In reply to God-Machine (msg # 47):

La Comédie

Vera's head was still throbbing, but at least it seemed she could pass off as functioning normally. Thankfully, the woman beside her didn't seem to give any sort of funny or surprised looks as she handed Vera the phone.

"Is this Veranika?" she heard from the other side of the line. It was a fairly average female voice, yet the distinctly bored tone it carried was instantly familiar.

Immediately Vera's senses sharpened as she straightened her posture. It wasn't every day that she'd receive a call like this, and she had a gnawing feeling she wasn't going to like it.

"Melissa," she replied with the warmest tone she could muster. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

"Fine," Melissa responded with a yawn. "I've just had a certain meeting and was wondering if you have any updates for him."

Damn. Maybe she really should've started the task earlier. But it had been such a long week, and she had really needed to recharge...

"It hasn't even been a day..." Vera sighed. She heard a noncommittal hum in response.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Melissa added, her voice betraying nothing, as usual. "I don't appreciate being used as a lapdog any more than you do, so I suggest you better get some results before I'm asked to call you again." With a click, the bored voice was gone.

Before she quite realized what she was doing, Vera placed the phone handle back down and wordlessly walked out to hand it to the bartender from earlier.

"Anything I can help you with?" the woman asked, studying Vera carefully.

It took a moment, but Vera finally found her voice.

"Yes, actually. Take me to the back, quietly."

In reply to Nate (msg # 48):

Leo's hand had curled itself into a fist at Nate's words. Various words and phrases rolled around his brain as he gazed at the space which Nate had occupied moments ago. The most obvious one was "condescending asshole". Still, Nate had a point. This scene needed to be investigated, the sooner that was done the sooner the investigation was over. Leo began to investigate the files that Green had left behind and began to read through them.

What he was looking for in particular, Leo didn't know. However, reading and organizing this stuff would hopefully bear fruit.

In reply to Amanda (msg # 49):

"Tomorrow. For sure. Have a good day ma'am."

Tzayidiel pauses, too caught up in processing thoughts to register the hand until it was too late and she had moved away - although Gallows' usual casual standoffishness worked in place of the falter.

He looks at Amanda, nodding and quirking a brow.

" And where might that be?" He asks, although it follows despite it's questioning. It didn't really have much of a choice. And besides, if this one was helpful.... Tzayidiel knew it needed all the help it could get.

In reply to Tzayidiel (msg # 54):

Weekly and Homely, Ltd. - Outside

"A bookstore." Amanda looked back to Gallows with a friendly nod, glad to see the demon following. After a few minutes she slowed her pace slightly to let it walk nearly beside her, "My name's Amanda, by the way." She said after a few moments, scratching the back of her neck nervously. A little way ahead, the pleasantly quiet store front of Devaux's Books was already visible.

Waterside Luxury Apartments - Penthouse

The bedroom was in a similar state to the unhinged room outside it, with its own writing desk absolutely coated in gadgets, scorch marks, and unsorted notes. The bed itself, however, was absolutely immaculate, except for the words "DON'T FORGET" scratched into its headboard like the ravings of a lunatic, with an arrow pointing towards the room's closet, which coincidentally had no fewer than 8 padlocks on it.

The notes Leo is searching through were difficult to read, as the paper was irregularly coated in a black substance that looked like tar and had the consistency of candle wax, on top of absolutely refusing to reflect even the smallest iota of light. "...fascinating, seeming to oscillate with purpose I have yet to decipher. I may need to pry open the manhole to get a better look, but I'm not sure M would appreciate me rummaging around under..." This may take days to sort through and actually glean anything from, but if Leo thinks he's up to the task he may feel free to [make a Resolve+Academics check.]

