Roleplaying
2004 Archive
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Seminars
| When: | 16 March 2004 |
| Who: | Kacela, Nicodemus |
| What: | With the conflict between both sides becoming open now, how best to organize celestial campaigns weighs upon two minds. |
Lux
A three-tiered, refined establishment, businessmen from cattle brokers to car manufacturers mingle about. The dress is stylish, no one clad in anything less than Sunday best. Tastefully appointed in earthen tones, accented with gold trimmed crystal, there's money in this establishment, both legit and otherwise. Chandeliers cling to the high ceilings and cast warm radiance over the main floor. Reminiscent of a nightclub fashioned in the Art Deco era of the late 20's, round tables serve groups of two to four. A raised stage inlaid with black, malachite, and white patterned tiles hosts acts ranging from standup to grand piano serenades accompanied by throated redheaded bombshells.
Bay windows opposite the bar provide a breathtaking view of the Colorado River. The labradorite-finished counter is serviced by mostly silent, well groomed and respectful staff. The shelves behind the bar are well stocked with potables that make drinks of the common man like Hennessy look like a joke. An opulent staircase winds upward in a regal S curve to the living area of the proprietor and his more affluent clientele. Business and private revelry takes place in this aerie. Interestingly enough, the door leading to the basement is locked, and even the owners and shareholders aren't seen loitering about the edifice.
For lunch today, Nicholas Lyman does not keep to his prestigious bay window seat. Instead, he mingles with the common folk, or at least, the lesser business types that frequent Lux to make connections with higher ups. Yes, there are no real commoners here. Pestered by one of these suits without a name, Lyman politely declines conversation, keeping his gaze fixed to the bar television. News from last night's protest turned riot is still coming in, and he is eating it up.
Clad in evening gown finery, Kacela emerges through the doors. There's a clear note of agitation in her posture, poised in the same way as a cobra ready to strike when approached by one of the hosts in the know. However, she calms some, gaze looking somewhat puzzled at the decidedly empty windows overlooking the Colorado River. Negotiating the tables finally places her before Lyman, and with a serene gaze, she folds arms over her chest and asks, "Might I rescue you for a moment, Nicholas? There is a matter of importance I need to speak with you about."
Hearing that familiar voice, Lyman turns from the new cast, his boyish smile holding. He expects some sarcastic jibe or veiled pleasantry to follow Kacela's unusually bland greeting. But, Lyman is denied the verbal jousting and his lips quickly settle into a neutral line, just as his eyes search the woman's expression. "Of course," he says with a nod, gesturing to the sparsely populated window area, "Is something the matter?"
"Excuse me," Lyman says, politely gesturing the other suit to remain at the bar as if he means to return."
No news is good news, it seems. With nothing more but a nod towards the other businessman, she squares her shoulders, and paces away, seeking relative privacy within the glare of sunlight streaming through the window, her form silhouetted in the yellow-ish white light. Squinting out, she rubs her thumb anxiously over the inside of her forefinger. "War and The War are numerous here. The conflict's become more open now that the strike's been made against Nathan," she says obliquely. "I myself may have been targeted last night, but I've identified quite the prize should we succeed in hunting the hunter." Her alto voice dropped into a pleasant cadence at the last words.
Following after Kacela, Lyman bows his head to the woman. "Thanks for the save," he whispers, any gratitude overcome by his dislike for the other man, "I could have been there for hours, mulling through faulty business plans." Arriving at the window, the industrialist shakes his head irritably, "Those with hope are hopeless." But, noting Kacela's anxiousness, Lyman quickly falls silent for this important news, which he takes in with a firm, accepting nod. "Targeted?" he says, a hand actually reaching out as if to console the woman, "If they suspect anything, we may have to conduct our meetings more carefully. My public profile may already put me under investigation. There is no need for you to take the same risks." Then, at that fiendish possibility, Lyman waves a hand encouragingly, "Go on..."
Kacela inclines her head. "Litigation and death is a worry for the living," she preambles. "I'm not talking mobs or police investigations or reporters looking for dirt to publish. I'm talking War. And not THE War, either." Her heels practically click together before she paces smoothly a yard in front of him. "You know the tavern down the street from your downtown offices? The Irish place? The guy running it's likely working for Michael, given all of his talk of axes. Looked him over REAL good when I came, wasn't expecting him to NOT like my compliment." She dips her chin slightly, eyes unfocused as she regards the rippled patterns of green and black inlaid tile. "Your floors are malachite? That's just sick. The timing would put Kobal himself in stitches, I'm sure. He had the mark, of the sword flanked by wings, upon his neck. So here I am on malachite floors talking about a malakite. Of Michael. He was checking me out, and not in a good way, either. I think I did okay, he let me and another person have dinner free, but he was watching us. I don't think I will be visiting there that often." A visible shudder shakes her. "But they've taken one of our own, and if he's really what I'm thinking he is, then I can't think of a better target. Call it a vendetta," her lips part over pearly teeth.
