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.

NaNoWriMo day 11: Outline Section 9

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. 

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.

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.]

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.

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