NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC EDIT: To apply to join this RP, please go here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=67237&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0).

OOC EDIT 2: Application process closed. More may be invited in later, but not likely through applications. The following nations are involved.

Anhierarch
Arani
Gehenna Tartarus
Raem
Tarrican
The Most Glorious Hack
Tor Yversse
Wazzu
Whispering Voices

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The flight from Northern Europe (Wazzu) to the Devils Desert (Whispering Voices) didn't take long for the sleek TransCorp hypersonic buisness jet. Despite the ongoing Whaling War, the plane landed softly and safely in Freeport. It taxied over to a private terminal and opened its side.

http://members.cox.net/davage/images/LizWangSmall.jpg

Liz Wang, heir to the TransCorp "empire" and member of the secretive (if dysfunctional) Society for the Preservation of Humanity, stepped out and took a breath of fresh air. If only Wazzu had air like this she thought, If only Wazzu could afford to.

She took another deep breath and walked down the ladder...and she looked out for her contact. Finding Rhys in this nation was not going to be easy.

A gleaming white jeep pulled into view as the ladder for the plane went down, and a young man in a crisp white uniform the color of snow hopped out of the driver's seat and made a beeline towards her. The airport was noisy, and rather bizarre. Migs and Flankers were coasting along the same runways before flying off for patrols that would be used ten minutes later by civilian and cargo planes.

"Hi, Ms. Wang," the soldier greeted, as he extended his hand. "I'm Corporal Helman, pleased to meet you. I'll be your hospitality officer for the duration of your stay in our country." He shook, and then led her to the jeep, opening the door for her - it was almost like a limousine service, except limousines don't have mounted machine guns or rocket tubes.

"From here we're going to get into a chopper to head to Silence, the capital. There the High Council will wish to speak to you, but then you're pretty much free to do as you wish - well, within set boundaries and the law, obviously." He offered her a hand to help her into the jeep, then walked round, got in the driver's seat, and headed towards an area of huge hangers covered in armour plating.

"Thank you Corporal" she murmered as he helped her into the jeep. She continued once het got in.

"Actually, it was law that concerned me. Wazzu is pretty open, anyone can do just about anything. Yet my briefing said law was a bit more strict around here. Perhaps you could tell me some about it?"

OOC: Time to describe some of your country to the world perhaps?

The Corporal grins as they drive under a pair of hulking chicken-legged robots that are moving with hydraulic hisses across the airport. "Well ... if it's a sin in the Bible, it's a sin here. Murder, Torture, and Rape are all capital offences, as are Treason and Corrupting the Young. Due to our method of governance, we take a very dim view of anything that could endanger the lives of children." The jeep is pretty fast, and by the time he drives under another pair of robots, the hanger door is close.

Inside, it's obvious that it's a huge number of helipads, with retractable panels in the ceiling to allow the helicopters to take off. The door closes as the jeep enters.

"EMP protection, ya see," says Helman as he once again hops out and goes to open Liz's door. "Don't want our circuits fried on the 'chopper sensory equipment, so we keep them in galvanized steel bays." The helicopters stand out brightly in the dark building, most of them being camouflaged for snow missions. He leads her up to a Black Hawk that appears to have been customised - comfortable seats and everything.

Liz was impressed by the converted helecopter, but also a bit uneasy. She was used to flying...flying in hypersonic jets, suborbital aircraft, flying cars, and even in spacecraft of all varieties. She even had her own little (and quite expensive) converted space trainer. But she had never flown in a helecopter, she wasn't sure how such rickity machines keep themselves aloft (even though TransCorp made a few varieties).

"Uhhh," she started, "I'm afraid your going to keep my mind off this first flight -- just until I get used to it. You were saying something about your method of governance?" Her hands tightened on a bar on the side of the helecopter as it readied to take off.

Corporal Helman looked at her, but if he was surprised at her lack of knowledge he didn't show it.

"Ah, Ms. Wang - well, the High Council governs Whispering Voices. It's ... ah ... the method by which the holy spirits of the land communicate with the people that live on it. The High Council are four in number, and they select their numbers from amongst the most intelligent children - it's easier for the young to communicate with them, you see. So the High Council - to appearances, at least - are children from the ages of 6 to 8. However, the spirits that speak through them are assuredly most wise."

His eyes glint with a vague undertone of red as he speaks, but it fades as he stops and settles back into a seat and belts himself in.

"Freeport - the city we just took off from - was granted to Whispering Voices by the goverment of Austrin-Ontis, along with a narrow land corridor so we didn't have to bother about customs or equally silly things, when moving materiel to the Inner Sea. We're now headed to Silence, the capital, which is a city on the shores of the Still Water - part of the ride is going to be a bit rough, mind - the weather's pretty mild for this time of year on the mainland, but it'll still batter us a fair amount. You would have been directed to Hush or Tranquility - normally they're open ports - but with the threat of the webway traffic to those is very restricted and you would have had to go through a week's worth of tests to ensure you were safe to let into the cities. Let alone the fact they're all walled off and guarded anyway."

He rummages around in a small crate, and finds a silver hipflask. "Brandy? You'll want something in you before we reach Silence. Sorry we can't provide limousines, or anything - you'll understand why when we hit the actual country."


OOC:
Whispering Voices (http://www.darkeningskies.net/creative/whisperingvoices.html)

"Brandy would be excelent," Liz returns, "if you think I won't spill it." She smiles and watches the picture perfect (compared to polluted Wazzu) scenery roll past.

"So whats this whole webway? You sound like your talking about a large threat, but I don't understand your security measures and what they are designed against. And you say the whole region is in on it?"

Of course, she had heard about the web. That damned trasmission had supposedly come from it. But she didn't understand it, and she might need to. More to the point, Dana might need to. The fact that these people felt they had to defend against it, and with such extreme measures, scared her. Wazzu had prepared itself to defend against a lot, and was now defending against a little for the first time. Could Wazzu truely be vulnerable?

"Well, ma'am," he said as he offered her the hip flask, "as far as we understand, the eldar can open a webway portal up anywhere they please. There may be limitations, such as finding a place in the webway that matches a place that they want to go to, but obviously Tor Yvresse would rather see millions of humans slaughtered than give up their precious secrets. The holy spirits that live in Whispering Voices tend to negate such hostile energy forms - but not always instantly, and the dark eldar are nothing if not fast. Our cities have been installed with monitors trained to scan for webway emissions, and we've tightened up troop transport and communication response times - from time of webway opening detection to quarantining in a city would take five minutes, and the quarantine would cover the best part of two square miles. Of course, we've got automated defences - they cover a large part of that."

He pauses, as if listening to something, then continues.

"In the event the Dark Eldar should arrive elsewhere - say, Austrin-Ontis, or New Aeigeron - we're better prepared. We recently unveiled a tri-strength defence system loosely based off the Maginot line - except technologically far more advanced and - of course - ours goes all the way around our country. The biggest danger is our foodstocks. We're heavily reliant on ithioculture and hydroponics - you'll see why, soon - and anything else we want needs to be imported or got from the small areas of farmland on our coast. Those farm lands are very vulnerable - too difficult to defend in full. Going by previous attacks of the Dark Eldar, our most likely scenario would be that they struck our farmlands, came out in great force - and then would be trapped, as the spirits drained the energy from the webway portal. Which would result in them slaughtering everything within reach, and probably causing years of damage to our ecosystem."

Liz Wang listened to all this with great interest. She felt...pride? Happieness? Something, as the corporal spoke from the human preservation vantage point. He felt just a tad put off with the religious bit, but narrowly avoided showing it. But the webway and the spirits of Whispering Voices facinated and even scared her. The answer was "No", Wazzu would not be able to deal with the web. Not yet. But maybe it could change.

The corporal also impressed her, he gave up what seemed to be a large defense secret, or at least semi-secret. And that gained her trust. Maybe I can trust him, or them she thought. But there was only one subject she could confidentally talk about. A subject of sensitivity to Wazzu, but not overwhelming secrecy. Food.

"We have similar problems with food you know. Not quite the same though. Wazzu is overcrowded and polluted. There isn't any space, any free air, or any water for farms. All of our food is imported, and security is of great concern to us.

"A lot of it comes in from New Nasustiro, in the Caribbean, via hypersonic or suborbital transport. A lot more comes in from sea shipping, which I am afraid is largely blocked off at the moment by aggressors. But the people your nation is set up to defend against seem to operate differently, and I wonder if maybe TransCorp and Oren Moore can help.

"You talked about this line provided for you by Austrin-Ontis. Have you ever considered putting a water filled tunnel under it?"

She wanted to tell him more, but information on future defense capibilitis of Wazzu were too much for this discussion. It would have to wait.

"A water-filled tunnel, ma'am? I wouldn't know - you mean like an underwater canal? There is a road from Freeport into Whispering Voices, but it goes to the coast - the only pass to Still Water is from the coast, and it's a huge detour. Still, it'd be those in charge you'd want to mention it to - I know that a seismic dampener project just got completed, that might possibly come in handy." He shrugged, interested but not knowledgeable enough about the situation.

"And well - Whispering Voices *can* feed its populace, but it'd be without fruit, red meat, or coffee. The uproar would be enormouse, sadly. Don't you find flying bulk amounts like food in through hypersonics prohibitively expensive?

"Hypersonics are actually quite a bit cheaper then other methods once you get up to speed, and they make everything so much easier. I know, its counter-intuitive. But really, less fuel per kilometer, and there are no moving parts in a scramjet. Best of all, fruit gets to the market a couple days after being picked, still fresh."

"Ah - I suppose so." He looks as if he's about to say something, but then shrugs. "We're lucky, in that Austrin-Ontis is temperate, as is New Aeigeron, and Los Bananos El Fuego is a hot banana republic with jungle and everything. So transporting food isn't too difficult - although it is expensive. Still ... if you've the resources and knowhow to fly fruit in from the Caribbean, you're doing pretty well and they'll taste the sweeter for it, I'd imagine. Is pollution really that bad? We don't so much have pollution as - well - snow. And blizzards, and storms."

"Ah - I suppose so." He looks as if he's about to say something, but then shrugs. "We're lucky, in that Austrin-Ontis is temperate, as is New Aeigeron, and Los Bananos El Fuego is a hot banana republic with jungle and everything. So transporting food isn't too difficult - although it is expensive. Still ... if you've the resources and knowhow to fly fruit in from the Caribbean, you're doing pretty well and they'll taste the sweeter for it, I'd imagine. Is pollution really that bad? We don't so much have pollution as - well - snow. And blizzards, and storms."

Yes she thinks, Maybe we can offer more efficient means of transport for these people. It would certainly be a franchize for TransCorp, and they should save some cash. I'll offer it to the appropriate state persona later. Somehow.

"New Nasustiro is clean, and we keep it that way so food will grow better. Wazzu smog is some of the worst in the world.

"Most of it is metalic gasses, many heavy metals. A lot comes from petrolium burning and Uranium stripmining in Agu. The smog is deadly in many places, and dangerous elsewhere. The air is so highly ionized, and so hot from the huge city, that thunderstorms are almost constantly going on somewhere outside. Its pretty bad, but no one really goes outside.

"The only decent places outside are atop the Dendarii mountains, or atop the stratosphere cities...not enough air to breath up there though, you need a mask. But the view is outstanding."

"Oh," he looks quite surprised - and a little put off. "Well, Whispering Voices has a massive uranium mining industry - we need to, given we tithe a quarter of the energy our power plants produce a year to the spirits - but our surface is pristine. Underground, you see. And we got some Skaven refugees from Austrin-Ontis recently, they're excellent tunnellers as long as you keep the clans seperate - and fissionable materials away from them, of course. We'd not let them near uranium supply dumps."

He takes a glance out of the window.

"There - we're still about four hours away, but you can just see the peaks of the Outer Grey Mountains from here ... " as he points, a tiny haze-like speckle can be seen, that slowly resolves into mountains - massively tall, rising high above the flatter Austrin-Ontis land, clouds down to - judging from their size - their midriffs.

"Snow almost everywhere, and farming land and the ocean is too valuable to get polluted. We're actually quite good at recycling ... "

Liz chuckled softly at the Skaven/Uranium comment, then cursed herself for doing so. It might not be politically correct here, no matter how funny it seemed.

As the mountains grew closer, the loosened her grip on a handle of the helecopter, and tightened it over her blouse. The Helecopter was quite warm, but the sight of the snow had a psychological effect too.

"How deep do you cities and tunnels go?" She asked, trying to create some more converstation in the long time before landing.

"Well - the deepest tunnel is about seven miles below the surface - then again, the surface is significantly higher than sea level, for the majority of the country. You'd have to ask someone a little more au fait with such things I'm afraid. As a rule I think "very deep" is a fair answer."

He smiled at her chuckle. Seemingly it had been intended as a joke.

"Luckily we're slap bang in the middle of a tectonic plate, and earthquakes are very rare - well, almost unheard of, actually. The last time one did occur the spirits drank so much energy the refused the next offering."

OOC: not knowing how deep the NS earth crust is, assuming it to be very deep indeed ;o

"And these spirits...you can actually measure their presance scientifically? By the power they drink?"

"Measure their power consumption, ma'am. Not their power - indeed, we know almost nothing about them. Or at least, I don't, and I'm pretty sure that goes way up high."

"Thats...positively amazing. No offense, but I didn't even know such beings actually existed, I mean with any physical relevance to our world that is. Can you actually see them? Detect them? Were they here before your nation formed?"

He shrugs. "You'd want to ask the High Council, ma'am, given as they speak for them. Or possibly Royal Household could help. There's plenty of theories and all - but I don't know beyond energy-nets how they work or even retain substance. If they have substance."

It would seem that he is not sure of the intricate details of theoretical fifth-field quantum mechanics.

OOC: I think we need to move on to the landing, Liz Wang is out of things to say....

The helicopter is battered by vicious snowstorms at it rises up over the foothills that seperate Austrin-Ontis and Whispering Voices. At some points it's practically thrown through the air, with the snow outside so thick that visibility from the cabin windows is measured in feet. At one point, flying between two massive peaks, the helicopter is ripped out of control by the winds and hurtled towards a cliff face - so close Liz can almost see her reflection before the pilot wrests control back from the elements. Occasionally, patches of air come about that aren't dancing with snow - and in those times, gargantuan mountains can be seen rising up to either side.

It seems like a long ride, before the winds seem to lessen somewhat, and the snow fall away. Below is a steep rift, growing deeper and wider with - presumably - a river at the bottom. The helicopter turns right as it follows the chasm, and through a pass between two hills ... and out, out into the glorious open. In the distance is a shoreline, vaguely peppered with white specks. Dark green surrounds it, left and right, spanning around and disappearing behind mountains.

Corporal Helman smiled with relief to see it. "That's the Still Water - it's huge, about the size of Lake Victoria. Although sadly a little less tropical. You can probably see specks on it - those're icebergs, broken off from the Endelgrim glacier, which runs into it from the west. They actually serve to act as icebreakers, and it's not uncommon to see sailing boats follow in their trail - a little more uncommon to see them return, however. No motorised vessels other than military ones are allowed on it - and they prefer submarines, for obvious reasons. Keeps it pure and clean. Silence is about another hour away, just above the Green Ward - our largest forest, it runs unbroken all the way around except for the Endelgrim area."

The hour passed a lot faster, now there was no seemingly imminent danger of death. The city of Silence is, as they approached it, quite breathtaking. Surrounded on three sides by dark green pine forests and against a backdrop of huge mountains, it has a very glacial beauty. The white marble buildings are all lit with subtle white lamps in the ground, and as you get closer you can see that on each there is a glistening sheen - ice. The architecture is smooth, mixing curves and lines to an aesthetically pleasing standard. One other thing stands out - there are no people in the streets, no tracks in the snow other than those of the land rovers. There are no lights coming from any of the windows, and as you look closely at the doors, they too are covered in ice.

As the helicopter headed into the city, a massive building came into view. It had the highest minarets, towers and pinnacles in the city - and, unlike the other buildings, there was no sheen of ice from it. Warm light flittered out of the windows, and the area around it was wet rather than snow-covered. "The Royal Palace and High Council Chambers, Ms. Wang. We'll be landing just behind them - the garden's full of trees but the ice on the lake will be firm enough."

And indeed, when the helicopter touches down the ice complains with only the smallest of creaks.

By the time the helecopter landed, Liz Wang's grip was still tight on a handle of the helecopter. The beauty of the last end of the flight had given color back to her face, but the grip was still solid...and the seatbelt tight. The "smallest of creaks" of the ice below didn't help...she wasn't used to her platforms creaking.

Somehow, she managed to loosen her grip on the handle. She sat down on the floor and swung her legs out the now open side door. Shivering in the cold, she stood up carefully on the ice. She lifted her left leg and took a cautious step forward, found she did not slip, and took another more confident step with her right.

WOOOOOSH!

SLAM!

Too confident.

She fell flat on her stomache...her face blushed. It wasn't the cold (which was already working on her ears and nose), it was pure embarrassment. It didn't matter that she, like most Wazzuians, had never walked on ice...that her shoes were not made for it. She was cold, face to the ice, and she felt stupid.

Corporal Helman turned round to see what the sound was. With a glare at the helicopter pilot - who may or may not have been about to laugh out loud - he smoothly walks back to where Liz is, and offers her a hand up.

"It takes a bit of getting used to, ma'am. Let's get you inside out of the cold." Her outfit was, indeed, spectacularly poorly designed for the subzero conditions of Whispering Voices, and the winds - strong, even here - were ruffling her hair.

Carefully, he escorted her to the edge of the ice, onto the snow - harder to move on, but far easier to stay balanced. He then took her to a cavernous door - not as large or formal as the ones at the main entrance, but big enough to drive a tank through - which opened at their near approach. Oddly, the wind-driven snow didn't appear to blow into the building - scattering or falling from the air just before it could cross the threshold.

Liz felt the warm air surround her as she crossed the threashhold. After the terrible cold outside, it felt like a blast furnace. Oh, so warmmmm.... she thought as she rubbed her arms with her hands, then fixed her hair (the style didn't need much fixing).

But the warmth couldn't keep her attention forever, not in a building as grand as this. The room caught her eyes, and she looked up and around. It was....

[[OOC: finish the description?]]

Alan turned off his TV in disgust. How could 'people' commit such actions? What point does it serve?

