The two sat in silence for a bit, one of them mildly inebriated and totally relaxed, the other now taken aback, panicked and thinking furiously. Ushers prepared to close the doors to the conference hall, beckoning Moone and MacBeth in from across the foyer before they did so. MacBeth dragged Moone, feathers ruffled, behind him. They found two empty seats together, as [the introductory speaker] began introducing Gef.
Moone [filtered out] an anecdote about Gef's being shot at during his cubhood in India, and tried to think.
What would be MacBeth's motive? Was it truly to use the summit to maintain funding? The ambitions had to be bigger than that- use the summit to gain power for himself, then? A place in this new world. The NOC was being stationed by the front entrance, where there had been recent repairs done- Gef would be able to go through the tunnels there, were there truly crawlspaces slipped into the renovations, but how would the glyphs installed inside the walls function, would those also assist in the making off with the NOC list?
Moone thought again of the utterly alien presence at the end of MacBeth's line, and felt a chill. Gef wasn't connected to MacBeth's network, Moone realized as he probed the perimeter once more, in the direction he knew Gef even now was waiting just offstage. But it would have been impossible that MacBeth acted alone, right? Moone had seen something sexy and Gef-shaped out of the corner of his eye when the shots had been fired... though the bombs' aura trigger could, as MacBeth had pointed out, easily have been counterfeited... especially by a powerful psychic.
"You know who could have enhanced my psychic aura," MacBeth leaned over and whispered suddenly, as if reading Moone's mind (but not truly doing so, of course,) "is, the Pontifex. I think. He'd been supposed to have this... power. Tap into the source of things, you know? An intermediary between the gods and men. Alas," MacBeth sighed, turning his champagne glass upside down to prove it truly empty, "Moone made off with the Pontifex, after the assassination."
Moone frowned behind his mask. There was no way that MacBeth would put the pieces together, was there? "Part of his plot, do you think?" Moone, in his as Mothman, offered quietly.
"I thought you suspected Gef?" MacBeth said, nodding up to the stage, where the speaker was talking about Gef's fifteen minutes of fame as a poltergeist on the Isle of Mann. "No, see, this is what cements Moone's guilt: Moone disappears, alongside a recently recruited enemy agent? He was probably working for them the whole time, a sleeper amongst our ranks. The Pontifex's recruitment allows him to [awaken] and strike. Shoot the Secretary, bomb the building, slip out.
"And then their escape together. Something... changed, in Moone. But I don't think that it's as simple as whatever boon he was granted from the Pontifex. Whatever he managed to do to allow him to [change] like that, I think it goes deeper."
Gef took the stage, placed at the lectern by Lovecraft, and hopped up to another, smaller lectern on top of the first one, which had been constructed specially for his address.
Between Gef's sitrep on every declassified detail they knew so far, and MacBeth's periodic whispers over to Moone filling in the classified gaps, Moone could build up a model of the evidence against him. It was true, what MacBeth said, there were [gaps in the model] of how Moone could have done it, and they seemed genuinely baffled how Moone's aura seemed to go invisible upon his recruitment of the Pontifex, where he'd twisted his aura around itself. MacBeth made out like the mysterious gaps were evidence that Moone collaborated with the Cabal, but Moone knew that those gaps were somehow caused by how MacBeth pulled off the feat.
[explain how MacBeth did it. Something about aural planes, to explain the bomb stuff, and twinned sigil portals to explain the angle of the gunshot.]
Gef had been innocent. Should Moone recruit him against MacBeth? He would be a formidable ally... but, just as Moone had thought he'd seen Gef do it, Gef had thought-- genuinely-- that Moone had been the one responsible. The only proof Moone had that MacBeth [was the one who did it] stemmed from Moone's unique ability to read MacBeth's mind at this current time-- the only way to prove anything to Gef would be to, what, detach all three of Moone's current auras and bestow them upon Gef? Moone had the feeling that as difficult as that was to say it would be even harder to do.
Whom to take this to, then? Would he be able to prove the provenance of the glyphs and [stuff] inside the walls? Moone pondered this, as Gef wrapped up, and realized that the only way he'd be able to prove anything was to catch MacBeth red-handed. He would have to allow MacBeth to get his hands on the NOC list, and then expose him before he could make off with it.
Moone didn't know when MacBeth would decide to make his move- but he still had an upper hand. He was sitting inside MacBeth's head, and when the time came for MacBeth to move, Moone would know it.
...
MacBeth made his move for the NOC list [time] later. [describe where both of them are at at this time. MacBeth someplace covert to complete his action, Moone monitoring him psychically.]
It was in an unexpected way that almost took Moone off-guard. The sigil hidden within the wall of the entry hall was apparently two-staged-- the first stage burning out set up a localized sphere of space-time, like looping the feed of a security camera. The second took the guards out. It wasn't timed by MacBeth at all, not as an action [itself]- Moone only knew when MacBeth knew, and didn't understand what was going on at first, when MacBeth received a psychic [urging] that the sigil had activated.
He was already two steps behind MacBeth. MacBeth, with the sigil as part of his psychic bubble, extended himself into it, [transcendental meditation, something about aural planes, etc] in much the same way that MacBeth had assassinated the Secretary of the Department a month ago. He had the sigil's twin here, and could reach through it like a portal, grasping toward the Necronomicon where it was being held [describe location- box? chest? vault? by the door.]
Don't panic, Moone told himself, on edge as he realized somewhere in the back of his mind that it wasn't him in danger this time and so he had no safety net to fall back on. It was a game of chess, that's all that it was. Only played without letting the opposing player realize that you were playing against him.
Being an invisible part of MacBeth's psychic bubble, Moone could watch in both the physical and aural planes as MacBeth stepped halfway through, stretched out between them like a ghostly wad of sticky chewed gum. There had to be some way to attack, some way to rescue the book-- would Moone be able to do that without alerting MacBeth to his presence? Probably not, but Moone flinched back as he realized that if he were himself also to press into the aural plane, MacBeth would see him instantly for who he was; there was no way of being anonymous about it at all.
MacBeth dropped the NOC list into the aural plane within the portals, into the space between spaces.
Well, too late for that "not letting the opposing player know he's even playing against someone" bit. Moone moved carefully around the rim of MacBeth's bubble. And he pulled himself into it.
Moone was immediately aware of MacBeth himself being aware of him. They were in a psychic space, a virtual projection [pocket dimension thing] [wherein MacBeth could smuggle the NOC list, if only briefly- magic having benefits and costs, this pocket dimension could only be a temporary solution. Being physical object taken into aural plane, within MacBeth's aura now- possibly painfully.]
In this space, Moone was his physical self- but also his true self, simultaneously. He was still in the Mothman suit, but this Mothman suit was also, still, him. With three auras on, in the aural plane he was the Mothman, the Pontifex, and still himself as well.
MacBeth paused, pondering the cherubic chimera before him, and blinked rapidly over rolling eyes, like a spooked horse. He paled as he realized the true identity of the companion he'd spent a good hour divulging classified information to. "Moone?"
[Moone says something.] Moone stepped forward. From where he'd pushed himself into MacBeth's astral plane, he was now in the lobby, the desk a ghostly glassy presence in between them. MacBeth stepped forward as well, pressing through the apparition of the physical object with ease, it reforming behind him as he did so. [MacBeth says something.]
"Why'd you do it, [first name]? Is it just for the list, or..."
MacBeth's expression turned cold. "This goes," he huffed through gritted teeth, "so much deeper, than you can possibly imagine."
"Whatever you did, we can get you through this..."
MacBeth nodded. "It's actually a good thing you showed up here, because I'd been going to say the same thing to you." And something came down through the thread that MacBeth had been extending through the sigil network, to outside of the building.
It was the alien presence, now also here, in this [space between spaces.] It felt so acutely wrong, so animal yet so intelligent. Tall, seven or eight feet, with strange mottled skin and sunken orange eyes so piercing they made the Mothman suit's seem [adjective] in comparison.
It spoke, and it seemed to speak directly into Moone's mind. [You can join me. Everyone already thinks you're the guilty one- why do you think we framed you, of all people? Be what they already think of you, and gain protection from us. We're trying to recruit you, and you don't have a choice.]
"But I do have a choice." [alien presence backs off somehow, leaving just moone and macbeth.]
"Not a real one..." MacBeth interjected.
"MacBeth, I've never made a realer decision in all my life."
"Very well then," MacBeth said. And then they were back in physical space, in the lobby of the Pentagram, with MacBeth announcing in a much louder voice: "He's here! Moone is here! In the Mothman suit!"
And just like that, the whole agency was [once again] on top of Moone.
Things That Don't Even Come Back Around (a writing blog.)
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Friday, November 10, 2017
day 10- section 8, part 2
Moone, with his boon on the outside of his bane, could feel the tides around him, tides he would normally ride were he in any danger. Now he could feel the attractions of other auras to his- they bumped up against him, and tickled like tiny little nubs. Keepses had a minor latent psychic ability, apparently- it would explain his ability to form plans. [somehow. something relating vaguely to Moone's own boon, so that Keepses's aura feels much more second-nature to Moone than it should be.] Two peas in a pod, two lions whelped on the same day (though Moone the stronger.) He used his aura-granted lifesense here, and attempted to track down MacBeth with it. He would be somewhere here...
Moone experimented with juggling his three auras while he searched- Keepses indeed seemed also to have minor boons and banes granted to him, which Moone also practiced twisting up into pretzels, balancing them against each other. It was a strange sensation, the exercise of a muscle Moone didn't know he had, and it occurred to Moone how very lucky he was to be able to do his initial twisting of boon over bane. Maybe of course it hadn't been luck- he supposed that his ability to twist his enhanced aura around itself had been a direct action that led to his survival.
But the fact of enhancing his aura couldn't in itself allow him to twist it around itself like that naturally, could it have? After all, he couldn't knot it up like that normally, aura unenhanced. Either Pontifex's granted aura had made the fine threads of Moone's fate larger and thus more able to be manipulated somehow, or there was a lot more going on with Pontifex's aura than Moone had initially considered.
His suspicions of this were confirmed by his realization that the sense of life around him should have been impossible at the time. His lifesense, combined with Keepses's [ability,] created something stronger; he could now actually read people's minds to some extent, when... Moone glanced up to the ward hanging from the ceiling corner of the nearest wall, a glyph burning, but not being consumed, in an everlasting fire. Such security placed around should have made [mindreading] impossible, and yet, here Moone was.
Mindreading was something with which Moone had had some experience with in the past, though not generally a psychic himself. He probed around the minds of the bustling crowd around him, who were generally it seemed beginning their press into the building's lecture hall for the opening address. Through brief bursts of words and images, Moone collected an impression of the events around him-Gef, it seemed, was backstage, getting prepared for his address, Lovecraft assisting him in getting his final preparations together. Moone considered this information, then moved on, looking for other familiar faces, until he saw him, the man he'd been looking for, sipping at a champagne at the lobby's wet bar.
Moone approached MacBeth from behind, still a good distance off. Yes, there, he could see him, with his first two eyes this time. Considering his third eye, Moone wondered if he'd be able to infiltrate MacBeth's psychic bubble without the man being aware of it. Something else that should have been impossible, Moone tentatively attempted... and found that he accomplished it with ease. The fact that he remained undetected, once in, actually made a lot of sense when Moone dwelled on it: MacBeth was still a hostile, and Finn's boon would treat him as such. But his ability to get in in the first place was strange and frightening.
