Re: Dresden Files: Caught in the Undertow

[Cracklord]

Marcone
He simply steps smartly back, and Hendrics removes a sidearm, which he points at her, face impassive. "Don't fire. She can answer questions." Marcone says softly, and Hendricks nods.

[draxx]

Billy Borden
"Well that's a start." He says, pulling on sweatpants but staying bare-chested. His shirt was missing. That happened distressingly often. "So then, we better clear off. Has anyone called the cops yet?"

Murphy
With almost magical timing, a squad car arrives. Captain Karrin Murphy (reinstated and newly promoted) gets out, gun in one hand, eyes narrowed. She blinks when she sees Elaine, then looks up at the rest of you. Billy is the only one she recognizes.

"Knew it. Knew this had to be something about what was happening on your end. What's going on?"


Fix
Suddenly Fix is more then a man. He's a storm, a wave, a force of nature, and his sword is back in his hands. His eyes flash...

And Deidre finds herself calming down, sleepy and unable to focus, feeling vacant. She can't remember why she was angry, or what she wanted to do. At that moment, she'd be hard-pressed remembering her own name. She can't even hear her demon, for the first time in centuries. There is just a plescent fuzzy feeling where it's voice should be coming from.

Fix crouches, and meets her eyes. "What's your name." He says, and she feels a faint compulsion to answer, as though the warm, gorgeous feeling will stop if she doesn't. People said the Summer Court were nicer then the Winter Court. And that's only because people like the carrot more then the stick, forgetting that both exist for the same reason.

Thomas
He'd been about to turn on the lust too. But Fix was, in a funny sort of way, better at this. He could influence them in one way, which meant ripping his clothes off. Fix could make them do other things as well.

For want of anything better to do, he turns to Marcone and tilts his head. "Just want to make sure, you didn't kill my brother, right?"

[industrious]

Deidre

She's resisting. Or more accurately, her Fallen is resisting. Hellfire rages in her metaphysical landscape, trying to break Summer's hold over her. Fix's power is able to keep Xandriel at bay...at least for now. But there is a definite tension as he works his power.

"Deidre..." she mutters in a half-slurred, sleepy voice.

[draxx]

Fix
Fix leans closer. His lips quirk. "Deidre. Such a pretty name. So tell me, Dedire" his pronunciation is identical to hers. Asking a name wasn't just common courtesy, it was a way of gaining metaphysical power. Naturally, she'd subconciously mannaged not to say the whole thing, but he only needed a little more hold, afterall. "Why are you looking for your father?"

[industrious]

Deidre

More Hellfire, and Xandriel is definitely cracking the edge's of Fix's enchantment. But having part of her name keeps a sort of equilibrium for now. She's definitely struggling, though.

"...going...to...kill..."

Xandriel manages to get Deidre to stop talking, though her lips are still moving soundlessly.

[draxx]

Fix
His head aches from the pressure, but he lays the glamor thicker. It's all he can do, anymore and she'll be too fuzzy-headed to be of any use. His skull is almost splitting, but he holds on. "And where is this person he is going to kill?" he gets out, straining for every word.

[Cracklord]

Marcone
"No." He says, fighting off the lethargy Fix was throwing on them all. "No, I had nothing to..." He shakes his head. Hendricks is lying on the ground beside him, fast asleep, and looking strangely peaceful as he does.

