment, given as beatifically as any other positive proclamation of art, Dimo ducks (she has to) into the store to appraise the local fare. She buys a wide-brimmed hat which is just big enough for her when she gets the big one if she balances it sideways a little, as well as inspects what snack sandwiches and fruity sodas Futaba buys and covertly buys some more in a secret bag for later. Escaping before Futaba finishes her shopping run, Dimo moves to join Richards and Calvin while approaching Meresankh to give a rather firm and confirmatory pat-pat on the shoulder. Being as solid as she is, Meresankh definitely *feels* the pats, but it's precisely calibrated - Dimo intentionally exerts just enough force on her fellow synthetic's shell to give the structure a warm test and touch inspection in fellowship, and then remains there.

Above hanging off the shorter synth's shoulder, Dimo still smilingly looms while being in Support Stance. "Templar Richards, it's good to see you're still supporting us and moving forward with the plan. Yes, I do have a question: In what part of the vehicles will I go?" The warm expectant crackle of synapse about her, that pours on Richards and Nash, is like bathing in the buzz of 'hmmmmmm?' that curls its tail to question, immersive and honey-thick.

"I would so rather ride with you, than about you. But I understand these are not sized appropriately for guests."
Rita Ma      It'd be really nice, Rita thinks, if having feelings shoved into her head were ever something she got used to. Not that the Terminal's nudge of achey longing that's already dissipating on the breeze was especially bad, but you know...

     ... She perks herself up before nodding to the guards, double-checks the red-and-white beer cooler that she's carrying like a purse for unobtrusive cleanliness, and has a little spring in her step again by the time she's crossed the street.

     "Nice to meet you, Mr. Bigheart! Ms. Big-- um, Laura! I really like your glasses," she chimes in, before vanishing into the back. She re-emerges not with treats but with entertainment- an itty-bitty magnetized chess set and a crossword puzzle book.

     After greeting her fellow elites with a little wave- Dimo's the only one Rita hasn't met before, and gets an eyes-tracing-up gawk before a reestablished brightness- she falls into the rhythm of small-town conversation smoothly:
     "Do you get many visitors from the Multiverse, Ms. Laura?"
     "Oh, so you've been living here all along?"
     "... Canaan has it pretty rough, doesn't it, Ms. Richards?"

     Even the postapocalypse suits her fine, although she's used to the ruined cities being wetter.

     "Questions before we go?"
     "Um, yeah, Mr. Calvin. We're mostly doing an investigation to help out Canaan, right? What kinds of leads do we have so far? And where are we going exactly, besides 'Canaan'?"

     When the time comes to board, Rita's a pretty agreeable seatmate, except for the fact that her beer cooler smells a bit like raw steak on ice. On account of all the raw steak in it, mostly.
Lilian Rook     According to Lilian, a greenhouse is automatically an improvement to a dollar store in every single way; a remedial blight introduced to vainly stall the cancerous inevitability of urbana, converted into a representation of man's mastery of nature and the innovation that began the course of human history; well that's just obvious. Maybe the apocalypse was a little bit of a good thing too. Clean it all out and regrow a better culture, you know? That's what she's fixated on for the briefly disorienting arrival period, at least. Little does she know that a trillion miles away, some other poor woman she's never met and who has nothing to do with her is having a terrible time in one of these.

    Despite her general attitude towards this place (meaning world) the first time, something seems to have worn down Lilian's ambient level of frost about the whole thing since then. She buys something from the convenience store just to be a good visitor (specifically gummy worms, if they have them somehow), makes small talk with th eowners, greets Richards with some genuine amount of pleasantness despite her prior negative opinion, asks about how her work has been going since, and listens with enough attention to start taking a couple of notes on her phone (in her usual hyper-compact style) on the subject of what amenities cause a town to thrive or collapse after the bombs.

    For no reason. Because this is totally unrelated to anything she's doing.

    "I'm surprised-- impressed? At not only how well you recall it, but how easily you're able to detail it as well. I'd scarcely been able to conceptualize something like that as even theory until very recently." she says, following the hard parts; Lilian's awkward idea of a compliment for a likeable old couple who are bizarrely reminiscing with a sense of accomplishment over something morbidly scary, in her opinion. "I've found that if you look back far enough, you'll always find that 'the shape of the earth' had a formative hand when it comes to just about anything." Lilian pauses to chew on her thumbnail, staring at the screen she's been writing on, in lieu of a tablet and a stylus.

    "It is. Funny, I mean. But it's also sort of the most common story there is, in a way? Even the invention of the nuclear bomb and the end of civilization as you know it doesn't change which holes the earth put where and what it filled them with. I wonder if human beings fundamentally need that reversion to the natural mean-- that base substrate of 'nature' itself, rather, to be thrust into once again, in order to recover from this sort of disaster."

    'Already loaded the truck up with 'em. Anything catches your eye, make sure you get it now, 'cause it's a long way from here to Texas. Questions before we go?'

    "How long?" says Lilian, instantaneously and with an edge of dread. The Langya Pavilion had been incredible, but that carriage ride . . . "No further questions."
Meresankh     Dimo moves to join Richards and Calvin while approaching Meresankh to give a rather firm and confirmatory pat-pat on the shoulder.

    Meresankh somehow managed to miss out on seeing Dimo's landing, likely for pinball-related reasons. She doesn't jump when Dimo pats her on the shoulder, but only because she doesn't have that reflex. Realizing who it is, she tilts her head up and to the side, she greeting the taller synthetic with a polite wave and a pleasant "Mmm!" She waits for Dimo to greet Calvin and Knight-Templar Richards as well, before turning halfway around and stepping back to add Dimo to the growing circle.

    "They have these fascinating contraptions, here," Meresankh says, holding up the pinball device for Dimo's inspection. "The spring is unreliable, imprecise due to its age. Were it properly consistent in its function, I could score perfectly each time - but there is an element of chance to it, due to the imperfections. I suspect its unpredictability will be ideal for prolonged entertainment." As long as nobody minds the repeating 'spoing' noises.

    "Ah, but - how fares the Silver and its Champion?"
Calvin Nash I wonder if human beings fundamentally need that reversion to the natural mean-- that base substrate of 'nature' itself, rather, to be thrust into once again, in order to recover from this sort of disaster.

    "Hm..." Tommy considers that, stroking his weathered chin.

    "Maybe so," says Laura. "It's the same just about anywhere in the assembly. Supply lines broke down, everything we took for granted was gone in weeks, if not days. All we had was nature and each other."

    "Social species," Tommy opines.

    "You know," Laura opines, "I love your accent, darlin'. It's so familiar, somehow..."

Could you, or the good Knight Templar, explain this further?

    Richards is maybe a head shorter than Calvin. Like him, she's no stranger to hard work--there's muscle tone visible under the sleeves of her ringmail, and when she turns something over, or holds her hand the right way, her palms tell a similar story. Maybe she works often with her hands, when she's not on duty. Wavy red hair is held in a bun to keep it from her blue eyes, and freckles lightly dapple her cheeks. There's a quiet intensity in those eyes, a surety, when she says, "We don't call the servants of God Almighty 'spirits' or 'demons,'" she says.

    Calvin rolls his eyes.

    "His servants, whatever they were before, they're touched by His grace and renewed, as angels. The ones who aren't part of his host, but fight for His Thousand-Year Plan anyway--like Ganesha, Morrigan, or Thoth--we call allies."

    "Now," she says, having cleared up what is evidently an important point of order, "God Almighty is the highest authority. The angel Moroni answers directly to Him. The Church Elders--that's a council of human appointees--hear His commands from Moroni and put His will into motion. They oversee and, if they gotta, mobilize the Knights Templar," she says, patting her tabard to indicate herself. "And we work with the Lord's servants and allies--"

    "By givin' 'em the energy they need to stay on Assiah," he says. "Or 'Earth' or 'the mortal world.' And givin' 'em a safe place to rest. Magnetite and COMPs. Running the Demon Summoning Program." He gestures towards his COMP then towards Richards'--the device serves the same function, whether or not the case has Templar livery on it.

    "Right," says Richards in the tone that indicates she doesn't think it's right at all, but doesn't want to get into a protracted argument about the philosophy of names and divine grace and transfiguration in a general store. "We don't gotta get too far into it."
Calvin Nash What's your big snack here?

    "Here, sweetie," says Laura, gently beckoning to Futaba--

We have about seven pounds.

    "Wait, say that again," Laura says. "Pounds? Young lady," she continues, beckoning to Regulus, "Are you, that young lady there and this fella here from where I *think?*" Lilian only has to say something, anything else, for her to be sure of it, and to call (now across the store) to Tommy. "Tommy. Tommy!"

    "What?" answers Tommy, in the way only old men can to their wives.

    "Tommy, we got three bona fide Brits in the store!"

    "I'll be damned," marvels Tommy, looking over from sweeping near a shelf on the other end of the store.

    "I knew I recognized that accent! It's been fifty years since any of us heard an accent like that at all," Laura excitedly explains. "Much less in person and not on TV or the radio. We ain't never taken pounds before, but... I figure we could, just to have somethin' to talk about in town. Now, where was I?"

    "Snacks," Tommy calls from the back.

    "Right," Laura nods brightly. "Y'all come on up to the counter here and have a look." The counter near the register is where all of the snacks are, so as to tempt customers one last time before paying. There's beef jerky, rock candy in a few flavors, peanut brittle, assorted nuts, dried fruit, pickles, crackers and cheese, all proudly advertised as home made on a sign just under one which reads "YES - WE TAKE 'CREDITS!'".

    As far as clothes, those on display here are mostly normal rather than tacky. Things that are specifically tacky, in the way that gas station clothes would have been, seem to be more of a specialty item, but there are some straw hats that look like they'd be nice to have in hot, sunny weather, and the various flannels, button-ups, tees, blouses, etcetera on display seem like they'd really take a beating compared to what'd be found in a more industrialized society's equivalent.
Calvin Nash In what part of the vehicles will I go?

    "I got you in the Chevy, Dimo." says Calvin. "Wouldn't try to stand up," he lightly jokes, "But you'll fit."

I really like your glasses.

    Laura beams at Rita. "Aren't you sweet! I like 'em loud," she says, and loud they are; pink with the suggestion of wings at the tips. They don't so much match her eyes as her mannerisms; Laura is someone who has found who she wants to be for some time now, and is at the stage of her life where she makes refinements rather than large strides, yet, even so, she approaches new things and faces with the delight of someone ready to learn.

... Canaan has it pretty rough, doesn't it, Ms. Richards?

    "I wouldn't say that," Richards answers with a thoughtful frown. "I mean... rougher than we would in an ideal world, for sure. If it was up to me, I'd'a rather the people before me got their act together, got right with God, so there wouldn't be no bombs or anything."

    Calvin bristles at that, and pretends to read the back of an old paperback.

    "But," she says, "We're real fortunate to have what we do. When outsiders think of us, they think about the 'land of plenty.' And it's true that Moroni worked his miracle and made that little town in Utah what it is today. But, I think what he really gave Canaan was faith. Certainty. I know you can't eat that, or sleep in it. But it's important to know someone's lookin' out for you."

What kinds of leads do we have so far? And where are we going exactly, besides 'Canaan'?

