The spray of the sea kicks up around the ferry, and you watch the Seattle port disappear behind you. A good number of people ride with you — some probably going to the lavender farm near Port Angeles, some returning from a night on the town. But what are you doing on this ferry? As you watch storm clouds gather in the west, that question looms large in your mind. You hear her voice beside you and you realize the reason: Lucella.  She's talking about the mundane; the filet mignon for dinner last night, the feel of a warm shower, the smell of lavender and roses, the subtle way that a woman might slyly look at a man she admires.  Are you entranced by her petty obsessions over the mundane, the way it makes her human eyes light up and sparkle, or perhaps the way she twirls a piece of her curly black hair around one finger, as if every twirl was the first and savoring the feel of it around her skin.  Or perhaps she interests you because you do not understand her, the way she plays around the edges of humanity, diving in and pulling back and diving in all over again.  Whatever it is, something keeps you coming back to these meets, these moments where she seems to tell you everything and nothing and neither of you truly meets even close to the middle.

Today she has picked the Port Angeles ferry, promising to introduce you to a contact, "He's like you." She had said simply, without further explanation. That was enough, though.

A musician busks at one of the ends of the boat, his violin playing a soft lilting tune that Lucella adores and frequently reminds of, just in case you forget.  Always resting a hand on your arm, testing the boundaries of your space, she smiles. "This is nice."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:14, Sun 20 July 2014.

Mr. Right quickly riffles through years and years of memories. He smiled at the newspaper man 6 months, 13 days, and 7 hours ago. The smile was too happy, too suggestive. Completely awkward and inappropriate. The newspaper man mercifully pretended not to notice. No harm done. He decides it's the perfect expression for the moment. Distancing himself from Lucella would draw suspicion. If he is meeting someone tonight, his cover needs to be as solid as it can be. He draws his lips back, slightly exposing his teeth. Nobody else can tell how mechanical it is to him.

He envies her. She was probably a Trumpet before she fell, or maybe a Wheel. She was good at living. Filet mignon? What a joke. He feeds himself for weeks on what it costs her to buy a steak. What a waste of resources that could be used to combat the God-Machine. Yet an awful feeling lurks at the back of his consciousness, telling him that someday the conflict will end. He will likely be the loser. And if he should fail before pursuing any other objective, what will it all have been for? Futility. This, he surmises, is the reason he continues to allow himself to be summoned by her.

"Why does he want to meet?" Right asks, "And how much is the introduction costing him?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:52, Sun 20 July 2014.

She tsks, annoyed he is always so business, but acquiesces because at least she knows it makes him more amenable. At least he always flashes her that smile, anyway. "He's tapped into a lot around here. He's a collector, or watcher if you will; information and the like. He's a shield, too.  Likes to think of himself as Seattle's protector. He keeps mostly to himself and his books, but he knows a lot.  Apparently, though, he has information that he needs help with. And the price is no business of yours.  I'm just glad our meeting had no price. Well unless you want to set one of course..." She winks suggestively, but you have seen this a lot by now.  She doesn't even seem serious anymore, or maybe she never did. "Anyway, darling, you'll see when you meet him.  Why don't you tell me how you like it on the boat? It's beautiful. The music is beautiful. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it just enough to change your mind about everything?" She breathes deeply, taking it all in.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Sun 20 July 2014.

Right furrows his brow. It's a good way to let her know that he's thinking. "You know my price, if you ever find out anything worth knowing. I'm content to say that you owe me one. Can you vouch for his loyalties?" he asks, fully knowing that she can trust her contact as much as he himself can trust her: none. "I was never very fond of boats. Very tactically limiting. Also very predictable."

He knows he infuriates her. That's not the point. He has no peers, no close allies, no war buddies. If he doesn't tell her his thoughts on the tactical advisability of water travel, that's yet another notion floating straight into the singularity that is his mind: all-devouring, with no possibility of escape.

Besides, the rocking of the waves made him queasy, and has conditioned him to hate both boats and water. He thinks it wiser not to say this, because Lucella would probably not take it well.

