Habit Co.
The young man's eyes followed Amanda almost half a second after the sensation he was looking at her did, and his smile scarcely faltered at her words, he himself staying silent for a moment before responding. "Ah, I see. Well, I hope we see each other again while, ah, making the circuits." He turned back to the magazines and chuckled to himself, picking up one of his own, as Amanda left, the cashier still standing exactly how she was when Amanda entered.

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.
Amanda had definitely done something right. The receptionist's eyes focused as soon as the name "Alexander Bryson" was mentioned, and the directions given felt less like words and more like ritual, something immaterial locking into place with every word he spoke. As he finished, the metaphysical directions of the Infrastructure shifted, the labyrinthine mess around the corner behind him resolving into a single room.

If any of the denizens of the office noticed Tzayidiel's odd behaviour, they didn't show it - although, did they always glance at it while smiling blandly? - and the closest thing Gallows had to a handler immediately turned back to his rhythmic typing, already creating new documents for other gears in the Machine.

The dossier contained the target's first and last name (Elizabeth Waller), known aliases (none, surprisingly; most of Tzayidiel's targets had three or four), a photograph (an excessively pale face with short, black hair), and a last known location - "RElTQ09OTkVDVEVEX09VVFNJREVSX1RSQUlUT1JfRklMVEhf..." it goes on like that for a paragraph, filling the same space a full four-line address normally would. An odd address, to say the least.

Smoked and Mirrored
"Wh... what? I..." Terry blinked once, twice, looking around the dark store, and for a moment pausing on a large display of lounge mirrors, faintly glimmering from the outside's street lights. He turned back to Sunny, his eyes all but trembling out of their sockets. "I'm Terry, yeah. Can you... can you help me? Please, I just want to go back."

Wright and Bright Finance
Wright and Bright took a moment to find, lacking a sign above the stairs and the steel door. The office was above a boxing gym, the two places probably once having been a single lease before being split into two 'lots'. The upside was that if Damian couldn't get around the locked door directly, he could always try breaking in through the gym instead, although the lights being on in a backroom did sort of imply he wouldn't be alone in there while he tried to move up.

Waterside Luxury Apartments - Penthouse
Green was certainly not slumming it, from size alone. This spacious doohickey-laden room - probably his laboratory, although a kitchen sink was visible on a cluttered counter as well - was going to be an absolute nightmare to sift through, if indeed there was anything of use among these tests, experiments, and samples. The insistent ticking of a brass apparatus reminiscent of one of those centuries-old models of the solar system certainly wasn't helping with concentration, either, nor were the occasionally-flashing obsidian slabs or the absolutely persistent assaults, however 'light', on the senses. For Leo, they were in the form of a constant, coppery taste, like his tongue was bleeding all over itself. For Nate, they were a constant, weighty chanting just slightly too indistinct to make out the details of the syllables.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 27):

"Monsieur, I very happy to help you. I can get you someplace safe. However, if I may, I must ask you by where you wish to go back to? That would be....ahem, let us say, helpful to understand the context of you predicament, oui?"
"You are not hurt, are you, Terry?" She pronounces the word as Teh-ree, her accent rolling the r's.
Sunny attempts to wrap her hand around his arm and gently pull him to his feet. At the same time, she looks around the store, trying to listen out for any strange noises that might indicate a creature that is hunting this man close by.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 13):

Julian decided that for now it would be best to approach where he had been addressed. He didn’t recognize too many faces as helpful just yet, but maybe Ted had seen the symbol on a customer. He went to the counter, just a few feet from Ted without taking a seat.

He spoke in a quiet, tired voice that still carried just fine despite the background droning of music and quiet conversation. “An ice water and whatever snack thing you serve here, please.” Even if he wasn’t drinking, he didn’t want to come in and ask questions without giving the bar at least a little business. He continued speaking as he pulled his wallet from his pocket to procure the cash for the food. “You’re a well-traveled fellow who sees a strange thing or two every so often. You think you could answer a few questions for me?”

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.

Her brief conversation with the receptionist felt more like turning a key than a conversation with an actual human being. Or perhaps it was more like entering a command for a program, their words just an automatic readout. Regardless, researching Veronika was so far disconcertingly easy. A lack of resistance to her investigations was always somehow more disheartening, or at least disconcerting, than a dead end. Regardless, Amanda gave perfunctory thank you to the receptionist and navigated the corner to find herself in something like an office.

