day 18, (day 2 of 2 of section 14)

Keepses and his men had arrived in a hovercraft, not far distant from their position, which they ran to now. Moone attempted to hold the attacker back while the crew and the Pontifex piled in and Keepses started the [engines] up. The attacker had mutton chop sideburns and small yellow teeth, with wide crooked gaps in the middle. He slashed through the air with his blade, Moone ducking and rolling out of the way, attempting to grab hold of the man's arm at the wrist. The attacker's other hand grappled, however, and Moone had to retreat.

The hovercraft roared past, and Moone stepped backwards, hands from the craft reaching out and plucking him from danger.

The attacker stood in foot-deep water for a moment, looking defeated- then burst into a sprint after the overloaded hovercraft.

"What on earth is that?" asked Keepses, looking backwards as Moone took the controls.

"Uumm," Moone said, glancing back at the black-garbed Victorian figure rushing and gaining on their sputtering hovercraft. He seemed familiar; Moone felt as though they'd crossed paths before. "Time traveler. Assassin." He thought some more. "Pretty sure it might be Jack the Ripper, even."

Keepses squished his mouth into a thin unamused line, and said nothing.

The hovercraft broke into what was once a neighborhood, now desolated and half-submerged by the hurricane. They wove down what once were streets, now several feet deep in brackish water.

The assassin jumped from rooftop to rooftop, following them at a brisk tireless pace and a near distance.

"Uuumm, Larry..." Keepses said, and his sharpshooter got into position, pulling out his sniper rifle and attempting to take the figure of the assassin out. There was a greater distance placed between him and the hovercraft, and at last his figure disappeared from view, as they burst onto a larger waterway.

"Jack the Ripper?" Keepses asked, now that it seemed the coast was clear.

"Not 100% positive," Moone said. "Long story."

Suddenly, something burst out of the foliage to their right, and back a few hundred yards. Another hovercraft, lighter, smaller. Faster. In the pilot's seat, recognizable at this distance by the tall wide-brimmed top hat, was the assassin, still hot on their tail. He had gotten his hands on hovercraft of his own somehow. And was gaining on them.

The waterway narrowed for a space, which meant the other hovercraft couldn''t pull up alongside theirs-- but its position directly behind them left a large whirring blade between their sniper and his target.

Pontifex [thought of something,] but turned to the front seat to find Keepses and Moone arguing back-and-forth with each other.

"He is on our tail," Moone spat. "And gaining. This is all your doing."

"Yes. What? No. I mean no."

"Oh, not your fault, right. Mr the Ripper here, he just happens to show up right as you give me explicit confirmation that you hadn't sold me out-- like that isn't suspicious--"

"No! Exactly! We didn't sell your location out. I mean, after all, now we know you're a good guy--"

"You could have signaled him when you found me but before you found out--"

"We had a sharpshooter for you, remember?---"

"Whatever," Moone said. "I'm just not sure I can trust you." He adjusted the [steering stick,] hoping that would signal an end to the conversation, but Keepses kept talking.

"None of what you're-- if we called him in here, we could just call him off, if he works for us."

"He doesn't need to work for you. You tracked me down, and he could have tracked you down, to track me down--"

"So what, if we didn't cover our tracks. Is that wrong? You were the bad guy."

The waterway once again wider, the assassin's hovercraft drew up alongside their own, directly along their port side. [Pontifex needs a little bit of his own aura back for some critical reason. Presumably to give to Keepses, because unlike Moone he does trust the man, but we need a reason for him to hold onto it for a little bit instead of bestowing it immediately.]

"Sorry about this." The Pontifex withdrew a tiny part of his aura off of Moone, and held onto it for himself. Moone could feel the aura retreating from him, like the tide retreating from the land. Or a cotton sweater tightening around him in the rain.

The fabric frayed around the edges a little, but the dance between bane and boon held firm.

Which was fortunate, as the gentleman assassin lunged at Moone, jumping from his hovercraft onto theirs; using his shrunken but still workable boon, Moone could anticipate the assassin's trajectory and dodge out of the way in time. The villain's hovercraft went off course and listed off somewhere behind them, slowing to a full stop, as the assassin, kneeling above Moone...

Put away his knife, instead of trying to slash Moone with it. The other men on the hovercraft just sat there and gaped. Could this have been good news?

Moone felt something, like tiny little impossibly long baby fingers, extend into his aura, and wrench it around. Suddenly, he felt-- naked. Like the boon was gone, covered up by his bane, creating an open-air zone where he was vulnerable to danger. Just like in his dreams of a few months back. Moone had the supernatural gift to always have some tool or another on hand to evade magical danger, and maybe those still existed, but now Moone felt cut off from everything. No boon. No prayer.

This all happened in the span of a couple of seconds. The assassin leered.

"Uh," Moone said, but the Pontifex could apparently feel that something was wrong with the aura which was partially his. In the same time it had taken the assassin to massage Moone's aura exposed, the Pontifex now shoved the remaining part of the aura he'd taken for himself-- into Keepses.

[Keepses, now enhanced, gives one of those "oh... yeah" powerup moments, like Rocket in Guardians of the Galaxy getting his hand on the big gun. He uses one of his boons to somehow defeat the assassin, who probably flies off of the hovercraft and dies spectacularly. Figure boon out, and tie into something else plot-important, or otherwise foreshadow.]

Keepses sat there, panting and sweating heavily. "Told you you could trust me," he said in between breaths, and beaming.

...

After the attack, they pulled the hovercraft over to a shored-up area, and regrouped on the side of a hill. His aura had reclosed as soon as the assassin had been pushed off of him, and the scrap of the Pontifex's aura which had been bestowed upon Keepses had been returned him, but still, Moone couldn't help but feel... vulnerable. Violated. How he'd been opened up, plucked like the petals off of a flower... He'd never seen anything like that in his life.

He tried to keep it practical as he debriefed his ragtag team. "I know that assassin," he said, nodding back in the direction from whence they'd come. "We've crossed paths before."