"His loyalties are air tight.  They are his own, just like ours. But he's cut off, he doesn't want trouble. You can trust that. And if it helps, he's saved me before." Lucella seems to lose interest in you a bit, instead taking in the passengers on the boat perhaps for the first time.  Staring quizzically at the Musician, she suddenly hisses at you, "Fallen. I know him.  I've seen him before. What's he doing here?" She seems ready to stride over and ask him, but she also knows Right better than that and doesn't want to draw attention. "A bit of a coincidence, both of us here."

Right's hand flies to his jacket pocket, gripping a knife secreted within. His stupid grin stays plastered right on, not bothering with changing it into something more appropriate. "There are no coincidences. Except for the fact that I was just talking about how tactically unsound commercial watercraft are. Get ready to run, fight, or hide. You carrying?"

He takes a step to the side, and starts to survey the crowd, and the waters. Anywhere a threat could be coming from. He tries to think why the God-Machine might lure three or more demons to the same boat. Maybe an angel is inbound. Seems a bit much. Maybe this contact is a traitor. Yes. That is more likely.

"Of course.  There's only one way to be. But this kid, he's a Messenger, he wouldn't be bad news... Right?" She hesitates, she hates it when she does that.  She'd gotten good at living, but she wasn't particularly good at cautious.  Funny that one was a lot more necessary than the other. She straightens up, a hand hovering at the solitary clip in her hair as she adjusts it carefully, her earrings fluttering from side to side.  She scans the crowd looking for anyone else she recognizes but there's so many people; a grandmother and her grandchildren playing cards on one of the tables on deck, a couple canoodling against the side of the main cabin, a dozen teenagers on some kind of school tour with a flustered looking teacher, men and women in suits with smartphones and briefcases headed into Port Angeles for business, or perhaps pleasure, a few farm hands and dozens more people, laughing, smiling, contemplating, living... She sighed. "I don't see anything, or anyone else.  Perhaps it's nothing."

"Stay close and look for anything else unusual," Right demands as he starts to stalk around the outskirts of the crowd, "I doubt he's the attacker. Doesn't mean there's not one."

He feels around for any traces of Aether, just in case, though he knows his ability to detect it is weak, and only the most blatant usage is detectable to begin with. Unless he uncovers something, he finishes his patrol around the crowd, and concludes that the threat is well hidden. He suggests, "Maybe go see what he's doing here. If he's innocent, he'll tell you what he's doing here. If he's involved, he'll give a bullshit excuse."

Lucella move towards the musician; moving with a stunning cat-like grace.  You see her laughing and smiling before too long, talking quietly with the musician, ignoring the kids begging him to continue playing.

In the meantime, you move throughout the boat, pausing every so often to look at the scenery and try to sense your surroundings.  You can feel the vibrations of the ship's engine trickling through to your feet, the static and resonance of all the smartphones and tablets around you singing their digital song, and beneath it the heartbeat of humanity moving ever onward.  You feel the presence of demons, though you cannot pinpoint where, although your guess is that it is Lucella and the musician, and if you were to move towards them, it would be confirmed.

Lucella bubbles back toward you, settling next to you once more by the boat's railing. "Nothing. He's just here to busk, he says. It occurred to him recently this boat might make him good money, and he's right. Another busker told him boats brought in a great profit. He's already brought in about $200. I suppose that isn't bad for an hour or two and a nice boat ride.  He's confused as to why we're here. Although, don't worry, he thinks you're my human lover." She grins, "So make it look good." She wraps an arm around your waist, not even waiting for your reaction. "He's getting off at the Port and coming right back for another round. Nothing to worry about, I think."

Right puts an arm around her and goes straight back into Smile #551. "Let's check below decks," he suggests as he leads her around the throngs of people. He quickly goes up and down rows, occasionally pausing to stare at the floor as if he think he's misplaced something on the ferry.

It occurs to him that if there is some sort of play to be made, it could be supported by infrastructure. Or perhaps the boat has been infrastructure all along, and the meet was a trap intended to get him on to the boat. Better to find the threat than wait for it to find him, he reasons. All the more reason to search the ferry for Aether.

For all the drawbacks of being ambushed on a ferry, he sure did appreciate the numerous and easy views of shore.

Lucella gives a squeal of delight as you put your arm around her. She's delighted but she straightens again because she knows exactly why it's happening. She may enjoy the moments, but she's not one to entertain any delusions.

As you move towards the door that leads to the cabin levels, you notice a business man using his smartphone.  He is fairly nondescript with brown hair and a plain face; he is wearing a black suit, white shirt and blue tie, with a black hat on his head. Something about him tells you that he's watching you, even though he hasn't yet looked up from his phone.  Something about the way his body moves to face you as you move about the ship, and the way he never looks up from his smartphone, not even for a second. Is he truly watching you? Or is this your imagination?

"I think that man is following us," Right mumbles under his breath in flawless Tagalog to Lucella. He finishes making his way to the door to downstairs and lets himself through. Either their tail could out himself, or he could pick up the next surveillance element down below. He makes sure to keep a lookout for any other men in suits, or anyone else who aims themselves at him while staring at a phone.

One hand always in his pocket, he patrols the area, ready to plunge it into meat or a sheath of more rarefied flesh. In all his years of protection, a few foes got the drop on him, but none got the best of him.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:06, Sun 20 July 2014.

Lucella responds in perfect French, her favorite and delicious on the tongue, "I see that.  And do you feel that? Aether. Maybe the musician?" She stiffens, "Yes, the musician. He's calling me back. Message for me." She looks meaningfully at you. "I hear it in the music... Something about a coin. Do we go back now or.. later?" She's deferring to you, you are the guardian after all and that means you might know best.

"I felt it. Let's go back," he says, back in English, "Worst case scenario, he's useless and we turn right around. Best case scenario we don't need to search for anything."

He spares a thought or two to consider what Lucella was before the Fall, and what caused it. Sure, any demon could hide signs of pain or suffering, but what demon who'd been through that could even be bothered acting happy all the time, even when it provides no advantage? Perhaps some angels just, one day, decide not to be angels any more. Maybe it didn't always have to be traumatic.

Back to the mission. Of course.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:40, Sun 20 July 2014.

Lucella nods and leads you back, grinning quickly at a little boy and his dog.  She leaves you at the railing once more, and heading back to the musician she begins to rummage through her black sequin clutch, looking for something.  Finally, with a loud "ahah!" she pulls out a dollar and leans into the violin case to deposit it safely, blowing a kiss in the musician's direction in the meantime.  On her return, she opens her palm carefully hidden from any prying eyes and resting in it is a gold dollar coin. She says simply, "Our smartphone friend made a little donation earlier."  As you look at the coin a bit more closely, you notice some odd lettering around the edges, a strange script in no language you can speak but something about it is oddly familiar and tugs at your memory.

(Mr. Right rolled 1 success using 3d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s.)

You realize suddenly, perhaps even with a sinking feeling, that this is angelic script, written into a kind of formula.  You can no longer read this script.  And you  will likely never again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:41, Sun 20 July 2014.

Right examines the coin for a brief moment. One glance is enough for a lifetime. Which is still one more glance than it was back in the old days. He misses the old days, but not enough to ever go back.

"Damn," is his only response as he inspects the coin and feels its aetheric resonance. He senses he can somehow hack the coin. He hopes that Lucella will at least sort of watch his back for the moment. He doesn't want to get involved with the coin while the Machine's agent is around, but it seems safer than not getting involved.

"One moment, keep an eye out for me" he says, as he begins to download information about coins, metals, and numismatics directly from the aether. It feels good having an immediate purpose that reminds him of his original objectives. This was what he was created to do, just not the side he was created to do it on.

09:53, Today: Mr. Right rolled 3 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s. Downloading Computer Knowledge wits + computer.
09:54, Today: Mr. Right rolled 3 successes using 9d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s. Downloading Crafts Knowledge wits + computer.
09:56, Sun 20 July 2014: Mr. Right rolled 4 successes using 9d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s ((8,2,8,2,9,7,7,3,9)).

