Scene #9656: Eternal Golden Braid

Owner	Pose
Schneider Greco	The great Route 66, which will later be called the 'Mother Road', is three years old in 1929. It cuts southwest from Chicago on the banks of Lake Michigan, all the way down to Santa Monica in California; an asphalt vein connecting freshwater to salt. It is 200 miles from Chicago to the state capital of Springfield, Illinois. In 1929, a typical driving speed is 20 miles an hour. 40 is brisk. Few cars can reach 50. Tonight the trees scream by at nearly a hundred miles an hour while the waifish girl named 'Schneider Greco' drains the last half of a bottle of cheap whiskey. She is racing the last embers of the sunset into the western horizon, casually steering with a combination of one hand and her knee, and swerving around the occasional other vehicle like they're stationary obstacles. "Merda, people are crazy," she mutters. There are no seatbelts yet. It is, unfortunately, 1929. There aren't even distinct seats, just one leather booth in the front and one in the back that three people can squeeze into apiece, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. The air howls against the thin stiff walls of the car. "You can play music on these, right?" Schneider asks, taking her eyes off the road entirely (jesus christ) to tap at her Concord-provided phone. In this timeline it is likely the first-ever incident of 'texting while driving'. She narrowly avoids hitting the railing on a curve without looking up. "It is still a lit-tle while; what should we listen to, my-lords?" For once the way Schneider is dressed is not even for a moment the most outrageous thing about her, even though she's still got her (gladiatorially-bruised) thighs and collarbone on proud display beneath the flapper plumage. A cop car lurches out from behind a stand of trees, flicks on its headlights, and honks for her to stop. Within twenty seconds it has vanished hopelessly into the rear distance.
Holly Asturias	Holly is quite big! Not Dimo big, but next to Schneider she's certainly towering. Perhaps especially so compared to these old cars, but her dress code certainly doesn't help at all. The big skirt, whatever that head ornament is, thankfully too high to bump into other people's heads (hopefully). If there's any cause to worry about how quickly Schneider is going, it's completely lost on the doctor. No, actually, from one of the seats next to Schneider (whether directly against her or the opposite end of the little box of a cabin), she seems to be enjoying herself. "Oh how I wish the roads were flat enough near the Sanatorium to do this!" Is that really the issue? "Oh, how I also wish I had a vehicle to do this with at all!" That's the real issue here, she'd probably try it on the awful broken roads of the forest without hesitation. And then need a new one, shortly after. "My, though, shouldn't we stop? That one had its sirens on and all! That seems important, otherwise it wouldn't be loud." Who's going to tell her? "So, Schneider, was it? Ah, do you have techno? Dubstep? I'm quite a fan. Oh, what about J-Pop?" Once more: who's going to tell her?
White	White, at least at one point, had a relatively poor experience with a much slower form of transportation than this one. Now, she finds herself far more anxious than even she would have expected as a woman who overcame the fear of death, acquired immortality, became a god and regularly removes parts of her own body when she's somewhat inconvenienced. Now, she can be seen seated in the middle of the back bench with her knees and hips locked tense. A close look shows strands of silk binding the edges of her boots to the bottom of the car; maybe she doesn't have a seatbelt, but at least she can't be thrown through the front windshield like this if they brake abruptly. People are crazy. You're so right, little bestie. Haha. Ha. You know, maybe getting shot and stabbed isn't really the biggest issue tonight? She still manages to look about as calm as usual, expression-wise, but the fact that her eyes are open and the glow of them is just enough to faintly see glint off the rearview mirror is one signal of anxiety, to go along with her rigid posture. The first time she takes her eyes off of Schneider and the wheel for minutes at a time ends up being when the cops pull out after them, and she's bafflingly quick to twist around and lean over the rear benchseat, fixing a weight-increasing gaze on the pursuing car just to make it disappear into the distance a little bit faster. Rather than answer about music aloud, she quietly asks, "Do you... Drive often, Miss Schneider?" The subtext there is 'do you have some kind of drag racing hobby I don't know about??', but in the meantime she leans forward to gently take the phone from Schneider's hand... Well, at least try to. If Schneider pulls it away, she might reach and wrestle for a second or two before giving up, but she's not gonna force the matter if it turns into keep-away. "... You can. I usually... Listen to calming music. I know an app." Tonally, it sounds a little like she's implying she knows that's probably not what Schneider is looking for. She's driving like a hellion, so obviously she's going to want to listen to something loud and exciting, right? For some reason, she looks baffled in Holly's direction when she hears the specific kinds of music that she asks about. Is it just a mismatch of vibes from what White expected? Impossible to know! "... I don't know... If that's really Miss Schneider's type..." But hey, you never know? For however much it actually matters, White is neither in her usual dress or the suit she mentioned; she's wearing her white fluff-lined jacket and a long pleated skirt, with a glimpse of a watercolor-pink shirt underneath the jacket. Sort of the vibe of a college girl going out on the town, if anything.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	There is a point at which an ageless being might be expected to take their life and safety seriously. Madeleine isn't there yet. "Woo-hoo!" she whoops from her front seat as the trees blur past. "I haven't been for a ride like this in a while! Where'd you learn to drive like this, Schneider?" Maddie's wearing a black suit and tie, and has a pair of celluloid sunglasses on to disguise her eyes. Her hunting bow lies over her lap, as well as the lap of whoever's right next to her. "It is still a lit-tle while; what should we listen to, my-lords?" "You know, I've got just the thing for this? Haha!" Unless physically stopped, Madeleine puts on her Carpenter Brut darksynth playlist and the blaring synths of "Turbo Killer" fill the car. "I always listen to this when I drive," Maddie says, raising her voice a little as she ups the volume. "Really gets me in the zone, you know?" "Anyway, what's the plan? Smash and grab, or are we slowing it down a little once we're in Springfield? We got anything to lure this guy outta safety? If the Manus has already tried a direct approach we'll want to be subtle, eventually, right?"