The Night Markets

The Markets were busy this evening. Julian needed to slip by a quartet of what - by the smell - could only be werewolves, arguing with a body that had the pallid appearance of the dead, whether vampiric or otherwise unclear, over the value of a pinky nail-sized vial of black water that looked like a cosmos full of stars (probably sand, but who can tell?), and that was just to reach the second wave of bustling, hawker-laden alleyways. Fortunately, the rest of the path had enough room for personal space, although that consolation was unlikely to last long as he came up to his destination - a rusted steel door with no knob to anybody else, as likely to lead to a meat locker as some very underground club, though nobody would bat an eye at somebody entering even if it weren't common occurence. Part of the benefits of Glamour, similar to the implicit permission to be ostentatious as hell; to a Changeling's keen eye, the door quickly resolved into an elegantly hewn - probably hand-crafted - oak door with thin gold trim in the shape of a violin's F-holes adding flair, along with what's probably some form of Fae enchantment for protection or somesuch. The walls around the door gently faded from rose-tinted cobblestone lit like a fairy tale set at sunset to the brutalist bricks making up the building it's been fused into, and in front of it stood a being like a human-sized flame made of shadows, with motes of brilliant vermillion light acting as its eyes. Jack, if memory serves. The hissing emanating from the shadowflame formed words easily enough - a convenience of Arcadia's own rules - although any warmth was lost in transit. "Evening, Julian." Jack's eyes, without moving, gave off the sensation of sweepig up and down Julian's body with no shortage of suspicion. "See you're still doing alright for yourself. Go on in." To any other creature, it looked like the thin, frail-yet-intimidating teenager knocked, but of course any other creature couldn't see the doorknob the flames wrapped around. Where they should have slipped or parted, they instead turned, and the knob with them, revealing a room with a roaring fireplace and no shortage of velour in the furnishings.

Most humans would find the fact that a man was already sitting in the room expecting them without appointment creepy, even ignoring the hushed whispers from within going deathly silent as all the other inhabitants of the room looked to Julian, but you don't even need to be a Changeling to know Fae work by rules of stories in lieu of mortal timekeeping. As it was, the porcelain mannequin sitting in one of the lush armchairs nodded to Julian, sweeping an arm ending with ink-stained fingertips to a chair by him as he regarded Julian with the eye on his otherwise-immaculate face that hadn't been cracked and split by dark vines bursting from within. Of course, Julian could pick anybody else to approach, but that could be taken as spurning the Court of Eyes; already a dangerous proposition without involving Julian's precarious reputation. And Hadrian, of course, knew this; why else would he be awaiting the good doctor?

Wright and Bright Finance

A rush of dry air went by Damian as he opened the closet, along with a scent that rushed by too fast to properly identify, although when the stale, saturated air from deeper within the closet - contrary to its outward appearance, on the inside it was bare, well-waxed wood, worn from what faintly smelled of bleach - wafted gently out, he got a good whiff; blood. The details were murky, Damian's senses still a little confused from the business card; it would take a few moments to identify the smell - and its source - better, and Damian could hear shifting from downstairs. There was a good chance of Something Dangerous (to his ability to hide, at least) happening downstairs if he stayed any longer; there was information to glean, but was the risk worth it?

Aside from the scent of blood, Damian could see the closet was organised into three sections: on the right, a set of neatly-pressed suits, all of which were identical and some flavour of tan. On the left, a set of drycleaner's bags, eerily reminiscent of (very short) body bags in the almost-lightless surroundings. And at the bottom, right in the middle, a pile of haphazardly-arranged boxes sized for wine bottles, all with different branding, and all closed. If Damian stayed to identify the scent, he would at least have enough time to also rummage around one of these three areas, though there was no guarantee he'd get anything useful of course.

La Comédie

The back room was clearly once a back stage, seeing as it looked like it used to be the prop room. However, while the racks and racks of various costumes (which were discarded for much subtler alternatives under new management) remained, the rows of shelves filled with trinkets and useless knick-knacks were emptied out and replaced with rows of shelves filled with enough firearms, street drugs (in classy packaging) and other various illicit - and supernatural - goods to give even the dirtiest cop palpitations. A ghoul attendant, whose garments lay on the crossroads between Victorian butler and contemporary fashion designer, bowed elegantly. Wilfred, the man who could avoid neither rolling an R nor adopting the most dreadful Southeast European accent imaginable since she had met him. "Ever a pleasure, Lady Vera, though I did think you would come sooner.  I have been given a manifest to make available for rent if you came here." He went behind a small counter and pulled out a Post-It, squinting for a moment as he scanned it over once more to be sure. He then loudly grunted as he picked up a steel suitcase - like the ones criminals always use to lug money around in the movies - and gently hefted it onto said counter, opening it to reveal a sealed vial of blood the size of a thumbnail. "This, and a means of defending yourself. Since there was nothing more... specific, I take it you can choose one of anything. Don't be shy, yes?"

