The Hand Strikes IX

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[font color="a32372"]"1745, truly? Are they still using bloodletting, then? Do you know any doctors or men of medicine?"[/font] These questions were all of exceptional interest to the team's doctor, and perhaps not entirely relevant to the current moment. Of course, Hocus Locusts had never been too concerned about relevance in these sorts of events. There was value in everything, and sometimes that value was in blowing up a Scottish castle.

[font color="1e6649"]"Ignore him, please, he's just upset he didn't get to exorcise anyone today."[/font]

Somehow, the raised-eyebrow expression was entirely apparent even through the standard helmet. [font color="a32372"]"The day isn't over yet."[/font]

Duet considered this, then nodded slightly. [font color="1e6649"]"No promises. You didn't see anyone else, you said? No one at all?"[/font] That implied that the police force that had been sent in either hadn't made it this far, or somehow hadn't encountered the Scostsman. [font color="1e6649"]"Do you know anything about the thing upstairs?"[/font]

It was still likely to be up there, Duet figured, unless was one of the sorts that could disapparate, teleport, fly, bend reality, temporally dislocate, or any other number of options and it was more flighty than curious. Duet wasn't willing to put a bet on the first list, but she would absolutely bet on the second.

[font color="ff4d00"]"Next overnight shift says it's still up there."[/font] So would Damsel, apparently, and he'd beaten her to it.

[font color="1e6649"]"Fine, you're on."[/font] Probably a losing bet, but Duet liked night shifts anyway. Night shifts were when the weird stuff came out. She put a hand on the Scotsman's shoulder, either companionably or to test and see if he was solid rather than a projection, or some combination of the two. [font color="1e6649"]"Better grab your sword if you're coming up there with us."[/font]

It was somehow not implied that he had much of a choice in this matter.
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]He looked to the man who spoke, the one whose voice he recognized as the most reasonable. His grey eyes studied the armored – doctor. Of course soldiers would have a doctor on hand, and a doctor would have questions ready. It was good to have an identifier for him, at least. That made all three of the ones nearby – doctor, singer, and the big one. He felt a little bit like he was learning.

It seemed like the singer didn’t think the doctor’s question was important enough, even if it raised far more questions in him about the changes in the last three centuries. This was the future, as far away as the first Stuarts were in the past. There were questions to be asked as well as answered. But the singer was right, now was not the time. He felt her hand solidly against his shoulder, real as he was. At least this was good proof he wasn’t drunk, or seeing ghosts.

[font color="B06500"]"Ah haven't seen or heard anythin' sin ah fun this steid. Tis bin deid wheesht 'til a' o' ye."[/font] And he’d never woken faster from a dead sleep. In the near absolute silence, the voices had carried from a way away. Although – he had been upstairs, when he first heard them. There was no way they’d seen him at that point, because he hadn’t seen them, not until he’d peered out a side window here on this floor. Sound carried in the hills, and in the dead quiet, much faster than a person could walk.

He frowned at the upper window as he turned to follow the singer’s orders and retrieve his weapons. Even if he’d had a choice, being an armed fighter was a much better option than an unarmed prisoner, and again, maybe these strangers had answers.

He was quiet for the time it took him to strap his shield into place, but he spoke up again as he retrieved his blades. [font color="B06500"]"Did ye see something shift up thare? howfur lang ago?"[/font]
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]There was a pause after the man's first statement, one that seemed to be waiting for something.

[font color="993033"]"...He says it's been quiet. I can see if I can get some translation software linked into the comm systems, but it'll take a little while-"[/font]

[font color="FF4D00"]"Nah, you're doing great."[/font] Damsel gave the team's Tech Wizard a thumbs up through the giant hole in the wall, who responded with a gesture that also required no translation.

[font color="1e6649"]"There seemed to be something up there when we entered,"[/font] Duet answered the second question, watching the man arm up. She wasn't too concerned about having a questionable ally armed beside them, since she didn't think that weapons from 1743 were likely to pack enough punch to get through standard ACF armor, or at least not without enough run-up to tip them off. Anomalous weapons might be another matter, though. The Foundation hadn't been founded back then, so it was possible that anomalies in this man's era were just hiding in people's attics.