Vlad
There is a crack as two figures step out of the Nevernever, before the building Vlad had claimed as his own. The first is a tall figure in the grey cloak of the Wardens of the White Council, an organization of the most powerful wizards on the world. The Warden is about 5'10, Latino-handsome, (think Enrique Iglesias with a touch of Benjamin Brant and you would be close) holding an intricately carved staff and a poster tube over his shoulder. He is wearing his "war face" but he doesn't have the years for it to set in.
The other looks even younger, girl next door pretty, a thick, stumpy staff traced with very few runes, a gunslingers belt full of trinkets, and a deep scowl that drew attention to her killer dimples, although she probably didn't plan on that. Her hair was delicate spun blond, and her cloak was identical.
They had been formerly dispatched. A year or so ago, Dresden's death would probably be met with no formal consequences for the guilty part whatsoever. Maybe even secret rejoicing by the older, established wizards. But in light of his recent battle and sacrifice, things were quite different. Arthur Langtry had not just given her permission to avenge his death, he'd suggested it. A fitting end, the Council's last salute to a hero, and the file can be closed, and Arthur could go back to the blissful way it was when he'd never heard the name.
Ebenezer had requested it, but been refused. He was needed. So instead, Luccario had been sent, commander of the Wardens.
Luccario had far more personal reasons then Langtry's. She'd cared for Dresden, quite a lot. And while that had been partly under the influence of mind control, there had been feelings in there from which it had sprung from. Ramirez felt much the same way. he had only agreed to be the second once he had made his superior promise she wouldn't hold back.
They marched in, to find Vlad glaring at them from atop his throne. The room has been torn up, walls removed and rubble left to lie where it is. A dozen other shapes mark his kin. There would be more. There always was.
They both ignored them. They had eyes only for the master.
Vlad. Still alive after all this time, and some truly Herculean tries. Well this time, she intended to see him die.
"Who intrudes?" He asks in a booming voice any B-grade horror studio had in abundance, eyes blacker then black, hands convulsively clenching and unclenching. "I will know so that I may tell all who ask where to find your body. A spike above my tower, where you can look at all my kingdom."
In answer, Anastasia Luccario slams her staff against the floor, with a boom of impact. "I hold you with the murder of Warden Dresden, unprovoked, and acts of war upon the populace of the city of Chicago. How do you plead?"
Vlad roared. "You expect me to beg from you, mortal? I claim it as my own! You trespass on my territory!"
Anastasia doesn't flinch. Ramirez does. He had heard of Vlad a few times, but never seen anything quite like him. It was humbling to see all the power. Normally, Anastasia would not do it like this, but Vlad, whatever his self, was an Accords member, and entitled to a few privileges, such as formality. Besides, she was not about to start another war so soon after the previous one.
"I asked you how you plead."
Vlad recoiled as though struck, then seemed to swell. "Very well. I shall prove my innocence." He peeled of a glove, and slammed her face with it, so hard the material tore and he left a weal across her face. "I challenge you to trial of ordeal."
Luccario nodded. "Very well. Ramirez is my second. Yours?"
"Kinca-" But that wasn't right. Kincaid had been a traitor, just as the birds had warned him. He had killed Kincaid. Then his eye flickers. "I am a noble. It is my right and privilege to settle this matter with a champion."
"If you wish."

[industrious]

Deidre

The glamour fails, and Fix is hurled back, landing on the table with a crash, sulfur filling his nostrils.

But Deirdre raises her head and shouts a word, metallic hair writhing around the edges of the circle.

"MOMMY!"

[Colesign]

Sanya

The glamour has no effect on Sanya, who is standing just as tall as before. Huh. Weird.

For the moment he elects to let Fix do the talking.

Then Deirdre breaks free of the Glamour. Sanya holds aloft his sword, making sure to avoid breaking the circle.

"You have no power her, Xandriel. So back off, and let us have nice chat with Deirdre, da?"

Bartholomew Dee

{Since this is post-Changes, is Murphy still in the police force?}

"Right. We should." Dee says in response to Billy.

Then a cop walks up. "Uh, an accident–a mugging I think." He says, instinctively lying to a person that he assumes doesn't believe in the supernatural.

[i]

[draxx]

Fix
He gets to his feet, trembling with extertion, and shrugs, panting a little, as though he'd run around the block. "I'm sorry, that's the best I can do myself. if you want I'll ask Lilly to, but we'd have to take her through the Nevernever to do that, and she'd take a while."

Thomas
"That sounds like a great way to get killed." He comments unhelpfully.

Billy Borden
He pats Bart on the back, only a little awkwardly. "I've been through this before. I know what you're going through. You need to talk to anyone?" he doesn't bother with the cliches. They did help, more then people expected, but they were not appropriate.

Then he looks up. "It was Kincaid, Murphy. It's all been Kincaid."

Murphy
(If you remember, Nicodemus and Marcone pulled strings earlier in the game)

Of course it was. She feels several feelings at once. First, and most irrational, is hurt. It felt like he did this just to hurt her. Then there is anger, righteous fury welling up in her, betrayal, and a whole tangle of emotions she'll take a long time to sort out. For the moment, she lets them wait. She hasn't felt like this since she found out her ex-husband was marrying her sister. She wants to destroy something, wants to let herself go mad.

