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.