After several seconds of cyclical download iterations, he finally makes the attempt to hack the coin. His control over his aetheric field is competent, but makes him aware once more of his relative small place in the Machine or lack thereof. The feeling is not unlike tightening a screw with one's fingers. With one's non-dominant hand. He has no idea how he will survive long enough to refine his abilities enough to have some modicum of security in his own modicum of a life.

Low profile, fly under the radar, keep your head down. Lucella might as well be trying to get herself killed. Don't be that.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Sun 20 July 2014.

A quiet place in your mind is suddenly linked to the coin, like your mind is attuned to a strange frequency, not unlike the soft buzzing of a bee at a high pitched note but inside your head.  The buzzing is constant and unchangeable, but you are reminded of a transmission frequency you had seen before: It's coming from somewhere and the closer you get to it, the frequency might just change.  Lucella watches you puzzled, "What is it?" She looks at the coin transfixed, a piece of the heavens in her hand.

Your downloads and attunement to the coin has made you realize what this truly is. A tracking device. An angelic tracking device at that.

"It's a locating device. It's leading us somewhere. And maybe someone to us," he answers. He shuts her out to concentrate on the buzz. Is it moving, suggesting a static location, or is it still, relevant to him, indicating presence on the boat, or at least tracking the boat's movement? He shoots a glance at the smartphone man, if he's anywhere to be found.

"Lead us around the ship. Act like you're the one tracking it."

Right questions his judgment. He was a specialist, one of the most resilient of the Machine's code-slaves. He retains much of his unrelenting tenacity. Even so, it's not wise to play Russian Roulette with angelic encounters. He suspects someday he will find himself an ambush that even he cannot survive. Unfortunately, he's trapped on the boat and he can think of no better course of action than finding the other end of this tracking relation. Worst case scenario, he ditches the coin and runs. It'd wreck his cover, but better the cover than his life.

He follows Lucella around once more, gently nudging her when he can get a sense of how to triangulate the signal, in order to tell her which way to turn.

"Act like I'm the one tracking it? You haven't given me much reason to put my neck out there for you, Right.  I don't kiss on the first date. But you're lucky I do like a good mystery." Her hair catches in the wind of the boat, curling around her face and for just a fragment of a second you see the vulnerability there, the lost uncertainty that she so desperately tries to cover. She's feeling it all, not just the beauty and majesty of this mortal life, but the doubts, fears, loneliness and pain.  What will she make of it all? Time will tell.

She leads you across the boat, flipping the coin with a flashy flip of the wrist from one hand to the next absentmindedly. It seems as though the coin gives you a sense of where the frequency is coming from, it isn't related to time or space, it's a strange feeling of just knowing where to go.  Before too long you realize exactly where it's leading you as the high pitched note gets even higher and insistent.  It's pointed directly at the smartphone holding man who appears unconcerned and uninterested in you and has yet to look up from the phone for even a second.

At that moment, a large horn sounds across the boat and looking across the horizon, you realize the boat is about to dock.  The clamor of people begins, grabbing their things and standing up, getting ready to disembark.  The smartphone man, without looking up, starts to head towards one of the exit points nonchalantly. The musician, too, packs up his violin into his case and picks it up with one glance at Lucella and a nod towards the shore.

"If you've got a way out of here, you're more than welcome to use it. My hunch is that you don't. By the way, since I'm sure you'll take credit for foiling the tracking device with your musician friend, that's another one you owe me," he replies in response to her hesitation.

As he leads them to their target, he thinks. A thousand thousand tactical scenarios run through his head, a million deaths and a million escapes.

As the boat starts to dock, he's come to a number of conclusions. First, that the enemy agent is moderately important. A pawn wouldn't carry the receiver. Second, that he's going to tail this agent and see where it takes him. It may lead to Infrastructure. That would be advantageous, as he is uncomfortable being less than brimming with Aether, and having just used up a quantity finding and hacking the coin. Third, for the moment they would hold on to the coin. There could be redundant trackers, but being spotted following someone is just as likely as being spotted by the tracking. Roughly. Fourthly, he should spend the time waiting to dock downloading expertise in tracking someone through urban environments.