Instead she walks over. "Is Elaine alright?"

[Colesign]

Bartholomew Dee

"I thought I'd start by helping to save some lives. And then doing something Cathartic." Bartholomew says quietly, grasping Billy's hand for a moment before straightening up.

Upon hearing Billy talk to Murphy, he exclaims.

"Oh! You're clued in. Sorry!"

Bartholomew rubs the back of his head, then stiffens as Billy mention's the Hellhound's name.

"Kincaid." He rolls the name off of his tongue, imbuing it with a heeping hulk on contempt.

Responding to Murphy, he says. "It looks like she's got a concussion. A hospital's probably in order. Um, you know Billy already...funny...so my name's Bartholomew, and this guy is Mr. Lionheart, the Yuppie Avenger!"

[Cracklord]

Marcone
"Well, whatever you do, it's your problem." With that he turns and walks away.

[industrious]

Nicodemus

Officer Murphy. A wrench in his plans...at least, unless he could bluff his way out.

"Hello, Officer. Um...we have a wounded woman here."

Ivy

The study is an exercise in contrast. On the one hand, qntique wood paneling, gas lamps retrofitted with electric lights, and enough antique tomes to make a classics scholar eat his diploma in envy. On the other, Miley Cyrus is playing in the background, and there are Hello Kitty posters on the wall. Lots of Hello Kitty posters.

Ivy walks to her desk, and ruffling through the drawers, finds a notebook with Sumerian crayon notes inside it. She still finds it much better to have the physical copy on hand, though.

The locator spell would tell her Kincaid's exact position, to a much higher degree than anything the White Council used. After all, the White Council still hadn't quite gotten the hang of relativity; tracking spells over long distances were notoriously unreliable to a few city blocks.

Deidre

"You are talking with Deidre, Sanya."

She glares at the Knight. At the sword he's holding.

"Xandriel's been my best friend ever since I was ten years old. And I don't betray my friends. Unlike you, traitor."

[draxx]

Murphy
She'd never had a good look at Nicodemus, and was currently dealing with what she rationally knew to be expected but she couldn't help but class as a betrayal, and has determined she is going to kill Kincaid. The responsible, decent thing to do is to go report that she knows the suspect socially and she could not deal with this. Instead, she has resolved to kill him like any other rabid monster in her city.

So she's not as stable and careful as she normally is. "An ambulence is coming. I need to question you all. Tell me about the man who did all this. And please be aware that you might be asked to testify in court."

[Colesign]

Bartholomew Dee

Bartholomew is all on board the "Kill Kincaid's ass" express too, though he doesn't express that out load.

"Mr. Lionheart and Billy can give you better info, Officer." He says honestly. "I was only here at the tail end of it, and don't want to imagine up false details by accident."

[Colesign]

Sanya

"Xandriel's one of the Fallen, Deirdre: it's guided you on a path of violence, bloodshed, and despair. I'd frankly also make argument that she keeps you from emotional maturation and taking responsibility for your own life."

He hits upon an idea. "Your father is missing. He intends you kill your own mother. And you have no idea where either of them are, or what they are going to do to each other."

Softly. "How does that make you feel?"

[industrious]

Deidre

"I want them back together. I want things back to the way things were. Me and Father, and Mommy. One nice happy family."

She licks her lips, and stares straight at Sanya.

"I think a good torture session with you would do wonders for therapy and counseling."

[Colesign]

Sanya

Sanya ponders Deirdre's suggestion.

"Nahhhhhhh."

He readjusts his grip on "Esperacchius".