In an integrated psychic system like the kind MacBeth set up, reading someone's mind without their permission should have been impossible. The kind of psychic network MacBeth used to connect the team on missions, to link into the network one had to [accept the invitation of the bubble's presence]. But Moone found it as easy as reading someone's mind and then simply... pushing past it.
[bring bubble method up earlier, with brief psychic conversation between Moone and Keepses- Keepses knocks, Moone accepts, but the communication this way is brief, since Keepses's psychic powers are minor. Maybe Keepses sees something in Moone's head that spurs his suspicions?]
Moone, now only a few yards behind his former teammate now, probed around the edges of MacBeth's bubble, waiting for a receptive time to approach MacBeth, and pondered the paradoxes caused by the fact that his enhanced aura allowed him access to a system he shouldn't have been in. Relinquishing his enhanced aura upon gifting it to MacBeth-- would he stay within MacBeth's bubble, or suddenly drop out? And if he stayed in, would he still remain undetected? It would no longer matter being in MacBeth's psychic bubble once Moone revealed his true nature, since he would no longer be considered an enemy, and his boon wouldn't need to kick in at all. How would everything play out?
Moone steeled his courage, took the last few steps, and tapped MacBeth on the shoulder.
***
MacBeth turned around, and nearly spilled his drink as he came face-to-face with the flaming red eyes of the Mothman suit. "M- may I help you?"
"Mothman," Moone introduced, slipping into a flawless impersonation of Himsters Keepses (not that MacBeth would know the difference; still, it would be best for Moone not to use his own voice.) "Or at least, that's what they call me. I'm the one who terrorized that small West Virginia town a few decades back, remember?" MacBeth nodded vaguely, and Moone continued. "MacBeth, right? I believe a certain Finnegan Michael Moone is a mutual acquaintance of ours."
MacBeth opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Awful, what he did, isn't it?" He offered to buy Moone a drink, gesturing to the wet bar.
Moone declined. "My interest in contacting you is more... professional, if you catch my meaning."
MacBeth glanced around, and led Moone by the arm to a door across the lobby, which he pressed through to gain some privacy for their conversation.
They were backstage, in a long black-painted hall. Gef was visible not far distant, in the green room, psyching himself up in front of a mirror and dressed in a mongoose-sized suit and tie.
"You have evidence against Moone? Have some [need-to-know intel] on him? Gef is about to deliver a sitrep on everything we know-- if you need to deliver something personally to him, I'd be glad to introduce you..." He tried to lead Moone to the greenroom door, but Moone managed to stop MacBeth from knocking.
"No, no. I wanted to talk to you specifically." He tried to steer the conversation the way he needed it to go. "Gef? I'd heard he was here. Gef the... the Dalby Spook? I always thought that he was..."
"A hoax, like you?" MacBeth shrugged, the creased corners of his eyes pulling up in a wry smile. " Yes, I know you're not real, and no. The Dalby Spook was. Real, that is. Is real, actually. That's the thing with poltergeists- their hosts migrate."
Moone pressed harder. "I think I'd heard, though, that he's also connected to this case in another way...?" Moone probed, and MacBeth gave a nonplussed look in return. "Didn't Moone try to pin in on Gef in the first place?"
"The ordinance planted around the building, you mean? Gef's bombs, triggered by Gef's aura, but such things can easily be faked."
"MacBeth. You know Finn, and I know Finn. Do you really think he'd be capable of, well, not faking the bombs, but of killing the Secretary?"
"That damned boon of his. Always triggering in unexpected ways."
"But Gef is a poltergeist, like you said." His eyes flicked in through the window of the green room door, where Gef was straightening his tie in the mirror, Lovecraft lounging in a beanbag chair behind him. "Has he been... vetted?"
MacBeth snickered at this, and Moone reacted with an inquisitive tilt of the head.
"Did I say something funny? Is it so wrong not to trust spirits mischievous by nature?"
"No, not that, just... 'vetted.' He's a, he's a Mongoose, you see..." MacBeth had clearly had more than a little to drink of his own, already. Which was actually something of a blessing for Moone; it would make MacBeth all the easier to persuade.
"Vet as in veterinarians," MacBeth explained lamely, and somewhat superfluously, when Moone didn't respond to the joke.
"You're a psychic, are you not?" Moone asked, attempting to steer the conversation to a place where he could plant the idea of reading Gef's mind into MacBeth's head. "And you have the ability to, send up bubbles? Would you be able to put me in a bubble with Gef; I'd feel a whole lot better about the whole situation if you could."
MacBeth seemed receptive, so Moone pressed further. "In fact, I think it would be terrific if you could allow me into Gef's mind, without his knowledge. So he won't be able to hold anything back from me, you see."
MacBeth shook his head. "That's not how those work." He started to explain the deal as if Moone didn't know it, but Moone cut him off
"Well, what if you and you alone read Gef's mind, and reported back to me what you hear?"
MacBeth blinked rapidly in surprise, glanced through the door where Lovecraft was stretching and getting up, and locked his eyes into the red flaming ones of the Mothman suit. "You do not trust Gef at all, do you? Hum. And yet you trust me."
"Would it be possible, even, to read a poltergeist's mind?" Moone asked, heart thumping in his chest as the opportunity drew nigh; it totally drowned out MacBeth's explanation how he wouldn't be able to, considering the emotional bond between Gef and Lovecraft. "And if you were a more powerful psychic," Moone asked, "would you be able to then?"
"I'd have to make my way around these wards as well, of course, but... yes. What, are you suggesting some method of enhancing my psychic abilities?"
"Well..." Moone probed MacBeth's aura one last time, perhaps attempting to find an access point to allow him to attach the Pontifex's aura. He untangled his bane from his boon, prepared to detach the aura to give to MacBeth-- when an irregularity in the shape of MacBeth's psychic bubble gave him pause. The bubble was extended out to every aura and object MacBeth was focusing his third eye on, encompassing those within it. And it seemed in one corner to... extend, somehow. Reach upward. Outward.
"Well?" MacBeth asked, as Moone fought a catch in his throat.
"Maybe I will take you up on that drink offer," Moone said, and let MacBeth lead him back out into the foyer, to a wet bar set up across from the lecture hall's main entryway.
Moone held back, taking the drink in one shaking hand and probing his third eye through the long thin strand, out of the Pentagram and... into another mind. An alien mind. It didn't know he was here, did it?
Moone pulled his third eye back, and splashed the alcohol against the front of his mask, pretending he could drink from it. How did MacBeth navigate around the wards, get past all the security? Moone poked at the precise path that the psychic strand took-- wrapped around, passing through the recently repaired walls, which had had gems and spells of their own, subtly counteracting the security wards and allowing psychic access to, and psychic surveillance from, the outside world. Moone's head spun, his psychic connection to MacBeth almost slipping as he realized the truth.
The assassin, the bomber. If it had been Gef, he hadn't been acting alone; he'd had a mastermind [puppeteering] his actions. And it hadn't been Lovecraft. It had been MacBeth.
Behind them, the summit began.
Moone experimented with juggling his three auras while he searched- Keepses indeed seemed also to have minor boons and banes granted to him, which Moone also practiced twisting up into pretzels, balancing them against each other. It was a strange sensation, the exercise of a muscle Moone didn't know he had, and it occurred to Moone how very lucky he was to be able to do his initial twisting of boon over bane. Maybe of course it hadn't been luck- he supposed that his ability to twist his enhanced aura around itself had been a direct action that led to his survival.
But the fact of enhancing his aura couldn't in itself allow him to twist it around itself like that naturally, could it have? After all, he couldn't knot it up like that normally, aura unenhanced. Either Pontifex's granted aura had made the fine threads of Moone's fate larger and thus more able to be manipulated somehow, or there was a lot more going on with Pontifex's aura than Moone had initially considered.
His suspicions of this were confirmed by his realization that the sense of life around him should have been impossible at the time. His lifesense, combined with Keepses's [ability,] created something stronger; he could now actually read people's minds to some extent, when... Moone glanced up to the ward hanging from the ceiling corner of the nearest wall, a glyph burning, but not being consumed, in an everlasting fire. Such security placed around should have made [mindreading] impossible, and yet, here Moone was.
Mindreading was something with which Moone had had some experience with in the past, though not generally a psychic himself. He probed around the minds of the bustling crowd around him, who were generally it seemed beginning their press into the building's lecture hall for the opening address. Through brief bursts of words and images, Moone collected an impression of the events around him-Gef, it seemed, was backstage, getting prepared for his address, Lovecraft assisting him in getting his final preparations together. Moone considered this information, then moved on, looking for other familiar faces, until he saw him, the man he'd been looking for, sipping at a champagne at the lobby's wet bar.
Moone approached MacBeth from behind, still a good distance off. Yes, there, he could see him, with his first two eyes this time. Considering his third eye, Moone wondered if he'd be able to infiltrate MacBeth's psychic bubble without the man being aware of it. Something else that should have been impossible, Moone tentatively attempted... and found that he accomplished it with ease. The fact that he remained undetected, once in, actually made a lot of sense when Moone dwelled on it: MacBeth was still a hostile, and Finn's boon would treat him as such. But his ability to get in in the first place was strange and frightening.
In an integrated psychic system like the kind MacBeth set up, reading someone's mind without their permission should have been impossible. The kind of psychic network MacBeth used to connect the team on missions, to link into the network one had to [accept the invitation of the bubble's presence]. But Moone found it as easy as reading someone's mind and then simply... pushing past it.
[bring bubble method up earlier, with brief psychic conversation between Moone and Keepses- Keepses knocks, Moone accepts, but the communication this way is brief, since Keepses's psychic powers are minor. Maybe Keepses sees something in Moone's head that spurs his suspicions?]
Moone, now only a few yards behind his former teammate now, probed around the edges of MacBeth's bubble, waiting for a receptive time to approach MacBeth, and pondered the paradoxes caused by the fact that his enhanced aura allowed him access to a system he shouldn't have been in. Relinquishing his enhanced aura upon gifting it to MacBeth-- would he stay within MacBeth's bubble, or suddenly drop out? And if he stayed in, would he still remain undetected? It would no longer matter being in MacBeth's psychic bubble once Moone revealed his true nature, since he would no longer be considered an enemy, and his boon wouldn't need to kick in at all. How would everything play out?
Moone steeled his courage, took the last few steps, and tapped MacBeth on the shoulder.
***
MacBeth turned around, and nearly spilled his drink as he came face-to-face with the flaming red eyes of the Mothman suit. "M- may I help you?"
"Mothman," Moone introduced, slipping into a flawless impersonation of Himsters Keepses (not that MacBeth would know the difference; still, it would be best for Moone not to use his own voice.) "Or at least, that's what they call me. I'm the one who terrorized that small West Virginia town a few decades back, remember?" MacBeth nodded vaguely, and Moone continued. "MacBeth, right? I believe a certain Finnegan Michael Moone is a mutual acquaintance of ours."
MacBeth opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Awful, what he did, isn't it?" He offered to buy Moone a drink, gesturing to the wet bar.
Moone declined. "My interest in contacting you is more... professional, if you catch my meaning."
MacBeth glanced around, and led Moone by the arm to a door across the lobby, which he pressed through to gain some privacy for their conversation.
They were backstage, in a long black-painted hall. Gef was visible not far distant, in the green room, psyching himself up in front of a mirror and dressed in a mongoose-sized suit and tie.
