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103: Temptation and Rational Thought - Grand Spooke Malke and Hagbutt

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The waves of blackness are coming more and more often now; the urge, the temptation to kill and maim and slash and bite without end grows and retreats, grows and retreats, like swells in the ocean that haven't quite decided whether to break or lie calm for a while longer...

                              *        *        *

Spooke slashed heavily with the blade of the spade, and a satisfying gout of blood and a crunch emanated from the desert rider, whose eyes rolled back as he dropped from his mu- prancing Arabian thoroughbred. Ahem. Heavyset Alex, remarkably badgerlike as the blood stained his shaggy white coat, snarled at one that came too close to Spooke (albeit involuntarily; it might have had something to do with the fiends performing atrocious acts of punnery (New Discipline) upon him), and viciously tore into his chest, unlike his usual placid, bearlike self when Spooke seemed threatened.

The waves of red and black warred in Spooke's eyes as the last of the riders dropped; wild-eyed, he glared about himself at the happily joking mix, rage and bloodlust contending with his conscious mind for control. A back turned toward him; baring his sharp teeth in a grimace of mindless rage, he took a step forward...

...and the figure turned from where he knelt in the sand, inspecting the wounds of the fallen attackers. Erehwon's cool gaze fell on Spooke's half-upraised and gore-clotted spade, then, eyes narrowing, raised to his face speculatively.

Like a slap of icy water, the eye contact drove the imminent madness away with a shock. He had been about to attack Erehwon - Erehwon of all Kindred, for Caine's sake!!!! His face crumpling into horrified sorrow, he dropped the spade and wandered off in a daze, Erehwon gazing after him thoughtfully.

                              *        *        *

This was terrible; crushing waves of agony, born of a sadness like a monolith crushing his chest, tore through him as he sobbed brokenly, stumbling behind the armor-plated bus. This was something he couldn't do, mustn't do... He needed something to steady him, something to widen his perceptions into the range of compassion once more; compassion that would be essential to the outcome of this whirling sandstorm ride.

Silent now, eyes narrow and face stony, he fell back against the wall and slid down to sit, to think. Alex, who had followed him from the bus, thumped down to clean himself of the spatters of ghostly blood that glimmered in Spooke's mind. With an occasional, worried whuff, he would glance at the brooding Spooke, for whom the time between leaving the bus and arriving in this city had not existed at all.

                              *        *        *

Esteban leaned nonchalantly against the wall, letting the press and flow of the people pass him by. Nervously, he shifted position slightly, turning his head to look down the street. Unsettled by the incident on Mill Ave., he hadn't dared stay there in case the... the thing came back, and this time while the Reverend was otherwise engaged. Normally he wasn't so cautious, but Omnicynic's last words to him stuck in his mind relentlessly: "...And stay away from Harley and Al, those Tremere are a bad influence. They might not like you knowing one of their magical paths, either, and I know Al is looking for an in with Rikki. Watch yourself."

Watch yourself. Ay caramba. Easy for HIM to say!!

So now he stood uneasily outside the coffee shop where he had decided to stay on the off chance that the thing hadn't known where he was, just where the haven was. A low undercurrent of thoughts (the secret of the malkavians what the hell was that it must have been looking for the reverend well it sure as hell found him) sputtered all but unnoticed in the back of his mind as he waited nervously for some clue, some sign that those Tremere weren't in the coffee shop now, waiting for him. He'd considered sending some human in, but that hadn't seemed a good idea - after all, a mortal could be caught looking and dominated into leading him into a trap... and as of yet, his aura sight was all but useless, at least at this distance.

Esteban shuddered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He was still in the habit of feeling the cold, and the light drizzle that was drifting in the air and dusting everything with moisture, while not enough to chill the moving, flowing tide of humanity, was enough to make him shiver as it dripped from his hair and nose. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he abruptly decided he was being ridiculous. Standing out in the rain expecting Tremere to be waiting for him in a coffeeshop, of all places!!

Besides, it was cold and wet and he was tired of waiting. Just because some nether being from another dimension had attacked him didn't mean EVERYTHING would go wrong, after all.

Which he managed to think all the way into the coffeeshop, which was dead quiet... and apparently empty. Except for one lean fellow in a black woolen trenchcoat, who sat at the bar, staring with dark eyes into a glass, serious and solemn. Above it, his fist squeezed and released, squeezed and released, every squeeze bringing a trickle of red from something in his palm into the pool in the glass before him. At his feet, a bearish-looking dog, shaggy and somehow giving both the impression that it was larger than it, strictly speaking, was, and that it wasn't... quite... there.

