Scene #9546: In Search of Answers-4

Owner	Pose
Calvin Nash	The plan is put into motion only a short while after it's enacted. As discussed, Lilian will travel to Tucumcari without the Terminal network, giving everyone an hour to prepare. During that time, Richards goes over the Hymn of Truth with Regulus, teaching the melody and lyrics. It's simple, as hymns tend to be, with the caveat that the fuel for the ritual is emotional energy. Throughout the ritual, she must concentrate on anything that gives her a strong emotional response of certainty; something that she knows to be true, or which must be, for the world to make sense to her. Futaba will split off from the group after reaching Tucumcari and disguise herself as Knight-Captain Richards, then secure the witness. Charilaos will accompany her to intervene if it looks like her disguise could be compromised. The real Richards will go with the rest of the team to the Cathedral in Tucumcari to perform a ritual of compulsion on the captured spirits from the attack. The ritual will take time and usage of the Cathedral is recorded, but by the time the saboteur can take advantage of that, the idea is that Futaba will already be in position. Regulus and Calvin will assist with the ritual, which involves singing a hymn in a specially prepared chamber while the spirits attempt to break their bonds and distract. When the ritual is complete, the spirits will answer a limited number of questions truthfully, though Richards won't know how many until she sees how many extra hands are available.
Calvin Nash	Tucumcari, New Mexico For Lilian, who flies here rather than take the Terminal, the experience is a familiar one, if had from a different vantage point. The infrastructure network which kept many of these small flyover towns alive was shattered irreparably. The cracked interstate and the highway system connect abandoned, crumbling and mouldering little specks of towns. As she heads farther west, the air is drier and the flora more characteristic of a dry heat; embattled scraggly bushes, patchy grasses and shrubs cling tenaciously to the golden-brown soil where they can. Despite the heat, it isn't all desert or even shrublands; the most direct way here crosses two rivers and passes what must have once been a state nature reserve with a massive lake to the north. Across the this particular reach of the aptly-named Great Plains, the clear blue sky seems infinite in its expanse, and below it, prairie grasses are interwoven with vibrant yellow blooms of rabbit brush, an ephemeral but striking sight before reaching the boundaries of Tucumcari. Closer to the core of the fledgling nation of Canaan, Tucumcari is much more developed than Higgins. That distinctive white brick forms a defensive wall as it did around Higgins, but here, it seems much less premature. A massive mesa overlooks an emerald and ivory jewel in a sea of golden shrubland. Brick roads form orderly cross sections between blocks crowned with carefully maintained prairie grasses. Refurbished buildings span saturated reds, browns and oranges, flat tarred roofs hearkening back to over a century ago. Many new buildings, be they residential or municipal, also exist, built from the same white brick as the roads and walls. The air is thick with the smell of blooming wildflowers, even in winter. Templars in ringmail and tabards like Richards' are a common sight, posted regularly throughout the town as angels fly overhead and various demons on board with God's 'Thousand-Year Kingdom' either accompany them in the skies or move through the streets alongside townspeople. Check-in at the Terminal gatehouse is decidedly a more tense affair than in Higgins, much less than in the relaxed air of an Assembly town like Ossabaw Island. You're kept waiting for several minutes while Richards' travel papers are reviewed and names are matched to faces. The institutionalized suspicion over outsiders--nonbelievers, really--only lets up at all when word comes in from Higgins about your deeds there. Even then, there's still a certain wariness directed at everyone but Charilaos and Richards, especially towards Calvin. Either way, once everyone is cleared and let into the gleaming city's streets, things can begin as planned.
Rita Ma	"... pourin' in energy and doin' your part for stability." Rita, having eaten her roadtrip steak already and spent what glowy white energy she could spare on patching up the injured townsfolk, takes her 'hour to prepare' by excusing herself into the brush. Can't pour in energy if you haven't got any. No deer here, in arid North Texas. No livestock either. Bad luck for her. Somewhere a rabbit is torn out of its den, and somewhere a snake gets stripped to bones, and somewhere else a couple fish from a stream and a crawfish under a rock are chewed up, and she comes back with her lips a little redder. - - - - In the terminal, she smiles slightly-shyly under suspicion, and pretends she can't taste iron in her mouth still. Being regarded warily as 'other' by a tight-knit community is a familiar position for Rita to be in; so familiar it almost feels like home. She can't resent them for it. . . . "It's pretty, isn't it? Everybody seems... ready, but sort of relaxed," Rita, in her washed-out jacket-and-dress for the occasion, looks a bit like a smudge against the pure white walls. "And it smells like home, a little... I see why you like it, Ms. Gladys." She even gives a perky little wave to the Templars she passes on the street, before lowering her voice for Calvin. "Ms. Rook's gotten us permission for the Cathedral, so there shouldn't be trouble during the questioning, right? Only when you do the... 'summoning', after." Protecting Regulus and Richards feels like the most important part of her job, so it's good to be clear on the danger's details!
Futaba Nuki	With the plan set from their last meeting, it's time for Futaba to play her part properly! In the leadup to executing the plan, she's been shadowing Richards closely, studying her movements, learning her more obvious physical mannerisms and habits, and overall trying to improve her ability to look the part even if she'll never sound right in comparison. "I'll be counting on you, Charilaos. Keeping my mouth shut not to blow things, and I've already figured out how to stall things out if and when anyone starts acting." She pats the somewhat inconspicuous pouch at her side as she pulls it to her front, trying to make it blend in some more with her transforming powers without actually getting rid of it entirely. The leaf motif is still pretty obvious on it, though, as if it's something she can't actually hide so easily. "Have you gotten used to hearing my voice come out of her head yet? If you got any tips on how to really move like Gladys, now's the time." She adds, holding in a light-hearted chuckle that she obviously wants to let out as per her usual habits. Even that's kind of hard to suppress, especially with such a vital role to play for as long as she can. "Doubt I'll be able to sound right, but if I can still sound like her with a cold or something... Nah, not risking it. That'll be for after we're all back together, yeah?" Her unfamiliarity with Tucumcari would be even more obvious without Charilaos around, too, but Futaba's comfortable enough with following the flow of things that she makes sure to stay a little behind and to the side of him so he can lead the way without it looking too suspicious.
Regulus	Regulus is, of course, soothed by the idea of helping out... with the power of music. But she's going to ask over and over about doing the hymn 'rock style' because she has her preferences. Can this world handle rock remixes of its hymns?! But she'll eventually settle down and do the thing that's asked of her though that's probably partly because she just really is hella into the idea of checking out these rituals from another world so even if it's simple and isn't her style, she'll bite her lip and do it. Besides, as APPLe says, she owes Calvin one. But rest assured, she's definitely thinking of some sort of 'rock remix' to spin up eventually, whether it actually helps ritualistically or not. So there's probably enough emotional energy and passion to make do. And Regulus is a very emotional lady. So good odds she can handle her part. ''Ms. Rook's gotten us permission for the Cathedral...'' "Are you gonna watch, Rita love?" She leans in to murmur to her, "Just because it's not going to be rock and roll, don't think less of me, alright? I'm trying to be ''supportive'' and 'cooperative'' by only releasing a small portion of my rock and roll power out into the world rather than the full undominatable power of rock!" She got so excited she stopped whispering at the end there.