If Vera accepts the equipment-in-exchange-for-nonspecific-price deal, she may select any one weapon (unless I've missed some weird stuff) from the rulebook, add that and one Vial of Ambrosia Red to her sheet, and take the Tasked condition, though she doesn't know what for yet.

Devaux's Books

Was that traffic camera always pointed this way? Was the manhole cover always oriented so the graffiti on it looked like an eye from the angle of their approach? Would it change anything if it weren't? A city is normally bustling, no matter the weather, even in the middle of the night, but on the duo's way back to the book store they encountered nobody. Perhaps a coincidence, or even Devaux's own design to avoid attracting too much attention, but without having verified beforehand there will now never be a way to be sure.

Even vulnerable to the Machine as Devaux was, by sheer virtue of not being born from its machinations, he was no pushover. If nothing else, that was unchanged, as the smallest flicker of calculation passed behind his eyes when Tzayidiel followed Amanda inside, followed by a welcoming smile. "Ah, good evening! I do not receive many visitors at this time of night, but feel free to look around as long as you need." He paused, looked between the two a moment, his smile never fading. Then it seemed he had reached a decision. "Erm, Amanda, you know my joints have been acting up today. I can't reach a box on the top shelf, could you help me with that for a moment?" He waved eagerly as he beat a retreat into the store's back room, leaving Amanda to (probably) follow and Tzayidiel to browse the selection of books from "Cerebral Trigger: Unbanishing Your Mind" to "Behind the Azure Curtain: Musings on the Soul".

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 56):

Devaux's Books
The longer they walked through the empty streets, the more Amanda's skin crawled. She hoped the lull in activity around their route was the result of something more exciting elsewhere in the city. Most of the graffiti around the neighborhood was little more than a collection of supernatural territory markers, much of the time. Nevertheless, she went as fast as was reasonable for a woman absolutely not in a hurry to escape the clutches of the God-Machine.

Amanda breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped through the threshold of Devaux's Books, the familiar scent of old books reminding her of home. The look she caught from her boss gave her some cause to worry, despite his cheery affect. Was it him calculating risk? Or perhaps the old fiend was planning something. Amanda toyed with the strap of her satchel nervously as Anton waved her towards the back room, "O-of course, not a problem." She turned to Gallows with an apologetic look, "I won't be long, just try to be careful with the pages - a lot of the books are a little fragile."

The fractal folded her arms as she rounded the corner, leaning carefully by one of the backroom shelves, "So, you've probably noticed he's not Veranika... " She started with the beginning of a smirk, "But I promise he's almost certainly worth the risk of bringing here. I hope."

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 56):

The Night Market

The suspicion was nothing new. Every rare visit to this place was always met with the same cautions. Other Changlings were just nervous, he told himself. They had every right to be, and he was no exception. It was unsettling to be in a place where no one trusted him, but what it would take to remove their fear, Julian could not promise.

“Good evening, Jack.” Julian answered, though he didn’t have much of a response to the rest of his statement beyond a nod of thanks before he entered through the door. The response of watchful gazed and silence was all too familiar, but still just as nerve-racking. He could feel the eyes of a classroom long since graduated without him turning back in one of the many days he’d been late to a lecture, and the only difference now seemed that if his composed demeanor slipped, he could actually be in danger rather than just severely disapproved of.

He moved the little card from his pocket to the center of his palm before he approached anyone, checking it again, then beginning to walk forward to mannequin. He gave a small nod in return, quietly clearing his throat with a small cough. “I would have sent a message if I’d known earlier I needed to come in. Excuse the intrusion.”

