Moscow, Russia. A well-decorated apartment.
Vahni Rage's eyes flash open, already lit with the start of a fire. First, he looks over at the small, muscular, and severely bruised boy cradled in his arm. Contentment crosses his lips as he breathes. Bored of his acquisition, Rage looks over at the source of his instinctual ignition. Semyon Grigorivich, President of Firebird, and Rage's boss, watches him. An unannounced intrusion. Not the first time, either.
Rage grunts.
Rage: Hey. Boy. Wake up. Time for you to leave.
Boy: ...Huh?
Rage: Put on your clothes.
Boy: Er, yes.
Rage: Yes, what.
Boy: Yes, sir. Uh...will...you call me?
Rage: No. Have a good a day.
Alone now, and clad in a bergundy colored bathrobe, it's just him and Semyon. Having weened himself off rubedo for weeks, Rage's thoughts and feelings towards the men have decidedly changed. The elixir of the alchemists, perhaps, has blinded Rage for too long. Blinded him with the thrill of conquests. But these little boys continue to bore him. No threats. No contenders. His mind turns, hungrily, to Spike Waterford. Yes, the boys these days do look like him. Tender. Strong. Defiant.
But Spike isn't what Rage wants, right now, as he sits across from his employer...no doubt about to tell him something grave, with the addition of a request. Always a favor. No, right now, Rage only wants to be where Semyon is sitting. Should the champion, with no worthy conquests left to pursue, not rise to the position of president?
Semyon: You look...tired.
Rage: What a compliment from someone who let himself into my own apartment. I've broken men's faces for less...
Semyon: I will remind you that Firbird paid for this apartment.
Rage: And I'll remind you that I'm the reason Firbird sells so many tickets, so, in a way, I paid for this apartment. I am Firebird. And considering employee relations as of recent, I have strong feedback for you, Boss. What happened to Slayer? And don't give me that sabbatical bullshit.
Semyon: So contrarian today, my prized bull! I have only come to discuss our pursuits outside of the business. Our men are still looking for dearest Arthur.
Rage: Somehow I doubt it. And you've come here to tell me I was a fool for letting Deadboy and Icewolf do our dirty work. I am here to tell you that it went according to plan. Your little Alchemist friends, laying in wait. That's who I was after.
Semyon: Ah, so you wanted confirmation?
Rage: A champion has multiple paths to victory--I was hoping to bag their agent and the Chalice. Instead, I know now that they are working against Firebird. I was watching your back. You can choose to believe it or not; I don't care. I'm a bastard but I do have loyalty.
Semyon: And I choose...to believe you.
Rage: Were you behind this stunt of theirs? Did you not trust me, or were you honestly worried about Deadboy?
Semyon: Now, don't insult me, dear one! Your wavering faith in me has--most ironically--proven your loyalty to Firebird.
Rage: I am not following.
Semyon: My dear champion, you've drawn the rats out of hiding! Since the beginning, I knew Recida and her strange lot had their own agenda. This proves it. Deadboy's eyewitness testimony does, anyway. And are you certain that he saw an Alchemist take the Chalice of Voice?
Rage: It matches their description. For so-called rats that scurry among shadows, they don rather dramatic apparel. So, is Recida Di Sangro their leader?
Semyon: A golden question, my boy. No. For all their scheming, there is much I admire about the Alchemist chapter of Italy. Their leader is...unknown. I hear they operate through...conduits, shall we say? Recida is up in the ranks, but she does not--as you might say--'call the shots'. Though...in light of this power play, with the Chalice and all, I am beginning what her plan is. Hehe. She probably is thinking the same thing about me...
Rage: You types do have weird ways of flirting. But to answer the question, the Chalice could just be collateral for them. You've been listening to the radio, I assume? The Russians are making some risky movements on their borders just to appease their masses.
Semyon: Which grow increasingly resentful of the Tsar by the day. Listen to the radio? Hah. Look out the window, my dear boy.
Rage: I assure you, I have.
Semyon: Ah, I have been here before. Riding the uncertain tides of Russia's history--its crests, its waves. It never gets old. My dear, prized bull, chaos and uncertainty are fertile fields for which to sow seeds of opportunity. We merely tend to them now, watch them grow. Perhaps the Alchemists want the Chalice for reasons of security. Something to keep them safe. Annoying, to be sure, but that at least I can work with.
Semyon gets up from the table. Rage's eyes are on the window. Snow falls over all. In the distance, lights from government buildings burning; the aftermath of another protest.
