Dave allows himself to be taken down, down into the ground, his body pressing up against the solid mold all around him as the ground parts to accept him grudgingly. He descends for quite a while, until he suddenly stops in a dark chamber, similarly to before. A strange, but familiar set of voices address him.
"Report. Progress.""Impatience. Increasing.""False. Prophecy. Must. Be. Performed."As Dave is about to give some kind of reply, the voice from his matchbox interrupts his train of thought.
~Say, Dave! Can you sense the Denture God? The power you seek? Try reaching out to it!~He does sense something at the edge of his perception, as a matter of fact. The Denture God, huh?
* * * * *
Bored beyond belief,
THE DUNKER has a brilliant thought. He can control booze. He is in a bar. This is a winning combination.
[THE DUNKER's affinity roll: 3+1]
A couple of bottles of grain alcohol behind the bartender begin to rustle, drawing his eye. He seems very much creeped out by this. A few of them float over to THE DUNKER, and start to orbit him, the booze seemingly having the urgent need to get out.
"I, erm, do hope you are planning to pay for those, sir," the bartender says, trying his best to seem unruffled and slightly failing.
* * * * *
John decides that that's enough information for his mildly drunken mind to process, and believes it's time to go for a walk. Get some fresh air, you know?
"Right then. I think we can use a bit of a break from this magical nonsense. Let's go for a walk to clear our heads and we'll check out that leyline while we're at it. James, if you don't feel like coming you can stay here if you want.""I'm not sure what I would do in that event, so I will go with you, I think," James shrugs.
"Splendid! Let's go! To adventure!"And so they do, walking right out of the apartment, into the streets, and after a couple of turns left and right come to the edge of the police cordon of the disaster area made earlier today. There's a few officers there, looking bored, yet also quite tense as they glance around for any signs of rampaging beavers.
"The leyline, as it were, is not far from the pawn shop - it's in the sewers, as a matter of fact! Not too hard to reach, either. But there is the matter of these fine officers of the law here, obviously."* * * * *
Halesey is saddened that poor Clive here cannot see the glory of the potato. But then he realizes that Clive still refuses to get off him for some reason. Mixed signals, so to speak.
"Oh. Well. Too bad, I guess. Can you get off me, please?""I suppose," he says, and gets up from atop Halesey.
[Clive's body roll: 1-->6-1]
He is then immediately pulled into the raging potato vortex behind him, no longer tethered to the unaffected potato acolyte. Halesey, seeing the wisdom of going toward the potato, jumps in as well and seeks the filthy gobshite he put up to going in there in the first place. However, just as he dives into it, he sees no sign of the man, though Clive is plummeting straight down the tunnel of the potato god already.
* * * * *
Some of the
Larries decide to check a pet hypothesis of theirs, and attempt to bless the most wonderful angels they know - themselves! But sadly, it does not seem to work, as there is insufficient angelic power within them.
"You may have better luck if you try that when you have more holineth in you. You're thtill mothtly mortal."* * * * *
Eta rubs her sore palm and asks Clive a question.
"Just one, actually. Do you have any tips for telling someone you're a witch? Someone who might not be very happy about that?""That depends on why they wouldn't be happy about it, I think. If it's because they hate witches, say you're a different kind of witch. If it's because you've kept it a secret until now, well, tell them when you're telling the truth that you're doing it because you're sure you can trust them now. Like they've been elevated to an inner circle. People love it when that happens. There's a lot of nuance to breaking news to people. Lots of context involved when thinking about what to do. Like, if it's a dear friend of yours or something, you could say you were 'afraid of their immediate reaction'. It's a version of 'I don't trust you' that's a bit more tactful, and it works just as well on perfect strangers. Maybe you can look at your motive for keeping the secret, and then spin that in a good way, like you were doing the person a favor by not telling them you're a witch. There's plenty of methods, is what I'm trying to say. And hey, if things go far enough south, call me up and I can help out, 'kay?"While Clive speaks, Eta notices something on the surface of her palm. A glowing pictogram of an eye staring right at her. The eye blinks every few moments, and the pupil darts about rapidly.
"It's the familiar mark. It should stop glowing within the hour, and after that it should only fire up if you invoke me or point it at... relevant people, let's say. Pretty simple stuff, all in all. It's more cosmetic than actually useful, but hey, makes dealings look real legitimate, doesn't it?"As if in response, the eye looks straight at Clive, and blinks once. Eta clears her throat awkwardly.
"Okay then. Thanks again for everything. Expect me to call you later today, assuming nothing horrible happens until then. We have much to discuss and I have much to learn. Especially about that voice of yours. Until then, goodbye Mr. Caradog.""See you soon, Eta!" Clive says, and suddenly ceases to be as Eta blinks. A tad confused, she heads out to look for that meeting place with Officer Rieux. It takes about an hour to get to Jew Street on foot, and a little more time to get to the meeting place, where Officer Rieux already awaits on a park bench, dressed in a manner evocative of the classic image of an art teacher, complete with a curiously colorful ascot. As soon as Eta approaches, Officer Rieux waves to her, and offers an invitation to join her on the nearby bench in regarding the disjointed mass of steel and barbed wire seemingly meant to evoke some aspect of war.
"So, are we ready to go?" she asks.