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 56):

Wright and Bright Finance

The smell piqued Damian's curiosity. However, it would not be curiosity that kept him rooted in the strange office. The tantalising trail of curiosity had stopped giving him pleasure long ago. Investigation was a job; nothing more, nothing less. Without information, he was powerless, trapped. And, he didn't have enough. Not yet.

He'd been planning a quick look.

Not a full investigation.

He told himself that every single time. He'd also always tell himself it was for the money whenever he inevitably stayed a bit too long. But no. He wasn't curious. Maybe a bit prideful, but not curious. He didn't enjoy his work. He couldn't enjoy anything, not while he was cursed like this.

Why couldn't someone else deal with this again?

There were far too many unanswered questions. What was Wright and Bright's connection with the Sommelier? What was going on downstairs? Where was that smell coming from? If he didn't know, he couldn't share. If he couldn't share, he couldn't sell. Information was money. Information was the key to everything. Then, he could surely step away. Start anew.

If there was anything left of him.

With a soft sigh, he reached towards the wine boxes. Perhaps it would be too on the nose for the sommelier to leave any hints in such an obvious place. It would be remiss to not check however.

Just for precaution, Damian slipped among the hanging bags in the cupboard, before softly crouching to check the boxes. The dark was calm and comforting. Priming his enhanced senses, he divided his focus between the noise downstairs and the boxes in front of him. He also kept an eye towards the window, making sure that there was always at least one way out.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 05:23, Tue 29 Sept 2020.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 56):

La Comédie

"I appreciate your hospitality," Vera replied to the well-dressed attendant. She reached out to grasp the small vial with her manicured nails, carefully fastening the vial inside a small compartment in her top.

Vera had been in this room multiple times, but every single time the layout was equally unfamiliar and confusing; she surmised that the turnover rate for job in the back room was understandably quite high (though the attendant did look vaguely familiar, she supposed). Nodding at the attendant, she scanned the room, walking around the vast array of sharp objects until she stopped at a high shelf and looked up at the top shelf. She gestured to the attendant to aid her, and thankfully he immediately understood her intentions. The tall ghoul grabbed the box at the top and lifted the lid.

"Only the finest craftsmanship for the lady," he bowed. Looking inside the box, she couldn't help allow a small smile as she reached in to grab the handgun inside. Ornately decorated with gold and rubies, the revolver was small and delicate enough to fit her hand well, and yet it was made of strong and well-functioning material. The gun was fully loaded of course, but she still scooped up the string of bullets from the box and secured them inside the pocket of her jacket along with her new weapon.

"Thank you," she responded, stepping through the back exit. It was a cold night, but though she wore only a pair of shorts underneath her jacket, she was hardly bothered by the weather as she dashed to the specified location.

Waterside Luxury Apartments

The apartment complex was certainly wealthy, she had to grudgingly admit, but it seemed quite deserted. No matter, she used the faded key as a guide to reach the penthouse.

And as the doorknob to Green's apartment rattled, Vera used it to mask the click of her revolver being loaded.

Just in case.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:56, Tue 20 Oct 2020.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 56):

"Interesting..." Nate mumbles to himself as he walks around the room, pulling out his phone he begins to systematically take photos, making sure to get every angle he can, before stopping at the headboard of the bed. Trying carefully not to disturb the bed, he pulls a handkerchief out, placing it below the scratchings in the wood, he begins to scratch out the message as thoroughly as he can, catching any splinters that fall from his work. Once he's certain that the message is completely erased, he makes a few more marks in the headboard, catching the rest of the splinters, and emptying them into his bag. He goes to return to the main room that he left Leo in, stopping briefly to quickly pull back the large curtains covering a wall of the bedroom to reveal a fire escape, "Hmm..." Nate mumbles once more.