Wary, Esteban took a quick look around the shop. There didn't seem to be anyone else there at all, which was weird enough, but... When he looked back at the dark figure, he had turned slightly and was regarding Esteban levelly.

Right. That was enough. Gracias and thank-you, I'm getting out of here, Esteban thought, turning and reaching for the door, when the stranger's words stopped him.

"Kindred are like... like almonds, really. ...We've met, almost. At the Bar, with the others."

Esteban turned, unsure whether to be comforted by the man's claim. "Really. Pleased to sort of meet you again, senor. More or less. Let me guess, Kindred are like the almonds because you never know what you are gonna to get?"

The guy shook his head, too absorbed in the glass of... whatever to respond to Esteban's tone. "No. What I meant was, almonds with the skin off."

Glancing up at Esteban's blank expression, he motioned for him to seat himself. "Because the nuts grow and mature, and then life becomes a boiling, painful tempest. And then, suddenly, it's over. No more growth. But as the temperature cools, the skin can be stripped from them, and discarded. It's useless, and tasteless. The pure flesh underneath is what it's all about." Giving the thing in his hand a final squeeze, he tossed it away, into the dark confusion of tables and chairs. Standing, he vaulted lightly over the bar, leaving a wet handprint on it's surface. Turning away from Esteban, he began to rummage about behind the bar. Esteban, with a careful look at the figure's back (it was spotted with the occasional doghair), leaned over and squinted at the mark. Blood. Hurriedly, he pulled back as the voice came floating back over the man's shoulder.

"The point being, they no longer need the skin. To protect them. But someone has to be there to... well, to pull it off them. To apply... pressure." The rummaging stopped a minute as the man considered this, then resumed once more.

Christ, Esteban thought worriedly. It's some weirdo. ...but he DID say "kindred", didn't he?... Never mind. This stuff's too heavy without the Rev. While the guy contemplated the almond-ness of the kindred, Esteban lightly got to his feet - only to hit something with them. Looking down slowly, he saw the barrel-like dog at his feet, unmoving, silent. Transparent. ...And watching him.

Swallowing, Esteban slowly sat back down.

"Apply enough pressure after the boiling of the almond, and it shoots right out of its skin," the guy went on somberly. "But sometimes the skin only comes partway off, and has to be ripped the rest of the way off." The man finally stood, wiping his bloody hand on a dishtowel. The glasses and other objects he had pushed aside were spattered and marked with blood.

"Maybe that's what they want to hear. In case you don't recall, I'm..." A swift succesion of looks crossed his face, unreadable in their rapidity. "I'm Spooke." He extended his hand, which Esteban shook tentatively.

Running a hand through his shock of raven hair, Spooke then reached under the counter and pulled forth something else. "And that's Alex. Or maybe I should say, he was." Esteban, deciding to be politic by being polite, reached down to pat the animal. Alex bared his teeth, and a low but rumbling growl reverberated through the room. "He's a bit shy. But he's just a big softie, really," Spooke remarked sentimentally as Esteban snatched back his hand.

"And the water it was boiled in is always darkened by the boiling. But who ends up eating the nuts??" Spooke asked, a question that apparently unsettled him, for he dropped what he was holding into the glass of blood on the counter.

"Buggrit," he snarled under his breath as he fished it out, and Esteban felt a little sick as he recognized it. Spooke shook the tongue a bit, then regarded it, his face unreadable. "So round, so firm, so fully packed." Then his fist closed with a snap, and a gout of blood squirted from the pulp in his hand. Esteban leaped back with a hoarse cawing sound, and Spooke glanced up at him. "Sorry. They talked too much. They weren't friends of yours, I hope."

Esteban stood staring at him, mouth open. "...they?..."

Spooke motioned downwards, behind the counter. Like in a dream, Esteban approached. He couldn't even feel surprised to see Harley and Al lying there.

"Dead?" "No. Like I said, I wasn't sure."

"Why are you here?"

"I thought it might be best if you were with us. Safer."

"...us?"

Suddenly, Spooke grinned. For some reason, it wasn't a reassuring sight.

                              *        *        *

Esteban winced as the dumpster lid crashed down with a resounding bang. "Wait, Spooke, won't somebody find them there?"

Spooke, face solemn once more, glanced down the alley as he adjusted his coat, then dropped to his knee to gather in a struggling Alex. "Stop wriggling. Behave. Well, Esteban, let me put it like this," Spooke said, tilting his head up towards the childe. "Life is like looking in a dumpster. You never know what you're gonna get." With a conspiratorial wink, Spooke stood, holding the still-thrashing form of Alex. "Well, let's go. Alex is heavy, and he hates it when I carry him."