Ms. Yelverton paused at the door for a moment, glancing around at the numerous desks and apparent employees scattered across the space. Unfortunately the receptionist's 'directions' only covered up to this point, and she hardly remember any features of his face - let alone any clues as to where this 'Alexander Bryson' was. So, she fell back on her instincts - there was at least one figure in the building that seemed to stand out. It didn't quite seem to fit into the physical room, bird like talons digging into the bland carpet as it bent to handle a thin sheet of paper with two sets of mechanical arms. Horns, lit up like the filament of a light globe, grazed the ceiling as its tail coiled around the shadow of a man.

Amanda cautiously approached the being, keenly aware that revealing herself to an angel was a risky venture at best, "Um, excuse me?" She called from behind it, making an effort to focus on the human component that existed beneath (and around, and within) it, "Uh, sir? Are you Alexander Bryson?" She smiled nervously, itching the prickly scars on her neck.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 27):

Wright and Bright Finance

Damian didn't have a lockpick on him. This was hardly the first time that he'd left his office without thieving tools, it likely wouldn't be the last. Despite his attempts at practicing, he still felt like he'd made zero progress in the fine arts of robbery. Part of him wondered if it were perhaps because some noble remnants of his soul rebelled against such developments.

It was weird how there seemed to a fundamental schism between just being a shadow, a fly on the wall if you will, and an active agent. Often, his outcomes would be the same whether he'd broken into a house, or simply finessed the info he needed with careful observation anyway, and yet... they just felt different. In the shadows, Damian could at least pretend that he was just another detective, albeit one with a few extra abilities. In many ways, was that really so far from the person he had one day dreamed of being? Yet, honing skills as a thief. Even if it was for the sake of his work, something felt wrong inside him.

He was just going to have to get over it.

Yet, once again, after procrastinating the training of his skills, he was stopped by a lock. Slinking to the lot down below, he examined the area until he found a spot where he could slip into the gym. Ironically, the front door was the most welcoming point of entry, a rusted and useless lock basically inviting beginner burglars far and wide. Slipping it open as little as possible, Damian scampered into the darkest parts of the space beyond. From there, he maneuvered as close as he willing to the lit backroom. Then he listened.

With his acute senses, there was no point in not examining a potential threat before continuing his mission.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:40, Tue 19 May 2020.

In reply to Amanda (msg # 30):

Gallows scans the document, trying hard not to frown. It's already increased and unfamilar paranoia was making it hard to focus on the information, only making the warbled address even more headache inducing. How had this once made so much sense? He tucks the dossier into his jacket pocket, sighing, itching for a smoke. And probably more alcohol. At the same time, Tzayidiel was repulsed by the very notion of 'itching' for these things.

Tzayidiel freezes upon realising it had been directly addressed, unsure of how to react, how to reply, what to do -

"Nah, hate to break it to you kid." Gallows replies in a low, gruff voice, rolling his eyes slightly.

In reply to Tzayidiel (msg # 32):

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.

"Oh!" Amanda replied, offering an apologetic smile, "Sorry, you just looked like you..." She tried to focus more on the man, blinking a little out of reflex, "Uh, worked here." The fractal's nose wrinkled a little at the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, as well as the subtle notes of molten solder and blood in the air. She glanced around at the other figures, "You wouldn't be able to point me in their direction, would you? I'm... doing some research." She scratched the back of her neck, feeling more than a little nervous in front of the horned being.

Smoked and Mirrored
Terry gibbered out a few nonsenical syllables as Sunny pulled him up, the rest of the store starkly quiet, for the most part,  in the meantime. Even so, as Sunny looked at the mirrors around the pair, she could still hear the faint, almost ethereal sound of windchimes, and could see Terry looking back at her through the mirror, every single time.

Hell in Highwater Bar
Ted went through the back door a moment before returning, grinning as he slid over a plate of hot wings laid out in the shape of a butterfly (a rather bloodsoaked one, if the hot sauce was any indication). He started talking while pouring the water. "Ah, and here I was worried you wouldn't fit in here! Don't worry, I almost have nothing but answers for our kind of people! Whaddaya need?" After sliding over the water to sit leisurely near the plate, Ted idly began gently flicking his suspenders.