Much like their current one, to be quite fair, but at least now they had people for that. Back in 1743, it was probably just some crazed Scotsman with a sword. [font color="1e6649"]"Ever see anything like this before? Things that you can't explain?"[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]He could tell they were having some trouble with understanding some of what he said, but one of the two farther off translated. The singer didn’t seem to have any such trouble, though, and he looked up again as she gestured. He flexed his hand inside the basket hilt. [font color="B06500"]"Ah wis up thare a hauf oor ago, whin ah foremaist heard ye, bit ah cam richt doon. Ah haven't seen a'body or anythin' else 'ere."[/font]

The second question actually made him laugh in a sudden burst.

[font color="B06500"]"I’ve heard o' plenty o' th' usual tales. Bogles, fairies, kelpies, vough. Seems thare isnae a jimmy in th' hielands wha hasn't seen or heard something o' th' sort." [/font]There was a pause, like he was considering or maybe even remembering something he’d nearly forgotten. His shoulders tensed, his fingers flexed again, and the smile faded. [font color="B06500"]"Ah hae heard th' cu-sith, ah would’ve sworn it. 'Twas a few munths back. Ne'er saw it, bit it's something ye ken whin ye hear. Thought ah wis deid, if i’m bein' honest. Bit that’s fairy-folk, that's th' ordinar sort o' odd. This is..."[/font]

He shook his head, looking at the ceiling above with the vaguest sense of dread. He didn’t like the idea of running into something like this blind, even if the people here weren’t. He looked back to the singer.

[font color="B06500"]"Ye fowk seem tae ken mair aboot it than ah dae. Whit's gaun oan? wha urr ye, 'n' whaur even ur we?"[/font]
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The Scotsman listed off a fair hand of creatures with the indication that they weren't much to think of. Perhaps prudently, no one pointed out that the ACF had a fair few of those in little boxes. It was likely that this was more due to the desire not to explain the ACF than any desire to spare the man's sensitivities.

Easiest questions first.

[font color="1e6649"]"You're in the village of Kirkavar. You're the only one who is, except us, and we just got here. If you want more of an explanation, we'll leave that to the Welcoming Committee, but suffice to say that we're the ones who find stuff like that,"[/font] Duet's finger raised skyward, towards the second floor, [font color="1e6649"]"And put it in boxes. Stairs are this way."[/font]

This was not forbidden knowledge: Duet could see the staircase from where she was standing. A nod to Damsel was all she needed before proceeding up the stairs, and he made a generous sort of after you gesture to the Scotsman that strongly implied the man go next so that Damsel could hit him over the head if he caused problems.

The doctor sighed at the conversation that wasn't happening, and brought up the rear several paces behind the rest of them, just in case. [font color="a32372"]"Is there something you'd like to be called, since we're working together? You seem like a decent sort."[/font] Of course, there were a lot that seemed, so this wasn't necessarily the compliment that it was implied to be. [font color="a32372"]"Any family you're trying to get back to?"[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]Kirkavar. He knew Kirkavar. The town had been smoldering when he’d passed through it, but it was good to know it would be rebuilt in the future. Even if in the future everyone vanished, leaving the strange houses empty except a man out of time and five armored strangers.

Even with the stories of his history in mind, the young man didn’t seem to think much of giving his name. These weren’t fairy-folk, after all, just strangers from another time. Fairy-folk didn’t carry muskets, even odd ones, and never hid their faces except by disguise. He knew enough stories to sort that part out.

[font color="B06500"]"Màrtainn, o' clan Mac Lyall."[/font] The name solidified into reality, and very nearly caught in the proper sense – but there was a change that he almost didn’t notice while he continued, [font color="B06500"]"Ah dinnae hae a fowk masell yit. Mibbie efter a' th' fighting's dane ah kin stairt thinking aboot it. If ah ever–"[/font]

Even while he spoke, something shifted, like an existing tether being pulled taut, and during that shift, a man appeared at the top of the stairs to all trying to ascend, a vision that interrupted Màrtainn MacLyall’s explanation and idea to ask for names in return. A man in black-and-brown kilt with his cap and cloak tucked under his arm, fastening a sword-belt as he hurried down through Duet as if she did not exist. Perhaps, to him, she didn’t yet. After all, he was acting exactly as Màrtainn himself had half an hour ago, hurriedly dressing at the first sign of life.

