Dresden Files: Caught in the Undertow

Marcone
If the world was fair, he would toss and turn, tormented by his conscience and actions, unable to rest, his ghosts tormenting him through the Twilight hours. But the world was not, so he actually slept fairly peacefully, a contented smile on his face.

Guan Yu
On a higher plane, the guardian spirit of Mei Ran Gong Guan Yu, epitome of warriorly virtues and righteousness stared down, all the way to the mortal realm in the manner of his kind, watching his charge, his noble face thoughtful.
Normally, he was reluctant to interfere, for the trials of the body strengthened the spirit, and were slowly making Sanya into a being that was more then a man, much as those same trials had done for him. Were matters otherwise, he would not. It was Sanya’s fight, and any price he paid, he chose to pay. That was something the warrior could respect.
But matters were different. He had seemingly been betrayed, and the ignoble blow rouses him in a manner that nothing bar base treachery can. He decides to act, and the anger bubbles up to the surface, cracking his appearence of reservation. Rising to his feet with a shout that carries across heaven, he slams the butt of his weapon, Green Dragon Crescent Blade, down in fury, shattering the quiet and serenity around them, then reaches into the mortal world to help his charge...

Sanya
Abruptly, you find yourself lifted, a fierce vitality settling in your bones and strengthening, revitalizing and replenishing you, even as it instills in you a purpose. Your mouth opens on it’s own accord, and words of challenge ring out as you draw your sword.
“Come then, you traitorous slatterns! Howl for me, Esperacchius! Oaite da so!" It roars, and then you're yourself again, if in a manner you can't usually say to be.

Thomas
He steps back, then another step back, then looks anxiously at the door. "On second thought, we can come back later, alright? Lets run now." He says, remembering Murphy channeling the same sort of power at Chichen Itza. That was not something he wanted pointed at him.

Fix
He lay under the soil, and the nutrients of the soil flowed into him, healing him like no mortal medecine could. If he could figure out how it was done, he'd patent it and make millions, but alas, it seemed to just be part of the mantle of Summer Knight. lying back, he rests, and feels his worries, problems and fears fade into the soil, as he was restored.

A man stalked along the road, clad in little more then a loincloth woven of grass and twigs and a heavy cloak of tawny feathers. There were exceptions, but on the whole, Winter was more progressive then their counterparts. He was lean and slender, his limbs long and powerful, and hair the colour of sand hung past his waist, tied in intricate braids, plaits and knots. Dozens of bracelets, torcs and necklaces encircled his neck and arms, and a huge hunting horn hung across his back. His bronze skin was covered in swirling tatoos and war paint.

The passersby failed to detect him, his glamour let him move unseen through them, like a tiiger in the long grass. His charge was yet to appear, so he was stalking to and from awaiting their arrival.

Nicodemus

"How...nice. I will require a moment to prepare."

It wouldn't do to appear in the suit he was currently in, after all. If he was to backstab him, then he would do so with utmost style.

Ivy

Home. Back to the London flat, its study still half-mangled. At a word from Ivy, the mordite shard is safely stored back inside its warded box.

"Kincaid? I'm going to need the following list of items. This is important."

She scribbles a list in purple crayon on thirty-year old aged parchment.