He staggered out of his cramped living room/dining room into his equally small bedroom. He reached over and clicked on his videophone. The small screen filled with a corporate logo, and the words

Chiba City Telecommunications Corporation

glowed underneath. He quickly typed in the number to Chiba City Cab Company, and waited as the phone rang. After the second ring, a menu popped up on the screen. He selected the third option, and quickly typed in his employee number. After a minute or so the face of his supervisor materialized on the screen.

"Alan... wassup?"

"Hey, Mick. I gotta call off tonight."

"Alan, itsa good day, you'll be missing on a fortune in tips tonight!"

"I know, but... I'm not feeling too well... I watched that... uh... slave-killing show..."

"Oh shit, man. You should have known better than to do that. What're you thinking?"

"I know... I know... I just... man, I can't come in..."

"Sure, sure, tha's fine. You got some sick leave. I'll catch ya later."

"Thanks Mick, bye..." Alan tapped the disconnect button, and flopped down on his bed. His eyes strayed to a half-empty package of cigarettes sitting on his nightstand. They had been there for about a month. I've been doing so well... He curses under his breath and hurries out of the room. He didn't want to start again, so he decided to get out of his apartment.

He stepped out of his front door into a long hallway. He checked to make sure he had his cell phone, and went to the elevator. It was a long ride up to the ground, but he couldn't afford to live any closer. He had dreamed of actually living up in the air, maybe a third floor apartment. He sighed, guessing that such a palace would be well beyond his means. He made good enough money driving a hack, but that wasn't exactly a fast-track to independant wealth.

Ten minutes later he was wandering aimlessly in the large central park, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

... it was stark. The walls had carvings adorning them, unnatural curves that tricked the eye and twisted it back upon itself, and a feeling of immeasurable age. In places medieval tapestries hung but - although pleasant relief on the eye - they felt 'wrong', somehow. Like unexpected clearings of saplings in a wood of ancient oak.

The dimensions were also slightly wrong, as Helman led him through. The doors, the walkways, the rooms - all higher and bigger than seemed necessary for the people walking through them.

It wasn't until Liz was led up a high-roofed and carpeted staircase, however, that it really sank in. Tk, thud, thud, thud, thud, tk, thud, thud, thud, thud. Only every fifth stair was real - the rest she felt she was walking on wooden additional stairs, like someone had put up bridging steps and covered them in a thick luxuriant red carpet.

She was then escorted into a room - up here, everything was panelled in aged oak - and sat on a warm leather couch, where a cup of coffee was sat next to a jug of milk, cream, and mint leaves.

Helman waited til she was happily seated, and then asked: "One of the High Councillors would like to speak to you, ma'am, but she's busy for the moment. Then we'll go see Wanda and hopefully after that, you'll see Rhys."

Liz Wang almost poured into the leather couch...somehow it was very very soft. Maybe cavewomen didn't have it so hard she thought.

Helman waited til she was happily seated, and then asked: "One of the High Councillors would like to speak to you, ma'am, but she's busy for the moment. Then we'll go see Wanda and hopefully after that, you'll see Rhys."

Liz smiled, "sounds like a plan. Until then, do you have a book on this fabulous building?"

But a quick thought changed her mind. Actually, more of a memory.

"Or maybe, a bible?"

------

OOC: *smacks self for taking so long to post so little* Sorry, I should have written that yesterday...and at least 3 posts besides.

"I'm afraid I don't, ma'am. There are several organisations collaborating in excavations in the caverns beneath here, unearthing the giant skeleton of ... something ... but it's a classified-detail project, with just enough publicity to ensure funding. But the other ... "

Corporal Helman heads over to a bookshelf, and his head follows the line of books until he stops. He drags out a red-bound book in one hand, and presents it to Liz. It's the King James Bible, and it looks well-read. He smiles.

"Excelent!" She exclaims, though in a soft voice. The leans up to take the well used book before settling back into the chair. But she doesn't immediately open it, instead she continues the conversation a little.

"I always had a facination with old and worn books. It is almost as if their former users left some of their personality in them, a sort of magic I guess."

Then her slight smile grows a little, "perhaps now I'll get a better idea of your laws."

She makes herself comfortable and turns her eyes down...then starts reading...very very fast.

[ooc: I'd prefer Vilorius' apartment to be in some capitalist country somewhere, since he really, really shouldn't be in Anhierarch. Most Glorious Hack, any objections if this scungy apartment is in your country?]

Ishtar.

Vilorius Ishtar.

He sits before the television, now mercifully turned off, the crackling of residual energy loud in the silent apartment.

His eyes, grey-blue and piercing, reflect a multitude of emotion. Most strongly, though, are relief and disgust.

Relief, in his chance to prove himself to his mother's family, the Ashknights - notorious for their adventures and exploits.

The reason for disgust, of course, is self-evident.

Abomination.

He gets up from the stained couch, hardly giving the dingy, roach-infested walls another glance.

I must do something.

Opening the refridgerator, he drinks a few mouthfuls of orange juice straight from the carton, thinking as he drinks.

But how? The Dark Eldar live in the web.

Reaching for a pocket, he opens his wallet, checking the bank balances scribbled on scraps of paper - contrary to his accomodations, he wasn't all that badly off - Money that could have been spent on a nicer apartment was lavished on weaponry, and he preferred to save the rest.

I need to think.

Grabbing a pack of cigarettes, he unlocks the door, possibly the only part of the apartment he cared about enough to spend money improving.

He stands outside in the common corridor, lighting a cigarette and locking the door. As he passes the broken down elevator, he gives it a kick, more out of habit than anything else.

Vilorius walks leisurely, his relaxed pace slowly carrying him the general direction of the central park - the blood of Anhierarch in him somehow endowing him with an affinity for nature.

Beneath the relaxed exterior, though, his mind races, seeking an answer - an answer to the question of how to exact justice for the atrocities he had witnessed.

The Ashknights? Pfah. They wouldn't give me a single contact. I've got to 'prove' myself to them. Assholes.

My mother's probably the only one who'd help me.... and maybe cousin Terrnos. But if the rest find out, then I've blown it. Damn.

Well, if I do do something I should let mom know. Let her tell the rest of the uppity clan. Guess I'll give her a call soon.

Wait, didn't one of my old school mates become a loremaster? Maybe I'll try tracking her down.

Probably wouldn't hurt to hit the library for a bit. Maybe put out feelers for those in the business.

Damn, I need a cig.

He pats his pockets, methodically at first, then with some urgency and frustration, a crumpled-looking cigarette drooping from his mouth.

Damnit!

He slaps his forehead, remembering that he'd forgotten to pick up a lighter on his way home last night. Looking around the park, he spots a man smoking, and approaches.

"Hi, mate. Could I trouble ya for a light?"


[ooc: Now that I've written it it seems a bit.... hackneyed.]

He watched the news like all the rest, his time alone, away from Tor Yvresse ment he was free. The Fallen sickened him to the core, and here they where celebrating their security in the Web, the Farseers dared not move he knew and understood on some level that fact, but he raged inside. The hate building inside him was something that would scare the Mon-Keigh he knew, for no Mon-keigh could approach the Eldar's capacity to feel, their minds where blessed in that regard.

What could he do? The Council where right not to attack, not to allow the Mon-Keigh armies into the Web and so he wondered the cities of the Humans in many ways he was ashamed, scared to show his features lest he be mistaken for the Fallen, and he added that as another Sin upon their feet, added it to the growing Pile.

He was Free, that ment something he could feel it, He Was Free, unbound, Outcast in heart and Mind, his actions his own to choose, and he would walk his path.

An unknown distance away the Council watched this Outcast through the Runes and smiled, they had forseen these thoughts and had helped them to come into being, had guided this their tool to the places he would walk. All unseen and unfelt, the Council was not above manipulating their own when it suited them after all. He would be the method of their next strike, he would eventually help to guide the Mon-Keigh's chosen into the Web, and help to bring a little Justice to their foes, and none of it would be traced back to them.

[It's heroic, therefore allowed, heh.]

Alan jerks around at the voice, "Huh? Whazzat?!" He blinks a few times. He didn't look asleep, he's either insane, or was very deep in thought. After a few uncomfortable seconds his brain seems to kick into gear, "Oh... yeah... a light. Sorry man, been a helluva day."

He pulls out couple disposable lighters, and frowns. He flicks one, finds that it doesn't work, and stuffs it back in his pocket. He hands the other one to Vilorius. "What brings you out here?"

Vilorius gratefully accepts the light, lighting the rather sad looking cigarette in his mouth with practiced ease. After a long, long drag, he turns back to Alan.

"Just thinking, mate. I think better on my feet - and I daresay you were thinking too. I don't suppose you haven't seen those torture videos? Name's Vilorius, by the way. Vilorius Ishtar."

Amiably, he extends an arm.

Corporal Helman nods, and lets her read. She has a comfortable hour - or uncomfortable, depending on how she likes her Leviticus - before he cocks his head to one side as if listening.

Swigging the last of his cup of tea down, he stands and subconsciously brushes off his trousers.

"High Councillor Eleanor will see you now, ma'am. If you'd follow me?"

Alan accepts the hand and shakes it. He's got a firm grip, and rough hands. "I'm Alan Baker, nice to meetcha."

He smiles sadly, "Yeah, I saw that... show. Disturbing and confusing. I mean, what's the point of broadcasting shit like that?" He shakes his head, "Some world, huh?"

"Nice t'meet you too." Vilorius' grip is strong, his hands smooth in some places, calloused in others.

Vilorius shakes his head, taking another drag. "Yes. Maybe they're just twisted loons gloating over the fact that they live in the web, or whatever it is they call it. Evil. Just..... evil." His eyes seem to harden for a moment, gazing off into the distance.

Alan looks mildly confused, "Web? Ya know, I poked around a little for info, and kept seein' meantions of the Web. I've figured they ain't talkin' about the `Net, so what are they talkin' about?"

He flicks the butt of his cigarette, which sails end-over-end through the air and lands in an ashtray. "So you're thinkin' they only did it `cause they figure there ain't nobody with the balls to do somethin' about it?"

Vilorius shrugs.

"I'm not entirely sure myself. From what I gather it's some sort of dimension that only they can navigate reasonably through. Something like that, anyway."

His eyes tracking the trajectory of Alan's cigarette butt, he goes on, taking his second last drag.

"That's how I see it. They're proud... no, arrogant. Complacent. And it's when people are complacent," he says, taking the last drag, "that's when they fall. Hard." For emphasis, he stubs out the cigarette.

"No wonder they're so... smug. I guess I would be too if I was someplace where I couldn't be touched." He frowns, then eyes Vilorius, a slight smile creeping across his face, "But... you sound like you've got some plans, friend..."

He shakes his head, a little sadly.

"Plans? Not yet, I'm afraid.... but I'm trying to think of something." He grins slightly, lopsidedly. "What's it to you?"

"Never been one to think that 'good enough' actually is, I guess. Doubt that I could do anything m'self, but..." He smiles, "I've got some connections..."

Vilorius gives a short, ironic laugh. "Well, incidentally, connections are exactly what I'm missing."

He smirks, "Well aren't we a fine pair, eh? Yeah, I got some connections." He grins, "You aren't a cabbie for years in this city without getting some... 'side work'."

He grins. "Yeah. If I didn't know better I'd say Fate was at work.... heh, you make cab-driving sound debonair and dashing."

He laughs a little darkly. "Not in the slightest. More like the gig doesn't pay crap, so you need external funding."

"In other words, what are you... we... looking to be connected with?"

He cocks his head to one side, looking thoughtful. Absentmindedly, another cigarette appears in his hand, cunningly palmed.

"Well, I was thinking of the Tor Yvresse - Eldar, like the butchers on television, but not evil. They've got to have some sort of bounty-hunter or adventurer business. Some people with access to real libraries, not the ones stocked with two-bit thrillers and sappy romance novels. And anyone who'd want to help bring a little justice to the world."

Again as he walked the streets he felt the fear and the Hatred, it was getting late, and the Pubs where closing, the Drunken Crowds piling onto the streets looking for a fight. It had got worse in recent days, people where angry, it was low boiling anger, the hate of a people that felt impotent to do anything. The Fallen had done this to them they watched the news reports and demanded action, only to be told that no Action was possible. It was time for the Eldar to get of the streets, it wasn't safe. For the last three nights he'd left the streets to late, his own rage needing a release, and he'd got involved in numerous small scuffles, nothing serious but it was getting worse.

As he moved his hood fell back, and his Sharp Eldar features where made clear to the passerbys, the first response was one of shock, revulsion, he was an Eldar. Then it only got worse, 'Why was he trying to hide his features, maybe he was scouting for the Fallen? was he looking to invite his friends in to their city?'

These where drunken thoughts and hardly sensible, but it was a sympton of the rage, at it's heart they simply wanted a target they could beat, and this was a target, a few of the shapes in the crowd began to follow him, and more began to join. First there was simply the insults, then after a while they grew more bold, and they threw rubbish towards him, eventually the Rubbish turned into Empty bottles. Now the Eldar began to run and the Crowd folled him, a Mob now, he ran down allys, over fences, he lost his way stumbled a few times, and kept running, as the mob behind him got closer.

He leans back in the bench, his hand moving on its own accord to pull a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. He lights it, and hands the lighter to Vilorius.

"Tor Yvresse... can't say as I'm horribly familiar with them... but I... know some people." He smiles slightly, "And I can probably have someone dig for information, if you don't mind unsavory types..."

He grins, lighting the cigarette and handing the lighter back to Alan. "I am unsavory. Or so some would say, based on shallow judgements. I suppose they'll charge for these services?"

He pockets the lighter, "Well... the TJ is more unsavory than most I deal with. Also, they're one of those weird groups... they say they charge, but not money. They usually ask some off-the-wall question, and that's it. You're brother's name seems innocent enough, but it's still disturbing as Hell." He sighs, and takes a deep drag, "Especially when the brother in question died 15 years ago..."

He shakes his head a little, as if clearing it, "You wanna talk to them, we can, but we should have a bit of a plan first. Besides, setting up a meeting will take time."

His brow furrows. "That's pretty damned strange, to say the least. Creepy as hell would be more apt. This group have a name?", he asks, inhaling the smoke deeply.

"I'll need to think up a proper list of questions, though. It shouldn't take too long. When do you think we can meet 'em?"

He nods sagely, "There's a reason I don't much like talking to them." He shrugs, resigned to the situation.

"The group's name is the Techno Jihad. They're a weird cult/terrorist organization. They've been laying low lately, but they always know what's going on. Supposedly there was a major crack-down a year ago, but nothing happened." He glances around, speaking in a little more conspiratorial tone, "One of the more popular rumors is that their leader, the Neuromancer, is actually the president..."

He shrugs slightly, "I've never talked directly to them, but... I know some people..." He smiles. "I wager it'll take me a day or two to pull everything together. Don't want to go too quickly and burn a contact..."

Corporal Helman nods, and lets her read. She has a comfortable hour - or uncomfortable, depending on how she likes her Leviticus - before he cocks his head to one side as if listening.

Swigging the last of his cup of tea down, he stands and subconsciously brushes off his trousers.

"High Councillor Eleanor will see you now, ma'am. If you'd follow me?"

Liz looks up from the book. "Oh? Ok." She stands and streaches a little, cracks a few joints in her back, and takes up a normal stance. Her clothes still look impecable, as if the won't wrinkle and nothing will cling to them.

She hands the bible, quite on the way to finishing (for an hours reading) back to the Helman. "It is an interesting book, I should have started it earlier in life. It makes me wonder what similar books are like.

"Anyhow, which way?" she finishes as she looks around for the door.

"This way, ma'am." He turns smartly, on his heel, and leads Liz along old oak-panelled corridors - a left, and another, and then to a door on the right. He knocks once, quietly. Pauses for fifteen seconds - Liz can almost see him mentally timing it, his brow creasing. He then opens the door, and steps to one side to let her in.

After Liz steps through, he shuts the door behind her, staying outside himself. Behind a big, old desk topped with red leather lounges a young girl, with the most intent red-glowing eyes. She smiles, briefly, as Liz enters the room - a smile that lights up her whole face, for the few seconds it remains.

http://64.159.88.142/kidspages/chelseajo/chelsehsnoname.jpg

Her voice is soft when she speaks - as one might expect - but echoes oddly for such a small room.

"Good day, Miss Wang. Welcome to Silence."

Liz says thank you as Corporal Helman opens the door for her...then is somewhat supprised to find herself left alone with a High Councillor.

Her suprise doubles when she sees the small girl, not in the least because of the glowing eyes. Trust, or am I the one at a disadvantage here? she asked herself, both?

But the warm smile puts her at ease, at least for those few seconds, and this time she says "Thank you" to the Councillor while smiling back.

"I admit, I never expected to meet such a high member of your society, I'm...honored" she starts, and very quickly adds "and a bit nervous." Honesty, the best policy.

She looks around, slightly, to see if there is an appropriate place for her to sit or stand.

The black swirling waters seemed to be calling her name. The murky depth below was her own personal hell. The devil himself could be seen just below the dark surface; his hand outstretched to welcome her soul. He spoke to her; promised to take away the pain. Her eyes meet his and she saw everything. Her birth, her childhood, her life, her death…

She couldn’t tell say how everything had led to this moment. It seemed only recently that her life had been… It had never been good. It was barely satisfactory. It had been awful. If there was a guardian angel that looked after you during your lifetime, then hers had failed to turn up. There never seemed to be anyone just for her.

The wind had picked up during the few minutes that she had been standing there. Her loose hair began to blow about her face. She brushed aside a few strands that kept touching her lips.

She looked back down at the beckoning figure in the water. It would be so easy. Just one little step.

”Come on, Jamie. Come to Daddy. You can do it.”

All she had to do was take that little leap, and those hands would catch her. She could see they were strong, firm hands. She would be safe in them. No one would be able to hurt her, with those big, strong arms around her.

She lifted her foot…

A comfortable looking leather chair - with four legs of curved wood, old fashioned - is open and available; positioned with its back to the window, due to the location of the desk behind which the High Councillor sits. It seems that whoever arranges the floor plans for the place likes to keep windows away from the important people. To make up for it, a beautiful mirror hangs on the wall, allowing the High Councillor to see the whole view from the safety of being behind a wall.

"Well, Miss Wang - we have had reports of certain occurrences within your country, linking you to potential assets. The Society for the Protection of Humanity, for instance. Oh - please take a seat. What is it that brings you to our country? It's rare anyone outside the Desert wants to come here, much less requests to do so."

This little girl sounds far more mature then she looks, Liz thought as she took the seat, is she really a little girl? Or is this an effect of these spirits?

"Actually, it is SPH buisness that I am on. Well, sort of.