Màrtainn’s eyes widened at the image. Transparent, but without a doubt himself. He tried to step out of its way, but with the width of the stairs he only half-succeeded. It walked through him, and a chill damp as the grave passed through him from foot to forehead while the phantasm marched on.

And then Màrtainn was at the bottom of the stairs where it had been, the current Màrtainn, tense and confused and desperately turning his head to find the phantom of himself somewhere in that cottage living room, and not seeing it. It was gone, and had been for thirty minutes, and it left him where it had been. He then turned, slowly, toward the people still on the staircase, as he stood in that half-pace between their doctor and the biggest one. He tried to pick out Duet, but in the end it wouldn't matter if he could see her as he asked no one in particular.

[font color="B06500"]"Whit th' feckin' hell wis that?"[/font]
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]The man didn't hesitate to give his name, which meant he was either a normie, a liar, or an idiot. Of course, it was entirely possible that he was more than one of those things, or even all three, but at least it gave the team something to refer to him by rather than that guy.

Of course, just as things seemed to be getting simplified, they became more complicated, as an apparition came into seeing at the top of the stairs and wandered off to go do whatever it was apparitions did when they weren't delivering ominous premonitions or being poked at by researchers. It was, perhaps, notable that Leech did try to poke it as it passed by, with the tip of a pen.

Màrtainn seemed quite startled by the whole thing, which did not actually sort out the entire normie/liar/idiot situation as much as one would have hoped. His last sentence might have been accented, but it was one of those sentences that didn't really need translation no matter what language it was spoken in.

[font color="a32372"]"Well, son, that appears to have been you, unless you've a twin. Afterimage, quite possibly, or a residual specter, or some sort of transubstantiative representative amalgamation-"[/font]

[font color="1e6649"]"Research later, Leech. Ghost? Can you get one of your spirit traps up on the stairwell?"[/font] Whatever it was might have been gone for now, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't be back.

[font color="33ccff"]"Dromecatcher? You got it."[/font] The rest of the perimeter around the building was pretty well established by now with a standard Thou Shall Not Pass hex on in. Ghost could let it maintain itself for the time being - the strike team had etchings in their armor that were keyed to let them go in and out. That wouldn't work for Màrtainn, but it was more or less a given that he shouldn't be getting out either, anyway. Tech took up the outer guard by the hole in the wall, watching the too silent town around them, and Ghost went to the bottom of the stairwell after the others had passed and started putting down catch-points of blue sticky tack. The blue kind worked the best, for some reason. She breathed deeply a few times, taking out a handful of glitter and making little twisting motions with her fingers, spinning the glitter into strands that placed a thing over the stairway that looked a fair bit like a dreamcatcher. The sticky-tack got things stuck there, and the glitter got stuck on everything, and the fact that it wasn't actually solid and the lines weren't actually real meant that it only worked on things that weren't solid or weren't real.

The last bit didn't always work. A true reality bender could usually get out of it, but sometimes it slowed them down for half a second before they realized what had never been happening, and then that was the end of that - but at least then they'd know about it.

Duet accepted this as reasonable progress, and moved onto scouting the upstairs of the house, looking around for whatever it was they were looking around for. Maybe more ghosts, but she thought there was probably more to it than that. She let herself slip enough to start humming again, something slower this time - a Scottish lullaby, not that she knew any of it. She didn't have to, though. It was enough that someone did. She was tempted to see what the Warppipes would do, but she'd have to get in pretty deep to be able to play an unfamiliar instrument, and it was probably better not to do that just yet.

Maybe later, though. This one wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. They hadn't even boxed up the castle.
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]None of the strangers’ explanations seemed to make sense, but they didn’t leave room for Màrtainn to ask any questions. He watched in fascination from the top of the stairs as “Ghost” went about her work, weaving an odd instrument out of thin air. He didn’t want to risk the first sign of life he’d found in two days, however, and didn’t linger there, falling into step with the others.

He found himself humming along with Duet, though not as smoothly, more humanly distracted. He had been through these rooms a dozen times in the past few days, admittedly exploring more than he should have in the modern world. Now that he knew it was his future, it crossed his mind that some of this knowledge could be forbidden. Finding things that were odd, and putting them in boxes; that was what these people did, wasn’t that what the woman had said? He was odd. Would they put him a box, he wondered, or send him home if they could?