Wright and Bright Finance
The sounds from the backroom were idle humming, along with the occasional sloshing and clattering. From the glimpse he got from his angle, Damian could see she was cleaning the place - although she hardly had the uniform for it. Her back was turned, so he could probably scamper up the stairs without much problem if he was quick and quiet, but... well, the mop she was currently pulling in and out of view did have a red-brown tinge to it, and that backroom didn't exactly look like a supply closet, with its linoleum tile flooring and hospital-esque lighting.

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.
Something clicked in the air before Tzayidiel could respond. The gears of the Machine shifted, ever so slightly, and the Infrastructure's machinery rearranged itself in accordance. Tzayidiel felt a sharp force slide down its back like a keycard being read - Amanda only feeling a smaller tingle down her spine - as the background chatter ceased and the eyes of all the officer's workers fell right on Gallows. Then something new happened, something this office has never seen: the man with the pencil moustache, the inhuman thing that gave Tzayidiel its missions, cleared his throat.

Your time before this crescendo ends is limited.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 34):

Maybe another day he would have asked what that was supposed to mean. He wasn’t much of a social creature these days, he could admit to that. But today he ignored the comment, not really deciding if he actually considered himself able to ‘fit in’. “A patient came into the clinic and left me with this.” Julian handed the payment for the food over with the scribbled-on refill sheet. “Didn’t say much, and I didn’t get the chance to ask any questions. You haven’t seen this mark anywhere else, have you?”

For now, he let the food and drink wait in front of him. He’s really only ordered to be polite and he wasn’t too hungry. Maybe he could get the wings boxed to go and see if his current patient was interested in them later, but he wanted answers more than a cheap greasy snack.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 34):

Sonny looks at the reflection, at Terry, back to the reflection, and back to Terry. Well, she thinks. Not a baseline human, she presumes, and the ethereal bupkis means that, this Terry, probably isn't human at all. She stares, hard, at Terry, while using a single, slow hand to pull the back the hammer of her pistol, ready to draw and fire in a second. She really hopes that it's just the drugs in her system fucking with her perception of reality.

"Mon dieu..." She whispers to herself.

She clears her voice, letting the rough edges of both her cigarette-burned throat and her harsh french accent her father spoke in do the talking for her.

"You, Terry. I'll only ask this once. What are you, and why are you hanging out in an abandoned Mirror store."

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 34):

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.
Something felt wrong. Amanda couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the infrastructure seemed different somehow - her spine seemed to shiver in time with it. More disconcertingly, someone had noticed her and the being. "... Shit..." She muttered, taking a step back and glancing with renewed caution at the other figures. The horned creature didn't seem to have shifted with the rest of them - in fact they seemed to be staring at him. Was it a demon? There was no time to think about it yet, not in the jaws of the machine and not while she had a job to do.

Nearly shivering with fear, Amanda lunged for a jumble of unattended papers at the nearest desk. Not the surgical acquisition of knowledge she had planned for, but it would have to do. "W-well, nice meeting you!" Shooting a quick look back to the stubbled man, she stuffed the reports into her satchel and sprinted back to the doorway. She sighed with relief when she saw the reception was still there, and so was the exit. Amanda glanced back to the man that was not a man, a conflicted expression on her face, "C-Come on! They'll do more than stare soon." She waved for him to follow and made a run for the outer door.

In reply to Amanda (msg # 37):

Gallows rolls his eyes dramatically, mouth halfway open with a response Tzayidiel was convinced would be both witty and clever enough to be adequately human, when it feels something that makes Gallows' throat tighten. He freezes, and both man and machine shudder, a grimace passing across Gallows' face before the grizzled man could stop himself. He felt the eyes on him, and it knew that, whilst the goings on may have frozen, the ticking of the clock was only growing louder. It had to do something. Anything. But what? Fighting back was an almost laughable thought, Tzay's cold analysis and Gallows' more human thought patterns both knew that. It wasn't a contested thought. But, at the same time, it was all Tzay knew. Running was almost inconceivable, beyond the growing, queasy, feeling of fear.

