12-20-2017, 12:58 AM
“Jules, gimme your phone,” Octavian said. The two were detailing what looked to be a third century statue with tooth brushes (because it’s the symbolism that matters, Magister Yonath had been specific) while still trying to determine what precisely their plans were. Luckily for them, they could have all the time in the world they wanted if they were willing to make it tick by slowly enough and eat the backlash for it if they messed up.
Julian the Red looked at Octavian the Moustached, frowning.
“Why?”
“Because,” the portly man started, “I’m looking for someone.”
“That is a dangerous statement.”
“Fork it over, it’s either that or we ask for Yonath’s address book and I’m pretty sure he’ll murder us if we messed with his Christmas card list.”
Julian groaned and dug through his vest pockets- much more spacious than the small vest really should have boasted- and handed over a sleek smartphone.
“Four two-“
“I know your password already, Jules,” Octavian interrupted.
“Why do you know my password?”
“Shhhhhh, they didn’t completely eradicate House Janissary. I’m a diabolic Technocratic spy.”
Hermetic humor. It makes both men laugh, if only because you have to laugh at it and they were too young to actually remember the house and when they were a problem and when it was that the Order outsourced some of their own internal policing. The two men weren’t historians of the grand and glorious Hermetic Order; they were two guys who had two weeks to come up with either a sacrificial lamb or a scape goat.
“Seriously, man, who are you looking for,” Julian reached for his phone, “you’re not a Jerbiton, quit meddling in my shit.”
“That’s what I’m looking for,” Octavian replied.
“Good luck finding one of those, the House Salads are all mixed in on my contact list.”
“Come on, I know you know at least one- you were up in Boston when they were initiating all their kids and you know a bunch of wannabe diplomats are going to be networking and giving out phone numbers- HA!” Octavian held the phone up and promptly shoved it back to his friend.
“Yeah, William Holmes, who is he?” Julian asked
“Henry Calliergi’s student, out in Denver? Apparently he still lives around here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but he’s a nobody- it’ll be perfect,” Octavian didn’t bother to breathe before continuing, “he’d be all over the opportunity to prove himself, right? Probably enough so that he wouldn’t ask for anything in return.”
“So… we wouldn’t owe him a favor.”
“And, if memory serves correctly, he is… I don’t know… unconventional?” Octavian shrugged.
“Bottom of the barrel,” Julian’s voice was flat.
“Zero love for House Salads, man. No love at all. Given that it is your phone, you get to be the one who calls him.”
“I hate you, Octavian.”
“Think of it this way, so long as he says yes either way we are in the clear. Magister Yonath can’t say we didn’t do our part.”
Julian the Red looked at Octavian the Moustached, frowning.
“Why?”
“Because,” the portly man started, “I’m looking for someone.”
“That is a dangerous statement.”
“Fork it over, it’s either that or we ask for Yonath’s address book and I’m pretty sure he’ll murder us if we messed with his Christmas card list.”
Julian groaned and dug through his vest pockets- much more spacious than the small vest really should have boasted- and handed over a sleek smartphone.
“Four two-“
“I know your password already, Jules,” Octavian interrupted.
“Why do you know my password?”
“Shhhhhh, they didn’t completely eradicate House Janissary. I’m a diabolic Technocratic spy.”
Hermetic humor. It makes both men laugh, if only because you have to laugh at it and they were too young to actually remember the house and when they were a problem and when it was that the Order outsourced some of their own internal policing. The two men weren’t historians of the grand and glorious Hermetic Order; they were two guys who had two weeks to come up with either a sacrificial lamb or a scape goat.
“Seriously, man, who are you looking for,” Julian reached for his phone, “you’re not a Jerbiton, quit meddling in my shit.”
“That’s what I’m looking for,” Octavian replied.
“Good luck finding one of those, the House Salads are all mixed in on my contact list.”
“Come on, I know you know at least one- you were up in Boston when they were initiating all their kids and you know a bunch of wannabe diplomats are going to be networking and giving out phone numbers- HA!” Octavian held the phone up and promptly shoved it back to his friend.
“Yeah, William Holmes, who is he?” Julian asked
“Henry Calliergi’s student, out in Denver? Apparently he still lives around here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but he’s a nobody- it’ll be perfect,” Octavian didn’t bother to breathe before continuing, “he’d be all over the opportunity to prove himself, right? Probably enough so that he wouldn’t ask for anything in return.”
“So… we wouldn’t owe him a favor.”
“And, if memory serves correctly, he is… I don’t know… unconventional?” Octavian shrugged.
“Bottom of the barrel,” Julian’s voice was flat.
“Zero love for House Salads, man. No love at all. Given that it is your phone, you get to be the one who calls him.”
“I hate you, Octavian.”
“Think of it this way, so long as he says yes either way we are in the clear. Magister Yonath can’t say we didn’t do our part.”