Angela	Roland really hopes that Angela was joking about letting Holly go inside of him. He's a married man! When Roland arrives, wearing a dull old suit and looking like he could just chill in this era even in his normal outfit, he says, to Schneider, "Hey are you the lady our boss said to be looking out for! You're in a lot of trouble!" And then he grins and says, "Just kidding. Here to help. Good to see you, Schneider." In the car Roland has Angela on the Angelapad while he relaxes in the back (also he has an easier time looking around tall ladies like Holly in case they run into trouble along the way). He has an EGO Gear with him, Solitude, a little sixshooter that is definitely stronger than it looks due to its nature as an EGO Gear but the best part about it is that it doesn't really look out of place in the era so he can just sort of carry it openly while only drawing the normal amount of suspicion when someone has a gun openly on them. "We probably shouldn't stop for cops. They probably aren't even after us for law-breaking so much as vibes-breaking. Never trust a lawman, they just want to get their kicks in putting cuffs on you. I heard this era loves jazz. I like jazz. Even if maybe there's a little too much jazz where I work." "There is a precisely perfect amount of jazz in the Library." Angela drolls. Naturally, she isn't worried about Schneider's speed in this thing at all. She could go 100 more miles per hour and it's no skin off her teeth. She imagines the only person even in danger of something like that is Roland and she could just restore him from Book.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel Parsons is smiling and calm. How does this work, precisely? "Did you know? Past around eighty miles per hour, a psychic can actually get clairvoyant visions of everyone dying." He says, to apparently nobody in particular. "And create an effective 'driving line' by calibrating the angle on the wheel that creates the least of those visions." He flashes a winning smile at Schneider. "I didn't know you're clairvoyant too! I thought you just worked with astral spirit-manipulation. It's great to learn these sorts of things!" He quickly fires a memory wipe at the cop, who never would have caught them in the first place. Witnesses and stuff, you know? "Don't worry," He half-truthly says to Holly. "I checked telepathically, he's okay with it." Which is technically true. "Just put on anything that's not All Paul. I like 'Hypnotizer'! Want me to punch it in?" He thinks this is just soooo normal. Though at this speed, and with a car like this, Schneider's more likely to slip and hit something like Rip It Up while she's grabbing that one, which might aim at least a handful of decades closer to this one.
Schneider Greco	Schneider has spent some time admiring (openly) (shamelessly) (almost voyeuristically) the tall Revenant sitting next to her. That her body likely obstructs Schneider from seeing the right-hand side mirror at all is not complained about. "My-la-dy-- was your name 'Holly'?" Schneider says, taking her eyes off the road again with a sudden realization. She looks her up (and up) and down (and down) as the countryside screams by. Oh, shit. Like the captivatingly beautiful woman Lilian chivalrously helped to transition...? "Ah, you do not know a 'Miss Rook', do you? ... Certainly, my-la-dy, I shall listen to your tastes. Please, give no thought to the police, right?" She's just starting to grandma-type TECHNO DUBSTEP into her phone when White tries to tug it out of her hands. Schneider becomes embattled, swerving between lanes with a squeal of rubber while startled into trying to keep hold of her device. "My lady White-- please!!" she says, and then sighs in relief when she victoriously keeps ahold of it through brinksmanship if nothing else. "Not that I mind calming mu-sic, my-la-dy, but a girl's phone has secrets, right?" She's gotten used to modern norms so well! Madeleine, fortunately, has the music covered after all. Schneider settles into the cozy-comfy sounds of Carpenter Brut and pockets her phone. "I drive once or twice a week, my-la-dy White," she comments over her shoulder. A deer is crossing the road. Schneider squeals brakes and pulls around it just enough, muttering to herself for a moment. "Past around eighty miles per hour, a psychic can actually get clairvoyant visions of everyone dying." "Mmmh, my-lord Flamel, I do some-thing like that too. It is like this..." Schneider holds out her empty left hand, one finger curled above her flat palm. A drop of something like foggy water drops from her fingertip, splashes on her palm, and ripples its fog outwards while diffusing. "... and it tells me how to avoid death. See? Just-then, it said nothing, so I am sure I am safe." That is almost certainly not how prognostication works, and also probably says nothing about the other people in the car. "You know," still smooth as silk, "some people, my-la-dy Angela, are saying jazz is on its way out. I do-not believe them. I do not think it my fa-vo-rite music, but it is beautiful, yes? This 'Carpenter Brut', he is alright, too." The music flows from that, to Flamel's 'Hypnotizer', to some accidentally pocket-dialed nightcore after the White-wrasslin' keysmash. "This is not bad," Schneider comments, eyebrows lifted. For Madeleine's further questions, Schneider rummages in her pocket again, finds a black-and-white photograph of a soft-jawed and hard-eyed man of 50 or 60, with a widow's peak and dark stubble. "'Garret Kinney'," she says, "State Treasurer of Illinois. He does not like the Manus, but his dep-u-ty would. We on-ly need him in-dis-posed a week or two... the Walden has hidden cells, to do such a thing." "... It must be clean, and it should be quiet. No blood, no bul-let casings, no bodies; his guards in-clu-ded. I have rope in the trunk. It must seem as though he va-nished, you know, 'into thin air'." ... Only a week or two, though? "... Tell no-one, my lords, but I think this world may not be long for 1929."
Angela	''Nightcore'' "Is that era appropriate?" Roland asks. "Irrelevent. White's taste in music is without fault." Angela says, because she's supportive. She looks over to White. "The coat looks good." She is feeling really proud of herself for supporting White's musical tastes even if she's hearing it through the Angelapad which is never quite the same as listening to it while chilling in a car that's moving too fast. r"So naturally it is not bad either." Angela agrees with Schneider. Privately, she's not sure this is calming music, but everybody has their own music that calms them, obviously, so she isn't going to judge on that merit. ''Some people, my-la-dy Angela, are saying jazz is on its way out. I do-not believe them.'' "Jazz will never be 'out'. It may have some fluctuations of popularity due to easy swayed individuals who have no musical taste of their own and shrimply move onto anything that is new and jumpy enough, but jazz composes some of the best instrumental options in the multiverse according to my very thorough investigations." Roland hears the job must be 'clean' but he doesn't put his gun away. Hey, THEY don't know he's not gonna fire that thing. "So just a knock on the head or three." Roland says. ''I think this world may not be long for 1929.'' Angela is quiet for a short moment, but only a short one. "Do you have your path out?" Angela asks.