It had almost entirely forgotten about the girl until she spoke to it, Gallows' shuddering again before his suddenly wide eyes met hers. He pauses, caught up in his own growing paranoia and awareness of the current threat. It takes a second longer than it should have to process her words. But they reach him, and suddenly, violently, he nods, and bolts towards her with a fear in his eyes unique to a man under pursuit.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 34):

Wright and Bright Finance

Damian quickly sniffed the air, hoping to catch a whiff of blood. Unluckily, the cleaner, if that was what she was, was too good. Any blood that had been mopped up had long dried past any use for his nose. Regardless, unless it was related to his target (which he had no reason to presume), it was none of his business. Opting to sneak past the doorway, and the woman, Damian quickly scampered up the stairs to check out the office of Alistair Wright.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:03, Sat 20 June 2020.

Hell in Highwater Bar
Ted idly scratched at his sideburns with his right hand as his left held the sketch up. "I think I've seen this before, let me just..." He pulled out an old but well-maintained leatherbound tome with plenty of bookmarks and other notes sticking out before flicking through to about three quarters of the way through. "Ah, about... 20 years ago, thereabouts. A group of Freeholders showed up and asked me for use of the backroom. Gave me the symbol as a token of thanks, I think. Dunno much more, some unsubstantiated rumours but..." Julian only got a moment to consider that Ted only looked about 30 before he continued talking. "That's all I've got, seem a secretive lot, but I'll keep an eye out for you, aye?"

Smoked and Mirrored
Terry staggered back, falling back over. "Ah gosh I'm sorry what did I do what did I do I'm sorry I..." As he continued stammering, the windchimes got louder, and noticeably, the reflections, despite otherwise mechanically following his lead, still met Sunny's eyes every time she looked at him. Has he breathed at all since he started apologising?

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.
As the duo beat a hasty retreat, all of the inhabitants of the office, one by one, reached for their phones. All except one, whose pencil-thin moustache didn't even quiver as he quietly reached for two blank pieces of paper by his typewriter. The door to the lobby felt longer than most, a hundred slightly different (but largely similar) offices with posters of nonsensical characters and reports of gibberish, punctuated with cubicles containing dead CRT screens and long-cold coffee, flashed by as the pair passed through the doorway, the door itself slamming behind them - Amanda could easily feel an enormous shift, the layout behind the door reorienting and even growing. As the pair run through the lobby, they catch a brief glimpse of the receptionist politely waving them farewell even as the front doors closed, leaving them alone on the street outside.



Wright and Bright Finance
The office was clean. Incredibly clean. As any PI would know, this is clearly a sign of one of two things: either the occupant was a psychopath, or they never actually used this location. Regardless, the contents were rather clear, although the more Damian checked the higher the risk of the cleaner downstairs doing something unexpected would grow: a slightly ajar drawer on the desk itself, from which came a rather musty smell; a closet, which stank of more than just mothballs; a clean, blue ledger, placed neatly just right of the desk's centre so it would be perfectly centred when opened; and a briefcase, leaned impeccably against the wall by the shelves across from the door, just to the desk's left.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

Sunny relaxes, seeing Terry does not mean any harm. Her eyes soften, and she un-cocks her pistol. This man, while clearly not human, probably doesn't want to kill her, and frankly, that's enough for her to be kinder to him. She presents both her hands, indicating no threat, and offers a hand to pull him up.

"I am sorry, mousier. I am, not very trusting, and I thought you might want harm upon me. Please, forgive my behavior, as you are clearly are in no state for me to handle you roughly. May I offer you a ride to somewhere that might help you? Is there somewhere in particular you may wish to go? Now is no time to be in this part of town."

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 21):

La Comédie

The first thought she had when she regained consciousness was that her head was absolutely pounding.

Vera had never quite gotten hungover back in her human form before, but she imagined this was a similar feeling -- though, perhaps, she could handle it better in her current state than the humans could. All the more reason to be glad of her current form, as she could go absolutely wild in a way she never could have done in her previous body. She tried to remember the events of the previous night -- or was it still ongoing? -- but it was practically all a blur.