1. A drop of your blood
   
2. A copy of Oedipus Rex (you know I use the Dewey Decimal system for the books in the Library. 882.79314)
   
3. A bridal veil (my grandmothers. Attic storage. The blue box)
   
4. the copy of Dracula you have under your pillow
   
5. Some sticky rice. There should be some in the refrigerator.
   
6. A shard from the ruins of Chichén Itzá. It's by that antique WWI pistol you keep polishing.
   
7. Cookies- in the fridge. Please?

Kincaid
He looks at the list, against his better judgement. He pauses, and looks at her, then looks at the list again. He smothers the urge to raise an eyebrow, and pray this doesn't mean what he thinks it means. To think he'd been afraid she'd hate him. Then he puts it on the table, and steps over to her.
He's still far from in excellent condition, but seems as though he's recovered noticeably in the hour she's been with him. The bruises have gone down, and once he showers, changes his clothes, finishes growing new teeth and straightens his crooked leg he'll be his old self again. He kneels down to look her in the eyes, and places a hand on her shoulder.
"Look." He says seriously. "I just tried to kill my father, and that didn't turn out well. I've also been forced to examine myself, and I don't like what I see all that much. I'm gonna change, and that will have consequences, and we are going to have to talk, and work something out about what that means for the two of us. You'll still need some more of my blood for emergencies, and if you want, I'll help you out with the rest, all the rest, but we shouldn't try to do it all tonight. It's nearly midnight, and you should be in bed, little lady." It's habit and a desperate play for normalcy, he's in no position to lecture her about what she should and shouldn't do, but they need it right now, more then anything. And she looks very much the picture of the little girl she should be. The little girl she can't be.
He looks at the list again. "One cookie as a snack. But only one. And brush your teeth." If Kincaid asks, he's sure she'd tell him the exact number of calories she burned off and thus how much she can eat, or exactly how long she needs to scrub her teeth to keep them maintained, but tonight he thinks he'll give it a pass. Then he sighs and slaps his forehead.
"Oh, I got you another stuffed toy, but it's still in my hotel in Chicago. So I'll make it up to you." It was a long-standing tradition, he bought her a stuffed toy every-time he left, in what had started as something of a joke, and become something more.
"And I'll read the books if you want me to. But the rest can wait."

Nicodemus
"My master is not patient." Just the same, he falls silent, and gives you the time you need for your preparations. Vlad's idea of socializing was drag people over and try to awe them with his power. But it might be useful to attend. And it didn't bear to have him as an enemy if you could avoid it.

{Sticky Rice? Is Ivy expecting to have to repel a scourge of Jade Court Vampires}

Bartholomew Dee

Bartholomew blushes a bit. Forthill is good people.

"I never did thank your for that properly, Padre." He replied. His face grows serious.

"A group of hooligans trashed my place, so I hope you don't mind if I crash here for a bit."

He bites his lip a bit. "Padre...is anyone else here? A blond guy by the name of Kincaid's been killing Practitioners all over the city: they got Bock and Richie. And the safehouses have been compromised. Has anyone...shown up?"

Ooh Boy.

Sanya

Sanya himself is just as shocked as everyone else is.

"Hen you yisi...keshi wo buzhidao..." Sanya mutters to himself, before his eyes track to meet Thomas.

"Wo xihuan cimao, tudao shi E xin!!"

As he shouts out the ancient warrior's oath, Esperacchius kindles to a scintilliating light, and you can almost swear that ghostly imprints of Paper Fu Talismans are revolving around him as if caught up by a spectral breeze.

He lifts his swords and prepares to charge at Deirdre and Thomas.

(Sorry about the lack of post guys, school has been kicking my butt and so have my parents)

Sartorius

He nods to the Kincaid as he passes by whispering that he might collect on that favor soon. He found the man interesting. Usually he stopped it whenever his rougher and less popular boys brought in some random stooge off the streets to fight and kill in order to try and increase their ego's and popularity. But sometimes he let it pass when he thought he saw talent in some of the dregs that they bring in. Minato was an example of this. He was a down on his luck college student that was so poor he had taken to sleeping beside his motercycle on the street. His boys brought him in one day and when Sartorius didn't stop them they assumed it was thier lucky day. It was not as Minato managed to win his fight tired and nearly starving. He was told of the man's match and was impressed. To win the fight without throwing a single punch. The was clearly as good if not better than he, but for a man like that to show up here? Not to mention with those kinds of wounds? Something was definitly up....and he wanted in. "Well then, unfortunatly it looks like I may be going to old Lara for help after all. Damn I hate politicians." Lara Raith, a member of the White Court, not to mention the current leaders daughter. That woman was more slippery than a snake and knew how to charm people like a succubus. He would be damned if she didn't know what was going on or didn't have a toe in it. Just talking to her was dangerous and risky, but for a good fight he could take a few risks. Now the simple matter was getting her to see him....well he could figure that part out later. With renewed purpose and a clear destination he hops on his motorcycle and takes off for the White Court.