"Please tell me you've found something useful while I was gone" He once again takes a stroll around the room, examining various objects as he does so, before stopping by the window and peering out, surveying the alleyway below. "Because if you've found nothing in that time we really need to work on your efficacy. In case you've managed to miss it, Green happened to be an important individual, and as you put it before, there are more than likely targets on our backs now, so unless you're bringing snacks for any unwanted guests I suggest you get a move on, we've wasted enough time sitting around here, we should probably..." Nate stops suddenly, hearing the doorknob rattle. "Quick, here, now, leave the paper" Nate waves Leo over to him "It seems we do have guests... Love it when I'm right"

Devaux's Books

Devaux lifted a single eyebrow. "It is not that I am adverse to guests, but some warning would be appreciated. I don't even know whether he's human, how much secrecy is needed. I... would appreciate being kept in the loop here." He glanced at the door, his eyes thoughtful, before continuing his thought. "If he is a friend of yours, he is welcome to stay here, of course." He gave his best kindly smile, but there was the slightest tinge of stress in it that was absent when Amanda had first set out.

The Night Market, Changeling Cranny

Hadrian's good eye regarded Julian evenly, searchingly. Whether it found what it was looking for, or anything at all, was a little unclear, but his response was at least polite as he held up a hand, a voice echoing a little, as if his head were a hollow sphere. "Please, you know you can rely on us when needed. Concerns have been raised about your intent with the questions you've been asking, but given your reputation can't afford to have any more holes poked in it, I imagine you're too wise to have ill cause." He let his words linger for a moment, his face reflecting the crimson of the velour decorating the room today. "So, what is it you need to know?"

Wright and Bright Finance

The boxes contained syringe after syringe with a congealed, brownish-red substance within. They are unlabelled, unlike the boxes; at first, the contents of the syringes look entirely identical, but even when spun the same way, there's a slight difference in the way they settle; the vials from each box seem to be similar enough to each other, but... Well, anyway, one of the boxes actually contains a single wine bottle, pristinely clean but otherwise empty. The branding on that box is Sunrise Someliers Ltd.; the only one of that brand, unlike the others, which have varying rarities but at least seem organised into groups in some way.

[Damian rolled Wits+Composure - 3 successes.]

There was suddenly a loud knocking on the building's front door - he couldn't see it, even if he did look, but as the cleaner shifted Damian could hear the faintest of clicks - a button had been pushed. Four almost entirely unidentifiable - such was their blandness of appearance - individuals, dressed somewhere between maintenance workers and urban sanitation engineers, calmly awaited as the cleaner opened the door. "Sorry for the intrusion, ma'am. We're here because our monitoring has noticed your water usage has gone up to an unrealistic degree in the last hour. Normally we'd wait until morning, but the leak is too bad in this case." The front door was occupied, but there was no guarantee they'd stay there, of course - for now, eavesdropping was a perfectly valid option.

[After all, as your GM, it wouldn't do for me to skip straight to them entering the room with you sans warning, would it?~]

The window is indeed not shuttered or otherwise barred, it'd take some parkouring but Damian could exit through it if necessary; assuming he makes it that far before Something Happens. What next?
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:51, Wed 02 Dec 2020.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 62):

Devaux's Books

Amanda grimaced a touch deeper as Anton mentioned his preference for warning as to 'guests'. She didn't like putting him out like this at no notice, even her intent was just to talk to 'Richard' for a short while. Maybe she should have tried a bar after all. Her discomfort deepened as the matter of what her new acquaintance was came into question, "Ah..." She started, biting her lip thoughtfully and shifting her weight awkwardly.


"Well, I do hope he'll be a friend. I think we can help each other, at least." Amanda began, sticking to the truth and noting the hint of strain Mr. Devaux failed to hide. "Richard is human." She added truthfully, scratching the back of her neck as she glanced at the door. As much as she hated to lie, especially to Anton, she didn't want to risk anything unintended overhearing what the demon needed hidden. Her parents had eventually managed to drill that into her, much to their relief. More than one cover had suffered from a younger Amanda's honesty.


She glanced at the door again, tapping her fingers against her satchel nervously.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Mon 23 Nov 2020.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 62):

Wright and Bright Finance

When it came to one on one, Damian always trusted his ability to run. Well run might be a misnomer. He'd fade into the shadows far more gracefully than that. But five potential enemies was definitely too much of a threat. He'd never been a fighter - especially when he had believed that he had something to fight for . He was too weak for that - would always be too weak for that - and there was no point pretending otherwise. Not if he wanted to survive long enough to cure his affliction.