Meresankh	Meresankh's arrival in Tucumcari involves less fanfare than she would've liked. "I am visiting royalty!" she insists, but her claimed status seems to have little bearing in the Lord's kingdom. What's more, her unusual appearance has one of the terminal security convinced that she's a demon of some variety, a hunch which Meresankh's grandiose demeanor does little to disprove. Once finally free of the Terminal station, she walks casually up to join Calvin and company, metal feet clacking on the paving stones. "I am not the greatest of singers. I am however prepared to assist with a more... direct containment field. If these are the same spirits as attacked Higgins they will be vulnerable to fire and not to electrical charge, correct?"
Dimokratia	Quite interested in travel by Terminal, and with the Lilian moving in advance, Dimo had only waited a short period and not the full hour while the party prepared. 'Coordinating support' had happened more subtly than Calvin might have done himself, for the 'several 4x4 trucks full of rough individuals' equivalent among the Silver was arranged with a more celestial minding - and an orbital parking. Still wanting an invitation back, and certainly to retain her invitation inside, Dimo's advanced motions are to show face upon arrival. She remains near the Terminal while doing embassy tourism, canvassing the area and being a large and notable presence in the area before the rest of the group's arrival. For her own point, the Champion directs her society-aligning attention to the landing zone and canvasses the minds there to root out any dissonant notes that are there to plot negativity and report back. When Futaba - as Richards - and Charilaos arrive from the Terminal, Dimo immediately receives them as if she was sent ahead to wait for them, falling into step with their false flag duplicate while falling in and starting a rather one-sided piece of informative preaching. "So you see, Knight-Captain, my people believe in the siblinghood of all sophont intelligences," She carries on, walking through the All Synths Are Complex And Beautiful pitch that Futaba might have heard before but Charilaos is new to. In terms of sermon, there's enough followable light and harmony and cohesive point that the angel can follow along with the Order-aligned speech.
Lilian Rook	Cross-country travel (albeit, mostly for countries smaller than America) is actually one of the main reasons that prospective Immunes are taught the collective secrets of flight gathered by collective humanity. It's not as if there's a particularly high demand for aerial dogfighting, but there is always a tremendous pressure to be able to get somewhere hundreds of miles away and back in a world where the earth itself is often as ravaged as the human architecture. Though she doesn't exactly enjoy it, Lilian is still prepared for it, and would rather not take her chances with what is in-her-mind a Star Trek teleporter situation. You do that with a bodysuit though. Even the most stripped down model of the generic Immunes 'combat skin' has full-body thermal regulation designed-in. Given that she'd taken a truck ride here, the most useful thing Lilian has in her bag for a trip to New Mexico is a pair of sunglasses. So despite the natural beauty scrolling below, which she occupies her thoughts with comparing to her own America's south-west end, Lilian touches down again in a state of wistfully imagining an entire bottle of moisturizer and a hotel shower. With that tough and grizzled, military thought giving her the strength and resolve to go on, the very first thing she does is beeline from the Cathedral as spotted from the air. What she promised Calvin was vague on purpose. Whenever Lilian speaks in that way, of things implicitly beneath mentioning, 'leave it to me' and 'I can have it done' and 'don't worry about it', it's usually because she would like to be asked questions so little that she'd prefer everyone not even consider it; and as much as she might like Calvin more now than she used to, this is still an intelligence operation. Her idea of having the paperwork 'all sorted out' is to scan the crowd, invite herself in with the most likely excuse, gossip with what amounts to check-in, track down whoever happens to be in charge to ask questions about the 'thousand year kingdom' as someone unimpressed with the west, and at every individual instance apply surgically precise magical compulsion to not ask, not wonder, and not really bother. Perhaps needlessly paranoid after how much she'd restrained herself at LSCC, Lilian uses the minimum quantity of magic necessary to achieve a state of cheerful disinterest in who she speaks to, lying to herself that she's simply acting as if an enemy spy is already following her out of good operational hygeine. Her goal is to fill out the full paperwork for the rest of the group, who will 'be right along', in advance, herself, and then after actually doing so, fuzz the details in clerical minds and purge the logs herself. It's not improv work; Lilian can and will and has before gone as far as stealing keyrings and fingerprints for this kind of thing. There's probably no stopping anyone from remembering and talking about this weird-ass group in post, but the idea is to have already won by then. Forcing clerical laxness is one of the easiest things in the world, and removing all the records so invisibly they won't be noticed until an investigation occurs (if it ever does) gives an enemy agent nothing to go off except 'someone was here'.
Calvin Nash	It's pretty, isn't it? Richards' head bobs, affirmative and enthusiastic. "I went here on a pilgrimmage one year. The mesa's a holy site. They say that 'Tucumcari' is Comanche for 'lyin' in wait' or 'watchin'.' The view from up there is incredible," she smiles. It takes a wistful shade as she adds, "I hope we can have more visitors again." Ms. Rook's gotten us permission for the Cathedral, so there shouldn't be trouble during the questioning, right? "Shouldn't be," says Calvin with a nod of agreement. His tone says he isn't entirely sure. "There's been a couple surprises when there shouldn'ta been. But we ain't gonna focus on that." Have you gotten used to hearing my voice come out of her head yet? "No," says Charilaos flatly. "And I doubt I will. But I'll do my best not to give it away. It might be best if I do most of the talking." That's probably the best she can hope for. As for advice on how to move: "She's been here a few times before and is very fond of it. So, try not to look uncomfortable. She also tends to look straight ahead when she's in uniform. Your stride can be a little longer than that, too." If these are the same spirits as attacked Higgins they will be vulnerable to fire and not to electrical charge, correct? "They were in Higgins," answers Calvin with a nod, "But the ones that possessed them people and invited the Wild Hunt in weren't the same as the ones in the Hunt. What we have here is dybbuks. Fire's still a good bet to hurt 'em. So is your average light magic, exorcism, holy, whatever you wanna call it. Here." Calvin flips open his COMP and shows Meresankh the compenium entry for dybbuks: Dybbuk Haunt A spirit denied entry to the place of atonement for serious transgressions or unfinished business on Earth. It inhabits the flesh of the living to work towards its eventual absolution and final judgment. Resist: Poison Weak: Fire, Expel So you see, Knight-Captain, my people believe in the siblinghood of all sophont intelligences. "And sophont'd be anything that talks, basically? I can get behind that. We're all children of the Lord, even if some of us have lost our way."
