Scene Listing

||

Scene Schedule

||

Scene Schedule RSS

Owner	Pose
Timekeeper	"They intend to make a whole lot of monsters." "We have to assume they're ready for things to get really bad, really fast." "They've definitely got some kind of system to know it's happening today, then... But what is it?"     Sonetto is sitting at the bar, uneasily nursing an alcoholic potion without trusting it enough to put it in her body. The crush of people around the bar especially is so chaotic that it's possible to have any conversation at all without being overheard-- the crowd is the best place to become invisible while scoping out the atmosphere inside the Walden. Behind the masked bartenders is a huge stock tickerboard with numbers suspended in constantly flowing sand, positioned like a sports bar television, whose prices bloat high enough that expansions to the board had to be nailed on.     "This was advertised to be a 'Storm Gathering', so I believe it is certain that the Manus will use the people here as weapons. However, they do not currently have masks on, and the Storm Syndrome is presently manageable even for emotionally excited humans. Even if they--" She winces at a swell in hooting and hollering from the crowd around them, drowning her out. On stage, dancer girls in dresses plastered in dollar bills are peeling them off one by one and throwing them to the audience.     "They are not prepared to fulfill a threat against us right now. We will act quickly, then meet up with Timekeeper and escape before the Manus turn the humans against us." "Why else have them here, if not to complicate things for us?"     The 1920s aren't prepared for drone surveillance, even among arcanists. What Bond's watch shows him through its camera is that the population of the crowd is overwhelmingly human, with all of the clear Manus Vindictae presence being in the form of the masked waiters and waitresses that hardly seem able to speak. There's no one actively focused on anything out of the ordinary-- the stocks, their drinks, the stage, their conversation-- and with just the firepower available to Sonetto's team, they'd be able to overcome the dozen or so waiters.     But this is an arcanist establishment. The Manus Vindictae clearly know the Storm is happening. That must mean that every single arcanist in the building is on the balcony looking down at them, and the upper floor of the Walden is so shadowed that it's purely one-way observation. "Sonetto, Flamel is here, we should try to focus on stuff that wouldn't be unusual to think about here."     After James relays that information, Sonetto's eyes stay locked on the glass in her hand as a thin psychic smokescreen against Flamel while she quickly lays out the plan. "Understood. Then we do not have much time. Before the Manus are alerted to our presence or enact their plan to control these humans, we must see what ritual is being done on the upper floor."     She swivels away from the bar, leaving her drink behind. "Regulus, please make us invisible. Tamiel, please find your way up as well. We will have to hurry."
Timekeeper	Down in the labyrinth, Vertin is also perfectly content to let Lilian and Riku handle the fighting. Her mind is almost singularly focused on the Storm, and her peering around the halls and storage rooms as they hurry through is all to sense for anything to that end, but she does spare a moment to ask Lilian one thing.     "The Concord Partners I've known to be directly involved with the Manus Vindictae are Mr. Parsons, White, and Angela. You said you'd have some sway with them? How much influence do you expect to hold over their actions; or how accurately could you model their behavior if they're present?" Shall I take one? It may be rather useful to examine at leisure, later, if it is not..." "I can't imagine the Foundation happens to have many samples."     "Ah-!" Vertin's cry and the reaching of her hand to stop Lilian from touching the mask is more out of instinctual fear than anything. Tamamo's assessment of the mask shows that they are practically curses made physical, in the most literal sense. A curse against the world, against humanity, against the disloyal, in hands that can blind or caress or choke, malice towards the unworthy. Just touching them isn't dangerous-- not for two people who are already magic themselves at least-- but putting them on would be.     Vertin, however, hasn't had good experiences with those masks. She's tense, radiating worry even while Tamamo relays the details of the passive corrosion that won't affect her or Lilian for carrying them, but eventually relents. "It would be very useful. We've never recovered one before it's been worn. Please do be careful."     The ritual room makes Vertin's skin crawl. The magic in the room is unhelpful as to any specifics-- ceremonial, adulatory, exactly what she'd expect from the environment but nothing she's ever seen before. "This blue is often used to signify the upper caste of the Manus Vindictae. An incredibly powerful arcanist was here, not long ago." "Let us see what may be seen, then."      The fate of the incense and the jewelry drips down, down, down; and back, back, back. The head that wearen them loven them not. The hand that burnen them knowen them not.      The tree from which the incense was pressed, it grew in a rich black soil. Animals conceit themselves, for a while, that they are more than dirt. They rotted from their bones into the muck that fed the tree. And perhaps the tree dreamed it would stand forever, and now it is breathed into Her lungs as rich smoke.      And should it not rejoice? The jewelry, too. Before and after the green of leaves, there is rich black. Before and after the white of bone, there is black. Before and after the yellow of gold, nurtured in the heart of stars, there is black. But here it has returned to Her, to the breast of its mother. So it finds heaven.      The spirits adore Her. The skeins of fate lead back to Her. Tamamo peers into the past, and amid its glistening drippy blackness, Her golden eyes look back as they reflect the incense-flame. She smiles, perhaps at Tamamo and perhaps not, and the smile is beautiful.     "What are they doing...?" Dim horror is audible in Vertin's voice, in the same breath as firm resolve. "We have to find out. Tonight. Too much has gone wrong already."     The door Lilian opens into the Walden is by the stage, where so many people are already crowded that a handful more slipping in can go unnoticed, especially when the door blinks open. Vertin isn't going to wait any longer than that, vanishing into the throng of people. The goal has to be to find that 'her', do whatever they can to hinder the Manus's plans with her, then get out all together.
Regulus	''We will act quickly, then meet up with Timekeeper and escape--'' "But how do we figure out how they predict The Storm? They're not going to just tell us if we ask nicely, will they?" Regulus asks before nodding to Sonetto, waiting for when the crowd is moving around them before shrouding both her, relying on the excitement and show and the placement of a few bodies to obscure the shift from visible to invisibile. Sonetto--and anyone who quickly asks to join in on the invisibility-- are shrouded in a veil of light--taking hold of Sonetto's hand before it vanishes. "Don't want to get seperated--" She murmurs. "You can see alright, right? Lead the way. Try not to bump into anybody, most are too drunk to notice but the last thing we need is some dummy bellowing about who pushed him." Her mind drifts briefly to Vertin as she tries to keep numbers floating around in her head. She has so many badasses around her that she's sure she's fine but she can't help but worry when the Timekeeper is off on her own. With The Storm imminent surely they've bigger things on their mind than her, but... "They'll be fine." She murmurs more to herself than Sonetto, deftly dodging tumbling dollar bills. Having one of those land on either of them could draw some alarm to the perceptive. When will they start losing their minds? When will they melt away before her eyes? Will the sky be as psychadelic and trippy as before or will it fit the era instead? How many times has she seen that view?
Riku Asakura	Riku follows Lilian's lead in taking down Manus monsters.  He doesn't transform, or rather, he is sure that transforming is a bad idea, given how much he has done it already.  He's taken Lilian's concern to heart and instead fights hand-to-hand like he normally does as an Ultraman.  Though he's not quite up to snuff like Lilian is without his transformation.  He is, at least, better than the average goon that the Manus has used to cart masks around.   Riku doesn't touch a mask; they give off a bad vibe, and instead trusts Lilian and Tamamo to study the masks properly.  Maybe they'll find something later on, but right now it's probably dangerous for him to touch or put on a mask.  Instead, he looks around, keeping an eye out for anyone trying to get the drop on them.   'An incredibly powerful arcanist was here, not long ago.' "Do you think they had anything to do with accelerating the storm then?" Riku asks, curious but also concerned.  This area was stressful for all of them, but he feels this even more so for Vertin.  Riku takes a breath and looks towards the door that Lilian opens.   'We have to find out. Tonight. Too much has gone wrong already.' "Alright, we're with you, Vertin," he says, trying to comfort her with his upbeat attitude and friendship.  Even if he's feeling uncomfortable and concerned about what they discovered in the catacombs.  He follows Vertin out, trying not to get separated in the crowd in the Walden.
Tamamo	'Mr. Parsons, White, and Angela.'     "If a compromise is possible, I expect Ms. White will seek it on her own, and Ms. Angela may be convinced. I am less sure of Mr. Parsons."     'It would be very useful. We've never recovered one before it's been worn. Please do be careful.'     Tamamo reacts well before Vertain says anything, first by being careful not to actually touch the masks, and then by slowly adjusting her own visible tension downwards, reassuring with acknowledgment of the threat before demonstrating expertise. "Curses made manifest, and quite far-reaching, too. It is not at all unheard of for a curse to be made physical, and yet, neither is it a thing to be taken lightly."     She withdraws a square of cloth to wrap up the mask, tying it shut before depositing it back into her bag. As for the rest of the masks...     "While I could unravel and disperse these, it might take more time to accomplish safely than would be safe for us to spend in this place." It's an option, but 'safe, fast, and quiet' is a too-tall order for this level of purification. Maybe after the analysis of the sample mask is done that estimate can be revisited.     'Let us see what may be seen, then.'     The fate of the incense and the jewelry drips down...     Carefully touching this and that item, though her gloves leave no prints, Tamamo's spirit touches what's there to find, and she says, "'Her.' One adored and worshiped was here. A living goddess, perhaps, or a goddess of death and cycles, beginnings and endings. Black is the void, black is the soil into which all has decayed, and golden are her eyes."     She withdraws her touch, prepared to leave. "A mere pretender is ever more likely, but this one is no stranger to worlds beyond. If she is the same as laid these curses, we should exercise the utmost care. Expect fortunes to be twisted, and trust in neither happenstance nor consistency nor luck, even though I shall seek to grant it to you."
Timekeeper	> Lyra     The small girl sitting at the distant table with her eyes locked on White seems to be an entirely selfish creature. Analyzing her skill further, White can tell that the way she reads White is by the 'wind' around her: breath, or song, the projection of intent as it creates art and harmonizes with the orchestra. By that metric, the discordant clash of her air with the Manus's will must be plainly obvious, but other than a sour look, she doesn't say anything about that.     White sticking her tongue out gets a deeply aggrieved scoff from the young girl, snotty ojou-like. She overturns her glass to dump the alcohol on the carpet, then stands up from her chair. She storms with her little mary janes across the black velvet carpet, two uniquely designed masked followers trailing behind her, and barely stops to address Forget Me Not on the way out.     "Give Lady Arcana my regards. I'm rather full, and bored, and I should like to sleep instead of play out the rest of this concerto."     Forget Me Not bows as she passes. "As you will, my dear tempestuous Lyra." "Say, as an art critic, what do you think of Druvis III?"     The painting woman giggles delightedly at Flamel's handshake, with one of the geometrically displaced hands on her canvas meeting it. Then, "Mmmm~ that strange young woman... given the best raw material anyone could ever hope to work with, yes, yes. That beautiful palette of ancient birthright, tragic loss, bitterness and righteousness... oh, the colors mix together, dear. I'd love to see her sort herself out one day." "Your Lady Arcana. What is she like? Does she enjoy such parties, or is this more akin to a hobby for you?"     "Lady Arcana is enlightened, my lady. These matters are mere trappings and trivialities of us lesser beings, caught up in the falsities of civilization." Forget Me Not leans towards Holly, eyes glinting like a madman's in the light. The slit pupils behind his glasses constrict, the fangs visible in either corner of his grin.     "It is our duty as miserable creatures of the Earth to lavish her with the finest of its comforts. To do less would be a betrayal of our love for Her. What the Guiding One will provide in return to her loyal followers shall be far greater than any mere 'party'."
Timekeeper	While he's chattering, the last grain of sand plinks down in the hourglass that Forget Me Not set on the handrail. He makes a soft noise of surprise and claps his hands together, then pushes his hair back away from his face. "Ah, and now the end has finally arrived, as it always would. Time, you see, moves inevitably forward. It would take the power of a god to subvert such a fundamental, all-consuming edict of the world."     He taps his finger on top of the hourglass, and the tiny grains of sand slowly, slowly, then faster, draw back upwards. At the same time, the sand-flowing stock tickerboard behind the bar mimics it; rather than the constant waterfall of sand that forms into the stock prices spilling downwards, the sand reverses course, and as it runs over the numbers, they change, flipping over like train schedules. GE, GM, Coca-Cola, the numbers beside them flick rapidly down, shearing off the hundreds digit, and at the top of the chart, the leading 4 on the DOW average shivers and dissolves into a 3, then 2.     And that's where it settles for the day. The modern equivalent to having tens of billions of dollars wiped out of the economy in a single day, only those numbers directly correspond to slips of enchanted stock certificates the bargoers have in their hands.     The silence that ripples across the bar might as well be from someone being shot to death in front of them, if that didn't typically result in cheering instead. It's not until almost a minute later that the outraged shouts and gasps of horror flood the auditory environment again, chaotically undirected as people try to remember who the proprietor of the Walden actually *is*. They hunt for some form of justice, a resolution to make all of this make sense. There's shouts of anger, at having been sold stocks that are now worthless, Panic, as people come to terms with the loans they now owe back, Hope, baseless, that the market will rebound when it opens again, Desperation, clawing back over the bar for bills they just handed over for their drinks,     All of it dulls to a quiet, indistinct hum at Forget Me Not's indication. He leans over the railing and flicks droplets of some dipped potion off his fingers, which float upwards and activate a muffling array drawn over the ceiling. He claps slowly, and the sharp sound cuts through the murmuring without impediment.     "Thank you all, for giving this about-to-end world an unforgettable curtain call. I'm honored that you would make the choice to spend your final hours in my Walden."     Stunned and broken as the people are by the crash of the market, the 'end of the world' still gives them pause. Where normally that kind of rhetoric would be brushed off as a sidewalk madman's ravings, now, they're wounded enough to listen; or they even hope that it's true, that it solves their problems so neatly. Only quietly because of the array, though: a glass sails out of the crowd and smashes into the balcony's side, dripping clear potion and glass.