"Probably how he knew to try to override your boon," Pontifex observed.

"And I still feel violated over it," Moone said flatly. "Don't... don't bring it up. Though... it does raise an interesting question, not why he knew how to do that, but how. I've never seen anything quite like that. Never." He felt haunted, but tried to pull himself together.

"Pontifex," said Keepses, wheels turning again. "You bestow auras on others. Can you think of any way that he could have done that, altered an aura that wasn't his?"

"A few," Pontifex said after a few moments. "All of them, powerful magics."

Moone rubbed his forehead between thumb and forefinger. "Well, from what I remember of him and his buddies, unless he's learned a few tricks in the meantime since I saw him last, that doesn't really make any sense."

"He's got buddies?" Keepses asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head at an odd angle, as if trying to remove a crick in his neck.

"Two more, if that was who I think. They call themselves the Messrs Slice, Slit and Slash. Gentlemen Assassins for Hire. I think that one was, uh, Slash."

"With the top hat?"

Moone tried to suppress a grin. "With the straight razor.

"See, he wouldn't have understood that reference, they're from the Victorian Age. Or they were. Now they're mercenaries, making [assassinations] throughout time."

"And traveling through time, killing people, that won't create any paradoxes?" Keepses asked, voice suddenly low at the thought.

"Not with the kind of time travel they use. It's a lower-level form, I think. True reversal of causality, erasure of the past, undoing of free will, it's way higher order than is practical for even, world powers, to be able to use effectively."

Keepses licked his lips. "But you just admitted that he was more magically powerful now than you'd thought."

"Then I don't know.

"Still, I think that should be the last we see of him, in the past of his own timeline or otherwise. There are still two more we need to be on the lookout for. And now they know that you're working with me, so I don't think your stunt with the enhanced aura is going to work again."

"They know about me now." Keepses frowned. "Do you think he might have been working for the agency?"

Moone shrugged. "Them, or MacBeth's group. Are the two factions I know of, at least, trying to hunt me down."

"Perhaps the remnants of my organization," Pontifex chimed in.

Keepses nodded, resigned. "Great, now I'm a fugitive," he muttered. He sat down on the side of the hill, and Moone joined him.

"But," Moone chided gently. "You said you had a plan to take them down. It doesn't, uh, require agency assistance, does it?"

Keepses stirred, and snapped out of the apparent reverie. "What? Uh, yes. I mean, no." He craned his neck up to the sky, where the clouds were parting and the sun was beginning to peak out. "No it doesn't."

They hopped up, and set to work.

NaNoWriMo Day 17- day 1 of section 14

Keepses refrained from telling whole plan just yet, but they set off [walking?] back to [location] where Keepses would be able to brief everyone fully on his plan.

[The conversation turns to maybe something to do with why Mothman hadn't gone to agency- I believe I wrote it as, a personal vendetta- but now they know that Moone's a good guy, so they still aren't taking this to any agencies, because they're still after them. Connected to this, the personal vendetta thing, Moone tries to assuage Keepes's doubts about his representation of the Mothman to get into the summit.]

"Nobody at Tetragrammaton knows you're working with me. Nobody knows you even helped me the first time, giving me the intel I needed about the summit I didn't know was taking place. I had your aura, and your suit, but as far as I know they probably just figured that I killed you and replaced you at some point, to get in, and didn't suspect that the aura was gifted me."

"Probably slipping in through one of my past lives, is how you'd be able to do that," Keepses surmised. How easily he was able to plot, even on the hypothetical.

"Right," Moone said. "That would make sense. " And then, with a tinge of sarcasm: "like I've casually got the gift of time travel."

"Well," Keepses said without missing a beat. "The Pontifex. He'd be able to access the Dreamtime, from what I've pieced together of his powers, right?" The Pontifex nodded in affirmation. "And in the Dreaming, every man is also all his ancestors, past and present exist simultaneously. Another reason I'd love to get ahold of Pontifex's aura, even just a little bit."

Pontifex shrugged, seeming genuinely intrigued by the possibility, but Moone cut in, informing Keepses that if the Pontifex truly were to access the entirety of the Dreamtime, he himself would be the portal, thus die in the process.

Keepses had nothing to say on this point.

"And you still can't have the aura," Moone added.

Pontifex opened his mouth slightly. "Well," he said. "Maybe just a part of it. It would be interesting, I think."

Moone rolled his eyes at the sky. "What? No. Absolutely not-- I mean, you're a free agent, and our contract isn't any sort of, indentured, sort of servitude, but... I'm not sure how my aura would react if your aura started slipping off of it with my own bane and boon twisted up around each other. It could maybe, strangle me, or something."

"Right, I'm not suggesting now," the Pontifex said. "Besides, that twisting is the only thing keeping us from being tracked down right now."

"You still can be tracked down," one of Keepses's men piped up, a burly man with white warpaint on his boarlike face. "I mean. We did it."

"Not through Moone's or my aura," said the Pontifex.

"But there are many other ways to [track someone,]" the agent said darkly.

"So you did that," said Moone, eyeing Keepses again, suspiciously. "And you want me to give up my-- the Pontifex's-- aura. Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder--"

"If we wanted to sell you out," said Keepses, maybe a bit too quickly, "we would have done so by now."

And at that moment, a figure jumped out of the [foliage of the Bahamas] somewhere ahead of them. He had a long black overcoat, a wide-brimmed very tall top hat, and was wielding a straight razor with a manic look in his eyes. He tilted his head back and bared his teeth, eyes wide open-- and then lunged toward Moone.

And I'm nodding off here practically. I'm sorry. That's a good place for a chapter break anyway.

Day 16: Outline pt 13

Moone lunged, and Keepses swung into action around him, immediately going once again for the Pontifex.