After all, it was possible for him to get here, it was possible for him to get back. The real question was whether they’d tell him if they knew one.

He didn’t want to think of them as an enemy now, but his earlier relief at finding other people, even dangerous ones, was beginning to ebb. They knew something of what was happening, and they weren’t going to tell him. He’d have to be careful.

With that in mind, Màrtainn peered into doorways as they passed, seeming a bit more grim and a bit less confused than before. He’d take their word for what was happening, for now, even if their words were strange and sometimes felt made up. The music wasn’t helping, as much as he hummed along with it. It made him homesick all over again.

From down the hall, there was a sound that would be more subtle had the rest of the house not been so deathly silent. A shuffle from the room where Màrtainn had slept, with the door mostly closed, a body. Without cause, Màrtainn’s heart sped up, his skin crawled despite the summer heat. A terrible dread came over him, and the hum died in his rapidly tightened throat.

Outside in the distance, inaudible within the walls of the house through the barrier, but startlingly loud in the silence through the barrier alone, the deep-chested bay of a hound rolled through Kirkavar into Tech's ear, and then all was still again.
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"][font color="1e6649"]"Let me know if you see anything that looks familiar."[/font] There was a way that Duet said the last word that implied she didn't mean something that he'd seen this morning - she meant something from when he'd come from. There was also an oddness to the sentence in that the humming hadn't stopped, even though she was talking at the time and that really shouldn't have been possible. [font color="1e6649"]"The more we have to work with, the easier things get."[/font] He had that look about him, the one that said he was wondering if she was going to turn him into a newt and stick him in a glass box for the rest of his life. Duet was used to that sort of look - it came up pretty often, in fact, when working anywhere in the vicinity of Ghost.

[font color="1e6649"]"I'd like to say we could help you out, but I hope you know we can't make any promises. We still don't know what this is or how it happened. More knowledge, more options. We'll see-"[/font] And then, interrupting, a sound from the hallway. Whatever Duet had been about to say was silent, and the humming softened to a quieter Note, only an accompaniment to whatever was about to happen. She moved forward, not quite silent, and nudged the door open.

And what do we have in here?



Outside, Tech looked up and over the hills towards the horizon at the chilling howl. The audio from the rest of the team hadn't paused, which implied that they hadn't taken note of it. If they couldn't hear it, then that was certainly significant.

[font color="993033"]"Something's out here. Relaying audio file."[/font] He'd give the rest of them a chance to listen in on whatever it was he'd heard, not making any decisions yet, just keeping wary.

[font color="33ccff"]"On my way."[/font] Whether Ghost had listened to it or not in the brief span of time, he didn't know, but they all knew the value of regrouping when there was something weird going on, and no one got left alone. Alone was how you ended up with tentacles sprouting from your eyeballs.

[font color="33ccff"]"Think the escapee might have called it forth."[/font] It wasn't the only explanation, but the timing fit. The question was what it meant.
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]Màrtainn had nodded, a little numbly, at the singer’s assurances. He did notice the discord in her – voices, and it didn’t help at all when the overwhelming dread hit him. He stayed behind her, shield forward, pointed at the door.

The bedroom door creaked open. At first glance, the room was exactly as Màrtainn had left it, muddy bootprints leading toward a bed dirtied by the fact that he had been too tired and too confused to do anything but fall asleep as soon as he found it. But now, there was something else on the bed.

Loosely put, the thing was a cat. Black, with a white spot on its chest and warm golden eyes. But the cat was the size of a dog, and while it lay on the bed that Màrtainn had left unmade, there was no impression left by its weight on the mattress. Its tail would twitch for a moment or two, golden eyes upon Duet, head gently tilted, posture slightly crouched.

And then it bolted toward the wall by the window. Not toward the window, but toward the wall, which already had a very slight warp in it – the faded wallpaper and drywall bent outward just slightly as if by heat, or by time.
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"][font color="FF4d00"]"Cat?"[/font] It was a single word, Damsel was just making sure of what he'd seen. It was always good to check these thing, especially with anomalies. And cats.