    Calvin lowers the paperback. "Canaan runs from the south end of Wyoming out in the midwest, down through Utah, east through Colorado and south into New Mexico and Texas. We're goin' to Higgins, Texas," he answers. "'Bout two, three hundred miles that way." He points. "West," he clarifies. "I got the demon that attacked Thoth in here," he says, patting his COMP. "And he told us what he knew about how he figured out where Thoth was gonna be. We're headin' there because that's the closest Canaan Terminal, and 'cause right now, their Terminals are locked to outsiders. So we gotta drive."

    Richards nods with a tight frown, business-mode. "From there, it's looking like we're headed to New Mexico, through the Terminal. Ran your description by my people," she says. "A fella in robes, with a pretty voice and a hunched back, right? Someone did see him. Spoke to him, even. A trucker who ought to be back home in Tucumcari by the time we reach Higgins. We got him an escort in the sky, someone there waitin' for him to keep him safe, and someone to cover his shift so he won't get antsy."
Regulus ''Bona fide Brits in the store!''

Regulus beams happily despite what this ostensibly means for the state of the world. Though this might be because maybe they'll take the pounds as a novelty--and her faith is rewarded! "Oh that would be absolutely fab as all out of you," Regulus assures the couple. "I'll sign one of the notes so when I make it big you can say you knew me before I made it big!" As a musical artist she has to assume that she'll make it big one day or she'll DIE and she has absolute confidence in herself. She means everyh word and signs one of the notes and seperates it from the coinage while handing it all over. She now has ZERO moneys but she does have SNACKS and Regulus seems happy with the arrangement. "Thank you!! You're real pals! -- Oh! I know, you said that you haven't heard voices like mine on the radio in ages right? I'll rig something up for you for the next time we come around so you can hear all the kinds of accents and music you want!"

It's a long car ride, she can work in such conditions, and if not? Well, she knows the way here on foot now.

Regulus spots Rita and excitedly makes her way over to her and will even hug her quickly. "Re Re Rita! Good to see you, love, I was just singing a song that I thought you might like about the beauty of the sea and...Oh--" She glances over to Dimo, "Second, I gotta be the Ambassador of Rock real quick but it's so good to see you again! You look good!" She sniffs a bit. "Ooh you got some cow in there? Got good taste, Rita."

She makes her way to Dimo and pulls out a vinyl album out of her backpack after futzing with it for a while, handing it over to her. "For the sake of multiversal peace, it's yours!" She declares triumphantly. There's a picture of Fats Domino on the album cover and the words 'This is Fats Domino!' repeating on a red background. Songs included are Bluberry Hill, Honey Chile, What's the REason I'm Not Pleasing You, Blue Monday, So Long, La-La... and more! There's actually a few records in the album split apart by dividers in the album folder.

"The Captain is normally quite stingy with her albums..." APPLe remarks.

"This is for multiversal peace, APPLe!" Regulus protests, tapping the peace sign pinned to her bag's strap.
Meresankh     Richards explains the hierarchy of angels and their role in Canaan's society. Meresankh is glad her skepticism can't show on her face - trusting in the divine plan is how her people died, after all. She makes a mental note to consult her C'tan fragment if she ever gets a chance to meet Moroni, to see if the fragmented star-being will recognize a fellow charlatan or quake in fear before true divine authority. "So they are authorities, more than cooperators," she opines finally, after Richards decides to not get in an argument with the Demon Marshal.

    When people start 'saddling up', Meresankh makes her way to Calvin's chevy. At 3.14 royal cubits (just under 5'5") in height she doesn't need the extra legroom, but she wants to hang out with Dimo on the road. And Regulus, if the rocker takes up Meresankh's suggestion of playing a 'King Domino' record in the truck. Slipping into the front passenger seat, she adjusts the seat forward to make space for taller Elites in the back.

    "Calvin," she asks once the Demon Marshal is in the vehicle, "if we have to track our target covertly, it may be wise to develop a cover story for my appearance. Are there demons of the mechanical variety?" A pause to think. "If not, I could leave one of my scarabs with you as a beacon, and space-fold myself to you when called."
Dimokratia Before setting off into Calvin's proffered Chevy, Dimo shifts grip to trace the skeletonized sway of pauldron-shoulder and lifting after a wicking touch traces away. The little contraption is peered at, and dim curiosity shifts slowly into intent inspection. "There's no value in a game that has no reuse. That's merely a lesson or an experience - a game is one to be repeatedly played. Of course, to use imperfection as randomization is clever, and I fault not the creator for their means, but I would say not a unique feature. Merely - the warm harmony of need and means."

"As for myself," Dimo smiles, shoulders cycling up and then back down. "I remain well! Though if Calvin had need of me in Texas, I could have orbitally glided there instead. I am here with you, so that is well too!"

Heading for the Marshal's vehicle, Dimo pauses at Richards' words on faith, resting her hand now on the Chevy. "Faith is deeply important to the sustenance of the soul. It cannot be taken in as bread, but it is burned as fuel for the journey all the same." She shares. "This place could use a carbon fixing filter in the water table and certain amenities my people can provide. Please endeavor to provide whatever permit is necessary for such a deployment, Templar? If power and clean water are needed to allow society to return here, it's something that can be offered to take on as your own. Consider it, please."

Then, with trails reaching up besides her to help vault her in, Dimo's smooth transit carries her in without fuss.

"I believe a concert would be wonderful," Dimo begins in comment to Meresankh before Regulus is marching all the way up to the Chevy! In a recline in the back, Dimo lolls an arm down to reach a hand and arch fingers down to gently take the vinyl.

"For the sake of multiversal peace." The sophont appreciates, optics intentful and focused on the album, and on Regulus. She lifts it, careful, up into the truck with her, and then reaches out again with hand now holding something else. "You must take something too. I have learned they are well-received, and I believe that you will wear such a symbol of peace well. Would you take this?" Dimo offers, and hands back down a silver lotus-flower, the leafing darker and the petals incredibly detailed and as soft and delicate as living foliage. It's got a slightly wet-feeling part on the base of it where stem or root might be that attaches adhesively to whatever it's stuck to. This one's sized similarly to Regulus' other bag tchotchkies!

"Knowing that you treasure these records of the king makes them all the more precious. I intend to enjoy them on the way."
Futaba Nuki "As gorgeous as a green field loosely scattered with flowers, or a salt marsh rolled flat with the perfect conditions."

"Ever see a freshly cleaned rooftop? Like, the big wide open ones they use for tapings?" Futaba suggests to Dimo, definitely not feeling a smidge competitive all of a sudden after hearing the compliment paid to Calvin. "Next time you come by Sotenbori, maybe I can show you some good scenic spots!"

"Here, sweetie,"

Indeed, Futaba's kind of slow when it comes to shopping, partially because she's still on a budget, and partially because she's holding out for something cool or funny to really speak to her. Luckily, Laura sounds like she's ready to show her what the main attraciton is, and Futaba gets ready to do a bit of mental calculating. She needs enough snacks for the trip, but she also needs to make sure there's enough money for souvenirs, hats, at least one of their biggest shirt...

"Tommy, we got three bona fide Brits in the store!"
"I'll sign one of the notes so when I make it big you can say you knew me before I made it big!"

"Eh?" Futaba grunts in confusion, looking over at Laura to Regulus, then to Lilian, and then to APPLe. "Wait. You're a..." She pauses on APPLe for a few moments, and then somethings eems to click as she looks right back at Regulus with a recognizing look in her eye. "So that's what a British accent used to sound like! Yeah, you sound kinda like that.. Uh. The folks from the interviews! The band with the street, and the bad..."

Wait, would anything futaba says now affect the past? Would Regulus being here already be throwing her own existence into question? She's pretty sure things don't work thatw ay, but she errs on the side of caution and does't finish thatthought. Instead: "... You're a DJ, a pirate, and an ambassador, eh? Hell yearh, gotta build that title list up. Now, let's see what kinda stuff we can get with those pounds of yours and-"

Futaba pauses, then turns to Laura as she heads over to the counter to check out the snacks. "You prefer yen or credits more? I got either!" As promised, she's ready to buy, and she starts with the tackiest looking shirts. She makes sure to get the absolutely largest shirt that's on sale, too. Once that's done, she loads up on rock candy and pickles while paying with whichever currency Laura angles her towards.

"We're goin' to Higgins, Texas."
"From there, it's looking like we're headed to New Mexico, through the Terminal."

"From Ohio? Dang, you weren't kiddin' about it being a long ride. Three hundred miles..." Futaba whistles lightly, then tugs her head one way to stretch her neck out on the opposite side. "Plenty of time to grill this demon for anything else he might know, then. Or catch up with everyone, if there ain't too much left to get out of him. If we're gonna be doin' a concert on the way, I think I've got an idea..."

Futaba's tail wiggles briefly, and she takes another look at the two vehicles. "If I get the right shape, maybe we could get a little stage right on the back? Or something more stable to stand on..."
Rita Ma      "But, I think what he really gave Canaan was faith."
     Rita has about the same opinions on God that she has on the aurora borealis, or Jimi Hendrix, or quarter-pounders; that people she trusts have told her they're really great but she's never been in a position to partake and isn't too clear on the details.

     But . . .

     "... it's important to know someone's lookin' out for you."
     "Mmm, mm-hmm!" She recognizes enough of the shape of what Ms. Richards is talking about to enthusiastically agree with her and Dimo. Her arms cross behind her back while she nods emphatically.

     "The feeling that your work is for the good of your neighbors, that everyone is supporting each other, and that it all means something..." she says. "Everything changes, when it's like that. All of a sudden, people can be happy even when they're working really hard, and stuff that seemed impossible gets easy, even if you're still fighting the same problems as before. That's what you're talking about, right, Ms. Richards?"

     Calvin's irritation, tragically, she seems ignorant to. Regulus's hug comes just in time to distract her anyway.

     "Oh! Ms. Regulus, um, it's great to see you again." She's getting hugged by the lady who thinks she's a bizarre skin-wearing vampire?? Well, that's no reason to turn it down... "It's not some cow, it's just a snack for the road! Since, um, I didn't want to burden other people, for as long as I can..."

     "Maybe you can sing your song along the way? Like an, um, driving shanty." There's sailing shanties, so surely...

     She seats herself in the back of Calvin's chevy, when it's offered, not far from Dimo; she demands little elbow-room but puts the cooler between her legs, and pretty quickly gets out her palmtop chess-set to study it pleasantly.

     It's... really not clear she knows how to play. Did she just get it because it's pretty?
Lilian Rook     'Hm...'
    'Maybe so'
    'Social species'

    "I've been thinking as much." says Lilian, already leading on to something else. "But the emphasis there is on 'species' isn't it? We say 'social' to remind ourselves that we need one another, but so seldom is it ever relevant that we, too, are creatures of the earth." With her head down, keys tapping out, she says, "I've had the lack of good fortune recently to see something like this befall somewhere else, in a slightly smaller scale, and the outcome has been completely and utterly different. I've been chewing on it a while, but I keep coming back to the fact that the towns and settlements around here all have a story to tell about what things 'went back to', whilst that place is so contrived and artificially built-up that there's nothing to return to at all; just concrete and ruins. So . . ."

    'You know, I love your accent, darlin'. It's so familiar, somehow...'

    "H-huh?"

    Lilian cuts herself off mid-vaguely-inappropriate-ramble, looking up at Laura with blinking doe-eyed surprise. That look left and right again. "I'm afraid I'm from another country entirely." she says, confused. "Um. Thank you?"


    'His servants, whatever they were before, they're touched by His grace and renewed, as angels. The ones who aren't part of his host, but fight for His Thousand-Year Plan anyway--like Ganesha, Morrigan, or Thoth--we call allies.'

    Once upon a time, Lilian had meant to ask about this. Her own family's involvement with the historical Knights Templar is, as far as she knows, mercifully brief, but not non-existent. The information is jotted down, as she, with only mild incredulity, replies, "The Mórrígan has thrown in with . . . ?" God? "Thoth? And Ganesha? Not that I dislike either of them, but I truly have t wonder what they have in common."

    'Tommy, we got three bona fide Brits in the store!'

    Lilian manages an almost natural-seeming cough. As if she might be in trouble now, since this is Regulus' fault, Lilian politely interjects "A-ah, if it's a matter of nationality, I'm-- well a British citizen, but . . ."


    'Much less in person and not on TV or the radio. We ain't never taken pounds before, but... I figure we could, just to have somethin' to talk about in town.'

    Lilian pauses. Her lips slowly fall back together again. Glancing down at the floor, she persists in thought for a few seconds, then looks to Calvin, oddly. She says, in strangely complicated tones, "Marshal Nash, when you get the opportunity, might you please tell Miss Charlene that I apologize for disrupting her day at the bar? And that I'll make it up to her, and I don't intend to get in her way." Then she turns back to Tommy, and says, "I can just give you a few foreign coins and buy the rest with whatever you'd prefer, you know."

    Lilian isn't exactly strapped for clothes, though. Her outfit is a little experimental for unclear reasons, but easily fits a somewhat era-agnostic milieu, readied with sturdy leather boots, short gloves, a shortened fine-linen swing skirt in mdnight, and wool button-down outer blouse in cream that she has collar rolled back on to rest at her clavicle instead of up her neck, fastened firmly enough for sword-related movements by a black coutil waist cinch. It is, transparently, a variation on the last set of Elibe wear; a lighter and less restrictive cut, and a cool-hue classic style palette swap, with textiles that could be made in the thirties and are still worn a hundred years later. For reasons.
Lilian Rook     'A fella in robes, with a pretty voice and a hunched back, right? Someone did see him. Spoke to him, even.'

    "Seriously?" Lilian blinks back more. "I'd have thought for certain that he'd-- No, that just means it's very likely he's a demon; a human would have changed such a trivially altered disguise by now; or put one on. I suppose that's in line with what I theorized last time."

    'Everything changes, when it's like that. All of a sudden, people can be happy even when they're working really hard, and stuff that seemed impossible gets easy, even if you're still fighting the same problems as before.'

    Lilian makes an inscrutable expression, then retrieves her phone again, going back to hurriedly typing.

    'Like an, um, driving shanty.'

    "Not a thing." Lilian says. She's too focused for more!
Regulus Well, as Regulus thinks about it, she is also wearing skin isn't she? If Rita is making her skin herself then it's not really too different from Regulus's skin. She thinks? She's honestly a little confused about it all and Rita hasn't seemed interested in biting her yet, she has to be a good pal to Rita right? "Oh it smells like beef. ... Is it ... bison?" She's unsure how bison meat smells like but it's conceivable to her that it might smell like beef. "Yeah that sounds great, though I--" Regulus suddenly stops midsentence as she considers that Rita's not going to be able to cook this in a car. Maybe she cooked it already and let it cool down? Like roast beef? It's a snack for Rita not Regulus (Regulus got a bunch of junk food, of course) but she can't help but worry for Rita's health. Even vampires who wear skin probably need to worry about, like, parasites right? "Um, did you roast them?" Regulus asks. "You could get food poisoning if you're not careful, Rita."

Once she's with Dimo, she happily takes the latest memtno. An item that means peace from another world! Wow! Her eyes are alight with wonder though unless you can see through sunglasses you'll have to judge the wonder by her mouth hanging open. "Of course, it's pretty as all out! Thank you, Starchild," She uses it like a nickname, taking the flower. She examines a bit before fastening it near the peacesign. "Yeah I'll play something on the portable vinyl player!" The track has shifted to Let It Be by now but she beams. "Just wait till you get a listen!" She vows before rushing back to Rita and sliding into the car.

''Since this is Regulus's fault.''

Regulus wonders about that 'but' but it's a bit crass to just push on that isn't it? But she does say, "A driving shanty isn't a thing yet! But we can make it a thing...today!"

Emboldened by the spirit of innovation, she slides into the car, positioning herself close to Rita if she can manage it.

''palmtop chess-set.''

Regulus leans in to murmur to Rita, "Remember, if you're struggling in chess you can just flip the board over and net a victory that way. Trust me, I've beaten APPLe in chess before this way."

The driving shanty she ends up singing is 'Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds' but she adds a y'arrr or two every verse.
Calvin Nash Marshal Nash, when you get the opportunity, might you please tell Miss Charlene that I apologize for disrupting her day at the bar?

    "I sure will," he says genially, with a firm and reassuring nod. "She says hey, by the way," he says, remembering that detail and providing it to her as if Lilian were part of his small town.

If I get the right shape, maybe we could get a little stage right on the back?

    "Save that for Higgins," says Calvin, like a dad telling kids in the backseat to stop roughhousing--remarkably, he manages the tone without even driving. "Or do it while we're still on our way outta here. But there's abandoned roads between here and there, and you been with me on enough drives to know that's dangerous."

That's what you're talking about, right, Ms. Richards?

    "That's it, exactly," says Richards with a warm smile. Maybe a little relief, too. "Going from surviving to living, and from working to working *towards* somethin'."

    "When you head on back to Canaan," says Laura to Richards, "You tell 'em us folks in the Assembly miss when things was better between us. I loved seein' so many different faces in and outta here."

    "I hope things can be that way again," says Richards a little sadly. 'But I'm just one person' is unspoken.

    "Well," says Calvin. "We got us a shot at it. It ain't much to go on, it ain't much *of* a shot, but we got one. Let's get while the gettin's good."

    Calvin's truck, being lifted, has an after-market running board to help get in and out. It's still a big step. As a heavy duty work truck, it must have been designed by people who imagined that all people who do construction or other manual labor are necessarily sized Calvin-and-up, a good example of the sort of uniquely American design philosophy of excess. Dimo can fit, though as Calvin mentioned, there's 'enough,' but not overmuch clearance for her head. His will seat five comfortably.

    "Glad you like it out here," says Calvin as Dimo gets in. "Figure I know what you mean, too. 'Bout it bein' 'desolate.'"
Calvin Nash      Pawhuska is the farthest west that the Southeast Assembly extends. It's the Ossabaw of its region; the place where hope turned into resolve turned into solidarity. It's just as busy, but, driving through, it looks almost like it must have before the bombs--almost. The roads are, as Laura Bigheart said, all either dirt or gravel, as the asphalt would've been cracked and crumbling. The people here must have decided to just rip off that bandaid rather than let it grow gradually worse. There are a good amount of houses and even an apartment building in good health due to being maintained, and the historic downtown area is like driving through the 1920s--all brick and flat tar roof constructions.

    "You can tell, lookin' at it, that the people that made it are gone. That the ideas that went into it don't live here no more. Not in the same way, anyway. But it's lived in and it's loved. Power, they got, more or less," he says. "Clean water, too. I know in the summer they gotta play close to the net with the water, though. Droughts sometimes. I'll introduce you to the rep here, when we're outta this mess, and she can tell you better'n I could."

Are there demons of the mechanical variety?

    "Never met one. But. Don't see why there wouldn't be," says Calvin. "There's ones where cars or helicopters or motorcycles are part of the legend, so it ain't like it'd be a stretch. The question is, 'who?' There ain't too many myths about mechanical ladies with the traction it'd take to be a demon. I'll think about it and get back to you." This is a lie. There are two that come to mind for him, and two mechanical ladies in the car; one myth is an ivory statue that came to life because of the goddess of love, and the other is decidedly the short straw: a torture device a king used to squeeze money out of his citizens.

    Regulus' singing gives him a convenient out. "My mama has that record. I don't remember no 'y'arr.' Get some food in you. Might be loopy from hunger pains."
Calvin Nash      With Meresankh, Rita, Regulus and Dimo in the Chevy, that leaves Richards' Jeep for Futaba and Lilian.

    "You mentioned the Morrigan, in the store," Richards says curiously. "Almost like you know her. Ganesha, I met--Thoth too, obviously. But never her."

     "Thoth... wants humanity to be the best, most knowledgeable and wisest version of itself, far as I know it. But he says that our history--even before splittin' the atom--shows we still need guidance. He's part of the Ministry 'cause he believes that, with that guidance, and discipline, we can reach the state we need to build our utopia."

    "Ganesha's another learned one, you know. He's a real charmer. Not what you'd expect for somebody called the Lord of Obstacles," she says with a little smile. "Sometimes, he'd show up, riding on that rat. And you know, I asked him why. I like to know the... meaning, of things. I figured there had to be a reason. You know what he told me?"

    Richards' eyes flick towards Lilian, rear-view or passenger: "He said it's a symbol for a kind of darkness of the soul. Wish I could remember the word he called it by, but... part inaction and apathy, part desire. To ride that kind of thing means that you've mastered it to the point where you're in control of it, not the other way around. That's what he wants for us. And that's why he's on board with the Almighty's plan, I reckon."

    "The Morrigan, though... I like how you say it," she chuckles. Then, her eyes bright with curiosity, "You ever meet her? What's she like?"

     During the next conversational pause, Richards studies Futaba, until she realizes that she's studying her. She chuckles self-consciously. "Sorry. I wanted to ask... are you a tanuki? The shapeshiftin', the..." she drags a finger across her face. "I never met one. Only got stories to go off of. No one I know's ever met one. Then, I heard you mention yen to the Bighearts, and I just wanted to ask--are you from our world or from out there?"
Rita Ma      "Um, did you roast them?"
     Rita's eyes widen with the mortifying shame of getting caught bringing an entire beer cooler full of raw beef into a car, like a fucking freak. Fortunately, a rush of enhanced adrenaline allow hers several subjective seconds to concoct an out.

     She gets as far as: "Um."

     "You could get food poisoning if you're not careful, Rita."
     Her vision is going monochrome. A ringing is building in her ears. Oh, god. This conversation's going to kill her. What can she say to not be the Steak Weirdo? Think, Rita, think!!

     "Food poisoning isn't real," she says owlishly, which coincidentally makes it seem like she's baffled by how stupid Regulus is. "If it was then nobody could eat sushi, Ms. Regulus."

     Her desperate look over at Apple means: I know you're the responsible adult here, please god play along. Surely Dimo can't correct her on this one, but she spares a little pleading eye contact for her too.

     The driving shanties, by comparison, are a blessed change of topic. No matter how good or how questionable Regulus's singing is, Rita doesn't quite join in, but she does wiggle happily in place and kick her feet a little bit along with the music.

     "Remember, if you're struggling in chess you can just flip the board over..."      It takes 'til then for Rita's lips to scrunch suspiciously.

     "Ms. Regulus, that's just a way of giving up," she says with a very serious firmness. "You don't really believe in giving up, do you? I thought you were the kind of person to fight to the end. Nobody ever forfeits if they're serious about chess."