Esteban stepped back hurriedly. "Go? With you? Oh no. I'm not going anywhere, senor. I'm staying here. My Sire told me to mind things. And-"

"-And he didn't know what was going down when he told you that. Balthazar is after Gargamel, and Gargamel is after the smurfs."

Esteban looked at him blankly. "What?"

Mongoose-quick, Spooke lashed out.

                              *        *        *

The wave is cresting now; the equilibrium seems to be somewhat restored, if on a different level than before. The almond's skins no longer worry him. There will always be more.

As for the smurfs... he never liked the little blue bastards anyway. Well, some of them. Gnap was a pretty funny word, when you thought about it.

                              *        *        *

Spooke stepped from the shadow of the bus alone. It seemed quiet now; the others must have gone off to feed or somesuch. Bleakly he wondered if they'd noticed he was gone. But anyway, it was time to do what had to be done properly. They had tried it once before, but then, the words wouldn't work for just anyone.

Drawing in a breath, Spooke howled into the night, "Hagglepuss, you are SO pink and fluffy, and we know you love us all!!"

Under the bus, Esteban groaned and stirred.

And a being came down from the Heavens and smote Kal with pissweak thunderbolts. Esteban woke and said "Ooog Ooog, All Hail his Not-Pink-&-Fluffiness. Ooog Ooog."

"Yes, well that's quite enough cowering for now. Here, have a T-bone.", said the one with browny-greeny eyes. They looked like the sort that would go really green if they went in a chlorine pool, and really brown when they had cow shit all over them. And you know what? They did.

"Oh", said Flopsy-Mopsy, "I cannot find my jacket. Oh my mother will be angry at me. I never should have run through Mr. McGregor's garden!"

"Yes", said Esteban," Mr. McGregor is a mean old son-of-a-bitch. And why am I talking to a rabbit?"

At this point Hagbutt proceeded to use his 8th Level Hagbuttry discipline, Fluffy reality, and sent Esteban into Narnia, where he could be called a Son of Cain. Cool, hey. And then he can go and kill all of those fucking talking animals. Like that stupid faun, Tumnus.

Yes....destroy the Changelings all!!!!!!

However, what Esteban did was yet to be revealed......

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104: In Nomine Rum et Scotch et Choice of Mixers - Handel W. Care, Hagbutt and Rev. Omnicynic

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Over the dune stands Club Crusade, the holiday club for all those tired Inquisitors who're sick of the day to day existence of burning infidels who dare breath on God's clean earth. In a deck chair wearing a shirt so loud as to be blinding the satellites in orbit sits Father Zahn. The Father looks up and.....

Omnicynic's smile widens. Moving like a cloud over the surface of the sands he approaches the terrified priest.

"What's he doing to that man?" Parr asks. After their use in such a gruesome manner, she has refused the return of her spades. They used the edges! The edges! Euurgh. Expecting more bloodshed, she turns away from the confrontation of the two religious representatives. Home is so far away. Never should have come. Thirsty.

No words pass between Zahn and Omnicynic, but it appears that there is a conversation going on none-the-less. Shaking from the Father and an admonishingly raised finger from the Reverend are the only obvious clues that any real discourse is underway. At last the kine shudders greatly, as Omnicynic once again places his Chao symbol on the fevered brow, and lapses into unconsciousness.

                              *        *        *

Under the bus, Esteban groans and stirs.

"Master? Where..."

                              *        *        *

Returning with a quietly hidden sense of triumph, Omnicynic pauses in his motion. "Esteban? The bus... Wait. I'll be there directly."

In a burst of Celerity he speeds in the direction of the bus.

                              *        *        *

"Well, he's certainly got that whole 'mysterious know-it-all' thing down pat, hasn't he." Badger comments to Handel. "Do you think there are more Inquisitors in there? Do we get to cull them? Huh huh huh?" Snuffling in a truly disgusting manner he tries to catch the scent of humans inside the buildings of the holiday club.

The noise makes Handel think back to that time when the two of them were about to enter the smelter, knowing that a highly... SPONG!!

"NO FLASHBACKS!!" JoN shouts. He gazes about the rest of the mix waving the spade threateningly. "I'll use the edge on the next bastard who doesn't pay attention and starts wandering off into la-la land! Grrrr."

As he feels the back of his head for any horribly disfiguring cosmetic damage Handel answers Badger's question. "Yah, there're a few in there. None are in any condition for a fight, though. Think about it - it's night, they've had Mass, they're on holiday, they're Catholics... "

"They're pissed as newts, huh?"