She eventually pried her eyes open to scan her surroundings. Thankfully, she seemed to have stayed in the same room she last remembered entering: the VIP suite of La Comédie. She was splayed on one of the familar lush couches, next to the marble table at the center of the room. Resting on its smooth surface was an array of glasses and pipes of various shapes and sizes -- all empty or nearly so -- and of course, there were a few used parcels that once contained...sustenance. Glancing down she noticed a receipt, though it was soaked with liquid that smelled like vodka. Frowning, she realized that she could not make out its contents, most pertinently the origins and details of her recently consumed sustenance.

Sighing, the young woman slowly sat up on the couch, cradling her pounding head. Once upon a time, she would have been terrified of blacking out and losing memory for an unknown amount of time, but nowadays, the only annoyance was not knowing where her latest meal actually came from. She supposed she should be grateful to him for her new form...

With a jolt to her already suffering head, she remembered her task. Aaron Green...she had to find him, for he would likely be checking up on her soon.

But perhaps not for a few hours or so -- she could lie here for a while until her head cleared up again.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.

The space behind Amanda felt as if it were stretching and warping in the space of the breath it took to pass through the doorway. She was almost certain it was of course, but whether that was reassuring or disconcerting was up for debate. Both she and the demon had barely made it out of the jaws of the machine when she felt unseen eyes on her and a great shadow fall over them. Amanda let out a quiet gasp, involuntarily taking a step back and nearly into the door, "Uh... We should-" The colour drained from her face as she stared at the dripping badge the agent clutched.

"M-My friend and I are in a hurry, we need to go." Ms Yelverton managed, tugging on Mr. Gallows' sleeve gently with one hand and holding her satchel with the other, "Sorry, Agent Tina." She tried not to stare at its teeth.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

Wright and Bright Finance

Damian quickly tries to grab the blue ledger and slip into his cloak to analyse later, before honing on the drawer. The musty smell was overpowering. He needed to check what was inside. He kept an ear out for the cleaner downstairs, hoping that his enhanced sense would catch anything creeping up on him.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:23, Thu 16 July 2020.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 27):

Leo could feel something off about this place. His mind screamed at him to run. The part of his mind that was instinct and instinct alone demanded that he flee this place and hide, far away from everything else. Yet his rational mind knew that such a course of action would do him no good. The best thing to do here was investigate this place and solve this problem. Perhaps then both his debts and sins would be forgiven.

He turned to Nathan and spoke.

"Don't know about you, but I can feel the target on our backs growing."

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

Tzayidiel's mind raced as it sped through the corridors after Amanda, possiblities and questions whirring through its complex but newborn mind. Just how much attention would this draw? Who was this woman? Would they make it out?

Gallows heaves a breath as they come to a halt, hands on knees - more reflective of Tzayidiel's panic than any lack of fitness. Panting, he looks up at the woman in front of them, frowning. He ignores the tug on his sleeve, staring at the Agent.

"I'm witness to plenty ma'am. Comes with the territory. But I'm in a bit of a hurry right now, maybe we can pencil something in for later."

Smoked and Mirrored

Terry scampered back from Sunny's hand, his mood little improved by her holstered pistol. "Yes- no- I- why are you here?!" Even as he spoke, his words thankfully no more fevered than earlier (though that's hardly a high bar), the chimes began to ring ever so slightly more often, the texture of the sounds becoming ever so slightly deeper.
[Sunny, roll Wits + Occult.]

La Comédie

Unfortunately, Vera's rest - decadent as it was - was not to be, with the earsplitting ring of an old telephone piercing the silence. From behind a partition intended for privacy of clientele when not ordering, a bartender - dressed in the establishment's uniform of a black body-concealing cloak and a crimson venetian mask (more specifically, the left half of one), laughing like the bar's namesake. She bowed, exactly at the right angle to indicate politeness without going overboard and imply apology, and held out a cushion with the telephone on it - something straight out of the movies, an affectation of the owner. "Apologies madame, but it is for you." She spoke no further, giving no indication of precisely how she knew it was for Vera.

Wright and Bright Finance

The ledger felt cool to the touch, smooth - so little wear it could've come straight from the factory. Although its secrets could wait, there was always the risk that its disappearance would be felt keenly by the owner. But that was, surely, a question for another day. For now, the drawer beckoned, and opening it revealed... a tattered old leatherbound journal, with what felt like (although almost certainly wasn't) several dozen pieces of paper sticking out in a haphazard mess; from the appearance of all the papers, the musty smell was from poor maintenance of the aquatic variety, as if somebody had decided to waterboard them for their secrets.
[Damian, roll Wits + Composure.]