     Oh so she super doesn't know anything.
Lilian Rook     'She says hey, by the way,'

    Lilian stares into the middle distance, and drifts so deeply into thought that she forgets to blink or breathe. Her fingernail taps on the back of her smartphone, as her sole sign of intense mental activity rather than none at all, speeding up over time as the cluster of metaphorical equations grows more dense and convoluted inside of her head by the second.

    "What does that mean?" Lilian blurts out, like a genius.

    . . . . . . . .

    Though Lilian's mood takes a slight downturn for the drive, being away from Calvin is intentional; the road trip with Madeleine had gone so poorly with him in the car at one point that she couldn't help but be tense about riding in the back seat with him again. Two other women in a jeep is a far cry from two men in a horse-drawn carriage, and so Lilian doesn't seem to be too put off by the distance either, flipping through her usual way of passing commutes; a book regarding the most relevant material she can think of on the topic lately occupying the most of her attention. She always prefers paper, for some reason, and reads astonishingly quickly if you go by her page-progress.

    'You mentioned the Morrigan', in the store, almost like you know her. Ganesha, I met--Thoth too, obviously. But never her.'

    "Good, you're not supposed to." Lilian says, cryptic at first, then finding a different thought as she turns the page on a thesis about 'Arcane History and Traditional Culture'. "Our name, Morrigan, is taken from her sobriquet; her role that differentiates herself from the rest of her triple aspect. You mean a singular person, so it's just respectful." she says, on the subject of 'how she says it', and the as if it explains anything at all, actually answers, "My master in the arts was Scáthach."

    Looking up from her book, she stares pensively at the interior ceiling of the jeep, and sighs. "I've met Thoth, here, and understand Ganesha, hence my surprise that she would be counted amongst them. While it's true that she's well-known for her tutelary and instructive nature, it's hard to imagine her as part of a coalition of . . ." Her lip quirks sideways. "Intellectuals, like that. I've always known her designs for humans to be more fundamental than enlightenment and self-reflection." Finally, her gaze drifts back down to the pages.

    "Well, as I say it out loud, I can begin to imagine where she and Ganesha might hypothetically have something to share, about the nature of the world and all. But her concerns regarding, fate, prosperity, knowledge, and obstacles; they're something she prefers to bestow to warriors, and task them with action. Those who fight are her favourite people, and guidance from the land in peace comes after."

    "Ah, not that I'd imagine such is a terrible fit for 'the Lord' and all; it just struck me as strange. I suppose those 'allies' don't necessarily come together that often."
Regulus ''Food poisoning isn't real.''

"No no... Food poisoning has to be real, the govern--" Regulus's eyes widen, was she brainwashed this whole time?? Has the MAN been lying to her her WHOLE LIFE that food poisoning is real? She's never had food poisoning herself, she can't confirm that it's true...But why would the government lie about food poisoning? To introduce SCARCITY into the food market? TO CONTROL THE POPULACE?? TO MURDER MUSIC????

Okay, she thinks, dial it back a bit. There's APPLe here. APPLe can tell her the truth. Good ol' reliable APPLe. Her head twists over to look at APPLe who is, of course, looking at Rita's pleading look.

APPLe IS the responsible adult but he is also a little confused because saying that food poisoning isn't real doesn't feel like a responsible adult thing to do. "Ah." He can't resist that pleading look, how do you think Regulus is able to drag him around as she pleases. "Y..yes. People do eat raw sushi." He stammers, caught between two dark fates.

"Thank you for opening my eyes, Rita." Regulus assures Rita.

''Nobody ever forfeits if they're serious about chess.''

"Pretty sure that's winning--" Regulus says.

APPLe, who actually does play chess for real, stares at Rita for a long moment.

"...Ah..well..." And then just trails off, defeated.
Calvin Nash Oklahoma was far from the most populous state, and relatively far from the least. In terms of density, most of its population was concentrated towards the center and the eastern two-thirds of the territory. The path that Calvin and Richards have worked out takes you west from the small town of Pawhuska, across a long and desolate two-lane stretch of US Highway 60. Far from any major population centers like an Atlanta (or an Oklahoma City), the main issue with travel is deterioration of the roads moreso than their littering with cars.

    Even then, the first stint is uneventful. The road is flat, and as a US highway rather than an interstate, there are no concrete barriers and few, if any, guard rails. Therefore, on those rare occasions when Calvin and Richards have to go offroad, it's a simple affair--which is likely also why there's so few abandoned cars here, compared to the interstate in Georgia. Compared to Georgia, the vegetation is more low to the ground; even the wide-boughed trees here are generally shorter, though exceptions do occasionally rise defiantly into the sky. Another stark difference from the Georgia interstate is the sheer length of uninterrupted nature which passes by during the initial stretch.

    Glimpsed between autumnal roadside curtains of brown, grassy prairies extend to seeming infinity in the morning sun. They're broken up only occasionally by old dilapidated supply stores, fallen power lines or crumbling country homes. That's not to say your trip isn't without its dangers, even in the preliminary stretch. Passing by a church with a caved-in roof, its steeple not-quite-fallen, there's a brief moment in which a host of tengu attempt to descend upon the two-vehicle convoy from thick tree cover.

    Forty-five minutes later, you're crossing a road atop a dam along the Arkansas river, a detour from the highway made for the fact that the dam is in better shape than the bridge will be. This is a matter of the 'less bad' option, as the dammed portion of the river is home to a six-legged dragon with the head of a lion, a sharp pointed tail and a hard, spiny shell--the Tarasque. Its poison breath, brute strength and long reach are bad enough on the two-lane, damtop road. Its victims-turned-accomplices--the living dead, who met their ends pulled beneath the depths--swarm it and force the confrontation in the first place.

    Past the dam, the route cuts close to Ponca City--roughly the size of Pawhuska, but utterly abandoned to the elements. Many buildings sink or sag into the earth, whether from sinkholes or the telltale scars of burst water and gas lines. Some are even shot through with trees. Even here, there are still intermittent encounters with opportunistic demons. Calvin's demon, Loa, a messenger of the dead in the form of a giant skull with a snake entwined through its eyeless sockets, floats in the bed as a kind of magical turret, while the shadow of Richards' angel partner, cast from on high, is occasionally seen circling the vehciles before swooping down to strike with a gleaming straightsword.

    Tonkawa, Lamont, Pond Creek--as US 60 stretches on, the town names begin to seem more like headstones. Dozens of them, for dozens of communities that depended on infrastructure so obfuscated that not nearly enough people knew how fragile it really was until it was shattered beyond repair. They bleed together, from one to the next; the passing squarish shapes of squat buildings offering no useful testament to what might have been there or what histories unfolded there, save the faintest, most vague glimpses.

    Occasional offroading stints, then the southern dip at a lonesome roadside rest stop with a single weather-beaten granite table, give way to gradually differing varieties of flora, though the terrain is no less flat. The grasses of prairies visible from the road become harder, more scraggly, clinging lower to the ground.
Calvin Nash      The stink of stagnant, abandoned farm runoff--a familiar smell by now--is an increasingly common occurrence. That being said, not every parcel of land one might expect to have such a stink will necessarily have it. The land given over to agriculture, in this last leg of the journey, may occasionally be pasture rather than farm. 'May,' not 'is,' because livestock are entirely absent and such an observation would be conjecture in many cases where buildings aren't still standing to confirm it.

    Civilization, therefore, hits at the edge of Higgins and the end of a several-hour trip like a sledgehammer. It's not that Higgins is big--just the opposite, really; you can see most of the town on the come-up. It's more so that after all of that desolation, after so many wordless footnotes of history, so many cities-turned-charnel houses, there's not only a pocket of people here, but one that's been, and is being developed. Communal farmland has been carved out, where corn weighs heavy on stalks, bountiful waves of wheat dance in the wind and a biblically diverse orchard of fruit trees stands vigil over it all. It's small, but bountiful; a splash of life and color after so much emptiness.

    Richards waves to a group walking along the side of the road. They wave back. She doesn't catch the shiver that seems to run through all four of them in unison. Downtown is a microscopic little arrangement of flat, squat brick buildings. Work has been, is being made, not only to undo the damage of five decades of neglect, but to transform this town into something else entirely. The roads are paved (!) not with asphalt, but with gleaming white brick brought in from elsewhere in Canaan; unused lots downtown have been ripped up and replaced with wild grasses and flowers. New buildings, made of similar brick as the roads, are in various stages of construction. The sound of construction is all around, in fact, and one would be remiss not to notice the walls which encircle it or the guard towers which dot the walls at regular intervals.

    Those walls are spaced ambitiously far from the center of town, a statement that it will be more than what it is now. Much more--the original town couldn't have had more than a few hundred inhabitants, but the walls at the west end (and their guard towers) are so faint a sight compared to the ones you passed on your way in that it's easy to imagine the vision for this place is a town of the low thousands. Calvin sighs and pulls into a presently-unused dirt lot at Richards' urging.

    "Terminal's not far from here," says Richards with a stretch. It's the first chance to do so since that lonesome, one-table rest stop. "Charilaos," she then calls, one hand cupped over her mouth. "What's the matter? You look antsy up there."

    Her angel partner lands beside her, offering the first clear view of him. Wavy blue locks frame soft features and gently inquisitive brown eyes. At his hip is a sword, sheathed and tucked under a cloth belt. In his right hand, he holds a set of golden scales, in his left, a thick hidebound tome. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't mean to worry you. It's only that the garrison here seems smaller than I would have imagined, but I don't see any signs of an attack."

    "Nobody's *attackin'( you," Calvin exasperatedly asserts.

    "He don't mean Libertalia, Marshal Nash."

    "Who, then?" Calvin crosses his arms.

    "The Erlking," Richards intones.

    Calvin's nostrils flare with an indignant exhale. "You're shittin' me. You built this place up knowin' the Wild Hunt would come by? Have y'all lost your damn minds? Why the hell didn't you tell us we'd be passin' through the huntin' grounds?"

    "Because the Dominions say he ain't due for another month and a half. Besides, there are ways of protectin' against the Hunt," says Richards with calm certainty.
Futaba Nuki For once, Futaba's fairly quiet on the ride out from Pawhuska. Despite her best efforts to recharge before coming out, she's hit a busy spell with all her work at home, and so she's content to laze around in the Calvin's trusty ride when they're not under attack.

A few construction-pipe tosses later, and she's back in Calvin's ride, slumped over the side of the truck bed to get some more shuteye. She does poke at the Loa every now and then, though, even asking the demon "Do you see out of the holes or the snake?"

Even with her reduced energy, however, seeing that abandoned farmland on the way out of Higgins still hits Futaba a little harder. "How long you think it'll take folks to rebuild all the way out here?" She asks, running a hand through orange-turning-brown hair that she hasn't fully fixed up like she usually does after transforming.

Following Richards as the angelic companion is called down, Futaba listens closely to the exchange between Charilaos, Calvin, and Richards. She purses her lips as a few new and unfamiliar name come up, and then she turns to Calvin while trying to muster up her usual energy. "This Erlking... How bad is he on a scale of the lil' slime guys to Hell Biker? If there's ways of protectin' this entire place against him, I reckon it can't be too bad, but..."