Fifthly, he might be about to get Lucella killed. That one pains him, but there is no way out of the situation but through it.

Sixthly, as he blends in with the crowd looking anxious to disembark, he predicts that the agent will find a place to duck into and disappear. Whether or not that disappearance will involve an Aetheric event will tell him whether it's an angel or a pawn. He follows the man off the boat as he asks Lucella, "Do you know how to follow someone while trading tails?"

"Of course I do. And here, we might need this," She clicks her sequined clutch open and you feel a hum of Aether as she pulls out a cellphone.  Then she punches some numbers into the phone and hands it to you, "It's programmed with my number. If we get split up, you can reach me. But toss it after today."

The boat docks with a small clang, and everyone starts being ushered off the ship.  The dock is a long wooden platform, at the end it looks like there are only a few buildings, perhaps a ticketing office, several buses, shuttles and taxi's, and behind that are fields of grass and small patches of trees. This is Port Angeles, the port itself of course, which sits on the edge of the Olympic Peninsula.  The city itself is about 15 minutes away by bus, with a population of about 20,000.

The smartphone man has not even put away his phone and is headed off one of the planks onto the dock. He doesn't look back and continues moving up toward the buildings.

"Thanks," he says, accepting the phone.

He takes the lead first following the man, reasoning that he's the less suspicious of the two. After all, he never talked to the musician, the intended target. He lets Lucella carry the coin, in order to be undetectable to the mark. If he is lucky, the target won't even need a change in tails. That would be convenient.

He pulls out his own smartphone and pretends to look at it, glancing up only to make sure of where he's going, and who he's following. A natural enough look, he supposes.

"Next ferry will leave in 15 minutes. We need time to clean and refuel the boat." You overhear one of the boatmen explaining to a family waiting at the docks. As more groups of people disembark, you overhear other bits and pieces, "The lavender farm has been in operation since the 1960's. There's shuttles that take tourists there every half hour. Yes, it's quite a beautiful farm and worth visiting." "Mommy, can we go up to the top of the deck when we go back the other way?" "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that hat." The last one you hear in a voice you recognize as the musician from the boat after hearing his catcalls for requests,"Ms. Grace, I'm concerned we have gotten ourselves into a situation here we cannot easily back out of. Do you know what you're doing with that thing?"

Leaving the throng of people behind, you follow the smartphone man. He continues pressing onwards, past the ticketing office and straight into the public bathrooms in the adjacent building.

Mr. Right waits about 30 seconds, and checks his phone. Not enough to obviously be a tail, but not enough to let the man finish his business either. He goes in, half-expecting the man to have vanished. He scopes out the bathroom, hoping to see the man at a urinal or the sink. If he has to, he pulls up to one of the urinals in order to see if any of the stalls have feet protruding from underneath the low doors.

This is the moment he hates. The moment when he finds out whether he's the predator or the prey. It's not fear, he has survived some pretty awful situations and beaten some pretty drastic odds. It's the inevitable quantum collapse where he finds out if his decisions were wise or imprudent. If he was properly cautious, or paranoid. He hates finding out that he zigged when he should've zagged.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:11, Sun 20 July 2014.

As you round the corner, you hear the words: "Replica." And then you feel a strong surge of Aether suddenly being expended and created.

Mr. Right rolled 3 successes using 7d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s. Wits + Composure +1 (You can gain up to 3 Aether.)

Then the words, "Differentiate." Finally, "Coordinate." The soft smooth voice echoes in the near empty bathroom.  You hear a shuffling of feet. A man pushes past you and heads into the bathroom, looking at you like you're a bit strange.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:21, Sun 20 July 2014.

Mr. Right remains focused on his phone, or at least appears to be, while readying himself for a fight. He anticipates fighting three, four, or upwards of five of the phone man. He waits to see what happens, ready to walk forward into the bathroom if he hears the assumed-replicas about to exit, in an attempt to look casual. His cover isn't blown as far as he knows.

