Mr. Right's apartment is a sterile, drab studio. One corner has a small bed with white sheets folded military style. Next to it is a closet containing two average quality suits. Another corner contains a small writing desk on which rests a laptop and assorted peripherals. The final interesting corner houses both a tiny bathroom and an almost equally tiny kitchen. Inside the freezer is two dozen frozen dinners, mostly vindaloo. Hidden inside the apartment's light fixtures are wireless surveillance cameras, keeping an eye on the place and uploading their streams to the laptop 24/7.

As you fit the key into the lock, and open the door, you see a familiar room.  Behind you, the door frame itself disintegrates, as does your surrounding, pieces flaking off like dried paint but disappearing as they hit the floor and you are left standing in the closed doorway of your apartment.

Right takes the next several days off in order to lay low, daring not to venture outside of the bolthole. Relaxation comes in a strange guise, as he is hyper-vigilant as ever, but he knows the terrain, and the limited number of entry points. There is some comfort in the familiarity of protecting a small area from an expected direct assault, rather than worrying about being drawn into an ambush or double-crossed. He could  get used to this. Again.

The memory of destroying the plant still gives him chills. He was lured into a trap, and turned the tables on his ambushers. Still, if Quorum had been any other angel, or if he'd been more tactical about his deployment, he could be powering the God-Machine for the rest of time right now. That is not a pleasant thought. When he wishes for a purpose, that isn't at all what he has in mind.

After the first few days of paranoia, he slowly starts reaching out to his fledgling network. Seeing if Lucella's got any new or interesting news. Trying to set up an alternate meet with the man with the backdoor. Looking to see if Mr. Truth has any useful contacts.

Nothing unusual happens. You go about your day, following your typical routines.  There's a weighty feeling to the world though, as if you are watching everything, or as if everything is watching you.  Lucella doesn't contact you and you have no idea how to contact Reardon, and you know even less about Mr. Truth.  Your obvious choices are to head to the restaurant Lucella had mentioned, or back to the library in Port Angeles.  The library appeals as a starting spot and so you head back out to Port Angeles via the ferry.

Port Angeles is a beautiful seaside city, with a sprawling boardwalk, and little cafes.  The library is an antique looking grey stone building, ironically with a pair of Angels on either side of the door reading books.  A small green hedge runs around the building itself, with park benches dotted and filled with people reading books or enjoying the sunlight.  Upon entering the library, a large reception desk sits in the center room and two hallways lead to the library rooms to either side.

Right goes to the same non-fiction section and grabs the same book that Lucella had several days earlier. He brings it to the librarian, duplicating her apparent protocols and hopes for a similar result.

Soon enough, Trip appears with his usual blank look, a Styx t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.  His dreadlocks look like the cleanest dreadlocks you have ever seen and his bright blue eyes look disappointed to see you.

"Exit?" He says simply.

"Actually, I was hoping to see Gordon today." Right explains, "I know that I am not doing quite the right things, but he was expecting me previously and I thought I would see if he had the time today."

Trip's eyebrows furrow in concern and for a moment he looks confused.  He then blinks and looks towards the hallway and back at you, "Heyyy dude, how's it going? Can I help you with somethin'?" He smiles brightly and begins tidying up a stack of magazines near one of the sofa's. "Are you lookin' for a particular book? Nice suit, dude, totally mad serious wicked.  Are you one of them corporate folk? Not that I mind corporate folk, I think they make for great conversation. But then, dude, everyone does, riiight man? Yeahh. Oh man, I totally forgot dude, sorry! What can I help ya with?" His demeanor has changed with a relaxed stride and a bright cheery look, he seems completely different than the Trip that had just arrived earlier to help you with the backdoor.

"I'm afraid you don't have what I'm looking for." Right explains, attempting apolegetic, "Good day."

He turns on his heel and leaves the library.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:38, Tue 05 Aug 2014.

Outside the library, a gardener with a wide brimmed hat, green khaki's and t-shirt steps up towards you, a pair of pruning shears in his hand.  He looks placidly at his pruning shears and realizing what that might look like, places them on the hedge and continues towards you. He moves into step with you and says, "Admire my roses and let's chat. Ask me about them when anyone moves past.  Be sure to touch them lovingly, they are rather beautiful and I'm proud of them. Gardening wasn't too difficult to learn. So, I hear you were looking for me?" Upon closer inspection, he's an older gentleman, in his early 60's, a clean cut white beard and salt and pepper hair hide beneath the wide brim hat.  The tattoo of a rosary with a cross at the end runs the length of his wrist, with the cross detailed on the back of his hand.  He looks fit and healthy with a natural tan from too many hours spent in the sun.
This message was last updated by the player at 20:55, Tue 05 Aug 2014.