Futaba pauses, already waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Have those kinda ways worked before?"
Meresankh     Meresankh spends much of the early parts of the ride chatting animatedly with Regulus about her music choices. There's some brief confusion over whether the Beatles were a variety of scarab ("I have beetles too! Do you wish to see one?") but her interest in Regulus's accounts of rock subcultures is obvious. As the hours roll by and the desolate road stretches on she grows melancholy, staring out the window for increasing periods. The lost history of these places must remind the Necron queen of her own people's tribulations. Only the occasional spirit attacks stir her wandering mind, rousing her to aid in the demons' repulsion.

    She makes an approving, thoughtful noise as Calvin's truck passes the expansive walls. "It's good of them to plan ahead." When it comes time to exit the vehicle she does not step down from its seats, instead floating straight horizontally and 'standing up' in the air. How she does this is clear from the motes of dust collecting in her antigravity column beneath her feet; *why* is revealed as she peers out over the fields and orchards, admiring the reclaimed land. She appears to have forgotten that it may be impolite to hover head-and-shoulders above the rest of the group.

    At the mention of the 'Erlking', Meresankh finally catches wind of the conversational tone and turns back to the Demon Marshal and his counterpart. "You have built on the land of a king? A king among demons I expect, from Marshal Nash's reaction to this news. With what custom should be be prepared to greet him?"

    "You're shittin' me. You built this place up knowin' the Wild Hunt would come by? Have y'all lost your damn minds? Why the hell didn't you tell us we'd be passin' through the huntin' grounds?"

    "Ah." Meresankh hesitates, thoroughly unseated from her rhetorical position. "Knight Captain, are we already trespassers? Why have you built this town here?" She asks like the decision was up to Richards herself.
Rita Ma      Rita's not especially eager to exert herself in situations the others have handled, but the Tarasque does seem to call to her pretty specifically. "Oh-- sorry--!" she murmurs to Regulus, squishing the innocent DJ into Dimo while clambering out the door.

     At the end of the clash, there's a bloody slash across the Tarasque's neck from seemingly nothing at all, and Rita runs its blood across her lips while crouched behind the car, and a moment later- whether the beast is dead or not- its zombie minions fall over, like their strings have been cut.

     . . .

     She never does find a good opportunity to pop open her beer cooler. It definitely smells a bit like beef. Condensation beads on its red surface, taunting her. Her eyes gravitate to it from her crossword puzzles. And yet...

     The urge to not look like a freak in front of multiple British women of varying propriety holds her back.

     "'Another word for deer'. Four letters. It can't be 'stag' because it ends with a 'T'," she says.

     . . . "N-- no, um, 'heart' has five letters in--" Gulp. "Oh, H-A-R-T. Hm."

     . . .

     Richards waves to a group walking along the side of the road. They wave back. She doesn't catch the shiver that seems to run through all four of them in unison.
     Rita isn't in a car with Richards herself to ask 'why', but she notes it with a frown.

     While stretching her legs at the stop (cooler still under her arm), she gives Charilaos a polite little nod, and then side-eyes Meresankh uneasily.

     "I wouldn't call that being 'trespassers'," she chides. "But you're worried that the town's not protected enough... do you think they mean to send more of a garrison when the 'hunt' is closer?"

     Uneasily, she adds: "I think those people you waved to looked spooked, Ms. Richards. They don't think you're here for bad reasons, do you?"
Regulus Regulus is at first happy to watch the desolation and even talk about music (as you might expect, she prefers rock from around her time, not all of which really made a name for itself into the present, but she insists that she's a Jimi Hendrix fan first. She even sings along for a bit, air guitaring along, "Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland? The magic carpet waits for you so don't be late, oh o/~ Good and evil lay side by side while electric love penetrates the sky o/~" She offers to get Meresankh some records for the sake of multidimenisonal peace too!

But eventually, she passes out,eventually flopping against Rita's shoulder in an awkward position that doesn't look comfortable at all for Regulus but seems to be helpful to getting her to rest, mouth hanging open as she snoozes, waking up periodically when she senses the road underneath them shift from the road they've been relying on. It's not consistent sleep, but it seems to be something Regulus is accustomed to as she doesn't utter a word of complaint. Eventually, APPLe floats over and helpfully pushes Regulus's chin up until her mouth closes. Regulus nearly bites him in her sleep but he deftly avoids it with ease as if this has happened before and he knew what to expect. Somehow, between all the wakings, she remains completely out cold for the tarasque even as she's smooshed into Dimo. At least once, while she IS awake, she asks if Rita's hungry and is willing to share what's in the cooler (food poisoning is fake, remember) but she largely takes the opportunity to rest.

"The Captain's sleep schedule has gotten quite troubled." APPLe laments.

Eventually, she jerks awake as they near Higgins, and she rubs at her eyes, openly yawning and blearily blinking her eyes. "Are we there yet, mate? This the place?"

Her question is confirmed by the car coming to a stop. "Bloody 'ell ready to stretch out my legs and arms and--"

She unbuckles APPLe's seatbelt and shoos him out the car (he leaves by window, if it's down, door if it's not).

''The Erlking.''

"Does the Erlking follow a set schedule?" She asks, hopping out to let Rita out where she immediately does stretches and then flops against the side of the vehicle like that took a lot out of her before immediately getting energized again. "That was a real peaceful ride." Regulus says.
Lilian Rook     Lilian has been stuck on a lot of road trips recently. It's been making her consider her days of simply relying on flight insertion everywhere in a more positive light. It's not exactly hard to occupy herself as a passenger; it is, in fact, even modestly more productive, since she can't do any desk work in flight; but her experience with 'riding in a car' is rapidly starting to become a blur of weirdly intense and dramatic events between all the boredom, and that gives road vehicles a kind of mystique that she's not sure that she actually likes.

    A tengu attack is a welcome relief, as if it cranks the release valve on some sort of 'potential happenings' tank that fills up as the convoy drives, and is graciously spent on something Lilian can shoot. The Tarasque is met with considerably less cheer, for being something close to a midgame field boss rather than a single random encounter, but despite the unfavourable terrain and the fact that Lilian is recently less casual about the risk of being poisoned than even her usual, it's still a challenge she can handle by drawing her sword, coordinating with the group, and taking it relatively seriously.

    The rolling graveyard of the United States is, by contrast, a melancholy kind of welcome. One that borders on strange fascination. Gazing out the windows more often than not, Lilian can frequently be seen with entire semi-rough sketches of landscapes the car passes by in only a minute or two, with detailed decaying buildings, on the sketchpad in her lap. If asked, she'll say, somewhat strangely, that it's "The most pristine I've seen it yet." and that it's a "Glimpse of what it must have looked like."

    Getting out and stretching her legs is entirely welcome. Theoretically, a four hour car ride for her, on average, feels like six on the conservative end. Slightly rattled by a haze of stress that never really materialized as anything, she takes her time to drink in the welcome sight of people turning rotting Americana into something closer to the homeland of her heart, and almost loses track of the important part.

    'I don't mean to worry you. It's only that the garrison here seems smaller than I would have imagined, but I don't see any signs of an attack.'

    "Beg pardon, but do you find that suspicious or worrying?" Lilian casually asks an angel, as if the options were mutually exclusive. "As in, are we of like mind in assuming that something else has already been picking them off before now?"
Calvin Nash      Charilaos pointedly looks away when Richards mentions the Dominions. Calvin presses the issue. "Is that right? Those scales, that book. You're one of 'em, ain't you?"

Does the Erlking follow a set schedule?

    "...The stars and the planets answer to us. The Erlking's Hunts have been matched to their movements through the heavens, and so, certain precautions may be taken ahead of them."

Have those kinda ways worked before?

    "Sure have. They're the reason we know we can build out here. Long as you got enough time to get 'em up and running, you're fine."

    "Well, then," says Calvin flatly, "Everything *oughta* be fine," sure that Charilaos does not, in fact, think everything will be fine.

Do you think they mean to send more of a garrison when the 'hunt' is closer?

    "I'm certain of it," the angel smilingly replies, in the way that people who really want something to be true are certain.

As in, are we of like mind in assuming that something else has already been picking them off before now?

    "No, surely they were only reassigned." He's considered the possibility and would rather it not be the case. Charilaos doesn't even seem thrilled with his rationalization, however.

How long you think it'll take folks to rebuild all the way out here?

    "We wanna do more than just rebuild. Higgins was practically a speck, before the bombs. None of the people that're here workin' on it are from there. No," says Richards, breathing in proudly, hands on hips, "This is gonna be a transformation. Every one of our settlements has a purpose in God's plan, and Higgins ain't no different."

Knight Captain, are we already trespassers? Why have you built this town here?

    "They ain't tresspassers, they just built in the path of a hurricane to give the middle finger to some folks they don't like.

    "Marshal, I don't really wanna do this today," sighs Richards. "Yes, Texas had natural gas, minerals, lots of farmland," she admits, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. "We know Libertalia's expanded into Texas, and we know they want it for that last reason. Now, they've been pretty vocal about us bein' 'the enemy,' so why shouldn't we do whatever we can to keep 'em from surroundin' us?"

    Calvin scoffs bitterly. "Maybe they took 'God's plan' personal, on account of all the starvin', infections, diseases 'n suicides. Or was them bombs just a happy accident?"

    "I don't appreciate you talkin' that way."

    "Well. Now you know how I feel. Let's get to the damn terminal."
Calvin Nash % The terminal gatehouse is one of those buildings from the original Higgins, and so it isn't a long walk down the road. Something sticks in the mind, after the first few steps. The construction noises have stopped. That isn't the hammering of nails you're hearing--it's the shuffling of footsteps.

    What's going on? Are you alright? Alarmed cries from the skeleton crew of angels guarding the town fly impotently in the air after the crowd of people who follow you. A few dozen citizens stare after you with longing adoration, deaf to the cries of the three archangels (lowercase A).

At last, our salvation!

We've waited so long...

As foretold...! As promised!

    "Y'all are scarin' me a little," says Richards, taking a step forward. "What's happening?" she asks one of the chain-mailed angels.

    "I don't know! It's like they're in a trance--"

    One of the laborers, smiling in ecstatic ear-to-ear bliss, turns around and drives the claw of a ball peen hammer into the eye of the archangel. Blood spatters onto the white stone brick. Thunder rumbles across the sky.

    "What have you done?!" cries another archangel, raising his sword. "You've doomed this city before it's even begun!"

    "STOP! They ain't themselves. Charilaos, you got enough juice for an exorcism?"

To have come this far, only to be stopped... no...!

Erlking, hark! Let the winds carry my invitation to your wooded lair, and ride--

    "DORMINUM!"

    Out from Calvin's palm fly a spread of pale blue spheres, the shaded figures of tiny tapirs in ungainly pursuit as they race towards the crowd. The would-be summoner falls to the ground asleep, though not soundly, her limbs occasionally twitching as if in pursuit.

    The skies darken, until stormclouds blot out the sun. A rumbling again, like thunder. But it isn't thunder--it's hooves. So many that you can feel it in your chest.

    "GET THESE PEOPLE INSIDE!"
Rita Ma      Rita, of course, jealously hoards her cooler away from Regulus's pleading eyes and potentially-grabby hands. "Sorry, but-- but I need all of it, because-- because of a diet," she coughs up unconvincingly, about a container that should be able to fuel half a mid-sized frat party.

     Oh, god. That's the lamest excuse ever, Rita. Surely you can come up with something better.

     . . . "It's keto."

     - - - -

     She re-composes herself and assumes a facade of dignity remarkably fast once she's out of the car. The way Charilaos answers, though, sets her ill-at-ease even as she nods gratefully for his answer.