"But anyways: I urge you once more to give up Xandriel and live a life free of his influence! "

[Cracklord]

Sartorius Weaver
An abandoned warehouse had become a strip club, and a cheap one. The women were cheap, the alcohol was almost rented rather then bought, and the bar man was an ex-con. Cheap titillation, cheap rotgut, and a fast way to an early grave. Like all bars of this sort, there was a back room. More people came for the back room then the bar. And he backroom had been expanded far below and beyond the foundations of the room.
It was dark, a heavy murk, lit just enough to make out the shapes if not features of the other people in the dark. Hundreds of them, All the light was focussed on the concrete rink in the middle, warded by an improvised cage. Rusted chains hung from the walls, and smoke hung in the air, cigarette and fire, so that the breathing was rapid and fast, adding a sense of thrill to the atmosphere. In every line, every crease, it fairly vibrated with anticipation, a sense of an impeding event that thrilled them all to the core.
There was a samensess about them, an identical aspect to them all, despite differences in appearance. Some were tall, some fat, some stocky, some lean, some muscular, but all had a feral fire to them, an almost primal desire to destroy.
Participants fight purely for the thrill of it. It's not about proving something, or achieving something, or feeling or delivering pain. It was about getting in touch with another side of yourself, getting beyond social expectations they find stifling, and it was about destruction, and liberation from the lives they found themselves unable to escape. But, more then anything, it was about blood.
They wouldn't all fight. Only a dozen of them or so. But the others would gain a certain contact feeling from watching, and, for a while, it would starve of the need they felt, by exerting the frustration that has built up inside for too long.
Was this what it was to be worshipped? They loved and adored you for what you gave them. You are their savior and messiah, the teacher who gives them life where there was only emptiness and a growing, numbing despair. And their adoration, the lower emotions that burn in them fuel you.

Kincaid
The Hellhound came to in darkness.
Death would have been a blessed relief, even his body could not cope with the beating he had received. Every muscle ached, his knee was a long, throbbing ache that drowned out the other pains, minor in comparison. The barest twitch multiplied that agony such that he almost passed out, and a buzzing began at the edge of his senses.
Gritting his teeth, he fumbled, touching stone and rotting reeds. His hand found a wall and followed it. The cell was small. Tiny even, he barely had room to lie down, though he was a tall man.
Vlad would have killed him. So who had him here? He didn't know. He was sure he had enemies, he'd killed enough people, but he'd never met them personally. He made sure of it.
It would be easy to give up, to let the darkness take him, but something burned inside him, blazing defiant and hateful in his chest.
He would live. Just to spite them, he would live.

Ivy
Your brain works in a way that the human brain does not. Not only do you have perfect recall and the knowledge of everything ever written down, you also subconsciously comprehend, categorize and store it, making you capable of function without being constantly frozen as your synapses desperately attempt to process the never ending stream of information.
It is only when whatever it is becomes relevant to your situation that you take a moment to identify it. For instance, when others see a frog you see a Rana temporaria also known as the European Common Frog, and everything else written about it. Some is erroneous, of course, sometimes it takes your mind to inconvenient places, such as the short stories intended for children ‘frog and toad’.
But just the same, it is a useful function. You had just identified the position of Kincaid (41'96175 Latitude -87'64716 longitude, approximately fifty meters below sea level), when your mind is taken to the newspapers intended for tomorrow, just printed, and the death certificates that have just been completed, as well as an in progress police report, the contents of Murphy’s notepad, and several other points of interest. Which combine to make it extremely clear what Kincaid has been doing with his time.

Ramirez and Luccario
“So remind me again why we don’t just blow it up? Seems less of a risk, somehow.” Ramirez asked, as Vlad and his kin prepared themselves. They had been given an hour, shunted to a side room to get as ready as they wanted, but were informed they were not to leave, or it would be seen as backing out, and thus, withdrawing the challenge.
“Of course it does. But it’s not likely to work.” In contrast to Ramirez, who was extremely agitated, Luccario seemed almost bored. He’d suggested energy, but since she hadn’t the raw power to match him, she’d refused. And so they had settled on will. Which was strange. Might he was certain to win, as was magic and force of arms. So why the one thing that would seemingly leave the contest in doubt? It made no sense.
“Well, I don’t see how you’re supposed to win alone.” Ramirez continued, pacing for something to do, in burning off the nervous energy. “He’s killed plenty of wizards and people, why give him a fair fight when it favors him so much?”
“I’ll figure something out. To be honest, I haven’t given this quite as much time to plan as I’d like.”
“But why a duel?” Ramirez threw up his hands. “He killed a Warden! One word from you and we’d all mobilize in an instant!”
“Because,” She said, slowly, so there was no chance Ramirez wouldn’t understand, “Vlad’s a member of the Accords. If we don’t play fair, it will set a dangerous precedent, and all the other signatories will stop playing by the rules, since apparently we don’t.”
“But that’s total bullshit!” He sounded positively furious, and is literally grinding his teeth. “He killed Dresden! Unprovoked attack! How come he gets to hide behind law?”
“He says he didn’t. We have no proof, just conjecture. So we can’t do anything about it, except either stop complaining, or use the law to fight back.”
“And those other people?” Ramirez replied. “It’s pretty clear he killed them.”
“Not formal members of The White Council. As far as the Accords are concerned, he’s done nothing wrong.”
“So that’s it?”
“No. So we duel him, I win, we get some small measure of justice.”
“And if you don’t?”
“You know, I never even considered I might not. Show me some confidence, please Ramirez.”

Marcone
He moves some money around, has a few more conversations, arranges for a tighter ship, and otherwise divests of any collateral before it becomes valueless, and prepares himself for war. He’d been expanding a lot recently, since the death of the Red Court, and now he had to make certain changes or risk falling down. You know what they said about towers that rise too far too quickly.
But more then that, he waits, wondering when Nicodemus would call. It’s a long time since he’s waited on the pleasure of another man. He feels positively young again. But he does wish that the man would get to the point. They weren’t all immortal.

Lara Raith
She has competing interests with the gangster, but worked it out civilly. He kept out of her territory, and she out of his. When their was overlap, they settled it the way mortals did: With money. But for the most part, she was letting him have free reign. Actually, she was hoping he’d buy further into her interests, that way she could speed up her plans of moving base elsewhere. She was sick of Chicago. She needed a change of scenery for a while, and if she could convince Marcone to 'take advantge of opportunity' and undermine her buisness, she could leave with a considerable profit margin.

[draxx]

Ebernezzer McCoy
Ebenezer pushes the half empty fifth of straight gin across the table and lowers bleary eyes. Despite his appearance, sprawled across the rough-hewn chair, he's nowhere near drunk enough.

"I failed her twice. Twice. There's nothing that can put that right. And now I've failed him too. My grandson." Tears choke his alcohol roughened voice, and he swallows more gin to drown it, and welcomes the blank fog the alcohol makes of his memories.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, shielding the trees from view.

Karrin Murphy
She sighs. “Just tell me what you can remember, and I’ll check with the others next. It’s just a few moments of your time, but if the man is who I think it is, then everything you say might save a lot more lives.”

Something has made it through the clamor of her emotional turbulence, and she is looking at Nicholas with an air of confusion. Then it clicks. With forced calm, she turns back to Bartholomew, and, with infinite gravity, winks. “Could you please step aside with me for a moment? It could be important.”

Thomas Raith
"Oh, that'll work." He says sarcastically to Sanya's attempt at redemption. "No wonder you hardly ever get results. It's like you're not even trying."

A bit sharper then he intended, maybe, but sometimes Sanya just rubs him the wrong way. It’s that the man was so certain, so clear, that he seemed incorruptible without even trying, and that made Thomas’s own struggle feel like a lie. It wasn’t rational, and it wasn’t fair, but there was a part of the White Court vampire that delighted in the petty bit of vindictiveness.

Fix
"I have to agree. Come on, you sound like Ayn Rand spieling absolutism. You haven’t even tried to understand her. Give me a try."

Before Sanya can accept or refuse, he walks over to Dedire, and squats beside her. His voice is low and compassionate, and he doesn’t use his magic to add to it. He’ll use that later. "It hurts, doesn't it. It always hurts. You can't make either of them listen, your friend is always telling you what to do, and neither of them are ever there when you need them. But it's allright. You don't have to be alone."

He rests a hand, right next to the edge of the circle, and stares at her. "Let me help you, Dedire. Let me give you a gift. Let me take your pain away."

Billy Borden
The Alphas vanish like smoke. Murphy knows where to find them, and can interview them later. For now, they had work to do.

[industrious]

Ivy

The desk explodes; the wards prevent any major damage to the rest of the study or Ivy herself, but the antique mahogeny is completely shattered. The contents of the bookshelves are hurled across the room; pages of priceless notes are scattered among the floor. One item in particular, an intricately carved Chinese puzzle box, lands at Ivy's feet. Absently, she picks it up, slips it into her pocket.