Making a mental note of the coagulated vials, Damian reached quickly ripped the label off the Sunrise Sommelier's bottle. Perhaps there might be a hint in it. Perhaps not. Either way, he'd look later once he had more time.

Pocketing the label, he sprung nimbly to his feet and turned towards the window. The cold, harsh, comforting night awaited. Soon, he'd be alone again.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:42, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

In reply to Nate (msg # 48):

Frustration, anger and ran through Leo's body as he followed Nate's directions. The investigation had yielded no useful information on his end. Now there was going to be "company". Even as a newcomer of this world, Leo had a fairly good idea what that would entail, that being violence. As the thought entered his consciousness he began to smell it again. The scent of decaying flesh and those awful sounds. He could feel that power, that terrible energy that he kept dammed up inside himself beginning to seep through the defenses. There was no way that this was going to end well.

Wright and Bright Finance

Outside the window, the street was blocked by a van. Outside it, two maintenance workers stood extraordinarily still in the vicinity of the building's front door, occasionally glancing around. Their faces were, sadly, obscured by caps from above, and their builds and uniforms were very similar.

[Damian rolled Wits+Composure - 1 success.]

In fact, they were a little too similar - the same stain was present on all three of their left shoulders.

One of them was fiddling with some form of metallic cylinder, though from the way it shifted and deformed before 'resetting' its appearance, it seemed like some puzzle box genes were spliced in there somewhere. Despite the preoccupied nature of this individual, sneaking past the duo - with the fortuitous aid of some nearby dumpsters - would still take some effort.

[To escape through the street without supernatural aid, make a Dexterity+Stealth check.]

Meanwhile, downstairs, footsteps could be heard shuffling around a little. "No no, it'll just be a moment, ma'am. I assure you, not a soul will hear of the mess you have yet to clean this evening."

[Damian rolled Dex+Stealth to escape - 2 successes.]

Getting out through the window was easily enough - getting out quietly was more of a challenge, but fortunately one Damian himself was accustomed to in his career. The handymen (whose drab beige van's logo on the side read "Kent's Gents: No Dents In Your Vents!") were preoccupied looking the other way and fiddling with the cylinder to notice the vampire during his escape.

Most of the way down the road, there was a concussive wave, then one of heat and roaring sound, as Wright and Bright went up in flames. On the second, a police car rounded the corner, sirens blaring almost the instant the shockwave passed Damian. Fortunately, he was far enough down the road that the wave didn't cause him to stumble, and it was easy enough to duck into a nearby alleyway to hide from the prying eyes of the authority.

[Damian rolled Wits+Composure - 3 successes.]

He was not alone. Somebody had followed him here. Somebody was trying to sneak up on him. Without turning, he could see the silhouette - though the nature of its source was unclear. They had not yet realised their stealth was compromised.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:43, Tue 29 June 2021.

Nightingale Apartments

Using one's status as a boundary between the living and the dead to make up for one's crimes in life had seemed, perhaps, much easier before tonight. Unfortunately - and by necessity, since a certain letter Rosa needed was in this building - this evening Rosa Campos found herself face to face not only with the more violent of the latter category, but one that was especially fickle: The Judge, a spirit renowned for applying "justice with extreme prejudice" to those they encountered, including, of course, those who were entirely unaware of their existence.

At least the (abandoned) apartment block's reputation for turning up corpses had made quiet ingress easier than usual - even the most desperate squatters left the place alone. For dealing with the Judge, Rosa had gleaned one glaring weakness: they could be calmed by the presence of their (also-deceased) lover. The only problem was finding a trail to this lover. Well, one could only hope a happy little chat would enlighten her a little, though it would perhaps be easier were the phantom's first rasping words not "What is your crime?" to the tune of falling guillotines and sharpening blades.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:16, Sun 11 Apr 2021.