     "They ain't tresspassers, they just built in the path of a hurricane..."
     Rita knows Calvin, but she resonates with Richards, and that influences her tack on their little conflict. Her mouth opens and shuts a couple of times while she tries to find an answer that won't rile up Calvin more, before settling on:

     "... Persuading Ms. Richards isn't gonna move the people who're here already, I think. It's them we're all worried for, right?" Whew. Nailed it, she thinks optimistically.

     Juggling her Meat Cooler between hands, she holds up a finger in the universal sign for 'hang on a sec', steps away, and puts her (new!) as-yet-unstickered flip-phone up to her ear. Surely her Watch contacts will have something to say about the state of the garrison and how the people feel about--

     "At last, our salvation!"
     Ah. Hm.

     It's not long after Rita turns, eyes wide and a question forming on her lips, that the hammer splatters an eye.
Futaba Nuki "It's keto."

"Oh. You don't want any of that, Miss Regs." Catching on immediately/incorrectly, Futaba claps a hand across Regulus shoulder gently, opening up her own bag of assorted snacks from both the Bighearts' store here and Japanese convenience stores back home. There's fruit and cream sandwiches, chickeny egg salad sandwiches, and ramune soda bottles with the little marble that probably isn't a choking hazard! "This stuff actually tastes good, y'know?"

"Knight Captain, are we already trespassers?"
"But you're worried that the town's not protected enough..."

"Pretty big reason to be worried, lookin' at where this place is. It's a pretty long way out here even from Pawhuska. But if they're gonna send out folks the closer we get to Hunt time, then... They've probably got it covered."

"You're one of 'em, ain't you?"
"Everything *oughta* be fine,"

"Eaaasy, Mister Nash. Richards is lookin' pretty calm about this, so it's probably fine with whatever they've all got set up here." Futaba tries to reassure Calvin with a hearty laugh, clapping a hand on his shoulder lightly while semi-subtly glancing at Charilaos and Rcihards to try and get some kind of reassurance out of them about that. The answers sound reassuring enough, but she can still feel Calvin's doubt through his own response.

"No, surely they were only reassigned."

Futaba's starting to feel some of those doubts herself as she tries not to look directly at Lilian when Charilaos answers her. Her jaw's set really tight, though, and she's deliberately holding her gaze forward with her neck not moving in an unnaturally stiff way.

"None of the people that're here workin' on it are from there."
"This is gonna be a transformation."

"Nobody?" That gets a slightly more uneasy noise out of Futaba, partially from getting hit with the gravity of how much had been wiped out by the bombs, and partially from Richards' enthusiasm hitting just a smidge too close to home in a particularly specific way. "That so...? Well, best of luck gettin' all this sorted out so regular folks have more room to breathe."
Regulus ''It's keto.''

Regulus stares at Rita for a long moment. "Oh, gosh, Rita. You've got epilepsy? I'm sorry, love, you eat what you have to eat, I won't try to hijack your lunch. Oi everybody, watch out for flashing colors. I read in a MAGAZINE that can cause seizures!"

This warning might be mostly for herself and APPLe who explicitely specialize in, well, using flashing light in the course of violence though she isn't TOO worried about that because they just said that Erlking won't be showing up for a month! They don't have to get into a fight again! Which feels great to Regulus because she doesn't like fights and also because she's still a little bit haunted about seeing a guy become soup. That guy may've been a jerk, but Regulus believes even JERKS shouldn't be turned into soup. They should be forced to listen to rock and roll until they learn better. That's Regulus's philosophy.

Because Rita is Watch, Regulus automatically agrees with her despite not entirely being sure she's got the whole story. "Yeah! We gotta convince 'em to leave with music and love, mates!" She is a little uncertain about the idea of, like, leaving them in the path of something called the Wild Hunt but that's what the rock and roll and love are for, Regulus believes firmly.

But she does aside to Rita. "Love, they're looking at me like how I imagine a crowd looking at me after a performance but we didn't even do an opening set yet. What's up with that? I mean I guess if they love us so much they'll probably be happy to listen to us."

Regulus did collect a ramune soda from Futaba and a fruit and cream sandwiche, but she is mostly trying to figure out how to get the ramune soda to work with one hand while munching on a sandwich with another. "Thnsxk Ftbba." She says, wiggling that ramune around like it's got a safety lock on it.

''VIOLENCE''

Regulus practically jumps out of her skin when a guy slams a hammer into someone's eye. "Woah woah woah, mate!" She jogs over, trying to pry the weapon out of his hands and drag him away from the archangel he just assaulted. "We can't be having that, now can we? If we're your salvation you gotta now that we aren't in such a rush for violence, love, specially not armed violence! The real power is in music and love, that'll build a lasting foundation stronger than any hammer, 'specially if you're using it for smashing faces and not building bridges."
Futaba Nuki Still seeming less enthused than before, Futaba nevertheless keeps on moving along with everyone towards the terminal gatehouse. She doesn't slow down when she notices the shift in sound, but she does take note of it while keeping her eyes just a little more open. Seeing the look in those citizens' eyes really gets her hackles raised, however, being the sort of person that's already attuned towards being suspicious of anyone giving her that kind of adoring look before she's actually done anything for them.

"They're lookin' a little too happy to see us... Were they like this before y'all came to pick us up?" Futaba asides to Richards and Charilaos, putting on a more practiced smile and pumping a fist up to try and keep the laborers from realizing she might know something's odd about this. "Don't you worry, folks! Help is-"

And then one of them puts a hammer into an archangel's eye. Realizing things could very well be going terribly wrong already, she only gets to look up for a moment at the darkening skies before starting to elongate and split her limbs into long tendrils rapidly. "On it. Alright, folks!"

The ninja with weird squid-like appendages claps the frontmost two together, somehow making the sound of regular hands clapping. "Let's get you all inside and we'll get you all saved on up! Let's go, let's GO!" She beckons, rushing into the crowd to gently-but-firmly try and nudge the entranced people towards safety and firmly away from whatever hooves are approaching them from above. She's gentle for the time being, though, like she's wary of hurting them without something actively forcing her to do so just yet.
Lilian Rook     'I'm certain of it'
    'No, surely they were only reassigned.'

    Lilian frowns. She never particularly does well with this type. "Your optimism is appreciated, seeing how easy it'd be to get needlessly anxious at this point." Lilian says. "But a realistic assessment right now is much more important than people's feelings." she sighs, tossing her hair with her wrist. "Or at least, the single most important factor here is me, and I'd do better with one than the other."

    'They ain't tresspassers, they just built in the path of a hurricane to give the middle finger to some folks they don't like.'

    "To be honest, I'd respect that, if they had the means to make it work." Lilian sighs, then shrugs. "No, actually, I think I still respect it just a tiny bit either way. Even if it's stupid, there's not no value in having the moxie to bloody someone's nose."

    'Maybe they took 'God's plan' personal, on account of all the starvin', infections, diseases 'n suicides. Or was them bombs just a happy accident?'

    'I don't appreciate you talkin' that way.'

    "Okay! No politics at the table." Lilian says, loudly clapping her hands. "Not that I don't think they're important, mind you; I just don't care to hear you two in particular try to argue them." Fortunately, the ally of smug, paternalistic liberals everywhere is on Lilian's side; the fact that neither Calvin nor Richards really want to get into it that badly either.

    Fortunately, Lilian is also sensitive to sudden silence. The City is where she's spent most of her time offworld lately, and it isn't the sort of place where her Immune skills go rusty.

    'At last, our salvation!'
    'We've waited so long...'
    'As foretold...! As promised!'
    'Y'all are scarin' me a little,'

    "Is this far outside their usual?" Lilian says, tense enough to know full well that it must be. "I thought God's people loved going on about salvation and promise?" No matter how she looks at each of the angels, however, she can't see any signs that they themselves are causing this; not at a glance, and probably not with the cursory scan of surface thoughts that she pans over them either.

    'What have you done?!'

    Lilian whirls on the source of the screaming while drawing Winter Crow; the smoothly practised motion goes to waste when she sees a random human being on the other end of her sights. Making an irritated noise with her tongue, Lilian glances sidelong at Regulus, and utters a hasty "Tá mo seal!" just before driving her knee into the labourer's back, suddenly face down on the ground, gun jammed to the back of their head.

    Spreading her fingers across her collarbone, Lilian takes a deep breath, gathering up a surge of magic into metaphysical alignment with her throat, and then at the top of her lungs, she next utters "Halt!" then "Kneel!", chosen for being short, clear, difficult to misinterpret commands, that an ensorceled crowd is predisposed towards following.

    'GET THESE PEOPLE INSIDE!'

    §Your problem. I'm not about to tell them to run. Not unless you want chaos.§

    "Nash! There's no way that summoning was completed, right?!" Lilian calls out, smacking the hammer away with the muzzle of her gun. "If they're already nearby, then why-- No, never mind! How many and what route! Quickly!" Buzzing darkness coalesces into layers of armour even as she asks.
Meresankh     "As foretold...! As promised!"

    Meresankh whirls, flourishing her cape. She's mostly done with the gesture and is getting ready to say 'Indeed, it is I!' before she realizes the group's arrival would not, in fact, have been foretold to the people of this town. Or not in sufficient detail for this gathering of Elites to be anticipated specifically. "Knight Captain, this does not seem ordinary!"

    Then the people turn on their angelic guardians, and Meresankh jerks backward in the air in response to the spray of divine blood. "Betrayal and deceit!" the queen shouts dramatically. "Your insolence SHALL be punished," she proclaims, with barely a glance to the Knight Captain for any confirmation or denial. Twirling her scepter, Meresankh gathers a nimbus of lightning around the rod of office. She seems to be assuming the roll of thunder is a sign of pending divine judgement or an opportunity to dramatically seize for herself, and not anything else.

    "STOP! They ain't themselves."

    "WE shall- huh?" Meresankh cuts off. She doesn't seem to have considered that these people may be possessed or enthralled. One of the townspeople begins to invoke the Erlking, and finally she catches on to the truth of the matter. Finally the sound of thunder resolves into a stampeding of hooves, and Meresankh looks to the sky in preparation for, presumably, the Wild Hunt and its Erlking.

    "GET THESE PEOPLE INSIDE!"

    "Yes!" Meresankh calls in reply. The electric charge gathering on her scepter disperses, replaced by flickering holographic shapes. A sheer wall of black stone materializes before her in a left-to-right sweep, contained by a framework of green energy. As the wall is completed, another two rise in perpendicular arrangement, forming a C shape for Futaba to herd the inhabitants of Higgins into. Meresankh then 'prints' a central column to support a thinner, but still formidably constructed roof of the same black stone. If all the controlled townspeople can be herded inside, she will raise a fourth side wall to close them in. Otherwise, she turns to face the sky, steeling herself for an assault.
Futaba Nuki EARLIER

Futaba sees Regulus struggling with the bottle, and she holds in a snicker at first. It reminds her of the first time she had tried to figure out one of those bottles so long ago, back when she was but a puny little creature. Before she could break it and risk drinking broken glass, though, her dear sister showed her something that she would eventually teach to her brother, and...