Holly Asturias	"Ah, you do not know a 'Miss Rook', do you?" "That's right! Holly, or any variation of Doctor Asturias, Director Asturias or... really, I'm not picky. 'Miss' Rook? Lilian? I think the appropriate term is 'Missus' now? I do know her though, she's among those who volunteered to help with matters where I'm from, and I'm quite grateful for her many expertises!" "... I don't know... If that's really Miss Schneider's type..." "No? But I thought it was so popular with the youths! I often see them making those dancing videos to those?" Is she out of touch? The matter of MUSIC goes from vibing darksynth (she seems to dig it!), to the punk rock of Flamel's selection (also apparently to Holly's tastes), and then straight into Nightcore. Holly happily sways her head back to the tune, raising her hands to direct her fingers left and right, making circles and happy beats. Now that is right in her wheelhouse. The gap effect is in full force, isn't it White? "We probably shouldn't stop for cops." "I checked telepathically, he's okay with it." "Please, give no thought to the police, right?" "Is that so? Well, you are the experts." "... Tell no-one, my lords, but I think this world may not be long for 1929." The idle planning eventually catches Holly's attention back away from the beats, glancing between Madeleine and Schneider, making sure to pay attention to the details. Whatever their motives might be, it's part of her deal with the Concord. She needs help. So she must deliver it back in kind, and, that aside, she couldn't stomach for it to be one-sided. But it's the phrasing of that last line that makes her blink. "What an ominous turn of phrase. Could you elaborate?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine watches Schneider's divinatory trick with interest. "I could use something like that," she remarks. "Shame you're too busy for lessons." A little smile. "... It must be clean, and it should be quiet. No blood, no bul-let casings, no bodies; his guards in-clu-ded. I have rope in the trunk. It must seem as though he va-nished, you know, 'into thin air'." "Thin air, yeah, we can do that," Madeleine says with confidence. She chews her lip in thought as she ponders the situation. "He got any family? Prized possessions? Best way to get somebody to make a damn fool of himself is to find the one thing he wouldn't trust in anyone else's hands. If there's something or someone he'd go after himself if he thought it were in danger, we don't even need to capture it - just make him think it's in enemy hands, and in urgent need of his personal attention. He'll walk right out his own front door." "Maybe not alone, he's probably no true idiot if he's already gone to ground, but if we can get some of our people in place of his people, we're golden. 'Hey boys, come with me', only his 'boys' are Roland here and whatever Holly does when she... 'slips into' somebody. I'm hoping she meant that literally?" A glance at Holly - not difficult when she's between Schneider and Madeleine - to confirm or deny Maddie's suspicion. "... Tell no-one, my lords, but I think this world may not be long for 1929." "Mhm, mhm, lips are sealed." A tiny beat. "How're you getting ready for... the big show, then? For yourself, I mean. Feeling ready?"
Flamel Parsons	Flamel's eyebrows go up for a moment, when he sees that. The drop of fluid... Is that the ghost of something? "Uh-huh..." His voice remains bright and positive, just quieter. "There really are just so many different ways things like this get done! I love how arcanists have such physical, tactile approaches to things like this. Everything's so external in such an interesting way." He's still not terrified of the speed. Or, well, he's probably compartmentalizing it a lot. But this, still, just means Trust. "Don't worry about blood, and, even less bullet casings!" As they zip by, those so inclined to pick up his telepathy will see the car zip through a vast vista of his plans and tactical approaches. He chatters about his telepathic ability to pick out weak points by hopping between the minds of guards as they zip into and out of great living skulls, he explains his intention to disable the man using concentrated Confusion energies as a long turn takes them along the arching torso of a staggering, stumbling humanoid, and he offers plenty of options for Madeleine to hunt rogue memories in the guards, for Holly to enable wide-area Confusion tactics by blocking out its gas-inhalation effects, taking advantage of White's spiders for remote scouting, and coordinating a Roland-Schneider team to rip the man's spirit out of his body and clonk it on the head with raw psychic confusion supplied by Parsons in such a way that the guards won't even get a chance to see anything but the man's sudden disorientation... Which means driving over great spider-eyes, along long bloody veins, across strange dark forests, and so on. All very themed! All very focused on how much Flamel enjoys finally getting to do abductions for a vague yet ominous organization. But the others are bringing up something that's far more important than his one little wretched hobby. The Storm's coming soon. "I thought the Great Depression wasn't going to hit until way later in this year." He says, with concern. "It's happening earlier? Or am I just losing track of the date?" He works his jaw a little. "I don't like that, but there's a reason I built a few months of buffer time into my timetables. The Stormchaser Procedure's back on schedule and working, but only a few weeks... I don't know if I'll have it ready before the Syndrome sets in. That's bad..."
White	Okay, that's one more on the tally of 'trying to take a risk out of someone's hands and inadvertently making things more dangerous', White. Her hands end up back in her lap, and some might infer a slight grumpy slouch in her shoulders, but the specific thing Schneider points out about secrets is one White really has no argument for... It's not like 'I won't judge.' has ever worked for her before, and one's search history is the kind of thing many would want to take to their grave. Which, facetiously, could be why Schneider is driving like this. Deduction at its finest. What they end up listening to doesn't seem to bother her none, at least. Maybe sometimes it's hard to tell, but there are little signs like her glancing at the screen to see the song name, or unslouching after a few minutes while tuning in to Schneider's mission info. "... If they're all... Normal people... All we need is to get close. We won't... Need to fight. Probably." she seems to reassure, making a light little grabby motion with her hands; this time, not at Schneider's phone. Though, when was the last time White had that easy of a time, really? Something always seems to come up to keep her too busy for the quick in-and-out... As for the 'do not tell' note, White looks up in a way that almost makes it feel strange not to hear a sigh. "So it's... Almost that time, then. Things will get busy soon." Another pause, and more quietly she reminds Schneider, "If you need... Any help, getting things in order... Before the shift... Let me know." When her jacket is praised she shifts her arms a little, tugging at the fluffy collar with her fingertips to straighten it out away from her body-line for a moment. "I like it. I've almost... Hidden the damage it took, now, too..." This was the jacket she wore on that very rough day while helping Schneider with Flamel, so it has taken a bit of time to patch up back to nearly-new even with her thread manipulation. Still, she does gently correct Angela, "I didn't... Pick that song..." Nightcore isn't necessarily 'calming', is it? White kind of doesn't want to be seen as a 'nightcore girl' either way. She has enough stigmas to deal with! Holly's gap appeal is unfortunately far less striking and attention-grabbing than the insanely suspect back and forth she and Schneider have, where White finds herself bouncing back and forth between believing Holly knows exactly what it sounds like, and believing she has no fucking idea what it sounds like. It's truly a struggle to figure out if she should try to correct one or the other, or if the conversation will swerve so that having done so will reveal that White had no idea what they were talking about all along! That's typically how this kind of bit turns out, right? The straightman ends up taking the L?