Weekly and Homely, Ltd.


[Amanda, gain the Accomplice condition.]
[Tzayidiel, gain the Flagged condition.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:24, Fri 31 July 2020.

In reply to Leo (msg # 45):

"Of course there is, Green was a powerful man, and if someone wanted him dead, then it's safe to assume that they'd want us dead for trying to figure out why. You'd better not tell me you didn't expect that sort of thing to happen."

Nate walks around the room, going around and poking his head through the doors that lead to the other rooms, before moving over and stopping by the counter that has Greens experiments and tests strewn about over it, giving the desk a sharp knock with his hand. "Okay, see all this here?" Nate waves his hand over the counter "I want you to go through all of this, sort it out for me, go through whatever is in the draws if you can get into them, I'm going to go check out the other rooms, see what else Green had lying about." He heads over to the door leading to the bedroom, pausing briefly before entering. "Let me know when you either find something interesting or you're done with that crap, also, I'd advise against touching anything else besides that counter, we don't know what kind of man Green was."

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

Weekly and Homely, Ltd. - Outside

Amanda felt as if its gaze lingered on her, even as it passed through the doors of the building. She shivered and waited for her heart to calm a little before moving, "W-We really need to go." She smiled weakly at Gallows and glanced quickly at the surrounding streets. She bit a finger thoughtfully for a moment, then set off in the direction of the bookstore, "Come on, I know somewhere safe." She waved the demon to follow her, casting another nervous glance at Weekly & Homely. She didn't have much of a reason to trust it, but if nothing else she stood to learn more about demons in the city.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

There was something of a disappointment in Julian’s mind to hear the symbol was connected to the Freehold, and maybe it showed a little bit in the creases of his face. It wasn’t necessarily anything against the Freehold, he just wasn’t really ready to try dealing with their suspicion. He could tolerate it to an extent and he fully understood the reasons for the caution, but it was a tiring ordeal. “Thank you, Ted. It’s well-appreciated, but don’t stress yourself over it.”

He decided to finish most of the plate he’d bought, given he wasn’t exactly in a big hurry to visit the Freehold. He still had to go back to the clinic just to check on his patient, and then he’d be clear to leave. He made sure to place a fair tip for the information when he paid for his meal and finally left.

The patient was simple enough, awake, bored but not looking for conversation with a stranger. A simple, brief visit, which Julian departed from after leaving a proper meal, drink, and a notification he’d be out for maybe an hour or two. He wasn’t willing to give the Freehold too much time, not with a patient in the clinic. He checked he had his belongings with him before he went out again.

A lot of Highwater looked the same at night. Julian had taken the route to the night market that he best remembered, locking the bike on one of the lightposts close to where he could walk between the buildings. He’d chosen a common area over something Court-specific, hoping someone might be able to point him in the right direction if he sourced a broader gathering. The entire walk through the winding alleys and backways, he kept an ear out for anything to help guide him.

In reply to God-Machine (msg # 40):

Wright and Bright Finance

Damian quickly flicked through the water logged journal. Although the underlying logic and structure was clear, it may have well been gibberish. He was hardly a scientist after all. Perhaps he could've been if he had applied himself more at school, but the outside world has already seemed bigger. Its call for exploration, for exposure, like a siren song had mesmerized him. However, akin to many a poor sailor, he had not been prepared for the murky depths that swallowed him whole.

Yet, there was no relief from this dark whirlpool unless he, himself, struggled to shore. He would find the cure for his affliction and then leave this world, this life behind. That was the goal that kept driving him, the only thing keeping him going. He must know someone who could decipher this. He was already taking the ledger, what harm would slipping the journal under his cloak do too? Even if someone discovered it missing, there should be no trace of him - the one advantage of his present curse.

Mentally shelving the journal for now, Damian approached the closet next. Keeping half an eye towards the door, he also scanned for an alternative escape route - just to be prepared were he interrupted.

A hand around the closet door, he opened it slowly, to not make sound. Wondering if there would be more to add to his haul. Already tonight was looking like it might cause him to burn the midday oil.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:04, Tue 29 Sept 2020.