"You have evidence against Moone? Have some [need-to-know intel] on him? Gef is about to deliver a sitrep on everything we know-- if you need to deliver something personally to him, I'd be glad to introduce you..." He tried to lead Moone to the greenroom door, but Moone managed to stop MacBeth from knocking.
"No, no. I wanted to talk to you specifically." He tried to steer the conversation the way he needed it to go. "Gef? I'd heard he was here. Gef the... the Dalby Spook? I always thought that he was..."
"A hoax, like you?" MacBeth shrugged, the creased corners of his eyes pulling up in a wry smile. " Yes, I know you're not real, and no. The Dalby Spook was. Real, that is. Is real, actually. That's the thing with poltergeists- their hosts migrate."
Moone pressed harder. "I think I'd heard, though, that he's also connected to this case in another way...?" Moone probed, and MacBeth gave a nonplussed look in return. "Didn't Moone try to pin in on Gef in the first place?"
"The ordinance planted around the building, you mean? Gef's bombs, triggered by Gef's aura, but such things can easily be faked."
"MacBeth. You know Finn, and I know Finn. Do you really think he'd be capable of, well, not faking the bombs, but of killing the Secretary?"
"That damned boon of his. Always triggering in unexpected ways."
"But Gef is a poltergeist, like you said." His eyes flicked in through the window of the green room door, where Gef was straightening his tie in the mirror, Lovecraft lounging in a beanbag chair behind him. "Has he been... vetted?"
MacBeth snickered at this, and Moone reacted with an inquisitive tilt of the head.
"Did I say something funny? Is it so wrong not to trust spirits mischievous by nature?"
"No, not that, just... 'vetted.' He's a, he's a Mongoose, you see..." MacBeth had clearly had more than a little to drink of his own, already. Which was actually something of a blessing for Moone; it would make MacBeth all the easier to persuade.
"Vet as in veterinarians," MacBeth explained lamely, and somewhat superfluously, when Moone didn't respond to the joke.
"You're a psychic, are you not?" Moone asked, attempting to steer the conversation to a place where he could plant the idea of reading Gef's mind into MacBeth's head. "And you have the ability to, send up bubbles? Would you be able to put me in a bubble with Gef; I'd feel a whole lot better about the whole situation if you could."
MacBeth seemed receptive, so Moone pressed further. "In fact, I think it would be terrific if you could allow me into Gef's mind, without his knowledge. So he won't be able to hold anything back from me, you see."
MacBeth shook his head. "That's not how those work." He started to explain the deal as if Moone didn't know it, but Moone cut him off
"Well, what if you and you alone read Gef's mind, and reported back to me what you hear?"
MacBeth blinked rapidly in surprise, glanced through the door where Lovecraft was stretching and getting up, and locked his eyes into the red flaming ones of the Mothman suit. "You do not trust Gef at all, do you? Hum. And yet you trust me."
"Would it be possible, even, to read a poltergeist's mind?" Moone asked, heart thumping in his chest as the opportunity drew nigh; it totally drowned out MacBeth's explanation how he wouldn't be able to, considering the emotional bond between Gef and Lovecraft. "And if you were a more powerful psychic," Moone asked, "would you be able to then?"
"I'd have to make my way around these wards as well, of course, but... yes. What, are you suggesting some method of enhancing my psychic abilities?"
"Well..." Moone probed MacBeth's aura one last time, perhaps attempting to find an access point to allow him to attach the Pontifex's aura. He untangled his bane from his boon, prepared to detach the aura to give to MacBeth-- when an irregularity in the shape of MacBeth's psychic bubble gave him pause. The bubble was extended out to every aura and object MacBeth was focusing his third eye on, encompassing those within it. And it seemed in one corner to... extend, somehow. Reach upward. Outward.
"Well?" MacBeth asked, as Moone fought a catch in his throat.
"Maybe I will take you up on that drink offer," Moone said, and let MacBeth lead him back out into the foyer, to a wet bar set up across from the lecture hall's main entryway.
Moone held back, taking the drink in one shaking hand and probing his third eye through the long thin strand, out of the Pentagram and... into another mind. An alien mind. It didn't know he was here, did it?
Moone pulled his third eye back, and splashed the alcohol against the front of his mask, pretending he could drink from it. How did MacBeth navigate around the wards, get past all the security? Moone poked at the precise path that the psychic strand took-- wrapped around, passing through the recently repaired walls, which had had gems and spells of their own, subtly counteracting the security wards and allowing psychic access to, and psychic surveillance from, the outside world. Moone's head spun, his psychic connection to MacBeth almost slipping as he realized the truth.
The assassin, the bomber. If it had been Gef, he hadn't been acting alone; he'd had a mastermind [puppeteering] his actions. And it hadn't been Lovecraft. It had been MacBeth.
Behind them, the summit began.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Day 9: Outline Section 8, day 1
The trip back to Langley was much quicker than the trip from it. The Pontifex wasn't actually needed to be physically present for the bestowal of his own aura, so Moone left Pontifex in D.C., at the Watergate Hotel. There was something fitting about that, somehow. Symmetrical, in a way that made less and less sense the more Moone thought about it.
Moone walked up to the Pentagram, to front entry doors of Tetragrammaton headquarters, the same ones he had escaped through [number] days ago, this time wearing the full Mothman suit. Escaping then, but now walking back through. The same doors. So much had changed since then, and Moone was surprised at how familiar the place still seemed, at how little things had changed. It was like a feeling of deja vu, only of course Moone had actually already seen it. In reality, countless times. And in his recent dreams, countless more.
Moone braced himself, and pushed on through.
It was as Keepses had said: coming through, they checked his identity against the NOC to allow him access. The Necronomicon. Necron-Omi-Con, or NOC. Book of the names of the dead, when split Necro-Nom-Icon. In this case, "the dead" signified those undercover; the NOC list had the codenames and true identities of every single agent in the field, including the Mothman's and his entire cell. It was rare that such a valuable tome would be out in the open, but the increased security around [nullified the risk.]
There were warding plants, crystals and dreams catchers hung around like Mistletoe on Christmas; secured portals set up on one of the floors to prevent anyone from tailing people as they left once the summit was finished. The place was also swarming with security guards. Non-supernatural security guards. Of course. It was something of a [risk to secrecy,] hiring those to come on like that, but the threat [they were up against,] Finnegan Michael Moone, warranted such extreme measures.
And here Moone had just walked on in. People were being filed into lines. [more details- research how spy summits would work in real life, if they'd even exist.]
It took Moone some time to find his bearings. He started with learning about how things had changed at the Pentagram since his leave, and how this summit would continue to change things. All damage from the attack of a few weeks ago had been repaired with supernatural speed. It seemed that Smith, the same eldritch entity who had [hired] Moone in the first place those five years ago, was the new Secretary of the department, in the wake of the old, human, Secretary's passing.
The summit would begin in a few hours; just enough time for Moone to locate MacBeth and [expose Gef.] Moone [heard something about Gef], about how he was to deliver a briefing regarding the progress made in the hunt for the assassin. Moone felt the sinking in the pit of his stomach again: would Gef really [stoop so low] as to kill the Secretary? He was a lover of mischief, but what motivation would he truly have for that?
There wasn't just an assassination, but a terrorist bombing. Moone seized up a bit when the thought occurred to him that maybe, with the idea that the attack was to necessitate the summit, now it was the whole building in danger, agents and officers across multiple agencies, before he realized that it couldn't have been it. It hadn't been a terrorist bombing. There had been bombs planted, true, one of them against a load-bearing pillar, so bringing down the Pentagram was a goal, but it couldn't have been a true act of terrorism; as far as Moone knew he had been the only one injured in any of the bombings, so casualty wasn't a goal as much as destabilizing the building itself.
And what would happen then? They would rebuild, put up new walls. Perhaps with crawlspaces in, not big ones but perfectly sized for a mongoose, so that Gef would be able to slip around the building more easily, and undetected. And maybe he'd be able to perform more mischief that way, or... or spy. Spy on the spies, collect for himself, in one location, all the compartmentalized information. He'd have the most knowledge, and therefore the most power. The lack of casualties also made sense, because if anyone had actually died, that would have been one fewer person on which to spy.
Except the Secretary. The Secretary died. And Cloud died, and Moone and the Pontifex escaped, as well, but the Secretary's death specifically bothered Moone. One or the other would have been enough were the organization of the summit the entire goal, but the summit and the crawlspace theory didn't fit together. It was like two arbitrary holiday traditions, that didn't mesh; mistletoe and stockings at Christmas, dyed powder and bonfires on Holi.
Unless the crawlspaces could allow Gef access to certain places at the summit he wouldn't otherwise be able to go. There wouldn't be any secrets discussed at the summit, no confidential or sensitive information being shared. So many agents and officers here, coming from all over, but there were the portals, once again, that had been set up, on floor seven. Their arrivals would be anonymous, of course, but all verified through...
Through the NecronOmiCon. If Gef got his paws on the NOC list, he'd be able to match the code names with the true identities of every agent out in the field, of at least two agencies. There'd be no limit to the power he'd have then.
It was as Keepses had speculated, before suspecting Moone himself: the attacks had indeed made the summit inevitable, but Keepses had speculated them to be retaliation against the loss of funding for Tetragrammaton. But the summit itself was just another step toward the actual goal, and not the destination itself. The actual goal- Gef's actual goal- was to lay hold of the NOC list.
Moone wasn't about to let that happen. Just like Keepses wasn't about to let Moone attend the summit in the first place. Keepses had failed in preventing Moone from getting to the summit, of course, but Moone had the upper hand, then. As well as this time.
[and I guess I'm stopping halfway through this time, too; the weekend starts tomorrow and I'm sure I'll be able to catch up the, shoot, I think it'd be two and a half days' worth of writing necessary? The day's writing itself, and the second half of today's, and then making up for the day lost in only covering section 8 today when I should also have started on section 9. That's about 4,167 words. let's do it.] [this is a lot easier if you stay on top of it.] [it actually shouldn't be that difficult, because there's pretty action-packed stuff coming up, which usually I'm bad at but I've got this action scene pretty meticulously outlined.]
Moone walked up to the Pentagram, to front entry doors of Tetragrammaton headquarters, the same ones he had escaped through [number] days ago, this time wearing the full Mothman suit. Escaping then, but now walking back through. The same doors. So much had changed since then, and Moone was surprised at how familiar the place still seemed, at how little things had changed. It was like a feeling of deja vu, only of course Moone had actually already seen it. In reality, countless times. And in his recent dreams, countless more.
Moone braced himself, and pushed on through.
It was as Keepses had said: coming through, they checked his identity against the NOC to allow him access. The Necronomicon. Necron-Omi-Con, or NOC. Book of the names of the dead, when split Necro-Nom-Icon. In this case, "the dead" signified those undercover; the NOC list had the codenames and true identities of every single agent in the field, including the Mothman's and his entire cell. It was rare that such a valuable tome would be out in the open, but the increased security around [nullified the risk.]
There were warding plants, crystals and dreams catchers hung around like Mistletoe on Christmas; secured portals set up on one of the floors to prevent anyone from tailing people as they left once the summit was finished. The place was also swarming with security guards. Non-supernatural security guards. Of course. It was something of a [risk to secrecy,] hiring those to come on like that, but the threat [they were up against,] Finnegan Michael Moone, warranted such extreme measures.
And here Moone had just walked on in. People were being filed into lines. [more details- research how spy summits would work in real life, if they'd even exist.]