He hopes that Lucella is keeping an eye on him. He hopes that it isn't an elaborate setup involving Lucella, the busker, and the phone man. They could have known that he would follow the man. He would have to be the one to follow the mark into the men's room. If it were an ambush, it would be staged perfectly. The corner means that his techgnostic escape options are limited.

It wouldn't be the first outnumbered, outgunned fight he survived. Won? Maybe. Survived? Most assuredly not.

A young man in his 20's approaches you, a farm hand presumably based on his clothes.  He looks harried and speaks quickly, "You need to come, your friend... She needs you." He motions with his head back the way you came.  In his hand is a simple brown backpack and a set of workman's gloves clutched together.

Right's first impulse is to charge ahead into the bathroom. He lived lifetimes instantly obeying his protective instincts, and where did it get him? His second impulse is to peek his head in and see if they are replicas as he's assumed. His third impulse, and the one he finally accepts, is to briskly return to where Lucella is stationed, while keeping an eye on the bathroom door. For some reason, he needs to see who comes out.

Although how did she get this man to give him the message?

The farmhand motions you towards the side of the building and to head around towards the dock and you follow him.  He's quiet but calm and seems to be focused on his task at hand.

Omega, on behalf of Mr. Right, rolled 1 success using 7d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s. Wits + Composure.

It isn't until you've got a full view of the dock and have crossed the entirety of the building that you notice the faint glowing tattoo on the back of the farmhands neck. A small triangle. Glowing a soft pale blue. You notice this just as the glow dissipates and the tattoo becomes a shimmery blue without the glow.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:41, Sun 20 July 2014.

Mr. Right feels for the burner in his pocket and hits the complete call button to ring Lucella, and tries to listen for the ring. He might be able to hear it. He might not. His other hand, when the farmhand isn't looking, transfers the stiletto from his inside jacket pocket to his waistband, just out of sight.

Pick up, Lucella, pick up.

For all Lucella's enjoyment of talking, she knows how to pick her moments and says simply, "What's wrong?" You can see her now, at the end of the dock, standing by the pier and looking at the water and then in your direction occasionally. The musician is now busking several feet away from her at the dock, you can hear the violin music, an irish jig of some sort causing many of the passengers to surround him and listen.

False alarm.

Rather than alert anyone, he simply ends the call and nods from across the dock. He adjusts his suit to better hide the knife and approaches Lucella. "I received your message. What's the situation?"

The farmhand smiles at Lucella and yourself and then turns around and begins walking away. "Message? You called me. What's going on?" She looks concerned and her eyes flick to the musician who is watching her between his smiling glances at the crowd. "I've been waiting for you. I received a message from Gordon, he's not coming.  Said he smelt Essence and has left for the Port city to blend and will be in touch later. But that's all I've got."

"A man said you needed to see me. I believe I've been set up. There was a burst of Essence from the restroom. Then the man said 'Replica, Differentiate, Coordinate' and then I was distracted. The messenger had a blue aetherial triangle on his neck. I suggest we track down the target together, eliminate him, then discard the coin and go to ground. The element of surprise has been lost," Right concludes.

"Fuck Gordon," he appends as an afterthought. Gordon probably set them up. Lucella has no clue who to trust. None.

He takes the coin back and tries to use the resonance to track his quarry once again.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Sun 20 July 2014.

The coin seems to be pointing back in the direction of the bathrooms.  You think you can see a suited man casually leaning at the end of the building staring at his phone.

Lucella looks sharply at you, "Mr. Truth says he's headed back on the next ferry, do we need him?" She motions with her head towards the musician.

"Up to him. He helps, he gets to find out what's going on. He goes back, and the same information will cost him. I trust my abilities, but you can never be too careful," Right explains, "More important than the backup though, is the information that he possesses. Is there anything else we ought to know?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:20, Sun 20 July 2014.

Lucella nods at Mr. Truth. He packs up his violin and after a few brief words with some of his audience, he heads over. "Safe?" He says simply.

"For now." Lucella says. "This is Mr. Right. He has some questions." She starts to pace the docks, keeping an eye out while you talk to Mr. Truth.