"Before I begin, I think I might explain that Wazzu is not a pro-human nation, though many in Wazzu are fans of Sandman, and the Society is not anti-elf. I hope thats not what you were looking for....

"But I am here seeking help." Liz took a breath. "I suppose you saw the" <pause> "the transmission from Raem?" Yes, that would interest you, wouldn't it? As according to the Corporal, thats what all these defenses are for....

"Rhys is a...I guess I could call him a friend, at least an ally of mine. Certainly an enemy of my, and perhaps our enemy? I had hoped he would know of a volunteer."

There, she had said it. Though she only wanted to talk about Wazzu/Whispering Voices relations. Somehow, she had needed to say it here. She hoped it did not ruin said relations. And she wondered if she would have the chance to express Wazzu's worry about WV's involvement with GDODAD.

Eleanor gives a quick little spin in her chair, and briefly her child-like smile appears again. When it slows down, then she stops and leans forward on the desk, propped up on her elbows - staring with such an intensity at Liz it would be considered rude in some cultures. And as she stares, the nagging feeling of being watched that Liz has had since entering the building intensifies into a red hot itch between her shoulder blades.

"Rhys has many allies, few friends, Miss Wang. And any official action from Whispering Voices would need to be decided by the Council; he's certainly capable of privately funding something - but the Council believes it would be in the best interests of humankind to work against the Dark Eldar threat of Mieka. On this occasion, it is even likely we will combine resources with Rhys."

She pauses, her eyes glinting oddly. At some point, she seems to make mouthing movements, as if subconsciously conducting internal dialogues.

"Yes, I have seen the transmission. A clever, yet clumsy, attempt to rile feelings and push more headstrong nations into fatal action. Fortunately, Whispering Voices has had more time to accustom itself to the threat posed by the Dark Eldar raiders. What do you know of Raem, Miss Wang? And our involvement with them?"

Let's see what homework you've done and how competent you are, is the unspoken yet clear thought.

A test....

Liz Wang sat silent for a respectful moment to think her answer through, only somewhat distracted at that feeling of being watched (mostly because of her location...she was always watched in public...rarely private). After a few seconds, she felt ready.

"I know the beings involved are elves, an Eldar varient more similar to those in Tor Yverse then elsewhere.

"I understand they inhabit some sort of alternate dimension.

"From what I understand of your defenses, it would seem they can appear in quite a few places...but perhaps not just anywhere, as you have defensive walls.

"I understand Wazzu has developed against different sorts of threats, is ill prepared for such an attack, and could not mount an attack of its own...a reason Wazzu is not taking official action.

"I understand that Tor Yverse is capible of entering this, but that they are not willing to send armies though. It is my hope that some citizen might be willing to do such for a smaller team. Exactly how I am not sure.

"And I understand that I am not trained nor skilled enough to do it myself, and have other responsibilities...fortionately, I have found one who has.

"I had hoped to find another here."

And now I have let just about everything go...I feel so...transparant.

"What can you tell me that I don't know?"

The black swirling waters seemed to be calling her name. The murky depth below was her own personal hell. The devil himself could be seen just below the dark surface; his hand outstretched to welcome her soul. He spoke to her; promised to take away the pain. Her eyes meet his and she saw everything. Her birth, her childhood, her life, her death…

She couldn’t tell say how everything had led to this moment. It seemed only recently that her life had been… It had never been good. It was barely satisfactory. It had been awful. If there was a guardian angel that looked after you during your lifetime, then hers had failed to turn up. There never seemed to be anyone just for her.

The wind had picked up during the few minutes that she had been standing there. Her loose hair began to blow about her face. She brushed aside a few strands that kept touching her lips.

She looked back down at the beckoning figure in the water. It would be so easy. Just one little step.

”Come on, Jamie. Come to Daddy. You can do it.”

All she had to do was take that little leap, and those hands would catch her. She could see they were strong, firm hands. She would be safe in them. No one would be able to hurt her, with those big, strong arms around her.

She lifted her foot…

... the limb seemed to hover over empty space for a moment, when a cry rang out from behind her...

"Wait! Don't do it... it can't really be that bad, can it?"

He nods sagely, "There's a reason I don't much like talking to them." He shrugs, resigned to the situation.

"The group's name is the Techno Jihad. They're a weird cult/terrorist organization. They've been laying low lately, but they always know what's going on. Supposedly there was a major crack-down a year ago, but nothing happened." He glances around, speaking in a little more conspiratorial tone, "One of the more popular rumors is that their leader, the Neuromancer, is actually the president..."

He shrugs slightly, "I've never talked directly to them, but... I know some people..." He smiles. "I wager it'll take me a day or two to pull everything together. Don't want to go too quickly and burn a contact..."

Vilorius' brows furrow for a moment. "Techno Jihad.... can't say I've heard of them. Then again, there are plenty of things I haven't heard of." Mentally, he takes note of the rumor, reasoning that it'd either be something to follow up on or at least a bit of salacious gossip. "Rumors surround public figures like flies around a putrefying carcass. They may be true, of course."

He looks around the park, exhaling a lungful of slightly stale smoke.

Well, stale's better'n none.... although a week is probably pushing it.

"So... what do you have in mind before the meeting and so on?"

Hearing the sound of a voice broke the water's spell. It also disrupted her balance, and as she felt herself falling, her hand instinctively grabbed for the railing behind her.

Her heart was pounding, and her body shook. Her mind was trying to comprehend what had happened. She continued to look into the black depths below.

It took a moment for her to be able to form the words. "Why should you care?" A tear began to fall down her cheek.

"I... I don't know, really... but I do know that I can't just walk past and let someone kill themself in front of me, you know?"

He, for you recognise the voice as male, takes a single cautious step closer... he's still about 5 or ten feet away behind and to the right of the woman.

Her two hands gripped the railings, her back pressed lightly against them. She swallowed hard, as a tear rolled down her other cheek. Her eyes staring transfixed to the swirling darkness.

Why is he here? Why is trying to stop me? He doesn't understand.

She turned her head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse. "Leave me alone." The words were little more than a whisper. She sobbed. "Just go on your way. In an hour you'll forget all about this."

"... no I wont. I wont forget, damnit... how could I?" He sounds almost angry for a moment, then calms down.

"Look. I know that I don't understand what your going through... and I don't know what drove you to this... but I do know that if you jump then nobody ever will. If you die like this then all that you were: your thoughts, fears your hopes and even your tears will be gone from this world leaving nothing more than a two-line obituary to mark their passing."

He pauses, and when he resumes he sounds almost pleading. "Please, just talk to me... tell me why."

(From the glimpse, the guy is mid-twenties and about average height with short mouse-brown hair. He is wearing biking leathers.)

Her lips trembled, as she succomb to another fit of sobbing. She wiped her hand across her face, and snifed. Fighting for a minute to bring the tear under control.

"My life isn't even worth two lines." She lowered her head, replacing her hand back on the railing. She began to laugh, before breaking down into a tortured cry.

The breeze began to blow her dark blonde hair across her face, the strands catching on her wet cheeks.

She turned her head in his direction again. "You want to know why? Because it's not worth the effort anymore."

Eleanor nods, but does not smile.

"Indeed. Dimension is perhaps somewhat of a loose term, but unfortunately one of the few that apply. As long as we don't confuse it with Everett's Many-Worlds theory, or one of Hawking's "baby universes", we'll be fine. It's more a pocket of this world, seperated from it by the existence of the "Warp" - it's a dimension in that it exists seperate to length, width, height, and so on. Although I've also heard arguments that it's more like a quantum field than a dimension - but that's a matter for philosophers. In essence, the Warp touches on all other dimensions. Some things can inhibit it, others can excite it. One of the things that excite it is a substance called "wraithbone" - it's a psychomorphic plastic, highly sensitive to electromagnetic forces that share a wavelength with that of the brain. Hence, so-called "psychics" can manipulate it easily."

She pauses, takes a breath - and then picks up a glass of milk hitherto un-noticed. Looks like she'd been having milk and cookies, from the crumbs of biscuit still on the plate.

"A recent mission - a clone infiltration in sensor-matching fake Dark Eldar armour - allowed us to acquire one of the Dark Eldar wraithbone devices. We've been able to have a little success in replication. Our hinderance isn't creating a variety of wraithbone, more that our people are totally psionically seperated. We aren't affected by psionics, at all - but neither are we able to use them, at all. We've had to ship in witchdoctors from our fiefdom of Murderous Tendencies for tests, and most of them have no ability at all to use it."

She takes another sip of milk, and a little self-consciously wipes her mouth afterwards. "So you see - although we've done an immense amount of research on the subject, we ourselves cannot mount a solo assault. Most frustrating."

He takes another step forward in concern at her obvious anguish.

"What makes it so hard to keep going? What are you fighting against?"

She smiled sadly, and touched her left cheek; running her finger lightly over the skin. She lowered her eyes, suddenly ashamed.

"I'm not fighting anything, anymore. I can't." She sighed. "I have no strength left."

He smiles a little at that last remark.
"I got that impression... but it doesn't narrow it down much. I've had times that I felt that way... right after a deadline got met at the last minute and the next one loomed... but my boss says thats what days off are for. I'd guess you can't dodge your trouble by sleeping in late, huh?"

She stood a moment in silence, just thinking over what had happened today, that had brought her to this very spot. She suddenly felt tired, as if her body had finally been beaten down.

She looked down into the waters, the comforting arms had disappeared, and only the cold stark darkness loomed before her. Her hands tightening on the rails.

"Sleeping in late would have been the least of my worries."

She turned slowly until she had her back to the water. One her left cheek, up until now hidden from view, was a huge bruise.

Lost them, Mon-Keigh Drunken fools.

Still the Eldar kept low, nervous over meeting anyone else, and lost, he was in a part of the city he'd never seen before, never visited, and he was too nervous to ask for help. He was also too nervous to spot the person as he turned the corner, a stupid mistake as he fell over. His first reaction was one of total panic what if they felt the same way as the rest...

Vilorius' brows furrow for a moment. "Techno Jihad.... can't say I've heard of them. Then again, there are plenty of things I haven't heard of." Mentally, he takes note of the rumor, reasoning that it'd either be something to follow up on or at least a bit of salacious gossip. "Rumors surround public figures like flies around a putrefying carcass. They may be true, of course."

He looks around the park, exhaling a lungful of slightly stale smoke.

Well, stale's better'n none.... although a week is probably pushing it.

"So... what do you have in mind before the meeting and so on?"

He thinks about this for a few minutes. "Well, they're one of those groups that certain subcultures know all about, while most everybody else is oblivious. I'm guessing that I can have contact in about two days. I'll have to jump a few hoops, but it shouldn't be too hard." He smiles a little awkwardly, "You got any luchre to grease the tracks with?"

"As for during the down time, I guess I'll be workin' the ole shoe leather, perhaps you should figure out some questions, and needed supplies. I can prolly get us needed passports after talkin' with the TJ."

"I guessed that much..."He trails off, his eyes lodging on the bruise as he tries not to stare. "Look... you should step away from there, get a coffee and a hot meal. It wont go much on the galactic scale, but it'll make you feel a little stronger, I'm sure."

She began to shiver at the mention of something hot. She looked down at the short black dress she was wearing, hardly the thing for this kind of weather. She hadn't been in the right state of mind to think about grabbing her coat, as she rushed out of the house.

She took a moment to look at the samaritan standing before her. She stood wondering why he had decided to get involved. Perhaps she had a guardian angel, after all. She half laughed to herself.

She turned and looked once more at the swirling waters below. He won't go away. And there's always tomorrow.

She climbed ungraciously back over the railings, and stood on the path. She pulled at the hem of her dress, which had ridden up during her endeavour.

"There. You don't need to worry anymore." She turned and began to walk away.

"Look... I know this seems stupid, but I can't help thinking I'll worry about whether or not you just came back after I left. I really think I ought to back up my suggestion of a drink and food by offering to take you out for a meal."

He gets a little flustered and blushes as he realises what he's just said.

"I mean... that is I don't mean it like that, just y'know I was going out to eat anyway and I think that might settle both of our nerves... might even do some good?"

As she looked down at her dress and ran her hand through her windswept hair, she wondered what it would take for him to leave her alone. She really wasn't in the mood for company.

Sometimes it's easier to talk to strangers, than it is talking to people you know.

But she didn't want to burden someone with her problems, especially not someone who just happened to be walking past at the wrong time. Or was it the right time.

She turned to him, and smiled sadly. "Thank you. I think I would like a drink."

He was about to say 'oh well then' when his brain kicked into gear... she said yes. Okay so this was good... but he didn't have a next line planned out.

"er... Right then, I know a place a block away in that direction, unless you have an aversion to the area." He points thataway with his thumb.

Okay well that was unexpected. Looks like I might get a bit more of a story before she tells me to get lost. Hang on, Terrence, she's more than just a story... but if I think like that then I will end up worrying myself spare. She is kinda cute, though...

"My names Terry, by the way, Terry Urqhart."

He thinks about this for a few minutes. "Well, they're one of those groups that certain subcultures know all about, while most everybody else is oblivious. I'm guessing that I can have contact in about two days. I'll have to jump a few hoops, but it shouldn't be too hard." He smiles a little awkwardly, "You got any luchre to grease the tracks with?"

"As for during the down time, I guess I'll be workin' the ole shoe leather, perhaps you should figure out some questions, and needed supplies. I can prolly get us needed passports after talkin' with the TJ."

Sounds like the Ashknights.... they know bloody everything. If only they weren't too proud to share the knowledge.

Rhetorically, Vilorius looks down at his somewhat tattered clothing. "Do I look like I've got lucre to spare?" He deadpans for a moment, then breaks into a grin. "Kidding. I've a modest amount, by most measures. Well, more than modest, to tell the truth. I just don't spend it on clothes and so on. Incidentally, it's a great way not to be seen - I just get a paper cup and stand on a street corner - nobody sees someone who wants their money."

He rubs the stubble on his chin, thinking. "TJ. Sounds familiar."

She walked towards Terry, slowly. She was beginning to feel ashamed of her weakness. She cast her eyes again over her outfit. She knew she looked a mess, especially with the bruise. Her hand went instinctively to her cheek.

"Jamie...um...Jamie Marshall." She turned in the direction he had indicated. "Anywhere is fine, really." She half smiled, half grimaced. She wiped her hand across her eyes, again worried about how she looked.

He begins to walk with her in the direction indicated.

"Thats probably a good thing, to be honest with you, Jamie. Its pretty much the only place in this city that I know... I don't actually live around here."

Jamie looked at their surroundings. They were bleak, and if it hadn't been for the river, there would have been nothing worth mentioning in this area. If there was a place furthest from the best part of town, this was it.

"You don't know how lucky you are." She turned her head sightly to examine his face. He was younger than she first thought he was. "What brings you to this city? It would be the last place I'd pick."

"You sound like I had some choice in it..." he says with a whistfull air. "There's an urban renewal project in the south side of town that's drawing a fair ammount of media attention right now. You know: lots of enthic stuff on display, community cleanup initiatives, semi-celebrities supporting and whatnot."

He sighs with and goes on with a faint edge of bitterness "A sea-monster takes off into space from the Devil's Desert ocean and I'm down hear looking at cookie sales... sucks to be a hack, I guess."

Jamie half listens to the information about the development. That seem to be all they ever spoke about in these parts, and yet a year down the line the place is still the same. Her mind finally returned to his voice at the word 'hack'.

She looked at him curiously. "So you're a reporter? I thought about going into journalism once..." She sighed then fell silent, as she recalled some of her dreams.

She turned her face towards him, as they continued to walk. "You sound like you need a drink more than me."

Eleanor nods, but does not smile.

"Indeed. Dimension is perhaps somewhat of a loose term, but unfortunately one of the few that apply. As long as we don't confuse it with Everett's Many-Worlds theory, or one of Hawking's "baby universes", we'll be fine. It's more a pocket of this world, seperated from it by the existence of the "Warp" - it's a dimension in that it exists seperate to length, width, height, and so on. Although I've also heard arguments that it's more like a quantum field than a dimension - but that's a matter for philosophers. In essence, the Warp touches on all other dimensions. Some things can inhibit it, others can excite it. One of the things that excite it is a substance called "wraithbone" - it's a psychomorphic plastic, highly sensitive to electromagnetic forces that share a wavelength with that of the brain. Hence, so-called "psychics" can manipulate it easily."

She pauses, takes a breath - and then picks up a glass of milk hitherto un-noticed. Looks like she'd been having milk and cookies, from the crumbs of biscuit still on the plate.

"A recent mission - a clone infiltration in sensor-matching fake Dark Eldar armour - allowed us to acquire one of the Dark Eldar wraithbone devices. We've been able to have a little success in replication. Our hinderance isn't creating a variety of wraithbone, more that our people are totally psionically seperated. We aren't affected by psionics, at all - but neither are we able to use them, at all. We've had to ship in witchdoctors from our fiefdom of Murderous Tendencies for tests, and most of them have no ability at all to use it."

She takes another sip of milk, and a little self-consciously wipes her mouth afterwards. "So you see - although we've done an immense amount of research on the subject, we ourselves cannot mount a solo assault. Most frustrating."

"Frustrating indeed" Liz replies after a moments silence, "and not a bit frightning.

"Wazzu certainly could not help on the psychic bit, and no one I know in the Society has any links to it, but perhaps we can find someone elsehwere.

"I don't think either of our nations wants the Rae...Raemians? Raems? Raemi? I don't think we want them to know we can make an assault, even a limited on. It may be more valuable for them not to know who, and safer for us.

"Which is the reason I am here." Liz stops a minute to consider her options.

Should I ask this child...no, this leader to help find a volunteer? Or should I speak only to Rhys? I certainly don't want to get involved in an internal power struggle, but I don't want to limit my options either.

How to word it? Hmmmmmm....

"Yes, I would say that is why I am here, to find help for the Society to strike back. But that anyone is here is purely diplomatic. With such a threat, I think that diplomatic mission might turn military...if Whispering Voices is looking for a friend in this."

There she thought, Perhaps I can keep myself out of any struggle, and get double the resources. Or perhaps I am a diplomatic retard who'll never make a good CEBM.

"Journalism looks good, I guess, with all the trips to interesting places.... and sometimes it is. But there are a finite numebr of interesting places and too many reporters after them. The people who've made a name for themselves get to go to the interesting places and everyone else gets to stay at home at their desk for day on end."

He kicks a stone as they walk along and watches it skid off the pavement into the gutter. "And then there are the boring places... juniors like me get to go to the boring places, where there really isn't much chance of getting a story to make it big. Seems like they're keep us away from any news that might give us a chance at their ticket to interesting places... but listen to me going on."

He looks kind of sheepish. Sure Terry, load the lady with your own problems as well... its not like she's gonna top herself over them! "Ah, here am I giving you all my worries. I think I could use a drink now that you mention it."

Sounds like the Ashknights.... they know bloody everything. If only they weren't too proud to share the knowledge.

Rhetorically, Vilorius looks down at his somewhat tattered clothing. "Do I look like I've got lucre to spare?" He deadpans for a moment, then breaks into a grin. "Kidding. I've a modest amount, by most measures. Well, more than modest, to tell the truth. I just don't spend it on clothes and so on. Incidentally, it's a great way not to be seen - I just get a paper cup and stand on a street corner - nobody sees someone who wants their money."

He rubs the stubble on his chin, thinking. "TJ. Sounds familiar."

He smiles, "I've got a few spare chits bouncing around in my account too. Not fully necessary, but like I said, it never hurts to speed things along a bit." He smiles at Vilorius's comment about not being seen, "I can see the advantage of that. Myself, I'm just a nameless cabbie," he grins.

Pausing a moment to light a third cigarette (So much for quitting...). "I'll tell ya what, we can meet over here again tomarrow night, I'll start seeing what I can manage, you work on some specifics. Hopefully by then I'll have a contact point."

Jamie watched Terry's face as he spoke. She could see his disappointment written there clearly. She had assumed that being in journalism would have been an interesting career, but now she realised that there was always a low point to everything. It wasn't all glitz and glamour.

Nothing ever turns out as you hope it would.

"Really, you don't need to stop." A genuine smile spread across her face, before disappearing suddenly. She looked at the ground embarrassed, as she realised that she had been revelling in someone else's trouble. It made her feel...what? Just like everyone else?

He has his problems too, but he's not ready to give up.

She sighed deeply, as her stupidity began to sink in.

He smiles, "I've got a few spare chits bouncing around in my account too. Not fully necessary, but like I said, it never hurts to speed things along a bit." He smiles at Vilorius's comment about not being seen, "I can see the advantage of that. Myself, I'm just a nameless cabbie," he grins.

Pausing a moment to light a third cigarette (So much for quitting...). "I'll tell ya what, we can meet over here again tomarrow night, I'll start seeing what I can manage, you work on some specifics. Hopefully by then I'll have a contact point."

Vilorius smiles in turn.

Ah, the nameless and faceless - the truly dangerous. Heh.

"That sounds good to me. Incidentally, if we end up doing something, it may be a good idea to invest in a supply of nicotine patches. I'll be keeping my ears and eyes open too, poke around the 'net, that sort of thing."

"Well, I'd kinda dried on that particular subject anyway... but I could bitch about my editor if you wanted?"

He grins, shaking off his own bad mood.

"It isn't all that bad... I do get to go some places and its fun to find things out but... I guess you can make any job sound boring and painfull if you try hard enough."

Jamie stared at the scene in front of her eyes, but her mind was not seeing the buildings but a land far away. A paradise of sorts. "I always wanted to see the world." Her eyes now back on her surroundings. "Get away from here, and do something exciting."

She rested her eyes on his face. "I guess it is easy to make a job sound awful, but it's impossible to make a bad job sound good." She smiled again. "I used to work in a club..." She felt herself slowly sliding back into her sadness. Her mind replaying the last few hours.

Terry spots the sudden turn to sadness and says quietly
"You... don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Jamie shook her head. "It's nothing. I just had a really bad day today." She sighed. "In fact, I don't work at the club anymore." She began to chew on her thumb nail. "They let me go. Not that the job was great, but the money was...good."

Da Bump.

Speculations flew through Terry's mind as to what exactly that might mean, but he shoved them roughly asside to concentrate on the conversation.

"Good money / crappy job is concept that trancends nation and language. I've never really heard of it being anything but bad news... sounds like you got it worse than most, though."

"It wasn't all bad, sometimes it was quite fun." Jamie's face clouded over. She tried to shake away the memory of this evening. "It's just sometimes they think they can have more than is on offer."

She lowered her eyes to the pavement. Staring mindlessly at the cracks between the slabs, subconciously trying not to step on them, like in the game she played as a child.

His voice is soft, trying to be gentle when he asks the question...
"Thats where the bruise came from, isn't it?"

Jamie's hand went instinctively to her cheek. She could feel the tears begin to well up in her eyes. She swallowed hard, fighting to stop herself losing control. After several long, deep breaths she could feel her body beginning to relax.

"I...um..." She looked into his face. She knew there was no point in lying. "Yes." The word was little more than a whisper.

Eleanor pauses for a moment, and leans back in her chair - her posture oddly adult and incongrous with her young appearance, hands behind head.

"Whispering Voices is, of course, dedicated to the protection of humanity. Have you seen Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Or one of the books therein. There was a famous phrase: "I believe in peace, free will, and the complete obliteration of all other life forms." We're not that bad, but if that's what it takes to ensure human survival, then we'll do it. We can help fund things - in fact, we already have significant funding invested - but Rhys," here her voice sounds a little cold, "Rhys is the one you'd want to speak to, over covert operations. He's not ever failed to accomplish a goal, and he trains his Royal Guard personally for such matters of military diplomacy. The High Council, of course, will provide aid as well on a larger, less subtle scale. Although ... having said that ... it might behove us to attempt to recruit some variety of telepath."

Then she listens to a voice in her head - or it would appear, from her expression. She presses a switch, and gestures to the mirror reflecting the scenery from outside - now displaying a visual.

"This is just in from one of our border posts. The men inside have bio-sealed themselves in til a haz team gets there, but they sent this transmission (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=70104) on."

OOC:
Would appreciate it if people didn't feel the sudden urge to all become telepathic, too :p

The streetlamps flung pools of illumination over the darkened city... the air was cool and calm in night and silence lay heavy on the two. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked at the moon, breaking the spell...

He exhalled at last in a quiet "Damn!" that echoed with sympathy.

"I'm sorry I upset you... have you gone to the police about it?"

Having turned her chair towards the window, Liz watched the transmission in horror. Sandman is right, something needs to be done. Sandman.... God, if you exist, let him never see this.

But as the transmission went on, a thought occured to her. A very signifigant thought.

Without turning around, she asked, slowly, quietly, solomnly, "Thank you for showing me this. And I appologize, but I must ask. Why is it that the spirits of Whispering Voices believe humanity must survive?"

OOC:
Ack. My mistake. Only the Raemese transmission was shown, not the council meeting.

The streetlamps flung pools of illumination over the darkened city... the air was cool and calm in night and silence lay heavy on the two. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked at the moon, breaking the spell...

He exhalled at last in a quiet "Damn!" that echoed with sympathy.

"I'm sorry I upset you... have you gone to the police about it?"

"Oh, no, you haven't." She smiled, bleakly. "I'm not exactly very good company, and I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your time already."

Jamie hated dragging Terry into her problems. The poor man was only on this way to get some food, and had managed to become burdened with a wreck. She wanted him to go, and yet she needed his company.

I don't want to be alone.

She watched his profile as they walked. Why did he seem to care? If their positions had been reversed, would she have stopped, or would she have carried on unaware of another's anquish?

"I just want to forget it happened." She sighed, the sound seemed loud in the quiet street. "And it's not like they'd do anything." They approached a door. "Is this the place?"

Vilorius smiles in turn.

Ah, the nameless and faceless - the truly dangerous. Heh.

"That sounds good to me. Incidentally, if we end up doing something, it may be a good idea to invest in a supply of nicotine patches. I'll be keeping my ears and eyes open too, poke around the 'net, that sort of thing."

Alan laughs a little, "Yeah, seems this situation has a real desire to kill our lungs." He stands up, and stretches a bit. "Well... I'll catch you tomarrow." He looks around, and heads off.

After wandering aimlessly for close to an hour, Alan finds himself in front of one of the few remaining public phones in the city. He unscrews part of the receiver, and slides a small chip in, glancing around as his hands work. He screws the cap back on, and starts dialing.

A few hours later, he takes the chip back out, and heads off again, having made (and received) several phone calls. His next stop was a public banking terminal. He glanced around, and slipped another chip into it before wiring money to various contacts. He glanced at his watch, getting late... He heads back to his apartment to get a few hours of sleep before starting again.

[ooc- Damn personal life... getting in the way of NS...]

"Yeah... Does it look okay for you?"

He looks over at the small italian place... a family-owned business with a few scattered customers and a healthy respect for hygene.

"You're not imposing on me... I mean its not as if I have anyhting better to do in a strange town at night..." Terry, while stupid enough to say that, was smart enough to realise what that implied... "I, that is... I don't mean to imply I'm just doing this because I don't have anything better to do. Even though I don't, but thats not saying much... I"...

He looks horribly embarassed, takes a deep breath, stops digging and attempts to drag himself out of the hole... "What I mean is that there is time enough in life for the things you plan on... but if you don't deal with emergencies when they happen then you never can. You looked like you needed someone to talk to back there... I think you still do. And if not me, then who?"

[ooc: He wouldn't have to jack in or anything, right? Just checking.]

Hours after the meeting

"...Dead on the street
I saw the man fall
His heart stopped to beat
for no reason at all

Dead on the street
his life was too short
Now a note on a sheet
dangles on his toe...."

The thundering refrain of the discordant rythms suffuses the apartment, the sheer volume verging on cacophony. Together with a propensity to answer the door well armed, it's an excellent way of discouraging visitors and neighbours. He hums, almost cheerfully.

Vilorius sits before the computer terminal, its cold light playing across his lean features. His fingers dancing lithely over the keyboard, he re-establishes contact with his limited pool of informants and sources, alternately threatening and cajoling. As much information as can be found on the Dark Eldar and their Web is requested, packets of information sent back at forth at a blistering pace.

After an hour of furious typing he leans back in the rickety chair, stretching and exhaling coils of pale grey-blue smoke, humming to the thumping beat of the music.

Ah.... we'll see what those people can turn up. Not much, in all probability, but that means they get diddly squat, credit-wise. Hey, it saves me time and effort.

His eyes fall on the cellphone on the desk - sleek by some standards, crudely anachronistic by others.

Should I?

Oh, hell. Why not?

He picks up the phone, tapping out a sequence of numbers.

Riiiiiing.

Riiiiiing

Riiiiiing

Riiiii-

"Hello, my son. Where are you this time?"

"Chiba City, mother. I would have thought that the Ashknight's resources would have found that out for you."

"Spare me. You know how they operate, so you know how to avoid them. So, what's the occasion? You've never been one for a little family chit chat."

"Forgive me if I'm not particularly fond of such an elitist clan. Heard about the Eldar incident?"

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Of course, Vilorius. Who hasn't? You'd have to be deaf and blind not too. Why.... thinking of doing something, are you?"

He smiles, wryly.

"Guilty as charged."

"Well, I'm glad you let me know. I can't help you, though - you know the rules."

"As do I - acutely so. But aren't rules there to be broken?"

She sighs.

"Not these rules. All I can tell you is.... believe. Believe in who you really are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll know... in time. Good luck - I hope you survive."

-click-

OOC:
Ack. My mistake. Only the Raemese transmission was shown, not the council meeting.

OOC: I understood that, and I wasn't talking about the council meeting. It is something that occured to her, that should have occured to her the moment she heard that the spirits controlled WV.

Jamie laughed lightly. "I know what you mean...what you're trying to say."

She took a moment to look around the establishment they had entered. It was a typical Italian restaurant, with a slightly rustic feel. The smell of tomatoes filled the air, and a hint of garlic complimented it. The friendly chatter of the customers could be heard, drifting up from the few tables that were occupied.

As her gaze fell on the other people in the room, Jamie became conscious of her state of dress. Her dress was far too short, and her hair was a mess of brown waves. Not to mention what her face must look like. She quickly walked over and took a seat, picking a table away from prying eyes.

She waited for Terry to sit, before resuming their conversation. "I appreciate you being here, even if it is because you have nothing better to do." She began to play nervously with her fingers. "Thank you, for wanting to listen. Thank you for...being there when you were."

She sat quietly, unsure of what to say. She plumped for the first thing that came into her head. "Do you come here often?"

[Actually, neural jacks are exceedingly rare in the Hack. Biotech isn't that advanced.]

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

Alan stared at his ceiling as the Bowie song blared from his computer. The computer interrupted the music for a brief moment as it let out a 'PING!' to let him know that a message had arrived.

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died alone, a long long time ago.

He cut off the music as he sat down to read the message. He smirked to himself, realising the extent of the encryption. He ran it through his pirated 2048 bit encryption, cracked the biometric lock, and ran it through another 2048 bit encryption. It was quite a bit of work for such a short message:

Oldest female cousin's maiden name. Vilorius's blood type. 2AM, base of Corporate Spire; north face.

He blinked at the message. He wasn't aware that actual contact had been made with the Techno Jihad. He started a futile attempt to trace back to the sender, and wasn't too surprized that as far as his computer could tell, he had sent it to himself.

After a quick phone call to his aunt, he had the maiden name, and figured that Vilorius would know his blood-type. He was midly concerned by the fact that he hadn't ever mentioned Vilorius, but decided not to think to hard about such things. He was dealing with people that he'd just assume not think too hard about.

After a quick glance of his watch, he realised that he had enough time for a nap, and crawled back into bed.

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

---

Around 11PM he was back in the park, wandering around aimlessly, wondering what he was getting into.

Down in the park
Where the machmen met
The machines play kill-by-numbers
Down in the park with a friend called five.

[ooc: Vilorius should be meeting him, right?]

[At some point, yeah. They had agreed to meet in the park again. If you've got more you want to do beforehand, feel free.]

The Park

If Alan was keeping an eye out, he would have seen a figure approaching, merely a silhouette in the darkness. It walks casually to a waste bin, hunching over for a moment. After a few seconds, it seems to be rather happier, for a reason evident shortly.

-flick-

An orange glow appears, the miserly flame of a cigarette lighter. It disappears, replaced by an glowing dot, moving closer with the figure that bore it. Exhaling smoke, it comes into proper view.

He grins, face illuminated from below with the cigarette.

"Fancy meeting you here and now. It's early, isn't it? Nice weather for it, anyway. Meeting a contact?"

Alan chuckles softly, taking a drag on his own cigarette. "Either patches, or we need to get you a lighter."

His face darkens slightly, "Well, we do indeed have a contact place and time. It's a few hours off still. I hope you've got a handle on some questions. We meet them at 2, about a mile from here."

He pauses to blow a smoke ring. "I assume you know your blood type..."

He frowns slightly. "My blood type? Why would you need to.... oh, yes. The contact requirements. I must say, your contacts are a hell of alot more resourceful than mine."

Another drag, another puff, another deposit of tar and infusion of nictotine.

"Well, my blood type's O+. In any case - we need to know how to get into the Web, how the Web affects us, stuff like that. Got them down on a notepad. I don't suppose they'd take umbrage if I showed up armed?"

He nods solemnly, "Yeah, they have odd requests. Your blood type, and the maiden name of one of my cousins. Doesn't make a lick of sense to me, especially since I wager they could get it themselves." He sighs, "Half the time, I think the crazy questions are just to make them seem more mysterious."

He flicks the remains of his cigarette away, slowly exhaling. "I don't think they'll mind if we're armed. I hope not," he pulls his jacket back a bit to reveal a rather large calibered pistol on his side. Hand cannon is a bit more accurate a description. He catches Vilorius's look, "I don't like being stiffed."

He shrugs. "Could be. What other purpose could information like this possibly serve? My blood type's not exactly valuable information, unless somebody needs a blood transfusion or organ transplant."

Vilorius smiles approvingly at the weapon. "Nice one you've got. Well, I don't like being stiffed either. He pulls back his coat, revealing a modest submachinegun, as well as two lovingly modified pistols strapped to his thighs.

"I guess you could say I really don't like getting stiffed. Want to grab a bite before we go?"

Alan looks rather surprized at the weapons. "Tsathoggua on a stick! Jeeze, keeping biker gangs at bay?" He chuckles. "However, food would be good. There's a nice little diner not too far from here. Your average greasy spoon, but they make a mean cup of coffee."

He leads Vilorius out of the park towards the innards of the city. A few blocks from the park, he hops in an elevator which takes them down several storys to an open area underground. They pass by several seedy looking characters on their way. Many of them seem to recognize Alan, despite seemingly paying no attention.* The man certainly has contacts.

The diner isn't much to look at. The cheap neon sign flickers, trying desperately to say 'Eric's Diner', but the 'n' seems to have given up completely. Alan seems pretty friendly with the staff, and nabs a booth for them towards the back.

[* I'm assuming that Vilorius is rather adept at picking up such things, otherwise it's just a bunch of vagrants.]

He smiles. "Never know when they might come in handy.... of course, being prepared for the outbreak of world war is a little much for the joe on the street." He laughs briefly at the mention of coffee. "I think I might know that diner. Might have had breakfast there once. Hmmmm. Erin's Diner, something like that?"

As they pass through the innards of the city, he notes with a measure of considerable respect the silent recognition that Alan recieves. He doesn't notice all of them, but enough to see the pattern of things.

Clearly a man of some significance in certain circles....

Minutes later he eyes the diner, somewhat pleased that he'd almost remembered its name. He doesn't, however, remember what's good to eat. As they sit in the booth, he asks, "So, what's good here?"

Eleanor smiles. "Because they are our charges, of course. We protect them, they do as we bid. A symbiotic relationship, if you wish to put it in more scientific terms. We aid them, and they provide us with that which we require."

"Now - I have received word that Crown Prince Rhys is willing to receive us, so we will need to go to his quarters and discuss this further. If you don't mind, of course."

So saying, she hops off the chair - and her sheer lack of size, stretching barely to Liz's waist, is startling.

Perhaps not as startling as when she imperiously extends her hand, obviously for Liz to hold as they walk to wherever it is that they're headed.

She waited for Terry to sit, before resuming their conversation. "I appreciate you being here, even if it is because you have nothing better to do." She began to play nervously with her fingers. "Thank you, for wanting to listen. Thank you for...being there when you were."

She sat quietly, unsure of what to say. She plumped for the first thing that came into her head. "Do you come here often?"

It is Terry's turn to grin at the phrase... he picks up the wine list and offers it to her before replying.

"Oh a few times over the last week or two..." he leans over and confides that "The owner's 2nd cousin lives in Ruthvere... and I eat in his restaurant, too."

Jamie smiled and accepted the wine list. "I hope they give you discount, for your good custom." She ran her eye down the choices, before looking at Terry. "I'm not very good at wines, perhaps you should choose." She passed the menu back.

As he studied it, she took the time to study him. He was younger than she had first thought. His face was very pleasing, and there was a kindness there, or perhaps he’d just seen something on the wine list that had caught his fancy. She smiled to herself.

I would never have guessed a he was a reporter.

She tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “So, what made you decide to become a journalist?”

Liz was still looking towards the window as the possessed little girl told her why...so she had some few seconds to cover the worry that spread across her face. When she did turn, just in time to see the girl bounce off the chair, the false smile hiding the worry turned to shock. That didn't last long either.

For some reason, Liz couldn't resist a truthfull, meaningfull smile as the tiny hand reached up towards her own. Whatever this spirit and its fellows were, this little girl was still real. She had to be...something inside Liz told her so.

She took the hand with her new smile, her worries faded, and responded, "lead the way."

"Nuttin'." The tart voice of the smiling waitress comes from over Vilorius's shoulder. She glances at Alan, "How ya doin' sugar?"

He smiles at her, "Oh, just dandy. Thought we'd grab a bite to eat. What's the soup?"

"Chicken shit."

Alan chuckles, "You always say that. Ah... just keep it simple. A couple burgers and some coffee should be fine."

She nods and turns to Vilorius, "He's a rude bastard. I'm Amanda. Who are you, handsome?"

Vilorius smiles politely. "Really? I wasn't aware that he was. I'm Vilorius. Vilorius Ishtar, and it's nice to meet you."

In absence of any discernable cue, he goes on. "Some burgers and strong coffee would be nice, too."

Amanda nods, and turns to the cook, yelling, "Ey! Ernie!"

"Wut?!"

"Pair'a tar, pair'a chewed fine wit breath, red lead, and all the rest! Couple'a sides o'frog sticks while yer back there!"

Alan snickers quietly, as Amanda wanders off to berate someone who seems to have comitted a sin by trying to pay. "I forgot to mention the atmosphere. Lots of atmosphere here." He glances over at Amanda, and calls out to her, "Get us some Adam's Ale, too."

Vilorius blinks.

And blinks again, his posture shifting slightly. He leans forward, speaking quietly.

"You don't say. Probably enough atmosphere here to export..... what in Light's name was she saying?"

Eleanor led Liz deep into the palace, it seemed. Corporal Helman was out of sight by the time they left the High Councillor's office, although there was still the sensation of being watched - with intent, this time, as if something intelligent was watching.

Along oak-panelled corridors, past old paintings and depictions that may have marked historic things in Whispering Voices' history.

And then to thick metal door that opens onto a staircase, that lead upwards. No lifts, or elevator shafts - a stone spiral staircase, curling up and around to the right, designed to give the presumed-right handed attacker the disadvantage.

Where the rest of the building was - well, not uncomfortably cool - the staircase here is stone, with open sills and arrow slits. The design is the same as the rest of the building - oddly curved, slightly alien, and the actual framework immeasurably old - so the presence of something that can be dated doesn't quite make sense.

Nevertheless, up the steps they go. If she were counting, Liz would note nigh on five hundred steps - with a beautiful view over the mountain valley from the windows. It's hard to exactly gauge the position of the tower - but from the helicopter it looked like the palace had minarets, but none quite so high.

Eventually, the top of the staircase - a door without a ledge, nowhere really to stand to batter on it - was achieved. Eleanor stood up on the top step - head at about Liz's chest height, two steps down - and her eyes glowed bright enough red to suffuse the towertop with light. The door swung open, no noise, and she walked in through, leading Liz by the hand. The door snapped shut behind them, on powerful springs it seemed.

The antechamber was bare, save for an ancient and scarred looking wooden table. It contrasted bizarrely with the room it opened in to - a study, or something. The green of computers, one entire wall a projection screen, waited inside. Along with Rhys, lounging in a chair with a lazy smile on his face. He rose to give a small decorative bow to Liz, his plain white shirt and black slacks making him seem small in comparison to the ostentatious dragon made out of platinum and jewels that reared up on the wall behind him.

"Welcome, Liz. Nice to meet you again." His voice was light, but had the vague touch of amusement.

Terry studies the menu in an attempt to look like he knows wine. It might be convincing, but he's not sure.

"Well, I guess wanted to try and help people, you know? Bring the attention of the masses to the issues that really matter and the people who need to be noticed." He blushes a little. "And I wanted to travel lots of places, but could never afford to. So I went for a journalist to visit lots of foreign countries... slightly less than altruistic in the end, but there were unselfish reasons as well."

He shrugs... "I'm also naturally curious..."

At which point the waiter turns up... "Ah Terry... with a Lady? What can you get for her?"
"Hi, Tony, we'll have a bottle of the good red that you hide from the tourists."
"Ahhh... since when could you afford the good red, my friend?"
At which Terry shrugs "Expenses are wonderfull things, when they are worth using to full capacity."

Tony grins and turns to Jamie, as if to say something. He sees the bruise for the first time and looks confused...

Jamie laughed lightly as Terry and Tony have their conversation. Listening to their cheery banter, she seemed to forget her troubles and enjoyed the friendliness between the two men.

As Tony turned to her, she greeted him with a smiled. It slowly dispeared from her lips, as his eyes fell upon her cheek. Instantly a feeling of shame came over her, and she subconsciously raised her hand to the bruise. She looked at Terry, the tears beginning to form in her eyes. Then she lowered her gaze to the tablecloth.

"Sir?" starts the waiter "Um Tony, she's had a really bad day... can we turn down the judgement a little?"

The waiter looks sort of lost for quite what to do... a dozen or so questions are readable across his face, but are chased away by the arrival of the owner, Gino, at his shoulder.

"Ah! Terry, with a Lady?" a remark which causes him to blush again "What could be wrong at such a time?"
"Gino, Jamie has had a bad day so far... can we get a bottle of the good red, two menu's and a cheerfull evening?"

Gino takes in the situation quickly and begins to make order happen... "Eh, Lady... don't be crying when Gino can help. Tony! Get the red. Go on, shoo. There now, Lady, a friend of Terry's is a friend of Gino's." He hands her a menu "Pick what you like and Gino will see that it is made extra special. Don't worry about hte numbers, I know Terry is good for anything he gets from Gino."

Jamie raised her eyes to Terry's, a look of gratitude resting in her gaze. A small smile appeared as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She took several more deep breaths before looking at Gino.

"Thank you." She began looking down the menu. She had never eaten Italian before, so most of the dishes were unknown to her. She ran her eyes down the page again, then looked at Terry. "Will you excuse me, I think I need to freshen up. Would you mind ordering for me?"

She rose from her seat and made her way quickly to the washroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, horrified at the reflection that stared back at her. Her dark flowing hair was a tangled mess, running down her back. Her makeup had almost vanished from her face.

She ran her hand under the tap, splashing cold water against her skin, Immediately the vigorating coolness made her feel more herself. She patted her face dry. After reapplying some fresh face paint, she combed her hair and tied it up. The bruise still showed, but not quite so obvious.

She checked her reflection one more time and tried to pull her dress down to a more acceptable level, but it refused to obey. Ten minutes later she returned to the table.

Liz wasn't counting the stairs, not as such. But as the feeling of being watched increased, she distinctly heard every footstep up. Her own, and the much lighter taps of the little High Councillor echoed through her head. For an inexplicable reason, she felt security in that tiny hand. If it is the spirits who are watching, then why is it in this one I feel so safe? she wondered, Or is it in this young girl that I find strength?

Relief passed overher upon reaching the door, almost tangible as the door swung open. It more then her guide swept her up the last step into the doorway, and inside.

-------

The antechamber was bare, save for an ancient and scarred looking wooden table. It contrasted bizarrely with the room it opened in to - a study, or something. The green of computers, one entire wall a projection screen, waited inside. Along with Rhys, lounging in a chair with a lazy smile on his face. He rose to give a small decorative bow to Liz, his plain white shirt and black slacks making him seem small in comparison to the ostentatious dragon made out of platinum and jewels that reared up on the wall behind him.

"Welcome, Liz. Nice to meet you again." His voice was light, but had the vague touch of amusement.

-------

"Rhys, I believe I know you too well to be so formal, even having met just the once." Liz felt Elenor's hand slip away as she released her light grip, strode forward, and offered it to the man before her. "I see now how you stay in shape." she continued, turning her head slightly over her right shoulder to indicate the stairs.

Upon conclusion of the shake [[OOC: Or the lack of one]], Liz stepped back and to her left, turning towards her right so as not to block the High Councilor out of the discussion. "Have you already been informed as to the reason for my...presance?"

Rhys shook Liz's hand warmly, and gestured to some comfortable looking leather armchairs before retaking his seat.

"Yes, High Councillor Eleanor was kind enough to inform me of your goal at least, if nothing else." He smiled at the little girl, who mirrored his expression exactly.

"Fortunately, in the time it took for you to climb the stairs, many of my resources have been freed up - let alone many of the government's - by the cessation of the SATO attack on Knootoss. Therefre I'm sure that something can be arranged. What exactly is it you have in mind? Oh - and drink?"

"Water," <pause> "would be nice, thank you." Liz pauses again to give the child leader a chance to request.

"What I have in mind, yes. Well...."

Liz takes a seat...a good change after the long stairs.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what can be done, but I have some idea as to how it can be done. As near as Sandman and I can figure, no one really has the ability to stop this ongoing massacre. No one has the resources to stop this government, and I've learned most everyone is vulnerable, including Wazzu.

"But a small team of concerned people around the world won't implicate anyone's government...and we just might be able to send them.

"Again, exactly what they would do I don't know, but something, anything must be done."

Rhys pulled two glasses out from a drawer on the right of his desk, and turned to a sleek metal half-cylinder attached to a wall. He puts one glass under a nozzle, and presses it. Crystal clear liquid flowed out, with the consistency of water. This he placed on a coaster in front of Liz. The second he filled with milk - seemingly High Councillor Eleanor's drink of choice was known to him. He then turned back round to face the two, and smiled.

"It's true - you can achieve with a few where a lot would die. The Royal Institute of Genetic Research recently teamed up with the Ministry of Defence, and got a psychoactive webway generator. Aside from our lack of psychics, we're doing quite well. And I for one would be behind the sending of such a team. In fact, I belive I have just the candidate ... "

Here, Eleanor speaks up, holding her glass of milk in her hand. "I'm sure you do, Rhys, but so do we." The challenge in her voice is unmistakable.

Rhys smiles, and makes a dismissive gesture. "I'm sure you do, High Councillor, but if it's just one operative we'll need to ensure the best - and you know only the Royal Institute can provide that. Why send a normal citizen or even a soldier, when you can have someone of Royal Guard equivalent?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Eleanor's eyes, if anything, glowed more brightly red - a startling contrast with Rhys' grey eyes. In fact, Rhys was the only person in the country so far that Liz has seen without the red eyes. Eleanor seemed distracted briefly, almost as if talking to someone. Then she smiled.

"Well, then, let us co-operate, Rhys. You provide the technology, we choose the candidate." He shrugged, looked back. "The Voices are decided. We need to send a vessel - although one to your specification."

Rhys didn't give away much, but the slightest tension in the corners of his eyes may have indicated surprise. "A vessel? You wish to send a mere child? Is it worth the risk?"

Eleanor nodded. "Only a vessel will be able to communicate with Voice-of-Rhytten-Valley over the distances they will travel. Not to mention the dimensions. And only a vessel given the full benefit of all of your facility's genetic expertise would have a chance of surviving - after all, any laxness there could result in the death of a child." There was something distinctly threatening in Eleanor's voice.

But it didn't seem to impress Rhys. He flicked his hands as if to say, fine. "Of course - the lucky vessel will get everything the Institute can give - although we'll be limited by the size of the chosen one. All of the advantages we can give, you say?" The child-Councillor nodded. "Well, then. You'll be pleased to know that we just completed research on a miniature and modified Wisp - it's about a centimetre long, with an advanced protein computer core. Personal defence issue prototype. It's not really practical en masse, but for certain situations - like this one - I think we can use it. It's very ... effective, Eleanor."

The girl shifted uneasily. It seemed both sides scored points in that little confrontation. She turned to Liz. "Well - it appears that we have come to an agreement, Ms Wang."

Rhys pulled two glasses out from a drawer on the right of his desk, and turned to a sleek metal half-cylinder attached to a wall. He puts one glass under a nozzle, and presses it. Crystal clear liquid flowed out, with the consistency of water. This he placed on a coaster in front of Liz. The second he filled with milk - seemingly High Councillor Eleanor's drink of choice was known to him. He then turned back round to face the two, and smiled.

Liz Wang nodded a silent 'thank you.'

"It's true - you can achieve with a few where a lot would die. The Royal Institute of Genetic Research recently teamed up with the Ministry of Defence, and got a psychoactive webway generator. Aside from our lack of psychics, we're doing quite well. And I for one would be behind the sending of such a team. In fact, I belive I have just the candidate ... "

Her interest peaked...

Here, Eleanor speaks up, holding her glass of milk in her hand. "I'm sure you do, Rhys, but so do we." The challenge in her voice is unmistakable.

...got distracted...

Rhys smiles, and makes a dismissive gesture. "I'm sure you do, High Councillor, but if it's just one operative we'll need to ensure the best - and you know only the Royal Institute can provide that. Why send a normal citizen or even a soldier, when you can have someone of Royal Guard equivalent?"

...then confused...

There was an uncomfortable silence. Eleanor's eyes, if anything, glowed more brightly red - a startling contrast with Rhys' grey eyes. In fact, Rhys was the only person in the country so far that Liz has seen without the red eyes. Eleanor seemed distracted briefly, almost as if talking to someone. Then she smiled.

...began to wonder...

"Well, then, let us co-operate, Rhys. You provide the technology, we choose the candidate." He shrugged, looked back. "The Voices are decided. We need to send a vessel - although one to your specification."

...snaped back...

Rhys didn't give away much, but the slightest tension in the corners of his eyes may have indicated surprise. "A vessel? You wish to send a mere child? Is it worth the risk?"

...lost again...

Eleanor nodded. "Only a vessel will be able to communicate with Voice-of-Rhytten-Valley over the distances they will travel. Not to mention the dimensions. And only a vessel given the full benefit of all of your facility's genetic expertise would have a chance of surviving - after all, any laxness there could result in the death of a child." There was something distinctly threatening in Eleanor's voice.

...began to wonder what the conversation was about...

But it didn't seem to impress Rhys. He flicked his hands as if to say, fine. "Of course - the lucky vessel will get everything the Institute can give - although we'll be limited by the size of the chosen one. All of the advantages we can give, you say?" The child-Councillor nodded. "Well, then. You'll be pleased to know that we just completed research on a miniature and modified Wisp - it's about a centimetre long, with an advanced protein computer core. Personal defence issue prototype. It's not really practical en masse, but for certain situations - like this one - I think we can use it. It's very ... effective, Eleanor."

...and finally glazed over the eyes.

The girl shifted uneasily. It seemed both sides scored points in that little confrontation. She turned to Liz. "Well - it appears that we have come to an agreement, Ms Wang."

"Huh? What? What agreement? I didn't understand a thing you just said. Vessel? Whisp? Genetic modification? A child?"

Education in Wazzu was some of the best in the world. Students were taught to memorize, organize, and think clearly. Apparant intelligence was on averaged raised 20 points by a unique system designed to make for a more efficient workforce...and Liz being one of the richest people in the country got some of the best education there was to have. But all of the past minute washed over her like a tidal wave. She was clueless.

Rhys steepled his fingers. "Ah - sorry, Liz. A vessel is a child suitable for contact with the Voices - the younger they are, the more easily they can talk to them. A Wisp is a variety of new air defence mechanism we have - here. I'll get some footage up from the Knootoss war."

The massive projector screen displays footage of Wisps deflecting lasers from Der Angst into Ma-Tek aircraft, destroying them; magnetic pellets of plasma into a Valinon fleet, sinking one ship and damaging others; redirecting Ma-Tek magnetic kinetics onto Ma-Tek's own ships. It's pretty impressive.

"I've essentially had one made that's tiny - it's a toroidal shield. And the Institute has developed a mechanism by which one person can have it activated near them without ripping the iron literally out of their body. We replace the blood oxidation process with copper, by expanding the lungs down a lot further and removing unnecessary organs. The person will need to live off specially prepared food backs, but it does mean the Mini-Wisp can protect them from pretty much anything magnetic, ferrous, electric, or energy based. Always useful. Oh, and it can also puncture through people at massive velocities. Doubly good for a helpless child."

Liz sat stunned for a few moments taking it all in.

The wisps were amazing, and the tiny one so much more, but neither were really what stopped her. No, not by far.

"Your goin..!" she started to exclaim, then stopped herself short and turned to look at little Eleanor.

"Your pardon Councilor, before I say what I do. I say it of concern." Liz looked back to Rhys, then Eleanor, then back...and proceeded to speak to both of them in a calmer voice.

"I understand that yo...that the spirits of Whispering Voices are strong. I understand, at least in part, the amazing power of such a tiny protection device. But everything I've heard about this web, everything you've told me about this alternate dimension, or whatever it is...well, it sounds like hell itself. And if this is going to be a covert operation. Well...

"...are you sure you want to send a child? Is it safe for the child? For the team?"

Liz sat, still shocked, and waited for an answer.

While she is gone, Terry considers what to order. I don't know anything about her... how am I supposed to know what she'd like? But then if she didn't know Italian, how was she to know either. I hope she's not a vegetarian...

Ordering for them both, he chooses different meals, so that she can switch if she doesn't like one. Of course, he doesn't tell Gino that.

When he sees her return from the restroom, he manages to avoid a double-take and shakes away an impending stare with a mild blush and an offer to pour the wine.

Jamie returned to the table, and took her seat, smiling as Terry offered some wine. She began to feel more like her usual self, and relaxed as she took a sip of her wine.

"I'm finally human again." She smiled at Terry, as she returned her glass to the table. She looked at the other customers, wishing she wearing another dress.

They probably think I'm some hooker he's managed to pick up.

Her face suddenly turned serious. "I just want to say thank you, for everything." She shrugged unable to find the right words to express how she felt. "Most people would have...I don't know...let me..." She couldn't bring herself to mention the word 'die'.

Alan smirks, "Not up on your diner vernacular eh? It's pretty simple, really. The 'tar' is the coffee. 'Chewed fine' references ground beef; the hamburgers. 'Breath' is onion, 'red lead' is ketchup." He pauses, giving Vilorius a moment to catch up. "'Frog sticks' are french fries. And all I asked for was a couple glasses of water, which are here." Amanda sets two glasses of water down on the table, along with the coffee. "It'll be ready soon."

Vilorius shrugs. "They sure don't call them that where I came from. Alright, maybe there was this one diner in Terende that insisted on calling pork-chops 'cancer-patties', but that was about it. Not really a diner man myself, I like to cook it up myself. Healthier.", he says, uttering a snort of ironic laughter. "Chainsmoker who eats healthy, ain't that something."

Eleanor smiles. "Well, Ms Wang - we can either send a fully grown person, and not be able to guarantee contact with the outside, and so not be able to inform the team of what needs to be done - or we can send a child, who can do so, and protect them with soldiers and the rest of whatever team we put together."

"OK, fine, you want to communicate with the team in the web. I understand that. And I understand that only a child can do it. But really, a child?"

Ms. Wang realized the spot she was on. If I say no, then I loose their support, and Walton will be pissed for letting this slip by. But if I say yes...the child.... She continued to struggle with it for some time before she gritted her teeth and spoke again.

"I hate to see a child put into this position, but I can rationalize it two ways. It will certainly be a learning experiance, and I realize that it is an international effort I want started, not my effort. I'll consent." She said the last in a subdued voice.

Eleanor nods. "Of course. Everyone and everything has a part to play, Liz." Rhys adds, "And it is by the grace of God alone that some become fortunate enough to know what that part is."

The two lock gazes, and there is an uncomfortable silence that draws out, neither looking away. The ending is rather bathetic, really - a phone on the wall off by the door rings, and Eleanor turns to look at it. Rhys doesn't stand to pick it up, merely places a mobile telephone on the table and gives a rich laugh.

Eleanor laughs herself, when she realises the trick - although it lacks a wholesome ring of truth. "One day, Rhys, you'll catch yourself out again."

He goes a little quiet after that, although retains his secretive grin.

The girl continues. "Anyway - the vessel we've chosen is being escorted up here, Rhys, so you can look at her. Liz, who else are you thinking of asking?"

Liz didn't get the joke...but before she could decide to let on to that fact or not, the conversation had shifted.

"Me? Oh, well...." They've been very open with me about their technology, their society...I guess it wouldn't hurt...too much.

"Wazzu wasn't always, well, somewhat powerful, certainly not conventionally. To defend itself without wrecking the budgets of the founding corporations, it had to develop innovative and cost effective methods. Unconventional methods. One of those was a special kind of special forces. There wasn't a name for them then, and there certainly isn't now...not beyond wild rumors and nicknames. But an agency does exist.

"The idea is simple. Take an average, ordinary person, and give them extra-ordinary education and training. Their job was, is to infiltrate nations, mostly to gain information. Because they have to infiltrate, they can't have anything special. No special weapons or gear, no magic or psychic ability, no cybernetics, nothing. If they had some such thing, it would mark them. So training isn't even wasted in such areas. Instead they are trained to use what is at hand in a nation.

"You might say they are a cross between actors and McGuyver rather then James Bond and Rambo. On a twenty year extendable contract, they learn everything from martial arts to how-to chemistry that puts the Anarchists Cookbook to shame. But all that is rarely used. Mostly they just sneak in, gather information, and sneak out again.

"Dana Connor came to me soon after that Raem transmission landed Sandman in the hospital. She is one such person. She can't exactly go in guns blazing, she doesn't know how, but she offers a different set of skills.

"What exactly she and your, vessel, will accomplish, I still don't know.

"I also have no clue how we are going to assemble the rest of the team. I had hoped maybe you had an idea?"

Rhys looked thoughtful for a while. "Well, there's a girl I knew called Jaime. She came over to one of the hospitals where we administered the Better World project on an exchange programme when Gehenna Tartarus first moved to our region. She's one of the most inventive field geneticists I've ever had the pleasure to meet. In fact, I think she briefly dated one of my top researches - Dr Callaghan. However, she had to return - I wonder if he has her number?" Rhys then gets out a phone, and taps out a number.

<vague noise>
"Ted, it's Rhys."
<noise>
"Fine, thank you. I'm looking for someone ... "
<loud noise>
"No, no. Nothing official. You remember that Gehennan, Jamie, we had at the Hush Royal Hospital?"
<noise>
"Yes, her. The brunette. Think you can get hold of her?"
<loud noise. Rhys laughs.>
"No, I'm not planning to endanger my title of Fidei Defensor. Just need to contact her for a friend."
<noise>
"Thanks, Ted. Yes, you too. Oh - and get ready to perform the Stick Insect process on a Vessel, tomorrow, would you? I'll explain then. Night, Ted."

He hangs up, and smiles. "Well, I have her number. Let's hope she's not changed phones."

Liz is left to draw her own conclusions about just how close Rhys gets to his work from the phone conversation.

And Rhys dials up Jamie's number ...

He smirks, "And people say irony is dead." He glances over at Amanda badgering some other customers, before turning back to Vilorius.

"Actually, this is the only place I've ever heard the slang. Some places like a rock-n-roll theme, this one seems to like phrasing things as confusingly as possible." He shrugs slightly.

A couple minutes later Amanda returns, plunking a plate in front of each of them. "There ya go."

"Thanks Amanda." Alan grabs the pepper-shaker, and applies it liberally to his fries before lifting the bun and dumping some on his burger too.

He nods absently, a faint smile creasing his face for a moment.

"Yeah. Put a group of people together, apart from everyone else and within a few years nobody will understand them. Except each other."

As the plate is deposited in front of him, he takes in the aroma, thick and robust - it wouldn't appeal to delicate, refined palates, but the most important thing was that it'd fill him up.

"Mmmm. Smells good.", he says, smiling politely at Amanda. He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Jamie just continued to sit in silence, when suddenly her phone rang. It took her a while to realise it was hers. She apologised to Terry by way of a shrug and a smile. She looked at the caller number displayed, but didn't recognise it. She pressed the answer button

"Hello, Jamie Marshall..." As the voice spoke, she went silent. Her mind filled briefly with a happier time in her life. The call started with the usual pleasantries, as far as talking to a near stranger goes, before continuing.

"...You have a proposition for me?..." She spoke credulously and furrowed her brow, as she listened. "...I am currently rethinking my career options, so I'm available to discuss it..." She raised her eyebrows at Terry. "...I could be on a plane in the next few days...Yes, that's fine...Thank you." She shrugged, as she clicked off the phone.

She looked at Terry, a confused look on her face. "This is a strange day." She looked up into his face. "That was the Crown Prince of Whispering Voices. Offering me a job."

"Sorry I went silent, I just didn't know what to sa..." he stops puzzled and continues... "Crown Prince? Job? Er... wow. I've had excuses before but thats a great one."

Jamie looked at Terry, even more confused than before. She couldn't understand this sudden reaction from him. She looked him in the eyes. "You don't believe me?" She suddenly laughed. "I guess it does sound rather silly. I can hardly believe it myself."

She took a sip of her drink, and watched as the food was brought to the table. She noticed the two different meals being carried by Tony. "I hope you ordered me something nice." She looked at his still puzzled face. "What's the matter?"

"Um, okay... I guess I shouldn't be so judgemental. I just thought you were going to rush out or something." he looks a bit down, but puts on a cheerfull face for Tony when the food comes. Tony goes to get the big pepper-shaker and Terry finishes "I've had that a few times."

Once pepper is shaken, he seems to have recovered somewhat and gets curious... "So the Emperor of Whispering Voices knows your number, and you're working as a st.. dancer in a club in Gehenna? I have to ask something about that, but I just can't think of a question that covers it."

"To be honest, I don't know how he has my number." She looked at the plate of food in front of her and took a tentative bite. She nodded slightly as she discovered it was actually good. "Although I did leave it with a few people in Whispering Voices before I left. He could have gotten it from one of them I suppose."

She took another mouthful of food, before washing it down with some more wine. Something he said suddenly striking her, reminding her suddenly of her predicament. "I haven't always been an exotic dancer." She blushed. "A friend of mine knew the owner, and I was desperate." She smiled sadly.

"And before you get the wrong idea, I didn't do anything like that in Whispering Voices." She sighed, as she recalled how much her life had changed.

"So you've been out of luck for a while? What did you used to do?"

He sounds genuinely sympathetic and curious, while eating and sipping the wine around the conversation.

Jamie's fork stopped midway between her plate and her mouth. She laughed lightly, as she knew this would sound almost as far-fetched as the phone call. "I was...I am a genetic scientist."

She looked at him waiting for the reaction that she knew would come. Recently she found it hard to believe herself. "I had a bit of trouble, lost my job and needed something to tide me over." She looked at Terry's dish. "Can I try some of yours?"

Terry raises his eyebrows at the declared profession... "That would fit with heading to 'Voices... and suggests you were rather good at it. Its a bit of a national speciallity, so I'd guess a foreigner getting into one of their institutes is a pretty big compliment."

"Of course," he says offering a suitable portion across on a knife/spoon combo. "How do you like that one? I know its one of Gino's speciallities."

"Hmm.... Would I be right to guess that the loss-of-job thing was a more political defeat than professional?"

Jamie took a moment to sample the food that Terry had given her. She smiled, as the rich flavours played on her tongue. "Mmm, that is really good. I think I should eat here more often."

She took a sip of her wine. "I think I was just lucky to be picked. I mean there are better geneticists than me in Tartarus." She shrugged. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time." She went silent for a moment as she recalled her time there. "I got to work with some of their best scientists, especially Dr Callaghan." She smiled briefly, as he came to her mind.

"Yes, they were good days. Unfortunately on my return, I learnt that not everyone was happy about the opportunity I had been given." She looked at her plate. "A few thought they were more deserving of the chance. Next thing I know, I'm thrown out of Technologies for breaching several of their rules." She sighed unhappily. "And then I find myself here."

She looked up, and caught his eye. "That isn't a knock at being here, now, in this restaurant." She blushed, and took another mouthful of food.


[ooc: GT Technologies is the department in Tartarus that deals with all technology and scientific research etc. If you are a scientist and you don't work for them, then you don't work in any scientific capacity.]

Rhys smiled as he placed the phone handset down.

"Strike 3. One biogeneticist, one vessel, and one spy. It's a good start. Eleanor, I've given the order - is your candidate ready? We can head to the Royal Institute; I'll oversee the modifications myself."

The little girl nodded, and stood, and smiled at Liz. "It's not too long a trip, Ms Wang, you'll be glad to hear. But would you like some refreshments first? A meal, or something? I wouldn't want you to think us amiss as hosts."

"A genuine local meal would be most appretiated." Her stomache quietly gurgled a second to the motion.

"As for Dana, well..." Liz nearly giggled, "I imagine she is quite ready to leave." Rhys was male, and had met Sandman, like Liz, only once. He was likely unaware how tiresome the old mans crude (if well-intended) jokes could be to pretty young ladies.

"Alright," Eleanor said. "Well - genuine local meals are not too hard to come by in the Palace kitchens. Let's head to my rooms again. It's too cold to eat here." She turned to Rhys, and gave a mock shudder. He shrugged, but grabbed a Russian-style greatcoat from a peg over on one wall and slung it over his shoulder before Eleanor led the way out of the study and down the tower staircase back to her - much warmer - rooms.

By the time they got there, although the room was empty two silver platters covered with domed lids were ready. Rhys retired to a seat in the corner, where he could look directly out of the window - seemingly unworried by the possibility of assassins. Eleanor gestured for Liz to sit down, as she herself sat behind her desk, placing the covering to one side, on a laid out sheet of cloth to catch the condensation so as to preserve the desk surface. The meals were identical, when Liz took the lid off hers - although she had far bigger portions than the little girl.

It was, perhaps, not the exotic fare one was expecting. Roast potatoes, fine cuts of beef, fresh peas, carrots, roast parsnips, and thick thick gravy inside a Yorkshire pudding. Then again, in Whispering Voices, that was the sort of meal you needed to stay alive.

Then, Eleanor said Grace - but after that it was seemingly clear to eat. She waited politely for Liz.

"There are four things in life you should never forget: never forget a friend, never forget an enemy... and never forget a good italian restaurant."

He sighs as he hears the basics of the story, knowing a little of the way things work in Tartarus he quickly works out the implications of being fired from GT Technologies...
He quotes "Lord save the talented from envious men.", but you're not sure where its from. "Did you try to get abroad for a job?"

Jamie took a sip of her wine, then cupped the glass in her hand. She watched the liquid swirling round the glass, then as if a spell had been broken, she return her gaze to his.

"It would have been impossible. They would have wanted some kind of reference, and it wouldn't have been given." She let out a slow sigh. "Technologies may not want me, but they wouldn't want anyone else to have me either, just in case I took anything with me." She began to play nervously with her fingers.

"If this thing with 'Voices doesn't work out, I may as well forget about ever returning to a scientific field." Not wanting to drag the mood down any more, she laughed lightly. "Let us not talk anymore of my life. We're meant to be cheering ourselves up."

She took a bite of her food, when it suddenly dawned on her. Speaking out loud but to herself. "How am I going to get there? I can't afford the ticket." She ran her hand over her forehead. Nothing ever seemed to be straightforward.

He takes a sip of wine and mulls over it, before replying.

"Well, I feel honour-bound to suggest that you use your phone and call His Imperial Highness back and get him to book you a plane. But..." he takes a forkfull of food and uses the time it gives him to make up his mind.

He grimaces as if making a hard decision, then says:
"I think I could probably afford to get you there... but there'd be a catch."

Jamie face was a picture of horrified embarrassment. "No, I couldn't let you pay. I wasn't trying to...I mean, I didn't..." She stopped for a moment, and looked him in the face.

"I can't accept your offer. There must be another way, perhaps I could ring him back..." She stopped again, knowing the idea was foolish, if not impossible. A million thoughts raced through her head, all of them were dismissed.

There is no other way

She took a large sip of her drink, trying to stem her feeling of shame at having to ask for his help. "What's the catch?"

[Gah... sorry for low postings, been ill]

Alan looks down at his peppered food, and digs in. He blinks, flips the bun back open, and yanks off a few pickles. After replacing the bun, he resumes eating, much like a person who has been eating alone for a few years. After a moment or two he slows down a bit.

He glances at his watch, "Well, looks like we'll have plenty of time, at least."

"Simple: I'm coming too." he says decisively.

He takes a bite of food and chews while he watches for a reaction. "Look at it this way... you're a beautifull, intelligent and mysterious woman suddenly getting a call from a distant Imperial Prince to a secretive job: if there isn't a news story in that then I'll eat this plate as well. And I'm a struggling reporter who needs to get away from dive-coverage like this and could write my ticket to whatever column I wanted with a story like that."

"So what do you say?"

Jamie's face displayed a montage of emotions, as she worked through the pros and cons of his suggestion. She needed his help to get the job, but would they still give it to her if she showed up with a reporter. She absent-mindedly began to twiddle her fork in her food.

He saved your life. You owe him that much.

She looked him in the eyes, a wariness touched her features. Exhaling slowly, she nodded her head. "I have no other choice. It's a deal."

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

---Post deleted by NationStates Moderators---

The footage of the latest Dark Eldar atrocity is saved for after dinner.

[Gah... sorry for low postings, been ill]

Alan looks down at his peppered food, and digs in. He blinks, flips the bun back open, and yanks off a few pickles. After replacing the bun, he resumes eating, much like a person who has been eating alone for a few years. After a moment or two he slows down a bit.

He glances at his watch, "Well, looks like we'll have plenty of time, at least."

He pauses in mid chew, glancing at the discarded pickles. "Not one for pickles, eh? And yeah, looks like time is on our side for once. Should be an interesting meeting anyway."

Terry fakes looking saddened by it. "Aw shucks... I was hoping for 'Since youput it so nicely, its a deal.'" but his grin takes the sting out of it.

A quick sip of wine later, he considers the problem... "When does he want you to get there?"

Jamie had the decency to at least look embarrassed, even if he did smile. "I guess I could have put it better." She smiled. "It's just, I find it hard asking people for help. It makes me feel..." She shrugged, and left it there.

She put her fork down, indicating she had finished her meal. "I said the next couple of days. I thought we'd arrange everything tomorrow and fly out on the first available flight." She fidgeted uncomfortably, looking him in the face. "I don't know how they're going to take your arrival."

He isn't really offended and smiles the appology away "hey... that was a joke. I know it can be hard to accept help," at which his tone turns wry "having resisted a few very sensible offers of help in the past."

"Now that sounds like a plan, A.S.A.P. tommorrow. Which means I have to get writing a lot in a short span of time."
He starts thinking... "Gah. I'm sure we can think of something at the other end... pretend I'm your agent or something." he grins... "I'm sure a brilliant scientist like yourself can come up with a plan."

To Whispering Voices citizens, even to high leaders the food might have been bland, but to Liz it was quite the opposite...with respect to everything.

She was used to the fully controlled environment of a city that literally floated in the stratosphere. She was used to fine dining in home or resteraunt. She grew up a rich girl under her grandfather's care. So Whispering Voices was quite different.

The climate outside was cold, cold enough to chill the inside of the magnificant and somewhat spooky old castle. And now steaming before her was a warm, solid meal which promised to thaw her insides.

All that stopped her from 'digging in' to the wonderfully smelling, and first true meal since she landed was the sudden silence around the table. She felt...awkward.

"Ummm," she started, looking around, "I admit to not being familiar with local manners...."

"Tuck in, Ms Wang," Eleanor said before proceeding to follow her own advice. The food was pleasantly hot, and drove the chill almost entirely away.

As they ate, Rhys made some phone calls, setting in motion extra procedures involving the chosen vessel - slight tweaks, here and there. He was able to reel off whole DNA codes over the phone, displaying an impressive memory capacity for something most people would find utterly boring.

"Now," said Eleanor, between bites. "We've contacted a biogeneticist. What we need is a psychic person. The obvious choice would be Tor Yvresse, except they're happier with the Dark Eldar loose in their webway than they are with us being loose in it. Do we know if they have any rebel factions, or similar?"

Tucking in, Liz speaks between mouthfulls, "I'm afraid I don't know where to find a psychic, or the rest of a team for that matter. An ad maybe? It could be difficult to find the right, and only the right target audience.

"That said, I'm not sure Tor Yvresse would be against us going in." Liz takes and swallows another fork of potatoes while indicating her intent to continue. "I mean, they weren't allowing armies of many nations in, but we aren't sending an army. And while they are elves, they didn't seem to happy with the...well."

Liz pauses a minute in silence for the dead...it left a sort of bad taste in her mouth and she didn't want to continue to talk about that aspect.

"Why even let the Tor Yvresse government know we are behind the group? We don't even need to find a rebel, just someone sympathic to our group's cause."

Liz proceeded to stab just a few too many veggies and fork them into her mouth.

Eleanor watched admiringly as Liz wolfed down the meal. Then again, children seemed to like crude eaters.

She finished her own, small meal and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a handerchief.

"Well, that's true about Tor Yvresse. But one doesn't just find Yvressians wandering around, generally. Not Farseers anyway, and as far as I know those are the best psychics they produce. An ad? That's a possibility. I'd suggest Wazzu's name on it, however, just because many people seem to be put off by our undeserved reputation as inhospitable hosts. Entirely untrue, of course. We've had enough visitors outside the three trade cities to really prove anything."

As Elenor finished up, Liz slowed down...she too was starting to get blissfully full. The warm food felt good in her stomache.

"Well, I admit I don't know how to get a Farseer, and Walton wouldn't let us put Wazzu's sponsorship in an add. But Wazzu is somewhat known for the SPH. We could put it under the SPH's name and have people travel to Wazzu without my country taking blame for it. Afterall, the society is its own orginization, no?

"But how do we target only the people we want?"

Liz took the time to wash down some food.

"That's a very good question. Whispering Voices does, however, have an intelligence factbook - indicating which nations are known to be controlled by humans. We could use that as a source ... advertise there only. No guarantee of security, of course, but it's a start. Rhys, any ideas?"

There is a brief silence, then: "Well, we could just put our trust in faith - dial a random telephone number - and recruit whoever answers. That would have a certain pleasing random element to it."

Eleanor frowns. Apparantly she isn't too ecstatic about random chance.

Despite a lack of telepathy, Liz seemed to share Elenor's thoughts.

"Well, targeting ads to nations is certainly a start. But just how many from each nation will answer? Tens? Hundreads? Thousands?

"Maybe if we say we are 'hiring', that would allow us to get and reject applications. Though I have no idea for what position...."

"True. But how long do we have? Every week results in another death." She reaches down to a control pad, flicks a switch. The latest Raemese atrocity is shown, the woman being tortured through electricity.

"I don't think we have time to sift through applicants. Not like that, anyway. Not even with an entire dedicated staff bureau."

<The next day, on a plane leaving Tarturus for Whispering Voices>
Terry had written all night to get a few fairly bland stories about the urban reconstruction project that would sound highly plausible unless investigated actively (and if they cared that much they wouldn't have sent Terry). He left these in the hands of Gino, who would post toTerry's boss one every few days... a cover that should last about a week.

Thus it was that he was rather tired as they bourded the plane and his thoughts were wandering slightly... "Do you think these peanuts are real? Its just they taste so stale and the packet only says 'May contain nuts'."

(Do you still need me? If so...where can I jump in)

Jamie sat next to Terry checking the hundredth time that she had everything she needed. She let her eyes roam around the interior of the plane, trying to convince herself that she was really here. She would have pinched herself if it wouldn't have made her feel foolish.

She looked for a moment out of the window, at the fluffy white clouds below, remembering the harsh conditions that would greet them at the end of their journey. Images of old friends came to mind making her smile.

She was pulled out of her reverie at the sound of Terry's voice. Smiling, she looked at the packet in his hand. "I've often wondered that myself. If I have time, perhaps I'll do some tests on them, just to find out."

She shifted in her seat until she could look directly into his face. A warm smile touched her features, and was refected in her eyes. "Thank you." She leant over and kissed his cheek. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

(post deleted)

A smile lights up Terry's face as she kisses his cheek, "I don't think it matters, really. I was there after all. And thanks for not jumping... I've had rejection a time or two, but that would have hurt."

"True. But how long do we have? Every week results in another death." She reaches down to a control pad, flicks a switch. The latest Raemese atrocity is shown, the woman being tortured through electricity.

"I don't think we have time to sift through applicants. Not like that, anyway. Not even with an entire dedicated staff bureau."

"Perhaps your right."

Liz sat a while and thought furously, her brows seemed to scrunch down on her eyes.

"There is perhaps another way. Advertise, as we said before, but no for a job, and not for what this is about. We advertise a contest...the winners of which will get to go on a true, dangerous adventure. The contest is to get here...well, somewhere in Whispering Voices.

"That way we can practically guarentee humanity, and some combination of skill, luck, and experiance...as well as willingness to go.

"Of course, that doesn't solve the psychic problem."

Liz leaned back into her chair to await responses and think a little more.

The Eldar looked around in confusion as he untangled himself from the other person and ran of before apologising it was not that he wouldn't normally but he was afraid. The fear pumping round his system felt too good through, he had to experiance more of it, so he stayed in the city and watched, more and more from the side lines.

He saw the fear of the Fallen increase, and he felt the stab of rage as night became day for a second, screaming in rage at the sight, his scream echoing throughout the streets, and drawing one or two curious stares....

He had made a decision he would no longer live in fear of what the Mon-Keigh would do to him, he would find a way now to seek his revenge.

Jamie blushed at the mention of her attempt to end her life. Sitting here, she felt miles away from that lost and frightened woman of the previous evening. The bruise on her cheek, the only evidence of the life she was hoping to turn away from.

"Still, I owe you more than I can ever repay." She looked him in the eyes and smiled. "And those other women, they don't realise what a truly special person they missed out on." She broke eye contact, reaching for the cup of water in front of her.

It's his turn to blush as she compliments him... he really can't think of anything to say. Wow. I think she likes me.

A silence descends... but he decides he happy with that. Whatever happens at the other end... the bridge, the meal and the flight would have been adventure in themselves. And Jamie was a good person to be sharing them with.

Terry relaxes in his seat... feeling the cheerfullness he shows for the first time in a while.

Jamie returned her gaze to his face, keeping her cup cradled in her hands. She watched as he relaxed, knowing well they were far from comfortable. They still had one problem to face.

Not really wanting to spoil the mood, she took another sip of her water before jumping in. "You know, we still need a reason for your visit." A sigh escaped her lips as she looked into her water. She couldn't help wishing they were heading for any other location.

He pauses in mid chew, glancing at the discarded pickles. "Not one for pickles, eh? And yeah, looks like time is on our side for once. Should be an interesting meeting anyway."

Alan nods, "They're fine, but I never like `em on a burger. Then tend to turn evil."

After a leasurly dinner, Alan relaxes with a cigarette, nursing his coffee. He hands Amanda a small cylinder* when she arrives with the check. After a couple minutes she hands it back to him.

Once he finishes the cigarette he shrugs, "I suppose we could head out. The tower's a bit of a walk from here."

[* It's an electronic device tied into his bank account. As the Hack has no physical currency, this takes its place.]

"Well," he says with a slight grin... "I had a few ideas about that. I could be your agent, a relative, er... a lab assistant, maybe? Don't laugh: I've got a basic in chemistry... I can carry test-tubes."

The last statement is delivered with a grin, of course.

Jamie, though attempting not to, laughed. Regardless of how many problems she had to face, he always made her see the funny side. In a way, she wished she could take things more in her stride.

"Lab assistant?" She pondered a moment, her fingers twirling her hair. "You know, that may be our best avenue. I don't think they'd buy an agent or a relative; they probably know my family better than I do." She sat back in her chair, and smiled. "As long as they don't ask you too many questions, we may just be able to pass you off."

Deep inside, she still had some niggling doubts.

He pauses in mid chew, glancing at the discarded pickles. "Not one for pickles, eh? And yeah, looks like time is on our side for once. Should be an interesting meeting anyway."

Alan nods, "They're fine, but I never like `em on a burger. Then tend to turn evil."

After a leasurly dinner, Alan relaxes with a cigarette, nursing his coffee. He hands Amanda a small cylinder* when she arrives with the check. After a couple minutes she hands it back to him.

Once he finishes the cigarette he shrugs, "I suppose we could head out. The tower's a bit of a walk from here."

[* It's an electronic device tied into his bank account. As the Hack has no physical currency, this takes its place.]

Vilorius nods, shrugging on his coat as he stands. "That sounds about alright.... I'm always up for a good long walk anyway. Keeps the mind fresh, in my opinion... although walking on a dark night while deep in thought can be unhealthy. A light concussion followed by an acute lack of money, for instance."

He lights up yet another stick.

"Ready if you are."

He does get serious for a moment... "I know that this has the potential to go horribly wrong with the pretending and all, but I think we can pull it off. And even if we don't... it'll only be me who gets deported as a journalist."

He grins and pats her hand reassuringly. "Relax... the worries happen at the other end of the flight. For now, lets just worry that the movie might be dire."

Jamie began nibbling her nails, a habit that appeared whenever she was worried. She gently tucked some loose hair behind her hair. She looked at him, as he pats her hand.

"How can you be so calm? We're going into Voices. I'm concerned, and I've got an invite." She smiled sadly. "And I'd feel awful if anything happened to you bacause of me."

She leant forward and grabbed one of the magazines from the seat in front. "Okay, let's see what they have in store for us." After scanning down the page. "Yep, you were right to worry."

Eleanor hummed as she rang a bell for a servant to collect away the trays. "We could do searches for any Tor Yvressian ex-patriates in allied nations. They'd stand out a mile, so be high profile to any intelligence services ... that's about as much as I can think of so far though."

"That certainly sounds like a good way to do it, though we will still need to sort through individuals to see who can open one of these 'gates.'

"But that still leaves the problem of finding individuals, unless we are only sticking with the three we have now...."

OOC: Liz does not know that/if anyone is with Jamie, so would only know about Jamie, Dana, and the unnamed "vessel." She also does not know that Sandman and Dana are attending that conference...then again, no one knows that that girl at the conference is Dana yet. :)

I love it!

Alan smirks, "Considering the hardware that we're carrying, I doubt that'll be much of an issue."

The city ranged from near-desolate psuedo-warrens where the diner resided, to epic feats of archecture. The changes were subtle, but easily noticed. Simply rising to the surface gave a marked improvement. As they neared the center of the city the boarded windows diminished, as did the spraypaint on the walls. A better sort of people could be seen as well as far less shady police officers. Alan found himself recognizing fewer and fewer people, as his contacts tended to be of the more seedy type. However, the occational back-alley housed a contact here, a client there. He smiled slightly to himself, but was still nervious. He was remarkably connected, but how efficient would he, could he, be in another country? He shook his head, refusing to worry about such things. He was responding to a higher calling than his sort usually received, he'd make do.

Eventually, they arrived at the Corporate Tower, which was something of an apt name. It was a monolithic structure, truly scraping the sky as it easily reached three-quarters of a mile into the air. It was always a breath-taking building, and one of the most important in the nation. It housed many government officies, as well as the highly regarded IT workshops of the Hack. Cranking his neck backwards he noticed a few office lights about half-way up. He shrugged and lit a cigarette. Seems he and Vilorius weren't the only ones burning the midnight oil.

He was just about to check his watch when a robed man stepped out of a shadow, seemingly appearing from nowhere. The robe was a made from a heavy wool, making him look something like a monk. The hood completely covered his face, and it was so bulky that it was almost impossible to figure out any features. His cowled head turned slightly towards Vilorius, and said two simple words.

"Blood type?" His voice was soft, but demanded attention. 'Creepy' was a highly accurate descriptor, Alan mused to himself.

"Eeesh, I hate to be right about movies." He puts on a fake Austrian accent: "I'll be back... as soon as I learn to act."

"How can I be so calm? I dunno. People have suggested theories... you know... life hasn't gotten to me yet, reality is saving my soul for one biiig let-down. I'm blind to the cruel nihilistic nature of the cosmos and it path of painfull self-destruction." He breaks off with a grin... "The last one was from a house-mate of mine during college... she was a Goth, y'see. And a drow... confusing on the outside, but she was an okay person."

Gyah.... thought he was Black Robe for a moment. Then again I've never pissed them off, they've no reason to come hunt me.

Vilorius is taken aback for a brief moment, recalling the menacing ceremonial dress of guardsmen of the Black Robe order, usually seen at international functions standing by the Anhierarch delegation and glaring pointedly at all who came too close. He squints closely at the cowled face for a moment, his usually powerful night-vision failing him for once.

"O positive.", he says, gazing calmly at the hooded figure. After a few moments his gaze flickers away, the eyeless visage too perturbing to behold for too long.

The figure nods, and turns to Alan. "Name?"

Alan seems equally disturbed, "Uh... Alan..."

While his face is hidden, it's easy to guess that the figure is thinking dark thoughts about Alan. "No, cousin's name."

"Oh, right... uh... it's Augustine."

The figure nods. It glances around, "One moment." It seems to vanish into the shadow again. Alan blinks a few times, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. Just as his mouth opened to speak, the figure returned.

"Seek the man of sand in Wazzu." He leaves again.

Alan blinks some more. Pause. "What?!"

Eleanor nodded, and it was done: complete record checks, looking for any Tor Yvressians outside Tor Yvresse.

"Anyway - that could take a while. Let's go to the airport. Rhys - I'm afraid we'll have to leave the finishing of alterations to the vessel to you ... if you would be so kind?"

The Crown Prince flicked his hand dismissively, seeming deep in thought - a vaguely affirmative gesture.

"Alright, then. Time to go to the airport!" Eleanor looked up at Liz with wide eyes.

Every time the forums do a double post, a fairy dies.

The list is quite long some 50+ Million of them in fact, a good majourity seeming to reside within Roania, thats likely some 10 Million strong not counting Military personal. Still the list goes on, next to any occupation listing it simply states Outcast on the Tor Yvresse records other nations likely list other occupations instead, and it's wide range, from Artist to mechanic.

There appears no descernable pattern of course each person simply choosing a profesion that best suited them, eventually a short list might be compiled, but it would take some time.

((I'm unsure what criteria your looking for, hopefully it includes, mentally unstable, as otherwise no one will be on your list :lol: ))

"Seek the man of sand in Wazzu."

Vilorius turns the odd phrase over his tongue again, musing thoughtfully.

"Now, I'm not entirely certain who this man of sand is.... it might not even be a person, if these people like obtuse riddles. But I think the mention of Wazzu is plain enough."

The plane taxied to a halt, bringing them safely to Voices. The last time Jamie had landing at this very spot, her heart was beating wildly with excitement. The feeling of happiness was still there, but there was a taint, a nervousness. Almost as if her body was alternating between the joy and fear that she felt.

She looked at Terry, as he got his things ready to depart. Had she been wrong in her decision to bring him into this forsaken place. She knew how they treated unwelcomed guest, she'd heard of examples. Shuddering at the thought, she picked up her belongings and followed the slow procession of passengers to the exit doors.

Every step into the main terminal seemed to increase her feeling of dread. She sighed deeply, patting her pocket for confirmation her papers we're in safely in her possession.

She turned to Terry, her face carrying a smile that failed to hide the panic in her eyes. "Well, here goes nothing."

Alan nods, frowning. "Yeah, thank Tsathoggua for small miracles, eh?" He lights up again. "Well, shit. I guess we can ask around in Wazzu. I think I know a couple friends-of-a-friend there."

He frowns, "Hm. We'll have to get passports... I think I can swing that, though."

Vilorius grins. "A man of means, aren't ya?"

He produces a handrolled cigarette from one of many pockets, lighting it with a flourish.

"Ah, Wazzu... know anything about the place?"

Alan chuckles, "Well, I try to keep up on my contacts."

He leads them to the nearest elevator for a long journey down. "Besides, I'm no cyber-demon or such, so I've gotta do what I can. As for Wazzu, yeah I know a little bit about it. I've heard some pretty crazy stories.*" He looks around the warrens as the doors open, "Some would say the same about Chiba tho..."

He walks down the corridor, stopping at a door with Sisters of Mercy music blaring out into the hallway.

I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Hot metal and methedrine
I hear empire down
I hear empire down

Alan bangs on the door "Jo! Op joo dur!"

Ten minutes later they had passports.

[* Insert random info about Wazzu there. I don't remember the specifics, heh]

Vilorius laughs. "There're stories about every country. The more insular and isolated the more outrageous the stories. I've heard quite a few in my time, they make for good converstion starters."

Once the passports are in hand, he turns to ask Alan.

"Eh. What was that you said when y'knocked on the door?"

Alan rolls his eyes, "One of the more irritating slangs in this place. Basically, I said 'Yo, open your door.' I'm just glad he heard me. He's always got that music cranked." He shrugs and stuffs his passport into a jacket pocket.

He grins, "Shall we get tickets the legal way, or scam those too?"

He nods with realization. "Ah, I see.... Incidentally, I blast music all the damned time too. Keeps the neighbours away - nobody rents the adjacent units for more than three days."

He chuckles. "I don't see why we shouldn't scam ourselves some tickets."

Liz shuddered at the thought of the Airport. Not at the cold so much as at the thought of that wild ride. I'll have to get them using some TransCorp products soon she thought.

But she stood up without a word and walked over to Elenor. Still wondering how they were to find the last people, she offered her hand to the powerful young girl. She didn't say anything.

She was lead out of the ancient palace, and back out to the helicopter. This flight was somewhat easier - they flew higher, taking advantage of a break in the weather. Eventually, the airport of Hush - one of the few open cities - was reached. The city was massive, with formidable grim walls around it ... a pair, in fact: the walls guarded against people trying to get out as much as it did people trying to get in. Numerous Shepherds patrolled the limits, and as they flew over several sleek aircraft overflew them, demanding radio identification. There were numerous defence systems - some EMCs, some simple DEWs. An uncomfortable number simple tracked the helicopter - the airspace was relatively clear, but everything was tracked.

The airport customs were thorough. It took over an hour for passengers to disembark the plane, as rapid DNA scanning was performed and matched against passenger dockets; medical tests scanned for disease and t-rays and x-rays for weapons. Obviously, no chances were being taken.

Which was how, not much later, Jamie was - after Terry's arrest - shown into a room with a red-eyed young girl and a pretty young woman.

"So," Eleanor said softly, in her sing-song voice, "how is it that you are found in company with an illegal entrant?"

OOC:
I'm assuming Terry would let himself get arrested quietly?

[* Insert random info about Wazzu there. I don't remember the specifics, heh]

OOC: OK, random info about Wazzu.

Population: 1.5+ billion people
Size: 2/3rds the size of (and about the same location as) Sweden.

The normal discription: An artificial ecology. A forest of skyscrapers with a single 10-30 story building (called, "the mall") as the groundcover, cities floating in the stratosphere overhead (canopy), underground tunnels (roots) and spreading into (under) the Baltic Sea.

Pretty much everything is indoors...it should be, as the pollution is deadly in many areas. That pollution mostly consists of metalic-compounds (which can be gasous), but also a lot of other chemical byproducts. Realy nasty stuff.

Lightning is common as it sparks down ions. There are high-winds every summer that cause regular tornados and other storms (it is winter). It is always warm, the city-country produces a LOT of heat.

There are no real roadways, though many bike paths. Most automobile traffic is either military (on top of that 10-30 story building) or flying (by far mostly civilian). There are other forms of public transportation too, mostly trains.

People are RUDE (all-caps) and extremely well educated. There is no minimum wage, but companies make sure people have more then enough to live by...helped by the fact that most stuff in Wazzu is cheap (not only is Wazzu a manufacturing power, but it also does not impose tarrifs or quotas on trading partners). Your money should go a long way, though you'll need to exchange it.

Wazzu has a Lunar colony (Wazzu Asgard taking up and expanding the old Derkesthai complex in the ISAF Lunar Region), a Mars colony (Wazzu Elysium), and a few other notable space assets.

Anything more specific your looking for?

I am saving some stuff for RP later. :)

"Ah. I'd do that, but most of my neighbors are much larger than I am, and I think I'd loose out in such a fashion. Of course, if I ever go on a killing spree, they'll talk about me as being 'such a quiet guy'..." He chuckles a little at the thought.

"Anyway, not too far from here is a guy who owes me a favor. With any luck, this won't cost anything." He heads for the elevator, "Come-on, he's about 10 levels up."

OOC Sorry for delay, away at weekend.
Well he's not going to try to ninja-kill the customs officers, that's for sure. :)

IC
"I am aware that I don't have a visa, but my passport is current, valid and easily confirmed with the embassy. I was with Jamie and she didn't have visa, but she did have an invite... I suppose that didn't come with a 'plus one' attached did it?" He sighs, looking across at the hard-faced man on the other side of the desk. "I know you have problems with infiltrators, or rather don't thanks to the customs service, but I am not some enemy agent... I'm here to help Jamie with the work she's been requested for."

Jamie knew from the moment they hit the customs areas, that they were in deep trouble. She had allowed herself to grasp at the tiniest piece of hope that they would be home dry, but she had been fooling herself. She reflected how foolish her actions had been as she was taken off into a room, while Terry was arrested.

As the door opened, Jamie was more than a little surprised at the sight that greeted her. She had expected some violent looking security man, not a child and a woman.

She heard the question, and tried to think of a plausible answer, nothing that sprang to mind seemed the least bit likely, or worse still unlikely to keep them both in some serious trouble. She let her gaze rest on the speaker.

"We didn't have time to get his papers straightened before setting off. We were hoping we sort it this end." She stared at the two people in front of her, her nerves we on edge. "He's my assistant, I was hoping it would be alright." She looked the little girl in the eyes. "What's going to happen to him?"

Vilorius laughs as well.

"It's always the quiet ones, they say. It's such a hackneyed stereotype that you'd think everyone would be watching the quiet ones with a finger round the trigger. And I have a habit of showing up at the door fully armed.... it's quite off-putting, I'm told."

Briskly, he follows Alan to the elevator.

"Lots of people owe you favors and such, eh?"

"Your assistant?" The girl's voice is haughty, but otherwise as Jamie would expect. "Why were we not informed?"

*******************************************

The security guard grimaces at Terry. "Follow me this way, please, sir. Nice and easy, now."

OOC:
Apologies for really small post. I hate having actual conversations on threads, when I'm asking questions anyway.

Jamie looked at Liz, then returned her gaze back to Eleanor, meeting her eyes. She felt a strange sensation as if anger and nervousness were mixing giving her a small amount of courage.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mention it, but I had given my word to Crown Prince Rhys to arrive as soon as possible, unfortunately I didn't have time to arrange Terry's papers." She stared in front of her, her heart beating rapidly. She didn't think they were going to accept this explanation at all.

She took a deep breath. "Listen, this isn't his fault. I dragged him along, not really thinking about what I was doing." She stopped for a moment to calm herself. She ran her hand lightly through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"If you need to punish anyone, then punish me. Just don't do anything to him." Her hands began to shake. I can't let anything happen to him. Not after all he's done for me. She lowered her eyes. "He really wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

Liz stood quietly wondering what she was doing here...certainly Elenor had a purpose.

Jamie looked at Liz, then returned her gaze back to Eleanor, meeting her eyes. She felt a strange sensation as if anger and nervousness were mixing giving her a small amount of courage.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mention it, but I had given my word to Crown Prince Rhys to arrive as soon as possible, unfortunately I didn't have time to arrange Terry's papers." She stared in front of her, her heart beating rapidly. She didn't think they were going to accept this explanation at all.

Realization dawned, then humor, and Liz tried hard to keep from breaking into a grin. Be serious, be serious. The child leader is being serious, you can too then distance. Remembering a trick Dana had taught her before leaving for WV, Liz took another breath and tried to distance herself from the discussion. To become an observer rather then a partaker.

She took a deep breath. "Listen, this isn't his fault. I dragged him along, not really thinking about what I was doing." She stopped for a moment to calm herself. She ran her hand lightly through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"If you need to punish anyone, then punish me. Just don't do anything to him." Her hands began to shake. I can't let anything happen to him. Not after all he's done for me. She lowered her eyes. "He really wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

It worked, Liz's facial features relaxed. She continued to concentrate on breathing, analysis, anything but responses, anything but emotional meaning. I don't want to screw this up.


EDIT: OOC: That works you know. Well, don't know if you do know. But, it does work. Something I learned a few years back, it is excelent for maintaining self control.

Alan grins, "I've always blamed news editors. Not much of a story if everyone says 'Yeah, he was a crazy fucker.' Of course, someone popping up holding a shotgun certainly would be off-putting. Probably lessen complaints, too."

The doors open at the proper level, and Alan smiles a little at the thought of his contacts. "Actually, it's a lot like a family tree, I guess. This guy doesn't owe me a damn thing... directly. However, go up about three levels, and he does." He chuckles, realising how complicated it can be. "Actually, about three people are paying off favors with this. As long as nobody gets too insane with their links, everybody plays. Of course, the downside is that you always end up owing favors..." He smiles darkly.

About thirty minutes later, they walk out with their tickets: two one-way tickets to Wazzu, leaving later in the morning. Alan smiles, "Here's where we move from favors to professional curtosy. The cab ride should be pretty much free, but we should get moving. About enough time for us to grab some clothes. Meet back by the entrance to the park?"

Terry shrugs and follows the designated person. There's not much else I can do right now. Guess I'm gonna have trust to Jamie on this one... I'm sure she can do it.

Eleanor looked imperiously at Jamie, her red eyes showing nothing. The silence stretched.

And stretched ...

"I hope you act more responsibly in future as regards this mission, Miss Marshall. Perhaps you are not aware of the full gravity of what is at hand?" She pauses. "No. Seemingly not. You are too intelligent to have acted in such a way, otherwise. This will take quite some time. We will have to run checks on this man. What do you know of him?"


****************************************

"So," said one of the guards, Terry's luggage having being confiscated. "Name? Nationality? Religion?"

Terry was grilled with questions - was he married? Had he fathered children? How often did he go to confession, and if he did not why not? What countries had he travelled through? In his home country, what party or faction did he support? What was he trained as? Who did he work for?

"Terrence Urqhart, Tarrakeen." "Officially I'm a FACT... First Amalgamated Church of the Tester, but I'm not a regular church-goer." The questions begin to wear on Terry, "Single... No kids" "We don't do confession except for the major sins and I haven't done any of them."

He's beginning to get peeved an vaguely sarcastic as the questions get more invasive... "Tarrican, Tartarus this trip, but I have been to Anaxa, Fyrm and Stuff and Shineys in the past... its all in my passport that you have in front of you..." "I'm aligned to the foreign ministry by family, but the internal by inclination..."
"You want my CV?"

Vilorius looks pretty damned confused.

"Levels? Family trees? I didn't think that a little quid pro quo could get that complicated. As far as always owing favors goes, I suppose it's a trade-off for always having people owing you favors. Can't have everything." He shrugs.

Thirty Minutes Later

He nods in reply.

"Sure thing. I'll get packing."

He looks thoughtful for a moment.

"I hope Wazzu doesn't have particularly strict firearm regulations."

Jamie continued to look at the two people in front of her, her mind positively whirling as she tried to decide what to say and do. She almost seemed to look into herself for a moment, as she focused on her thoughts.

She didn't know what to say, she'd hardly known Terry long enough to know his middle name, let alone enough to give his life history. She knew one thing, she had to persuade them that he was not any harm.

Suddenly a part of Eleanor's conversation struck her. She pondered over it for a moment, before returning her full attention back to the child. "What exactly is this mission you speak of? I was offered a job, not a mission." She furrowed her brow. "Perhaps you should tell me why exactly I'm here."

Alan grins, "Of course its complicated, people are involved."

Down in the Park

Alan sits, trying hard to relax. His large carry-on bag sitting next to him. He lights yet another cigarette and sighs. Bitching was one thing... talking big with Vil was one thing... this... this is something much more...

You must plan and you must train
For the battle you don't want...

Vilorius hums distractedly, the thundering, pulsing beat of the music helping him concentrate as he packs a spare set of clothes into a ratty haversack. Once that's done he packs a pair of suitcases with an assortment of mechanical metal parts, all oiled gears and springs and long tubes.

...To defend what you love
That's how the war begins...

He sits on a couch before the three bags with a certain sense of finality, staring off into the distance with a strangely placid expression. Absently, he tosses a pistol from hand to hand.

...So when you walk away
Leaving the killing fields
You will be soon aware
What you have lost...

He gets up, wearing once again his stained coat. The bags are picked up, the music turned off, the door locked.

And booby-trapped, of course.

Minutes later, he arrives at the park.

OOC: Appologies for an all OOC post...still waiting for an oppertune time to post ICly again.

A couple people have asked me if the RP will/can continue without Raem. I think not only that it can, but that it should.

Firstly, I do not take IC actions for OOC reasons, or neglect IC actions for OOC reasons. There are exceptions, like not getting to the computer, or wanting my nation to go in a certain way. But my charicters are charicters, they have personalities and react to what they precieve as the real world. Having them quit now for no reason would be against policy for me...it would also be pointless considering all the work we have done.

Secondly, even our charicters didn't know what they were going to do. All they knew is that something had to be done. Something still can be, it just likely won't against Dark Eldar. There are plenty more places in the world where human suffering exists, at the hands of others or of their fellow man. We can either assume Raem retracted further into the Web, dissappeared completely, or still exists and is an ultimate goal that is unreachable for now.

There are plenty of NS nations left to terrorize, so lets get at it, eh? :)

OOC:

I'd like to continue it. It's about the first character RP that I've retained interest in, and I've not even got the character in it yet.

Besides, even though Raem the player has gone, Raem the nation is still there. We could have Tor or myself (now having read up on Dark Eldar) play out the part of Raem. Since he got forumbanned forever it's unlikely he'll need it again, but some dark eldar can be safely stashed in <country of choice> should he wish to do so.

Eleanor smiled. This was perfect.

"Well, Miss Jamie Marshall, job - mission - the same thing. We need an innovative field biologist, an outsider." The word "expendable" did not enter into her speech at all.

"I'll be blunt, Miss Marshall. We need someone to accompany a military mission into an unknown and highly dangerous theatre. You're on our record as highly skilled, you rated first class in all physical fitness tests, your psych evaluations showed you to be eminently capable of stress - I hope that's not changed over the last few years - and you've come with high recommendations. This job is dangerous, but highly paid. And would guarantee you a professorship at a university."

She squeezes Liz's hand under the table. "Of course, should you refuse, you are free to leave at any time."

Yes, the little girl who is not a girl thinks, the emphasis on that word was perfect.

Dread filled her body, the moment Eleanor began to describe her reasons for being here. She listened and realised that the attributes mentioned could fit any number of scientists already here. Her heart sank, as she the truth sank in, that this was not the opportunity she had first envisioned.

Will I end up regretting my decision not to jump?

The thought brought her a moments joy. How well would she pass a psyhc evaluation now? She wasn't sure she could; that tiny morsel of betrayal boosting her ever decreasing self esteem.

She looked at the two watching her. They knew she couldn't refuse. She had brought about her own blackmail. Refusal was impossible, and they had her right where they wanted her. All that talk of what she would get out of it, none of it was necessary. That last line had clinched the deal.

Jamie swallowed hard. "If I agree, he goes free, and unharmed." She brought her eyes to meet Eleanor's. "I think you owe me that much, considering..."

Considering I may not survive. Isn't that what 'dangerous' usually means?

"Indeed, Miss Marshall. If you agree, we will of course allow your research assistant to accompany you on said mission - that's what you'd said he was, isn't it? Your word would then be good enough to waive such small matters of papers. Necessity, and so on."

She pushed a small bowl of mints across. "Mint?"

Quite the opposite from Jamie, Liz was quite happy. She wasn't reading Jamie's body/facial language correctly. Liz thought this was all some big joke on Elenor's part, and was desperately trying not to giggle.

She felt her eyes getting wet...particularly her left...where a tear of humor was forming and threatening to cascade down her cheek. Must not laugh....

If it was possible, Jamie's heart sank even more. Not only had she managed to get herself held over a barrel, but she had afforded the same fate to Terry. She lowered her eyes, and accepted the offered sweet, not that she wanted it, but it gave her something to do to distract her from her thoughts.

Inside, she laughed at her stupidy. For someone supposedly intelligent, she had made some foolish errors. Agreeing to bring Terry along, being the worse of them all. She just hoped that he would forgive her.

On the other hand, he did want a story. It was just a pity he was going to be more involved than he probably would have liked. Perhaps they could work something out when they were in a better position.

She sighed inaudibly, and made eye contact with Eleanor. "He is my assistant, like I said." If she believed in a god, she would have prayed that she hadn't just signed his death warrant.

Eleanor smiled and pressed a button behind the desk.

"Excellent."

***************

Terry was escorted into the briefing room, not roughly but under constant scrutiny. A chair was provided so he could sit next to Jamie.

"Now," Eleanor said. "Ms Wang here will brief you fully in a moment. Until such a time as the job takes place, you will be provided with full hospitality rooms in the city of Hush. Your time is your own, and you'll be issued security passes and permitted to roam the city. Mobile phones will be issued - if you need anything, call in. They'll contact the outside world too, however I need to warn you that calls may be monitored." She paused, grinned. "For training purposes. Over to you, Liz ... "

"Now," Eleanor said. "Ms Wang here will...." Liz gave the girl a look. Meeeeee?!?!?!?!?!

Ok, briefing, briefing, briefing. How do you do a military briefing? How do they do it in the movies? What is the formula? Spout ideological rhetoric, describe the situation, spout more rhetoric.

Rhetoric,

"For the past century or so, we have been taken advantage of, murdered, and otherwise victemized. The self proclaimed god Melkor enslaves and oppresses us under his green thumb. The so-called goddess Sirithil takes the moral hi-ground, she uses human immigrants for cheap labor and burns innocent people of forign nations from orbit to stop a few criminals.

"Both the bastard and the wench have abused humanity in favor of themselves. But we always had a choice which to suffer under, or to quietly live out our own lives at the mercy of both. This relationship has changed.

situation,

"You both probably saw the" Liz's voice took on a tone of disgust "trasmissions from Raem? It seems now that orcs are not the only ones committing genocide against us. The breed of elves in Raem, 'dark eldar', mutilated several living humans and had the gall to transmit it. Neither the wench or the bastard will stick up for us, we have to do it ourselves.

"But we can't get an army in to the pseudo-dimension Raem exists in. No one can. So if we can't blast the cancer out, we will surgically remove it. You two are part of our scalpel.

"Now, I'm a corporate girl, and Miss Elenor her is in the political arena. We don't know how many humans are enslaved or killed every day, thousands, maybe millions. We also won't tell you how to run a military incursion. You two and the rest of your team will have to decide what to do and how to do it. We'll provide anything you need." She looked into Jamie's eyes, then into Terry's, "Anything."

rhetoric,

"These dark eldar are known to make slave runs. They did them in Arda, they can do them here, or back at home. If you need to see the tapes again to see why they need to be removed, we can show you the recordings. Something needs to be done."

that should do it.

"Any questions?"

Alan nods silently as Vilorius strolls up. He doesn't appear to be in a talkative mood, but simply leads Vilorius down a couple streets until he sees a cab, which he flags down. They toss their bags in the trunk and hop in. Alan nods to the cabbie, and simply says "C-Int." The cabbie nods and soon their tearing off at somewhat insane speeds. Before too long, they've pulled up to the Chiba City International Airport. As they pile out, Alan and the cabbie exchange some words that can only be described as yet another of the Hack's numerous slang 'languages'. He momentarily touches his chit-stick to the cabbie's, and a few chits are exchanged. They share salutations, and the cabbie tears off again.

Alan turns to Vilorius, "Ready?"

OOC Appologies for delay, house moved on short notice. Of course we should continue with the thread... aren't we forming an elite team to defend humanity from all that threatens it? :wink: Let us press onward: for great justice!

IC
When he is escorted in, Terry looks appologies at Jamie for getting her into trouble. He, too, realises that him comming along with such a tissue-thin story was probably a bad plan, though he places the blame on himself.

"I have heard reports of the 'Dark Eldar' raids, but never seen footage. Frankly I've avoided it... two people I know... knew... were there in Raem during the attempt to liberate after the initial incursion. One of them was killed in a raid, the other... was traumatised. He broke down 3 weeks since returning and hasn't gotten out of psychotherapy yet."

Jamie listened, her face a picture of non-emotion. Then suddenly, she laughed. She hadn't meant to, but as the mess that she was in unfolded iteself she did one of the two options open to her; she'd spent enough tears.

She brought herself under some semblance of control, as she looked Liz in the eyes. "You want us," She pointed to Terry and herself. "To go to Raem and stop what they are doing?" Her voice revealed its credulous tone. "May I ask, how exactly are we meant to do that? We'll end up appearing on that show ourselves."

She looked at Terry, her guilt written on her face. "I'm sorry I got you into this." She let out a long sigh. That water was looking a lot more tempting now.