".. Here, Regs. Try holdin' it in your legs, and kinda... Tilt it so you can hammer it in. Don't use your teeth, 'cause I'm pretty sure humans can't grow 'em back. Er. Right?"
Rita Ma      "Oh, gosh, Rita. You've got--"
     Rita stares blankly at Regulus. Given the urgency of the situation, it could be either confirmation or denial. "Um-- yy-- thank you??" she coughs up.

     I'll have to ask Ms. Rook what epilepsy is.

     "GET THESE PEOPLE INSIDE!"
     "Right!!" Rita's never heard of a 'wild hunt' before today, but she's got a reasonable understanding that it involves some kind of King doing some kind of hurricane-like riding, and that it's not something ordinary folks should be exposed to.

     Darting low towards the villagers most likely to do imminent further harm to the angels or Meresankh, she stretches her arms wide, manages to bearhug-lift up four or five of them with a little invisible appendage help, and then kicks open the front door of a nearby home to pitch all of them inside, along with any more she can reach out and grab from the doorway.

     Reaching back in to lock the door and crush the inside handle before any of the possessed townfolk can get back to their feet, she slams the door shut, wedges her meat-cooler against it, and slumps back against the door with a little sigh.

     "Ms. Richards! There's no way to 'un-summon' it, is there...?" Standing up to something a town garrison's needed against is not how she expected this pit stop to go.
Calvin Nash Halt! Kneel!

    The townspeople do as they're bidden, yet just as with Calvin's sleeping spell, Lilian can see them--or something inside of them--straining at the leash, testing the boundaries. Their muscles twitch as if they were asleep and trying to wake from a nightmare.

How many and what route! Quickly!

    Calvin's COMP is already open, his eyes scanning it hurriedly. "Twenty... thirty... *fifty*, and countin'! Comin' in north-northwest, circlin' clockwise! Regulus, APPle, whatever the hell y'all do I need you ready to do it!"

Ms. Richards! There's no way to 'un-summon' it, is there...?

    Richards points at the shed angel's blood, her tone harrowed. Her finger traces a line from the white brick road to the walls. "That there was our best defense. Now that the magic's been annulled, *and* he's been *invited*, the only way out's fightin.'"

    "What happened to the garrison?!" asks Charilaos.

    "They were recalled, or else deployed, in piecemeal over the past month," answers one of the archangels.

    "We were told we'd get reinforcements in time," adds the one with a missing eye.

    Meresankh's encasement of the townspeople catches both Richards' and Charilaos' attention. "Don't close 'em in just yet! They need them spirits out and they need tendin' to! Let me 'n Charilaos in there!"

    "Richards!" Calvin tosses something round and pearlescent her way.

    She catches it, seemingly surprised, but nods resolutely and heads into Meresankh's shelter after Futaba funnels the halted victims into it.

    Rain patters down, first in droplets, then, seconds later, a downpour that almost drowns out the thundering hooves. There must be a hundred of them, at least; spectral and blue, on horseback, with hounds, with hawks, bearing bows and spears and slings and mancatchers, dressed in cloaks, furs and leathers spanning the gamut of middle ages European styles. As they circle to swarm, the back of the Hunt is visible. Ghostly cattle with brands still burning, hooves glinting like steel, horns black and shiny, low and charge furiously after the hunters. They lower their heads and attempt to gore as they pass on swooping dives, their hot breath felt as surely as though they were alive.

    Behind the cattle, driving them on, gaunt-faced cowboys with blurred eyes ride through their exhaustion, ever attempting to catch the cattle and ever out of range. Some try to rope the steers--and some try to rope *you.* As the rain pours down and lightning streaks across the sky, there is a pervasive thrill in the air. An insidious mental influence appeals to the ancestral memory--even as dimly as it may be felt by Meresankh--of hunting. Don't they look like they're enjoying themselves, asks that influence? Wouldn't it be grand, to be part of something so wild and free, the oldest sport there is?

    "STAY FOCUSED!" Calvin barks over the howling wind, his grip on his shotgun white-knuckled. He feels it too, that pull; those words were as much to ground himself as anything.

    At the head of the pack, a bearded figure in long, flowing robes rides a white stallion. He bears a crown of interwoven wooden roots. In place of a weapon, he holds a flute, heard clearly above the din of the storm, the beat of hooves, the baying of hounds and cattle and the screeching of hawks.

    "Cover me! I'm gettin' a read!" Calvin blasts a swooping hawk with a lance of fire from his shotgun, racking the pump as Chernobog takes point to defend him.
Meresankh     The beating of hooves, the sound of the pipes. Rising in Meresankh's mind, the call to join the hunt. She reaches down with her free hand, reaching for a beast that ought be at her side. Her eyes betray little, but her body language is distant. She smoothly glides out of the path of a lasso, but her gaze is glued to the Erlking and his flute...

    "STAY FOCUSED!"

    Calvin's voice, here and now, not lost to a gulf of millions of years, stirs the queen long enough for her mood to shift entirely. "You dare aim to rule ME!?" she shouts into the rising wind. Lightning crackles again atop her scepter. "There is a cost to such arrogance!" She swings her scepter like a mace. Each sweep of the instrument releases an orb of humming energy that streaks forward and upward, exploding into enormous fireballs among the beasts of the Hunt.

    Though composed of spiritual matter, and no doubt used to the chaos of fighting, the demon-creatures are still bound by the story whose shape they take - and thus they are, or so Meresankh hopes, still possessed of animalistic minds. The bursts of tremendous heat and light should scatter at least the cattle and birds, and perhaps even panic the Hunt's horses.

    As the riders circle inward Meresankh lowers herself to the ground, forgoing the mobility of three dimensions in favor of standing among her allies. This limits her ability to unleash blasts of explosive energy at close range, but gives her the time to focus her attacks more precisely. Thin beams of energy radiate heat mirages in the air as they lance skyward, trained on the Erlking himself.
Regulus ''Regulus gets help with the ramune bottle.''

"Ah sure, mate. I don't think we've got much time for that!" She hesitates. Can humans grow teeth back? No, she doesn't think so and she doesn't know anybody who'd appreciate a Regulus tooth either!

''Regulus, APPLe, whatever the hell y'all do I need you ready to do it!''

"We've waited our whole lives for this moment..." Regulus murmurs to APPLe. The time that a COP is asking her for help (he's a DEMON cop, though, so Regulus thinks the demon probably cancels out the cop she's not sure) but an officer of the LAW all the same (she doesn't actually know if Calvin is NEUTRAL, CHAOS, or LAW).

She points to the distance, her finger aimed squarely towards that flute she sees the bearded figure is holding. "You see that, APPLe! The Erlking is a musician too! He's GOTTA be controlling all these people with the power of music... But he's uising music to hurt and scare people. The only people music's supposed to scare... are public officials, my dear first mate! People just trying to live? They oughta be able to live free!"

"Captain...you aren't thinking..."

Regulus runs back to avoid a lassoing before placing her ramune soda, still unopened, between her legs--drawing out.... Her record player!

"This is all I'll need!" She tosses the record player to APPLe who catches it with his HANDS(?).

"Crank it! Drown out that flute, this ain't time for downpour! Instead, let's lay down some of that FIRE!" Regulus shouts out.

"Aye aye Captain1"

Regulus starts dancing around in place. "Yeah baby, yeah baby! No way some GRANDPA can beat out Hendrix!"

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-2m07d2Neo

That familiar Jimi Hendrix sound begins to blare out powerfully from the portable record player's speakers. Guitar, drums, and the classic voice of Jimi Hendrix.

o/~ Now dig this baby
You don't care for me
I don't care about that
You got a new fool
Hah, I like it like that
I have only one burnin' desire
Let me stand next to your fire o/~

Regulus dances around APPLe and the record player, believing 110 percent that this will work, swaying her hip from side to side and throwing up her arms like she just don't care. APPLe is a little less confident but his loyalty compels him to spin around Regulus like they're dancing together even as he protects the record player from cowboys and ghost horses.
Futaba Nuki " *fifty*, and countin'!"
"Now that the magic's been annulled, *and* he's been *invited*, the only way out's fightin.'"

"That many for a place this size? Cool, cool... Well, not like we came here expectin' a picnic." Futaba tries to sound enthusiastic even though the pressure's getting a bit overbearing already, keeping that brave face on the whole time she's in the middle of ushering people towards Meresankh's conveniently provided safety zone. She makes sure to leave enough of an opening in her split limbs to lets Richards and Charilaos through, but otherwise devotes her focus to ushering people in even as the goring cattle and lasso-wielding hunters come bearing down on everyone in pursuit of their quarry.

"Haven't felt somethin' like this in a hot minute... Well, let's keep their attention on us and have a little fun while we're at it!" Feeling that mental influence seeping in without noticing it, Futaba stances up on her elongated limbs, both to draw more attention to herself and also to make herself a more tempting target than the people moving into Meresankh's safety zone. Hearing Calvin's call to stay focused does get her mind back on the task at hand, but it doesn't actually change what she's doing in an obvious sense as she remains braced for those lassos coming down.

Indeed, even when the lassos wrap around her limbs and head, Futaba holds her ground instead of trying to escape or step aside. "You can do better than that, can't ya? You've got a whole audience watchin' ya!" The ninja taunts, wrapping her own extra limbs around the lassos and yanking them towards herself to leverage her magically-enhanced strength for dismounting the hunters.

As much as she's trying to look excited about this battle against the vaunted hunters, however, Futaba still finds herself more worried about the entranced people. "Better keep your eyes on us, because hunters ain't supposed to lose their marks!" She taunts again while transforming her head into a dinosaur's more elongated face, complete with snarling teeth as she snaps at the ghastly cattle in passing. Still gripping those lassos latched onto her, she starts engaging them in a battle of strength, trying to swing those hunters into each other like improvised/living balls and chains.
Rita Ma      Wouldn't it be grand . . .
     It would, she thinks. It would be grand, to run, and play, and pounce, and eat. Spearfishing with her family, in the rare shallows. Stalking the ocean depths alone for crab and mussel. Grabbing what she can catch, warm and sweet...

     . . .

     No 'but' follows that, in Rita's mind. It'd be nice. It was nice. Sitting on the edge of that boat, with her little fishing rod, and her father--

     . . .

     "Cover me! I'm gettin' a read!"
     Oh, right.

     She staggers to her feet from the doorway, leaving her meat cooler behind, and puts a hand over her complaining stomach while lurching to Calvin's side. Getting a read on what? burbles up through her mind, but when she tries to say it, a groggy "mnnnnh--" burbles up instead, as if she were just waking from sleep.

     "Sorry," she coughs up a moment later, stepping just in front of Calvin and hunching forward to not obstruct him. "Mister-- Charilaos-- there's people in that building, too."

     Rita's jacket and the skin of her back seem to peel off into strips for a moment, but surely that's a trick of the light; the next time lightning illuminates the street, there's only slat-like shadows with nothing to cast them. As the Hunt swoops down towards Calvin next, a whipcrack-shearing force parts the cattle and the cowboys as a sharp wedge, sluicing them to either side of him as if the air were filled with whirling blades.

     Spirits probably don't bleed. She holds her breath and scrunches her eyes, just in case.
Lilian Rook     'Twenty... thirty... *fifty*, and countin'! Comin' in north-northwest, circlin' clockwise!'

    "Christ. Of course it's a whole horde." Lilian gasps in exasperation. "No, that's hardly an unexpected outcome. Our current combat personnel aren't a bad match for this if they stream in one after another--" She's already up and off the pinned labourer, seeing no reason to continue to waist time restraining them. "--rather than launching a coordinated, multi-pronged assault."