Moone kick-swept Keepses's legs out from under his feet, and Keepses splashed to the soggy ground, flat on his rear. Keepses attacked with his right arm, his left arm thrusting downward to push himself up again; Moone could block Keepses's right-handed chop with his foot, but this provided Keepses even more momentum to get up, pushing him twisting backwards over his left arm and spinning him onto his feet-- low at first, but springing upwards immediately in a flying leap toward the Pontifex.

Keepses, flying low along the ground, tackled Pontifex in a grapple; Moone simply dropkicked the man in the square of the back. Keepses fell, tugging Pontifex along with him, and they landed in a heap, both face down but heads pointing the opposite way. Keepses twisted like a snake underneath Pontifex and tried grabbing him in a choke hold, but found Pontifex's neck too low along his own relative position to get sufficient leverage-- he simply kneed him in the face instead.

Moone stood above the two, and opened his mouth to object once again that they should have been on the same side, when a sniper bullet whizzed by his head. It wasn't just Keepses here, it seemed, but at least one more member of his cell with him-- perhaps even the entire thing.

How to get out of this one... well, duck and weave, first of all; the first bullet had missed him so he couldn't have been dealing with the most competent sniper, which was a bonus; hopefully he wouldn't change position from the perch he had currently, and after all it wasn't like he would have had much time to set up...

Moone made his way deeper into the water, until it was a couple of feet deep, and dropped into it, submerging himself completely and rendering himself invisible. Keepses by this point was on top of the Pontifex, attempting to choke him underwater. Moone burst up from the water behind Keepses, grabbing his head in a full Nelson grip and prying him away from the Pontifex with his momentum. He held Keepses out in a human shield position in front of him, and the Pontifex took a sputtering catch of breath below. Keepses made a "stand down" gesture with his fingers, in the direction of the sniper's perch, and Moone moved to negotiate.

"It wasn't me, Himsy," Moone whispered into Keepses's ear, pressed near to his mouth. Keepses's clothes were damp from his fall into the [muddy, storm water], and he had the wet-dog smell of musk and earth. "I've told you this. Thought it was Gef, remember, but it wasn't Gef after all. It was MacBeth."

"Well, that's a shocking and unexpected twist," Keepses said, voice somewhat muffled with Moone's hand pressed into his face.

"Cloud is still alive."

"Cloud? Right, the chick who, it's your fault, over. Yeah. Only she's not dead? Curious."

"We figure she was brought back to life somehow."

"Is that the truth?" Keepses asked. Moone could tell that he was plotting how to get out of Moone's grip somehow. Moone had felt Keepses's boon knack for plotting back when he'd had his aura on him-- he'd figure something out, alright. Even if it meant signaling to shoot Moone through him at the cost of his own life. Dude did seem pretty suicidal, after what happened to him. However Moone was to convince Keepses, he had to enact it quickly.

Thinking back on the time of his possession of Keepses's aura, Moone immediately realized a plan of his own, a plan that would get Keepses to believe him. Hopefully.

"I had your aura on at the time. For the whole thing. Cloud, MacBeth, all of it. You can see for yourself... You're somewhat psychic, aren't you, Keepses? Why don't you go ahead and read your own mind."

Keepses raised his eyebrows, nodding slightly. His psychic powers were fairly latent, unmodified; he wouldn't be able to read Moone's mind, even with direct physical contact, but he would be able to read his own. The memories stored in his own aura, memories of events that had not happened to him. Usually he used the power to access past lives and things like that; what was this, but very little different from channeling a previous [life?]

Keepses seemed leery of a trap, but his curiosity of the truth finally seemed to outweigh his qualms over anything that would be able to happen while he was contacting himself, so he tilted his head back and closed his eyes gently. Moone could see it, as Keepses [brought his third eye back.]

Keepses's eyes fluttered underneath his eyelids as he brought his third eye back into itself, poking around the dual memories he had of the time period, both of tracking Moone down and being Moone as he made his way to and around the summit. His voice came up occasionally, in a dull dry moan, asking questions and receiving answers from Moone, who guided him as to where he should look. Cloud's [livingness] Keepses confirmed first, and tracked it back to seeing MacBeth and being impossibly inside the bubble that he'd set up and extended outward. Keepses had met neither [full name] MacBeth nor Mushroom Cloud in real life, but apparently could sense Moone's history with them, from being Moone during those memories.

Keepses opened his eyes at last, and [his eyes widened]. "I..." He seemed to come to himself, and finally announced his sniper, and the rest of his team, to stand down. Four or five people tromped out of the brush, and stood around on the higher drier ground. [describe them physically, and give them more characterization or something maybe.]

"That's... really quite something," Keepses said, as Moone let go of him and he turned around so they could face each other as equals. He seemed to be mulling something over. "I never realized your aura would be quite so powerful, enhanced by the, him, like that," he said, gesturing to the Pontifex with a splash-kick of the water that the three of them were about ankle-high in. "If I had power like that... like that aura boost you've got on right now... well, just a test-drive would be something."

Moone exchanged glances with the Pontifex, and looked back at Keepses, not as readily able to start trusting him again as Keepses had him. "One," Moone said, "you were just about to kill him not fifteen minutes ago. And, two--" he exchanged another quick glance-- "I... I don't think you can give out halfsies on the aura. Besides --thirdly I guess, or no this is still a vital part of point two-- I need the aura; it's the only thing keeping us from being assaulted by presumably all kinds of swamp beasties right now; I haven't been jumped in months and my blood has probably ripened to smell even more delicious in the interim, it being all untainted and everything. You realize how many things would be all over us if I let down my-- hold on, how did you track us down in the first place, if the tides of my aura are externally invisible?"

"IP digits," Keepses shrugged. "I just tracked your [computer, Usenet technical stuff.] I wouldn't be to concerned about keeping your bubble up; if we managed to track you down other creatures would be able to track you down as well. If they truly would be as determined as you imply they'd be."