In reply to Leo (msg # 65):

It was unlocked.

Vera knew she'd never been the smartest person in her vicinity. No, that honor was usually reserved for Da-...for someone else, back in her human life. And although she wouldn't trade her current, better state for anything else, she couldn't shake the feeling of being constantly out of her depth. That would change with time, though, time during which she'd stay just as young and beautiful and adored as she was now.

Vera knew she'd never been the smartest person in her vicinity, and yet, even she knew that an unlocked door at the scene of a particularly high-profile death meant that someone else had gotten here first.

If she'd still been a breathing creature, she would have probably hyperventilated by now, but those days were far in the past. As it was, she reasoned that it was likely that whoever had been here was long gone. Just in case, she clenched her loaded revolver in her hand, aiming it forwards in a steady pose, and slowly tiptoed inside.

The apartment was dark, but that was of no matter. She could plainly see an empty kitchen and dining area that she'd absolutely want for herself. Most importantly, she could see two figures before her -- somewhat youthful, though appearances could be deceiving -- as they seemed to face her.

At least she'd already pulled out her revolver.

"State your business."

Rosa definitely didn't like any of this. Spooky abandoned apartments were still kinda spooky even if you were part ghost apparently, at least if their only occupant was an angry specter more powerful than most of the ones she'd dealt with before. But she needed that letter and she was bound by her duties as a Sin Eater to try and alleviate this ghost's pain regardless. It was the bargain she made in order to start a new...un-life? unlife sounded right.

So, this ghost could easily murder her, but she did have a plan. If the Judge was still trying to be a judge, even in this warped and half-remembered way, then it was a really good thing she used to be an amazing lawyer. Not the most ethical, during her time alive. But damn good at her job. Hopefully she remembered enough...

"Your Honor, I come before you as an officer of the court to formally request your assistance with constructing and serving a formal summons. I believe the potential witness may be hostile or reluctant to appear in court and require your assurance that the summons is binding and will be met with appropriate measures if ignored. I also have reason to believe you may know the witness and her current whereabouts, as she was once romantically involved with you. I would not normally seek judicial assistance but the matter is time sensitive and critical to an upcoming case."

There, if he wanted to hold his own kangaroo court then she'd just get through this on court procedure.

Devaux's Books

Anton's stare pierced through Amanda's eyes for scarcely a moment before mellowing out as he opened the door, returning to the storefront with a polite nod to Tzayidiel. "I am certain my accomodations will prove sufficient to anybody in need, but if not, do not hesitate to ask for improvements."

[~One moderately awkward time skip later~]

While Tzayidiel was getting settled in, Anton quietly pulled Amanda out of sight of the street in the storefront. "You should know before you resume your search that moves have been made elsewhere. Watch yourself - enough blood has been shed in this city tonight." He handed her a polaroid  of an explosion viewed from down the (empty) street.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:29, Thu 24 June 2021.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 47):

Sunny curses as the atmosphere changes around her, her head whipping around, trying to see what is going on. Her hand drifts to her holstered pistol, before she grits her teeth, and drags it away. Now's not the time to go loud, especially a few days before rent day. She can't afford Court fee's for unlawful discharges..... again. Not yet, at any rate, with a bank account that could be charitably described as very, very poor.

Instead, she slips away from the creepy mirrors, attempting to get Terry to either follow her, or follow her example, her senses suddenly aware that the slabs of glass are not exactly what they seem..... She feels something coming, and at least feels obligated to.... well, prevent Terry from being attacked by a malicious force emerging from a Mirror.

She slides over the shop's counter, calling out with a whisper. "Monsieur Terry, it is not safe to be in the open, we must hide. Do not be seen by a mirror, and remain hidden until I tell you."

In reply to Vera (msg # 68):

Nate casually raises his hands to Vera in a placating manner, though its clear he hardly means it

"Hey now, that's hardly a kind introduction don't you think? I mean, let's be real here, you're the one breaking and entering here. How about we try that again from the top? I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here so why don't you politely tell us what it is your supposed to be doing here?"