Lara Raith
She looks up as the motorbike slides into the parking, and raises an eyebrow in a perfect arch. Well that was unexpected.
Sartorius was a pariah, one who, if he somehow survived, might eventually start up his own family in the hierarchy. At the lowest possible rung. You got them from time to time, people who’s attitude or temperament somehow changed their manner of feeding.
Sartorius had been born a Raith. When he was sixteen, and his demon had matured, he’d beaten an older student to death, rather then the more traditional feeding of seducing another person and feeding on their lust until they were a burned out husk. And so now he fed that way, and the Raiths gave him enough money to set himself up, then did their best to ignore him, acted ashamed and didn’t talk about him in public.
He was hardly the only one of his kind. Her cousin Andrew was a stand-up comedian who could knock ‘em dead. Literally. But to the sensibilities of the White Court, his direct, in-your-face style was an affront. They liked to see themselves as above all that.
Still, he could be useful, and given the invitation on her desk…
She presses a button on the intercom, to the guard whose job was to keep out the riff-raff near the doors. “My brother is arriving to see me. Please, see him up. And tell my tailor to be here and fit him for a suit. I am giving him the honor of escorting me to this soirée of Vlad’s.”

Ivy

"I'm not" she yawns.

"You have a point. But I'll still need those supplies in the morning. I can't have other Accords members brutalize people I've employed. It doesn't serve a good image."

Ivy-speak for "I'm angry that you got beat up and I want revenge on your father."

Deirdre

Her metallic hair-whips extend, writhing before her as she prepares to charge as well. The scent of Hellfire fills the air, and each edge of the steel ribbons glowed faintly red.

"You have no faith, Knight. No Purpose. Those symbols are meaningless."

She charges.

Nicodemus

"And I do not serve your master. I am his equal, creature. Do not forget that."

Casually, and with the air of superiority that comes of being in the presence of inferior creatures, Nicodemus ambles to his wardrobe. There, he pulls out a formal evening suit, exactly what was suitable for a white-tie event. He checks the pockets; the platinum and ivory cufflinks are still present. Another moment, and he verifies that the white gloves are as well.

He puts the attire on, and finishes with a top hat, opera cloak, and a cane.

"Now," he drolls, pointing the cane's tip at the creature. "Take me to your master."

Kincaid
Protective instinct is a bitch, in situations like this. A match between the two of them could leave a city ruined. Vlad's got no refinement, but he has the raw power to balance a fairy queen or uproot a mountain. The Archive has the ability to utilize the powers she have in ways so efficient they were damn near perfect. The result was an unstoppable force meeting an immoveable object.
"Well, he was technically in his rights." Kincaid says. "And more to the point, I think he'll be dead shortly anyway. He's making enemies so fast it's like he's trying to provoke people. I'm a bit surprised, actually. He's been content with squatting in Austria for five hundred years, why the sudden change of scenery?"
Then he rubs his leg. "Still, I wouldn't say no to a bit of petty revenge if you are up for it."

Nicodemus
Like all of Vlad's creatures, it's dressed in leather and furs, despite the fact it's actually a fairly pleasant night. It’s blond, as many of them are, and handsome in a savage, raw-boned sort of way. It has a scar from it’s upper lip to it’s ear, and another one across it’s forehead. It also speaks English, which means it must be one of his smarter children. Most barely even spoke German, let alone two languages. Then again, it can’t be too smart. He kills the ones that are too smart, because he doesn’t want to be upstaged by another son.
A shame, really. Who knows what his kin might do if he wasn’t holding them back. Vlad the third was a particularly fine example, as was Kincaid. But the rest are kept in squalor and stupidity by their master.
He leads you into the Nevernever, and out at a massive Hilton Hotel that was never opened. Better then you thought. You’d expected him to be trying to build a castle, although watching him demanding building authorities to concede his demands actually sounded fairly amusing.
About half the lights are on, giving it an appearance of faded majesty more then what he wanted. No cars are parked, as the guests would be arriving in the same manner as you.

Sanyahttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EQbynwxgDM

The funny thing about Taoism is that, like most Chinese Spiritual Philosophies, it's not explicitly Theistic in any sense. It's about following natural law, being one with the natural flow of the universe, equality, enlightenment, and compassion.

All stuff that Sanya can get behind.

"Wo Xiangxin Daojia He Ziyou!" Sanya replies, meeting Deirdre's tendrils with 'Esperacchius', slicing them in half like paper. Sanya then bounds forward with uncharacteristic grace, leaping through the air to bypass Deirdre's extended razor-hair and strike her directly.

Guan Yu
The spirit returns to the throne, stroking his long, luxurious beard with one had as he considers the events, smiling slightly. He likes Sanya. The man's motives are truly pure, what he does needs to be done, and so Sanya does it. He contemplates for a moment, still stroking his beard, then turns to mental reflection, considering what he sees. Finally satisfied, he continues to watch.

Thomas
He drags her back a step, and draws his saber, parrying the blow. There is a sound like pouring sand, and his saber is cut precisely in half, not even offering the slightest resistance. Not good.

He throws the hilt and Sanya's face, hopefully slowing him a step, then drags Dedire through the safe door, slamming it closed. He then realizes he doesn't know the combination to lock it, and that the Knight of the Sword won't be held long.

"Come on." He shouts, hoping she'll follow his lead, then he turns and dashes down the stairs.

Sartorius

He is not surprised when the guard lets him in without resistance. Though it would have been entertaining if he had to fight his way through a sea of guards to get to his sister and spout off a badass one-liner it would not be practical on his sister's part. He suspected that she was already determining his worth to her, which kind of chesspiece he was, and how he could best be used. He comes into her office and looks upon her. Yep, she is planning something, you can't tell by looking at her face but he could feel it. Well no use beating around the bush. "Alright Lara lets cut straight to the heart of the matter, because if I don't you'll have me wrapped around you little finger before I can say 'hold it'. A man was brought into my fightclub not to long ago by my boys. I was topside at the time so I didn't see him come in. Instead I was outside with a little girl who looked unassuming enough. Exepct for the fact that she was in my part of town, was not scared at all, and had some kind of floating blob that erases anything it touches. She was apparently looking for the man and she knew that my fightclub was underground. I led her there hoping for answers. When we got there I saw the man and the girl approached him and put up some kind of privacy bubble. While they were in there I talked with my men. This guy looked like hell sis, and what's more is that according to my boys he was even worse when they brought him in a few hours ago. He fought against one of my boys and beat him without throwing a single punch. Someone that powerful does not just show up in a random alley for my boys to drag in beaten to the point of near death, beat one of my ment in that state, and get rescued by a little girl. Something big is going on, and I want to know what."

Nicodemus

He strides forward confidently, with the ease of a lion upon the Savannah. This was, at least partially, his element, after all.

"Take me to the host."

Deirdre

Every instinct tells her to fight...but the part of her that comes from her father tells her to run.

This time, at least, she obeys that part.

Ivy

"No, no. You're right. It's past my bedtime. I'll regret doing magic after eight, I know it."

She yawns again, and strokes Mister.

"I'll get revenge in the morning."

Lara
"I'm fine. The works not too much, and father's leaving me alone. I've missed you as well." She replies, not looking up from the form she's balancing. She finishes, then looks up.
“What’s happening, brother, is that Chicago is becoming dangerous. And so the court intends to move on to greener pastures. I’m sure it would have got through to you eventually.”
She pauses. “For some reason, Vlad has decided to move here. I suspect that you’re mystery man was in his employ, since he recently began killing all the small-time occult community he could locate. But the best way to find out is to ask, and I just happen to have an invitation to meet him. You can come with me.”
With that, you find yourself taken into an adjoining room, and fitted for a white tuxedo.
You’re sisters getting better at this.