Angela	Angela on the other hand just decides to trust Schneider has the right idea about Holly and if it's a problem Holly can deal with it. Or really probably not. Because Angela also doesn't really care. It's not like it's one or the other anyway so why make it her business any more than she already has. ''I didn't... Pick that song...'' "...Understood." Angela says. "My apologies, I assumed you were able to correctly pick the music you desired in the struggle." She looks at Roland like she blames him for the 'comic' mishap. rRoland sighs and smiles in an almost Netzachian way of 'what will be will be' while spinning the barrel on his revolver absentmindedly. It's's not quite as striking as either of Schneider's but if he just needs to threaten, it'll do the job. And frankly with this crowd, he might not even have to do that. r"It's a pretty easy job by the sound of it." Roland says to Schneider. "Did you just want to hang out a bit before shit got real?" This idea alarms Angela. "Did you? ... I suppose ... I could easily see you managing this, but she didn't anticipate all of us--perhaps she was just hoping for one or two to make sure it went clean?" "...Yeah, maybe."
Schneider Greco	The stars don't have much chance to come out before it starts to rain. The road is almost invisible now; through the headlights reflecting off wet asphalt and shining back through the wet windshield, the world looks like a queasy oil painting. Schneider Greco's eyes reluctantly turn to the road a bit more seriously. Perhaps it's because she's beginning to sober up, one can hope. Or maybe it's to give plausible deniability to her right hand trying to settle on Holly's thigh. "There is something the matter with 'time' in this world, my-la-dy. Everything in it, and everything from it... so often, is 'washed away' in a great Storm. And if one is not in a rare refuge..." She turns on the windshield wipers, finally, and they scrub off the water with a dismissive swish. "... I have nev-er seen it. The last Storm, it brought the Era to my time. to me. Per-haps... I did not exist, before that, at all. But I feel I have memories. I am as real as you, right...?" Swish. "So far as I can tell, my-la-dy Angela, White, I am safe. Your help, mmh, has en-deared me fur-ther to the Manus. One can-not be too care-ful, but... if I need you," swishhh, "I shall tell you." "It's happening earlier? Or am I just losing track of the date?" Schneider shakes her head. "I do-not know," she says. "They don't tell me these things. On-ly... ev-ery-one is busy, and tense. And the things I should-not know, the meetings I can-not be in, they grow and grow." "Did you just want to hang out a bit before shit got real?" "How're you getting ready for... the big show, then?" "To make a grown man dis-ap-pear without a struggle- my lords, you under-estimate how happy they are to force me to shoot them," Schneider giggles softly. "... I am try-ing to leave '1929', this world, behind with no regrets. I am trying the sodas I never drank. I am seeing the places I never saw. I am listening, too, to the music, the jazz," she says. "If the Storm is soon... fair governors... I wanted you-all to see it, and remember it, too."
Schneider Greco	She rips into Springfield like a seam-ripper through silk, blazes through the crimson dappling of a red traffic light one can hardly see, and only then slowly begins to come to a halt. "The municipal street. Where is...?" she mutters to herself, tacking through backstreets at speeds that invoke the term "lateral Gs", and finally spots what she's looking for and shrieks to a curb. Down the street is a square brick apartment building with a flat roof, five stories tall, with smallish windows and flanked by larger buildings on either side. Out front, two (almost certainly armed) men casually lean in the shelter of a recessed entranceway smoking; plainclothes cops or hired muscle, it doesn't make much difference. Before getting out of the car, Schneider points at a window on the fourth floor where the lights are on. "He has no family I know," Schneider says, double-checking her guns. "In the 'right' history, my-lords, 'Garret Kinney' is fired this year. In 1933, he is investigated for embezzling, and kills himself. Per-haps he has already done the stealing?" One can't see the target by looking in through windows from the ground level, but one can see another pair of armed men just outside the door of the apartment Schneider marked; harder to see is a third pair, just inside the fourth-story stairwell. Schneider's intuitive approach is to climb the fire escape of an adjacent building, jump down onto the roof of the apartment complex where Kinney's hiding, and then try to climb down a story to the windows there. Whether you help her, discourage her, or make your own pincer is up to you- but, as she reminds you before getting out of the car, "No messes, and no witnesses, right?"
Flamel Parsons	Parsons is busy thinking about the Storm. Contemplating Stormchaser. Thinking about people who embody an era, and about what an era is, and about what the people in that era are. It's a perfect moment of vulnerability for a thought to cross his mind and not get processed correctly; a pneumatic package in the Parsons Institute shoots along the wrong tube junction and past a verification check it's supposed to have before a reply gets formed. "I did not exist, before that, at all." "That doesn't seem true." The words sort of shoot out of Flamel before he has a chance to really shape the thought behind them. He stops, blinks, then reconsiders what he said. "Er-- that is, we'll need to look at records after this. If 'Schneider Greco' existed in the times after 1929..." But that isn't what he meant, is it? He's not sure what he meant, stopping a moment to try to grasp at something like a memory from a dream he's forgetting, or a file that went missing somewhere in the train of thought. No time for that. Focus on the operation. Flamel will do all he can here. "I'll handle 'no witnesses' if you can handle 'no messes'." He says, brightly. Then he concentrates hard, several sickly green question marks popping out of his head. He starts plucking them like fresh fruit. "Pull the curl off and the dot's a confusion-gas grenade. Hold it by the dot and it's a lil' bat. Both are confusing! Bat, mostly for normal reasons. Move quick, they'll wilt in about ten minutes once I understand more things about the world." He explains, offering them. Perfect for rooms, less perfect for outdoors. "I'll get to wiping memories and vision. Try to place them well, White's got great options for that, and make sure you're hardened against gas attacks before then! See if you can put a lot of that energy into his ghost." His tactics are fast, his approach is simple, and he, of course, has nothing but absolute support for platforming like Schneider's, choosing to make a staging area of the top of the adjacent building and hopefully help with the extraction by way of telekinesis once he has his hands less full with wiping memories.