[font color="a32372"]"Certainly feline."[/font]

[font color="ff4d00"]"Through the wall right there?"[/font]

[font color="a32372"]"It did look that way."[/font]

[font color="1e6649"]"Hm."[/font] The humming stopped, abruptly. [font color="1e6649"]"'Some go this way, and some go that way. But as for me, myself, personally, I prefer the short-cut.'"[/font] A quote, and Duet didn't hesitate for a moment before striding across the room and putting her fist through the wall - one way, or perhaps another. It seemed they were not in Kansas any more. In fact, she had left that book entirely, and was now in a different one, and they all knew what that meant.

Things were about to get exciting.

[font color="ff4d00"]"Guess we're going through."[/font] Through the wall or through whatever it was when it wasn't a wall, it didn't even matter. Damsel was used to following along when the team lead decided they were going crazy places or crazy times or just plain crazy. [font color="ff4d00"]"Coming, Màrtainn? Can't say when it'll lead but it's usually more about the journey than the destination."[/font]

[font color="a32372"]"Don't you start getting philosophical."[/font]

[font color="ff4d00"]"What's wrong with me getting philosophical?"[/font]

[font color="a32372"]"Ghost starts chiming in."[/font]

Via audio: [font color="33ccff"]"Heard that!"[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#0065BF;border-top:#0065BF 4px outset;border-left:#0065BF 4px inset;border-right:#0065BF 4px outset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px inset;"][div style="border-top:#0065BF 4px inset;border-left:#0065BF 4px outset;border-right:#0065BF 4px inset;border-bottom:#0065BF 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:white;color:black;padding:15px;font-family:courier new;"]Màrtainn stared after the Singer through the wall that had not been warped when he went through the house two days before. It definitely wasn’t from his time, even if he remembered grandmothers’ stories of cats that crept between the veil that separated the world from Elsewhere. Where else? He didn’t know, he’d never needed to ask. They wouldn’t make sense to him anyway, any more than these people who argued after their leader led the way to – well, who knew.

But for once, one of them said something that made perfect sense. He looked from the big one, to the wall, and nodded slowly.

[font color="B06500"]“If oor destination isnae whin a’m waantin’ tae gang, mibbie tis whin a’m needin’ tae be.”[/font]

And before he could force himself to reason that out, he walked into the warp in the wall –
[/div][/div][/div][div style="background-color:#d1c2fe;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-left:#bf0065 4px inset;border-right:#bf0065 4px outset;border-bottom:#fc98d3 4px inset;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#bf0065 4px inset;border-left:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-right:#fc98d3 4px inset;border-bottom:#bf0065 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:#ECFFFC;color:#65bf00;padding:15px;font-family:brush script mt;"][font size="4"][div align="right"]–And into the woods on the westwhen side. Or was it west? For heavy over the horizon there hung the [font color="#B05923"]sun[/font] in such Titian tint that Titania in all her terrible majesty would never meet its midsummer decorum. Also though on the horizon opposite what wonder, another sun hung paradoxical, as between the poles sunrise and sunfall and sunmer and sunter and sunder shattered the sky in nonsensical color.

And the realm was full of the fumes of fairy, fetid fragrance of fraudulent florals and bargains bound not of bloody contract but crooning contradiction. No word was false, no sense was true; legality had less to do with validity than lucidity.

Within the branches above the wall that was always there and sometimes wove the way was a woman whose wrinkled face wore such well-humored warmth of welcome that her intentions were buried in the folds. Eyes of merry-gold watched the twinned souls and the time-traveled as they traversed a few steps into the Realm. Others would follow; the way was wide, and perhaps they’d want a place to hide.

But the first would find her and perhaps try to bind her.

Wouldn’t that be a trick?
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]Damsel checked the room behind him one last time, then stepped through the hole in the wall as well. He distinctly remembered those first few months at L-9 where he'd still expected to fall on his [expletive] whenever he did that sort of thing, but by now he was as used to it as any of the rest of them, and walked through backwards to keep an eye on the room with the full knowledge that his team would keep him from falling over when he came through, unless they thought it was funny not to.

In this case, the ground was level and he didn't end up tripping over anything. The place they'd ended up in was... beautiful. Lovely. Familiar.