Moone glanced around, paranoid again. He dialed up his external detection, widening his bubble slightly so as to detect threats from longer distances, at the expense of weakening his own ability to escape said threats if they should come for him. If they did, he'd just be able to dial it down and reboost his boon again. "And so you just figured it'd be alright to go after the Pontifex again."

"Better than going after you. Safer. The idea was to take out your support, and by this point you'd have been so reliant on it that with your lessened boon you wouldn't know how to flee. You'd be so weakened and everything, you know?"

Moone retracted his bubble again, clenching his anal sphincter tightly. Even more paranoid now, and also anal retentive apparently. Was what Keepses said true? Probably not the way he'd described it. But perhaps the shock of losing the aura so suddenly would leave Moone temporarily... blinded, for lack of a better word. He met the Pontifex's eyes sheepishly. "Well, you can't have the aura," he said back to Keepses. "For now."

"Though actually, I can go 'halfsies,'" the Pontifex corrected, raising a finger slightly. "It just wouldn't be as powerful a boon as a bestowal of my full aura, of course. I'm not sure how much of my aura needs to be on Moone for him to keep his tides twisted the way they are."

"Ah," both Keepses and Moone said together.

"Also," continued the Pontifex, "my aura isn't as sticky on semi-doses as it is with the bestowal of the full thing. It will drain off, just like any normal bestowed aura would, after a period of time."

"Well, I think I'll keep it for now. Though I suppose I won't be able to forever."

Keepses nodded. "Fair 'nuff. It would probably be best to get out of here, still. Like I said earlier, if we could track you down... well, maybe others could track you down, or even us down, to track you down."

Moone stepped closer to the water-logged fountain. "It's true, that I've got both the Pentagram and whoever MacBeth's organization is, on my tail, but I think here's actually the best place for us to be. We'd be able to, stop the Pentagram, make them see my innocence, from here, as well as possibly take down MacBeth. Theoretically. And, um, not right now."

Keepses gave Moone a quizzical look, and Moone gave a run-down of what his plans would be with the fountain. If it dried in time. And if Cloud was still contactable via [it.]

Keepses looked over at the fountain, walked up to it, and kicked one of the stones over. "Huh. Well is that your only lead? Because, uh, this sucks; I mean, it looks like you won't be getting anywhere with this."

"Right," said Moone. "And you're here kicking at stones and acting like, you've got a plan that doesn't suck. This is the final, line, we've got nowhere else to go. You're not offering up any suggestions; why is that?"

"Because your [plan] does suck," Keepses said casually, picking up a pebble from the Fountain and skipping it across the water. "And I've already thought of a plan to take MacBeth down."

Nanowrimo days 14 and 15: outline section... actually this part isn't in the outline, but it'd be between 12 and 13

It was [number of/the following] day[/s following.] The storm had ended, and Moone and Pontifex were on their way to the Fountain of Youth once again... though Moone feared they had lost precious time irretrievably. [Wasn't there that pocketwatch, where had it gone, but no, not even to go back in time would prevent the storm's occurrence. [Casual time travel is TOO DARN POWERFUL. Moving on.]]

Every continent had a [fountain], or spring with a connection to the underworld. The North American [fountain], dubbed the Waters of Beniny or the Fountain of Youth, was located in the Bahamas, just off the coast of Florida; it was said to have been searched for by Ponce de Leon, though this was a fabrication by later historians.

At the Waters of Beniny, or any of the seven [fountains] around the globe, the recently reanimated could be contacted using the latent psychic link to the underworld they still possessed. Descent into the Underworld, coming back up with new knowledge and secrets gained; the water from these pools remained in someone's unconscious mind when they were brought back to life. These waters could also rectify deadly illness or injury, of course, but only on-site, and that wasn't what Moone was seeking such a pool for, of course. Not this time.

Moone planned on using the Fountain to regain contact with Cloud, banking on his theory out of all theories that she truly had been killed but then magicked back to life in time. Using this fountain he would hopefully be able to circumvent the tight control Moone knew MacBeth would have on directing the search for Moone, tell Cloud the truth using their special Bond of Truth, and from there Cloud would be able to... presumably, work behind MacBeth's back, or oust him publicly; undo him however best Cloud would see fit, being on-ground with the situation where and as it unfolded. 

MacBeth had some powerful allies, so whatever she did she would need to be careful about it- possibly expose them as well, at the same time as she did MacBeth. Moone wasn't sure how deep MacBeth's conspiracy went, but no conspiracy can survive direct sunlight. That was the idea of course, and true by definition either way; it would cease to be a conspiracy.

Contacting Cloud and setting the dominoes for that empire's toppling from afar... it would all prove to be a groundless point if Cloud had been revived too long ago, her link back to the afterlife faded by this point. The storm had delayed them a concerning amount of time, but on top of that, Moone wasn't sure when Cloud had been brought back to life. Not that Moone was an expert by any stretch of the imagination on what he had taken to call "the afterlife lifeline half-life," though he [hoped] the effect was lingering.

Finding the Fountain of Youth was a dim hope.

But it was the only hope they had.

[Mention somewhere/how the theological difference between resuscitation and resurrection: theologically speaking, Christ was the firstfruits of those that slept, even though He himself had brought at least three back from the dead, if not more. Resuscitation gives you another shot, like Cloud's phylactery from months back absconding with the Pontifex. Resurrection brings you back permanently, as an immortal.] Moone thought on the phylactery-- was that how she'd been brought back? But no, that was a little bit possessed by a demon, at the moment. How had she been brought back? The death had been at one of the most magically endowed locations on the planet, so her being brought back would be not only conceivable, but also the most likely option of how she could have been at the summit.

Even if Moone had spoken with Cloud before she died, they could have changed her memories while she was dead. Was it possible to lift the contract off of between the two? Did the words of the contract have any clause about the contract ending at death? [maybe FLASHBACK in here to give backstory an' stuff!]