White	The sentiment of trying to remember the era before leaving it behind is a little complex. White feels like she understands the idea, though when she tries to reflect it against her own past she finds she has no similar experiences to relate to it with. She has almost-always been singlemindedly trying to leave where she is, and arrive somewhere else, which inevitably doesn't line up with how she imagined it would be. Maybe, someday, she'll be in a mood like this too. Even she had felt compelled to walk the streets of Japan around her old home for a while, after a long time away. Some things had changed, and some had stayed the same, but White can only imagine the amount of change that Schneider's home would undergo during the change of eras to come... It only makes more sense for her to feel this way the more White thinks about it. White's a bit late to start, but after hearing that Schneider wants others to remember the place too... She gets her phone out, turns off the flash, and starts taking pictures here and there. Blurry shots of the roadside, mostly, until they actually arrive in Springfield and start slowing down near their destination, where she taps her screen a handful more times in different directions before putting it away. She's taken photos of lots of places, just for practice. It's only right to keep doing so, now. Maybe it's strange to do so on a trip to kidnap an official, but she's done dumber, more sentimental things at worse times than this. When it's finally time to get out into the rain, White adjusts her jacket and tucks her hair close to her neck, to keep the water from running down under her clothes as much. She follows Schneider's indication of the fire escape, nods softly, and offers, "I can bring us... To the roof. Look through from above... Then send us in, from there." She thinks a little more while Flamel offers up his weird little confusion spell- well they're not really spells, are they? They're something else that's a little more cartoony. Useful, though! White will contentedly take one in hand, if it will help her regulate the level of violence she inflicts without having to try so hard. "If Mister Flamel is focusing... On the way out... Then..." she starts to murmur, wondering what would be best to focus on. "I will... Take away weapons, and block the door..?" Not a bad plan, but it's relatively passive. She doesn't look like she'd be against an alternate suggestion, stood there turning the question-mark over in her hands slowly.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"... I am try-ing to leave '1929', this world, behind with no regrets. I am trying the sodas I never drank. I am seeing the places I never saw. I am listening, too, to the music, the jazz," "Good of you to aim for that," Madeleine says with a nod. "The first time you're pulled completely free from your context, it might hurt a little. The loss of familiarity, of... situated-ness. I promise you can get used to it." Her eyes drift to the window. "It's really fascinating, what they've figured out here. I used to wish the world would end, and didn't care how. Now, though..." she fidgets with her bowstring as the destination draws near. "I think I like what they're up to, here. Getting it all over with in a night or two. Drawing things out, taking it piece by piece, that hurts people." On arrival near the apartment building, Madeleine considers her company and her options. "They'll have guys watching the roof entrance," she reasons, "plus the guys downstairs, and some folks outside his apartment. Probably one more in the apartment, that's what, seven or eight guards? Does that sound right for a guy of this level?" "I will... Take away weapons, and block the door..?" "The door in and out of his apartment, you mean? That'd make our jobs a lot easier, he'll have more folks watching the approach than hanging around inside. And if they can't get in once the trouble starts..." She nods along with the plan forming in her head. "I'll go in through the windows with Schneider. I take a punch well and can hold my breath a long time, so a gas grenade won't slow me none. We really just need two bodies in the apartment, one-" she gestures at Schneider, "-to get the treasurer and one to handle anybody else in there." Madeleine joins Schneider on the taller building's fire escape, her footsteps eerily quiet on the creaky metal structure. "What's your plan for the window? Even if it's latched I could force it pretty easy, toss in one of Flamel's bombs, and be the first one in. Assuming White's got the door under control you'll be clear to nab our guy."
Angela	Pretending to be a goon is certainly an option but that's the sort of thing that only works until they get a good 'look atcha' and Roland is confident the job will be easy but probably not THAT easy. Also, sure, he could probably knock out a guy in one hit and pour alcohol over him to ensure he can't do anything about the situation without killing him but, like, Flamel is here and the thing about knocking people upside the head to knock them out is that sometimes that's just murder. And murder is off the table today and, honestly, Roland isn't really feeling murder today anyway. It's one thing to kill for the Library, another for his personal convenience because he didn't want to be slightly more sneaky. Angela gives a nod to Schneider. "Understood. Should it come to it, I will give whatever support to White I can." She'd sacrifice most of her agents for White in a heartbeat and, frankly, plenty for Schneider too but none of them are the kind of specialist that would be much help outside of maybe Gebura's pure power. Even the Abnormalities--well she couldn't be sure they'd survive a Reversing. ...Is there one she dislikes? Perhaps she should consider a test and see what happens but that won't help THIS Storm, certainly. "Don't worry, I don't forget, Schneider." Angela assures her though if she dies she will lie for sure about it. "Gonna have to turn you off for now Angela. Hard to sneak with a screen's light." Angela nods and the screen blips out and Roland slides the device into his coat. "It's a good idea." He tells Schneider. "You've got the right priorities." Though maybe he's thinking of her family considering he works for Angela pretty closely. Schneider, in this way, is not unlike Roland at all in his mind. He'd work for the Manus or the Devil itself for his family if thats what it came to. Honestly, that is kind of what he is doing. Roland figures Angela wants him to support Schneider as closely as possible so his route isn't too different though he relies on a grappling gun to get up top to the roof rather than super cool moves, being sure to use a dark corner of the building outside of sight where the blinds are drawn. He drops down a floor below to meet up with Schneider, his feet failing to make a peep as he lands. His expression is different as he gives her a nod. A sort of game-on expression but way too stern to ever use the term game. He'd grimace, but giving a guy a forced vacation for a couple weeks before he dies is one of the nicest things he's ever going to get to do.