It took Moone some time to find his bearings. He started with learning about how things had changed at the Pentagram since his leave, and how this summit would continue to change things. All damage from the attack of a few weeks ago had been repaired with supernatural speed. It seemed that Smith, the same eldritch entity who had [hired] Moone in the first place those five years ago, was the new Secretary of the department, in the wake of the old, human, Secretary's passing.
There wasn't just an assassination, but a terrorist bombing. Moone seized up a bit when the thought occurred to him that maybe, with the idea that the attack was to necessitate the summit, now it was the whole building in danger, agents and officers across multiple agencies, before he realized that it couldn't have been it. It hadn't been a terrorist bombing. There had been bombs planted, true, one of them against a load-bearing pillar, so bringing down the Pentagram was a goal, but it couldn't have been a true act of terrorism; as far as Moone knew he had been the only one injured in any of the bombings, so casualty wasn't a goal as much as destabilizing the building itself.
And what would happen then? They would rebuild, put up new walls. Perhaps with crawlspaces in, not big ones but perfectly sized for a mongoose, so that Gef would be able to slip around the building more easily, and undetected. And maybe he'd be able to perform more mischief that way, or... or spy. Spy on the spies, collect for himself, in one location, all the compartmentalized information. He'd have the most knowledge, and therefore the most power. The lack of casualties also made sense, because if anyone had actually died, that would have been one fewer person on which to spy.
Except the Secretary. The Secretary died. And Cloud died, and Moone and the Pontifex escaped, as well, but the Secretary's death specifically bothered Moone. One or the other would have been enough were the organization of the summit the entire goal, but the summit and the crawlspace theory didn't fit together. It was like two arbitrary holiday traditions, that didn't mesh; mistletoe and stockings at Christmas, dyed powder and bonfires on Holi.
Unless the crawlspaces could allow Gef access to certain places at the summit he wouldn't otherwise be able to go. There wouldn't be any secrets discussed at the summit, no confidential or sensitive information being shared. So many agents and officers here, coming from all over, but there were the portals, once again, that had been set up, on floor seven. Their arrivals would be anonymous, of course, but all verified through...
Through the NecronOmiCon. If Gef got his paws on the NOC list, he'd be able to match the code names with the true identities of every agent out in the field, of at least two agencies. There'd be no limit to the power he'd have then.
It was as Keepses had speculated, before suspecting Moone himself: the attacks had indeed made the summit inevitable, but Keepses had speculated them to be retaliation against the loss of funding for Tetragrammaton. But the summit itself was just another step toward the actual goal, and not the destination itself. The actual goal- Gef's actual goal- was to lay hold of the NOC list.
Moone wasn't about to let that happen. Just like Keepses wasn't about to let Moone attend the summit in the first place. Keepses had failed in preventing Moone from getting to the summit, of course, but Moone had the upper hand, then. As well as this time.
[and I guess I'm stopping halfway through this time, too; the weekend starts tomorrow and I'm sure I'll be able to catch up the, shoot, I think it'd be two and a half days' worth of writing necessary? The day's writing itself, and the second half of today's, and then making up for the day lost in only covering section 8 today when I should also have started on section 9. That's about 4,167 words. let's do it.] [this is a lot easier if you stay on top of it.] [it actually shouldn't be that difficult, because there's pretty action-packed stuff coming up, which usually I'm bad at but I've got this action scene pretty meticulously outlined.]
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Nanowrimo day 8: Anachronominion part three: outline sections six and seven, day 3
"An interagency summit?"
"Times are changing. The attack, the fall of the Soviet Socialist Republic. The new face of the enemy."
"The enemy's always looked the same; it's just the mundane world letting go of its funding for CIA that's presenting a problem. They don't realize the true threat. If the CIA loses its funding, Tetragrammaton goes with it."
Keepses, who probably knew a lot more than Moone about the true relationship between the secular and supernatural sister agencies, either didn't bother correcting Moone, knew as little as he did, or else Moone had actually guessed correctly. "Or restructures entirely. We don't need a separation in jurisdiction-- folklore is based around ethnicity and not nationality, which is one of the reasons that this summit will be a meeting between agencies."
"The whole fate of my old agency is up in the air."
Keepses shrugged. "You want to get to MacBeth, he'll be there."
"You act like I'm even capable of getting close. You know I'd be trekking straight on back to HQ of the very company that not only wants my head on a silver platter, but knows how to get it."
Keepses grinned. "You've always been slow. You haven't figured it out yet?"
Moone threw both arms in the air in a wide shrug.
"You can go in my place. In the mothman suit, and with my aura." Keepses gestured to a wicker-door closet on the far side of the room, behind which was visible the silhouette of a human-sized insect-winged suit. "The suit has a mask. Big flaming eyes, quite terrifying. They won't see your face, and they'll think you're me. It's the perfect cover to get to MacBeth."
"The aura scan is the only security they'll have there?" Moone asked pointedly, eyebrows raised and lids lowered.
"Sure, if you're under a NOC like me. My identity is officially separate from my legend, and having the mothman aura will be enough. The NOC list will be there, most likely, and provide verification enough."
Moone nodded, still unsure. "And, walking in with two auras wouldn't be suspicious?"
"You'd be walking in with three auras," Keepses corrected through tight lips almost pulled into a smirk. "Yours, plus Pontifex's, makes your own invisible, and mine on top. Three auras. But it will look, like one." Keepses illustrated this last sentence with a bobbing finger.
"And then, I'd have to detach Pontifex's aura to bestow it upon MacBeth. Then I would have two auras."
Keepses shrugged. "And by this point, either you'd be right or wrong about Gef, and MacBeth would be hearing you out either way." Pontifex had been standing unobtrusively nearby, hands behind his back and listening in for the past few minutes; Keepses turned to him now. "Would that work?"
Pontifex answered immediately, as if he'd already formulated an answer to the question. "Precisely the way you described- if you have the ability to grant your aura to others."
[He does, somehow. It is explained that Keepses keeps his aura, technically, otherwise people would be able to walk around aura-less; it's more of a clone of his aura.]
"The summit's an inevitable byproduct of the assassination and attack. That attack must have been caused for the purpose of the summit, the reason for the attack was to regain funding, or whatever, performed by a radical within the company, for the greater good of the agency."
[conversation about summit and potential perpetuation of Tetragrammaton leads to discussion about Moone's theory that Tetragrammaton may represent a threat to him, and that his boon would kick in against them, maybe once Secretary was killed and the summit became inevitable. Or maybe, Keepses ventures, realizing something and suddenly suspicious of Moone, the assassination of the Secretary represented a different part to play in Moone's boon.]
Keepses spoke slowly, deliberately, as if trying to work it out even as he spoke. "I know you, Moone. You're ruthless, deep down. When you need to be. Like me. They don't recruit those that don't have the guts to do [what needs to be done]. Maybe it's not Cloud's death that allowed you an exit from the agency. No. Not her death."
Moone, chilled, understood the implication immediately. "Keepses. It's Gef. Gef is the one who killed the Secretary. Gef is the bad guy here. I saw it with my own eyes."
Keepses nodded, considering, or pretending to. "And like you said, you're the only one who did. Sole witnesses' words can't always be trusted. Getting a second witness in would help matters considerably... Convenient, then, that Cloud died. Don't you think?"
In that moment, it was as if a silver veil had been placed in between them. In that moment, Keepses had turned from ally to enemy.
"I can't let you go to the summit," Keepses continued. "So your assassinating the Secretary was inadvertent, just your boon kicking in reflexively. That's fine. But that's where I'm letting the buck stop. [It'd be best for everyone if you stood down. Now.]"
"Listen to me, Keepses. If I killed the Secretary to escape, why would I go back there? I'm even more imprisoned on the run."
"End Tetragrammaton, and you wouldn't be," Keepses said, throwing up his arms. "On the run. Imprisoned. The summit, the whole fate of [the supernatural agencies] up in the air, is your one chance to get out for good. [But Moone-- Finn-- don't you ever stop to consider the cost? You can't even help it, at this point, can you? I may do what needs to be done, but this is a whole new level of low.]"
Moone, eyes wide, had to stop himself from scoffing. Keepses was trying to talk him down. Better than physical threat, which Moone would easily be able to escape; Keepses was smart enough for that. But he was still trying to talk him down from something Moone had no intention of doing, and so he met Keepses's resolve with one equally steely.
"I'm going, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Oh, isn't there?" Keepses produced a gun from [location,] and Moone raised his hands in a gesture of placation, a befuddled smirk on his face.
"You know you can't hurt me, Keepses. Especially not now, with my boon enhanced."
"I didn't say I would hurt you. I said I would stop you. Through any means necessary." Keepses wouldn't be able to harm Moone...
...but he would be able to kill the Pontifex easily. Moone's face fell as Keepses turned the gun on the Pontifex, who was still standing [where he'd been.] Acting quickly, Moone [kicked the stool out from underneath Keepses, right as the gun fired,] and tried to wrangle the gun away.
The Pontifex provided the aura boon, Moone's one way of getting into the summit. If Keepses killed the Pontifex, that also killed Moone's shot at accessing MacBeth and clearing his name.
[action continues, and goon squad, whom Keepses had contacted discretely upon suspicion of Moone, sweeps in- in confusion, though, Moone's boon can activate, and he and Pontifex sweep out of the room, Pontifex grabbing the Mothman suit. They fly away. Goon squad, seeing that Keepses had granted Moone some part of his aura, burns Keepses and his entire cell...? But then why would they let Mothman into the summit, if he's burned by this point? Eh. Maybe he doesn't get burned. Either way, we cut to Keepses's point of view somehow, even though we'd been keeping this fairly tight third-person limited.]
Keepses stood in the ashes of his burned empire. He had given Moone a way in. His plans. The man wasn't smart enough to come up with how to get into the summit himself; hadn't even known about the summit. But now he was [going there.] And it was Keepses's fault.
He squinted his eyes toward the sky in resolve.
And came up with another plan.
"Times are changing. The attack, the fall of the Soviet Socialist Republic. The new face of the enemy."
"The enemy's always looked the same; it's just the mundane world letting go of its funding for CIA that's presenting a problem. They don't realize the true threat. If the CIA loses its funding, Tetragrammaton goes with it."
Keepses, who probably knew a lot more than Moone about the true relationship between the secular and supernatural sister agencies, either didn't bother correcting Moone, knew as little as he did, or else Moone had actually guessed correctly. "Or restructures entirely. We don't need a separation in jurisdiction-- folklore is based around ethnicity and not nationality, which is one of the reasons that this summit will be a meeting between agencies."
"The whole fate of my old agency is up in the air."
Keepses shrugged. "You want to get to MacBeth, he'll be there."
"You act like I'm even capable of getting close. You know I'd be trekking straight on back to HQ of the very company that not only wants my head on a silver platter, but knows how to get it."
Keepses grinned. "You've always been slow. You haven't figured it out yet?"
Moone threw both arms in the air in a wide shrug.
"You can go in my place. In the mothman suit, and with my aura." Keepses gestured to a wicker-door closet on the far side of the room, behind which was visible the silhouette of a human-sized insect-winged suit. "The suit has a mask. Big flaming eyes, quite terrifying. They won't see your face, and they'll think you're me. It's the perfect cover to get to MacBeth."
"The aura scan is the only security they'll have there?" Moone asked pointedly, eyebrows raised and lids lowered.