When they arrived at the location of the Fountain, they found it gone. Well, not gone, the Fountain was still there-- but completely waterlogged, the floodwaters from the storm mixed with the enchanted waters of the spring, to nullify any power that they would otherwise possess, bestowal of health or otherwise.

"Well ****," Moone observed. "That was like my only plan this time; I know I usually have backups and stuff, but... I guess we could go to the South American fountain; do you happen to know off of the top of your head where it's located?"

The Pontifex, ambling up beside Moone and assessing the situation, shrugged. "Machu Picchu? Cuzco? The Nazca Lines? Ooh, probably along the Amazon or something, that thing's supposed to be longer than the Nile."

Moone pulled the edges of his lips down hard. "I thought you were supposed to be an expert on this sort of thing. Magic stuff, and all that."

"Well event experts've got gaps in their knowledge. It's, it's probably along the Amazon somewhere. 80, 90%, at its source. Does the, does the Amazon flow from an underground, spring?"

"I always just figured from mountains, man."

"Well that would make sense. Mountains are representative in basically every folklore system in the world as being an Axis Mundi, a pillar between the mundane and fantastical realities. Mountains have caves, hence, the underworld, so that symbolism would make sense. Yep, yep, definitely one of the mountains."

"But which mountain? Does your extensive knowledge of folklore have--"

"No, man. I just figured that we'd, I don't know. Swim through this one. All the fountains are connected, right? One big... portal-pool?"

"You would know," Moone pointed out. "Still, whatever it is we do quickly, because I'm not sure how long the life-life-life is going to hold."

"Maybe we just wait for the floodwaters to recede from this one."

"Waiting is not quick. Did you not here what I said, we need to do this, quickly."

"Perhaps we could just get a leafblower in here, or something."

"A leafblower!?"

"You were the one suggesting we go to South America. It'd be a lot quicker to stay at this one, floodwaters or no. Maybe one of those industrial flood-vacs?"

Moone grimaced again. "Well, that one's not half bad..."

At that moment, a twig snapped in the [jungle??] behind them. Moone was alert instantly, and in a defensive position oriented toward the location of the sound. It was a product of instinct and conditioning combined together, and it probably would have occurred even if the threat did not turn out to be supernatural.

Which it did.

Standing in front of Moone, one foot on a broken branch and a look of shock on his face, was Himsters Keepses.

NaNoWriMo Day 13: section 12 of my outline

They were in Florida, now, and a storm was going on. Moone and the Pontifex were huddled close together in a [shelter.] This storm was unnatural, unlike any Moone had seen before. It was slowing them down. They wouldn't be able to get to their objective, and there was a possibility they would also be tracked down, even with Moone's enhanced aura. [possibly searching for the fountain of youth, something to do with Mushroom Cloud's apparent living?] [what are they doing about the NOC list?] Keepses's aura had leaked off of Moone long ago.

There were three objectives now, that occupied his time and waking thoughts, thoughts that Moone could not escape now, trapped in a shelter with the Pontifex, who still gave Moone murderous glances now and again, and seemed to wrestle with himself to keep in control. Moone thought about Gef. Moone thought about Cloud. And Moone thought about the NOC list.

Gef hadn't been a traitor. Cloud had been alive. MacBeth had the NOC list. What did any of those mean? Those few hours at the summit had been [insane, full of surprising revelations,] and it was tough to work out his current feelings about anything. Much less about himself.

Cloud was alive, wasn't she? Moone thought back on his dreams the night before. If it truly were Cloud, then... she hadn't really died?

Moone thought back on the wound that had dropped her: it wasn't inconceivable people survived shots to the head, of course-- but the Cloud Moone had seen before falling through the portal had no scarring of any kind. What kind of herbalistics would be able to heal a wound like that? The bullet had no magical effects, as a ward against Moone, which meant that it wouldn't be particularly difficult to heal a wound from... Not a silver bullet, nor a bullet of cold iron, nor anything.

So it was conceivable that not only that had been the real Cloud back at the Pentagram, but that she had also actually died, just healed back to life while she was still only... mostly dead.

But if Cloud were alive, if that had been the real Cloud, her connection to Moone would still work. He hadn't actually gotten a chance to tell her the truth; that he hadn't-- what was it?-- killed the Secretary? That seemed so long ago now. A lifetime. And Moone had gotten it wrong anyway; he would have told Cloud that Gef had been the one responsible. In a sense, then, it was a good thing that Moone had been interrupted by Cloud's death, otherwise an innocent creature would have been wrongfully condemned.

But now Cloud was alive, and Moone had an opportunity to tell her the real truth. Was there a plan to do so? The agency would know that Cloud had an agreement with Moone, and that he'd be unable to lie to her. What would they do with this knowledge? Wouldn't they lead with it? Send Cloud out to contact Moone, her being alive, and use that to get the truth? But the agents back at the summit had shot to kill. MacBeth would be working actively against Moone-- not allow Cloud to speak to him whatsoever.

[Moone grows restless and talks to Pontifex about it.]

"There's a, silence. Like a ringing in my ears, you know? It's been, weeks, months, since anything's really attacked me at all. Not the way it used to. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I always thought it'd be inevitable. I... I'm having trouble describing it."

"You feel restless. You feel that the peace can't last."

"I didn't think it'd be something I'd miss, but. Here we are. It's like a Damocles sword hanging over my head. No action in a month and a half."

The Pontifex raised his eyebrows. "Mothman, he doesn't count? Or any of the agents at the summit?"

 It was different. But how could he explain? Possibly speak how he truly felt? Moone shook his head and shied back, giving a "what you gonna do?" grimace. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled instead, and let it out as a sigh, the bottom of his lungs surprisingly wet. "Never mind."

[Moone brings up old werewolf friend, continuing to skirt around the issue, mentions full moon or something.]

"That's not how werewolves work."

"It's not?" Moone said, paling.