    'That there was our best defense.

    §Fuck. So that's what it was. Ridiculous. What an egocentric way of arranging things.§

    'We were told we'd get reinforcements in time'

    "Well, you did." Lilian says. Winter Crow reattaches to her thigh. Her fingers dive into the row of carry pouches still fastened at her lower back. Ahead of the thundering hooves, Lilian hurls one runestone after the other into the gathering rain, falling into newly growing puddles, tumbling into the shadows of buildings, and then laid openly across the road, until the limited quantity is spent. Then she takes up a central position in the street herself. She only doesn't draw her sword because she needs both hands.

    Magic visibly gathers at her fingertips in sequence, lighting up tiny golden stars with seething black cores. The motions she draws are burnt into thin-air as strokes of harsh, glearing light. They crackle where one circle overlaps the other, then concentrate further with a third. Slashing interlocking junctions of geometry between them, power naturally flows down the arcane lines and condenses at a central locus of ten circles and twelve interconnected lines; ones that Lilian finally grasps like physical objects, and uses to torque the entire magical circle. The words "Bi déroinn agus éag." are all she speaks before the first wave comes into view.

    The runestones go off first. Since she used all of them, which deathtrap is a magical bonfire and which is a pit of writhing lightning is essentially random. With the sheer number of enemies, each will only last a few seconds before running out of charge, but it's ideally enough to thin the front ranks and scatter those behind. Once the last runestone goes off, Lilian makes the final adjustments to her array, and the magic pours out as a concentrated black-gold ray; one that sucks in the air around it and emits and uncanny buzzing scream. Lilian drags it straight across the riders, right to left, then left to right; aiming above human head level with the benefit of a mounted enemy.

    The array, too, only discharges few a few seconds before sputtering out, but the tactical opportunity to use it on a flat plane in a head-on bottleneck is one Lilian must have decided was more than worth it, and ample cover for Calvin besides. She doesn't even draw Night Mist until it's fully depleted, and then it's to charge the Erlking head on.
Calvin Nash      The Erlking either takes offense to Regulus' challenge or accepts it; it's hard to tell from his placid demeanor what he's thinking, but it's plain to see she's caught his notice. The flute is harder to hear, thanks to her music, conferring a reprieve from its supernatural lure. On the other hand, he seems rather bent on changing that--the ghosts hear his flute quite clearly still.

    The swarm encircles the center of town, always on the move. Hounds attempt to kettle and corral Regulus and APPle away from the record player, their sharp teeth every bit as dangerous now as in life. A pair of lordly hunters further try to separate them, a spear headed for APPle and the painful metal prongs of a mancatcher headed for Regulus' throat.

    Chernobog's sword separates a ghostly archer's arm from his body, opposite Rita's whipcrack spearing into a departed cowboy. The towering, gaunt demon touches down a moment before the spectral bow clatters to the ground just short of Calvin. No blood--but the limbs and weapons do sublimate into a vaporous, purple substance that smells of iron. The lingering undertone reminds her of the Terminal transit experience and its confusing blend of emotions.

    Calvin nods at Chernobog, and gives Rita a thumbs up before shouldering his shotgun and cupping his free hand over his mouth. "ERLKING, FIRE AND WIND! NO LIGHTNIN' OR GUNS! RIDERS, EXPEL, LIGHT, HOLY, WHATEVER YOU WANNA CALL IT!" Calvin shouts above the crack of thunder.

    Charilaos is out of Meresankh's shelter like a streak, onto the rest of the town with the three archangels to keep any other townspeople from being made part of the Hunt. "Thank you, Rita! We'll handle it!"

    Meresankh's rays of heat set portions of the Erlking's body ablaze like pine needles burning up; little orange waves consume portions of his robes or his fingers or his hair as they strike each. His eyes swivel towards her as frightened horses buck, steer diverting away from her explosive display. Cowboys attempt to regain control of their horses, but the ones struggling to rope Futaba can't manage both, and end up pulled from their horses and into Lilian's sweeping ray. They, and the cowboys who chase the scattering steer, are annihilated as it passes over.

    Loa joins Chernobog on the battlefield, called out by Calvin just as Lilian's swath dies out. "C, with Meresankh! Loa, Regulus!"

    Chernobog leaps across the town square, deliberately drawing fire from the archers. The arrows fly towards him, rather than towards anyone else, piercing him but not really seeming to bother him even as a thick fungal sap slowly oozes from his robes, washed away in the thick downpour.

    Loa scatters the hounds with a fireball, and pummels a rider seeking to destroy the record player with a rapid-fire flurry of fist-sized hailstones that send him flying backwards off his horse.

    The tides are turning, Lilian has her sights on the Erlking, as do Meresankh--and Calvin. The Erlking seems aware of this, as well, and seeks to head further into town to replenish his numbers, following after the angels. His horse turns as if they were one being, without so much as a brief departure from his flute.

    "No you don't, you sumbitch. SUKUNDA! RAKUNDA! SAMAKUNDA!" Streaks of lightning fly from Calvin's outstretched palm, first yellow, then purple, then sky blue. The first hits the Erlking and renders his horse sluggish, the first hint of any clumsy movement from the silent forest king. A stumble slows him up for a crucial second, allowing Lilian to close in right as Calvin enfeebles the Erlking's body and metaphysical corpus against attack.
Meresankh     Meresankh nods approvingly as Chernobog leaps to her protection. Undying elite warriors are something she knows how to fight next to. She takes full advantage of his ability to simply refuse to fall, taking her time to aim heat-rays that would be dangerous overreaches without such a stalwart defense ahead of her.

    As the Erlking turns tail, Meresankh whirls her cape about herself, vanishing in a column of green pixel-like spatial distortion. She reappears some distance above Lilian, and points her scepter - now glowing white - forward and down. Space ripples and distorts, greatly truncating the effective distance between the Dame Commander and the now fleeing Erlking and his few remaining riders. "Strike true!" Meresankh urges Lilian, leaving the rest up to the knight and her blade.
Regulus Regulus is a lover not a fighter but that doesn't mean she hasn't lived the sort of life where a lot of people decide to try fighting her all the same. She's been arrested, bullied, thrashed, and threatened plenty in her life due to her various crimes, low level offenses, and high level nonsenses.

So she's not really SURPRISED that the Erlking seems to sees her efforts as a reason to skewer her and APPLe and destroy her instrument--as in, the instrument she's using to try and tamper with the supernatural lure of the flute: Her humble portable vinyl player. In order for the vinyl player to play properly it has to be relatively still to avoid record scratches and jumps in the music.

"Hell yeah, release that magic feelin'!~ Regulus hops and cheers Lilian on. She'd do the same for Rita but she seems to have lost track of her during the battle. Normally Regulus would unleash a truly spectacular light show to go with the music but she's worried she'll trigger Rita's epilepsy and cause her to have a seizure! She doesn't want that! So that means she's gotta keep her arcane nonsense to reasonable levels rather than the outrageous levels she usually prefers.

APPLe and Regulus have a secret hidden advantage as well: Loyalty. But this advantage is also a disadvantage since it means they're not so inclined to split up even when it'd be better for them to do so. They scootch and backpedal away from the dogs as they lunge at them.

"Aack..! APPLe, tell them to stop!"

"I don't think they're interested in a friendly chat...!"

As the two pirates are cornered, Regulus's snaps her fingers and a dull brightening glow emits from her fingertips. "S..sorry, Rita, love. Wherever you are, I hope you're not looking this way..."

She brings her hands forward, pushing forward the light to keep those lordly hunters at bay if just for a moment--

--but a moment is all that's needed! Loa busts onto the scene and scatters the hounds with fire and hailstones kknock away the other hunter, leaving the last lordly hunter attempting to skewer APPLe.

"W..well if it's fisticuffs you want, I'll h-have you know that I was the third best boxer in my year at the Amateur Boxing Association of England...!" APPLe says as he barely weaves above the spear and then throws his body into the face of the lordly hunter in a ... head butt? Full body blow? However you want to call it. "Aha...! Bob's your uncle!"

"Wait..APPLe! He's getting away! We gotta move!" Regulus shouts, trading him the ramune soda to collect the record player and runs with it held close to her body as APPLe stays close to her shoulders.

"Counteract the music....! Jimi!" She shouts as if his spirit were here battling alongside her.

o/~ That's what I'm talking about
Now dig this, ha
Now listen baby
You try to give me your money
You better save it babe
Save it for your rainy day
I have only one burnin' desire
Let me stand next to your fire o/~
Rita Ma      A tense little nod acknowledges Calvin's thumbs-up and Charilaos's report. Blending cloaked limbs maintain the sharp wedge- severed horse-legs and steer-heads, riders driven aside whole or parted in half like a river flowing against a glass obstruction.

     The smoke-blood percolates in, of course. Her face wrinkles against it, when she does finally take a breath. 'Iron' is only as close to what her body craves as cherry soda is to cherries, but...

     "... SUKUNDA! RAKUNDA! SAMAKUNDA!"
     Oh, that's what 'getting a read' means.

     "Mr. Demon! Look after Calvin!" she shouts back at Chernobog. The rain is dappling against the outline of a weird spiderlike shape that emerges from her back; sliding off her hair and clothes without darkening them as if they were plastic.

     The 'shape' plants its 'legs' in the ground, spiking into the road. Rita crouches. The 'shape' tenses. And with another noise like a whipcrack, chasing after the trails of Calvin's bolts...

     Rita launches, whistling, through the air, with her leg drawn back.

     "Sorry," she mouths, in the pre-impact instant where she hangs in the air above the Erlking.

     Then her foot smashes into the flute, to shatter it or knock it far, far out of his grip.

     "Maybe another time?"

     It's a stupid, senseless thing to say. But if you could remember fishing like that, too, maybe you'd forgive her.
Lilian Rook     Lilian has absolutely no idea what this specific magic 'counts as' by elemental standards, but Calvin's clear and concise callouts are a sort of thing that she seldom gets to appreciate. The feeling of this emergency skirmish actually being carried on an organizational level by someone else is a rare relief. It shows, if just a little, in the extra bit of heat she puts on her magic, and with how quickly she charges to follow it up.

    'SUKUNDA! RAKUNDA! SAMAKUNDA!'

    ""Ansin!"" "Láithreach!" "Chaill tú an cleas!"

    The sequence of unnecessary invocations aren't to match with Calvin, but they fit his pacing well enough. One jumps ahead to catch up with the Erlking, one to empty two clips through the mars array and saturate him in alchemic fire, and one to complete her combination attack in melee. Despite the multiple stages of setup she's used to get here, the fact of the matter is that the last one is the most important; Night Mist is, as ever, the specific and especial bane of beings just like these.

    The refrain of "Cleasa Iontach!" bookends Rita's dropkick on the flute. Lilian sweeps through the Horse's legs with "Tormáil in Aghaidh na Haille!", completes a full circuit of the mount and Erlking with "Seascann Ceilte dá Coiscéim!", and completes the flurry with a three point maneuver into the air and a final falling "Taoide Fáinne Fí!" The wave of crashing force, encircling streak of misty afterimage, and shredding downwards spiral appear close to simultaneous; perhaps sensing the urgency of Calvin's callouts, and the criticality of the moment of opportunity.

    And hopefully not Rita's silly one-liner.