Vlad Teppes
Vlad is massive. You remember as much, but meeting him again in the flesh tells you that your memory seems to have not done him justice. He towers above you, far taller then any normal man. He's massive, with a barrel-chest, huge arms, and no neck to speak of. His hair is long, and he still wears a moustache defiantly, as was the fashion of the warrior caste in his country long ago. His feral, over-sized appearance makes the formal clothing he wears slightly ludicrous, and he seems about to rip out of it in a heartbeat. His cloak is dark on the outside, with a red lining that gives him an operatical look to match your own. In his right hand he held a long ebony cane, and has a sword belted to his hip.
Deep-set eyes stare at you, and he inclines his head a fraction of an inch. “I did not know that you laid claim on this city.” He says. “But it changes nothing. I give you the same offer I make the rest. Serve me, do as commanded, or get out of town.”

Kincaid
He tucks her in, with Mister the kitty tucked in next to her. He hums a soft, meaningless tune, and strokes her hair, until she drifts off, satisfied that the world is right again. He watches her a long moment.
Then he limps out of the room, and showers until his skin is clean and tender. He reopens a few cuts that have closed infected with the razor he mostly uses for shaving, and bleeds out the puss, saving a bit of his blood in the process for storage. It's not a good idea for a human to do that of course, but he's only human on his mothers side, and his body will take care of it on its own. It’s taken care of far worse already. He braces his leg, and clenches his teeth to avoid screaming when he straightens the bone, his gums bleeding thanks to the new, sharp little fangs. He takes a few deep breaths, then splints it to keep it straight, and hobbles out of the bathroom. Then he goes and gets the items she'd asked for. He puts the blood in the freezer in it's special row for easy identification. He gets the books, and reads the Greek play. It's an original edition, and she forgot (as she sometimes does) that he can't speak Ancient Athenian Greek, so he hobbles back to the library and finds a reputable translation by a doctor of Oxford. He doesn't actually read it, he just skims the book until he has a good idea of the plot and composition if she quizzes him, and does his best not to consider why she wants him to read it.
Then he fixes the rest in a sports bag, and lies on the couch. He has a bed, he's lived here long enough, but at the moment he couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in it. The couch seems good enough. Digging out his spare semi-automatic, he switches off the safety and lies it within easy reach, confident he could have it in his hand in an instants notice. It's a mark of how tired he is that he doesn't check all the locks like he usually does.
Then he drifts off to sleep, with one eye open.
Kincaid had once worked out how long it had taken him, in retrospect, to achieve what he now considered a decent level of caution - weighed up how much experience it had taken him to get good instead of lucky - and had begun to suspect that most people died before they got there. He had once expressed this thought to Ivy, who had done some ciphering and figuring, and told him that a typical man in his line of work would die, on average, eight and a half times along the way to becoming 'paranoid'. This explained a great deal.

Nicodemus

"I lay no claim to any city, Vlad. As you well know."

Nicodemus snaps his fingers, and one of Tepe's servants approaches out of habit. Nicodemus takes no notice of the creature.

"A gin and tonic. And if it is not prepared properly, I shall cut your throat."

Vlad is all about recognizing strength. Bullying around his servants would establish him (re-establish him, for at least the twelfth time) as an equal.

"I am here on my own business. With the current Accords ruler of Chicago."

Even Vlad is not stupid enough to break hospitality. Nicodemus is safe so long as he is a guest.

Vlad
"The Accords recognizes mortals now." He growls, and for a moment something under his skin shifts. Then he relents, and his eyes narrow. “An oversight soon to be remedied. He will not exist for long. He’s nothing.” He clenches a fist, and his knuckles crack on their own accord.
Marcone had one reliable ally in the supernatural world, and it seemed unlikely he’d intervene on his behalf. Which would be bad, as The White Council didn’t care about him, and the White Court were only using him to buy up their stock before they left. He was in trouble if the Council didn’t act.
“If you have business here, bring it before me.” He continues. “I do not like people plotting behind my back. What do you have to hide?” He wasn’t posturing. He was quite, deadly serious. And didn’t no how to dress it up in civility.

Sartorius

"Hmm he must be powerful if the court just wants to avoid him. If it were me I would run him off my turf but eh. Still I'm surprised you didn't just charm some sucker into fighting him and have his associates declare revenge or something." It is clear that he is uncomfortable in the tux but he grins and bears it. At least it was a white tux. In his opinion the black ones made you look like a penguin, and that was never a good thing. "Oh yeah, um thanks for letting me come along to get to the bottom of this."

Lara
"Oh, I had to go anyway, as a delaying tactic. Taking you along is just an easy favor." She replies, dressed in a white cocktail dress and jacket, with her hairs done up in ringlets. How she managed to get changed and styled so quickly is just one of the many things you'll never understand about your sister.
“As for the turf, well, we need to move on to greener pastures anyway, before the Khine get too docile and bland. We’ll go somewhere warm. I could do with some sun. You clean up nicely.”
He’s got his fathers features, so he is very good looking. Then, most of the Court are. “Shall we?”

Nicodemus

"Many things," he answers blandly. "And I view Lord Marcone less as a mortal, and more of a potential immortal every day."

The gin and tonic arrives. Nicodemus takes a sip, nods appreciatively.

He isn't nearly as tall as Vlad, nor as muscular. Nicodemus doesn't need to be. His strength lies along other avenues than brute physical power.

"And until Lord Marcone relinquishes his title to you, I am under no obligation to disclose any information."

In contrast to Vlad, Nicodemus remains perfectly poised, slightly leaning on his cane and sipping his gin and tonic. It's rather dandy of him. Were Dresden here, he'd make a joke about it.

Vlad
He looms a moment, eyes darkening thunderously, then curls his lip and growls, deep in his throat. Smoke curles out his mouth. He wasn't this unstable last time. He's slipping at the edges somewhat. Then, when you do not cower and start begging he strides away, trailing smoke. You can see tiny orange pinpoints within it.

Sartorius

He nods as he lets his sister lead the way. "Who all can we expect to have been invited to this gathering. Surely we aren't the only ones on the guest list?" He had a feeling about this get together, a feeling that kept eating at the bottom of his stomach.

Thomas
He makes for the car. Then he remembers Sanya has the key, and frowns. Instead he runs up the sidewalk, and hails a taxi, hoping Dedire had bothered to transform back to normal.

Cowl
"Well. Turn the right street in Chicago, and anything will fall into your lap.” The voice is calm and bland, as is the manner. He wears dark, midnight robes, and is hooded. He’s using a minor spell to refract the light from his face, ensuring that, no matter the circumstances, it remains hidden.

“Nicodemus, if I guess rightly. Apparently, fresh from your humiliations at the hands of a young Warden, your wife having taken all you had to offer and left you to rot, you have returned now that your fearsome arch-enemy has been taken out, to attempt to interest the bottom of the barrel. Why, I do not know.”

Nicodemus

"Hello" he speaks a Syllable. The first Syllable of Cowl's Name.

"...or, as you undoubtedly prefer, Cowl. I see that you've decided to come back to this city as well. After that same young Warden removed your own chance at godhood, murdered your apprentice, and outperformed you with his first foray into the necromantic arts. Associating with Vlad is hardly a wise long-term strategy, young man."

Cowl
"Oh, you'd be surprised at my long term strategy." he replies, giving the same back. It was impressive, considering how much Nicodemus had invested in hiding it, but those below never forgot a fact. "Of course, it's not quite two thousand years long, but quite impressive nonetheless." he takes a drink himself, inclines his glass.

"Well then, I better go fuel Vlad's ego. He's about to crash and burn, but if he stays on course he should take out most of the senior council with him. And from there, who knows what will happen? Oh, and Tessa sends her love." With that he turns and steps after Vlad.