Calvin Nash	Lilian finds, much as she had when the search for Thoth began at the very start of this investigation, that the Templars are a disciplined and organized outfit, much like the Demon Marshals, in their way. Working without the precision mind-whammy is difficult, due to the tension here. 'Ready,' as Rita had put it, describes the atmosphere. Even though this isn't the edge of Canaan, it's clear that every Templar is in some way clued in as to the reason for the travel restrictions. It's hard, at first, to get anywhere with gossip, largely because anxieties fed by that gossip are in the midst of being pointedly starved. That doesn't mean she doesn't get anywhere, though, even without the mind-whammy. The 'Thousand-Year Kingdom' is a utopia-to-be, which all citizens of Canaan, from the highest ranking angels and their allies to the most humble laborer, strives for every day. Every city is a model, planned meticulously, designed purposefully to accomplish a specific purpose, as part of a larger plan. Each part of that societal machine will work in concert to prove, once and for all, the worthiness of the faithful, at which time God Almighty will establish the aforementioned kingdom and reign in perpetuity over a rejoiceful populace. The name, then, isn't literal, but meant to evoke the grandeur of something which lasts far beyond the average human's reckoning. That would also be the reason that the name of Canaan's governing body is the Milennium Ministry. Anyone who doesn't devote themselves to the vision of Canaan will be left behind--and some even believe that God will destroy what's left of the Earth after sheltering the faithful in their utopia. As it so happens, to fudge the paperwork, Lilian does need to engage in theft; signet rings carried by ranking humans and otherwise are used to stamp approval from this order or that, but with the aforementioned mental manipulation, it isn't insurmountable so long as she remembers to return each to their place. By the time everyone arrives, the papers for the Cathedral are well in hand--forms for using its facilities for a ritual are all properly signed off on. Permission to summon or to fuse is absent, but that, too, is intended; when Calvin summons Ongyo-ki, it'll be a surprise as it should.
Rita Ma	"Are you gonna watch, Rita love?" "Mmmm, I'm not as good at singing as you are, but I'll help a little if I can," Rita says as they walk. "Or just keep an eye out if I can't." "don't think less of me, alright?" Rita has to do her veeeery best not to giggle. Her hand covers her mouth and she looks away. "I promise not to think less of you, Ms. Regulus... it's just a small part of your true power, I know." Eyeing Calvin's COMP beside Meresankh, Rita chimes in a little sourly: "It doesn't seem like they're doing a very good job absolving themselves, to me." On final approach to the Cathedral, Rita perfects her guise as 'a slightly-threadbare, normal blonde girl' by trying to de-pinken her teeth with her tongue.
Futaba Nuki	"It might be best if I do most of the talking." "Heh. Yeah, you won't get any complaints from me. That's the plan we had when we came into this, and I'm sticking to it." Futaba gives Charilaos a nod, adjusting her stride just so once he advises her on how to do that. Even with her practice, hearing it out loud does help her that much more, and focusing ahead... She'll just have to get better at that, too. She's still too usde to gawking, but having both a known and unknown audience to convince really helps to keep her focused on what's in front of her. With Dimo arriving to greet Futaba-as-Richards and Charilaos-as-himself, meanwhile, the ninja's greatest challenge yet is appearing the socially correct amount of intrigued! Too interested, and she might give off the impression that she might not be Richards due to being won over so easily. Not interested enough, and she might look like she's not actually Richards by way of not being into the targeted pitch. It helps that she's heard the pitch before, though, so she can focus a little more on glancing over at Charilaos to see his reaction before matching it with thoughtful nods and slight tilts of her head. It also helps keep her from feeling too stiff about not glancing around the way she often does, and the discomfort practically bleeds away without going too far into relaxing so much that she's wiggling like she also often does. Plus, it's a genuine chance to hear about the culture and religion here from the perspective of someone that should know more than she actually does.
Dimokratia	'And sophont'd be anything that talks, basically? I can get behind that. We're all children of the Lord, even if some of us have lost our way.' "Indeed. The unified understanding of a soul - the energy of intelligence, of creativity, of expressiveness - shows beyond shape. The beautiful electrical storm that you hold within the fore of your skull and ripples through the network of signal repeaters within you, chemically and capillarilly, is not so different from that held within crystal and composite. The Expanse, as understood, is a source of discretely cresting wave-forms of spirits, such as Charilaos, that share an entire expressive nature, and is of particular interest as a phenomena to my people, who seek out the sources of intelligence across all planets, to align and be neighborly with and study for the advancements towards greater complexities of the universe, society, and self. It is a never-ending quest, to seek and support, and some need more support than others - but it is given to me, and so I gladly see to that purpose." Dimo is given only a short time to speak to Richards, but she gets to talk more to Charilaos and Futaba! Dimo seems interested in Charilaos between the pair, as Futaba-as-Richards cannot exactly speak back much. Dimo is, however, more than happy to preach to the interested, her voice an intoxicating buzz in the ears and a glowing warmth about and in wake. "Our Mother-star, the divine light of guidance for our people, shines on the crystal branches of our homeland, rising from a moon dense with life and art of incredible complexity. From the boughs of that pristine garden, I was sent, to carry forth and share," Proudly, she lifts hand to chest while evocative in travel, trails swaying just-in-synch with the motions of all around her. "Spiritually, mentally, and physically, I am here to witness, minister, and be Champion to all peoples in the battle against negativity, a plague that can be cured. You might understand why I have some interest in your pristine dream of Canaan." The perfect cover was wanting exactly that thing in the first place. Lilian's actions to make the eight foot tall synthetic champion an enigma might make an amusing urban legend if no official record could corroborate it, but sometimes these things happened when angels cast shadows over the marbled ground.
Calvin Nash	CATHEDRAL The Cathedral is as impossible for all of you to miss as it was for Lilian. Plucked right out of the baroque era, it is three stories tall, with a staggering tower rising triumphantly into the air, flanked on either side by smaller towers that reach to half its height. Constructed from that same white brick, it nevertheless stands out not only due to its grandeur, but for the gold trim which adorns it at key points, highlighting the spires which surround the sloping blue roof and outlining the cameos of saints and angels carved into the spaces beneath its many arches. Stepping in through the west entry, you're waved through by the same guards that Lilian spoke to just moments before, after Richards speaks up. Into the nave, the polished stone floors drink in the light that streams through stained glass windows, while high above you, intricately chiseled webs of stone ribs uphold the ceiling. You're met by a priest who guides you through rows of juniper pews as the myriad pipes of a grand organ oversee you from the galleries above. The priest, who wears white robes with blue trim in the exact same shades of Richards' tabard, introduces himself as Father McIver. A thin mat of brown hair clings closely to his head, not unlike the shrubs outside. "I understand this ritual is part of a joint investigation between the Assembly and Canaan," he says. His Midwest accent is maybe out of place here, especially compared to Richards' twang and Calvin's drawl. "If there's any other way I can help, please don't hesitate to ask. The ritual circle is in the chancel, all the way on the east end. We've just finished getting ready." The inner sanctuary of the Cathedral is where summonings and rituals are done, closed to the public, and ordinarily, even to you, without preparation like Lilian's in place. Mosaic-tiled floor bears more rich, orange polished juniper wood, this time in the form of rows meant to hold a choir. On the opposite end, there's an elevated platform, a polished stone ritual circle inlaid with gold and lined with a script from somewhere in the nigh-forgotten adolescence of humanity, brought back to this era with so many of its stories made flesh. The particularly historically inclined would recognize it as Aramaic. "Anyone who's helping with the ritual, if you'd go ahead and take a place in the choir there," Father McIver says, "Marshal Nash, wasn't it?" "Yep," Calvin says, head bobbing stiffly. "You can summon the spirits you need to interrogate. The circle's been primed with magnetite, so it'll pull them in without any work on your part." "Roger." Calvin taps a few buttons on his COMP. Six shadowy figures emerge in a cloud of old-computer-green artifacted data and binary, promptly pulled as if by vacuum towards the interior of the circle. Their figures are exaggerated caricatures of humanity; long limbs, undefined torsos, and large, rounded heads with vacant lantern eyes and haunted frowns. The most human thing about them is that each has an article of clothing, as if it were the one thing tying them to the world of the living. One has a wide-brimmed farmer's hat, another has a neckerchief, a third has a loose tie, a fourth has a ball cap, a fifth has a wristwatch, and the last of them has a shawl draped over the shoulders.
Calvin Nash	A hush falls over them. Six pairs of eyes stare towards you. The Hymn of Truth demands truth from the celebrant to extract it from the subject. Anyone participating has to focus on something that is either true to them, or which must be true, to make any sense of the world. What it also demands is concentration. From the moment that Father McIver heads over to the keys of the organ, and sets the air to shaking with its music, the dybbuks do everything they can to strain against the circle. They howl as if run through or burned, they plead and beg, tearfully. They accuse you--all of you--of being demons, swear that you won't get anything from them, try to drown out the simple verses of the Hymn with their own certainty that they'll be saved. The ritual is simple, but that doesn't make it easy. >BGM: https://youtu.be/6Wwq1ywWsbY?si=wdYZ0NfNaEM20w7o
Regulus	''It's just a small part of your true power, I know.'' Regulus looks visibly relieved. Maybe the best way to deal with an arcanist is to sometimes just play along because she's being pretty cooperative as people are using their Regulus properly and not overfeeding her and occassionally letting her claw up a scratching post, metaphorically speaking. "You don't gotta be good at singing to be a true rocker." Regulus tells Rita. "You just gotta be able to belt it all out from the heart, without a care for how you're seen. If you're able to do that, it doesn't matter how good of a singer you are. Everyone will be impressed with your courage." She's confident there's a rock and roller in Rita yet! Or perhaps a siren's call.
Calvin Nash	WITNESS Futaba, Dimo and Charilaos have a much different task at hand. The witness is under guard at a communal housing building that was once a hotel. A lot of work has gone into refurbishing it over the years. That distinctive Canaan white stone forms flying buttresses that support rebuilt walls. From the ground level, it looks like the roof might've had some work done, too, if the presence of that white brick along the edge is any indication. A flower garden out front blooms without regard to the season. It is a never-ending quest, to seek and support, and some need more support than others - but it is given to me, and so I gladly see to that purpose. "I can respect a strong sense of duty like yours," Charilaos says, after a lengthy introspective pause. "It's reassuring to know that there are people outside of Canaan who understand the beauty of creation, as well. You might be interested to know that there's one among our ranks who's not unlike yourself; one of God's most faithful servants, the angel Metatron. His duties have kept him away from this part of the world for many years, but I'm sure that he'd share your desire to be rid of plague as fervently as I do." Another pause, a thoughtful frown as his hand reaches for the door to the tenements. Though he grips the handle, he doesn't pull it open just yet. "I... can't promise that you'll be welcome here again, but I'll certainly make my wishes known, where that's concerned. It would be good to have this discussion in greater detail, with more ears and minds present." With that said, he enters. There are Templars and archangels present here in greater number than elswhere in the city, although not arranged in blatant fashion. One watches the front door, exchanging a greeting with Charilaos in the lobby. You can be reasonably sure that you saw a pair on the opposite end of the street. On the third floor, two guard a certain door, and stop the three of you until Charilaos speaks. "I am Charilaos of the Dominions, and this is Knight-Captain Gladys Richards of the Milennium Templars, here with Dimo of the Commonwealth Paladins. Here are our deployment orders and her traveling papers." After the papers are reviewed, you're let into the tenement, where two archangels nervously watch the windows and a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard fidgets anxiously in a recliner. It looks like he's just eaten, as a clean plate is on the end table beside him. He wears a red-and-white flannel shirt, blue jeans and work boots. His stocky, stout build is the archetypal trucker's, no stranger to hard work, long nights or restful off days. He rises from his seat. "Hey," he says. "I was startin' to wonder if you guys'd show up. What's all this about? The guards, they won't tell me anything. Just that the guy I saw weeks ago is part of some investigation?" Lots of questions play in his blue eyes. Is he in trouble, somehow? Is he free to go? "Oh. Jeez, I been so wound up I forgot to introduce myself," he says, with a nervous laugh. "Name's Neil."
Meresankh	As Meresankh enters the cathedral she looks first to the stained glass, and the colored rays streaming through the windows. "It's beautiful," she mutters, and that's before she lays eyes on the organ. When she does she emits a gasp (or the sound of one - a gesture more intentional than automatic, but no less genuine for it) and immediately her eyes pixelate and flicker with colors. In a half second her analysis of the machine is complete, and she's bouncing with excitement on the balls of her feet. "A remarkable construction! I shall record this, perhaps one could be constructed for my tomb... Father McIver, whoever was it that built such a fine device? Was it shaped by hand, or magic?" After receiving the priest's answer, she follows the others into the ritual chamber. The sight of the dybbuks disturbs her in their similarity to the forms of so many of her Necron subjects, equally trapped in their own kind of unlife. What would her lowest peons say, if they could speak? Would they beg and plead for release, just as the figures before her now? Finding a truth to hold onto is challenging, in such a presence. I will not be dead forever? More aspirational than certain. Her titles, all foisted on her by peers and underlings and not part of her self. Then, in sight of the dybbuks, she draws forth her handheld tesseract labyrinth and ponders its contents, the shard of a false god. The flickering light it emits squirms with displeasure at its confinement, as ever it should. But Meresankh has what she needs, and reminds herself as she returns the device to her cloak: Once bitten, twice vengeful. I will not be fooled again. Her heart hardened with contempt for the perfidious spirits, she turns to join the others, raising her voice in a theremin plainsong harmony. With one hand she raises her scepter high, and a ring of blue-green fire springs up within the ritual circle, forcing the ghosts back from the barrier.
Regulus	Regulus approaches the choir, "Hello fellow musically aligned arcanists!" Regulus says. "I hope you're ready to kick it up a knotch. I heard what matters is you gotta sing from the HEART, and you don't gotta worry about HEART from your pal Regulus here." She beams, jerking a thumb towards her own heart, beaming like she thinks she's a shonen protagonist but that's ridiculous because Regulus doesn't know what that is. Naturally, when it's time to sing, she quickly reviews the lyrics and the musical notation once more before tossing it over her shoulder. She belts it out like nobody's watching, until she waves towards Rita at which point she is belting it out like someone's watching which is the same way for her, apparently. But apparently she considers her singing true, and her friendship with Rita true, and frankly it never occured to Regulus to sing untruthfully. Because it's her truth. She can be nothing but honest while singing, even if she lies like a rug any other time.
Rita Ma	Wowwww... "I've been to Venice once, you know," Rita says, after a moment marveling at the Cathedral's exterior. "I mean, Veronica. I mean-- um, the Vatican. I think this is a lot prettier." Before she heads in, her little conversation with Regulus wraps up, and... "'Without a care for how you're seen'..." Rita repeats, softly. She's still smiling, but her head lowers, half-shading her eyes with her bangs. "Mmm. Thanks, Ms. Regulus. I'll do my best to follow your lead." Inside, she lowers her head to Father McIver, draws in a deep breath, and takes her place in the choir next to Regulus. Her eyes, widened briefly, scrunch so she doesn't have to look at the dybbuks. Thank goodness the verses are simple; she didn't have much time to memorize them. The first truth she can think of is: There is somewhere that I belong. The white-flowering fields of Apple Tree Island and the little garden on Liza's spaceship blur together in her mind's eye. The smell of wildflowers, how that pool feels to rest in after a long day, home 'cooking'... There's somewhere that I belong. But the wailing makes it hard to focus on. There's... I'm not a 'demon'. I'm not. 5R Rita keeps the notes, but eyes-shut, her face is tense. She can't see Regulus waving, but she reaches for her hand. Unfortunately, Rita does very much care how she's seen.
Futaba Nuki	More polite nods, restrained but obvious shows of attentiveness, and brief glances Dimo's way during her explanation to Charilaos are all that Futaba's allowing herself, but it's still a test of her focus nonetheless! How could she not pay attention, when it's coming from someone she sees as a role model and more? To not get pumped over The Pitch? Hearing Charilaos' answer to that tells her quite a bit about Canaan', too, and her curiosity stretches even further when Metatron and the situation of whether or not Dimo would be welcome back is brought up. Thankfully, the witness' housing area comes soon enough that Futaba doesn't blow her cover, and not a minute too soon. Heading in with both of them right through the front, Futaba-as-Richards once again focuses her gaze forwards with confidently long strides. The identical pairs do catch her attention, but even that's barely given more than a glance without a turn of the head. With Charilaos handling the introductions, she only nods lightly when Richards' name is introduced, even suppressing the urge to grunt in acknowledgment. It's definitely not the kind of act she's used to, but she's keeping it up as well as she can considering that Dimo's watching and expecting her to pull it off well. Thankfully, not talking means she can dedicate more brainpower towards sizing up the witness and his guards. She can understand the witness being anxious, at least, but why the guards? Are they expecting something to happen? Exhaling lightly, 'Richards' only gives the pair of guards the slightest of eyebrow raises before turning to Neil with an acknowledging nod as well. No talking, but that's going to be suspicious, isn't it? Futaba feigns the quietest of coughs, just sort of held inside her throat to minimize it further, and then she briefly gestures at her throat. That's an obvious signal for what she intends, right? If not, that's probably fine, too. It made enough sense in her head! What she's more interested in at the moment are the anxious guards, anyway. Even though she's standing in front of the witness, she steals subtle glances at the guards to try and figure out what they might even be looking at, if anything or anyone at all.
Dimokratia	"I see no reason why we would not be completely unwelcome here." Dimo answers, tone warm. Her trails ribbon about behind her wake, swimming in paths of space, chrome and silver-gossamer. "That is the work of diplomacy, to open closed doors as much as explore open ones. I, too, would be greatly interested in involving more minds in this discussion, as the seeking of an orderly world is a fine goal we share. If it is shared with your voice, Charilaos, I believe it will be heard in a particular way. Thus, I appreciate your open mind." That she was plying it gently with warm buzz and fizzy euphoria was implied, of course, but understanding the nature of divine euphoria was the nature of angels too - something to be compared, if directly said. Let into he tenement, Dimo ducks through the entryway, standing in the raised office to accommodate the angels more comfortably, tucking the wake of silver behind her into a low drape-cape in cloth consistency. 'Just that the guy I saw weeks ago is part of some investigation?' "That is a working understanding of the situation. Well done," She praises easily, plying the man with a flossing of reassurance to ply as a sine wave of signal across the records office. "Neil." Dimo rides the name up in an attentive roll of tone, accented to command attention. "That time, that 'guy', focus upon that? You are not at inquiry, but we require that sharp attention of yours. If we must pull the weeks you think are likely, we will, but I believe you remember. Surely, you do. We would all," She speaks for the Angels, now, "Be impressed with you if you produced the records you discussed with them."
Lilian Rook	Lilian isn't exactly fluent in Aramaic of all things, but the moment she sees it written down is when she pivots her mental stance from 'why'd they go through so much effort to make it look like a church?' asked silently to 'Christian occultism' recognized openly. Gossip going nowhere is unusual, which sets her a little on edge, though she won't show it. The church being eager to describe God's Kingdom is exactly as she'd expect it, and it's easier to feign attention when she is actually kind of paying attention anyways. To smooth things along, she even half-truthfully drops that she finds the concept vastly easier to conceive of than what the Assembly is promising, despite its scale. Unwilling as she is to go for bland and unremarkable, Lilian habituates herself instead to 'the nameless high-point of someone's day'. In that mindset, the trappings of the faithful makes it easier to feel nothing about stealing. 'Anyone who's helping with the ritual, if you'd go ahead and take a place in the choir there' "Funny. I'd never thought I could make the cut, much less be asked." Lilian says, smirking to herself about some shitty private joke after greeting the others in a somewhat showoffy manner. 'The circle's been primed with magnetite, so it'll pull them in without any work on your part.' It's situated near Calvin that she leans closer to say "Very fancy. A permanent circle, though? What a design that array must be if it can handle so many variant summonings." Her tone is curious. The words are scholarly-implicative. Her interest is otherwise. She pauses, at the ghosts; or the things like them. For the first time, she's caught off-guard by the iteration of something more familiar to her than her own parents. Her eyes dart from the watch to the baseball cap to the tie. Without explaining anything, Lilian says, "I think I've only just now understood exactly what you meant." and settles into a stiffer posture. She's content to wait through the ritual, which she knows nothing about, sung to praise that which she regards uneasily at best, in chamber styled after a house of worship she has never been fully able to absolve; up until the dybbuks fight back. Because then it's a contest of wills, and not magic; or at least of absolute personal truth, conviction, and not just skill and power; and Lilian knows at least that the dead have plenty to spare, and there are six of them. That, having heard the lyric-tones twice now to memorize, is when Lilian places her hand on Rita's back, and joins in. The bracing gesture is all she can do without speaking, and not being able to speak while singing is more help than hindrance, because the thing that she can drum up the single most certainty of any fact in existence on the spot is too distant from reassuring to make any amount of sense. While being battled with the certainty of 'we'll be saved', the certainty that rises on its own to the surface is one old enough to have been worn to the shape of her hand:
Lilian Rook	That this was all decided ten years before you died. Regardless of when and where you were born and who as, the timer was ticking away the same for you and everyone else those bombs fell on, at the same rate as it does for everyone everywhere as it always has. That somewhere along the line, whatever invisible mistakes you made added up to the same as their unforseeable conclusion, and by the time the writing was on the wall, it was too late to change that fate. You were too far from the right place. You weren't rich enough to move. You weren't powerful enough to escape the consequences. You didn't matter enough to save. You didn't know anything about how to survive. You weren't prepared. You didn't have the skills for it. And you needed to start on those ten years before, so the entire way you lived your lives was wrong; because even in the face of the outrageous and unthinkable, everyone gets one second per second to live, and each one spent narrows down the future more and more until the rest of your life is just a formality. And it's not fucking fair. Nobody wanted it to be that way, so it shouldn't be. Nobody wanted those fucking bombs, so they shouldn't have dropped. Everyone who thought they were doing the right thing was wrong, and everyone who did nothing wrong was a casualty, because once it's set in motion, once it gets ahead of you, it's impossible to ever catch up and stop it; it's not possible because God doesn't want you to, and because God would design something so unthinkable as time, God is the enemy.
Calvin Nash	CATHEDRAL Was it shaped by hand, or magic? "It's... called a pipe organ," Father McIver answers with cautious warmth. Just her interest is enough to chip through the a little apprehension of Meresankh's appearance. "The design is actually pretty old. Several hundred years or so? More, if you count the... kinda... inspirations for it. The, um, pan flute and the hydralus, which is kind of its uncle, you might say. This one was built by hand, and... I understand that most, if not all of the old ones were, too. It's a group effort between leatherworkers, metalworkers, musicians and engineers. This one took most of a year to make. After it was put together in Utah, it had to be taken apart, brought here, put together in the gallery and tuned." With a little pride, he adds, "I got to do that last part myself--tuning, I mean." What a design that array must be if it can handle so many variant summonings. "Mhm. Take a closer look at them Aramaic letters. Looks like you can pick 'em up and move 'em around." Calvin points out a little seam between each letter, hidden cleverly by gold leaf. They're technically part of the circle, but because they're outside of where the barrier would form, only someone outside of it could break it; like a much more sophisticated circle of salt. The circle itself is a simple pentacle, but the modular nature of the inscriptions allows for a lot of flexibility. The downside to that approach would mean potentially needing new characters made for newly devised rituals, and priming the circle with a minimum of energy after each reconfiguration, which would suggest also that the cost was considered before this Cathedral was even built. --- The juxtaposition of anguish, outrage and fear from the dybbuks over the melody of the Hymn is a trial in itself. They beat against the bounds of the circle with closed fists, pace helplessly within its bounds, fall to their knees and try in vain to cover their ears. Calvin's stone-faced expression takes on shades of a grimace, his eyes locked straight ahead at the altar, determined to look through the dybbuks. Richards does much the same, misty-eyed despite the constance of her posture. Even the priest seems bug-eyed at the organ, boring holes into the bone-and-rosewood keys with his gaze. Wisps of purple vapor escape the lips of the 'celebrants,' streaming from one end of the choir and floating down the sanctum up to the apse. They coalesce high above the altar, forming a cloud just short of the vaulted ceiling of the apse, beneath the stained-glass gazes of the four capital-A Archangels and the Lord himself. As the verses repeat, it swells and flattens out, gradually taking shape. Every second beat forces order onto the mass of manifest conviction, compressing it further and further until it reaches the shape of a giant, double-edged sword. The last repetition of the lyrics smooths out even the minute, here-or-there lumps imbued upon it by its smoky consistency; what's left looks as though it could be wielded credibly by something large enough. It even gleams in the sunlight.
Calvin Nash	The final note of the organ rings through, and in the sunlight streaming in, six crescent-shaped notches can be seen etching themselves along the flat of the blade. They don't bear any words--but looking at them, you know that each one is an exchange. A truth for a truth. Though you can only guess who offered which one, you know what was paid: I'm no more honest than when I sing. I will not be fooled again. There's a place I belong. Anyone can be saved. No one's gonna save us but us. God is the enemy. When the last one carves itself out, the dybbuks stop--several in mid-sentence, mouthing words silently as if in a nightmare and shouting in vain. Six truths have spoken louder than 'We'll be saved,' and the dybbuks are forced to reckon with that. "Six questions," Richards hoarsely says, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her eyes cast downward after she glances at the sword. Clearing her throat, "Total. Works out to one from each of us." "I know... it wasn't easy for all of us," she offers awkwardly. "That's puttin' it pretty damn mildly." "If it helps to know... even just five is hard to get to. Six is somethin' else. Take a minute if you need it. They'll answer the questions true, but try and be as specific as possible so we don't waste any."
Rita Ma	Rita struggles through. There's somewhere... Between verses, her tongue finds a bit of rabbit bone behind her molar. But Lilian's hand is on her back, and Regulus is by her side. ... I belong. Her eyes open with a tight, relieved, shoulders-drooping sigh. She tries not to look surprised by 'seeing' her own wish, up there. She's less surprised to open the fist that she'd clutched over her chest and see nail-marks dug into her palm. "It wasn't, but... everyone was really wonderful," she answers Richards, while giving first Lilian and then Regulus a grateful glance. She only sounds a little shaky. As she steps out of the choral booth, her eyes wander back to the other crescents. "No one's going to save us but us"... that's probably Ms. Rook. The one about singing is definitely Regulus. So, out of the other three... While 'taking her minute' to think of a question, Rita sidles over and asks softly, unsure if she's being impolite: "Ms. Richards. Was that fourth one yours? About 'anyone'...?"
Regulus	Regulus is always willing to hold a pal's hand! But she's more of a hugger than a handholder in displaying her affection, but-- --frankly, she's accustomed to being a source of courage for other people. Regulus doesn't like to get into her background but, well, she ''honestly'' doesn't think it's relevant to anything. If Rita needs a hand to hold, well--every time you hold a friend's hand who needs their hand held, it makes it easier right? That's how Regulus sees it. And frankly, Regulus could use some friendship herself as of late. ''Six questions. ... Works out to one from each of us.'' ''I know... it wasn't easy for all of us.'' "But you still rocked out! You should all be proud of yourselves!" Okay it wasn't rock, but apparently rock doesn't have to be rock to be rock so long as you are sufficiantly rock about it. "that's cause we're pretty damn awesome," Regulus quips. "But I don't really know what to ask, so I'll give my question to Rita!" She gives Rita a big thumbsup and a big goofy punchable grin, pushing up her shades afterwards.