Right turns to the roses and begins to act as if he is admiring them. "I was indeed. We had a meeting scheduled. Things went poorly. I am not sure as to the substance of our meeting, but I do believe that I am even more valuable now than I was then, and I do not believe you would waste my time if you did not believe you could assist me as well."

He looks at the flowers and briefly wonders what it is that humans see in them. They are fragile and small and useless. A wall he could appreciate the beauty of, or a sharp knife, or even a fast car. But a flower? Gordon, he suspects, is not a man he will easily take the measure of.

"That remains to be seen.  Lucella is not brash by any means and yet she trusts you. This intrigues me.  Our meeting was cancelled for good reason, I had sensed the workings of the controller in the vicinity and I am not one for a fight.  I had warned Lucella sufficiently to leave but while she may not be brash, she cannot help but run head forwards into a fight." He breaks off then, perfectly in sync, "My secret is a bit of sugar in with the water every 5 days or so, too much and the flower will rot from the roots, just enough and... Coming here was foolish, I would have reached out eventually.  I have information and while I prefer to obtain the information, I cannot always act on it.  I hear rumblings, rumors here and there of evidence of the work of the controller. A few do not worry me, but there have been some recently that are very troubling. Lucella mentioned you might be a man of action and plans and that might marry well with my... informed nature."

"I apologize. I was in a precarious position, but even so I ensured I waited long enough to give any extermination teams time to strike before I reached out. I do believe up until the incident I had been entirely under the radar. I suspected that Lucella had some warning. That is...unfortunate," he says, smelling one of the flowers and acting as if it is very pleasant, "As you have surely confirmed independently by now, I am indeed a man of action. I was hoping to set up a more formal meet protocol, if you have any information, I would be more than happy to act on it, if possible."

"Understood." Gordon suddenly takes on a kinder tone, "We're all in a precarious position, son. We're all alone. You may be talking to me now, and you may have found Lucella, and we may work together from here on out, but don't forget that. You're alone. You're always going to be alone. I do not say this harshly, I say this kindly, son. It was a warning I wish I knew when I fell." He glances sideways watching for any prying eyes, then pulls up his shirt sleeve.  Running the length of his forearm, a strange metallic set of wires thread in and out of Gordon's skin.  The wires look almost like barbed wires, with hooks and barbs at various points.  The barbs, however, look electronic in nature, with chips and circuits embedded into them and pinching into the skin. A light blue electrical wire threads along the length of the arm, much in the same way as a vein might, sinking deep into the skin at either end. You realize that this man... this demon, is in perpetual pain in this form whenever he moves. And not an inch of it shows on his features. Without further explanation, he pulls down his sleeve once more, "Protocol for meet and greet are various.  Try the park bench, I'll know you by now. Don't approach me yourself. If that doesn't work after 5 minutes, borrow the DVD of "Land before time" and then return it."

Right plucks a small, sickly looking twig from one of the bushes, "A gift". He gives Rearden a moment to think about it before explaining, "It is a piece of a plant that does not use our kind to turn aether back into essence. It is, as far as I know, then only type of plant that is left. If you know of any other things which have one too many types, I would be happy to remedy that situation for you."

He also goes on to explain the translator site, the one time pads, and the means of encoding the message.

"If you have anything besides information to trade, I would be quite happy to consider what kind of arrangement we could come to.  I could always use a Gadget or Cover should you find yourself wishing to liquidate some of your assets," he offers.

"A gift indeed, I believe it was the only of it's kind. Let's hope it stays that way. In the meantime, I heard you're looking for a job. They are looking for teachers at the Wellington School for Gifted Children.  I garden there, I can put in a good word for you.  They need an anthropology teacher, an foreign languages teacher and an English teacher. Pick one.  It was privatized recently and they fired all the teachers in a "restructuring".  I came upon this piece of information through one of my informants. We can discuss more once you have the job."

Right nods, "Excellent. English it is. Foreign languages might be a bit too obvious in case of observation. How come they are looking for all new teachers? Usually one does not throw away one's pawns unless they have better ones lined up. I wonder what causes entrenched teachers to become unusual liabilities," Right opines, "Have you any other business before I file my application?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Wed 06 Aug 2014.

Gordon plucks off a rose and hands it to you, "Careful of the thorns." He tips his hat slightly and walks off towards the back of the library.

Right throws a casual salute, "If you like my work, find some contacts to introduce me to after I do this. Expect to hear back soon, I work fast." With that, he catches the bus home. If he was going to interview for a job, he'd need his good suit.