Distraction and Observation (Manifesto)

[Nesrin Aziz]

Amusement twinkled her eyes, apparently captivated by the banter, but actually it was because she suddenly realised he had been literal. He was a soldier. It made him a little less interesting, but far more perfect. How did a seemingly straight-forward and honest soul like him end up in the glittering hell of a place like this? “Manifesto is the playground of the rich and famous, and Moscow is a city that never sleeps. Work hard, play hard,” she said, tilting her shoulder in a coy shrug. The Archivist had chosen the venue. Why work from an office when you could bask in such unadulterated decadence?

“Business before pleasure,” she agreed, smiling flirtatiously as she took another sip of his scotch. She wasn’t yet sure if Eddie was the sort of gentleman who’d take a woman home the same night he met her, but she was by now certain that even if he wasn’t she could still convince him to let her stay the night – she only need press on that protective instinct, confess the attempted spike had scared her enough that she didn’t want to be alone. That wasn’t even a total lie. She’d cleared out the condo this afternoon, and she couldn’t go to the shitty rental – it’d be the first place the m’Antinomian would look for her.

“It’s definitely an interesting vocation. Not usually quite so dangerous though.” She offered the glass back to him, and moved close enough to whisper between them – not that anyone was likely to hear anything over the thump of the music. Worry pierced her dark eyes, entirely genuine, even if she was sharing her fears with a purpose. “Will you wait for me, Eddie? It shouldn’t take long. The prospective buyer only wants the item authenticated. But the… the drink thing has unnerved me a little.”

[Edwin]

Rhi was almost as intoxicating as the beverage she held. She had an allure that Eddie wasn’t even sure he understood. She was vulnerable, yes, but at at the same time, every word seemed to pull him to her. He was enthralled, not only by her beauty, but by her demeanor.

Her business seemed near at hand, and Eddie nodded in agreement to her quest. His own code would have made him do so. The woman was scared now, and he felt compelled to act on it. Her business, while her own, could be conducted and Eddie has the opportunity to practice should Pervaya Liniya decided to hire him. This would be the kind of work he would be doing anyways. And he had the advantage of not only knowing someone was interested in his companion. He knew who it was.

”You got it,” he whispered back to her. ”Whatever you need.”

[Nhysa]

Nhysa listened to the explanation whispered into her ear with interest. He would not see the way her lips tipped up at the edges.

The Custody had placed her on sabbatical since her injury, offering only simple jobs and the most permanent identity she had had in a long while, while Li had not accepted any roles that would take him away from Moscow and his dojo. There was an unspoken desire between them to remain in the other’s orbit, one Nhysa had never properly considered. She was the sort of woman who took what she wanted for as long as she wanted it, and did not consider the future, only the needs of the present. As such the ways in which they had grown to accommodate each other’s lives had happened entirely organically.

Yet her lifestyle did not encourage or support emotional entanglements. It did not promote a future, not of any kind. In the past, she had even taken marks as lovers as a means to get close to them. Their deaths at her own hand never affected her, even when she had enjoyed their time together  – for she often enjoyed the intimacy of their ends as much as the intimacy of their lives. That night at the Almaz, when Nhysa had chosen to take Tan Li as a lover, she’d known that should the Custody ever instruct for him to die she would do it without question or regret. Only now, as he murmured those words into her ear and she felt her own reaction, she realised that this had somehow changed.

To the question she shook her head. “See how he is standing? He is keeping us in sight, dear one. He is already suspicious, and I would not put you in danger, lest he think you a threat because he sees we are together.” Not that Li could not take care of himself, but he was certainly the softer of the two of them, and Edwin Dean was not the literal sort of monster Li would have no conscience defending himself against. For now their mark did not know he was being tested, which meant it was all very real for him. Nhysa had seen the details of his military background. “We’ll bide a while. See what he does.”

For now she was content to watch. The woman's body language suggested he may have shared the near miss with her when he removed the drink. They began to move again, the woman in red once again taking the lead.