Again, Lyman falls into a contemplative silence. A hand is brought to his chin and idly its thumb evaluates the morning shave. "Agreed," Lyman replies, on the prospect of taking down the Fado's owner, "Those that I am familiar with associate themselves with Yves." A low grumble follows, "And they seem relatively unimportant, content to dabble in Earthy pleasures." Well, look who's talking here, Mr. Earthly Pleasures himself. To the floors, he nods, "Yes. But, don't they look exquisite?" Pacing around to admire what his investment has earned him, Lyman returns to the matter at hand, that sly grin reappearing, "I do like what we have here. And the possibility of open war has been...a fantasy of mine. But, we must be careful. How do you purpose will bring this malakite for questioning?"
Kacela keeps her eyes glued to the middle-aged businessman's path, and then gives a low laugh, turning towards the window. "It may be a fantasy you soon will have, whether you want it or not. The degree of -control- you have over it is an entirely different matter." She snaps her gaze back towards him at the inquiry about questioning. "Are you serious? There's only one good way to deal with malakim, and that's soul killing them. Not even whacking their vessels bothers them. They just come back, with a dozen of their buddies. They're worse than roaches," she makes a face. "Roaches that are fond of heavy, sharp weapons. Hrn. Perhaps target those around him instead? And the Destinites? Well, don't be so sure. They're not going to be front line fighters, but they're damned good at keeping humans away from hell -- and from us."
To her advice for dealing with the malakite, Lyman snaps his fingers. "Exactly," he exclaims in as much volume as a rasping whisper can provide, "While we may get our vengeance, we will not get the answers we need. Just conflict that will gloss over what really went on. Perhaps that will be to our advantage." His eyes narrow curiously, as he suspects alternatives, "But consider the markings on the victims. Was heaven trying to implicate us?" That smile festers once more, "Still, I think we can pursue both avenues at once. A more discreet investigation on the particulars and one that will...ruffle feathers. If we are to target those close to the malakite, the Destinites have a tendency of showing up there."
Kacela, at this point, practically drapes herself over one of the chairs to raise her gaze towards Nicholas, eyes glittering in a faint show of quickly-subdued admiration. "Could be either that they're trying to pin it on us, yeah... even as stupid as I think pentagrams are, or... that the person knew that Nathan was a demon." She scowls. "Which requires someone Symphonically aware. Or we could be dealing with Hannibal Lechter wanna-be weekend Satanists." Her shoulders rise and fall, "If I didn't have to take into account the reliability with which humans are so /stupid/, I'd be happy to make some noise for you." Her expression then goes slack, and she shakes her head, reminding herself, "Restraint, though. There are others better suited for work in the trenches. Like that charming lad I shot the other night. Or a few more of the Djinn or Calabim that we have in the city. I can ask questions, and tease out answers, even if it is just by watching how others react to the less subtle methods."
Pleased by Kacela's response, Lyman smiles wide as more detailed plans emerge. "I like the way you think," he remarks, "Have I ever told you that before?" Of course, he has, and frequently because they are his thoughts as well. "Oh, my dear, there is no cause for concern. I won't put myself in harms way unnecessarily," Lyman says between a gentle laugh, "Though, I do like to get my hands dirty from time to time." After a sadistic grin subsides, he solidifies matters with a nod, "Yes, continue with your subterfuge, but be careful. I might get lonely in this city if the malakite were to take you away. In the meantime, I will see if I can't encourage a few of our comrades on to the more obvious path."
"I do savor a good exercise in warfare. We all like to get our hands dirty from time to time. It would almost be a shame if we succeeded, he's a fine specimen," she says of Tyrr, before lacing fingers together. "I'm sure you would miss keeping an eye on me. Wouldn't want to find yourself on uneven ground the next time we met," she decides to downplay the compliment tossed her way, although the shift in the angle of her shoulders suggests that some of the flattery did sink in. "There has been an awful lot of planning as of late, but it will pay off," she states fiercely. "I'll see what I can do to gather the troops, as it were. And make sure that jealousy doesn't get out of hand." With that, she stands back to her full height, and then circles around Lyman, awaiting any more scraps of information, or possibly... guidance, although she would vehemently deny it if confronted.
At Kacela's talk of the malakite, Lyman's brows raise in mock surprise. "Well, well, it seems the malakite has made an impression," he jabs, "When the smoke clears, perhaps his corporeal form can be preserved as a trophy for you." But, the beginning of the verbal jousting match Lyman first envisioned is put to an end. Gradually withdrawing from the conversation, Lyman inclines his head, "Thank you. I imagine my trying to smooth things over with Butch might...complicate matters. Your diplomacy is admirable." Again, flattery. Starting away from the bay window, Lyman smirks, "Now, let's see if I can elude the man at the bar on my way out. I'll be in touch. Oh, something tells me Dupont will be up and running shortly..."
Kacela swings her gaze towards the retreating businessman, and huffs out. "Trophy my ass." She then moves to take her own leave.
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