"Sure, if you're under a NOC like me. My identity is officially separate from my legend, and having the mothman aura will be enough. The NOC list will be there, most likely, and provide verification enough."
Moone nodded, still unsure. "And, walking in with two auras wouldn't be suspicious?"
"You'd be walking in with three auras," Keepses corrected through tight lips almost pulled into a smirk. "Yours, plus Pontifex's, makes your own invisible, and mine on top. Three auras. But it will look, like one." Keepses illustrated this last sentence with a bobbing finger.
"And then, I'd have to detach Pontifex's aura to bestow it upon MacBeth. Then I would have two auras."
Keepses shrugged. "And by this point, either you'd be right or wrong about Gef, and MacBeth would be hearing you out either way." Pontifex had been standing unobtrusively nearby, hands behind his back and listening in for the past few minutes; Keepses turned to him now. "Would that work?"
Pontifex answered immediately, as if he'd already formulated an answer to the question. "Precisely the way you described- if you have the ability to grant your aura to others."
[He does, somehow. It is explained that Keepses keeps his aura, technically, otherwise people would be able to walk around aura-less; it's more of a clone of his aura.]
"The summit's an inevitable byproduct of the assassination and attack. That attack must have been caused for the purpose of the summit, the reason for the attack was to regain funding, or whatever, performed by a radical within the company, for the greater good of the agency."
[conversation about summit and potential perpetuation of Tetragrammaton leads to discussion about Moone's theory that Tetragrammaton may represent a threat to him, and that his boon would kick in against them, maybe once Secretary was killed and the summit became inevitable. Or maybe, Keepses ventures, realizing something and suddenly suspicious of Moone, the assassination of the Secretary represented a different part to play in Moone's boon.]
Keepses spoke slowly, deliberately, as if trying to work it out even as he spoke. "I know you, Moone. You're ruthless, deep down. When you need to be. Like me. They don't recruit those that don't have the guts to do [what needs to be done]. Maybe it's not Cloud's death that allowed you an exit from the agency. No. Not her death."
Moone, chilled, understood the implication immediately. "Keepses. It's Gef. Gef is the one who killed the Secretary. Gef is the bad guy here. I saw it with my own eyes."
Keepses nodded, considering, or pretending to. "And like you said, you're the only one who did. Sole witnesses' words can't always be trusted. Getting a second witness in would help matters considerably... Convenient, then, that Cloud died. Don't you think?"
In that moment, it was as if a silver veil had been placed in between them. In that moment, Keepses had turned from ally to enemy.
"I can't let you go to the summit," Keepses continued. "So your assassinating the Secretary was inadvertent, just your boon kicking in reflexively. That's fine. But that's where I'm letting the buck stop. [It'd be best for everyone if you stood down. Now.]"
"Listen to me, Keepses. If I killed the Secretary to escape, why would I go back there? I'm even more imprisoned on the run."
"End Tetragrammaton, and you wouldn't be," Keepses said, throwing up his arms. "On the run. Imprisoned. The summit, the whole fate of [the supernatural agencies] up in the air, is your one chance to get out for good. [But Moone-- Finn-- don't you ever stop to consider the cost? You can't even help it, at this point, can you? I may do what needs to be done, but this is a whole new level of low.]"
Moone, eyes wide, had to stop himself from scoffing. Keepses was trying to talk him down. Better than physical threat, which Moone would easily be able to escape; Keepses was smart enough for that. But he was still trying to talk him down from something Moone had no intention of doing, and so he met Keepses's resolve with one equally steely.
"I'm going, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Oh, isn't there?" Keepses produced a gun from [location,] and Moone raised his hands in a gesture of placation, a befuddled smirk on his face.
"You know you can't hurt me, Keepses. Especially not now, with my boon enhanced."
"I didn't say I would hurt you. I said I would stop you. Through any means necessary." Keepses wouldn't be able to harm Moone...
...but he would be able to kill the Pontifex easily. Moone's face fell as Keepses turned the gun on the Pontifex, who was still standing [where he'd been.] Acting quickly, Moone [kicked the stool out from underneath Keepses, right as the gun fired,] and tried to wrangle the gun away.
The Pontifex provided the aura boon, Moone's one way of getting into the summit. If Keepses killed the Pontifex, that also killed Moone's shot at accessing MacBeth and clearing his name.
[action continues, and goon squad, whom Keepses had contacted discretely upon suspicion of Moone, sweeps in- in confusion, though, Moone's boon can activate, and he and Pontifex sweep out of the room, Pontifex grabbing the Mothman suit. They fly away. Goon squad, seeing that Keepses had granted Moone some part of his aura, burns Keepses and his entire cell...? But then why would they let Mothman into the summit, if he's burned by this point? Eh. Maybe he doesn't get burned. Either way, we cut to Keepses's point of view somehow, even though we'd been keeping this fairly tight third-person limited.]
Keepses stood in the ashes of his burned empire. He had given Moone a way in. His plans. The man wasn't smart enough to come up with how to get into the summit himself; hadn't even known about the summit. But now he was [going there.] And it was Keepses's fault.
He squinted his eyes toward the sky in resolve.
And came up with another plan.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Nanowrimo day 7: Anachronominion part three: outline sections six and seven, day 2
Back in Keepses's cell's safehouse loft, Moone and Keepses sat at the bar counter and explained their respective stories. Keepses insisted that Moone explain his story first, claiming that his lack of surprise over the interjurisdictional cover story proffered him by the Pontifex was no long story at all.
"I've heard, rumors. Through, sources."
"Sources? You're holding back on me too, now." Moone, with his ability to weaponize the truth, was used to people not trusting him, but not Himsters Keepses of all people.
Keepses shook his head. "I just need independent verification from you. See how your story lines up with the facts and the alleged facts. They say you managed to strip yourself of your [bane and boon aura], and I can see now why they'd think that. How does that work? It involve your boyfriend over there?" he said, referring to the Pontifex, who at the moment was playing a solitary game of billiards at the table in the corner.
Moon's stomach sank at the nickname Keepses applied to the Pontifex, but swallowed and confirmed. [he explains, explains their time on the run, and runs down the idea that the boon is enhanced so much that he managed to escape his servitude to Tetragrammaton.] "I can't always choose the way in which salvation will come, and I can't always choose not to escape. I wonder sometimes- can't help feeling it- that what happened escaping in the first place was my fault, or my fate's fault, or something. I can't shake the guilt."
"How's that?"
Moone exhaled a breath he hadn't realized had been caught in his throat. "Cloud's dead."
Keepses tilted his head.
"Mushroom Cloud?" said Moone. "I'm sure I must have told you about her once."
"There was mention of a collaborator being taken out. Mushroom Cloud, was it? Damn, that name is almost as cool as mine. But, no, [bro], we haven't spoken in years, so tell me when you'd have the opportunity to do that."
"I guess never," Moone admitted, frowning, and realizing that he hadn't told Keepses his viewpoint from the assassination yet. He started off by briefly rehearsing the list of the members of his current team, Keepses narrowing his eyes at the mention of Gef the Mongoose.
"Gef, I've heard of. He's the one in charge of the taskforce to track you down. They came here a few days back, told me to contact them if you came to me...
"Gef knew you, Moone. Knows you," Keepses continued, pausing briefly. "What makes you think that if he no longer trusts you, I would?"
Moone shifted on his stool. "It's not a matter of him distrusting me. It's the opposite, in fact. Because Gef's the one who actually did it."
Keepses regarded Moone flatly. "And I'm the first person who you brought your suspicions to."
Moone gestured widely with his left hand, his right hand half-gripping the countertop. "First of all, you do trust me. Second of all, it's not a suspicion. I saw him do it. Or, well, practically. Practically. There's more to it then that, there's [bombs. with Gef's aura as the trigger.] Only the bombs were all detonated in the same attack that killed the Secretary, of course."
"So there's absolutely no evidence left." Keepses took a long drag off of his cigarette. "Didn't you mention having a psychic on your team?"
"MacBeth. He and I go back almost as far as we do. Um, 'you and I' we, do."
"MacBeth. Who would also know Gef."
"Yes. But."
"You can't just have MacBeth read the little weasel's mind?"
"That little weasel is already in a [psychic pair,]" Moone explained. "He's twinned to a woman, a lot like me, by the name of Lovecraft. Even if I could convince MacBeth to hear me out, which, he won't, well let's face it he's a powerful and well-seasoned psychic, but you'd need to be at least [the fifth heightening] in order to untangle that web."
Keepses nodded thoughtfully, and extinguished the smoldering butt of his cigarette into the dregs of his teacup. [Psychic pairs] were [explain science.] He studied the now-smoldering tea leaves, and frowned, glancing back up at Moone from beneath heavy eyebrows. "And how many [heightenings] would MacBeth be able to achieve if he had that shiny aura boon of yours?"
Moone felt something akin to the sudden bursting clearing of the sinuses upon eating a whole spoon of wasabi paste. He swallowed, and cleared his throat in an understatedly genteel manner. "Enough." Moone gritted his teeth. "But there's still no way we're going to get at him; the Pontifex has been implicated in this as well."
"Well, I wouldn't say no way you could get close to him," Keepses said, swiveling on his stool. "Here comes the part where your problem crosses over into my jurisdiction. There's going to be an interagency summit [this? next?] weekend." [though wouldn't gef's goon squad be enough to explain the lack of suspicion over shakeup in drop point protocol? how did the goon squad get into contact with Keepses in the first place?] AND I'M SUPER TIRED AND SO GOING TO BED WITH ONLY HALF MY WORDCOUNT IN FOR THE NIGHT, OH WELL
"I've heard, rumors. Through, sources."
"Sources? You're holding back on me too, now." Moone, with his ability to weaponize the truth, was used to people not trusting him, but not Himsters Keepses of all people.
Keepses shook his head. "I just need independent verification from you. See how your story lines up with the facts and the alleged facts. They say you managed to strip yourself of your [bane and boon aura], and I can see now why they'd think that. How does that work? It involve your boyfriend over there?" he said, referring to the Pontifex, who at the moment was playing a solitary game of billiards at the table in the corner.
Moon's stomach sank at the nickname Keepses applied to the Pontifex, but swallowed and confirmed. [he explains, explains their time on the run, and runs down the idea that the boon is enhanced so much that he managed to escape his servitude to Tetragrammaton.] "I can't always choose the way in which salvation will come, and I can't always choose not to escape. I wonder sometimes- can't help feeling it- that what happened escaping in the first place was my fault, or my fate's fault, or something. I can't shake the guilt."
"How's that?"
Moone exhaled a breath he hadn't realized had been caught in his throat. "Cloud's dead."
Keepses tilted his head.
"Mushroom Cloud?" said Moone. "I'm sure I must have told you about her once."
"There was mention of a collaborator being taken out. Mushroom Cloud, was it? Damn, that name is almost as cool as mine. But, no, [bro], we haven't spoken in years, so tell me when you'd have the opportunity to do that."
"I guess never," Moone admitted, frowning, and realizing that he hadn't told Keepses his viewpoint from the assassination yet. He started off by briefly rehearsing the list of the members of his current team, Keepses narrowing his eyes at the mention of Gef the Mongoose.
"Gef, I've heard of. He's the one in charge of the taskforce to track you down. They came here a few days back, told me to contact them if you came to me...
"Gef knew you, Moone. Knows you," Keepses continued, pausing briefly. "What makes you think that if he no longer trusts you, I would?"
Moone shifted on his stool. "It's not a matter of him distrusting me. It's the opposite, in fact. Because Gef's the one who actually did it."
Keepses regarded Moone flatly. "And I'm the first person who you brought your suspicions to."
Moone gestured widely with his left hand, his right hand half-gripping the countertop. "First of all, you do trust me. Second of all, it's not a suspicion. I saw him do it. Or, well, practically. Practically. There's more to it then that, there's [bombs. with Gef's aura as the trigger.] Only the bombs were all detonated in the same attack that killed the Secretary, of course."
"So there's absolutely no evidence left." Keepses took a long drag off of his cigarette. "Didn't you mention having a psychic on your team?"
"MacBeth. He and I go back almost as far as we do. Um, 'you and I' we, do."
"MacBeth. Who would also know Gef."
"Yes. But."
"You can't just have MacBeth read the little weasel's mind?"
"That little weasel is already in a [psychic pair,]" Moone explained. "He's twinned to a woman, a lot like me, by the name of Lovecraft. Even if I could convince MacBeth to hear me out, which, he won't, well let's face it he's a powerful and well-seasoned psychic, but you'd need to be at least [the fifth heightening] in order to untangle that web."
Keepses nodded thoughtfully, and extinguished the smoldering butt of his cigarette into the dregs of his teacup. [Psychic pairs] were [explain science.] He studied the now-smoldering tea leaves, and frowned, glancing back up at Moone from beneath heavy eyebrows. "And how many [heightenings] would MacBeth be able to achieve if he had that shiny aura boon of yours?"
Moone felt something akin to the sudden bursting clearing of the sinuses upon eating a whole spoon of wasabi paste. He swallowed, and cleared his throat in an understatedly genteel manner. "Enough." Moone gritted his teeth. "But there's still no way we're going to get at him; the Pontifex has been implicated in this as well."
"Well, I wouldn't say no way you could get close to him," Keepses said, swiveling on his stool. "Here comes the part where your problem crosses over into my jurisdiction. There's going to be an interagency summit [this? next?] weekend." [though wouldn't gef's goon squad be enough to explain the lack of suspicion over shakeup in drop point protocol? how did the goon squad get into contact with Keepses in the first place?] AND I'M SUPER TIRED AND SO GOING TO BED WITH ONLY HALF MY WORDCOUNT IN FOR THE NIGHT, OH WELL
Monday, November 6, 2017
Nanowrimo day 6: Anachronominion part three: outline sections six and seven, day 1
We need to run, Cloud said. Her forehead burst into a hot crimson blush, her hand going dead in Moone's. Her body hitting the floor.
The Pontifex was there, by his side. Run, he yelled, though Moone didn't hear it. Bursting through the [french doors,] into the bright outdoor light. They were both running. Ducking into a shrub, crawling through the mud of the underbrush. The agents stationed around outside searching for them, confused, unable to detect their auras. One of them hearing something, approaching their location, right on top of them...
Moone woke up, cold sweat clinging his sleeping bag to his skin. He looked up at the prostrate form of the Pontifex, lying across from him in his own sleeping bag, still breathing gently, eyeballs fluttering underneath their lids. Gingerly, Moone crawled up out over him, exited the tent, popping his head up into the pre-dawn light, and took a deep gulp of air. It seemed almost peaceful out here. The sky was awash in a deep blue, which soon became touched with violet and yellow as the sun prepared to crest the horizon.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks on the run, and Moone was by now plagued with new nightmares. Back to that day, over and over. Nearly being shot, nearly being blown up. The Secretary, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Coming face-to-face with Gef, the perpetrator of it all, whom once Moone had felt a friend. But especially the part at the end, letting Cloud down, her blood the price for his mistake.
Moone's dreams were a force, he'd always felt. As real as the waking world. A thousand different Clouds, all real, all living the same life and dying the same death, night after night. Moone's nightmares of inadequacies were quelched, now, it seemed. Or at least, they'd taken a different form.
Pontifex's aura wrapped around Moone like a warm blanket. He felt almost invincible with it around him. And though it kept Moone's bane from triggering, alerting any harmful supernatural creatures nearby to Moone's existence, he had to live constantly with the Pontifex himself, who always knew where Moone was, and who still could feel the call to injure Moone, strong as the enhanced bane, regardless of the shape of the boon around it.
Moone had mixed feelings about the Pontifex's company. [Establish during contract scene a reason for them to stick together- until Moone's name is cleared.] He still could, of course, escape Pontifex's power if the man really did decide to strike. But that wasn't the thing that was really bothering him...
His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling sound of the tent unzipping behind him, Pontifex throwing open the flap and stepping up into the morning breeze. "So," the Pontifex's familiar voice came, as Moone turned around. "It's today, isn't it?"
Moone nodded. "It's today."
Two weeks of hiking had taken the pair of them from the northeastern edge of Virginia to the western edge of West Virginia, to a small town on the Ohio boarder called Point Pleasant. They were seeking the aid of an old acquaintance of Moone's, and the cell of which he was part.
Moone hadn't been born into this world, but he was still a part of it. Most, but as far as Moone knew not all, of the cryptozoological urban legends occurring in North America in the past fifty years was actually the work of a collective of undercover agents provocateur, in the field to [sow confusion,] this particular cell being a group with whom Moone had worked previously.
They were here to see an old friend, known to Moone as Himsters Keepses.
But the locals knew him as the Mothman.
The Pontifex was there, by his side. Run, he yelled, though Moone didn't hear it. Bursting through the [french doors,] into the bright outdoor light. They were both running. Ducking into a shrub, crawling through the mud of the underbrush. The agents stationed around outside searching for them, confused, unable to detect their auras. One of them hearing something, approaching their location, right on top of them...
Moone woke up, cold sweat clinging his sleeping bag to his skin. He looked up at the prostrate form of the Pontifex, lying across from him in his own sleeping bag, still breathing gently, eyeballs fluttering underneath their lids. Gingerly, Moone crawled up out over him, exited the tent, popping his head up into the pre-dawn light, and took a deep gulp of air. It seemed almost peaceful out here. The sky was awash in a deep blue, which soon became touched with violet and yellow as the sun prepared to crest the horizon.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks on the run, and Moone was by now plagued with new nightmares. Back to that day, over and over. Nearly being shot, nearly being blown up. The Secretary, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Coming face-to-face with Gef, the perpetrator of it all, whom once Moone had felt a friend. But especially the part at the end, letting Cloud down, her blood the price for his mistake.
Moone's dreams were a force, he'd always felt. As real as the waking world. A thousand different Clouds, all real, all living the same life and dying the same death, night after night. Moone's nightmares of inadequacies were quelched, now, it seemed. Or at least, they'd taken a different form.
Pontifex's aura wrapped around Moone like a warm blanket. He felt almost invincible with it around him. And though it kept Moone's bane from triggering, alerting any harmful supernatural creatures nearby to Moone's existence, he had to live constantly with the Pontifex himself, who always knew where Moone was, and who still could feel the call to injure Moone, strong as the enhanced bane, regardless of the shape of the boon around it.
Moone had mixed feelings about the Pontifex's company. [Establish during contract scene a reason for them to stick together- until Moone's name is cleared.] He still could, of course, escape Pontifex's power if the man really did decide to strike. But that wasn't the thing that was really bothering him...
His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling sound of the tent unzipping behind him, Pontifex throwing open the flap and stepping up into the morning breeze. "So," the Pontifex's familiar voice came, as Moone turned around. "It's today, isn't it?"
Moone nodded. "It's today."
Two weeks of hiking had taken the pair of them from the northeastern edge of Virginia to the western edge of West Virginia, to a small town on the Ohio boarder called Point Pleasant. They were seeking the aid of an old acquaintance of Moone's, and the cell of which he was part.
Moone hadn't been born into this world, but he was still a part of it. Most, but as far as Moone knew not all, of the cryptozoological urban legends occurring in North America in the past fifty years was actually the work of a collective of undercover agents provocateur, in the field to [sow confusion,] this particular cell being a group with whom Moone had worked previously.
They were here to see an old friend, known to Moone as Himsters Keepses.
But the locals knew him as the Mothman.
Moone had played the role of a cutout, [a courier intermediary between an agent and the outside world,] signaling Keepses that a [supply dump] was waiting for him at Keepses's regular drop point. The drop was in one hour.
Moone exhaled shakily. He didn't want to run for the rest of his life. [Moone's motivations for seeking aid from the Mothman? he's on the run, and needs help, but being on the run he's reevaluating his attitudes or something.] The nightmares of a [few?] month[s] ago, they had awakened in him a realization, that although reality may have been unpredictable, that although the world may have been dangerous and things would go wrong, [they'd still be safe;] things would go wrong and [that would be okay.] The new nightmares, they cemented [things;] were brought around not from the end of the old dreams but the failure itself. Failing Cloud, like that. In failing Cloud he'd failed himself-- would that have been possible?
Maybe Tetragrammaton was, like he'd pondered sometimes, just another trap that he could escape from. Maybe his [expulsion] from Tetragrammaton was brought about, possibly because he'd used the Pontifex's aura; in enhancing his boon, in such a way that he could escape from any supernatural scenario, the used of the aura had marked his escape from Tetragrammaton, but the method by which it was done inadvertently wound up as Cloud's death. Now that Moone was free, would going back to them like he was trying to do make Cloud's death in vain?
Or maybe Tetragrammaton was just another trap he could escape from, but he would need to stop outrunning them in order to do so. Rejoin, and retire, not escape by going on the lam from the government. Or else he really would be running the rest of his life.
Catch up or outrun. Else be turned to stone, Moone mused. Laelaps and the Cadmean Vixen. Which of those was he? Perhaps he had always been both.
He finalized his plan with the Pontifex. Now that Moone had the attention of Keepses, he'd infiltrate into the group by claiming the necessity to [shake up the way that] Keepses received this particular [contact,] needing to perform a live drop instead of a dead one. This is where the Pontifex would come in, as the role of the courier. Probably claiming that the recent events at the Pentagram had compromised the [communications] channel.
Moone exhaled shakily. He didn't want to run for the rest of his life. [Moone's motivations for seeking aid from the Mothman? he's on the run, and needs help, but being on the run he's reevaluating his attitudes or something.] The nightmares of a [few?] month[s] ago, they had awakened in him a realization, that although reality may have been unpredictable, that although the world may have been dangerous and things would go wrong, [they'd still be safe;] things would go wrong and [that would be okay.] The new nightmares, they cemented [things;] were brought around not from the end of the old dreams but the failure itself. Failing Cloud, like that. In failing Cloud he'd failed himself-- would that have been possible?
Maybe Tetragrammaton was, like he'd pondered sometimes, just another trap that he could escape from. Maybe his [expulsion] from Tetragrammaton was brought about, possibly because he'd used the Pontifex's aura; in enhancing his boon, in such a way that he could escape from any supernatural scenario, the used of the aura had marked his escape from Tetragrammaton, but the method by which it was done inadvertently wound up as Cloud's death. Now that Moone was free, would going back to them like he was trying to do make Cloud's death in vain?
Or maybe Tetragrammaton was just another trap he could escape from, but he would need to stop outrunning them in order to do so. Rejoin, and retire, not escape by going on the lam from the government. Or else he really would be running the rest of his life.
Catch up or outrun. Else be turned to stone, Moone mused. Laelaps and the Cadmean Vixen. Which of those was he? Perhaps he had always been both.
He finalized his plan with the Pontifex. Now that Moone had the attention of Keepses, he'd infiltrate into the group by claiming the necessity to [shake up the way that] Keepses received this particular [contact,] needing to perform a live drop instead of a dead one. This is where the Pontifex would come in, as the role of the courier. Probably claiming that the recent events at the Pentagram had compromised the [communications] channel.
This was the shakiest part of the plan; the project that Mothman belonged to was actually an operation of the occult government's domestic-intelligence bureau, Project Overneath; what went on with Tetragrammaton was another jurisdiction entirely; [would something going on at CIA headquarters fall under the FBI's jurisdiction, if the headquarters is domestic?] Would this story sell? If Keepses decided to bolt, he'd at least be out in the open, where Moone, whom Keepses would recognize, could approach him. He would need to come out with the truth, then, and there was no guarantee that Keepses would believe it- would he have already heard of Moone's alleged [villainy]?
If Keepses bought the line, then Moone was in, and he'd have a powerful ally on his side. But if he didn't, then Moone was truly out in the cold.
Pontifex knew the mission, and agreed with the assessment
that going along with it served his own best self-interests in the end- with
Moone free, the Pontifex would be free. Moone was the Pontifex’s handling
officer, but he didn’t technically have the authorization in himself to let
Pontifex free- he’d be in trouble again, rightfully this time, possibly court martialed.
It was an action committed in the course of escaping for his life in the face
of wrongful [accusal,] and hopefully that would allow him some [legal] leeway,
but still Moone suspected that even if Pontifex weren’t technically directly
attacking him he’d get his vengeance in the end, through the contract itself.
Half an hour later, the Pontifex sat on a bench under a copse of trees at Tu-Endie-Wei State Park, wearing the [signaled item of clothing] as had been signaled in the previous [bout of communication.] Moone was positioned [distance] away, at an information plaque, close enough to observe and intercede if necessary but far enough away to remain inconspicuous. There had been a battle here, the plaque said, more than 200 years ago now, between white settlers and Indians; some said it even technically marked the first battle of what became the American Revolution, [make that tie in symbolically somehow or something?!] Things had a tendency to spiral out of control like that.
Half an hour later, the Pontifex sat on a bench under a copse of trees at Tu-Endie-Wei State Park, wearing the [signaled item of clothing] as had been signaled in the previous [bout of communication.] Moone was positioned [distance] away, at an information plaque, close enough to observe and intercede if necessary but far enough away to remain inconspicuous. There had been a battle here, the plaque said, more than 200 years ago now, between white settlers and Indians; some said it even technically marked the first battle of what became the American Revolution, [make that tie in symbolically somehow or something?!] Things had a tendency to spiral out of control like that.
A man approached out of the long shadows of [place.] It was
still early morning, and the air was still relatively cool, even here in the mid-summer.
The man [describe man.] Moone recognized him from the way he walked. Himsters.
The conversation, as relayed to Moone later, went as
follows:
Keepses approached, gave sign; Pontifex received sign and
gave counter-sign. Pontifex, trying to get Keepses to bring them back to their
cell, began talking about the attack at the Pentagram, and tried to bluff his
way how that would relate to Overneath jurisdiction, running out the possible
scenarios that he had gone over with Moone, but Keepses just said, oh sure,
like it would be a natural thing for the jurisdiction to cross over like that.
Pontifex was confused by this, and Keepses was confused by
his confusion. Pontifex tried to play it off, mentioning Moone also in an
attempt to see if Moone would be safe with Keepses’s cell. At this point, also,
he began signaling Moone with his body language (crossing his legs, right over
left) to be on the ready to take action. Keepses, talking about Moone, said
that he wasn’t sure if he believed it; Pontifex said good, and signaled Moone
to approach.
Which is when he did.
Keepses looked justifiably surprised to see Moone. “What’s
going on?” Keepses asked.
“You tell us,” the Pontifex said, briefly explaining to
Moone that the scenarios they’d created for describing jurisdictional [stuff]
were [needless,] and that the Pontifex had acted like it was a perfectly
natural thing for an occurrence affecting one agency would affect tradecraft in
another.
Keepses looked to the right, then to the left. “We’re going
to need to talk someplace more private,” said he, and guided them to the cell’s
safe house with him.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
NaNoWriMo day 5- chapter, what, fourish? I actually think there may be two chapters in here somewhere
Moone ran. There was the blast of a final bomb somewhere distant, but Moone ignored that for now. Where was a map? His mind was [singularly focused] on one goal: get to Cloud before the guards got to him. Moone [should have been] able to use the map system to track Cloud down. He wouldn't be locked out of the system, just because it was pinging him. It wasn't a person; it wouldn't [lock him out] in itself, the way a person would know to do if turned against him. He could still use the building's map system to lead himself to Cloud, even if the same system was itself already actively leading others to him.
Or, maybe not.
Moone considered the ducking and weaving pattern with which he was snaking his way through the halls. They were tracking him via supernatural means-- and that meant that he could escape it. With the building's [aura-reading] security [pinging his location] being a supernatural method of threat, he could instinctively avoid the pathways of any enemies using [that security system.] The only way they'd be able to circumnavigate his own circumnavigation skills would be...--
Turning the next corner, Moone ran into a few guards who weren't tracking him down at all, just holding their positions. --Not to attempt to circumnavigate at all. Well, great. They'd realized the same thing that he had.
No matter. Now that they had him, they wouldn't be able to injure him. They were smart enough to realize not to try to track him down supernaturally; they'd be smart enough to not attempt to further put him in supernatural danger. They'd probably just take him to custody, where he'd easily be able to call upon Cloud as a witness.
The guard nearest to Moone pulled out a pistol, and fired. Moone just managed to leap back behind the corner he'd come around, and his heart nearly stopped as he glanced back at the bullet hole in the wall behind him and realized how lucky he'd just been.
The bullet hole had no glyph flaming in the air before it. Were these bullets, non-supernatural?
They could always put him in non-supernatural danger, of course. They had a contingency in place Moone rendered himself a threat. Of course. Well, he told himself, withdrawing and doing a stealth roll into a nearby alcove, at least they're afraid of me enough for that.
He flipped through the door in front of him, into an office. Further gunshots splintered bullet holes into the door as it closed behind him, tightly clustered and aimed where his center of mass had been. They were shooting to kill, weren't they. It looked like they weren't open to negotiation as he'd hoped. Moone hid at random under a workstation at one of the rows of counters, making sure they'd need to track him magically in order to most quickly find him.
He considered his predicament.
Even bullets made out of cold-iron, which had anti-magical effects, would still count as supernatural and thus give Moone the opportunity to negate them somehow. But regular bullets, fired from regular guns, held by regular guards-- or even theoretically witch guards who happened to be using no hexes or spells at the moment-- could bring Moone down like the mortal man he was, and not allow him any opportunity to explain his innocence.
Moone was seized with a terrible panic. He felt very small, very alone; there is a dread, deep in the bones, that is usually only felt by the smallest of children, ones still full of simple faith and perfect knowledge: the knowledge that the world is dangerous, that it is inhabited down to its deepest layers by monsters. [How ironic] that this fear was brought on by the opposite reason; it was monsters that Moone would be able escape, and the threats of men that he couldn't. Another wave of hopelessness. Moone felt drowning. Just like the dream of his, one half of his [geis] eating the other half like a snake eating its tail, leaving him completely vulnerable.
And with that memory coming back to him, all at once Moone came up with a plan. It couldn't have been of his boon, could it have. Either way, his fear dissolved, for no matter the source of the realization Moone now had a plan of action again, and Moone always operated better, even under instinctive action, with a plan of attack. He stood up from under the countertop, and [went] a few steps to a side doorway, as he felt [the system mass-pinging his location] go away.
Moone ducked back down again. Right as he did so, guards from all sides bust down the doors. They began to sweep the room systematically, without the use of magic. He didn't have much time; they were locking the place down totally. Moone wormed as stealthily as he could and body-rolled across the aisle to the next row of countertops over. He wasn't even sure, really, if his plan would work, for a whole host of reasons, and he wasn't sure if his plan wasn't somehow from his boon, but it felt deep down like it was his own plan, his own survival skills, that was carrying him through, and that thought thrilled him. He scanned the room from his low angle, and saw that the guards' relative positions to one another was right.
Moone sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, rolled forward sweeping the legs of the nearest guard, and jerked out a side door. A few bullets whizzed behind him as he did so, but only from the guard nearest, who twisted and shot as he fell; the rest of the guards had refrained from firing so as not to hit anyone in the crossfire.
Moone ran ahead of the guards as they attempted to stream out of the room behind him, but turned another corner before they could open the door and see which direction he'd gone. There was a map, finally, framed on a wall across the hall and to the left; Moone pulled it off the wall and ducked behind an ash-smeared pillar. The air was still heavy with smoke, and humid from the sprinkler system, but the sprinklers had been turned off by now, and a cavalcade of supernatural first responders was beginning to arrive.
Moone put his finger to the glass of the map's frame, and drew in the directory information- only instead of summoning a call to locate Cloud, he requested to know the direction the Pontifex was instead. He was led to a suite of debriefing/interrogation rooms on the second floor-- he made his way up the stairwell, using the map to make sure nobody was near, and navigated himself to the correct room. [is the door locked? does he pick it through magical means?]
[what's Pontifex's state when Moone finds him?]
"You can bestow your aura," Moone stated, "and it enhances the powers of whoever takes it on."
Pontifex blinked, and opened his mouth, before shutting it and making a smiling sort of grimace. "Yes, I see," he said, finally. Moone and Pontifex had been in communication for months, but this was still one of the first times Moone actually heard Pontifex speak. His voice was worn and reedy, but it echoed something wise and ancient. Like pebbles in a mossy well.
"I need you to bestow your aura on me."
[perhaps they don't trust pontifex much, have been keeping him detained, though Moone trusts him; in return for the aura Moone promises to let pontifex free. Moone feels some metaphysical aspect of him drain out as he makes this bond, same as when he makes any other bargain or supernaturally binding agreement. Pontifex has something of a death wish and that can come through here as well. somehow.]
Moone could feel his bane and boon each grow stronger. Feel it. A few weeks ago, back in [Russia] and meeting the Pontifex for the first time, being able to sense the power just from being near him, was only [an interesting experiment compared to now]... now with the power of the full magical aura upon him, enhancing his own, it was [another level entirely.] Just like his dream. Just like his dream. Moone closed his eyes, reached out into his aura, only instead of covering up his enhanced boon with his enhanced bane, used his boon as the snake's head instead, reaching around and covering up his bane.
Moone's aura was usually very strong from the outside, and attracted beings to it like an irresistible undertow, sweeping them in to try and do him harm. He'd be able to march against those own waves himself, but now... now he sculpted the shape of the tides, himself, and channeled the dangerous currents inward, with the boon waves Moone himself rode directed outward instead. Moone laughed [describe laugh.] It worked.
"How long does your granted aura stay before it reverts back to you?" Moone asked.
Pontifex looked up warily, and sighed. "I have no power to call it back to me," he said. "You're only going to have to fulfill your end of the agreement, and bestow it upon me so that I may bestow it upon others. Maybe one day it will be used for its ultimate purpose."
[Moone didn't stop to consider what that purpose would be. It wasn't important right now- as long as Moone trusted Pontifex, he was sure that it would be used one day. ] To prove it to him, and to prove his innocence to everyone else, Moone needed to visit one more person. Mushroom Cloud, finally.
He tapped at the map again, brought up Cloud's position, and beckoned the Pontifex to come with him as he made his way in the direction the map indicated in his aura. It was incredible- with the Pontifex's boon granted upon him, Moone could feel not just Cloud's direction but Cloud's location through the map system, even more clearly than MacBeth's psychic links created between teammates. Also enhanced was his ability granted through the map to locate any others nearby in his periphery, but with the restructuring of his own aura, through the secondary layer of Pontifex's aura, he doubted that the guards would be much of a threat to him any longer, even with non-supernatural weapons and tactics.
Moone frowned as he considered the fact that he'd need to return the aura to Pontifex once he was done- but of course, once Moone's innocence was proven, he wouldn't need the aura any longer. He nodded in resolve, and pushed his way into the ground level foyer, whereat a triage was being set up to administer aid to the wounded.
[they find Cloud, Moone being swarmed on all sides by agents, but somehow dodging them long enough to tell them to let him at Cloud.] It was only after he said it that Moone realized the meaning they'd read into his words. They'd think that Cloud was an accomplice somehow, maybe the one who set up the explosives, the way that Lovecraft must surely have done with Gef.
"No, I can prove it," Moone said, only having to [dodge] one [bullet] this time- the agents were beginning to realize the futility of their tactics against him. "I'm bound by soul oath to tell Mushroom Cloud only the truth, and if I tell her, and you watch me tell her, then you'll know that you'll have to let me off."
He made his way to where Mushroom Cloud was standing, alone in the crowd. The agents continued to train their guns after him.
"This is wrong," said Cloud. We need to get out of here. Not just you, but all of us, now. Don't you see, it's suddenly on my word now? And we're still in danger.
Moone, grabbing onto Cloud's hand, was torn. Surely they were safe now- speak the oaths, and the truth would be revealed. The glass doors of the exit were only a few yards away, still shining bright daylight through even after what had felt like the hours' length of this morning's events. Moone looked over at those doors. If they did still try to escape, they'd look guilty. Moone was certain that the whole situation could be [clarified? erased? enlightened?], though. Cloud trusted Moone, but did Moone trust Cloud?
And once again, Moone realized something, at the same time the Tetragrammaton agents must have realized it: his enhanced aura may have granted him bonus protections, but certainly not Cloud any. Moone hesitated.
And in that moment, a bullet went through Cloud's head, and her body crumpled silently to the marble floor.
Or, maybe not.
Moone considered the ducking and weaving pattern with which he was snaking his way through the halls. They were tracking him via supernatural means-- and that meant that he could escape it. With the building's [aura-reading] security [pinging his location] being a supernatural method of threat, he could instinctively avoid the pathways of any enemies using [that security system.] The only way they'd be able to circumnavigate his own circumnavigation skills would be...--
Turning the next corner, Moone ran into a few guards who weren't tracking him down at all, just holding their positions. --Not to attempt to circumnavigate at all. Well, great. They'd realized the same thing that he had.
No matter. Now that they had him, they wouldn't be able to injure him. They were smart enough to realize not to try to track him down supernaturally; they'd be smart enough to not attempt to further put him in supernatural danger. They'd probably just take him to custody, where he'd easily be able to call upon Cloud as a witness.
The guard nearest to Moone pulled out a pistol, and fired. Moone just managed to leap back behind the corner he'd come around, and his heart nearly stopped as he glanced back at the bullet hole in the wall behind him and realized how lucky he'd just been.
The bullet hole had no glyph flaming in the air before it. Were these bullets, non-supernatural?
They could always put him in non-supernatural danger, of course. They had a contingency in place Moone rendered himself a threat. Of course. Well, he told himself, withdrawing and doing a stealth roll into a nearby alcove, at least they're afraid of me enough for that.
He flipped through the door in front of him, into an office. Further gunshots splintered bullet holes into the door as it closed behind him, tightly clustered and aimed where his center of mass had been. They were shooting to kill, weren't they. It looked like they weren't open to negotiation as he'd hoped. Moone hid at random under a workstation at one of the rows of counters, making sure they'd need to track him magically in order to most quickly find him.
He considered his predicament.
Even bullets made out of cold-iron, which had anti-magical effects, would still count as supernatural and thus give Moone the opportunity to negate them somehow. But regular bullets, fired from regular guns, held by regular guards-- or even theoretically witch guards who happened to be using no hexes or spells at the moment-- could bring Moone down like the mortal man he was, and not allow him any opportunity to explain his innocence.
Moone was seized with a terrible panic. He felt very small, very alone; there is a dread, deep in the bones, that is usually only felt by the smallest of children, ones still full of simple faith and perfect knowledge: the knowledge that the world is dangerous, that it is inhabited down to its deepest layers by monsters. [How ironic] that this fear was brought on by the opposite reason; it was monsters that Moone would be able escape, and the threats of men that he couldn't. Another wave of hopelessness. Moone felt drowning. Just like the dream of his, one half of his [geis] eating the other half like a snake eating its tail, leaving him completely vulnerable.
And with that memory coming back to him, all at once Moone came up with a plan. It couldn't have been of his boon, could it have. Either way, his fear dissolved, for no matter the source of the realization Moone now had a plan of action again, and Moone always operated better, even under instinctive action, with a plan of attack. He stood up from under the countertop, and [went] a few steps to a side doorway, as he felt [the system mass-pinging his location] go away.
Moone ducked back down again. Right as he did so, guards from all sides bust down the doors. They began to sweep the room systematically, without the use of magic. He didn't have much time; they were locking the place down totally. Moone wormed as stealthily as he could and body-rolled across the aisle to the next row of countertops over. He wasn't even sure, really, if his plan would work, for a whole host of reasons, and he wasn't sure if his plan wasn't somehow from his boon, but it felt deep down like it was his own plan, his own survival skills, that was carrying him through, and that thought thrilled him. He scanned the room from his low angle, and saw that the guards' relative positions to one another was right.
Moone sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, rolled forward sweeping the legs of the nearest guard, and jerked out a side door. A few bullets whizzed behind him as he did so, but only from the guard nearest, who twisted and shot as he fell; the rest of the guards had refrained from firing so as not to hit anyone in the crossfire.
Moone ran ahead of the guards as they attempted to stream out of the room behind him, but turned another corner before they could open the door and see which direction he'd gone. There was a map, finally, framed on a wall across the hall and to the left; Moone pulled it off the wall and ducked behind an ash-smeared pillar. The air was still heavy with smoke, and humid from the sprinkler system, but the sprinklers had been turned off by now, and a cavalcade of supernatural first responders was beginning to arrive.
Moone put his finger to the glass of the map's frame, and drew in the directory information- only instead of summoning a call to locate Cloud, he requested to know the direction the Pontifex was instead. He was led to a suite of debriefing/interrogation rooms on the second floor-- he made his way up the stairwell, using the map to make sure nobody was near, and navigated himself to the correct room. [is the door locked? does he pick it through magical means?]
[what's Pontifex's state when Moone finds him?]
"You can bestow your aura," Moone stated, "and it enhances the powers of whoever takes it on."
Pontifex blinked, and opened his mouth, before shutting it and making a smiling sort of grimace. "Yes, I see," he said, finally. Moone and Pontifex had been in communication for months, but this was still one of the first times Moone actually heard Pontifex speak. His voice was worn and reedy, but it echoed something wise and ancient. Like pebbles in a mossy well.
"I need you to bestow your aura on me."
[perhaps they don't trust pontifex much, have been keeping him detained, though Moone trusts him; in return for the aura Moone promises to let pontifex free. Moone feels some metaphysical aspect of him drain out as he makes this bond, same as when he makes any other bargain or supernaturally binding agreement. Pontifex has something of a death wish and that can come through here as well. somehow.]
Moone could feel his bane and boon each grow stronger. Feel it. A few weeks ago, back in [Russia] and meeting the Pontifex for the first time, being able to sense the power just from being near him, was only [an interesting experiment compared to now]... now with the power of the full magical aura upon him, enhancing his own, it was [another level entirely.] Just like his dream. Just like his dream. Moone closed his eyes, reached out into his aura, only instead of covering up his enhanced boon with his enhanced bane, used his boon as the snake's head instead, reaching around and covering up his bane.
Moone's aura was usually very strong from the outside, and attracted beings to it like an irresistible undertow, sweeping them in to try and do him harm. He'd be able to march against those own waves himself, but now... now he sculpted the shape of the tides, himself, and channeled the dangerous currents inward, with the boon waves Moone himself rode directed outward instead. Moone laughed [describe laugh.] It worked.
"How long does your granted aura stay before it reverts back to you?" Moone asked.
Pontifex looked up warily, and sighed. "I have no power to call it back to me," he said. "You're only going to have to fulfill your end of the agreement, and bestow it upon me so that I may bestow it upon others. Maybe one day it will be used for its ultimate purpose."
[Moone didn't stop to consider what that purpose would be. It wasn't important right now- as long as Moone trusted Pontifex, he was sure that it would be used one day. ] To prove it to him, and to prove his innocence to everyone else, Moone needed to visit one more person. Mushroom Cloud, finally.
He tapped at the map again, brought up Cloud's position, and beckoned the Pontifex to come with him as he made his way in the direction the map indicated in his aura. It was incredible- with the Pontifex's boon granted upon him, Moone could feel not just Cloud's direction but Cloud's location through the map system, even more clearly than MacBeth's psychic links created between teammates. Also enhanced was his ability granted through the map to locate any others nearby in his periphery, but with the restructuring of his own aura, through the secondary layer of Pontifex's aura, he doubted that the guards would be much of a threat to him any longer, even with non-supernatural weapons and tactics.
Moone frowned as he considered the fact that he'd need to return the aura to Pontifex once he was done- but of course, once Moone's innocence was proven, he wouldn't need the aura any longer. He nodded in resolve, and pushed his way into the ground level foyer, whereat a triage was being set up to administer aid to the wounded.
[they find Cloud, Moone being swarmed on all sides by agents, but somehow dodging them long enough to tell them to let him at Cloud.] It was only after he said it that Moone realized the meaning they'd read into his words. They'd think that Cloud was an accomplice somehow, maybe the one who set up the explosives, the way that Lovecraft must surely have done with Gef.
"No, I can prove it," Moone said, only having to [dodge] one [bullet] this time- the agents were beginning to realize the futility of their tactics against him. "I'm bound by soul oath to tell Mushroom Cloud only the truth, and if I tell her, and you watch me tell her, then you'll know that you'll have to let me off."
He made his way to where Mushroom Cloud was standing, alone in the crowd. The agents continued to train their guns after him.
"This is wrong," said Cloud. We need to get out of here. Not just you, but all of us, now. Don't you see, it's suddenly on my word now? And we're still in danger.
Moone, grabbing onto Cloud's hand, was torn. Surely they were safe now- speak the oaths, and the truth would be revealed. The glass doors of the exit were only a few yards away, still shining bright daylight through even after what had felt like the hours' length of this morning's events. Moone looked over at those doors. If they did still try to escape, they'd look guilty. Moone was certain that the whole situation could be [clarified? erased? enlightened?], though. Cloud trusted Moone, but did Moone trust Cloud?
And once again, Moone realized something, at the same time the Tetragrammaton agents must have realized it: his enhanced aura may have granted him bonus protections, but certainly not Cloud any. Moone hesitated.
And in that moment, a bullet went through Cloud's head, and her body crumpled silently to the marble floor.
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