"Yep. Transmitting loud and strong on my own personal wavelength. A week or so of this and I'd guess they forget whatever caused them to question their Faith or need to go around smiting infidels and heretics and so forth."

He turns to the now rather large mix. "Come on people. Anyone who needs a top up should be able to find a man of the cloth or so who won't mind giving a few pints. Hope you like Scotch though, they definitely seem to. No dry draining, if you can help it." A hard stare at Badger, who appears to be muttering something about desert badgers again, and JoN, who is nonchalently swinging his spade whilst sidling towards the aforementioned Badger. "You'll just end up intoxicated, and that's best left to the professionals. Heh."

                              *        *        *

Another bunch of scruffy men on donkeys watch the Malks enter the brightly coloured double doors of the Club Crusade. Having seen the fate that befell their fellows earlier, they are less than enthusiastic about getting much closer. They would be running away entirely if they were aware of the arrival of the Doom of the Fae. Yes, Hagbutt himself has finally arrived and is already causing trouble for their realms.

                              *        *        *

A flash of pink occurs as Omnicynic crosses the last dune. Esteban is gone. Standing beside the bus is a slightly smoking Spooke, scorch marks on his dog hair coat and hair even more shocked looking than usual... and another figure. Quite a familiar figure. Clamping down on some errant descriptive thoughts, Omnicynic goes to greet Hagbutt.

"Hey ho Omni. How goes it?", says the awesome Hagbutt himself. For some unknown reason his fingers are smoking. Hagbutt wished that he could smoke as well as his fingers, but asthma always gets in the way.

"Begone foul demon! Not bad thanks, and you?" says Omnicynic. He also wished that he could smoke as well as Hagbutt's fingers. But whenever he did, his hair got fried in the most malodious manner.

Hagbutt does not dignify that with an answer, but instead spins his head through devious means. "I thought you knew the countersign. Geez, are you dumb or what! "

"Actually, I do know the countersign, but I was making sure you knew the sign. Can't have anyone but we few, we happy few knowing the Sign, eh? If they did, just imagine the chaos which would..." Omnicynic pauses, "Hey everyone! Want to know the Sign?!"

"You wanna go to Narnia??? Hmmmmm???!?!?"

His Omnicynicness decides that this is not a particularly jolly idea, however much fun killing changelings might be....but who knows?? It may still happen yet... There is NO ESCAPE FROM FLUFFY REALITY!!!!!! Excepting walking through a wardrobe of fur coats, or being Neil from the Young Ones. Been there, done that, and being Vivian from the Young Ones will get you out just as quick.

"I'm feeling a bit peckish, and I could personally go some Faerie blood right now," says the Hagbutt.

"Rather short supply, my boy, unless you brought along a smurf-pack of your own. However, there does seem to but a scruffy caravan of donkey-riding meals on wheels over the dune there." Omnicynic points off in a random direction.

"I know! We'll have Brujah Tonight!" screams Hagbutt!! He makes an arcane gesture involving hitting himself in the head, and to their united shock and horror, everybody feels the urge to copy Hagbutt into flapping his arms like wings!!

"Heh," says the reverend, as he watches everyone else start flapping their arms in a most undignified manner. Focusing his telekinetic magic, Badger and JoN began to rise off the ground due to their wing-like efforts. Erehwon looks on in mild surprise, most everyone else sort of expected it.

"Flap everybody! Flap until your poor little wingies fall off!!!" Hagbutt screams to the background of 10,000 people singing, "I feel like Bruah Tonight! Like Brujah Tonight!" And of course, the pigeons play the congas.

It was at that point that the 10,000 people come charging over the dunes towards the bus and gathered malks, weilding torches, scimitars, and very, very many guns. They seem unhappy, and are screaming the most unpleasent things in arabic.

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105: Kards and boredom - Dyer and Rev. Omnicynic

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The darkness in the shadow is rather alarming, Dyer thinks as he looks around. Might as well see what Mr. Pi has been up to. Dyer gathers up his cards and puts them in his pocket, and begins step out of the shadow.

To Dyer's surprise, they are no longer on the bus. In fact there is a significantly smaller number, also. Dyer looks at Omni, at the groaning boy on the ground and at the (for lack of a better description) pink, fuzzy, smiter of fae.

Dyer can't help but think "Something is wrong here."

"Hey, Reverend... What is going on here?"

Omnicynic turns away from his frenzied discussion with the Pink and Fluffy One to answer Dyer's question, "We all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad. Oh, and we ain't in Kansas no more, either, Toto. By the way, meet Esteban."

The child had crawled out from under the bus on the side away from Hagbutt. He is hispanic, short, and very confused. He also seems to have a headache this big, with Excedrin written all over it.

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