Semyon: You have confirmed your loyalty, Rage...albeit in a roundabout way. However, we do need to talk about other matters. Something tells me your...disagreeable state, as of recent, may be related to rubedo withdrawals?
Rage narrows his eyes. The snake has sniffed him out. But Rage knows this game. In Spellbreaking, as in backstabbing, there are strategies...
Rage: Do you honestly expect me to trust the stuff the Alchemists are giving us?
Semyon: Hmm. Fair. But you should have come to me, first. Our stockpile of rubedo was given to us before our friends in Italy got these silly notions in their head. I do trust the formula is safe and I expect you to continue using it. Mind you, we still have a tournament on, and we need you in peak performance. And I believe next month you will be defending your home turf, so I hear?
Rage's hands grip the table, harder. The smell of fine wood burning begins to fill his nostrils. So, that's the creep's next move, is it? Come for the Chalice of Spirit, right in Rage's own back yard. Rage stills his wrath. He smiles. He has this under control. He knows what to do.
Rage: Don't worry, Boss. Let your Champion shine.
----
The Palazzo Di Sangro, Italy
A fireplace roars strong in an old, haunting room. Statues of noble-dressed Romans, remarkably lifelike, line the room, watch from their alcoves. They peer down on the glamorous woman, her legs crossed tight, her hands clutching the stem of a wineglass. They peer down at the massive, hulking figure in robe and mask, sitting across from her.
Jackal: Love the spooky digs, Recida. But let's cut to the chase. I thought you told Grigorivich you had no damn idea where the Chalice given to the Alchemists was hiding?
Recida: Mmm. Yes, I did, didn't I? I lied.
Jackal: Paris! Quelle sournois!
Recida: Well, not exactly a lie. We knew it was either in Paris or Prague, and likely sealed in one of the bone ateliers used by the Old Masters. Dr. Reyes might be certifiably insane, but his research is clear as day. Rage, the necromancer, and the ice magi led us right to it. What I want to know, Gold Mask--
Jackal: Please, my friends call me Jackal.
Recida: --is what Vahni Rage is doing acting as a free agent? As I understood, Semyon wished to keep him on a very short leash.
Jackal: Of course. He's a human weapon! A double edged sword can be turned both ways. Besides, his family has the Chalice of Spirit. Would be a shame if the Alchemists threw Semyon and the Tsarina under the boss and got their hands on two McGuffins, now, wouldn't it? Oopsie!
Recida: ...You're lying.
Jackal: Am I?
Recida: Just what is your aim, here, Jackal? Don't play games.
Jackal: Ah, ah, ah! I keep my cards close to my chest. Same as you.
Recida: Are you looking to pit our gray triad against each other? I hear you can be very manipulative.
Jackal: Oh, you have no idea, woman. But I have no qualms with the Alchemists, Di Sangro. It's the Tsarina that I distrust the most. She's short-sighted and crazy. That expensive egg of hers that she lives in now has scrambled her brain.
Recida: Concerning the old bitch, you and I are in agreement. The UN won't stand for her insanity. Nor will Aradia, once they get a whiff that arcane weaponry is involved in these affairs. And it's only a matter of time. That's to say nothing of what Semyon plans to do with the Chalices. Our researchers have been looking into that, and Kitezh.
Jackal: Ah yes, the so-called lost city...not so lost anymore.
Recida: Something happened there about a millennia ago.
Jackal: Yeah, it sunk!
Recida: You've heard of Atlantis, yes? Or Imran, of the Pillars? Or Madain Saari?
Jackal: Two are myths. One is not.
Recida: Two were wiped off the face of the planet, and Madain Saari lay in ruins and avoided by the locals for incurring the wrath of the Goddess. These were great civilizations, whose legacies only live on in oral history and rumor.
Jackal: ...Because their records were destroyed?
Recida: Exactly, and Kitezh, the same. From what we gather though, all of these kingdoms had one thing in common: a strong tradition of magickal experimentation in defiance of the Goddess Aethrin.
Jackal: And you think divine punishment is what did them in?
Recida: No, I think fear of divine punishment is what kept other cultures from doing what they did! I strongly believe they tried to unlock a type of forbidden magick, and it cost them dearly. And I suspect Semyon intends to do the same, with the Chalices, and with whatever lay in Kitezh.
Jackal: A...space laser?
Recida: Don't be stupid.
Jackal: How science fictiony! I love it, I love it. Oh, and I already gathered as much as well. Hands in many pots, you know! Many curious whispers in my ear from my informants. Good to know we're on the same page, though, Recida.