"The moon thing. It's how people think werewolves work, but it hasn't sunk deep enough into folklore for that to become a reality yet. It's only been around, 5 or 6 decades. The notion stems from one of the Wolfman sequels. Curse of, I think. It's already sunk into popular culture, but there hasn't been a generation born yet that has the curse work that way. There's no real genetic mechanism for it."

Moone considered this, and spoke shakily. "But werewolves, real werewolves, still do transform, though?"

"Of course."

This put Moone's mind at ease immensely. He mulled over the information, and how easily the Pontifex had brought it to mind. Moone marveled, as he realized he had a true expert in front of him the whole time, someone who knew how the world really operated, down to the foundations of magic at the bones of everything. Moone squinted, glad to be the one asking the questions this time. "So you're saying that, folklore controls the magic, instead of the other way around? I thought folklore was based off of magical occurrences and beings, and you're telling me..."

"Yes and no. They... they affect each other. Cause and effect, there's no difference, yes? Not in the Dreamtime. Religion is affected by actual supernatural occurrence; superstition causes supernatural occurrence. Folklores are superstitions. Nobody actually believes in werewolves, these modern conceptions, even when they picture the full moon in their mental image of werewolves. It requires actual belief to have an effect."

"And the fact that I believe in werewolves, because I know they exist, but have, superstitious misconceptions about them...?"

"Well, I wouldn't call your misconception superstition," Pontifex said with a wave of the hand. "But [etc.] [brings up briefly his own powers and how they fit into the belief thing.] It's what we were doing, in the Kabbalah. Controlling folklore, repressing minor belief systems from overthrowing our power structure. Belief is the most powerful force in the world- the Soviet States were technically atheist, but we managed to survive and thrive."

The Cabal. Moone hadn't thought of that in-- well, ever since going on the lam with the Pontifex, truthfully. It had crossed his mind once or twice, doubtlessly, but he hadn't given thought to it: they were still a threat, still out there somewhere. ["What was your role in the cabal? What do you do? How does your aura work? Who are you?"]

The Pontifex sat up, and leaned closer. "They call me the Pontifex. Do you know why?"

"Something about bridgebuilding, yeah?"

"But why do they say I'm a bridgebuilder, well. I'm a liaison between the human and the divine. My aura is something of a physical manifestation of the Axis Mundi. And it has the power to increase flow of power from the Source to our universe, wherever there’s a nozzle."

"And this source, it can be affected by belief?"

"The Source is... it's not a place, exactly. It's all places, all times. There are planes and realms- you've been on a few. The physical, the aural above that. Even higher above that is the Dreamtime, which is where creation itself is even now going on. And even that's only halfway to the Source. There's a reason they call this power supernatural; it comes from a place truly above our own."

Moone wasn't sure if the Pontifex's words were to be taken seriously, or if it was some sort of religious belief system that the Pontifex had. The discussion here, and the talk of the difference between religion and superstition earlier, reminded Moone of Mushroom Cloud's religious belief: she was a sorceress, a wielder of magic, and a believer in some ancient pagan power or deity-- but in practice, she was a Christian, because she knew that whatever reconstruction they'd be able to make of the ancient pagan worship would be flawed, and thus a mockery. Far safer to practice a religion correctly, even when she didn't believe everything in it, than it was to practice a religion she believed but knew she didn't have the correct practice or doctrine of.

Pontifex's words nonetheless made sense enough, though Moone feared that now he'd have to take everything he said with a grain of salt- and maybe he always did. Was this the way you've chosen to attack me? Through my beliefs, which I wouldn't dare to fight back against, being so starved for knowledge as I am? "I don't understand," Moone said aloud. "How would our human beliefs change something so high above us, then?"

"The Source doesn't change, itself; things come down from the source. We change our own environment, through the power of the Source. The Source is what transforms common objects into their mythical forms. Based on folklore, superstition, local belief. Foxes in Japan become kitsune; tapirs become baku; household objects become tsukumogami when they reach 100 years of age."

Moone nodded. "There's a reason I stay out of Japan," he said simply.

[Pontifex says more about belief]

"And belief is changing," Moone said, growing excited. "This is what I've always been saying. People having superstitions about the external is starting to disappear. Not that superstitions are going away; they're simply shifting toward... the self. The way people interact is changing fundamentally.

"Technologies. The World Wide Web? We'd thought that the rise of technology was going to displace our supernatural world, but if anything, it's thriving. It's a little early to tell for sure how this is going to pan out, but... People’s notions of themselves are changing, as fantasies become more accessible."

"And so, it was you who found me," the Pontifex said, smiling tiredly at the eyes. "Yes, it's true the world is changing, but to call this the closing of the book of the supernatural and paranormal would be... short sighted. Like the attempt to end the Pentagram, the summit there. A fire is rising, through the electrical wires. This is no age of reason. This is no age of skepticism. This is no age of doubt."

Moone chewed on the Pontifex's words for a while. Now that Moone knew about how the Pontifex's aura worked, something that he had said, long ago, when they'd made their contract together, came to Moone's mind.

"Pontifex, mind if I ask you one last question?" It was getting late, and the flickering candle was barely a stub now, with maybe a few more minutes of wick left.

"Go ahead," the Pontifex said.

"When we struck our deal, you mentioned that your aura had an ultimate purpose."

"And you are asking what that purpose is, yes? Well, then. I will answer. Your power is increased, under my endowment. Your aura opens up, like a-- like a pore-- widening and becoming stronger, as it gets closer to the Source."

"Yes," Moone confirmed.

"Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if I bestowed my aura upon myself?"

"You'd... be yourself?"

"If I bestowed my aura upon itself," Pontifex continued gently, "it would loop on itself, becoming more and more powerful, until it brings a physical manifestation of the Source place to this world. A portal, to a higher plane. It will be a great and noble purpose."

"Ah," Moone said.

"And in doing so, in creating so, in fulfilling this purpose, well. I will be consumed," the Pontifex said. And the candle sputtered out.

day 12: outline section 11 (Interlude: MacBeth) (day 12 pt 2/2)

INTERLUDE: MACBETH [we're going to have other interludes as well to get non-Moone POVs.]

[full name] MacBeth stewed, the Necronomicon's presence in his auraspace gnawing at him like a bad toothache, in some non-tangible part of his soul. He'd have to expulse it soon, otherwise an infection would begin to set in, like wood rot, and he'd begin to ail physically as well. By now they would begin to notice that the list was missing, and figure Moone had taken it-- work out the actual motivation for the summit from the assassination, but alas have the wrong [guy], just a scapegoat for the actual perpetrator.

MacBeth sighed-- oh well, he had brought it upon himself, in refusing to take the shelter that MacBeth's brotherhood had proffered. Still, in doing so, he had made himself something of a nuisance. And, of course, escaped. Moone knew too much. Maybe everything. Probably not, but with Moone one could never be too careful. He had to be taken down, as soon as possible. But how?

MacBeth had explained to, whom he had thought was the Mothman, the mystery of the mechanism by which Moone had covered his tide up, making him impossible to trace. That was true- as many of the alleged mysteries regarding Moone's escape were actually because MacBeth was the perpetrator, there was still the [unexplainedness] of that strange transmutation of his aura.

Or rather, there had been. Moone had been inside the aural plane with MacBeth, and MacBeth could bring his mind's eye back now to look at Moone's appearance. He was strange, frightening. Like the multifaced creatures that had appeared to Ezekiel in his vision.

Fortunately, MacBeth knew how those particular angels worked. It was all symbolic, of course- but it was a literal recording of the symbolic appearance of the angels as they manifested in the aural plane. The same with Moone's appearance, here. Three faces, he must have had three auras on. His own, the Pontifex's, and what must have been the Mothman's, the real Mothman's. The Necronomicon had, when Moone had somehow gained entrance, read the three auras as having been only one, so there must have been some order to it, some structure granted wholly by the Pontifex's aura.

MacBeth had a certain ally, present at the summit actually, who would know precisely how the aura would work, and if there were a way to get it to work against Moone. Its name was Xemf, or rather, it was Xemf and Xemf was it, in an identity that went infinitely deeper than names. Xemf was Xemf, would be Xemf, and could only ever be Xemf. If Xemf were to ever open up a fortune cookie, its fortune would read Xemf, because Xemf was Xemf's destiny.

[MacBeth made his way to the place where] Xemf had been monitoring Moone's escape, and [encountered.] Xemf had been in its current form, infiltrated into the agency, ever since MacBeth's [killing] and Moone's escape of a month ago, and seeing Xemf in such a state was still something of an odd thrill.

[Xemf derides MacBeth for letting Moone learn about the NOC list, and possibly settles on a change of plan, giving a not-so-subtle hint that he wouldn't get off so lightly if MacBeth were to screw up so badly again. MacBeth tells Xemf about the vision of Moone in the aural plane, and Xemf interprets it correctly as Moone's using Pontifex's aura to invert his boon and bane, using his enhanced boon to cover the bane. Xemf hints that such a system is unstable, and that they can also flip the enhanced boon and bane around the other way, bombarding Moone with an assault of magical enemies while also causing him to be able to fail. The Pontifex truly is powerful, and could represent a tremendous threat to the Brotherhood. But of course it would be a shame to let such power go to waste. Xemf states that the Brotherhood would be able to slow Moone down, using their own powerful means, but that it was on MacBeth's shoulders to find a way to track him down and take him out, in his delayed state. The meeting ends, and Xemf slinks back into the shadows.]

MacBeth shuddered. Xemf had such a familiar form, yet it spoke such cold words. Xemf was a subtle one, full of plans and counterplans, schemes and counterschemes, but its loyalty to the cause was [unquestionable,] and its advice was [flawless.]

MacBeth entered back into the hallway, pushed open the stairwell door, and began to seek out Gef. He would offer up his own suggestions, which Gef would listen to and implement, for how to track Moone down. Meanwhile, though, MacBeth had a few, deeper, plans of his own. To get to Moone first, before the agency could. To shut him down, independently. And now, thanks to Xemf's suggestion, to recruit the Pontifex to the side of the Brotherhood.

As MacBeth made his way down the stairs, he pulled out a pocketwatch, the same one from the [thing established earlier,] and flipped it open, studying the odd complexity of the twisting dials. He flipped it closed again, and burst out into the lobby where Gef would be waiting for him. Yes, MacBeth had a plan.

It was time to get to work.

day 12: outline section 10 (day 12 pt 1/2)

A security system designed specifically to thwart Moone was around him in an instant. The guards, being non-supernatural, were the ones to lead the charge, probably receiving orders on how to handle Moone through their earwigs. What would their orders be? To capture? To kill?

One of the guards, a tall buff brown-haired man with wireframe glasses, rushed at Moone, raised a gun...

And shot Moone straight in the face. To kill, then.

Cracks splintered across Moone's vision. The Mothman helmet was tougher than it looked. He pulled it off, and chucked it at the agent's face. He fell comically, his glasses flying off, which continued to skid toward Moone for a bit, from the momentum from the run. "Sorry!" Moone said, as further guards began rushing around the lobby corner toward him.

Moone, not forgetting his position, simply stepped backwards, into the sigil-caused bubble of looped glamour. From the outside, it would simply look like he'd vanished, the two guards' stations at the desk here empty, with the Necronomicon safely in its [crystal case? something with magical connotations.]

From the inside, the story was different. Moone frowned down at the two guard's bodies, lying gruesomely on the floor in their blood, bodies twisted unnaturally under the desk, with smoking glyphs in their back pressed in like eldritch brands. Certain glyphs would either banish a spirit or keep it trapped inside its body for a time, preventing seancing of the departed spirits; kills like these were the best way to keep secrets. If channeled, these departed guards' spirits would have been able to provide witness of their stories, which would possibly lead to Moone's exoneration.