As he's talking, Nate lowers his hands, taking a few slow steps towards the balcony.

"I mean, I do assume you have a reason for being here right? Looking for something to steal maybe? Pawn off to some of your friends? Do you have friends? I can't imagine someone of your age going around entering peoples homes uninvited would have too many friends..."

Smoked and Mirrored
Terry whimpers, cowering behind the counter alongside the more dignified Sunny. A faint mist begins to coat the mirrors, hiding whatever is behind them. Then it begins to seep into the store. The sound of rattling chains enters the room as something big and heavy briefly falls onto the floor before getting up and thumping around - as if searching for something.
[Sunny, roll Stealth+Composure.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:30, Thu 24 June 2021.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 73):

Sunny cracks her lips open just enough to not whistle with each breath, something her mama once told her would help when hunting wild game up in the cold forests of upper Canada. She isn't exactly convinced of dear mama's advice, but, well, the rest of her knowledge for remaining still comes from badly dubbed police drama's. Family first, she justifies.
Her hand gently brushes her pistol, despite the loud protests of the part of her brain that regulated her expenditures. Each bullet cost about 6 dollars. She had 15, in her double-stacked magazine, meaning if she fired it all off like she usually did in a hasty gunfight against weird and otherworldly beings, she'd be in the gutter 90 bucks..... a lot of money. 5 days living, even.

As the heavy footfalls set the floor shuddering, Sunny briefly remembers that her life might be on the line in a much more immediate sense.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 70):

Devaux's Books
Amanda tried not to shiver at Anton's intense gaze, still uncomfortable with her omission. The old vampire didn't seem particularly convinced, even if she was technically telling the truth, and she couldn't blame him. She took a deep breath before following Devaux back into the storefront, offering her best reassuring smile to Richard. "I'll, uh, clear off the couch upstairs and find us a spot to look at that paper work." She patted her satchel and made her way to the stairs, "I won' t be long, but tell Anton if you need anything."

~A short but unspecified length of time later~

Having sourced some spare blankets and stashed away the messiest of her notes, sketches and books, Amanda had returned to unburden a dusty store table of unsorted books. She neatly stacked the stolen papers at the edge before taking the books to their respective selves, offering the demon an apologetic glance as she passed, "You can get started, I'll join you shortly." Tomes returned to order, Amanda let Anton pull her aside. "Is that..." She started, recognising the now destroyed patch of street and glancing at her boss, "I'll be careful, Anton." She grimaced, trying to hide the worst of her fear. Amanda glanced out the storefront window with concern before slipping back to the table.

Ms Yelverton began by skimming the pages for key phrases before starting any more rigorous reading.

Nightingale Apartments

The Judge raised a robed hand towards Rosa, then hesitated. The phantom sat there for a moment, seemingly paralysed, before dejectedly lowering the hand. "You... bailiff... retrieve the witness..." The walls fall away briefly, leaving Rosa on a suburban street - no, this is the spirit's memory. Is this some twist on the notion of testimony? It matters little; she finds herself closing the car door and approaching her - no, the Judge's - home. With a whistle and a gentle knock, she opens the door, revealing Anna and a police officer-

And she was back, with a bit of a shock but otherwise unharmed. Rosa, gain Connected: The Hanged Court. This applies to the Judge and the Judge's allies. She's still getting flashes of memory, but it's enough to work with - a name, "Anna Bouchard", and an address in the suburbs on the northern edge of Scarlet Falls. Not that she needs it - the lingering vestiges of the Judge's influence give her a familiarity that lets her go there at her leisure, practically without looking.

But the Judge was not finished speaking. "There is... another..." Another flash, this one colder - a man stealing from the dead, under the Judge's wrathful gaze. "Bring them both... The court demands it..." Rosa, gain a Beat. Rosa gets a name, and the closest to a case file she'd get from the spirit (a location) - Nathaniel Williams, and another two locations. One is a hotel - a place of residence. The other is an apartment - a current location. The Judge's sympathy with the criminal has been spent; Rosa will have only these hints to go on, assuming she will indeed go after this individual and not simply make her excuses upon her return.