Upon further inspection, the musician is a good looking young man, shoulder length dark brown hair and a jawline that you can imagine would be fairly memorable to most.  He's wearing patchwork clothes and a long brown jacket and sturdy boots.

"Mr. Truth, my question is simple: Do you know anything relevant to our situation that I don't already know? Your assistance now will dictate my assistance regarding this issue. I will, for now, tell you this: there was an angel in that building, and it was more powerful than I. Being as you are its intended target, I suggest you don't bother trying to run or hide from it. It seems to have your number." Right reports.

He keeps one eye on the phone man, and one eye on Truth. His fingers itch constantly, and every nerve is taut. He needs to stab somebody. He needs to defuse the threat.

"My dear friend, I know nothing that I'm sure our mutual acquaintance has not told you.  I merely boarded this boat as the thought had occurred to me that this would make me a lot of money with my... talents, if you will.  I did in fact succeed at this endeavor and it has been quite profitable. I noticed someone watching me, apart from Ms. Grace, of course, and this someone deposited the coin into my case.  The coin caught my eye and I alerted her.  And here we are.  I intend to leave here when this boat next ships out, which should be shortly, and never look back.  If I were you, I would do the same."

Just as he finishes this sentence, a voice sounds over the loudspeaker at the docks: "We are having mechanical difficulties with our ship.  The ship will be delayed for approximately 2 hours, please enjoy complimentary drinks at our ticket office and we are offering complimentary shuttle service to the Lavender Farm which offers tours. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Mr. Truth's composure is still perfect as he responds, "That's not good."

"The good news is we are still quite happy to assist you with your angel problem. I recommend that you go over and see what he wants. Unless, of course, you'd rather try fleeing on foot. That could work." Right offers consolingly, "Don't worry. We have your back in case things get rough."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 20:08, Sun 20 July 2014.

Mr. Truth flourishes his hat with a polite bow, and without a word sets off up towards the buildings.  As he arrives, he hesitates, something is happening and he seems uncomfortable. You take a closer look and you see the same man, but you note that his hair is black and curly. On the boat it was short and brown. You're sure of that.  He doesn't look up from his phone, but he adjusts it, so that the camera is pointed at you, sometimes at Mr. Truth, and sometimes at Lucella. As you get closer, you hear clicking from the phone, but that isn't the disturbing thing. You feel tiny trickles of Aether — that phone is doing something strange, giving off mystical energy that you can detect… or maybe absorb.  Mr. Truth looks for a signal from you, this is a new piece of information, he seems concerned. He sets his violin down and starts playing it.

The smartphone man continues to take photos for a bit and then heads towards one of the white shuttles with purple lettering that reads, "Port Angeles Lavender Farm Shuttle", along with various other tourists.  He looks out of place in his suit and blue tie, but so do you.

Right regroups the trio, "Definitely a different man. Any idea what he was doing with the phone?" He then leads the group towards the shuttle as they talk. They've definitely been made, so they might as well keep an overt pressure on the enemy agent. Besides, if they got on the next shuttle, there could be an ambush. If they get on this one, at least that's one enemy within striking distance before the ambush occurs.

"We're following that son of a bitch. For posterity, the coin which originally tracked to the first man now tracks to him. Maybe he changed his appearance, handed off the phone, or perhaps he is a replica. I don't even know what that means. But we have little choice right now," he reasons to Lucella and Truth.

Lucella is the first to dive right into the situation, heading for the shuttle with determination.  Mr. Truth quickly follows her tail, looking back at you with a concerned look.  A baby crying in the backseat is keeping everyone on edge, the poor child seems to be hungry or be bothered by something.  The smartphone man is seated calmly, watching his cellphone with a stone cold face.  Before long, the shuttle takes off and the chattering around you grows louder as each conversation picks up now that everyone knows it will be a little while before it reaches the farm.  Mr. Truth hums a song beneath his breath and Lucella looks calmly out the window, her clear emotionless face, now, in such a tense situation betraying how hard it must be for her to regularly show emotion.