Recida: Goddess, spies everywhere...do you understand now how we Alchemists cannot trust a soul?
Jackal: Er...bit of projection there, don't you think? So, what, is the Chalice here in the Palazzo Di Sangro? Oh, don't look at me like that! You'll break my tender little heart! I have more power than a damn Chalice, and no reason to give over to the Tsarina.
Recida: Yes. It is here. Where no magick can reach it.
Jackal: Not with the devices you have here, anyway. Talk about hostile architecture...
Recida: The Chalice is merely a bargaining chip if Russia turns against us.
Jackal: Who is this 'us' you speak of?"
Recida: Don't pretend. You may wear that mask, but I see right through you. You want power.
Jackal: Who doesn't want power? Two Chalices with the GSA. One with Firebird. One with the Alchemists. One with the Agni Temple. That leaves two unaccounted for. But...I may know where one lies.
Recida: And I may know the location of one as well. Which one are you talking about? You go first.
Jackal: Don't be coy. I have word that the GSA is coming to Italy, as it were! Ciao bella.
Recida: For us?
Jackal: Don't be paranoid; unlike that color you're wearing, it looks bad on you. Our buff boys in colorful underwear appear to be acting in a double-capacity as foot-soldiers for Aradia. I mean, requires a fair amount of suspension of disbelief, admittedly--magickal pro wrestlers in the service of an international organization hunting down mystical artifacts? But hey, that's what the people want...
Recida: That plucky blonde pinup boy?
Jackal: The very same twink.
Recida: I want that twink obliterated!
Jackal: ...Define the method of obliteration and perhaps I'd love to help with that.
Recida: UGH! Those vultures! It better not leak that the Chalice of Voice is with us. We Alchemists can be very unforgiving.
Jackal: Then, I say we forge an alliance for now, Recida. 'Til we find out what Semyon's true intentions are. Now, speaking of power plays...Italy. What the hell is going on here? Why all the drama?
Recida: Do you know anything about us Italians? Well, where to begin? The great unified nation of Italy has always been, in actuality, many kingdoms at each other's throats. Our parliament is no different. To put it in words you'd understand, there are extremist factions using Rome as their own spellbreaking ring. Innocents caught in the crossfire. It was much nicer when it was magi vs Bereft; at least we knew where the lines were drawn. But that's the beauty of Alchemy. We are the unifiers. And this country needs to be brought to peace. One way, or another.
Jackal: And I assume the Alchemists are backing a political party?
Recida: Let's just say we've gotten this far by hedging our bets. Yes. We have chosen a path. I will not have Italy bow down blindly to the next Alban Empire--certainly not Russia. So, we are hosting a ball to help bolster support and solidify our alliance with The Sons United.
Jackal: Ew, you picked the fascists?
Recida: Oh, do not mistake my intentions. I am no racist. But...unlike the millions of other annoying parties in this damn country, the Sons have their own sort of enchantment on the populace. People buy into their language. It will make them all te more easier to control. ...Plus, they have better aesthetics than the Communists.
Jackal: So you don't support their ideology but you will help them seize power?
Recida: Anyways, it will be a rare occasion, having guests here.
Jackal: Letting in strangers while you have an artefact others want, locked in the basement? Sure that's a good idea?
Recida: The Alchemists have a plan, and we will not let fear stand in the way of our goals. The Great Work WILL be completed. And it starts with putting the dogs who rule this great country on a choke-collar. Plus, I love big parties. You know I do.
Jackal: Hmm. Well then! Good luck with your shindig. Hehe. I wonder who the chandelier will fall on this time?
---
Santorini Harbor, Greece
A young woman in a white sundress stands on the docks in front of an enormous yacht. Beautiful, tall women in tailored suits, all wearing sunglasses and carrying sidearms, stand on guard around the massive boat. A ramp is lowered. Lily Suarez, out of office, looks up in awe and confusion at the giant standing in the doorway of the ostentatious ship's luxurious cabin.
Salim Netjeer: benefactor, businessman, bodybuilder. With long hair, tied in a ponytail, and an expensive custom made suit (very little naturally fits his frame) his size is imposing but his smile inviting. One flash of his grin, and Lily knows she is under his protection. She climbs the ramp and shakes his hand. They have a professional relationship, tinged with the friendliness of a wise uncle having lunch with his favorite niece.
In the conversation pit of Salim's cabin, lined with expensive, rare artefacts and works of art, Lily tries very hard not to look impressed. Salim exchanges words with an intimidating redhead, before she shuts the door and leaves them to their meeting.