Holly Asturias	Schneider. Not only is there no objection to Schneider's wandering hand, but Holly swoops it right up to squeeze it. Or perhaps she keeps it low, if subtlety is such a requirement for her. Holly's incredibly physical, and if it weren't for the urgency of the road trip she'd have likely distributed HUGS before departing. She's just like that. "An apocalypse of your own then... I'm afraid I was born after mine, so I can't begin to imagine what this 'Storm' looks like. It sounds horrible, though. I can't quite decide if it's better or worse to be 'washed away' rather than being left behind as a twisted Horror. It sounds a bit more peaceful, but also much more complete in its... deadliness? Is that the correct word?" It might not be! "I am trying the sodas I never drank. I am seeing the places I never saw." "A bucket list, then? Do you only want to explore your own world as it is now, or the myriad others too? You'd never run out, if it's the latter. Or so I'm to understand?" 'It's big', she was reassured of the Multiverse. That's vague. Arrival. With a curious gaze, Holly's blood-red eyes settle on Schneider's guns, appreciating the design. Are they oversized? No, that detail wouldn't matter to her. The fact they're so personalized, that's the kicker. She built her own from the ground up, just so it'd suit her fighting style, so she can appreciate if Schneider did the same. "A thief, then... not just a stubborn government agent?" Whatever makes him so special as to need to be taken out back, like this? White taking photos. "Oh! May you send those to me? I can give you my number." White seems to have a hang of it! The photos'll mean more if they're from someone else. 'Slipping in'. With everyone deciding on their course of action, Holly considers her choices. Flamel had ideas, but after talking about it so much... wouldn't it be a good time for a demonstration? Nonchalantly, before Schneider can start climbing, Holly approaches and pats her on the upper back. "Here, stay still a moment. It might feel odd but you'll quickly get used to it." Holly proceeds to liquefy in a mess of gold-and-red (mostly gold) blood, which swirls in countless strands and slams into Schneider's back. It soaks in, leaving not even a trace or stain behind. What it comes with is strength, and agility, and a stamina she wasn't possessed of before. It's intimate and immediate understanding of Holly's abilities - how to conjure ice, form poisons, how to conjure her weaponry if it's desired (they'd be messy, though, except for Snowdrop, which shoots ice instead of rounds). How to be nourished by blood, if it suits her, and even how to call the Jail, the wicked, golden mechanical tail with a stinger at its end whose purpose is maybe a bit obvious. There's a little snap of vitality, too. Schneider would find using the tricks she already has just a bit snappier than before. Not by much; she's already such a master of them. But it's a good feeling. There's a shimmer, golden, as Holly speaks, almost illuminating Schneider's skeleton gold from the inside and through her skin in pulses with her words - which everyone can hear just fine, don't worry. "My, I do hope this answers that question. I felt lending you what I can do would be more likely to benefit you than feeling my way at my very first kidnapping! Though I will be taking notes."
Holly Asturias	PREVIOUSLY: "I'm hoping she meant that literally?" "Oh, yes, quite!" This is the most unhelpful answer, but hopefully it's what Maddie was asking for! "It's quite the trick, though, it requires a certain amount of compatibility to draw the most out of. Still, as long as the partner isn't of an incompatible species, there shouldn't be any..." Okay no does she know what she's saying? "Most of you are human or close-enough, yes? So it should be fine." Flamel's plan. "Oh this is..." The PSYCHIC PLANS make Holly quietly gasp, oooh and aaah, clearly impressed by the display, even if she doesn't completely understand her role in blocking out gases? No, she's not sure what Confusion Energy is supposed to be, but Flamel is a Partner, and so, whatever it is, it must be impressive.
Schneider Greco	Schneider squeezes Holly's hand back... but she'd rather be squeezing her thigh, honestly!! "Mmmh, I can-not say, my-la-dy," she says. "The Storm, of course, I've never seen it. But the other worlds, they are going no-where; and nor am I. This one, a-lone... is so unfairly fra-gile." "The first time you're pulled completely free from your context, it might hurt a little..." "But my-la-dy Madeleine," Schneider says with a sad smile, "it is-not my first time. I am doing what I wish I did, in Sicily, before they took me to America." Is that why she always perfumes herself with oranges? She smiles, bittersweet-encouragingly, at White taking photos too. "Per-haps later, my-la-dy White, I will ask you for those." Out of the car, Schneider gratefully pockets a question-mark from Flamel; opens her Angela-gifted umbrella against the rain, with a nod to the tablet before it's shut off; shoulders the bundle of ropes from the trunk; and offers White her hand, even though that's not strictly necessary. "Take me up, my-la-dy White. And per-haps you can put him in the car, once he's tied? Mmh, he would-not like it if I had to drag him down the stairs..." ---- Warped up onto the roof, to Madeleine: "Mmh, I think our Lady White can simp-ly take me down? To shatter the glass, it should be al-right. Those men out-side the room might hear some-thing and become pests. Lady White can keep them out, but they should not e-ven know we were there- but..." She mimes rolling a Flamel-grenade under the door, perhaps, and shrugs. Roland gets her firm nod. With his grappling hook, little stops him from setting up a vantage outside the fourth-story window; he can see through the slats of the smoke-yellowed blinds. The man in the photo, Illinois Treasurer Garrett Kinney, is just returning to the writing-desk of his home office with a mug of coffee; it's a bachelor's small wooden-floors-and-throw-carpeting apartment, shut bedroom door and open kitchenette. "Or close-enough, my-la-dy Holly, but...?" Schneider's soft confusion gives way to a shiver as Holly flows into her; she lets her jacket slip down to reveal the backlessness of her flapper dress to more easily drink Holly in, giggles softly, as she rolls her head, and then pulls the jacket back up to cover her spine and fastens just one button shut with an air like licking her lips. "Ahhh... what a magic you have, my-la-dy Holly... mhmhm, I would have thought you'd never fit?" she says, rolling a now-lighter-feeling gun between her hands and flexing her fingers while watching the golden glow. A nod to White asks her to take Schneider (and anyone else willing) straight down into Kinney's apartment. And on arrival--
Schneider Greco	"Garrett Kinney. Hands up. Do not make a sound un-less you would like to wither, hmmm?" "You--?! Ahhhhh! Who are you people?! Jesus, shit-- Capone's with the arcanists, now?!" "I said don't--" Schneider says, and her finger tightens on the trigger, but it's a bluff. Her back's to the kitchenette; Garrett, a tall heavyset aging man in a button-up shirt, is cornered behind his desk just at the edge of where Roland's window-vantage can see; the apartment door is to Schneider's right. A moment after he yells, the plainclothes officers outside the door begin knocking on it urgently. Schneider sighs. They'll try to force their way in in a moment, unless stopped. She's just reaching for the confusion grenade in her pocket, taking her eyes off him for a second, when Garrett pulls a hidden shotgun from under his writing-desk. Schneider's first reflex is to shoot him, but she can't. No bodies, no mess. Her second reflex is to dive for cover, but if he even gets to pull the trigger, he'll wake the whole apartment building up. With Holly layered onto her already-sharp movements, she has just enough speed to dart across the room, lean over the desk, wedge her own finger inside the trigger-guard, and prevent Garrett from squeezing the trigger. He tries to wrestle the gun from her. The guards outside the door are just about to smash it in...! The forces arrayed against you aren't exactly vast, but the smoothness of this mission turns on the next two seconds.
Holly Asturias	"The Storm, of course, I've never seen it. But the other worlds, they are going no-where; and nor am I. This one, a-lone... is so unfairly fra-gile." "Mine is almost gone. Down to a small patch of land, no bigger than a country. I wasn't alive, when it happened, but every account speaks of it being brutally sudden. Thousands of years of history gone over days in a flash of horrifying light." With each word a subtle pulse of golden light. A bit sad. "The best we can do is try to protect what we can. That's why I'm a doctor. Well... that and my mother. Her footsteps, and all." "Ahhh... what a magic you have, my-la-dy Holly... mhmhm, I would have thought you'd never fit?" "Magic, hexes and curses... people have such odd names thorough history for a power born of the blood, and only the blood. 'Forma', they call it now, but at its core it's still the same thing. Ichor, between our fingers, as fire or ice, or whatever else we need it to be. And yet we cannot produce it, not in meaningful quantities anyway, only manipulate it. What we take or receive from others." With each word a subtle pulse of golden light. Garrett. Schneider takes to the assimilation quickly. Holly hums to herself, pleased. She'll help how she can, but from this position, it's more along the lines of 'support'. Ice creeps out of Schneider, in a blast meant to completely encase Garrett. Not kill; might give him some mild frostbite if he doesn't get out of the way at all, but Holly can treat that later if it's desired. It'll stop him though. No mess. "My 'magic' is your magic, Schneider~. Do not be afraid to tap into my reserves, I'd not share them if I couldn't afford to."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Three, two, one, go. In the moment that Garrett's eyes lock on Schneider, before he can really process that there's someone in his peripheral vision at all, Madeleine springs toward the door to hold it shut. With her back to the door as the guards outside begin to pound away, she watches the gunpoint confrontation unfold between Schneider and the treasurer. Strength alone, however, won't hold a door, not when it can be beaten from its hinges by a pair of determined toughs. At that point an imbalanced force in either direction would tip the door out of the way, and Maddie lacks the precision to equally match two guys hitting at whatever inconstant pace they're able to manage. Something has to change, now. Madeleine curses under her breath and takes the confusion grenade she received from Flamel off her belt. One of the door's hinges is kicked free from the wall as she pops the grenade free from the curved handle, drops it to her feet, and stomp-kicks it to wedge the gas bomb through the gap - hopefully setting it off a little sooner than its fuse would normally allow. She just needs to hold her own breath - and the door - long enough for Schneider and Holly, across the room, to resolve the struggle over the shotgun...
Angela	Roland doesn't immediately rush in and he waves off the teleportation offers. Sometimes you gotta hold a card back in case things go wrong. He waits, drawing into his coat and drawing out a page that he squeezes into his fist until it vanishes into light sparkles. A pair of sunglasses appears on his eyes as he places his hand against the window and-- A shadowy hand appears before the door the guards are attempting to smash in and pushes against the door, intending to firmly hold it shut with the power... Of someone else's telekinesis! "Holly's gotta have freakish strength.. " He murmurs. "I should be able tk do what I need to out here."
White	When Holly offers to trade numbers and asks for the photos, White nods a little and taps her screen a few times before reaching out to touch her phone to Holly's; Concord phones have all the nice conveniences like this, no doubt. When Schneider says 'later', White nods again. "... I'll... Take a few more... On the way home, first." She can't go getting distracted long right now, though. Her phone goes back through a jacket pocket and into an exterior space for safekeeping as usual. She spends just a moment getting a deliberate idea of the size and orientation of the trunk of the car after Schneider's suggestion, then gathers up the folks who will be taking the Dimensional Magic Express for a brief and low-fanfare trip straight to the roof in a flicker of dim violet. Upon the rooftop she takes a moment to look through and beneath, ascertaining the positions of the Treasurer and his guards so that she can deliver all of her passengers to the ideal positions within the room, including placing herself at the door. Things don't go perfectly though. A shotgun under the desk is unfortunately serendipitous as a hiding place, since seeing through multiple layers of material requires her to actually decide how deeply to look. There's a moment of instant, spiking tension during the rush to immobilize Garrett and his weapon, but the calculations don't lie; Schneider was fast enough with the support she has, even if everyone in the room hesitated at once over the 'no mess' rule. So, heart steadying, White focuses outward. She can see the men on the other side of the door gathering to break it down, and she already knows what to do about it. Both of her hands plant high and flat on the door while the toes of her boots press into the bottom edge, physically preventing the door from swinging open on its hinge. With that providing her a moment to work, she presses her entire front against the inner face of the door; more surface contact means she can produce more silk and control it finely in spite of the quantity. It seems to emerge from her skin and crawl through and around her clothing, almost like a thick, stringy white fungus. It's not every day she works this much of her webbing packed this close together! Like this, she's able to weave layer after layer of webbing around the door, not just lashing it in place to the frame but also wrapping around it through the gaps. Like this even if they shattered the door to little bits, the webbing would remain as it is and the door would be just as impassible; even firing guns at it would just result in the bullets getting caught like flies. Only once the door is completely enwrapped on both sides does White physically (and audibly...) peel herself away from the door and check back in on the others; if Flamel's gas has been deployed by now, White simply holds her breath like Madeleine. She's space-worthy after all; it's not like she'd never ever fuck up and inhale on habit, but as long as she's not badly surprised there's not much risk of that. Hopefully Maddy doesn't end up still pushing against the door for all of that, but it should be clear when she's fine to ease off of holding it up? Unless the goons outside have a really good chainsaw or a blowtorch, there's probably not much chance of getting through by the time the webs are all done.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel's got a pair of binoculars watching the hall. When Madeleine's grenade goes off, he'll feel it, that drain of confusion out of his reserves. With the door braced telekinetically and physically, he can depend on them not getting through. So, he just has to make sure they don't shout! And that's why his telepathic influence surges along the low-resistance-path formed by the confusion gas. Have you ever, all of a sudden, found yourself walking into a room and not realizing why you walked there? Why did you go into the kitchen? What was the reason you opened that drawer? Why did you open a new tab? Why did you pick that up? Why'd you put it down? Why's it in your pocket? Why are you approaching that door? Why are you knocking on it? The moment of questioning isn't what revealed the absent memory. It was what created it. By injecting questions immediately into the executive process, Flamel can completely eliminate a set of memories and decisions before it can get committed to even short-term memory. Quickly cutting off sensations by rapidly bouncing between their ears before sound-signals bypass the movement, he depends, now, purely on their lacking training. It depends entirely on the confusion gas grenade actually going off -- that'll mean Holly might need to neutralize a pseudo-chemical-agent that's filtering in on the battered door! But it should cut the sound propagation off. Part of stealth, part of this super-spy work, is making sure sounds of surprise don't spread through the network. Halting it at the door, that's something Flamel knows how to do. It should work, hopefully, long enough for him to wipe all memory and trace of it in the next minute or two. Quirking his head a bit, he detects... his own telekinesis? Oh, perfect. Still a bit tranced-out in his telepathy, he reaches one telekinetic hand slowly down towards the window, to help hoist the VIP with Roland's help once he's been subdued.
Schneider Greco	Garret is frozen solid with an appalled expression on his face; Schneider tears the shotgun from his grasp, racks the slide repeatedly until it runs out of shells to eject, and then smashes the butt of it against Garrett's jaw to crumple him to the ground and partially de-ice him. Holly likely wouldn't let him suffocate, but a professional like Schneider takes as few chances as possible, anyway. (Usually.) (What was up with that driving??) As he blearily comes back to his senses, she's already putting a shoe on the back of his head to gag him- "I'll give you-- mmph! Mmmm!!" and then moving on to tie his wrists behind his back; not that she couldn't handle him otherwise, but there's a bit of relish evident in how, with Holly's gift, she doesn't even have to rely on finesse to restrain a grown man twice her size. "Not only the blood," she insists under her breath, oddly firmly. Hm. "... But thank you, fair gov-er-nor~." The two plainclothes officers on the other side of the door give up on trying to batter through, faced with several times their strength- and soon, webbing- keeping it closed; after a sharp word between each other, one readies to shoot out lock with his service pistol (misguided but still disruptive) and the other turns to sprint for help. Flamel's disorientation dampens that impulse. The first officer hesitates to pull the trigger. The second slows before he can break a jog. Schneider, rising, draws on Holly's reserves as offered. She makes a strange gesture with her hand and draws out both of their 'ghosts'- pale spiritual effigies- through the door and into the apartment, where anyone can strike or subdue them voodoo-doll-transference-style to put an exclamation point after that psychic question mark. Covering her lower face with a handkerchief, she stands; reloads the shotgun with the shells on the floor, and stows it under the desk as if there had never been reason to draw it at all; and unlatches the window from the inside, for Flamel or White to extract the tied-up-and-groggily-writhing Garrett. "Well. Well-done. You can clean up that webbing, right, my-la-dy White?" she says. And touching her collarbone: "Per-haps I should visit your world, next. You will stay inside me for the drive home, won't you, sweet Lady Holly...?" Nothing has been done that can't be straightened-out and explained away. The peace of the night goes unbroken. Despite the rain, it is still a beautiful evening. Leaning out the window, Schneider takes just a moment to savor the cool air in Springfield, one last time.
White	White gives a plain thumbs-up when asked about the webs, waiting for the men outside to be noticeably subdued through Flamel and Schneider's abilities. She seems gunshy about doing the actual physical striking herself at first, since it would be really embarrassing to mess up and use too much force this late in the otherwise smooth mission, but with Flamel's confusion bomb-slash-bat in hand, she does take care of one of the spirit-effigies with a little clonk to the head and a hope that it's as harmless as Flamel makes it seem. The other one, she leaves for Madeleine while she turns back toward the door and starts unravelling all of that silk back in through the cracks in the doorframe. Drawing the stuff away and winding it around Flamel's question-mark like a spool with her powers, it doesn't take long to clean up. Flamel and Roland seem to be ready and waiting for the transportation, so White spares a moment to look over the room one more time and double check that everything is as close to 'in order' as it can be. She pauses briefly at the window with Schneider, looks out like she's trying to find what the other woman is looking at, then does one very evil thing before blink-flickering away to get the trunk open for the others... She pokes the center of Schneider's back with her fingertip, where Holly dove in before. It's like she's looking for the soft, bruised spot on a dropped apple...
Holly Asturias	"Not only the blood," "Well, on my world, at least. But I know so little of yours, I'd presume little works the same unless told otherwise. Why, if yours lets people draw power from beyond just blood, I'd call that a good thing. Ours might be in less of a bind if we weren't so bound to it." If there's need to deploy healing - or cleansing - Holly will promptly nudge the knowledge forward through Schneider. To just to prevent Garrett from dying, but to cover any potential hazards (like the Confusion?) that might be spreading. With quiet observation, Holly watches as Schneider splits the spiritual from the physical so effortlessly. Some of the Horrors of the forest do this, as well, and it's a huge problem! Though, mostly, they do it to themselves. Then finally... "You wish me to stay inside? What an unusual request. Well, I suppose..." The golden shimmers from her voice seem a bit brighter, and a bit warmer. She can bask in being wanted and appreciated, like anyone else. "I see no reason to say no, to either request. Come to think of it, there's a matter... spiritual, in natural, upcoming. I'm to work with Lilian, her lovely wife and select others on it. You seem equipped to help, though if it's imposing on you to request your aid on such short notice, I'd understand." White. As if in response to White's poking, there's a shimmer of gold across Schneider's body, mostly directed at her back. "Is something the matter? Oh no, I didn't leave a mark or a stain, did I?" Agitated pulses.
Schneider Greco	Schneider, staring out at the city as its cool breeze tickles her shoulders and neck, absentmindedly licks her lips. "Does-not everyone wish to keep you, my-la-dy Holly?" she says, impossible to tell if it's just a tease. "'Merda, people are crazy'," she echoes from before... And trails off into a little tensing-up laugh as White pokes her between the opportunisically-exposed shoulders. "My-lady, please...!" she tries to purr, disrupted by her own traitorous giggle. The way her shoulders scrunch in, like a bird touched between the nonexistent wings... "Mmmh, do-not tell me you want 'in', too~?" . . . The lights of the city aren't special, but they are the lights of a city at night, refracted through rain, which is always pretty. With Garrett tied up in the back, Schneider stops everyone by the one diner with a soda fountain she can find still open, on the Route 66 out of town. The drinks are a little novel for being so old, and the ice cream is at least alright. Someday, these memories will be the last anyone living has of Springfield, 1929. The rain clears somewhere along the drive home, and Schneider falls contented, but quiet. "Does anyone have more drinks, my-lords?" she softly complains, tilting her empty bottle ruefully as she drives.