Oh, yeah, they knew this one.

[font color="ff4d00"]"Stay near me,"[/font] he advised Martainn, since the Scotsman was the only one who might not have been here before. [font color="ff4d00"]"You don't want to get lost here. I mean, you're already lost, but you don't want to get lost here. Be careful with what you say, you don't want to say anything-"[/font]

[font color="1e6649"]"'Well, now that we have seen each other,' said the unicorn, 'If you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?'"[/font] Duet's voice had picked up that singsong lilt she tended towards when she was fully engaged. [font color="1e6649"]"I'm ba~ack! Who missed me?"[/font]

[font color="ff4d00"]"-like that."[/font]

[font color="1e6649"]"Aww, Damsel, didn't know you cared. Relax, Ochtober, we're not in here with Them, They're in here with us."[/font]

Leech expressed a sigh at this, but he and Damsel had both sharply noticed that Martainn was apparently 'Ochtober' now, with the Scottish accent or at least an approximation of one. Names were a thing here, and Duet wasn't about to be throwing anyone's around. Not for free, anyway. [font color="a32372"]"I would argue, but she's not necessarily wrong."[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#d1c2fe;border-radius:15px;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-left:#bf0065 4px inset;border-right:#bf0065 4px outset;border-bottom:#fc98d3 4px inset;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#bf0065 4px inset;border-left:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-right:#fc98d3 4px inset;border-bottom:#bf0065 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:#ECFFFC;color:#65bf00;padding:15px;font-family:brush script mt;"][font size="3"][div align="right"]Oh, they knew where they were, did they? Not lost yet, so long as the wall still stood, or at least stood still, but it always was but wasn’t always. Wily work, walls, refusing to stay or stay fixed. The twinned soul stepped up and her second spoke a quote. The woman upon the wall that wondrously still was, smiled cheshirely.

[font color="#413839"]“I think ye’d be taught better than to believe everythin’ ya see,”[/font] she advised with a languid laugh, [font color="#413839"]“I certainly was.”[/font]

She observed Ochtober – who should not have worried – inching nearer to the undistressed Damsel. They shared an accent, although hers was less abrasive; and that was all. Her earth-brown skin, iron-gray hair, and liquid gold eyes, may have made her seem made much the same as the wall she was on. The teeth, sharp as tacks, and the pupils pulled to slits, showed she was more.

[font color="#413839"]“As for who’s in where with what, ya seem to have that well afoot. I’m sure ya could figure out the rest without words to the wise.”[/font]

But she did have words, she did not suggest, though the sense sat in the silence. Wisdom was not the way of the Fey; though in the wood so far from the course of the courts, wildness and wisdom may seem the same.
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]It didn't take the bargain.

Well, Duet wasn't surprised. That would have been too easy, wouldn't it? Their new friendly was perched up on the wall, surveying what she no doubt considered her kingdom. It was generally so, with such things. Duet didn't need to argue - after all, what need had she for a kingdom? They could hardly bring everything back with them - then there would be nowhere to go, and things would get very boring.

The cat-eyed gaze was upon her, little hints and questions. The eyes were windows to the soul, they said, but there weren't as many souls here as there should have been, or perhaps there were too many, or perhaps it evened out. The mathematics of animation had always been a bit messy.

As for souls, she stretched hers - outward, of course, for where else would it go? It started at the fingertips of her hand, more like a bit of ink than anything else, seeping slowly through armor that was designed to keep things out rather than keeping things in. From there it crept up the arm in little pores, a bit like a dam close to bursting, but never quite making it that far. Her armor was stained with it, always had been, oil-spill marks that didn't clean off, or perhaps at this point they just inhabited the armor as much as she did. It gathered together, not in little rivers but in little worms, bait for bigger things, not the color of blood but the color of bruises, all purple and red and black, sometimes fading away as if it were not truly there at all.

[font color="1e6649"]"Sometimes, I believe what I see. Sometimes, I see what I believe. Sometimes it is neither, and perhaps those are the best of times. Have we been here long? I wonder..."[/font] Perhaps this was one of those a day here is a hundred years in the outside world situations, which would explain a bit about Ochtober, if he had come through this way.