“Have you thought on what you will ask from me?” she said to Li, referencing their game, and the boon he had won for himself by figuring out her mark was Edwin.

[Nesrin Aziz]

There was always such a delicious sensation inside when softly wrapping another around your fingers, not with unnatural coercion, but with charm. For that reason, the enamourment with which she looked up at Eddie was entirely real. Nesrin enjoyed the thrill of capturing someone, but equally enjoyed the simultaneous sense of being captured, and Eddie looked at her then like she was important. Even if it was just for the night she was more than happy to lean into the moment; to let the connection spark and catch aflame, and to let him feel in control.

She smiled, enjoying the breath deepening in her chest, and allowed that whatever you need to linger like a sultry promise between them. Then she slipped her fingers back inside his, and began to lead him on.

Nesrin was awash in a self-assured confidence, a little playful with the backward glance she gave him halfway, black hair spilling over her shoulder. Inside she was calculating though. Wondering desperately about that spike. Could the Emissary have found her already? With Wicked on board that seemed unlikely, but maybe it was too early to tell how safe he’d be able to keep her. It was part of why she’d worn the scarlet tonight – there'd been plenty of choice in all the expensive dresses lining the condo’s walk-in wardrobe. But she’d wanted to make a mark; see how easily and quickly Wicked could erase it if she needed him to.

The Archivist had arranged a private table, one that was sheltered from prying eyes, but also meant she could not see who was waiting within. There were fewer people in this section of the club, where those with the wealth and inclination relaxed away from the heated frenzy of the main dancefloor. She glanced at the security, felt her pulse hike a little – the heady mix of thrill and fear. She knew next to nothing about the Jackal, who he was or what he represented, but she knew enough about the Archivist’s reputation to know this was a risk worth taking. Authenticated by him, interest in the Key would go through the roof. But more crucially, she might better understand what the fuck it was.

She turned back to Eddie, coaxing the scotch back into his grasp for a last moment of closeness. By now her heart was thrumming in genuine nerves and anticipation. The emotion was clear in the liquid darkness of her eyes, but so too was the stubborn confidence of survival. “If something bad happens in there, I’ll call for you?” She phrased it as a question even though she already had his word, wanting him to feel needed. Then she smiled. Eddie was the only one who’d know she felt vulnerable. “Wish me luck,” she whispered, sharing a wink before she finally let go of his hand, and disappeared inside.

[Lucien]

Lucien's dress was both formal and old fashioned. The suit was an earth-toned three piece, cut to an ancient vintage that elegantly accommodated the antique watch chain. His auburn hair was combed back in neat waves, away from the angular planes of his face, and a pair of round gold spectacles perched on his nose. Yet despite the austerity of his appearance, there was little of that in his manner, which was warm enough if a little preoccupied. When the first of his clients arrived and was promptly cleared through the security, he smiled and gestured for the man to take himself a seat at the table. "You must be the Jackal's man," he said. Lucien knew little about either representative, or indeed who they represented, but he didn't need to for his work. It had been the Jackal's people who had arranged the meeting, though.

"The wine is a Chateau Lafite Volthström of the most exquisite 2021 vintage. It possesses a rather beautifully full damson and spice piquant, with just a hint of orange rind – they really did excel themselves that year. Please, help yourself should you wish." He did not shift his position, legs crossed, hands clasped and rested in his lap. They were covered, so an unintentional reading of the bottle was not the issue, but the gloves were pristine white. He did not want to risk soiling them, which was why he had allowed the dismissed server to pour his own glass.

The Jackal's representative did not seem comfortable in the environment, or perhaps not best pleased to be here, though of course Lucien would never be so rude as to comment on it. He sensed, though, that pleasant small talk would not be appreciated.

Fortunately the second representative arrived soon after, a dark-haired woman draped in figure-hugging red. Lucien was surprised to note that they both appeared Middle-Eastern, and glanced briefly for signs of any familiarity between the two, but there was no indication of such. He welcomed Bode’s woman in the same courtly fashion as her counterpart, and she slid herself into a seat.

