THE DUNKER, unwilling to be abducted to Potato Hell, attempts to plug the pesky leak in spacetime.
Halesey, meanwhile, speaks with the fellow and tries to decide upon a course of action.
[Finesse (DUNKER, Halesey): 6-->3-1, 1-->6+1]
[THE DUNKER's affinity roll: 3+1]
The large man's first move is unproductive, as the amount of pork queens summoned - about 15 or so - is plainly insufficient to plug up a vortex the size of about a third of a factory floor's entire ceiling. They disappear with such quickness, it occurs to the man that maybe plugging a hole that large with something as small as people may just be an impractical thing to attempt. If it can even be plugged in the first place with all that gravity working on it.
Halesey, looking thoughtful and appreciative of his vortex's handy putdown of this uninitiated fellow's talents, supposes that the point has been made adequately, and attempts to dismiss it. The vortex shrinks to a much more manageable size immediately, though does not disappear entirely. THE DUNKER, in response, plummets to the ground and flops on the floor ignobly. A dramatic setup, but a quick resolution, Halesey thinks as he stares up at the vortex he has just reined in. It seems to have lost a certain majesty in the process of being restricted, as if it were a great caged beast or an incarcerated nude arsonist.
* * * * *
Eta, not sure if miscreant quarters in hell count as a dungeon, errs on the side of caution and checks for traps. First obvious trap already eliminated - no rigged shotgun in the hatchway.
"I suppose, although I haven't seen any miscreants in hell yet. Everything here looks so ordered I'm surprised they could find a way to break the law," she says to her companion shade as she runs her fingers over the hatchframe carefully, scanning for any holes that shoot poison darts. There don't seem to be any, which is good news.
"There are a few bugs in the legal code that take a little time to resolve. Soon we should be able to bring in collaborator groups as well as the exact perpetrator," the shade explains. Eta notices a conspicuous lack of visible trap doors in the hallway, and wonders if that is perhaps the entire point.
"Anyway, I was more interested in knowing if you could identify them," she asks, not seeing any magical runes written anywhere. Would that be vandalism, perhaps? Maybe they write them every time they get home, but someone cleans them off every time.
"No. The visual interchangeability of shades is not just a cultural barrier you have failed to cross. They are actually interchangeable visually. Shades of purple in their eyes may help identification, but this is a minute and subjective difference dependent on lighting," the shade replies, and Eta takes a careful step inside, noting the failure of anything dangerous to happen to her.
"Note that these are not hardened criminals. Merely desperate debtors," the shade points out.
"They should be here in five to ten minutes."Time sure flies when one is checking for traps, Eta supposes as she and the shade walk inside. The block itself is similar to the hallway that led them here, but without the grooves this time. Probably because it doesn't seem like it's about to twist around to accommodate some form of optimal arrival arrangement. Guess they don't micromanage it
that much.
In block Toe Pine Seven there are six different hatches, three on each side of the hall, and each appears to have one of those card-based signs on them - each conspicuously blank except for one particular one that says "UNOCCUPIED". Hm. The shade with her also hms, but in a slightly more disapproving fashion. It's almost a hrm, in fact.
* * * * *
John, seeing Tracey's look, tries to come up with an excuse.
"Wouldn't you say that, yes, an accomplished wizard walking by himself would seem vulnerable. But two newbies like ourselves, seemingly desperately staying together for together, would look even weaker, yes? And attract more strange creatures? I think me and Tracey should stick together, to give the semblance of extra weakness," he says. Pilton tilts his head in response.
"Yeah! What he said!" Tracey adds.
"First off, you're not a newbie wizard, John, just so you know. That ship sailed off a while ago. And Tracey, being part of a pair makes you less approachable than if you're alone. So no, you guys each have to go off alone. Them's the rules. And if you get in trouble, just give one of us a call or something."He shrugs.
"Besides, more wizards in one place just means more trouble in my experience, so you're actually safer when you're alone."Tracey pouts, looking at John, then back at Pilton.
"But how do I know what to do? Nobody's told me anything!""I'm sure one of the supernatural creatures will be all to happy to talk your ear off. Now, let's each vamoose in a different direction and reunite later. Let's meet at Leonard's at about six in the evening. Sound good?""Who's Leonard person? Is he like your other Stan or something? Did you talk about him in the house? I wasn't there!" Tracey says, her voice stressed.
"The bistro!" Pilton shakes his head.
"You know, where you met us?"Tracey purses her lips and nods with wide eyes.
"Now then, we agreed?"* * * * *
Larry, like any proper middleman, starts the meeting off by making introductions.
"Tom, meet the Oldthinker. Oldthinker, this is Tom. And yeah, if it's anything like what he had last time, it's pretty stout shit. Let's go in," he immediately segues into business.
"Stout shit sounds good to me," Tom says, heading in without waiting for Larry to take the first step.
"Thtout thtuff indeed awaitth you," the Oldthinker says as the men pass him.
"I have prepared my thtrongest brew for thith meeting," he then adds, and hurries off to the kitchen.
The living room looks neater than before. The mags Larry spewed here last time as well as the hats he summoned have been taken away, although the Oldthinker's still wearing the park ranger hat. In the middle of the room, lying spread-eagle on the rug above the hole in the floor and staring at the ceiling, is Phinny. She makes no motion of acknowledgement at the two arrivals. Her eyes are wide open, and they are a solid black, glowing with a deep darkness.
"Make yerthelveth at home," Oldthinker croaks from the kitchen.
"Be right out with the thtuff! And don't mind Phinny! She'th been like that a while, and she'th completely okay!""Ooh, is the shit really that stout, then?" Tom asks, poking at Phinny with his foot. The metallic angel makes no move to react.
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Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 255167 times)