And then she is gone, disappeared into the Nevernever.

It is said that the Archive, if she ever broke her vow of neutrality, would be nearly as powerful as a Faerie Queen, and nowhere near as restrained as Titania and Mab. Ivy had so much power, so much control, so much insight...and the emotions of a 12 year old girl.

She'll be in Chicago before the hour is up.

Deidre

She steps closer to the edge of the circle, clawed hand hovering gently at its edge.

[draxx]

Fix
"Relax, Dedire. We don't want to hurt you. And I don't want to hurt either of your parents either. Just relax. Close your eyes, and breathe softly. I'm going to help you. Is that okay?"

[industrious]

Deidre

"Let me out of here. I've been a good girl. Good girls don't have to go the bad circle. Let me out of here."

[Colesign]

Sanya

"Redemption isn't easy." Sanya says with a bit of an edge to his voice. "There's no 12-Step Program for Demonic Possession, you know."

Then he sighs. "But no matter how far someone's gone to the dark, it is never too late for them to turn back to the light."

He crouches down, matching Fix's height. "I've sworn an oath not to pursue your father unless he tries to harm a large amount of people while he's in this city. So try to believe that I am not your enemy. At least, not today."

Bartholomew Dee

"Of Course, officer." Bartholomew says quietly. He steps to the side with Murphy. As he does so, he conveys what he knows.

"I'm a member of the Paranet, and I'm a Street Magician by trade. A few hours ago someone began killing Paranet Member and unaffiliated Minor Pracitioners. I learned of this when I tried visiting a friend at the Oldtown School of Folk Music and found her office ransacked, by a blond man according to one of her co-workers. Upon calling my friends and contacts within the city, I discovered that no one but Richard Kelley, a Ward Maker, was able to answer. I told him to be careful and warn people about these killings, then tried going to Bock's...only to find that he was dead. I tried calling Richard again, only to get no response. I then realized that the Paranet had been compromised, and rushed here, only to find that Blond Man...The Hellhound...Kincaid in the middle of a standoff with the Alphas and Mr. Lionheart there. I..."

Here he pauses, then admits sheepishly:

"I tried to bluff him into running, by pretending I could use Evocation Magic. He didn't fall for it, and shot my hat off. He skedaddled and tried to shoot us from a distance: I used a smoke grenade, and we all bugged out, and found the young woman lying unconscious."

He rubs the back of his head.

"That's about it."

[draxx]

Karrin Murphy
"Yeah, I know. I'm the one who told Dresden who to speak to about setting it up. I'm also in charge of Special Investigations. And Kincaid must like you. He's very efficient." Impossibly, she seems even more awkwardly furious about the whole thing then you. She was really starting to like him, conveniently forgetting what he was and what he did. All they had between them was a bit of fun, but it was that which made it alright to care. And then, this.

Then she tilts her head, indicating Nicodemus with a corner of her brow. “But that’s our problem for now. Ever heard of the Blackened Denarians? Or the Nickleheads? He’s the worst one. Don’t let him know you know yet, or he might cut his losses, and that would be bad. Just cover for me while I go to my car. There is something I need to get.”

So she’d refused the job after getting her old one back. So what. She’d keep the sword anyway until someone else came and asked for it. And right now it was pretty clear what she was supposed to do. She half suspected God had set this up just to give her another chance at entry. Which seemed a little unfair, but just the same, she was keeping her options open.

In the trunk of her car, near her Akido practice staves, was Fidelacchius.

Cowl
Chicago. Center of the universe. Almost, but not quite, as distasteful as New York. He sighed, and paused to make a small adjustment to his coat. Then he walked down the street, sat in the bus stop, and waited, his fingers toying with what seemed to be a large white marble in his hand, rolling it over his knuclkes and across his palm as though unaware of it.

Fix
“I will let you out of the circle. I know you’re a good girl, and it’s not fair. So I’m sorry. Do you think you can forgive me?” He sounded like a man talking down a shying pony, slowly calming it. He really was very good at it, although it hardly seemed the way to make her take a long look at her life and teach her about morality.

“But if I do, could you do something for me?”

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