Calvin Nash	WITNESS It's hard to say what the guards are anxious about just by watching them from the middle of the room. What isn't hard to spot even from there is that they're glued to the windows. There didn't seem to be any particularly suspicious people outside--but then, the possibility that these attacks have come from within isn't lost even on angels, it seems. It certainly wasn't on Charilaos. That time, that 'guy', focus upon that? "Well, I drive trucks for Canaan," he explains. "See, if you wanna move certain stuff, or more than a certain amount of stuff, it's safer to do it over land. Otherwise you attract attention, and you don't wanna do that in the Expanse. 'Course... you don't really wanna do it on land, either, but it's a lesser of two evils thing." "Anyway, I got a trailer full of lumber and long route ahead of me, from Enoch over in Utah, all the way to this place Higgins that they're buildin' up in Texas. So I get on the road with the boys--that's what I call the guys that fly along and guard the truck," Neil smiles. "And we get into New Mexico after a few of the usual bumps and scrapes. We're on the road about an hour, figure it's gonna be smooth sailing to Tucumcari here. That's when they spot this guy just standing in the road up ahead. So they get protective, like they do, and they go and check him out, size him up. Turns out he doesn't mean anything by it. Just wants to talk to me. Me, specifically. Knew my name." "So, the boys walk me up to him and we get to talking. Wearing this robe, had a hood on, but I could tell he was probably an angel, or at least some kinda demon with wings. I couldn't see much of his face, but he had long black hair." Ongyo-ki had mentioned a hunch back, but could it have been wings under a robe? "Beautiful set of pipes, he had. Even just talking, it sounded pretty. Nice guy, too. He said some big shot in the Thrones had taken a special interest in everybody that drives. Wanted to make sure I wasn't overworked." Neil chuckles nervously. "I told him I'd be fine, as long as I could make my delivery on time. Then..." His brow furrows. "Then he said something kinda weird. Said... he'd let me go if I really wanted to, but it'd be safer for me if I stayed a little longer. I didn't know what to make of that. So I told him I'd better get going, and he stepped out of the way. Then, well, by the time I got to Tucumcari, these two guys came and got me, and said I was in danger. That was about a week ago." Charilaos glances between Dimo and Futaba. It's then that he notices where Futaba is looking. "Brothers," he asks of the two archangels. "You seem anxious--and you haven't left those windows since we arrived. Is everything alright?" "Truthfully..." One of them speaks up, but his eyes still don't leave the window. "The recent trouble with Thoth has us seeing shadows around every corner." His fingers grip the windowsill tightly. "Protecting our charge is very important to us, but we don't even know where the danger would be. The best idea that we've had this past week is simply to be vigilant, and to watch the comings and goings constantly, hoping that whoever it is will reveal themselves."
Meresankh	Meresankh continues to sing, without need for breath or rest, until the ritual is done, and the great inscribed blade forms in the air above the circle. Not once does she waver - though she too numbers among the dead in a way, she has no sympathy for these crocodile tears. The ring of flames only fades when the markings reveal their meanings to the queen and Richards speaks again. "But you still rocked out! You should all be proud of yourselves!" "Thank you, Regulus. Your talent is quite apparent." Meresankh thinks aloud, careful not to phrase any thought as a question lest a dybbuk latch on and give her an unwanted 'answer'. A metal finger taps on her chin, tink-tink-tink. "The dybbuks can only tell what they already know, and their masters may have concealed themselves or acted through proxy. But knowing the method of choice could be a clue as to their abilities. So..." She turns to the dybbuks with a flourish of her cape and scepter. "By what means were you compelled to possess the people of Higgins and summon the Wild Hunt?"
Rita Ma	Rita clears her throat into her fist, looking slightly embarrassed. She would never punch Regulus's grin. "Um, thanks, Ms. Regulus! Uh..." Rita ticks off on her fingers. After a moment's thought: "'What are the names of everyone you understand to be knowingly involved in arranging or enabling the attack you made on Higgins, in descending order of importance?'" "And, um," tick two, brown eyes going to the ceiling: "'What do you understand or suspect to be the connection between this and the recent attack on Thoth?'" She's a surprisingly taut thinker about this kind of thing, it seems like.
Futaba Nuki	A hitchhiker knowing someone's name reminds Futaba fo stories she's heard from abroad, but it's not one she ever thought she'd hear about in the flesh. Despite her attention being more on the angelic guards first, she finds herself keeping still so her pacing doesn't distract herself or Neil from his story. It's an odd one, though, and she's not quite able to put her finger on just how many parts of it strike her as odd. She can try to memorize as much as she can of it, at least, but she doesn't rely on just her memory because she knows herself at least a little better than that. With Dimo outright calling it records, Futaba-as-Richards reaches into a pocket, realizes she probably shouldn't take a phone out since it doesn't match this region's technology, and instead fishes out a battered old mini-notebook. That'll be far better for taking notes, and not having to come up with lines on the fly just to hear herself speak helps her a fair bit at actually focusing on the writing itself. The connection to Ongyo-ki has her raising an eyebrow, and the Thrones is a name she underlines for later as well. Her eyebrow goes up slightly again when his story reaches the part about being picked up by the archangel pair. Charilaos notices it, too, and Futaba steps towards the window to look calmly outside of it just like a badass Knight-Captain would. Seeing that grip on the windowsill and hearing the mention of their surveillance being an entire week gets her to weigh her actions carefully, and... She still refrains from talking. Instead, she gestures back at Neil, then nods at the archangels before looking back out the window. She wants to take over for at least that moment, but will they understand her wordless message?
Regulus	''Your talent is quite apparent.'' All of Regulus's worries are melting away. She's gotten too many compliments in too short a span and her head is inflating (metaphorically) like a hot air balloon. "Ehehehhh..." She rubs the back of her neck. "Well you know, it's just a lot of practice and believing in yourself and working to fix your mistakes you know..." If Meresankh poked Regulus with a hairpin there's a solid chance she'd pop. She feels really proud for giving her question to Rita too as she says, "Wow! Nice questions Rita!" as if she gets to have half credit as a result of giving her a chance to ask two.
Lilian Rook	'Mhm. Take a closer look at them Aramaic letters. Looks like you can pick 'em up and move 'em around.' It's not often that Lilian double takes back at anything of arcane origin to check something that she'd missed but someone else had noticed. Even given Calvin's obviously greater familiarity with the subject, it still begrudgingly increments her respect points for him by one or two. "Shockingly classy." she says, equally reluctant to pay the respect she feels due. "I'd say something about ostentatiousness, but they're not just for show; this is a 'Cathedral' and not just a church." Therefore it's allowed to be expensive and beautiful? What? "How do your people do it?" is at the level of quiet conversation in the pews before the hymn. After that 'before', there's not much space to talk, and if there were, Lilian wouldn't want to use it anyways. Staring down the howling lamentations of ghosts who must have died miserably, powerless, hopeless, all together in the blink of history's eye, and knowing that the silent billions of her own world must be similar if their souls were ever found, leaves her in no mood to observe anything else about the situation. If she did, she'd only end up thinking about unpleasant parallels between what Calvin has told her a dozen times before and the empty spectre of 'they used to be better'. She grimaces at the sight of the sword; a first. What should be the perfect symbolic imagery for her at the moment is, unfortunately, the perfect symbolic imagery; she hadn't planned on anyone seeing a single word she thought, yet there it is, like excess, almost 'accidental' ironclad truth. The anonymity, the shifty glances, the worried tones burbling around her, make her feel as though she'd just taken part in a firing squad, and knew for a fact she didn't have the blank bullet. 'I know... it wasn't easy for all of us' "Really now? Have the COMPs made you soft?" Lilian says. Her eyes drop away from the blade. Her fingers skim past her scar and run through her hair. "I'd hope everyone was prepared for at least this much, given it being business with demons and ghosts and ritual binding." She's lost the taste for questions now. The fixation on the work to get here that she can clearly read in other expressions makes her feel restless. 'What are the names of everyone you understand to be knowingly involved in arranging or enabling the attack you made on Higgins, in descending order of importance?' 'What do you understand or suspect to be the connection between this and the recent attack on Thoth?' Poor Rita. Working hard as always. Even taking on that irresponsible Regulus girl's share. Now Lilian can't shirk from that. What a sigh. Her own question even sounds frivolously personal by comparison; an exasperation and not a lead: "How could any of you be saved for doing something so horrible? What made you believe that? Who made you believe that?" But Lilian thinks that this is something that can't have no answer at all, and that the answer itself can't possibly be the same as to Rita's first one. Because Rita asked for the airtight facts, Lilian can ask for the thing she sees as one step more crucial to intuiting the rest: the ontological nature of the twister that keeps ensnaring both humans demons and dragging them along in its path.
Calvin Nash	Was that fourth one yours? About 'anyone'...? "It... was," says Richards, "I'm surprised you asked, honey. I thought..." The corners of her mouth turn downwards, and a moment after the frown settles in, she laughs mirthlessly. "I thought that we were just gonna ignore all that. But yes, it was me. And it still is, even with what Marshal Nash thought and... whoever it was that thought 'God was the enemy.'" "It's hard to believe that, when you hear what those dybbuks say, and especially when you see what the other folks here think. But I gotta. And I gotta let that guide me towards kindness. Or I can't be me." What are the names of everyone you understand to be knowingly involved in arranging or enabling the attack you made on Higgins, in descending order of importance? The sound of metal scraping against metal, or perhaps blade against scabbard, reverberates through the sanctum. One of the crescents in the sword which looms over the circle widens--it was a closed eye, which is now open and glowing brightly. The dybbuk in the ball cap finds that they can speak. "The angel Nuriel. Ourselves," they utter hoarsely. "My name is Rich. That's Margot, Bill, and Tiffany." "My name's Anise." "Jim. We don't know the names of the others. There were dozens of us. All of us were involved knowingly."
Calvin Nash	What do you understand or suspect to be the connection between this and the recent attack on Thoth? Another eye on the sword opens. "I don't know," answers Margot. "He didn't mention anything about it, and I wasn't there. If you're saying there's a connection, maybe it's that he was trying to slow you down after you found Thoth." By what means were you compelled to possess the people of Higgins and summon the Wild Hunt? "We weren't compelled," answers Jim. "We did it willingly and knowingly. Nuriel promised us salvation." Richards fights through the pit in her stomach to ask, "What did Nuriel look like, in as much detail as you can give?" A third eye opens on the sword. It's Tiffany's chance to speak, now. "He was tall, wearing a brown robe with a hood that covered most of his face. He had pale grey skin, and painted lips. When he bowed to us, I could see that he had long black hair. His wings were hidden under the robe. He was barefoot. There was a halo behind his head. It was pale gold. It was beautiful." "That... that isn't Nuriel," Richards says. "Every angel in the order of Thrones has a burning wheel as a symbol of their station. No way to hide something like that under a robe."
Calvin Nash	How could any of you be saved for doing something so horrible? Another eye opens on the sword. The second to last. "We talked, after the Templar and the Demon Marshal bound us. Put some things together. He came to all of us, one by one, over months," answers Bill with the haggard weight of guilt. "We were the ones who said 'yes.' I don't know how many others he spoke to." "I was a coward when I was alive. I coasted. Jobs, friends, marriages. If things got hard, I ran. Then, one day, the bombs fell. All of the places I'd run to, all of the things I used to run, the bottom fell out of it. It was gone. Just like that. While I was sleeping off a six pack," he says between bitter, joyless laughter. "I didn't have what it took to take my chances out there. And I felt like the revolver I kept in my nightstand was a better way out than starving." "Except it wasn't. The last fifty years have been a constant reminder of how weak I was, that day and the whole wasted life before it. I moved from place to place, watching people do what I didn't have the courage to. It was easier to coast when you didn't have to look at people who weren't coasting." "So what made us believe it? We wanted to. And he knew it. He had an answer for everything. Made it sound so simple. I wasn't a violent person. I wasn't crazy about hurting anyone. But I couldn't walk away. I couldn't leave it on the table. I thought, maybe it was a test. Like... what was his name. Isaac. In the Bible. So I asked him if there was any other way, and what would happen to those people. He said there wasn't, and that they'd all be saved, too. And that was all I needed to eat it up. If I just possessed one person and broke one ward, then all of that bullshit, all of that wasted time, could have at least had an ending that meant something." Calvin's fist clenches and unclenches, his nostrils flaring as he exhales a steadying breath. "What did 'Nuriel' say 'bout us?" The question is asked with effort to keep it as the only thing on his lips. The last eye on the sword opens, all six gleaming brightly. "He said that you were enemies of the Thousand-Year Kingdom," says Jim, the dybbuk in the wide-brimmed farmer's hat. "And that you'd led the Templar astray. He said you were coming to Tucumcari to weaken Canaan, piece by piece, and that you'd soften it up for Libertalia." "So. Pretty much, he told y'all whatever the hell you already wanted to hear," spits Calvin. "I don't know what else I expected from you all, after what you done. Richards, it was a Canaanite town they hit. They're all yours." Calvin taps a button on his COMP with evident irritation, dismissing the dybbuks. He taps a few more in. "There. Contract voided." Another few taps, and with another data-artifact cloud, out comes a stack of floppy disks. He hands them over to Richards, who takes them with a grimace.