Moone grimaced. Were these two guards even supernatural? Would they even know what had been going on? MacBeth...

Looking up, Moone could see out the doors to his right, where agents were forming a perimeter around the building, and into the lobby floor to his left, where guards were scrambling past, searching for Moone, thinking they'd given him the slip and even now was fleeing elsewhere.

How would he get himself out of this one? He couldn't just burst out the doors; they'd be around him in an instant. And he couldn't remain in this bubble forever; someone was bound to step through eventually. Were there any other plans to exit the building? Well, Moone did have one... He waited for a break in the rush of agents this way and that in their search for him, and [ducked] out of the glamour bubble.

[He makes his way up the stairs, but is spotted on the mezzanine floor. The suit gets damaged further- he tries to fly in it, down toward the lobby floor off of the balcony, but gets shot down maybe, gliding the rest of the way and ducking away again.] The suit sparked. Moone hid the fact that his wings were now damaged-- if he could successfully make his way to an upper floor, they would think he'd try to escape by making his way to the perimeter wall and jumping out a window.

[runs into Lovecraft somehow. maybe Gef-related.]

Lovecraft seemed alarmed, and Moone tried to tell her the truth. She was no Cloud, true, but she was a woman after Moone's own heart.

He tried to make it brief:

"Gef thought it was me. I thought it was Gef. But it was MacBeth, and now he's got the NOC list."

Lovecraft pursed her lips. Guards burst around the corner behind him, resuming the chase. "Remember that!" Moone shouted behind him, taking off at a sprint once more.

Moone ran towards the elevators. [on elevators, maybe before he can even take them up gets surrounded or something, goes down shaft instead somehow.]

The suit had been damaged in the attack, but... Moone tossed himself down the elevator shaft, and plummeted down the [number] storied to the bottom of the shaft. The wings of the moth suit unfurled, slowing his descent, and Moone landed roughly, yet safely, amidst the [coil and mechanisms and stuff.] Fluttering the moth wings as rapidly as possible, the remains of the wings were shredded all the way with the effort, but it was enough to get him up to the basement level door, which Moone also pried apart. Moone ducked into the parking garage.

Moone knew that at that moment, they wouldn't be pursuing him in there, but already trying to get a step ahead of him and place up roadblocks around the building.

That's exactly what Moone was counting on.

[he grabs car, SUV-type maybe Jeep of some form, established from earlier mission, and starts it up.]

Then, instead of driving toward the exit ramp, he drove inward, toward the building. Up the ramp, bursting through the loading door, and into the kitchens. Crashing through the racks and movable counters, bursting through the doors of that into the dining hall. People scrambled this way and that as he plowed through. Unless the guards after him were to hop onto vehicles of their own and chase recklessly behind him, he was safe from them.

Of course, this didn't rule out having supernatural forces sicced on him... just because he'd be able to deal with those, didn't mean that it would be a picnic, or something he'd very much care for. He'd survive it, but he couldn't afford the wasted time- by the time he'd circumvent the attack, it would quite possibly be too late to escape.

[there's a moment that looks like a close shave, maybe he crashes, but Moone escapes on the motorcycle that had been established in the back of the SUV, during the same mission where the SUV was established.

[drive back through the building, around people,] into the last place they'd expect him to go in a vehicle- into the freight elevator.

Moone mashed three buttons: 6, 7, and 10. They would be scrambling to monitor which floors the elevators would be stopping at- meanwhile, agents would be sent to converge on the sixth floor, to rush the elevator when the doors opened there.

It would look like floors 6 and 7 were red herrings, Moone attempting to escape to the roof via the 10th floor roof access, but in fact floor 10 was the true misdirection. Moone knew what he was doing. Hopefully his stunt with the car had bought him enough time, and the guards stationed at the sixth and seventh floors just in case wouldn't be in place yet; hopefully he'd successfully put them off-guard that he'd been heading for an elevator of all things the whole time.

[there are guards there, he shoots the motorcycle at them, knocking them over like bowling pins, and ducks back into the elevator shaft.

The elevator continued upward to the tenth floor, which had rooftop access- further agents would be converging there, to halt his wingsuit-assisted escape off of the roof. Moone ripped off the last remnants of that suit now, and dropped it down the shaft.

Of course, he had a pristine tuxedo on underneath.

Beneath him, further agents would be converging on the sixth floor, thinking he'd drop down the shaft to have another crack at escaping from floor 6, but he was exactly where he needed to be.

The seventh floor. The portal room.

Moone pried the elevator doors back open-- sure enough, the agents here had run off, down to the sixth floor to await him there. Nobody would have expected Moone to escape through the portal room, because nobody knew that Moone had learned of its existence through mind-reading. [or something- make that sound more convincing.]

Moone dashed his way to the portal room, as stealthily as possible. The building was on lockdown- would there be anyone up here? Would the portal room be accessible? The floor seemed totally empty; Moone couldn't even feel any nubs of souls nearby.

Moone searched out the room, using his memory of the read minds: solid wood french doors, no knobs, no locks. Easy. I'm home free. He found the room, pushed the doors open...

And froze, as he felt a pair of eyes dwelling on him. Moone spun, continuing to push the doors open and pressing backward, hurrying blindly into the room. The person standing behind him-- Moone paled and went dizzy, as all the blood rushed out of his head--

He was standing face-to-face with Mushroom Cloud.

Moone stumbled back, mind reeling. Mushroom Cloud was still alive. What did this mean? Had she ever truly died? Was her death faked, for some reason? If so, why; could she possibly have been in bed with MacBeth, and the Brotherhood he had seen glimpses of?

No, no. Moone refused to believe it. He had seen her die. Moone had watched her die, right in front of him. Did this erase that? He looked up again. Could it really have been? He refused to believe it. But here she was.

Mushroom opened her mouth as if to say something. But Moone stumbled backward, [through a portal, and out.]

He collected the Pontifex, and the two went underground together once more. But the memory of Cloud's face still haunted him.