The Locusts would hardly be concerned with that, though. L-9 tended to consider the standardized things like date, location, time as more like suggestions, anyway, and they'd been somewhen else before and likely would again.

[font color="1e6649"]"Would you like to come down from there?"[/font] She held out a hand, writhing. [font color="1e6649"]"Here, kitty, kitty..."[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#d1c2fe;border-radius:15px"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-left:#bf0065 4px inset;border-right:#bf0065 4px outset;border-bottom:#fc98d3 4px inset;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#bf0065 4px inset;border-left:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-right:#fc98d3 4px inset;border-bottom:#bf0065 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:#ECFFFC;color:#65bf00;padding:15px;font-family:brush script mt;"][font size="3"][div align="right"]The creature offered a hand, or something like it, and sí knew better than to shake souls with such. Instead with a laugh she lolled off the wall, for a roll would have taken somewhat more pull. She fell fast, but a cat always lands on its feet; and while her change was limited in a place where time and number had meaning, here the shift was instant. Long and black, with a white star set in the center of her chest, she came now to their knee even as she stood upon soft paws.

Ochtober hadn’t seemed to think the situation could get stranger, which was evidence of inexperience as it meant somewhere he still had sense. That could, sometimes, be good, but here it caused hesitance, and that was unhealthy.

[font color="B06500"]“Cat-Sith,”[/font] he said, his tone muted by slight tremble. He looked again to the Singer. [font color="B06500"]“And–”[/font]

[font color="#413839"]“Be at ease, boy,”[/font] the cat chided, interrupting, [font color="#413839"]“if she wished ye harm she would’ve done it to ye already.”[/font]

Whether she spoke of herself, or of the Duet, was deliberately unclear, at least until she cocked an ear, to track the twinned singers’ tune. Ochtober glanced at the doctor, then Damsel, and then looked again to the Singer. [font color="B06500"]“Are you–”[/font]

[font color="#413839"]“She’s not Fey,”[/font] she interrupted again before it could form into proper question – because then she’d have to charge him, and he had quite enough debts already, even if nobody realized it yet. [font color="#413839"]“And despite bein’ fiend she’s as friend as you’ll have for now, whenever you are.”[/font]

Even Màrtainn noted that the cat did not include herself in that collective, or the other two mortal men who had passed with him. He also noted the word, fiend. The liquid limb and distrust of even her fellows did not put his mind at ease. But even the sith, not fully faerie, could not tell a deliberate lie. Which meant he was in a much worse situation than he’d originally anticipated.

While he chewed on that, the feline once more addressed the fiend as she sat back upon her haunches. [font color="#413839"]“Even for yer lot ye’ve come a long way lookin’ for trouble, followin’ here. Tell me what ails ye, and mebbe then we can talk terms, we three.”[/font]
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]Màrtainn was concerned, which showed he had some sense. Leech put a hand on the boy's shoulder when he spoke, though whether it was meant to be supporting or quelling was anyone's guess. He was a doctor, though, and he would probably do what was best for his patient: it was merely that sometimes patients didn't know what was good for them.

And so the cat had tumbled down and was cheerfully interrupting the questions that couldn't have been asked, which meant she was in a good mood. Leech knew enough to understand that it was probably because Duet was being emphatically demonic at the moment. It was, in a place like this, much more polite than being a lawyer. If she was letting the demon worm its way out, it was a way of showing she wasn't really trying to bind anything else.

Probably.

You couldn't really trust lawyers, after all.

She was echoing the Cheshire grin, crouching down on her own haunches, though she didn't offer the hand again. [font color="1e6649"]"Oh, I'm doing just fine."[/font] There was no doubt that this was the case - she might not have been at home here, but she was certainly a familiar guest. [font color="1e6649"]"One wonders how far you went, looking for trouble."[/font] It was not a question, but they had been a very long what from here once, and how were they now? [font color="1e6649"]"I should think about offering to take you back, but we've already got a Cait, you see."[/font] She pronounced it properly, 'cat' as in cait sidhe, but the i was somehow obviously in there, watching, as if to say of course I always am. What would be the sense in not Being?

But of course it was all nonsense anyway, and all three of them knew it: she and we and whomst, of course.

[font color="1e6649"]"I believe there was a castle."[/font] Another not question, quite conversational: [font color="1e6649"]"But I did not see it. I find that interesting."[/font]
 
[div style="background-color:#d1c2fe;border-radius:15px"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-left:#bf0065 4px inset;border-right:#bf0065 4px outset;border-bottom:#fc98d3 4px inset;"][div style="border-radius:15px;border-top:#bf0065 4px inset;border-left:#fc98d3 4px outset;border-right:#fc98d3 4px inset;border-bottom:#bf0065 4px outset;"][div style="background-color:#ECFFFC;color:#65bf00;padding:15px;font-family:brush script mt;"][font size="3"][div align="right"]Cait-Sidhe’s smile sharpened, or perhaps cat-she simply showed more teeth. Some would say more teeth than any cat-should, but no one was counting, or they shouldn’t be surprised if they were. Between the cat and the doctor, Ochtober seemed to get the message, which was sad but best if they were truly intent on traveling to the Court.

[font color="#413839"]“A certain curiosity,”[/font] she purred, concerning the castle, [font color="#413839"]“or curtained, or curtailed, or concealed. The Courts may squabble their politics, but prefer to prevent pryin’ eyes from peerin’ in on their princes.”[/font]

[font color="#413839"]“Of course there are those of us who cross consistently, afoot in every realm.”[/font] Not carelessly, but there were few who truly cared so long as no law was broken. The law was what made them consistent, and one of these – not these but those like them – had needed to negotiate unnecessary nonconformities with the Courts some time before. The land loved its own law enough to relinquish those who resisted its rule, and the Courts were subject to the will of Faerie. And these had often set their steps upon Her paths, and while Faerie was not friendly, it knew its enemies, among which were not these any more than fairies were anomalies.

Ah, but the world of cats and the world of courts and the world of Cait were each a world apart, though curiosity could kill any one of them; only some of those options had lives to spare for it. The witch let her tail twitch as she returned her attention to the demon undeterred.

[font color="#413839"]“If it’s simple interest that drives ye, then there’s a better path ahead. If it’s an audience yer wantin’, ye’ll need an exchange tae offer.”[/font]
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[div style="border-top: 4px #CCCCCC solid; border-bottom: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #000000 solid; border-right: 4px #000000 solid;"][div style="border-right: 4px #cccccc solid; border-left: 4px #cccccc solid; border-bottom: 4px #000000 solid; border-top: 4px #000000 solid;padding:8px; background-color:white;color:black;font-family:'courier new';"]There was an offer there, but like most offers, it came with a price.

[font color="1e6649"]"Hmm."[/font] A little sound, noncommittal, more a half-note than anything else - but of course not exactly that, because that would get messy for sure.

Still, it was a measure of the things, and it took up a little time, and time was more or less what they were here about, even if this was going in the wrong direction - but sometimes you had to come at it sideways, if at all. Since they were taking the time anyway, Leech stepped back a little, taking a moment to detach the sight from his questionable-orb gun, holding it in one hand and pointing the light in a pinpoint in front of the Cat Sith, wiggling the light back and forth a little bit.

[font color="1e6649"]"Really?"[/font] A whisper, not half-minding.

[font color="A32372"]"Experimenting!"[/font] When was he going to get a better chance than this? He was the team's sole researcher, after all, and even if he tended to present as relatively normal on the scale of Hocust Locusts, he'd been pulled into the team - and L-9 - for good reason.

[font color="ff4d00"]"Right."[/font] Damsel's voice was quiet, meant for Ochtober alone, although everyone else who was there or Not There could undoubtedly hear it if they chose. Still, he knew when to take advantage of a distraction when one was provided. [font color="ff4d00"]"So, if you just want to step out and come back with us, that's the easy way. Doesn't get you where you were, but it gets you somewhere, and probably in one piece. If you want to get back to where you'll started, you'll need to go through the Courts, and that'll cost. Up to you what you think you can spare. Traveling there shouldn't be too expensive, but what they'll want in bargain for putting you back might be. You could go hear them out and still decline - never forget that's an option. But it's your problem, so you decide on this one. We'll be your dishonor guard, if you want one."[/font] There was a smile in that voice, even if Martainn couldn't see it, though what sort of smile was anyone's guess at this point.
 
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