Timekeeper	It's all gone bad, all at once. In more ways than they could have ever imagined.     The moment Forget Me Not's speech began, Sonetto and the others were invisibly climbing the stairs up to the balcony with Regulus's arcane skill. The black velvet underfoot was helpful for quieting their footsteps as they took the stairs as quickly as they could, but the closer to the balcony they get, the more it becomes a hindrance rather than a help. Looking down through your invisible feet, the velvet begins to cling to your shoes like tar-- like the silk of a spider's web.     Wherever she tries to infiltrate, Tamiel experiences much of the same as a shadow, but more severe. Infusing herself into the shadows on the balcony feels immediately like drowning, like the shadows are so, so much more solid than she is, and they drag her down into their depths like hands, over her eyes, mouth, throat, gripping her wrists and smothering her.     "This is the veil withdrawn, my friends. How little it matters, how little it's always mattered, your papers and the numbers you project upon them. I am here to tell you today that your woes and tribulations can all be pointless, your debts swept away like so much flotsam in a Storm the likes of which are nothing you have ever seen."     The moment the Storm's mentioned, Vertin's singleminded fixation ignites like a signal flare to Flamel's scanning. The same overwhelming obsession that allowed her to tap into the astral firmament in the Motherlobe is a glowing indication of her presence now, and then it's only a matter of time before Forget Me Not's told.     "Yes, a Storm. At first, it's a mere drop of rain you can hardly see. From the drains and gutters, the ponds and lakes, from the bottom of your rubber shoes and the stagnant cracks in pavement, what for so long lay dormant on the ground transforms back into the raindrop. It leaves the ground without hesitation, washing away all the world with it, as of to get rid of a pernicious habit...."     He takes a breath. His eyes scan listlessly over the frustrated crowd, clenching their stock certificates in sweaty fists, red-faced and drowning in their silence. "... A pernicious habit of this era and society."     The lights go out, and a spotlight falls exactly on Vertin where she's hiding within the crowd. "Isn't that right, Ms. Vertin? The secret that could never be told to the public?"     He claps his hands together, then throws his arms wide. "My friends, this is the woman who has concealed the end from you for so long! Your rage, your justice, bring them all to bear! A bet, I propose: fifty *thousand* to one, a payout to solve your debts and fears-- if the Timekeeper can defeat our champion duelist!"     The array dims back down, and the roaring of the crowd returns in full force. Hands come piling at Vertin from all angles, trying to drag her to the stage.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel's sweeping mental spotlight narrows; the mentally sensitive can see it lighting up Forget-Me-Not just as much as any of the actual physical lights of the space. It's a brief respite, and it'll allow anyone here a bit of time to maneuver without having to smokescreen or time things. Even a spy has to put some attention on the actual main event. There's nothing in this room quite so glaringly attention-grabbing as that man, after all, is there?     There is. But Flamel's one of the few to know it.     His mental spotlight whirls around and snaps onto Vertin.     ---     Director Parsons squeezes a stress ball in an office. He looks over a report, brought across his desk. "I have the report." He mutters, into a corded red phone. "I know. Yes." '[CLASSIFIED]', the report declares itself in bold letters as he runs his fingers through it, paging it over the center of his desk, ringed by perpetually-moving tchotchkes, steel pen-holders, rolodexes, and paperweights arranged like ritual components. And a photo of Vertin, distinct among a dozen blurry partygoers, her companions faded out in the distance around her... "I'm certain. It would work."     He scrawls his signature on an order. "For Schneider's sake, no potential alliance between the two girls can be suspected at any point. I know, it-- I know. Not again." He glances to past files. More young people whose pain he used as a tool for a greater good. "If it gets out of hand, I'll intervene. Schneider will know what to do."     He sets the phone down. He exhales. And then he picks it up again. Dialing away... He presses it against his face. "Mr. Forget-Me-Not. The Foundation Timekeeper, Vertin, is here. I have her location for you."     ---     <Mr. Forget-Me-Not. The Foundation Timekeeper, Vertin, is here. I have her location for you.> His telepathy goes off. Subtly, this reaches all of the Manus-aligned present, and might tip a certain girl off to what's about to happen. The more literal spotlight will fall on Vertin in a moment. Singling her out, and isolating her from allies unless they choose to leap in and expose themselves...
Lilian Rook	'How much influence do you expect to hold over their actions; or how accurately could you model their behavior if they're present?'     "What a question." Lilian says. Her breath rises with the tonal punctuation of a laugh. "I know White the least, but Tamamo and I are on friendly enough terms with her boss to go over for tea. I know that she doesn't want to be on my bad side, and feels apologetic after the last time, where she didn't expect to encounter us at all. I expect that she will harass us the minimum amount to maintain a Manus allyship and keep Schneider in their good graces. She's more likely to teleport someone outside than fire of magic indoors, but the fact that the Storm is oncoming makes it impossible for her to send anyone very far without it being a death sentence."     "Parsons is committed to the Storm Syndrome research project above everything else. We have a long history in which he's frequently an antagonistic actor, but always for consistent and predictable reasons. He's dense as lead when it comes to emotional motivation and lived experience, but he's perfectly capable of identifying who is in need and who isn't. Lately, he's been on a kick of trying to figure out why he's able to be a helpful counsellor to some people but not others. He'll be reluctant to go near me, and he never wants to get inside my head again, but he'll likely be drawn to you. He'll have the fewest hangups about enthusiastically throwing in with the enemy, but he won't kill anyone. When the Storm Syndrome gets bad, he may split his attention trying to manage the humans."     "Angela and I are complicated. I put everything I could into helping her out of a bad situation, but at the last second, I had to fight on the side of everyone who would be harmed by her actions, and nearly killed her. I'd like to believe that we're friends, but we're currently at cross-purposes that we keep barely separate. If she can find an alternative route where she doesn't have to clash with us in a zero-sum way, she'll take it. I couldn't tell you what her attachment is to Manus Vindictae specifically, but she's loyal to the Concord, and gets along well with White especially. She may have some of her personnel in attendance, but I doubt she'd use her heaviest hitters. You'll know if she's armed Parsons, Schneider, or any Manus elites with her technology."     Lilian, nobody asked you for this much personal information in the psych profile. Vertin wants tactics.     "I can likely pressure Angela into a less directly combative approach with us if you can think of one. I know White is wary of me and won't reveal too many tricks or go full force against me. I won't be able to change Parsons' mind from what he's decided is right, but he'll happily help me as well as his employers if I can give him something pro-social to do that doesn't obviously betray them. Angela will have the least reluctance about killing people, especially as collateral damage, so I'd consider her the most dangerous to our operations. White shouldn't have any especial desire to cause harm, especially to people she likes, but you should consider her to have a dulled sense of empathy for Manus Vindictae's human shields."     Realizing how long she's gone on, and that it was mostly to keep her distracted from where she is and why, Lilian puffs out air, flips her hair behind her shoulder, and says "I can accurately model everything anyone would do if I have a reason to focus on them anyways. In a volatile situation like this, I'll be relying on a lot of micro-divination."     'Ah-!'     Lilian freezes just sort of touching the mask, hyper-attentive to Vertin's reaction rather than waiting for an explanation. When they give the cautious go-ahead, Lilian first puts on the gloves from her bag over the fashionable gloves on her hands, then strips them off after handing it off. she doesn't glance back to the blue room; the shade is seared into her memory anyways.
Riku Asakura	'Isn't that right, Ms. Vertin? The secret that could never be told to the public?' Riku, trying to keep up with Vertin, freezes when the spotlight falls on her, and the words fall over the crowd.  Crap, did they expect them to be here?  Was this all planned?  What's going on here!? '...if the Timekeeper can defeat our champion duelist!' Oh no, they're trying to get Schneider to duel Vertin.  Riku sees the hands reaching out for her, and he has no choice.  Standing around doing nothing won't get them anywhere! "You go!" he says in the crowded area.  He activates an Ultracapsule, as the image of a giant of light appears.  "I go!" He activates a second Ultracapsule, invoking a second giant of light.  "Here we go!" he scans both capsules, sliding them into the capsule holder, and brings the Fusion Riser up above his head.  "I'll show you something shocking!" "GEEEEEEEEED!" he calls out, as blue-white flames burn off of his body, and he transforms from Riku into Ultraman Geed. FUSION RISE! ULTRAMAN HIKARI ULTRAMAN COSMOS ULTRAMAN GEED ARCO SMASHER Ultraman Geed attempts to get free Vertin from the crowd by firing a burst of water at them, with enough force to force them backwards harmlessly.  He attempts to protect his ally with his own body if he has to, as the Ultraman steps up to try and disuade people from trying to grab her.
Veronica	Despite not having been seen at the Walden before, Veronica went with Vertin and company into the labyrinth. While below, she helps Lilian and Riku deal with the wandering guardians by grabbing or pinning the monsters with the power of her unmanifested EGO, because her means of applying direct killing force would be profoundly unsubtle.     As the company emerges into the Walden, Veronica is briefly thrown off-guard by the sheer opulence of the place. She almost doesn't want to proceed any further in, and finds a diplomatic way of voicing her discomfort: "Should one of us- stay here? Keep an eye on our exit, you know." Vertin's insistence on dipping into the crowd eventually prompts Veronica to follow, but after enough hesitation that the Timekeeper is barely within sight through the bustling crowd.     It's not long before the market falls, and with it the silence. Veronica doesn't really grasp the intricate financial dynamics of even her homeworld, but she *does* know that certain types of people get upset when their favorite numbers go down. The Walden has suddenly become a very unsafe place indeed, because those certain types of people do not take well to disappointment.     Forget-Me-Not gives his speech from the balcony, and a spotlight falls on Vertin only seconds before Veronica can properly catch up with them. For a moment she fears that the Timekeeper might be torn apart by a hundred angry hands, before Forget-Me-Not announces a *duel* and those same hands begin grasping and pulling Vertin toward the stage.     The mental calculus is easy. Vertin is an ally, a fellow Watchperson, and less suited for fending off crowds than Veronica's EGO. Even if there's no space to construct Baker and Seventh this instant, there *could* be, if Veronica can only buy a little room for herself and the Timekeeper. She reaches out for Vertin with her hand and her mind, raising an invisible counterforce to slow the crowd's stageward pressure while also offering something for the Timekeeper to hold onto. The idea that this 'challenge' might be worth taking on never crosses Veronica's mind.
Schneider Greco	The red curtains part, for a black coat and red feathers. Schneider's anxious fidgeting by now has cost her the blue rose that was once in her hair; only a petal or two stick to her locks.      None of that anxiety is on that pale girl's face, now.      She looks up at the balcony at the Concord members, though the spotlights' glare hides them from her. It washes out her features with light when she tilts her head back, too. An anonymized angel, red-clad with black wings. It's hard to see her small and trusting smile.      In the corners and by the walls of the ground-floor lounge, her men are gesturing to each other in a panic, unable to speak. Forget-Me-Not's silencing magic, however, does not reach the stage.      "I told you never come here, my-lord," she breathes down at Vertin, lips to ear, while offering her opponent-victim (fifty thousand to one) a hand up to the execution grounds. Her face is hidden. "Che peccata..." Does the Manus know, somehow, of Schneider's feelings? Is this a test of loyalty with a foregone conclusion, or just a spectacle? Would Schneider really shoot her for a few minutes' safety more?      On the stage, Schneider offers Vertin first a tube of blue lipstick, and then (a moment later) one of her two beautiful, too-heavy guns.
Lilian Rook	"I wouldn't consider myself an expert artist, but I do well enough." she says, subdued, perhaps defensive. Remembering her sketchpad is still in its usual place, she hugs her bag a little tighter. "That's a lazuli base pigment. They used to use it to depict the Virgin Mary, amongst other holy or kingly subjects. Considering how absurdly bright it is, it's likely artificial, though. From the future." She doesn't offer her thoughts on why. Instead, she says very Britishly, "No need to go eyeing the new model when you've got an incredibly powerful--" She trips over the last word, her thoughtless, gallows humour smile going blank. She doesn't get to 'right in front of you'. [ansi(211,        'It is not at all unheard of for a curse to be made physical, and yet, neither is it a thing to be taken lightly.')]     "Good to know, but I've no plans to put it on." Lilian says, reassuringly. "I'll let the perverts at the Foundation figure that part out. I don't need to be more cursed, you know." What?     'A living goddess, perhaps, or a goddess of death and cycles, beginnings and endings.'     Even if it's Tamamo saying so, Lilian can't help but look a tiny bit incredulous. She doesn't want to say that Tamamo must be interpreting something in a fashion that's more familiar to her, but she thinks it, because she doesn't want to start believing in gods in Chicago of nineteen-twenty-nine. She breathes a little sigh of relief at Tamamo's final opinion. "Well, good thing we have you here then." she says, and manages to smile properly. She has to stray a little ways from her, at least, getting on the other side of that door.     . . . . . . . .     Of course she can't help but look up at that balcony. Lilian tries to be less glaringly overt as the first time, after Vertin had caught her doing it, but the fact that she has to pass by it again, and still not concern herself with it, is faintly maddening. She strains her ear to try and catch any voice, her eye to make out even a single silhouette, and the narrowed perception it takes to try and feel the slightest character of magic. Her movement through the crowd is thus less than elegant, and liable to piss off anyone who isn't drunk on financial serendpity; which is probably everyone anyways.     She freezes up when the bar goes completely silent. No matter how trivial and unimportant the patrons are, her instincts are to hold her breath and stop where she stands with the inertia of a posed doll. Her sword, somewhat ridiculous to wear in the crowd, but still significantly faster to draw than from around her neck, is kept close to her body by her hand on the pommel. This close, she can feel Flamel's sweeping attention better than anyone. She would rather not be in it. Just because he can't read her mind doesn't mean he won't notice the familiar stellar ink blot where she is.
James Bond	Bond settles up at the bar almost mechanically, as part of his disguise, more than any conscious decision to. He nods towards Regulus, indicating his readiness for her invisibility, then turns away and glides confidently through the crowds. Even invisible, even as he strides, he takes care as to the placement of his feet, the angle of his shoulders and the distribution of his body weight.     For the people he edges past, it'd feel like a breeze passing by, at most. Though looking down and seeing nothing is a new sensation for him, this ritual--losing or pursuing through throngs of humanity--is very familiar, known to him even before he started on the career that nearly devoured his life. Whether they're celebrating, mourning, or ogling, people in numbers like this forget themselves in the spectacle. They become something other than themselves, and if they aren't given reason to pry their eyes away, they won't.     Light bumps and brush-pasts are to be expected in a setting like this one, but Bond knows better than to count on that--the eye instinctively follows to the source of those things, after all, and unknown, unexplained events can cause it to grab the figurative wheel, veering off the road of the spectacle to put the headlights on a potential threat. Even if they turn, look, see nothing and return their attention to the proceedings, someone looking from on high, who knows what to look for, might see it. Someone like Flamel, for instance--so Bond keeps up the effort, until he arrives either at the ritual room or at some obstacle between that and himself.     That obstacle, as it happens, is not a posted guard, but the seeming will of the space itself that he not ascend the stairs. There is no key that can unlock it, and any explosive that could force its way past seems like it would need to be so violent as to obviate the very idea of stealth, to overcome what's up against him.     Vertin's been made. We've already lost the opportunity we had here. But I'm not going to leave without creating another for us. Riku has her covered. Whatever it is that's keeping us from getting to him up there... Bond attempts to manipulate the drone into flying up the stairwell. Then he lightly tosses a loose coin up it. If they both encounter the same resistance, that's enough to give him an idea on how to proceed--the duelist they're sending will naturally have to come down, out of whatever protective countermeasure's been set up here.
Odette Raskins	Unlike Sonetto, Odette is already well into her second alcoholic potion. She's been taught that nursing drinks can help maintain the physical appearances at normal gatherings without raising eyebrows, but this is anything but a normal gathering. She doesn't know who has what powers here, who might be watching her specifically out of anyone else among the Manus, nor where Flamel might have his attention directed at any given time. The only thing to do, then, is to make sure she's REALLY convincing, and that starts with making sure she's drinking plenty of some cheap, but sweet-tasting mead that reminds her of home. It's actually kind of nostalgic, but she still has her eyes peeled and her ears open while sitting by Sonetto and leaning in to make sure nobody that isn't part of The Team can squeeze in between them. "They've definitely got the 'gathering' part down, for sure... Gosh, there's so many people in here. If they start doing anything, is there even going to be room to move?" Giving worried glances to Sonetto, Regulus, Bond, and Tamiel (although she's not sure if she's actually looking at Tamiel or just a regular shadow), Odette sniffs once while swirling what's left in her glass around lightly. "Moving fast... Okay." One more sip, and then she sets her glass down to hunker down with Regulus at her signal. "Whenever you're ready, Reggie. Five buttons, six pockets, how many tickers..." She holds her breath when the numbers on those tickers start shifting rapidly, and the digits start disappearing, and she only lets herself breathe again once the shouting and panicking begins. Odette rests her hands lightly on Sonetto's and Regulus' arms to make sure she doesn't fall behind or lose track of them on the way up to the balcony, glancing around frequently to make sure James and Tamiel (?) aren't far off, either. All things considered, she probably doesn't have to worry much about them, but she's feeling a little braver right now rather than being stunned by her usual anxiety. Forget Me Not's voice has her glancing up and over at him, but it's not until he talks about the Storm that Odette looks directly over at him. Unfortunately, she can't really hear any clues on how he's known anything, just that he does somehow. That jump in alertness, even with that mildly drunken haze masking her presence, might still reveal Odette's existence to Flamel in that moment. She's not as concerned about that as she is with seeing the spotlight on Vertin, though, and the EMT squeezes two of her four companions' arms lightly. A moment later, and Odette realizes she can't actually ask them for guidance. Something's keeping her words lodged deep in her throat and mind, and she can't figure out what. The best she can do is squeeze their arms again before gesturing at her mouth with the muffling array keeping her silenced. At the very least, however, she can throw meaningful glances at the stage while pumping her arms in place. She's in a good position to jump onto the stage from up there, but her gaze keeps going between Vertin at the stage and Forget Me Not. He's still probably their best source of intel on detecting the Storm, and Bond reminds her that Vertin already has coverage from the heavier hitters of their crew already. As much as she hates it, he's right about that, and she doubts she'd be of more help than hindrance if she did jump down there. Following Bond's lead, Odette snatches a few abandoned glasses on the way up the stairs. Watching the direction of his drone and coin tosses, she follows suit with expertly flung ice cubes, whipped high overhead to test more spots that haven't been covered by the agent.
Holly Asturias	"Lady Arcana is enlightened, my lady."     Holly is blessed (questionmark) with having cultists for neighbors. Not the good kind, insofar as there could ever be a good kind. The way Forget Me Not slips into that dialect makes her squint, and even her enthusiastic reply can't mask the sudden discomfort. "To speak so highly of her... my, I fear the word 'wonderful' might not be enough! She must truly be something else. How exciting!"     Well, that part's true. It'll probably be, and she's curious! Panic!     Having never seen a stock market, but having a basic understanding of 'the numbers are value! if line goes down, bad!', Holly watches from the balcony as panic clearly seizes the whole bar. Was that planned? Was THAT the show? That's... horrible, right? Even if all of those people deserve it, surely, this is a bit much?     What now?     Hands on the balcony's railing, it feels awful to just watch.     Flamel... is calm? Alerting to Vertin's presence.     Stay the course, then...?     "Mm. So this is to be... entertainment, for us?" the way she asks Forget Me Not, it's unclear if she's actually asking or making an observation.     And it's Vertin, too? She rather liked her!     "Pardon me for asking, though, but the Timekeeper did not strike me as... an expert duelist, much less one that could stand up to your best? Is this not a little... slanted?" Maybe that's the point.     -- there's Riku. And someone else.     Maybe it won't be a duel after all...?Schneider.     Oh. She's their best duelist.     The little glance up...     The hint of that smile.     Holly swallows, now under quite a bit of stress and pressure.     Her red eyes look around, to make sure White is still there. To see how Flamel is handling it. Would it be too early, or is this the best distraction? <Tac-Concord> 4 Flamel Parsons echoes, <Trust me. Keep this between Schneider and Vertin. She knows the right way to survive all this.>     Somehow that doesn't calm her at all. <X-Concord-Chatter> 4 Schneider Greco breathes, distinctly *not* on a Forget-Me-Not-free channel, "That large man again... please, my-lords, could you keep him from ruining my show?"     And now it's a *fight*.     Holly lifts one of her hands from the railing, golden Ichor spreading from her heart to the tips of her fingers. The air gets colder around her, and with a snap of her fingers, walls and spikes of ice burst out of the ground all around Vertin, save in Schneider's direction. It should be enough to separate the Timekeeper from would-be helpers... at least for a second or three.     "Sorry," she mouths off, barely.     She means it.
Regulus	Regulus, once she gets to the stairs, almost doesn't notice that she's slowing down--so focused on numbers and her thoughts to think about a possible arcane trap. It's hwen she really FEELS the clinginess of the goop that Regulus startles, almost dropping her arcane skill purely out of fright--Lilian's warning to Sonetto is what keeps her head in the game enough that it doesn't immediately dispel. "James..." She murmurs with a shudder. She has two options here--keep struggling the whole way through or... "APPLe, I'll catch up..." She reaches into her bag, collects something invisible in there, and throws it the rest of the way out onto the balcony. What did she throw? An apple. An apple named APPLe. Who is a little disoriented because he didn't get much warning. He wobbles in the air. Of course, what exactly Regulus expects APPLe to do is a mystery to APPLe and also Regulus. Certainly not try to combat all of Manus Vindictae. He's sort of hoping that Flamel is distracted with other things because he needs his attention on what he intends to do. But even while invisible, what exactly can he do without drawing a lot of attention. FUSION RISE! ULTRAMAN HIKARI ULTRAMAN COSMOS ULTRAMAN GEED ARCO SMASHER PEW PEW PEW WA WA WA GREEBLE NOISES Well that ought to do it. APPLe uses this opportunity to float towards Vertin. "Miss Vertin." He whispers. "Sonetto and the others are on their way." But when he's nearly skewered by a burst of ice, he has to float away before he ends up shiskebobbed. He's apple-durable, he can't get into a fight here! Meanwhile, Regulus hopes to push her way through to the top of the stares as desperately as possible--more desperatley, when she hears Vertin called out. Eventually she stumbles upon the balcony, but she needs a moment to catch herself. Regulus stares at Flamel, oblivious to his reasoning, but she's angry. She used to think he was cool. Now he's throwing Vertin in danger like this. And worse... "What do we do? Can't fight all these people. A big blinding flash or...?" She murmurs to Sonetto. ''Sorry.'' Regulus flips her off under the veil as dread fills the pit of her stomach.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel winces when he feels a spike of familiar presences. "Ghhh. Dammit. Complicated." He mutters under his breath, a careful little bit of vulnerability to make this next part more authentic. As others begin to move *up* towards the balcony, he carefully reduces the pressure there... by moving over the balcony's edge. Drifting through the air in a slow descent, he calls out...     <If you'd please step back and allow the ladies to do as they like!>     The men pulling and grabbing at Vertin will find their minds quite affected towards *politeness*. Vertin might still find herself pressed towards the stage, but it's far more coherent and gentlemanly. That's easy. Geed and Veronica, on the other hand, are going to be difficult...     The outer edge of their minds will begin to experience something profound: A ruthless, vicious rush of assault directly against the will to harm. Flamel reaches into their minds and fills them with the vulnerable, stressed state of the people they're opposing. He tried touching Veronica's mental wall, but found it filled with a hundred voices he couldn't quiet, so he tries to dim her fighting spirit with a hundred here, leveraging her by-the-numbers nature. Geed, similarly, is surely most vulnerable to that personal stress, and would hopefully balk at seeing himself in the eyes of people that think he's a terror -- albeit that's maybe affected by the local social dynamics...     Now, Bond, Regulus, and Odette, and anyone else sneaking about, won't have to deal with his mental spotlight on their ascent, at the very least. Flamel is slowly levitating to a space near the stage, adjusting his tie and smiling a calm, friendly, optimistic smile as always. Light pyrokinetic orbs around him give a rapid hair-dryer effect to those more drenched by the water-burst. "Flamel Parsons, agent of a *clear and present* mysterious order." He introduces himself. "Please, let's all stay sane here."
Tamamo	Getting through the door is difficult, and Tamamo relies on a combination of Lilian being lookout and her own divination. She's trying to avoid notice, here, but there's precious little chance of that, unless something outrageous happens, like a spotlight focusing all attention of the room somewhere else, or the sudden appearance of a shouty giant.     Really, the only person whose attention she can effectively avoid is Flamel, as Tamamo's read thoughts appear to be nothing more than those of a plausibly 1920s woman here to drink, watch stock tickers, and enjoy bloodsports, all established as things the Walden is known for on a prior occasion. There's no visible self-image in her surface thoughts, fox-eared or otherwise, but that's not a rare case.     And then, it happens. <Tac-Paladins> 4 Tamamo, tense, quiet, hurried, "Why against a champion? What does he stand to gain? The audience -- most of them -- will not remember this, tomorrow. Does he care so for the arcanists who will? Is it only to draw out her protectors -- Sonetto!"     She doesn't have a means prepared to communicate with Sonetto, nor with Vertin, nor with their allies in the Watch, that isn't likely to draw far more attention. <Tac-Paladins> 4 Tamamo, still tense and hurried, but things nearby are louder, "Remember our objectives. Discovering the opponent's plan. Disrupting any ritual. Saving those who can be saved. Finally, yet more importantly, surviving."     Tamamo, herself, does not leap to Vertin's defense. She's far too wary against, as soon does happen, attacks from up on the balcony, and can't see this as in line with the objectives set by the Timekeeper until she's discovered just what Forget-Me-Not's angle is. The appearance of Schneider slightly reinforces what she was already planning on doing, even if those guns appear rather concerning. <Tac-Paladins> 4 Lilian Rook says, "Then apologies to you and you alone for what I'm going to do next."     "Ah?"
Lilian Rook	'Thank you all, for giving this about-to-end world an unforgettable curtain call. I'm honored that you would make the choice to spend your final hours in my Walden.'     Finally. A face to a name. Not his name, because Lilian doesn't know it for certain, but the name of 'Manus Vindictae'. She can't help but look. She can't stop herself from paying rapt attention as much as anyone in the crowd. A face, a voice, a speech; anything and everything the masked husks and dripping monsters had spitefully refused to show her. If anything, she stands out for how little she is hoping to hear, and how much she hopes to hear all of it.     'This is the veil withdrawn, my friends. How little it matters, how little it's always mattered, your papers and the numbers you project upon them.'     'Let me guess. The stocks tanked and so the vultures are out here in force claiming that someone owes them.'     Lilian breathes out shallowly. Her eyes twitch as if to avert her gaze, but can't quite summon the will.     'I am here to tell you today that your woes and tribulations can all be pointless, your debts swept away like so much flotsam in a Storm the likes of which are nothing you have ever seen.'     'And what happens when they spend it all again and know you'll give them more?'     Vertin. Where's Vertin? That's first on Lilian's mind now. She doesn't dare looking around as frantically as she wants to, so she has to--     The bottle breaks against the balcony, and Lilian flinches. Or she tenses up. Or perhaps it's that she suppressed an urge she wouldn't name if asked. She glares at the source, as if she could bore holes through the heads of everyone in the way, and that'd suit her just fine.     'Where I come from, these people would have been shot like dogs.'     The thought has only just struck her when Forget Me Not does exactly what she would do in his position. The sound of her own voice is still ringing in her ears when the energy of the crowd turns electric, then hollow, then ravenous.     'A bet, I propose: fifty *thousand* to one, a payout to solve your debts and fears-- if the Timekeeper can defeat our champion duelist!'     Now she swivels her head to find Vertin in the crowd, eyes wide, knowing perfectly well what comes next. Her heart drops into her stomach, and her veins run with ice.     'Get off! Get out of my sight you fucking animals!'     Riku has already blown cover, but Lilian was going to anyways. No matter what happens, everyone here is dead if Vertin isn't alive or conscious to use the Suitcase. Her fight with Schneider, however tentative it was on both sides, convinces her well enough that leaving Vertin to the stage is an unacceptable risk. Her elbow abruptly cracks the ribs of the man standing next to her, clearing space for her hand to drop to her leg holster. She pistol whips another at the back of the head to get her sidearm pointed up, and then before anyone on stage can fire a shot, Lilian lets off one, two, three, straight into the ceiling.     The report is distinctly un-gun-like, but not easily mistaken as anything but a weapon. The muzzle flash is the split-second sparking of a layered arcane array. The shots themselves are bright and obvious. The shell casings hitting the ground are lost in the noise. Racing to come up with something to separate Vertin from the crowd as fast as possible, or at least to clear a space to her, the first, fastest thing out of Lilian's mouth is:
Lilian Rook	"Back off! Get back or I'll kill every single one of you!"     Holly throwing up a wall is exactly what she doesn't need right now. The liquid gold aesthetic of a Revenant is unmistakable to her by now. Lilian wheels to point her weapon at the balcony, and flashes off several shots that go so wide from Forget Me Not that it could only be deliberate. Holly, a Revenant, will certainly survive being hit, but might drop the barricade. Lilian's only other choice is to find and 'teleport' everyone else up to the stage, or take Vertin and scrub the entire mission.     She's banking on Schneider trying to avoid killing Vertin until the last second. Fondness or not, she took her time with the only opponent Lilian ever saw her fight. The intense green lucidity in her furious stare means something wholly unrelated.
Ein	From outside, the narrative view, an observer to the diorama of the drama about the Timekeeper could see the image of hallway, alchemical cellars and casking rooms only occasionally swept by creatures or handymen, and the faint orange lights of lanterns and warm bulbs. It would be easy to settle that image into the totality of motion that would render things easy and flowing of story, coherent from a bird's eye perspective. Vertin slips ahead, obsessed, drawn and driven, and about her others follow. And yet there is a 'meanwhile', a shadowed aside for one. Gwendolyne Vera Sotheby, having mixed a vial of luminescent goo to hold as soft torch, pored over the bottles of this and that and the wooden crates of sundries in the store-room she had been instructed to check and provision herself with, finding much of the stock in a sorrier state than she was used to. "Now, look at this, Typhon! These are from the Solemn and Solomon company, not local at all! No *wonder* Father went to Europe, he must've been chasing after Jupiter in the old country! That's just like him, always adventuring." Sotheby quietly laughs, smiling and nodding to her stuffie on shoulder while instructively pointing out the labels and confabulating extra abilities into her parents. "May-be he's giving them a stiff lip right now, just like we are? I think that means we're on a proper sa-fari!" She exclaims, not even having a clue what an Africa is and constructing all-new theories on the arrangement of the world in lieu of knowing. Having filled her bag with the best things she could pull off the shelf with the pure-willed shamelessness of someone used to everything in the cellar presumptively being theirs to touch anyway, Sotheby lifts her light to look back at the doorway while expecting to see... Mr. Karsoon, of course.     Ms. Moissan, obviously.         Regulus, even, her new party pal. . . But there's nobody. Mr. Karson is back in Chicago, helping or gone. Ms. Moissan is a few steps behind the group, her mission focus on the Timekeeper and the overwhelming nature of keeping abreast of everyone making her incapable of focusing on what mattered to her. Regulus is quite a bit separated, draped in invisibility and plot to perform. So in that moment Sotheby wide-eyed casts her light into the yawning void of darkness, shadow-shapes clawing at the highroad of golden-cast light upon stone, she is so very brave and does not utter a squeak. Instead, being brave like Typhon, she takes a deep breath and holds it, carefully moving in dainty-ladylike steps to the stone doorframe, leaning around to peer down both hallways. Her hat enters the hallway first, Brave Typhon clinging to the inside as Sotheby cornerpeeks with absolutely no perception of her own look or enormous statement hat, and sees people slipping through the door into the party, chief of which was the delightful Ms. Rook! Surely the Dame Commander would know. . .     . . . Sotheby steps into the party floor, separate and staggered from the others, swept into a mass that chokes her even before the market drops, sets her staggered and whelmed in human waves with a mast of green hat and periscope of feather shifting around the people. She holds her vial high like it will repel people as it does shadows and it does, a kind of threat that she doesn't understand making people shift around her, startle and be lit in the pale alchemical light of her glow-vial. Distressed in a sea of strange people, terrified in several ways, Sotheby freezes in the sideway of the Walden, with Brave Typhon atop her shoulder hugging to cheek and neck in support and apprehension both. Chaos erupts, shouts and the callouts of plastic-like objects and madness, and she retreats to the wall in reflex as they move.
Schneider Greco	The velvet-turned-goo under the invisible group on the balcony-stairwell squirms. Creeping up over shoes, it's like threads- no, it's like tendrils- no, it's like fingers, soon to form reaching hands...      They make a nauseating sound like parting viscera.      Nothing one can't pull away from, with only a moment of effort. But--      Footsteps approach from behind. They're so unhurried, their maker can't possibly know of your presence.      But when they turn the corner, those pale-gold eyes are already looking at- through- past you, and the squirming floor surprises Her not at all.      "Do pardon me, ye uninvited," she breathes serenely while ascending the stairs. She steps around the invisible intruders if you hold still at her approach, brushing only slightly by without the slightest hint she understands her position as vulnerable.      As she emerges onto the balcony beyond, with the Concord elites and the higher-ups of the Manus, what becomes apparent to them instantly is what might take the taken-aback intruders a lingering moment to fully absorb:      There is a drooling spike clean through where the Lady Arcana's brain should be. "Forget-Me-Not. Doth it go well with you?" It slides through her skull cavity as she tilts her head, as far as its black iron spikes will let it. "And ye of the Concord, as well." Drip-drip, goes the black slime that should be her brain matter, drizzling off the distaff's tip. "How find you all our Manus?" It glrkk-shifts again as she straightens. You might imagine you can see the diagonal impalement behind the black of Lady Arcana's pupils.      There is so much else about her that, if not for the proudly displayed lethal lobotomy dripping primordial slime, would be considered 'eyecatching' by itself. She is flawlessly beautiful, her skin like a marble statue, her dark-blue hair clearly the source of the Manus's motif. Her charcoal dress bares a keyhole of cleavage, hip on one side, and thigh on the other, along with a thin black string of what must be an undergarment crossing her pelvis.      The clothes clothe her not, the deathblow kills her not, and the disturbance below disturbs her not.
White	The brief moment of wordless semi-conflict with Lyra had proved to be a welcome dose of levity for White, but it's over as soon as it began. White isn't sure if it's a good thing that the smaller girl has gone and stormed out in response, but... She's keeping her words to herself, for now? It's not something worth putting her faith in, she knows, and it's only now that she has the fullest of her good sense to consider whether she was too impulsive. Well, what's done is done. White wasn't expecting to get through the evening without *something* going wrong, and this still offers her time. White sends a gentle wave, likely unnoticed at Lyra's back as she leaves.      When the time comes for the stocks to crash from their ridiculous forced upward climb, White still finds herself a bit astonished at the immediacy and the depth of anger and despair that strikes the room below. It's a relief when Forget Me Not shuts out the clamor with his muting potion, but it doesn't erase what she can see and what she has already heard. Part of her wants to mock the people below for being so easily fooled, and another part indulges in a grim cynicism about the very concept of money-as-power, but... To her own surprise, there is a little part of her that feels upset on their behalf, too?      It's more natural for her to empathize with 'wanting a place in the world', like the Manus. Even in light of that surprising sense of... Pity, it seems like, it hasn't really swayed her overall feelings tonight. But... She realizes now, for what may as well be the first time, how distasteful these kinds of financial scams are. She can't quite bring herself to cheer on the humans' downfall, so much as sit by and bear witness in a vague thoughtful haze. "It would take the power of a god to subvert such a fundamental, all-consuming edict of the world."      It's harder than you think, you know? Most gods have to work hard and dream big to even imagine such a thing, you know? White hopes and hopes again that a fail-god like her can just make one small change to tonight's plans. She has to set her expectations low, when it comes to matters of fate.
White	Forget Me Not's speech- White can't be sure if it's rehearsed or straight from his heart- feels like aimed gloating, and she soon finds out why. When the spotlight falls on Vertin, White feels her heart jump in her chest. Linking feelings to thoughts with the new information that Vertin is here- in the crowd, almost certainly accompanied in some manner- reframes the labor of the night. Almost immediately, that is worsened, because she knows exactly who is meant by 'champion duelist'. Without thinking, she stands and turns to face the room below rather than only observing through obscured side-eye for the first time since she sat down, White's mind races.      Should she do something now? Is it time to intervene? ... Schneider can handle herself. Schneider can at least act like she's fighting seriously. Schneider... Had said that Vertin would help her, if she could, right? If White acts now to break this up, it'll ruin any act Schneider puts on. But... If Schneider pulls her punches, won't that do the same thing?      Flamel had revealed her. He had done so broadly, not privately. It doesn't feel like he's trying to just win points with Forget Me Not, but she can't be sure. White will just have to hope he hasn't had some kind of change of heart from what she'd gathered of his intentions before; if he thinks this situation is still manageable too, then his actions are consistent. But, as she thought, Vertin hadn't come here alone.      Regulus and anyone she's escorting is hidden and beneath White's notice until something more obvious gives her reason to scrutinize the stairs or assume their presence. Instead, it's Riku's transformation that draws her immediate attention. That's the first sign that it was premature of her to start evaluating the safety of the duel itself; things might well never reach that point, if everyone cooperates to wrench Vertin away from the crowd. Maybe Vertin has heroic instinct, and she *might* go along if it seems like the best way to proceed, but everyone likes her. They're not likely to *let* her risk herself that way. Schneider and Flamel both want things to go uninterrupted, too, so...      The best White can do without leaving the balcony or causing chaos is to finally reveal the countermeasure she had in mind for Riku, specifically, since months ago when they had their skirmish. Flamel had handled Riku the last time, but now... White's eyes open, the gleam brightening such that it may be visible in the shadows from below, tiny pinkish-purple glints aimed over the heads of the crowd at solely the two who have powered up into larger states; it's the best she can do as far as target-control without restricting the range and effect right now.      The Jinxing Evil Eye fixes on Veronica and Riku's gigantified states, immediately beginning to siphon off the power that fuels their altered states! It's ultimately less effective on Veronica, thanks in part to the physical obstructions that make up her abilities, but it's still effective on Riku as she had hoped. Less than she wished, but she supposes with what she remembers of his power being almost *holy* in a manner of speaking, it's not too strange that the effect of a jinx is lessened from its maximum. She'll try not to drain all of Riku's batteries, but this is the gentlest she can be right now.
Holly Asturias	Lilian's shots!     So half-hearted her interference is, Holly doesn't really have her guard up. Even if she did, Lilian had pegged correctly that she lacked that sort of, instinct, that might make her spot a hostile in a crowd like that. Especially in this chaos! She's not used to this at all.     Holly's hit head-on, with a splatter of red-turning-gold blood, falling back and away from the railing to clench at her face. Sadly, the barricade she threw up, or what's left of it after Veronica and the Ultraman are through with it, isn't something she's sustaining, but this'll keep her from refreshing it.     By the time she's back up - her face is already healing. It's not the most elegant of regenerations, working layer-by-layer, liquid gold reforming bone, muscle and skin in order, until she drops the hand she was covering her face (and the injury) with, pristine again. Or, mostly pristine. There's gold blood all over her dress now, and regular gold too.     "I really am sor--" "And ye of the Concord, as well."     There's no time to apologize again, their *host* is here. My if that spike and that goop were gold she'd mistake her for a Revenant.     Holly has to clear her throat to fully recover from getting shot in the face, before finally being able to say hi proper at all.     "Lady Arcana, it's a pleasure, despite the circumstances. I see Forget Me Not's description of you was no exaggeration at all." Then with the best smile she can put on in the context, Holly adds: "I *adore* your..." Spike? No, that's not a spike. Wand? Maybe it's like a wand? "Come to think of it I don't quite recognize the motif, but it's lovely all the same," says the Revenant with the large headdress jutting out of her own skull.
Riku Asakura	Spikes of ice burst up all around Vertin, Geed is forced to jump back to avoid being impaled, and is fortunately NOT impaled.  He's about to do something about the spikes before something hits his mental defenses.  Suddenly feeling the stress of the people who are having to deal with a giant in their presence.   It reminds him of the first time he had to run away from a rampaging monster before he could transform into Geed.  The terror he felt and the sadness over losing his home.  It presses down on him like a weight tied around his heart.   However, someone was within arm's length of him, someone who needed help.  Inside Geed, in the swirling giant of light energy, is Riku, with the infamous image of Geed's eyes superimposed over his form.  He nearly screams from the force of pushing against Flamel's mental force, eventually turning into screams as he finally manages to move again. From his right hand, a golden sword of light erupts, aiming to bash down the ice spikes that are set up, while Lilian shoots at Holly.  He can't even gaze towards the balcony right now, forcing his way through to try and get to Vertin.   Right as he's about to reposition himself, another magical attack hits from below.  Energy is drained from his body, causing him to stagger and barely keep standing.  The jinx causes Riku's size to shrink, and the light on his chest to go from bright blue to flashing red as a soft chime seems to indicate his drained state.   He's forced to the ground, eventually losing his Ultraman status, leaving an exhausted Riku on the floor before the crowd.  He's used his energy as an Ultraman a lot during this time, and now it's gone thanks to the jinx and his strained body.   However, he staggers to his feet again, trying to push forward against the crowd as Riku tries to get to Vertin.
Odette Raskins	"A big blinding flash or...?" "That could buy us some time later. Once we find..." Odette trails off, not even knowing what it is that could answer that hole in knowledge. It has to be a ritual of some sort, right? It couldn't be some kind of device, she guesses, but how's anyone supposed to bring back a ritual? She looks to Regulus to see if she can finish that sentence for her,  and then she hears something... No, she feels something moving on her. Sucking in a sharp breath, Odette's gaze shoots downwards almost instinctively, and remembering that she's invisible with everyone else is the only reason she doesn't scream right then and there. She holds her hands over her mouth to keep even the sounds of her breathing hidden, barely even turning her head when she hears those approaching footsteps and that unfamiliar voice. She knows that everyone's there. Odette clamps her hand over her jaw just to keep her teeth from chattering, only allowing her eyes to turn once she sees movement from the side. She sees her back, then the spike in her head. It takes less than a moment for Odette to recognize this as a clear danger to herself, to  and she realizes almost immediately that simply standing there any longer could mean death even with that spike sliding and dripping through Lady Arcana's head. She still hasn't moved her feet one bit to dislodge those fingers. She just stays rooted in place, listening to that conversation, half-trying to absorb anything she can hear from Forget Me Not and Lady Arcana, and half-trying not to just tune out everything from being awestruck and frozen with fear simultaneously.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel winces with each loud gunshot from Lilian. The ones in the ceiling are just as wince-inducing as the ones that streak towards Holly. "Rook," He mutters at her softly. "Figured you'd be the sanest here. Please, *please* stop." He knows Lilian's nature makes her mind an absolute black box. That's why he's developed what he has: A psychic payload made, not for her mind, but for her basal motor ganglia, a distributed set of almost entirely external structures involved in regulating the activation of 'motor programs'. She can keep him out of her thoughts, but movement has to start at the brain, access a stored motor program, and move towards the arms and hands.     The payload is meant to run purely on ganglia, and to select the motor program for 'aim', target 'my own leg', and then 'pull trigger', with the same ruthlessness she has running in her brain right now. He knows her practiced expertise will ensure that doesn't happen, but he's hoping that such practiced expertise involves unloading (and not reloading) her gun, rather than simply thinking through it with precision-control motor-signals. "*Please, stop.*" He says again, in an urgent way that breaks his confidence. That mental payload took a lot out of him. Hopefully it'll drive her to an unload, and to the wariness of keeping it unloaded.     One way or another, at the end of all this, he *has* to force her into a state of reduced ruthlessness, and this is the fastest he could put together... And Flamel, himself, is shortly disabled almost completely by the psychic presence of the woman with the ferrofluid lobotomy. The color drains out of his face and his eyes widen behind his sunglasses as he looks up at the balcony in awe; in all this mental he can't keep enough focus to try to get any telepathic readings off her, but there's surely no brain of any traditional-- no, any *conventional* kind, behind those eyes, is there?     Arcana. The leader. The face of what Manus is the hand of. "Dextrous. Good grip strength. A respectable vagueness and a respectable ominousness." He whispers, knowing on a sort of instinct that she'll hear him just as well when he's muttering as when he's shouting.
White	Lilian's gunshots into the ceiling and toward the balcony make White wince and duck lower, but even if Holly catches one of the rounds White can't take her eyes off the lower floor without disrupting the Evil Eye's effects. This creates a curious sort of dynamic then when Arcana unhurriedly joins them upon the balcony. White can't turn her eyes away from Riku and Veronica, but she can still see even into what might normally be a blind spot. Still, the feeling of having her back turned at the moment of Arcana's appearance is... Unpleasant. Her head wants to turn aside, turn to face, but she resists most of the impulse. She can't try to read Arcana's status like this, either...      Arcana's greeting seems not to acknowledge what's happening below as any degree of 'severe', which helps White understand her mentality slightly more. Only slightly. The spike through the head is striking, but chalked up to something like Holly's own blood-adornments; unfortunately, it also reinforces White's impression of her as a... Well, a god, somewhere in her own neighborhood of the concept. If nothing else, some kind of immortal, or maybe someone who replaced their body..? White can't make any useful guesses about an arcane skill just from appearances other than the vague idea of 'something that uses goo'. Yuck. "How find you all our Manus?"      It took a few moments to process her other thoughts enough to make room for a social nicety, but White does eventually murmur, still completely without a glance backward, "... They reminded me... Of home."      Giving her full thoughts is out of the question, but it's actually a wholly honest sentiment. The Manus's higher-ups reminded White of the Demon Army Commanders, even some of the ones who are dead now. Not all pleasant people, or people she had any fondness or value for, but the idea of an organization led by a handful of weirdos with strong personalities... It's familiar to her, at least.
Tamamo	Stealth is out, for the mission as a whole, even before Regulus admits that her invisibility was seen through. Information's been gained, but Tamamo's only committed Forget-Me-Not's speech to memory, rather than attempted to piece together anything valuable from it right now. It had the appearance of a worshiper's rambling, and that fits in nicely with what she learned from the dressing room.     Veronica and Riku are embattled. Lilian may be about to be. Schneider and Vertin are prepared and being prepared to fight. Vertin, as Lilian said, must survive, for the sake of everyone without the time to go far, far away from here, and Lilian has already declared her limitations.     There's one objective remaining that Tamamo has any hope of attaining, and it's one she's uncertain wasn't only Vertin's prejudice. It's not clear to her that anything that could be called 'a ritual' is taking place, outside of a ritual execution, Still, this is the best and only time she can check for it, and so, she does.     The arcane efforts of thorough detection and analysis of the surroundings isn't something that's really hidden, for anyone with the appropriate senses, but Tamamo can bank on being a drastically reduced priority target to almost everyone who could do something about it. The construction of the Walden, the surroundings, the leylines, sigils inscribed into foundation stones buried beneath it, circles drawn into the basement... if there's something here, something active and drawing power, she'll soon find it.
Veronica	A ring of ice spikes erupt from nowhere around Vertin, forcing Veronica back out of Vertin's reach. It's not a technique Veronica recognizes, so she can only assume it's coming from that monologuing creepazoid. She exhibits neither qualm nor hesitation in smashing the ice with concrete elbow and fist, casting the chunks aside, and shoving forward into the Vertin-manhandling crowd again.     The use of her EGO, however, brings her to the attention of a certain telepathic agent. The willpower of an entire town, bound together with Light, glows like a flame in thermal optics against a backdrop of individual minds. What's more, those same numerous Chicagoans' fear and uncertainty can be turned against her, dogpiled onto Baker and Seventh's massed will to wear against it like waves on a cliff. Eventually something has to give way, and it does - Veronica's mental grasp on Vertin slips, long enough for the Timekeeper to drift well out of her straining physical reach.     <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Don't get it twisted. Every one of you is dead in less than twenty four hours if Vertin isn't in any condition to use her Suitcase by then."     <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Do whatever it takes. If the Foundation doesn't like it, I'll take the blame."     Veronica barely hears Lilian's voice crackling onto her radio over the clamor of the crowd in her ears and her head - but she *does* hear her. If she had more time to think, she would consider - how can I best support my allies? - but here, now, this instant, all she thinks about is what she, personally, does best.     A thousand hands - in ordinary human tones, as opposed to the pitch-black limbs grasping at the Elites on the stairs - grow and fold around her, covering every inch of her body with part of someone else's. Like in the trip to L-Corp Land, Baker and Seventh is smaller than its usual two-story height, but still towering above the crowd as a ten-foot concrete colossus. And... then what? Veronica hesitates, long enough that she'll be cursing herself for it later. She's not going to write the Walden's guests off as collateral damage, even if they'd be dead in twenty-three hours or so. She needs to find someone specific to go after.     As Flamel floats over the crowd toward the edge of the stage, Veronica puts together whose power was opposing her EGO. "What the HELL!" she shouts through Baker and Seventh's speakers. "Since when are you with THEM, Parsons!?" She points aggressively at the balcony. It's around this point that the slow, grinding wear of White's evil eye hex becomes apparent to whatever perceptory mechanisms alert Veronica to danger while in her EGO. The dark attention is clearly emitting from the balcony, somewhere, though it's hard to pinpoint exactly...     Her accusation of Flamel finished, she turns Baker and Seventh's speakers to a very different frequency band and fires a barrage of telekinetically-narrowed shockwaves upward into the balcony, taking advantage of the other Foundation allies not having made it up the stairs yet to attack with little discrimination. She'll notice once the evil eye drops from her, and will concentrate the blasts in that area - covering not only her own supply of psychic energy, but also the reserves in Geed's Fusion Riser.
Lilian Rook	Angry as she is, conflicted as she is, steering down the other road from panic by effortless practice that began long before training to fight, even if it might be worse, Lilian hardly notices Flamel until the nerves in her arm crackle and the muscles twitch. She of all people would know the very instant that any part of her body is out of place, when roused to action like this. It's bafflement, or perhaps abundant caution, that lets her hand get halfway down to her leg before she reacts.     Lilian's thumb flicks the release and her wrist operates the break action, issuing wisps of vapour and shooting a barely-used hexagonal rod of alchemical metal up into the air with a resonant 'ping', which she catches in her other hand. Identifying whatever muscle groups aren't being recruited and using them like that is freak shit. It's also more or less what Flamel wanted. But . . .     '*Please, stop.*'     "Blow me!" isn't exactly what he'd like to hear. Even if Lilian doesn't know how the trick works, adapting to the facts in front of her is sort of her specialty. Holstering her weapon in the same motion as raising and casting out her hand, Lilian uses a precious second and a half to draw with her fingertips what Sonetto writes on the air with her glasfeder; geometry rather than poetry, though, interlocking wheels of resonant design that collapse together with a clench of her fist. Lilian has presumed that there's no way Flamel can repeat such a complicated series of gestures after seeing it once.     It's also a fakeout. While Flamel is focused on not being cut in half with whatever magic comes next, Lilian hammers his mentals instead.     "Éirigh as a cuir uait!" is a verbal focus for doing so; understanding it isn't really important, but it's a rare moment of incredible unsubtlety when magic commanding him to 'stop what you're doing and back off' slams into his hindbrain.     It's theoretically a more efficient use of her energy, and something a Psychonaut is more likely to focus on responding to than physical violence. Lilian wasn't thinking about that when she made the feint.
James Bond	Do pardon me, ye uninvited.     Bond freezes. How did she know? His eyes dart down to the velvet, certain that must be what gave him away--     No. Don't waste time on that. They have the upper hand, and she knows it. She said it because she wants us to know it, and because she wants us to know there's no future where she doesn't win. <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Do whatever it takes. If the Foundation doesn't like it, I'll take the blame."     I've been trying to beat them on their terms--to catch up to them when they had a head start the whole time, to stop them throwing the ball when all that was left was for gravity to do its work. They count on it. That works to our advantage. It means none of them will see this coming.     Bond retrieves the heavy, cold Walther from his jacket, releasing the magazine into the other palm. He hurriedly scoops out four bullets, placing three back--but the numbered port on the magazine reading '4' bears a different payload. A projectile not meant to kill, but to serve as the delivery mechanism for a specially-designed tracking device.     All that remains is to wait for the proper moment. Veronica and Ultraman are distracting enough in their own right. This is a personal first of Bond's, having never met Schneider before, much less gone up against her. But that isn't good enough--in as much as there can be an instinct for this kind of thing, his tells him that he should wait just a moment longer, for her to think her duel has suitably commenced. "Regulus," he says in a hushed whisper. "I'm going back down. Keep me this way a little longer."     He hurries down the stairs. The immediate problem is visibility. Even without the prospect of Holly's ice, there is also the problem of the humans present. Lilian is right--they'll all be dead, soon. Something inside him wants to protest that. Something else wants to stomp that impulse down, and a third force inside him wants to question *that* impulse. How can that man have the gall to blame Vertin when this entire thing was something his people orchestrated? Of course it's a lie. But that doesn't mean he doesn't still feel the urge to shout it down even now, what feels like hours after it was said, even if it was only the span of moments.     Focus.     Bond breaks into a sprint, dead-set on Veronica--on Baker and Seventh, now scaled at just the right size for an incredibly desperate, and stupid stunt--exactly what he's sure would be expected of someone in his position. He shoulder-checks any passers-by, completely foregoing the subtlety afforded to him by his invisibility, then leaps, grunting in pain as his midsection slams against the hard, unyielding surface of her EGO. Gun in hand, Bond climbs to the mech's shoulders and dives, superhuman physique pushing him over the rim of smashed ice-wall. He aims at Schneider's shoulder, the Walther's bark now surely giving him away even if the rough crowdwork earlier didn't.     It has to look real--so the first shot is more effortful than the next two, but not nearly so much as the fourth. It sounds like a regular gunshot, especially to those up above. It looks like one, to the naked eye. But it doesn't hit Schneider--instead, the bullet shatters on the stage, convincingly splintering it as one might expect of a ricochet. The tiny tracker contained within comes alive, the momentum of its ejection sharply reversed by an internal guidance system which sees its small form magnetized to the nearest metal surface on her person.
White	Unfortunately, while White can handle projectiles and area-attacks, sound is understandably harder to react to as a primarily sight-based superhuman. She sees Veronica's shockwave coming more from the shift of Baker and Seventh, the smaller tells of 'bracing for an attack', but trying to intercept is going to block the Evil Eye one way or another. White can *see* through walls, but the Evil Eyes' magic can't cleanly emanate through them, which others may learn when she casts up a thick sheet of her webbing like a soundproofing curtain in front of the balcony. It probably won't survive for long if the parts of the balcony it's attached to start breaking away, or if someone fires something at it that may ignite it, but it provides a brief shield for Holly and Flamel... And, she supposes, for Arcana purely incidentally. Not that she seems to be all that pressed..?      That takes the ongoing Jinx off of Veronica and Riku for now, though the energy they've already lost is still greedily withheld. White really doesn't want to escalate, but it's looking more and more like the only way to have a hand on the scales is going to be with greater force, and given who she's able to spot even now, this is looking far too much like a genuine raid to control for very long. She won't waste more time trying to shield the balcony any further; Flamel and Holly can handle themselves. White vanishes from behind the cover of her webs and reappears on the opposite side of the room, boots adhered to the wall and knees bent to keep her semi-upright relative to the ground in defiance of gravity. She surveils for a moment, picking out where the next place to act should be, and her mind is swayed by witnessing the crowd being parted around Bond's movement, followed by those gunshots. She doesn't know it's Bond, doesn't know how much of a threat he might be or recognize his scheme, given a tracking bullet is just a little too 'spy movie' to come to her mind at all even seeing the bullets fly. But, she knows that if Schneider's shot, it could kill her.      White leaps down from the nook in the corner of the ceiling, landing amongst the crowd and almost directly on top of James's location, as best she can ascertain from the way civilians move around him and the location of the gunshots' origin. She genuinely doesn't even know who she's picking a fight with, and is counting heavily on the crowd of civilians to work as a mitigating factor against the large body of Baker and Seventh behind her, as she attempts to wrestle with the invisi-Bond, striking and grasping for his gun in a hasty rush before he can (she assumes) make another attempt on Schneider.
Schneider Greco	Whether or not she can 'see' through Regulus's arcana, Arcana (capital-A) knows that they are there.      The fact that there are invisible intruders behind her, though, is not a fact she finds important enough to even bring up. Nor does she feel the need to acknowledge Holly being shot in the face directly, or giants clashing below.      "Come to think of it I don't quite recognize the motif"      "Motif?" she says. For just a moment her angelic voice is edged with a crackling-sultry amusement.      She leisurely steps forward across the balcony floor; caresses Holly's cheek with a slick-gloved hand; and then licks the gold blood off of her own fingers, as serenely as if she were tasting a glass of wine. A moment later, a single droplet of gold drizzles down the spike, immiscible with the black, and splatters thickly onto the carpet too.      "Well-pleased am I, too." The Lady Arcana is shorter than Holly. It does not feel that way.      "... They reminded me... Of home."      Her eyes slide smoothly over to White, with none of the jerky flitting human eyes are meant to have. "They are home to those who find home with them," she says pleasantly. "They reminden me of home as well."      The color drains out of his face      "Something afflictest thee, far traveler?" Her attention swivels to Flamel just as smoothly, with another shlrrrrk-tilt of her head. The distaff glides reluctantly through the thickness in her skull and then hits a sharp stop as its barbs flush with her temple. The drizzle-dripping goes the other way, towards handle rather than tip.      She folds her arms under her generous breasts. In any time or place or manner other than this, it would be seductive. Wood splinters somewhere. Shots are fired somewhere else. The Lady Arcana does not care to blink for the fragments and the ricochets that pass not-far from her.      "My followers, yet," she says to him, not lifting her words over the gunshots, "are a crude instrument. But for what comes, they shall suffice. All do meet their fate. Do you not agree?"      At last the Lady Arcana comes to the balcony's edge, by Forget Me Not's hourglass. The sand in it seems to shiver at her approach. Leaning over the railing to look down at the chaos below, arms crossed on it, her eyes sweep the crowd; land on each of the Elites in turn; and...      Black goop drip-splatters down on Lilian, or where Lilian just stood, from the Lady Arcana's open 'brain'-impaling wound. Her arms squeeze her breasts together, framed by the railing, and her luridly vacant golden eyes settle for a moment on Lilian's face. She is weightlessly amused.
Schneider Greco	Tamamo's discerning-for-magic finds three sources; two static, one dynamic.      The first is a great, mysterious, and stable working surrounding the entire Walden and a good distance beyond. It seems purely protective and passive; what purpose it can have is hard to discern without knowing what force it's meant to divert, but one could safely assume it is what marks the area as 'safe' from the Storm.      The second extends purely underground; an enchantment partially of space and partially of animation. It seems to define the corridors and the tunnels of the Walden, making the place almost like a living thing.      The third is every bit of black-- drool? blood? soil?-- across the Walden, dripping from the masks, across the floors, and from Arcana's head. The function of this magic is unclear, if it has one, but doubtless local.      ... What is accelerating the Storm, then, can't be a ritual or magic. The process, somehow, is a purely mundane- or historic?- one.
Regulus	Regulus is pretty confident Schneider won't kill Vertin. She can't really be sure of that, of course, especially with everything else going on and with so many eyes on the situation. Normally she wouldn't have been confident in that at all but when someone says they like someone more than a little (Regulus's belief in peace and love means she inherently leaves out the 'maybe' that Schneider initially included) they don't usually go murdering that person. Not even if it's out of pureblooded necessity. No, she thinks she's seen enough of Schneider to be confident that Vertin will not be murdered in front of everyone. But that doesn't mean she won't be hurt. Or, even, that Schneider won't be if she chooses NOT to kill Vertin and for better or worse, Regulus cares about whether Schneider lives or dies--something she'd always care about, of course, but now it'd really hit her in the gut and that's a whole other level of caring about Schneider's well being than her general omni-love of the world and all those who seek their fair share in life. It's hard not to miss Sotheby too. She has a very big hat. But it seems right now that any attention set on tearing her apart because of the economic downturn is now being directed to Vertin. That's just great, Regulus thinks grimly. APPLe floats back to Regulus and-- ''Do pardon me, ye uninvited.'' "..." Regulus sighs and dispels her (personal) invisibility. "Yeah sure okay. I, the great Regulus, forgive you. Sorry for crashing the party but that's what Reguluses do best." She says, because she gets sassier when she's terrified, but she does keep it pretty low because she IS terrified. But she decides to leave the 'woman with a lot of aura' alone because what's she gonna do right now? Pick a fight to the person who literally just saw through her tricks? This doesn't mean invisibility wouldn't still have been helpful, but it's a decidedly different calculation if it's obvious enough to their BOSS. She'd rather shift back into invisibility later after everyone's used to her being visible again. One person whose invisibility she does keep up is Bond's, however, because he has a scheme (it won't last much longer just purely because of distance though!). Is he going to shoot Schneider in her pretty face? She doesn't know for sure! But he did say he quit the superspy gig so maybe he won't do that. Regulus is running a little low on options here. "APPLe, check on Sotheby, okay?" She murmurs to her friend. "But--" "Vertin wouldn't want her to be scared and alone just 'cause she's in danger. I don't have a plan yet. Just go." And so APPLe, reluctantly, floats on over to Sotheby, his own invisibility dispelling as he lands on her hat. "Miss Sotheby. Would you terribly mind my company? We might have need of your alchemical expertise soon enough." He says, largely to try and put her at ease and center her.
Timekeeper	"Mm. So this is to be... entertainment, for us?"     Forget Me Not steeples his fingers together, eyes still cast down on the crowd. His voice has quieted down after his speech, but leaning over the balcony and vibrating with excitement, he can't help but project loudly enough to be audible below. "It is so, my lady, but this is only the very first movement of our play."     "See how they have fallen into an uproar at mere words. That is the true state of humanity, to be reduced to clawing animals for the sake of clinging to their wretched ideas. This is the beginning of the work: their delirium will spread, and take root in every living body like a mutation, crescendoing to a world of insanity mere moments before they are reversed."     "In the 60s, it painted the sky in psychedelics and haunted ears with toxic music. In the 90s, it turned their veins to cords and cables. Soon, all of these absurdities will transform into a Storm that cleanses the world."     Down below, it's absolute havoc. The sheer intensity that the endless throngs of people take to drag Vertin to the stage is beyond reasonable, completely out of scale with the typical rowdiness of the crowd as it had been before. The madness of the group folds in on itself and multiplies, the desperation accumulates like mercury in the guts of a huge, shapeless predator, whose slavering hunger can only be soothed by the dollar.     Flamel knows the feeling when he tries to psychically compel them, and there's a slight push back. It's far weaker than it was during the dying hours of 1966, but the Storm Syndrome is present now, amplified by Forget Me Not's performance, and they don't *want* to be 'polite' anymore-- what's politeness ever gotten them? Not what they deserve, clearly.     Veronica and Geed have to grapple with both the sea of humanity, and the interference of all three Concord members. When one surge of people gets soaked by Geed's water, another spills in to take their place, taking advantage of the moment when he falters from White's Jinxing Eye. When Veronica reaches out to Vertin, the wall of ice crystallizes in between them, and while her attention's directed one way, human hands grip her from behind, clawing and dragging her away. "Sonetto and the others are on their way."     "APPLe!" Vertin hisses under her breath, eyes wide, trying to twist out of the piling-up grip of so many people inexorably pushing her to the stage. She tries to pull her arm free from the firm grip of one of her escorts and fails, ducking her head down to look at her wrist instead. "Fifteen fourty-nine-- tell them--" "I told you never come here, my-lord,"     "I know." Flamel's compulsion leads to a romantic anticlimax. Like so many hands propping up a toy, the crowd brings Vertin to the stage, and collectively lifts her up on their arms, rather than throwing her or shoving her any further. She strains upwards, and grasps Schneider's hand, stepping up over the edge of the stage. "I'm sorry."
Timekeeper	The suitcase hasn't left her grip, even here. Her only free hand takes the lipstick, and lingers for a second longer than necessary. The crowd watching them doesn't draw her eyes away from Schneider's, blisteringly sincere and unwavering even in this instant.     "I can't offer you everything. But if you need to go, you'll be welcome, up to the last moment. There's fifteen hours left, Schneider." Vertin carefully tucks the lipstick into an inner pocket of her jacket. At the gun, she says blandly, "I rather preferred the first offer."     Her hand comes back out of the jacket with a floppy disk pinched between her fingers, and in an instant, she whips it forwards onto the stage beside Schneider. It explodes into a triggered fireball, and the gun, too heavy for her to comfortably wield in one hand, clumsily fires a few shots into the smoke while she backpedals away. "What do we do? Can't fight all these people."     "We cannot, but..." Caught on the stairs, with the floor down below being in chaos and the floor above being the lair of the now-alert enemy, Sonetto is stranded and desperately helpless. She murmurs with a quiver to her voice as the fight on stage breaks out. "Timekeeper...."     Her voice hardens again, with a crack she just fails to suppress. "Regulus. Go to the Timekeeper. Dame Rook will retrieve them from the stage, and you will ensure that they stay out of the Manus's sight a second time. Please." "Do pardon me, ye uninvited,"     Sonetto has to trust in her allies now, for long enough that Vertin's life can be placed in their hands as long as it takes for the mission to succeed. But when that woman passes by her on the stairs, she freezes and goes pale like she's seen a ghost. Breathlessly, being invisible doesn't keep her from saying, "What-? Who...?" "Forget-Me-Not. Doth it go well with you?"     If Forget Me Not's excitement had been glowing up until now, Arcana's arrival makes him *radiant*, basked in Chernokov blue. He bows deeply, with a gasp, one arm swung out to the side.     "My lady! Words could not begin to suffice for the joy that fills me upon seeing your work towards its completion. The Storm proceeds as it ought to, as it will, and the delusions of this time have begun to take hold in the minds of the weak."     He straightens up, turning towards Holly and White on the balcony. "Now, please, my friends of the Concord-- Lady Arcana, the Guiding One, the leader of the Manus Vindictae, honors us all with her presence! Is she not the very picture of perfection?"
Timekeeper	Forget Me Not beckons one of the Manus waiters on the balcony to bring him a crate, which he opens. "The rabble will soon fall in line, my lady. If I may,"     He asks permission before turning away from her, which doesn't even seem to be something Arcana would ask him to do. Calling downwards, "Friends of the Walden, there is precious little time remaining! This doomed era will be washed away before long-- and who will save you, but the Manus Vindictae? These government dogs, lackeys of the St. Pavlov Foundation, would rather you never know of your fate--! But we will enlighten you! Take on our mission, and emerge into a new world order, born from the ashes of the old!"     He holds up a mask of interlocking hands, plucked out of the box for everyone to see. "Your first task, to be spared the sifting of the Storm-- is to kill the intruders! All of 'us', without exception, will be sheltered under the Manus Vindictae's wings!" "Back off! Get back or I'll kill every single one of you!"     Lilian's shout makes them hesitate, but the murmurings of 'if we do that, we'll get one of those masks?' and 'join the Manus Vindictae, and my debts won't matter?' quickly overpower the voice of a *woman*. It only takes one cry before they're charging at her, grappling and pushing her down to the ground just like happens with every other Elite currently visible: "That bitch can't take all of us!"     From behind Forget Me Not, though, an incantation cuts through his speech. "Regna sereno intenso ed infinito!"     A circle of light appears around the box of Manus masks, and crystalline spears hammer into it, cracking the masks in half. Sonetto stands there on the top of the stairs, visible now, with her eyes wide and her glasfeder upraised.
Regulus	''Regulus. Go to the Timekeper. Dame Rook will retrieve them from the stage.'' Regulus swallows. "Okay. Don't be a martyr. Vertin needs you. You can...rely on Lilian and I so..." And then she turns and rushes back down the stairs, no longer worried about stealth, but will she be able to pick Lilian out in the chaos and terror? She's not very tall! She can't look over the heads of all these tall angry people down there. She spins her head around but-- ''Blow me!'' Oh there she is! Regulus runs towards Lilian and Flamel and a realization hits her that finally gives her the first bit of hope she's had since this fuckup of an operation began. Flamel is right there. And she has no reason to hold back anymore. "Lilian! Sonetto sent me to you!" Important to share so Lilian doesn't think she's just fucking around. "Get to Vertin and I'll cover you!" She tosses a candy into her mouth, sucking on it as she rears back with her hand, trying to get her fingers behind Flamel's sunglasses and send a bright flash of light into his eyeballs! "Fuck you for doing that! " She shouts at him, obviously referring to throwing Vertin into a cage match with Schneider. "You heartless bureaucratic stooge! You've betrayed rock and roll! Hand over your guitar, no more sad acoustics for you!"
Riku Asakura	Riku, no longer Ultraman Geed, can't make headway against the crowd.  They force him back, and even a few punches are thrown in his direction, which take him down to his knees.  He can't get to the Timekeeper, and she's now even on stage.  It sucks, having to watch helplessly against the mass of people, driven insane by the Storm Syndome, seemingly spread by the Manus.   However, Riku can't give up.  Something in him refuses to give up despite the desperate situation they're in.  He comes to realize that it was White who sapped his strength.  Only to see her rush the stage to try and get at Bond.   He feels some of his strength return, thanks to Veronica.  He doesn't know if he has enough time in the Fusion Riser for another transformation.  He's got to be careful with his time, and he sees that Bond is going for Schneider.  So he grabs the Fusion Riser again... One more transformation sequence later, Ultraman Geed Primitive dives out, flying above the crowd and attempting to tackle White off the stage, leaving Bond without someone to oppose him.
Flamel Parsons	"Since when are you with THEM, Parsons!?"     Flamel's optimism and confidence return for a moment, when he sees Lilian unloading her gun. He takes a moment to reply to Veronica. "It's a matter of global mental health." He explains. "I'm doing what needs doing for the safe and stable mentality of the world, overall. That Storm Syndrome, you know--"     Uh oh. Shining orange exclamation marks rush out of his head when he sees the shape being drawn by Lilian. "Crap--!!" Those orange exclamation marks lattice around his body in a tight something-hedral shape that breaks any incoming cutting strike. But she was right: It isn't a mental defense.     ---     Ring. Ring. Director Parsons picks up the red phone.     "..."     "You-- you *can't* be serious." His eyes widen.     "..."     "I won't."     "..."     "...I know my position is precarious."     "..."     "Of course, but that--     "..."     "That's not an excuse for--!"     "Éirigh as a cuir uait!"     The lights go out in the Executive Department.     But the phone is still working. He whispers back to Lilian, in that voice she'll remember from the Motherlobe. "I can't sacrifice another one. Not UPE-1929, not Schneider Greco. I couldn't look any child in the eye back at Camp Whispering Rock if I turned a promising young ESPer away, on the verge of death. I won't be that person again, I can't be that person anymore." He whispers, tensely, into the phone. "No matter what you do."     ---     He's staggering back still, though. Stumbling, but recovering faster than he should. Less on mental defenses, more on... fundamental reserves and energy. Something Flamel *rarely* demonstrates. So what really gets him is Regulus coming out of nowhere-- "HUH--?!" --and blasting his eyes with a *flash* of light! That's more than enough time for Lilian to face what's going on with Arcana directly, undistracted except for maybe that mental reply, as he stumbles back, physical hands over both eyes and psionic hands flailing to try to get distance. "Ghhh-- my eyes! Come *on*!!" He shouts, temporarily blinded. "This is a little more important than music genre discussion!"     He'll surely have more to say to Arcana shortly, after he's stumbled back a moment. That one seemed to get him heavily.
Holly Asturias	"Well-pleased am I, too."     If Holly didn't get Forget Me Not's choice of words before, she certainly does now. Shorter and yet not at all...     "I'm glad!" It's so simple. Honest. Too little? "Was it to your taste? Revenant blood isn't something we can safely partake of, most of the time, so I've quite no idea how it tastes!"     She doesn't need to know the motif quite as much as she wants that answer, for all the show Arcana makes of sampling Holly's spilled blood.     Holly might well be the one with the least of a reaction to the constant drip, to the spike and the noises, for how normal that is for her. And yet it's unambiguously uncomfortable in an entirely different way. The presence, maybe, or the circumstances.     Or the knowledge that this calm host minds the chaos so little, and she's (likely) in the path to saving Schneider's sister.     Arcana returning to the railing prompts Holly to as well, even though that may well mean getting shot a second time. There is... so much going on. So much to keep track of. This went from a party, to a hostage situation, to a rescue, to a diversion slash fight until it's time to backtrack to the previous step. That's if nothing goes wrong. "Your first task, to be spared the sifting of the Storm-- is to kill the intruders! All of 'us', without exception, will be sheltered under the Manus Vindictae's wings!"     A frown, then, at Forget Me Not's grand speech - both at her, and at the crowd after. She can hear the echo of less agreeable Revenants, treating humans like little more than food, even though by her reckoning all of the men downstairs at least half deserve whatever happens next. Holly's hands grip the railing, the slightlest hint of cracking wood under her fingers. Her allies are all fighting it out and she's taking it easy because she got shot once? Because she's queasy about what's going on?     "Mm, Lady Arcana, if I may? You've promised safety to those under your banner here tonight, as I understand it?" Well, Forget Me Not did essentially offer such, and repeat it just now. "Is it enough to stay within the Walden? Or is it a boon you'll grant?" If she's going to do nothing she may as well try to get something out of Arcana that might benefit the rescue plan.     Keeping close to her might pay off, too.     No, there's no excuse, she has to keep up appearances, so--     "Ah, one moment."     Bond. She doesn't know him, but he's trying to interfere with the duel, and Schneider hasn't made any noise to change tactics. Leaning over the railing, next to Arcana, Holly lifts both arms, her golden blood bursting out of her skin and schlorping together into the shape of her trusty, equally golden rifle, long and bladed, golden Ichor glowing through transparent sections.     She aims down, for one of Bond's legs, and pulls the trigger. A streak of bright white-blue light shoots, instead of a bullet, ice cold, aiming to freeze the man's feet in place and keep him from advancing any more than he already has.     It's deliberate, not to be aiming anywhere that matters.     Bond knows his shots well enough to tell.
White	Unfortunately for Riku, amongst the stress of brawling with someone as competent as James, White isn't in a state of mind to show restraint when an easy shot presents itself under pressure. The tackle is blatant and easily forseen, completely linear, and met with the strongest physical structure her body can present with her hands occupied. Her right leg lifts slightly, then snaps straight out to connect the bottom of her boot with Riku's collarbone, barely missing his throat as he collides with the figurative steel beam presented by her high kick. For how she looks, the impact of her kick feels more like something Riku might normally only catch from a fellow kaiju-scale fighter, if not for the significant difference in weight she has to throw around. But, she leaves the counterattack there; she'd rather put her attention into an uninjured threat, not an exhausted, well-meaning boy.
Veronica	All at once the people in the Walden, most of them bystanders only a moment ago, heed Forget-Me-Not's call to arms and are mobbing every Foundation-aligned elite on the floor. Veronica has lost track of White in the crowd, left with a moment to think as the crowd surges against and up Baker and Seventh's body - this time, she uses that moment well.     Rather than lash out in reflexive anger at the press of ordinary folks, she tunes her soundsystem lower, lower, and unleashes a forward-facing wall of noise - a surprisingly quiet one! Rather than force projected through vibrations in the air, this time her speakers emit a subtler attack, resonating with the components of the inner ear just right to inflict a near-crippling sense of vertigo on anyone in a broad swathe between Veronica and the balcony. This won't get everyone off of every elite, but it at least gives Veronica enough room to move.     A bolt of freezing blue energy lances past Baker and Seventh, in the direction James Bond ran off. Flamel's out of action for the moment, and White is... somewhere. Whoever's left up on the balcony is clearly with the Manus, however, and must be stopped before they stop Bond. Between waves of balance-disrupting sound the speakers on Baker and Seventh's shoulders let out rapid-fire clicks, echolocation pulses.     When the sniper up top is located from the shape of a firearm, Veronica reaches out with her mind and one of Baker and Seventh's huge, blocky hands. A significant portion of the balcony railing crumples and tears free from its mounting, bending with frightful speed (especially for iron bars!) around the shooter above. It doesn't have to be enough to completely imprison Holly - just enough to stop her from taking another shot!
Schneider Greco	"But if you need to go, you'll be welcome..."      Schneider's eyes are fond and far-away. A nameless emotion tugs at her lips. "Thank you, my-lord. And, if you must be taken..."      'I will take you alive', she doesn't speak aloud. It's the bit of safety she can offer.      The Manus will not have her, not anymore, but they would be more than pleased to have Vertin.      "I rather preferred the first offer."      Then she giggles, despite all the forces converging to disrupt their romantic little duel, and for just a moment, eyes-shut, she looks her age. "So did I, my-lord. So did I."      She trains her gun on Riku from the start- BANG, BANG, BANG, into the knee of his drawn-out ghost-effigy- until Riku is deflected from the stage. She's weaving away from Vertin's thrown disk before it leaves their hand; the spotlight glare shines through the bullet-holes that Vertin leaves in her jacket as she emerges. BANG, skims the brim of Vertin's hat from below.      They're just in a deniably-close struggle when Bond rushes up-- "Porca madonna," she breathes where only Vertin can hear, alcohol carried on her breath-- and ducks his first purposeful miss, manifests and opens Angela's tough EGO umbrella like a shield in anticipation of the second, and returns fire at him- BANG, BANG, BANG- around its edge.      The tracking device homes in and tags part of her holster. In the moment, she doesn't notice.      Dropping the umbrella, she twists Vertin around, headlocks them from behind, and puts her gun to their temple human-shield-style against an anticipated follow-up from Bond. "Throw your gun down. You don't want to see a trag-ed-y, right~?" she purrs at him, with too-bright eyes.      The chamber is empty now, but with how nonstandard her guns are, only Vertin could guess that.
Holly Asturias	Veronica.     The balcony suddenly coming undone and moving against Holly is not something she expected but it's MUCH more preferable to being shot in the face by Lilian a second time! In that it's something she can react to, at least.     Her bayonet twirls in her hands, away from its firing position and like a spinning spear trying to clash against the railing. Rime forms on it, frosty fog shrouding the long rifle as it freezes the railing on contact in multiple spots. Holly lets go of it, leaping back - allowing the balcony coil to crunch in on the rifle instead of her, the weapon splattering back into golden blood that reenters Holly without a mess.     She spares Arcana a side-glance, to make sure she's fine too, close as she was to the sudden strike. Then with an annoyed little grunt, peeks down from the balcony, and produces another gushing stream of her blood, this time out of her lower back instead.     It stretches, stretches, fast, reaching down to coil around Veronica before the blood solidifies into a harsh, segmented mechanical tail with a stinger at the end. It reeks of blood as it squeezes, lifting Veronica up towards the balcony despite her size.     But that stinger doesn't try anything funny.     Buy time. Just buy time.     "How rude! Please apologize to our host *this instant* for destroying her property!" Having lifted Veronica up to be at-level does mean she gets a good look at Arcana too.     That tail-- her Jail-- surely it could squeeze harder than it already is, nevermind what the stinger is for, so why isn't she?
Lilian Rook	<J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "I have as much as can be gleaned. Mr. Bond, your final moves, if you please. Lilian, I have no more to make. There is no ritual here that relates to the Storm's approach." <J-IC-Scene> APPLe, says, "The Timekeeper says 'Fifteen Fourty-nine." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "What?! How is that even possible?!" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "It's nineteen fifty one! You misheard!"     Even now, Lilian hasn't lost track of the seconds that slip by. Ever since she began counting them, the number of times she has lost track can be counted on both hands. It's a fixation that might never go away. Even after she finally counts all the way up to the final number, that equals the year to the day to the minute to the second stolen from her. Vertin had smiled at her; not looked grossed out or called her insane. So, hearing that from a man as straight-laced as APPLe, straight from Vertin herself . . .     'Your first task, to be spared the sifting of the Storm-- is to kill the intruders! All of 'us', without exception, will be sheltered under the Manus Vindictae's wings!'     . . . Is forgotten in an instant.     'What was I thinking?' is the thought that drives the air out of her lungs. 'Of course it'd come to this. Manus Vindictae is the enemy. I'm with the Foundation. That's how it works.' comes next, and feels like it fills her lungs from the bottom up with cold, muddy water. Lilian struggles to draw breath. Jilted on some level, in some way that defies her inward gaze, the air stings in her throat, hot from her own skin-crawling self-consciousness; a private humiliation at herself alone.     'That bitch can't take all of us!'     Hey, hey! Leash your fucking *bitch*, why don't you!'     Lilian bursts out laughing. The timing is utterly insane, she knows, which makes her laugh even harder. Breathless, wide-eyed, expression frozen in utter incredulity, Lilian calls out "Do you want to bet?" and the fact that these people were betting all night just a moment ago makes it even funnier. Lilian curls her fingers and presses the heel of her palm to her face, gushing "Why not! Ten million to one odds! You may as well! Because your lives aren't even worth the bloodstains on my shoes."     At the Sotheby mansion, the tide of greed-driven insanity that ravenously clawed at something more precious to her than safety scared Lilian; like being dragged under and drowned by 'mankind'. But having to bear the tide of human desperation and scrabbling violence a second time today, a third time in three days, slams past her limit completely and underflows. One of the two patrons that grabs her from behind is slammed up against the wall hard enough to fracture bone; the other is hurled over her shoulder and launched bodily into the crowd.     The first few that charge her are met with are met with a pivoting middle toe kick to the side of the ribs and a backblow to the base of the skull. The full windup of a front kick to the chest sends another sprawling into the men behind him. A high forearm strike to the side of the head sends one to her left spinning. She grabs another to her right by his suit, spins, and tosses him, then strikes another brawler four times with her closed fist before he can blink, clutches his collar, and drives her knee into the guts of the human just behind him.
James Bond	The worst thing a spy can be is uninformed--Bond knows *of* White, heard the name in briefings ahead of working with her the few times that he has. Her close-quarters work is among the few things he's seen her do in person, even then, it was in passing, not at all on the receiving end.     The best thing that one can hope to have in selling a deception is a captive, credulous audience. In that way, White's intervention is the best thing that could've happened for Bond.     Her hand on the gun is like gravity--constant, uncaring force. Where gravity can be overcome only with preparation and ingenuity, Bond has only the latter at the moment. Gritting his teeth, Bond's breath sharply leaves him in the willful, furious fits of a would-be assassin who finds his work interrupted. It takes him less struggling to find out that he can't overpower than he spends trying to do it--he hangs on for just a moment before he switches gears.     Tugging her hand at a ninety-degree angle, he presses his hip into her center of mass and plants a leg between hers, striking into her solar plexus with an elbow in the same motion. He can't match her in strength, but what he does have is well above what a normal human man should be able to muster, especially at his age. The maneuver puts distance between them but costs him the gun, sending it clattering to the ground--but that just means he can keep up the act and dive for it, just in time for Riku to come barreling onto the stage. That bitch can't take all of us!     Rage boils up in Bond's chest as he hits the stage, gun back in hand. 'That bitch.' It takes him back to the old days--of desperately looking for the light within people and never finding it. Of finding it, once, and seeing them all recoil from her, trying desperately to snuff it out. But this isn't that. This is deception, too. This is the work of one man, who knows damned well what he's doing, and who delights in bringing that ugliness out. He makes to stand, but can't--Holly's work.     The dropped gun and the ice had already shed any veneer of subtlety, at this point, so there's little point in holding onto it now. The red laser from his watch burns through the invisibility and melts the ice--not nearly fast enough for his liking, and so brute stubborn force shatters it from the first moment of structural instability.     The part of him that wanted to argue for these people is weaker now--and the gun feels sickeningly familiar in his hands. He could do it. He could take four of them down--maybe enough to scare the rest. What difference would it make? They're all going to be dead soon enough anyway.     That thought is the most sickening of all--that after all this time, he's still capable of that level of contempt. That there's still a part of him that could kill so casually. His finger twitches against the Walther's frame--     Throw your gun down. You don't want to see a trag-ed-y, right~?     This was what that man up there wanted all along. I won't do it. Bond's eyes meet hers. They don't flinch from hers, despite the brightness. They tell of an empty, too-quiet house in Scotland, beneath the accusing branches of a barren tree, both standing to spite the cold as bitter as the one that meets the brightness in her. "I've seen my share already." The Walther clatters aside. The red stain on his suit hardly seems to slow him down--not in his movements, nor in the exhaustion that ought to be gripping him.
Lilian Rook	§This is the worst possible use of my time. These people are zero threat. They're amateurs, they're fighting each other, and they're drunk. Go to the stage, grab Vertin, and get out. We still have fifteen hours to clutch this out. I know the ringleader's face now. I can find him again. There's no point thrashing the mob. Stop.§     "Hey, how does it feel when the bitch hits back? Don't get frightened now! How about a billion to one! All of you, versus one degenerate!"     §Stop! Stop!§     "Did you think I was joking?! I've waited my entire life to do this!"     Lilian has no idea how she'll begin to justify this later. It'll probably hinge on the fact that she still hasn't let go of the spell clenched in her left fist, and people's jumbled memories at the time. Choosing not to think about it is like a drug. She would fight every single patron in the Walden, if Regulus hadn't found her halfway through her shouting "Worthless! Fucking! Parasites! All of you!" to tell her something vastly more important; and more importantly, use Vertin's name in her ear.     'Lilian! Sonetto sent me to you! Get to Vertin and I'll cover you!'     "You? Cover me?" The second source of incredulity hits Lilian like a delayed splash of cold water. She looks around the Walden a second time, deliriously reorienting herself in space, and finally clicks her tongue against her teeth. "Got it. I'll rendezvous with Sonetto as soon as she's out."     'I can't sacrifice another one. Not UPE-1929, not Schneider Greco. I couldn't look any child in the eye back at Camp Whispering Rock if I turned a promising young ESPer away, on the verge of death. I won't be that person again, I can't be that person anymore.'     "You sorry man. Haven't you realized it? They've pit two of them against each other and forced you to choose. Those girls are like dogs in the ring with both sides cheering them on."     Shaking her head, Lilian gauges the distance of the crowd still around her and their willingness to keep charging in a heartbeat, draws a line with her eyes to where Vertin is, takes a deep breath, and abruptly stops still at the feeling of wet spatter on her back.     She would know if it were blood instantaneously; the heat and smell are far too distinctive. The viscous substance seeping into her white top and sticking it to her skin, clinging dark-translucent to her back, sends shudders down her spine. Risking a split second glance upwards, Lilian hurriedly steps forward, away from the balcony, and twists her neck to see--     Lilian's pupils dilate. Goosebumps spread down her neck. The match to the Manus arcanist that Regulus was going on about is like someone shouting from miles away in her mind. She has told Vertin before of how many nights she used to spend in the trees, refusing to go home, even when it stormed so violently that she might have died; the sense of gathering pressure she feels from that woman lights bright red warnings next to those memories on instinct. Lilian gets out "Nóiméad ansin." then hesitates for three quarters of a second, and finally disappears right in front of her.
James Bond	"I hope the next time you people go shopping for human shields, there's no one you care about on the list." There *is* something Schneider might recognize, in his eyes, which haven't flinched from hers. It's the kind of thing that can only be recognized by someone familiar with the calculus of weighing the time one has left on Earth against what could be done *in* that time. Not in the abstract sense that all people do--no, in the sense that one is keenly aware that the time one has is substantially less than the time others are given. <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "I have as much as can be gleaned. Mr. Bond, your final moves, if you please. Lilian, I have no more to make. There is no ritual here that relates to the Storm's approach."     "It's pretty obvious you won." He is weighing that calculus, right now. Nakedly considering his life in exchange for Vertin's. So far as he's aware, Schneider's gun is still loaded. "You can let her go now."
Riku Asakura	The foot connects with Geed's collarbone, or at least where a bone would be were he flesh and blood right at that time.  The blow is vicious, however, like something from someone MUCH larger than White.  Sparks rain down from where he was struck, enough to stagger the young Ultraman.   Schneider's shots ring true, blasting into the Ultra's knee.  The force of the blow was big enough to cause a white energy to shower from the blow instead of the sparks that normally follow such blows.  Geed howls in pain, falling to a knee, and is ejected from the stage.  His world is pain and bodies right now, the bodies of the civilians willing to hurt them to get whatever greed they want taken care of.   What could he do now?  He's a leg down and nearly out of drive to do anything meaningful.  Bond's down, and so is Vertin.  White's got the advantage, and so has Schneider.  He's got no idea that this is a feint, or at least a holding back their strength kind of game they're playing.  That and an entire crowd wanting to tear them apart, caused by the madness of the storm.   Slowly drawing himself to his feet, favoring his right leg, as it's been shot to hell, he draws both hands up, channeling energy throughout his body.  His eyes flash brightly, and white, red, and black energy swell in his body before bringing his hands into a plus shape.  He fires a beam from them, aiming to try and strike White and drag the beam towards Schneider.   His gem is blinking red faster now.  This play is desperation; anything he could do to try and protect his allies, he'll do it.
Regulus	''<J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "It's nineteen fifty one! You misheard!'' While APPLe presumes it's a matter of inertia, Regulus supsects it's a matter of schemes. "Maybe--maybe it didn't accelerate, maybe that's just the time Vertin wants us to catch back up with her. We should try to keep that time in mind." It's a bit of a strain for Regulus to think like Vertin in this level of depth. She might know the Timekeeper well at this point but that doesn't mean she's got her sense for tactics. Vertin would want to get Schneider out for sure, she trusts Schneider enough to kiss her and BE CUTE ON STAGE WITH HER, so she probably doesn't think she's in danger from Schneider. But there is everything else to worry about. What about that? It seems crazy to send her backup away. She doesn't get angry at 'that bitch can't take all of us!' because it'd be like getting mad at, well, a storm. Lowercase. She's lived in that kind of language her whole life and it passes through Regulus like air. ''This is a little more important than music genre discussion!'' "Your inability to properly understand music is part of why you keep making everybody miserable!" Regulus shouts back at him, because honestly? She's just mad at him. Mad at him for a lot of things. Vertin wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back so much as the piano dropped from a skyscraper that broke the camel's back, but there were plenty of straws piled up before the big cacophany of a splattered percussion instrument burst onto the scene. ''You? Cover me?'' "I mean if you cover ''me'', I get up there and Schneider beats me up. It's the only option, love! So uh, I'll do my best, okay?" She nods to Lilian hastily as she turns her back to Lilian so she can focus on 'the mob'. Regulus has never been fond of 'the mob'. Even when it isn't real, it's what people use to turn the most rad protests into displays of meaningless violence instead of meaningful violence. Usually the cops. But sometimes just assholes. And sometimes they just materialize the mob out of thin air. Just like Forget Me Not just did, like a true magic trick. Abacadabra. And when that happens, how can a voice ring out over them. Can a song calm something like this, with such real greed and loss behind it? Regulus thinks of her mostly empty pockets, empty--except--for the gold that Sotheby had given her. Regulus reaches into her pocket and draws out the vial with the gold within. This is it. This is the time to use the key item. "You know, I got this from the Sotheby household! It's worth a small fortune!" She rears back with her arm and chucks it into the air and into the crowd as it glows, unnaturally augmented by Regulus's arcane skill. "Try and catch it!" She shouts. "Probably could pay off a loan or two!" And then a flash of light erupts out from the gold, threatenintg to blind anybody who got distracted enough to look up at it.
Veronica	Veronica shouts in surprise as Holly proves strong enough to lift even a half-sized Baker and Seventh fully off the ground. She grits her teeth for a follow-up attack of some kind, but none comes.     "How rude! Please apologize to our host *this instant* for destroying her property!"     Veronica's incredulity, amplified by Baker and Seventh's soundsystem, is audible across the Walden and possibly beyond. "PROPERTY!? You think I'm here, now, because I give a rat's ass about--"     Her eyes flick over to Arcana. She immediately wishes they hadn't. Not because of what she sees, no, but what she *feels*. Even with her psychic attention firmly on powering Baker and Seventh, the membrane between her own self and the minds most important to a place and time is thin, translucent. Now, there is a great churning darkness on the other side.     "Jesus," she mutters, and instinctively struggles in Holly's grip like a squirming animal, anything to get away from Her. It takes Veronica a moment to remember she can do more than writhe. One of Baker and Seventh's hands plants on the coil of solidified blood, attempting to crush and sever it; at the same time, the full power of her EGO, the will to freedom of thousands of people, pushes *out*, breaking the coil's grip. When she's finally free and lands on the floor below, Baker and Seventh's weight, though telekinetically buoyed, is enough to crater the floor.
Flamel Parsons	"They've pit two of them against each other and forced you to choose."     "I picked her on purpose before they did anything."     Director Parsons puts the phone back on the receiver.     ---     Arcana is here. Flamel slowly recovers, his vision fading white, then black, then slowly back into focus... He grasps for his fallen sunglasses, then finds them blindingly dark and takes them off again, revealing those unremarkable-gray eyes. And he looks back up to her.     Her slippery, sliding spike is unnerving him. If there's a brain in there in the first place, then Flamel is having a hard time with understanding it. "Just," he mutters. "Got a little startled by the landscape, so to speak, Lady Arcana." He works his shoulders. He brushes past it with a topic that's disconnected, but easily implies a connection enough to be polite. "The Storm Syndrome is already setting in and I haven't had a single chance to make contact with an ideal subject. Don't let *me* of all people ruin the celebration of your arrival!"     He doesn't dare to move forward, to re-engage the combat, with Schneider holding the tense hostage situation at the very edge of a trigger-pull. *He* sure wasn't counting bullets, but he'd rather the tension reduce. He pulls back to the balcony, intent on avoiding more psychic backlashes and damage to his eyes while he's reeling and vulnerable -- though he shouts back at Regulus, "Those two mental faculties don't have anything to do with each other!" And he won't be in a good position to interfere with Vertin's extraction...     The extraction is going off, and Flamel doesn't have enough in him to pursue. And there are other reasons not to. "You know, the general stress level is reaching the point of un-guidable panic soon. Not to be out of line as far as guiding goes, compared to the Guiding One, but maybe she'd be best served by a reduction in tension now. I understand you want more new friends to distribute your gifts to, rather than forcing more violence to thin the numbers! Better the Storm's sifting than chance, I'd guess?" He gives an easygoing shrug to Forget-Me-Not. "I'm a bit selfish though, I just want to get a look at some brains with fresh Storm Syndrome, so I can get to work on my counterpattern."
White	The fight with James is messy, more on White's part than his. She matches some of his maneuvers, but isn't prepared for others, and particularly underestimated his own strength when he positions her for that elbow-strike. She's tough, almost dense when the blows meet her, but still light enough to be knocked back and turned aside. The blows she lands on him probably don't connect cleanly; she is admittedly an amateur compared to him in hand-to-hand, and noticeably not leveraging her magic either. If they had longer to settle the fight, White could probably edge the agent out on raw staying power, but as things are...      He gets his gun back, after all that work she'd done to take it away. She should've smashed it immediately, she realizes now. Riku doesn't hold her up for long under these circumstances, but it was still a blunder, and now Schneider's been made to compensate, something that White grits her teeth about while correcting her posture. This time when Bond drops his handgun in the standoff, White flings and lashes it to the wall beside the entrance doorway with a rope of webbing, where she hopes she won't have to think about it for the immediate future; it's not like she knows how to take apart a gun by hand.      This is all just *so much*. So many people, the yelling and screaming, the smell of sweat and blood all around her, the people crashing against her back and rushing around her. She's so frazzled, at having to be in the midst of the crowd throwing her fists around that she can't get a proper situational read even with her omni-directional sight. She's struggling to weigh the impulse to quiet everything surrounding her, versus having to comply with the act for Schneider's sake...      It's in that moment of tenuous, anxious stillness, as White tries to reascertain what it is that she should be doing, that Riku decides to make a move. White isn't easy to sneak-attack, but she's not immune to it either; her own chaotic thoughts can be double-edged. In those brief moments where Riku is preparing his attack, she can barely ascertain what to expect based on a vague sense of supernatural energy-flow and (more significantly) years of false memories of absorbing serialized television shows, and the normally useless genre-convention knowledge that gives her.      She doesn't even turn immediately, considering her countermeasures too deeply. 'He's clearly getting ready for some kind of super move.' 'He's sweeping, so it has to be a beam, or maybe a machinegun? But his type never uses spam-fire as a finishing move.' 'Wait, that arc is-!'      White doesn't expect a stone wall to stop an Ultraman's desperation move. She doesn't have any magic suitable for a beam clash, either. Most of her spells interact with real, physical materials, not energy, and the Evil Eye doesn't have any substance to clash with. So, there's just one option, if she's meant to make sure Schneider can't possibly be hit, let alone Vertin currently held hostage in her arms.      She summons her scythe into her hands, steps forward into the brunt of Riku's blast, and swings the blade down into it. That scythe is just as divine as the rest of her, and likely even more invulnerable. The dark magic drooling and flaring from the edge barely interacts with the energy at all except to consume small parts of it that are forced to scatter and part around the weapon, but the sheer physical obstruction of the weapon is almost unthinkable to blast through! Unfortunately, it's quite a narrow barrier when presented at length like this, and White herself... Ends up being the backboard for the rest of the diffused beam. It might scorch her, shred her superhuman skin or even blind her momentarily, but she's not going to let Schneider take that hit. White will be fine... Eventually. She always is. 'Oh Kami-sama, when did I get in the habit of being this soft..?'
Schneider Greco	"I've seen my share already."      The smile on Schneider's face grows a little less feigned-nakedly-gleeful as she stares down Bond. "Have-not we all? Mmmh, the young, we still have our stomachs for it," comes out with a strutting-giddy cruelty, anyway.      A mismatch between what she'll show when hidden from the balcony, and what she'll say loudly enough for the crowd to hear. "Why should-I let her go, hm? Did-not you know, dear governor... she is an 'arcanist shield', not human~."      With her face shaded from the crowd, but not from Bond, she takes a second to whisper into Vertin's ear. There's a short exchange. It ends with "Tch."      Then--      Click.      Schneider pulls the trigger against Vertin's temple. Her gun clicks, empty. She pretends to be surprised.
Schneider Greco	Up on the balcony, Arcana serenely accepts Forget Me Not's adulation, without any indication of prideful basking. You would expect a cult leader to be less indifferent to praise.      "The rabble will soon fall in line, my lady. If I may,"      "Thou mayest." The 'Guiding One' says it as angelically as she says almost everything else. Her purring voice slides from 'archaic' to 'almost modern', effortlessly: "The Era does as Eras do, and ends. I leave the ending to you to write."      And yet...      Flamel is baying in agony. White has left the balcony entirely. Even Holly is only half-focused on their pleasant chat. The Lady Arcana cannot have that.      She smiles almost absentmindedly at Holly, but the wooden shrapnel shrieking right past her face bothered her not in the least. "All the world is to my taste," she says, "as well as what's beyond it. Yet you are distracted from me, far travelers. Shall I bring us peace?"      She reaches up as if withdrawing a hairpin, and takes the barbed distaff gently by its handle, and-- Krr--crunchhh, glrk, glrshhhhglrglrrr.      The barbs rake through her skull with a fresh spill of glistening black, gaping the lobotomy-wound wider before it oozes shut again, and she pulls it free like Excalibur from the stone, with a crack-gurgling of what gives way too sickeningly easily to be true bone. Her face remains easily serene.      Without addressing Veronica- without even really focusing her eyes on Baker- she waves her wand like a conductor's baton, still slick-dripping with what should be her brains, and the blackness all across the Walden quivers in unison. It quivers from masks; it quivers as velvet; it quivers in dark corners where it hid away.      All of it, hers. All of it, perhaps, Her.      The spotlights flicker as she conducts long strands of it together into reconstructing the balcony railing, and the chairs, and the tables; every wooden fragment pieced back together, cracks sealed with black tar. "Do not concern yourselves--" "Merda, she's--?!" says someone inconsequential, and faraway. "--with what is being broken. Anything of consequence can be repaired. Look; do I not speak true?" "My-lord, you can't stay...!"
Regulus	''Those two mental faculties don't have anything to do with each other!'' "You have a zillion genius psychics in your head but you're still so wrong about that?! Did they forget to put a childhood in you or something? Music is more honest about the heart than our brains can know, some of it goes straight to the nerves and bones!" ''Click.'' Regulus squeaks in terror and then looks mightily put out. ''Arcana Auracana farming'' Oh god, Regulus thinks. She can't even be scared-sassy about this. Hurry up Lilian please please please. ''My-lord you can't stay...!'' "Rendezvous, Rendezvous!" The animal terror takes hold of the lion but she won't run until she confirms Lilian's got Vertin--or given up on her.
Timekeeper	Being on the stage is the safest place for Vertin at the moment, despite facing off against a girl with an unbroken streak of far more skilled duelists than them. There'd be no justification for Schneider to not shoot her in the back if she turned and ran, and with the crowd surging up against the foot of the stage, desperately watching for their promised payout upon Schneider's obvious victory, there's nowhere she can go. This careful balance of barely not-killing each other strains against the ticking clock, until anything changes.     Or rather, Schneider not killing her. The pageantry of this being a 'duel' can only be sustained for so long, until Vertin's attempts to put up a fight stop being believable to the audience above. Spectacle and obscuring flashes of arcanum are her best weapons here, one hand always occupied with the suitcase, waiting for Lilian to teleport her off the stage, the Elites to overwhelm the crowd, or, selfishly, for Schneider to turn her gun towards the man on the balcony. "Throw your gun down. You don't want to see a trag-ed-y, right~?"     "...!"     Vertin's pinned in the headlock, turned from an opponent into a hostage in a second. She can't aim the gun well enough in this position to get a solid shot off, and if she did, certainly a fighter like Schneider would have her dead before the trigger's halfway pulled. Except--     The gun's unloaded. This, still, is a performance on the razor's edge, the steps of the dance shifting to delay the judges' verdict. Neither of them want to shoot the other, but both are aware they would before the clock hits zero. Schneider won't compromise on her survival no matter what, and Vertin knows she's the only lifeline for everyone she brought here and can't afford capture. She could twist the gun in her hand, try and angle it towards Schneider's foot, but the cold tension in her chest stops her for long enough that warm breath brushes against her ear. "It's pretty obvious you won."     Vertin meets Bond's eyes, with a startlingly intense stare, without a trace of fear. She flicks her eyes emphatically to the side, to sweep away the calculus she clearly reads off of his face herself, and then slams her elbow into Schneider's stomach just after the pistol clicks. "Do not concern yourselves--"     Twisted free, whispered words nearly drowned out by the shuddering of black ichor all around the Walden, Vertin stops before escaping the stage. She's gripped by the display of conjuring and manipulating the very substrate that defines the Manus Vindictae, that wraps around the entire bar for no purpose besides an idle, careless gesture of comfort. On the edge of the stage, still surrounded by the impenetrable sea of human fervor, her soliloquy is: "Run!" "My-lord, you can't stay...!"     "Can *you*?! They'll kill you!" Vertin turns towards the back of the Walden, where the labyrinth lies beyond. By the front door, the masked Manus bouncers filter into the bar, summoned by the stirring of Arcana's ichor. She doesn't hesitate in grabbing Schneider's wrist and pulling her along. Barely kept under her breath, "We will save her too. I won't leave you here."     If snatching Vertin off the stage, Lilian will have to contend with Schneider at the same time. She scans the crowd to check for Regulus, Geed, Veronica, Odette, Sonetto, Lilian, Tamamo, Moissan, Sotheby-- "Sotheby! Use your Eraser Fluid! Everyone, come through the gap!"
James Bond	"NO!"     Bond bellows, before he can stop himself, his hand outstretched.     Click.     Relief washes over him, shot through with sickly adrenaline. It percolates into resentment, and settles into cold resolve. "You want a reason."     Run!     Bond doesn't. Not right away.     "You'll find someone who'll make you feel like you have a fighting chance, instead of like you're always dying," he says to Schneider, locked chillingly in place.     He turns and lifts his wristwatch, firing the last of his stun capsules into the crowd ahead of Sotheby to give her that opening. "And then this place will ask you to choose, and you won't realize that you don't actually have a choice until they take that person away from you."     "That's how those of us who live to be old lose our appetite for it." He can't find it in him to argue against Vertin--no matter the resentment he feels towards Schneider for being party to Forget Me Not's theater of human ugliness. So instead, he breaks for the opening.
Riku Asakura	The beam escapes Geed, but White interposes herself between the beam and Schneider.  The beam is deflected away, while the motes of energy explode all around her from the masterful deflection of the shot.  However, Geed could barely stand at this point.  He could only watch as Schneider pulled the trigger... *click* Relief overcomes Geed, as finally the transformation fades from him and he shrinks back to being Riku again.   'Run!' Riku nods once, but his leg remains messed up from Schneider's shots.  It's bleeding, indicating some real damage got through to his real body from his Ultraman body.  Still, he does his best not to keep others held up, trying to run behind Vertin, and hopefully someone else will keep the Manus goons off of them.   He's only half aware that Vertin is dragging Schneider with them; he doesn't have the headspace to even argue why they were dragging her with them.
Lilian Rook	'Maybe--maybe it didn't accelerate, maybe that's just the time Vertin wants us to catch back up with her. We should try to keep that time in mind.'     "Never haven't." Lilian murmurs by Regulus' ear, lost in the crowd. Long before even her eyes can saccade to where she was on spinal reflex, she's already gone.                 -----[stop]-----     She was already pushing her way through the crowd. Or already had. Or hadn't yet but the the bill passed when Regulus looked. From Lilian's perspective, her surroundings are a sea of howling faces and grasping claws; flying spittle and bulging eyes and bared teeth like devils out of a painting done in the high middle-ages, frozen at the peak of their grotesquerie and lit chiarascuro by Regulus' flash.     For a moment, she worries at why she can smell blood; she rarely smells much of anything like this; then breathes out in relief when she locates it on her shoes, just as she'd threatened. The heat of countless bodies, stopping all at once, makes her skin feel feverish and her insides cold, but that thought sits smouldering in the bottom of her chest as she ploughs through the lukewarm void. Her twisting and turning turns to shoving, and then her shoving turns to elbowing, then kicking, then knocking aside lifeless and desperate men one after the other as she surges to the stage, with one thing on her mind: 'make it look good'.                 -----[start]-----     Click.     'Run!'     Lilian appears on stage in the mist of a three point landing. In her free hand is one of Schneider's magazines; already empty, but nobody needs to know that from even the front row, when she waves it out of her hands and pockets it like a card trick. She lunges upwards from her crouch as she does, hitting Vertin at ungentle speed with the arm she means to lift her up into and sling her over her shoulder.     She can't actually teleport through the wall. Everyone has to not notice that until Sotheby is done. So Lilian turns backwards as she leaps away, extends her left arm, and finally unclenches her fingers. The layered arrays condensed around her fingers spin free as if released by ripcord, flaring up black-gold bright, and finally flashing a thirty foot wide wedge-shaped gouge across the surface of the stage that burns live with the reek of ozone and iron.     It certainly wasn't an earnest attempt to miss. However, with Lilian demonstrating it being her fault that Schneider's gun ran dry, she trusts Schneider implicitly to get out of the way of the short but obvious telegraph. If she doesn't . . . No, she will. Lilian has to disappear again while the floor is still cooling, subjecting Vertin to the sense of motionless vertigo and the short-term retroactive memory of rough carry.
Holly Asturias	Veronica breaks free. That's, not surprising. That tail is great, but it isn't Baker-strong. The weight of the struggle cracks and deforms the golden segments, but it all turns back into blood and splashreturns into Holly anyway.     She huffs, just a bit.     But seeing Arcana clearly discouraged Veronica, so... win? Kind of? It's... quite unclear what the state of things are now.     Though one thing is certain and it's that Arcana wants eyes on her.     Holly can't possibly know how dangerous doing otherwise would be! What she can tell is that something is very, very wrong with the Walden. Is this entire building Arcana's Forma? But that's... not possible, is it?     A whole building?     Every shadow and dark spot and...     No, worse, she didn't get an answer.     They still don't know how the safety net works.     With Veronica gone, Holly can once again devote full attention to Arcana, if Arcana can overlook the thousands of thoughts speeding in her mind about the situation. The escape - is Schneider's wish, evidently. Which leaves the Concord behind to continue being hosted by Arcana.     "So trivially... this domain is yours in more than simple ownership, isn't it?" It's a bit obvious! But what it implies is...     ... could she already know they were snooping around the basement?     Or is that beneath her notice, too?
White	The fight is... More or less over, in the short term. In the moment, it feels find to justify simply watching the others run, walk, or hobble away through the hole created by that younger girl White hasn't seen before. This isn't like back on the day of the massacre though; White knows this time that Schneider won't get off scott free if they just half-ass things. No, her delays have a purpose.      First, she has to let herself recover from Riku's attack, helpfully recycling the energy she stole from him and Veronica before. Along with repairing her skin, her clothes weave back together with freshly generated replacement silk wherever holes might have opened from Riku's blast, but it's a little bit slow; Riku's power and hers have a bad compatibility, after all. That's just how it is with heroes and dark gods. Secondly, while she might strictly be able to teleport ahead of the escaping group into the morphic tunnel system, that would both give away that she'd been in the tunnels just a while earlier, and it's not as if she knows exactly what route they would take anyway...      Those are good excuses to give the others somewhat of a running start, she thinks. She only arrives at her third excuse after glancing back and upward at the balcony, where Holly and Arcana are still speaking. White hasn't been able to pay nearly as much attention to this concerning new face as she would've originally wanted, so- "Miss Holly."      White teleports from there, across the way downstairs, back up beside Holly. She puts a hand on the taller woman's head, and manifests one of her spiderlings on the top of her head like a hat. It puts on a friendly show of waving a foreleg in Arcana's direction, greeting her like the most harmless little mascot creature it can pretend to be. "We shouldn't... Linger long. If you are going to stay here, and talk... Let this one know... When you are ready." This way, if they have to split up for any length of time, they can quickly regroup... For whatever purpose might be necessary. Flamel, meanwhile, she makes it more optional for; she just kind of looks at him expectantly, ready to give him a spider-hat if he wants one.      But that's over relatively quickly. White might not be able to justify idling to talk to or inspect Arcana for long, but if for no other reason than keeping up appearances she does make a moment of deliberate, searching eye contact and ask, "... What are you hoping for... Tonight?"      She doesn't know what she expects to learn. Maybe a bit about her aspirations, or whether she's truly as calm as her expression implies? White can use those scant moments to try and scrape a bit of information with the Evil Eye of Analysis too, but... White is a *damaged* god, after all. Even Lilian has abilities that White can only infer the nature of, due to how the Evil Eye tries to quantify or describe them. White will just have to take what she can get, with this brief opportunity before she has to at least allude at making chase again... Provided she's not held here for some other reason.