Then he introduced himself, allowing space for the two to add their own names if they wished, listed off the simple rules of neutrality that governed the contract of his time, and finally explained the process of his expertise. There was sometimes a little incredulity at that, even in a world touched with the new and inexplicable powers of channeling, and a ruler many were coming to believe was a literal god. Occasionally he was asked to test an object known to the sceptic, which he invariably did without complaint, but the Archivist’s reputation spoke for itself. He spoke with the warmth and flourish of confidence. Finally, he asked if either of them had any questions before he might begin.

[Sage]

Manifesto. A place he could walk in to with little problem. Though his typical dress wouldn't be admitted, but he wasn't going in. He'd never had reason to poke at their security and he only did so to see how tight it was.

Bode had gone inside wearing the little red dress that she'd taken from the apartment she'd fled. Now she was going into a lions den, no telling who was there, or what they were doing. He didn't care -- except that it was information and that was a bit more tantalizing that watching whatever was going on in the apartment after their exciting day.

He lurked around the cameras in his head, watching all the exits until his mark left. And he caught sight of much scandal and intrigue as he did. It was all worth the while.

Sage sent a message to the phone he had. He had to find a better way to track her and keep tabs on her. It was more than whatever pulled him towards her, it was his own compulsions too. He just had to...

If you frequent, Manifesto we'll have to make some arrangements. But if he could just get her on a better wallet. He wondered if she'd accept a gift... Nox always loved his gifts. Would she? Sage tapped his finger against his bottom lip and debated...

[Legione Sumus]

Omar Tarek

Omar sat down as the gentleman gestured, and listened as he spoke of the wine on the table.  Omar didn't really drink much and usually when he did, wine wasn't his go to.  Still, it paid to be polite, even though Omar had no desire to be here.  It certainly wasn't something to take out on the man Giovanni hired to figure out what this artifact was, so when the Archivist offered, he lifted his hand and shook his head in dismissal.  "No thank you."

The Archivist, sensing his mood or just out of professionalism, didn't engage in small talk, which was perfectly fine with Omar. He generally didn't enjoy small talk anyways. Still, Omar wished that Bode's representative would get here quickly.  Awkward silence would force conversation, and Omar really would rather not.  Soon enough, however, a young woman in a bright red dress arrived.  She was pretty, and Omar also noticed that she had some Middle Eastern blood within.  At least, she certainly appeared so.

The Archivist began immediately, introducing himself as Lucien, but declined to offer his own name. Mostly he just wanted to get this business done with. When Lucien explained that this was neutral ground, Omar nodded. "Agreed," he stated, his accent clearly placing him from the Middle East.  He had no reason to get angry with this woman, and assumed the same of her.

Everything seemed straightforward enough, and even though Omar was ready to move on, he appreciated Lucien's professionalism and candor.  "No questions, here.  I'm ready to begin."

[Tan Li]

Li grinned behind Nhysa, she couldn't see it but it was all for her. She was overly protective of him. He wasn't exactly soft, but of the two of them, she was far more hardened than he was. He was a posh actor with martial arts training and while Li thrived on the danger and excitement of the underground rings for monsters, he wasn't a hardened fighter or killer like she was. He basked in that possession like it was a fresh spring. It was a part of the power that rushed through him, it's menace and it's harshness, but he didn't know what to do with all that power. He might have to consider finding the boy and asking for lessons. The idea made him scoff, but he was the only man he knew who could do more with the power than anyone other than the Ascendancy.

Nhysa's question didn't catch him off guard but he tightened his grip from behind her and whispered into her ear. "Oh I'm sure I can think of something. I might even let you have a say in the matter." He teased. "There might be some silk ties and feathers involved."

[Nhysa]

Nhysa’s laughter was dark and luxurious. ”I think I have corrupted you,” she teased in kind.

Her gaze tracked Edwin Dean until it was necessary to move to keep him properly in view. The power still wreathed around her, drawing in on the club’s darkness. She placed her glass on the ledge and twisted in Li’s arms, her hand snaking up from his shoulder to his neck, her fingers twining through the hair at the back of his head.  “Do you think I will behave? Or is it you we are tying down, dear one?” Her smile was sharp, amused, and challenging in equal measure. Her power twisted around and down his other arm, dipping to loop about his wrist in lieu of her grip. But if her lips hovered close enough to taste his, her smile was that of a devil’s.

The woman in red had peeled away. As did Nhysa from Li now, albeit with every expectation and desire that he should follow. She stalked surreptitiously through the shadows, an eye on the mark’s movements. From their high vantage Nhysa could see the woman head alone into one of the private booths. That was unexpected. Edwin appeared to be waiting, and Nhysa took a pause to consider. Then she let the power unfurl into a wider net that she had tried before. The darkness deepened around the booth, not so much that it would alert its occupants, but enough that Edwin would not be able to see in at all. Would he stay, knowing something supernatural slithered around his self-appointed charge? Or would he seek the attempted poisoner?

[Nesrin Aziz]

The Archivist was curiously old-fashioned, exactly as one might predict from the name. Her gaze lingered on the gloves for a beat, vaguely curious. She knew of him, of course, but had never had the opportunity to meet him in the flesh before. But it was the Jackal’s representative she calculated as she took her seat. He didn’t offer a name, and Nesrin only tipped up her shoulder in a dismissive shrug, consenting to the same shroud of anonymity when Lucien paused for it. He gave an acknowledging incline of his head, and continued unperturbed.

When the rep finally spoke the cadence of his accent was unexpectedly familiar, and it was thick enough Nesrin could assume it likely he’d travelled in for the appointment. Cairo was a fractious place, or it had certainly been the last time she was there. If he had any opinions on a woman conducting the meet – especially one dressed as decadently as she was – he did not show it, but it still chilled her a little. Growing up she’d seen more than any young girl should ever be subjected to, and she had a visceral awareness for certain types of danger. The memory slipped in like a ghost, filling her with a brittle caution. None of it showed of course. She couldn’t afford it to.

She was surprised he had no questions. In fact he seemed impatient, like he believed he was on a fool’s errand he would rather be done with. Unnerved by an unwelcome stirring of the past, one she had no inclination to find herself beholden to, Nesrin was glad to hurry it along. But under her fear was the seed of something else. She resented how it made her feel. Not the man himself, who was a stranger, but that his voice sparked something that stripped her bare. A child again.

She agreed to the terms with a nod.

“Very well,” Lucien said when she interjected nothing further, moving his full attention to her in ready expectation.

Nesrin obediently produced the puzzlebox, watching the rep for a reaction as she did so. Paranoia itched her skin but vulnerability was always a difficult wrench. Her gaze moved to Lucien as she held the slender box out to him, her expression still, though inside her heart had begun to speed. She hadn’t had time to figure out the puzzle, after all – didn’t even know what was inside, for all her confident assertion on the auction page that it was a god’s stolen power.

The Archivist removed his gloves with a pleased flourish, each fingertip precise. He folded them neatly beside his wineglass before allowing her to deposit the Key in his open palm.

He was quiet for a moment, running his fingers delicately across its edges. A small smile pursed his lips, and he glanced briefly up at her before he twisted the mechanism. It was a knowing look, but whatever he had discerned was distracted by a silver tube sliding out of the puzzle’s casing. This captured his attention almost immediately, and he deliberated over it with a small furrow between his brow. For a moment he curled it inside his fist, his fingers hovering over sensors, contemplating but not touching. Then his palm flattened out again. “Ah,” he said, apparently to himself.

“There is… organic matter inside. An essence I could not quite describe. How very curious. A receptacle of knowledge, I would call it.

“It is opened like thus –” he demonstrated the gesture he’d made before, not touching his fingertips to the sensor  “– however I would caution this to be performed only by the item’s owner. Save such delights for the eventual purchaser, hmm? A “piece of m’Antinomian” is quite accurate.”

He turned to the Jackal’s man. “Is this explanation sufficient for your needs?”