Lily: Salim, I didn't think a man of your stature even needed bodyguards.
Salim: It keeps the job economy going, habibi. And I only hire women. Never trust a man. Can I get you something to drink? Non alcoholic or alcoholic?
Lily: I am not used to this level of class. Tea is fine.
Salim: You must try this Oolong. More expensive than most houses!
Lily: Thanks. It's nice to get out of the office. The research we're doing has me worried.
Salim: I take it you've arrived to the very fun phase of international subterfuge where men in dark sunglasses start following you around?
Lily: How did you know?
Salim: I just do. And I will deal with them. Though, knowing your level of magickal expertise, I probably won't have to?
Lily: Oh! That's nice of you to say, sir, but my powers aren't all that much, honestly.
Salim: Ah, one of those sell-yourself-short types? You and the GSA boys are very much the same. In ring, and in research, you're cocky as all get out. Get outside performance mode, however, and you an barely make eye contact.
Lily: Look, tough childhood. Not easy being a trans girl in the nation of Texas. Sure, it makes you tough--if not damaged--but...not all of us should have to be tough just to get through this thing called life.
Salim: Then I take it back--you're probably braver than most spellbreakers at this point. That brain of yours. It's something.
Lily: Awww, thanks. But...let's get to it. What have you found?
Salim: Turns out, Reye's research was correct. The Chalice of Voice was hidden in the catacombs, likely where the Alchemists before their schism stored it. Deadboy and Icewolf are lucky they didn't try to touch it first. It was probably booby trapped by some weird pseduo-magickal crap. The Alchemists love doing spooky, morbid nonsense like that. Secret societies are so dramatic.
Lily: And where might it be now?
Salim: If I had to make an educated guess, it's with the Alchemists of Italy. The magickal mafia themselves! I hear our old friend, the Gold Mask, is among them. If he's there, then it stands to reason the Chalice is definitely with the Alchemists.
Lily: This is the one they call Jackal, yeah?
Salim: Yep. I looked into him, by the way. He's an enigma if there ever was one, but I can tell you he was likely a mercenary from the Great War. A soldier of fortune, I hazard.
Lily: Mmm. Speaking of mystery men, I've been in contact with Marcy Diamond, my friend from Las Vegas. She picked up on some gossip surrounding Redback, the would-be assassin who tried to kill Joseph Haw. We've traced him back to Australia. Turns out he might have fought for Deadboy's old fed, SxS. I heard Deadboy is going to look into him.
Salim: Stone the crows, habibi! Now that I do not believe. Deadboy is...playing nice?"
Lily: He got his ass kicked by El Amante shortly after the Paris incident. I wouldn't say he's playing nice, but he is cooperating. Besides, he's probably pissed someone tried to kill Joseph before he did. They...have a weird thing going on between them, I think. But as for the Chalice of Voice...do they have a base of operations, these Alchemists?
Salim: Several. But the most secure one would be the Palazzo Di Sangro, my old associate Recida's family's estate.
Lily: Associate...sounds like a loose word. I thought you hated her?
Salim: Meh. Hate? Beguiled by? Weirdly attracted to? It varies. I love a bad girl. Or boy. Anyway, the next leg of the World Championships is now being held there in Italy.
Lily: Oh? I thought the spellbreaking championships were moving on to Spain?
Salim: They were, until I made a call to Buck....speaking of bad boys. Well, I say 'bad' but he really is a good man, that Buck Tamberly.
Lily: Scientifically speaking, he's my best friend, so I am inclined to agree.
Salim: Yes, he has quite the hidden power. He agreed to move the next tournament to Roma, which is not far from the Palazzo. They're going to be doing some kind of carnival ball thing there for a politician.
Lily: Carnival? Salim, it's not even Yuletide.
Salim: Yeah, yeah, sounds very Eyes Wide Shut, I know. Kinky, I hope. I have a contact in Italy who has connections to the Di Sangros--a spellbreaker named Belladonna; former rival and current friend of one Giovanni DiToro, the GSA's hunky titan. And let me tell you, Ms. Saurez, this Belladona? She is HOT.
Lily: More...bad girls?
Salim: Can't get enough of 'em!
Lily: Okay, so we know the Chalice is in the Palazzo Di Sangro. Great. But how the hell do we get it? It's not like the government of Italy is playing nice with Aradia and... ...I...hey...I don't like that look in your eyes.
Sailm: Hehehe. Habibi, are you a fan of heist movies?
To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment