09-27-2013, 06:40 PM
"Forgive me," an interruption, from the Shadow Lord kinswoman. Éva stands as she speaks and is looking directly at Javed, though never precisely into his eyes. It is clear from the mood of the room and the manner in which the other Garou both look to him and take his lead that he has some rank greater than the others. Who are mostly strangers, most of whom are closer in age to her children than to Éva herself.
She has no rank. No basis from which to interrupt and yes, disagree, with the loose plans coalescing around the kernel of an idea put forth by the Silent Strider. And yet,
"But I don't believe that exploring the lowest levels is the wisest course. Whatever is down there is what they seek. Whatever is down there - warded and chained and locked down there - had power enough to invade and control the minds of the Guardians. Had power enough to send toxic flames shooting up the elevator shaft into the Sept proper.
"None of you - none of us - have been strong enough to stand against the least of them. They are stronger than any other Garou. Even ranked and known and named and deeded Garou. Something fuels that strength, and if that something is as it is, locked away, warded perhaps, in the basements of 1999 Broadway, you might well be doing their work for them if you open those locks and slip in those doors. Because you do not know what will ride your skin in the aftermath, and follow you out.
"If you make it out."
--
She breathes in deeply; cuts a slanting glance that takes in the pale shadow of her hand against the table at which she was seated, before which she now stands. Exhales slowly, picks up a glass of water, and takes a sip.
Sets it down again, just so precisely on the faux wood veneer.
--
"Instead, ask yourselves: what fuels that power, and how do you disrupt whatever ritual or rite it is that gives them - such access to this spirit, this strength. What has changed from then to now, to make them stronger.
"Perhaps Fentress is the key," a spare, dark-eyed glance at Lola. " - but, merely removing the key from the lock sometimes destroys the lock. For now, he is our only clear lead. Our only link, and a living link is often stronger than dead one. If you want to scout, scout his offices. Steal his files; his e-mail, his correspondence. His financial records. His trash. His grocery receipts. His datebook. The plans and permits and filings for his upcoming projects. Follow him.
"What contact does he have with them? Are there leads in any of those records that can take us back to the Beloved Horror? Some den, some base, some seat of power for which he is even partially responsible? Or is there perhaps, some new pit he is excavating that will strengthen them further? Something we can disrupt, stop, end before it is completed?
"Then, certainly the airport and 1999 Broadway and not the only sites Mr. Fentress has designed and built in the city. Perhaps there are others. Perhaps each new one strengthens the old. Like spokes in a wheel. And if you find some way to start tearing them out, the structure itself will collapse.
"That, at least, is my advice."
And then, Éva cedes the floor to someone else.
She has no rank. No basis from which to interrupt and yes, disagree, with the loose plans coalescing around the kernel of an idea put forth by the Silent Strider. And yet,
"But I don't believe that exploring the lowest levels is the wisest course. Whatever is down there is what they seek. Whatever is down there - warded and chained and locked down there - had power enough to invade and control the minds of the Guardians. Had power enough to send toxic flames shooting up the elevator shaft into the Sept proper.
"None of you - none of us - have been strong enough to stand against the least of them. They are stronger than any other Garou. Even ranked and known and named and deeded Garou. Something fuels that strength, and if that something is as it is, locked away, warded perhaps, in the basements of 1999 Broadway, you might well be doing their work for them if you open those locks and slip in those doors. Because you do not know what will ride your skin in the aftermath, and follow you out.
"If you make it out."
--
She breathes in deeply; cuts a slanting glance that takes in the pale shadow of her hand against the table at which she was seated, before which she now stands. Exhales slowly, picks up a glass of water, and takes a sip.
Sets it down again, just so precisely on the faux wood veneer.
--
"Instead, ask yourselves: what fuels that power, and how do you disrupt whatever ritual or rite it is that gives them - such access to this spirit, this strength. What has changed from then to now, to make them stronger.
"Perhaps Fentress is the key," a spare, dark-eyed glance at Lola. " - but, merely removing the key from the lock sometimes destroys the lock. For now, he is our only clear lead. Our only link, and a living link is often stronger than dead one. If you want to scout, scout his offices. Steal his files; his e-mail, his correspondence. His financial records. His trash. His grocery receipts. His datebook. The plans and permits and filings for his upcoming projects. Follow him.
"What contact does he have with them? Are there leads in any of those records that can take us back to the Beloved Horror? Some den, some base, some seat of power for which he is even partially responsible? Or is there perhaps, some new pit he is excavating that will strengthen them further? Something we can disrupt, stop, end before it is completed?
"Then, certainly the airport and 1999 Broadway and not the only sites Mr. Fentress has designed and built in the city. Perhaps there are others. Perhaps each new one strengthens the old. Like spokes in a wheel. And if you find some way to start tearing them out, the structure itself will collapse.
"That, at least, is my advice."
And then, Éva cedes the floor to someone else.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula