New Job.  New places.  New friends?  Ilesha wondered if she should stop by Kallisti and see Oriena and Claire.  Maybe they could share with her some more.  Or she could share things with her.  This app that Consulate DoBois gave her was amazing.  Truly so.  

It wasn't very intuitive at first.  The interface was not how she imagined it working.  But it was wonderful.  She could see the patterns of the power that created things.  It was harder to manipulate at first.  To understand what she was seeing and how to interpret it into the system, but once it was there it was there and she could play with it.  

It didn't always do as she expected, but that was the case with all things.  It learned and the representation was almost spot on.  It was incredible.

Ilesha sat in a shared cubical type space inside of the facility being used and played with the metals in front of her and the application.  She'd have to see about bringing in the motorcycle engine she was rebuilding to see how those worked with the program.  It was easier to work on things she understood than with the plain scraps she had.  

But the program was amazing, and there was so much to learn about it, metals, and geology and so many other things.  There were piles of books on her desk she was reading.

In full planning-mode again, Nika forgot her coffee and only had her wallet because it was in her hand.  That would have been missed immediately though as she had a call to make.  “Gillian,” her condo AI.  “Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  What’s our mozzarella and tomato situation?”  The AI came back with an answer and Nika asked a few more questions before disconnecting and entering the book store next door.  Six minutes later Nika emerged, crossed the coffee shop’s window front and all but ran home.  The book store clerk locked the door and flipped the old-fashioned sign to closed.  A printed card later appeared below: Closed for Private Party.

Forty three minutes later Nika, carrying an old school picnic basket, returned to the bookstore and knocked on the door.  Entrance granted, she set about preparing for the date.

She was early to the door in case Liv was early.  They hadn’t exactly synched watches.  That would have been perfect but probably the last time Liv would ever speak to her.  On account of craziness.  

Nika unlocked the door and managed not to pace.  Somehow.  She was not nervous, that feeling had passed.  Instead, confidence wrapped its familiar self around her being.  She stood firm with the decisions she’d made regarding dinner and if that wasn’t good enough...well, she’d put forth her best effort.  No regrets.  

Viktor Lih started to cry. It wasn’t lost little boy crying, the kind you do standing besides a shopping counter under the warm smile of a customer service lady. It was broken heart crying, the deep, seismic sobbing of the bereft. It was grief, and he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t choke it off and shut it down. 

He was hurt, scared, upset and extremely vulnerable, and this failed mission was simply providing the right conditions for his present misery.

It was all about mistakes and stupid choices, and a shocking realization that he’d fucked up. He’d failed on most of the basic professional levels expected of him. He’d fundamentally compromised his performance as a CCDPD officer.

More than anything else, it was about a man called Boda Oszkar. Lih was weeping uncontrollably over a man he hadn’t really known. He was expressing his grief for Boda.

When it was done, when his cries passed away like a rainstorm moved on by the wind, he felt oddly better. He felt more together than at any point since getting those donuts from the bakery when he woke up.

Somebody was coming to the church yard. He looked at them, and for a second the vice of grief threatened to tighten again. Lih shook it off.

Lih

Liv avoided the steam that would burn her arm like it was second nature. She'd had enough over the last few months. Her wrist and forearm were proof of that. Daddy had offered her a place at the flower shop. And she'd thought about it.

But the truth was she needed to do this on her own. Daddy loved her. So did mom. They were trying to help her. Mom didn't jump all over her after her last information science test. She had been scared. Like she would let her down. Mom was just trying to help her find a place

But just like that afternoon in the coffeshop- what was it, eight or nine years ago?- mom smiled at her and her heart exploded with love and appreciation. Just as when she had, so scared and terrified, told her that she liked girls, and mom hadn't batted an eyelash, had said she was there for her and loved her and wanted her to be happy, even now mom wasn't angry if she really wasn't feeling it. Had told her to follow her heart

Liv knew her family loved her. Mom, daddy and her brother. And yeah, she was adrift and unsure and alone. But she realized how lucky she was. Laila didn't define her. Didn't get to have a say anymore. Fuck her. She knew love.

And so now Liv was working in the coffeeshop. She knew she could do other things. Would do other things. But she was content. Finally, she felt ready to live. It had started last night. Lost and alone she wondered along the river. The moon shone overhead, sky a cold black blue cobalt, and she felt the vast emptiness. And once again she sat before god, begged her for help, asked her for something, anything, for meaning. She ignored the pain of the gravel at her knees.

God answered her. She- only a woman could know, could understand, could make her feel alive and known- had come to her. The Angel's wings brushed her cheek and tears and the world came alive in a way she couldn't begin to imagine. Breathing was like an orgasm. She wept at the overwhelming beauty of it.

And in that moment, she saw herself smiling, face radiant with joy and she ached to know its source. God left her then. But she did not feel disappointed. She had seen something. She had life ahead of her.

And so now, in the coffeeshop, she felt alive. Hopeful. Ready. God had promised it, hadn't she?

The curtain of air scalded like the hand of a desert wind, hard on the lungs, a scorch against frail skin. In its wake leaves crumpled and withered and became dust; trees eroded from magnificent branches to clinging roots, erased in a second, while all around lush greens burned to brown and grey and sepia, the sun hanging a strange and mournful vigil in a colourless sky. The ground stung Nimeda’s bare soles with every step. Tears clung to the curves of her cheek, each toxic breath heaved out in a sob. She bent to dig her fingers through the decay, searching, desperate.

“Nimeda?”

The vision cleared like a film swept away from her blistering eyes, though the tears did not. She squeezed the clumps of grass discovered in her hands, running her thumbs over the soft blades. Her forearm dragged across her eyes, but she could not so easily dig the emotions from her chest. An ending comes an ending comes an ending comes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” she said, which was true enough. A terrible truth. Her eyes pressed closed, arms pulling her legs in tight. Mud smeared the pale folds of her dress like blood. Her forehead pressed against her knees, the dark crown of her hair spilling wild and tangled. “It will pass,” she murmured, unclear if she meant the memory or the future. “But I dread the passing.”

She felt him draw close, but knew he was unlikely to offer comfort. Or not the comfort she wanted. Nimeda would rather drift into the peace of oblivion than observe the arm’s length at which the grimnir kept her, and yet her chin lifted to rest on her arms nonetheless. Her grey gaze rose to find him watching, his eyes faintly narrowed in the manner of dissection.

Sometimes the haze of memory could be a comfort despite its intangibility. Fire and song enveloped; a drum beat like a heart, the pluck of strings. Happiness from some far other time. But like the detritus left over from a storm, her thoughts took her somewhere else.

“I know naught of sea monsters,” she told him suddenly. “But I know something of the monsters to be found in rivers.” The name Vánagandr beat like a thumbprint against her mind, though to what end she supposed she had never discovered. Mara’s presence spewed other memories to the surface, as if the Hidden One’s hook caught more than just the one answer. In that muddied murk she sometimes plucked free something shining. 

She unfolded like a flower discovering sun, expression clouded with the strange storm of thoughts to reach her shore. Grim kept a wary distance. A spear of the odd half-light in this world lit one eye to bright amber. Nim stared at the other as it flickered in its socket. “Sometimes you dream of a lake and a man you cannot save,” she said, crawling forward in the mud until she found her feet. Nothing cruel shadowed her expression as she laid bare these terrible facts, but Grim’s expression darkened. Despite the times he warned her away, she liked to watch his dreams, strange as the trinkets unearthed from the bottom of the sea. Pain drew her, but this time it was not his.

Her eyes flared wide. “All the old things sleep, and it’s where you ought to leave them, Grim. They don’t deserve to die!”

“The creature in the lake,” he said, surprised. “You know what it was.”

“You killed him, Grim! For a shiny bauble!”

“Then you know of the others.”

He bridged the distance until her neck craned, warmed by an intensity unchallenged by her horror, and then his will tugged upon her eagerly, the weight of his palm digging into her shoulder. The world unravelled. Memories stirred sharp as ice in that maelstrom, until she curled tight and let herself wash with the flood without leaking apart at the seams. When her toes returned they scrunched against a new bank. She twisted to the roaring waves, yanking back from Grim’s touch, fists curled. She knew these waters and the ancient being who called them home. Or had, once? Such odd memories rippled. For once she willed to forget as she felt Grim draw close behind her.

“Oh, you will never find her.” She turned, palm outstretched to ward him away. He knew as well as she that the trickle of a few moments were all she needed to welcome the arms of oblivion, but oddly his eyes narrowed. Without warning Grim’s hand snatched to grab her wrist, wrenching her freshly scarred palm to the scrutiny of his attention. Recognition flashed before his temper flared, curling his lips thin. Her understanding of him shuddered in that moment, the crush of a thousand lives weighted into a single moment. Fear licked her spine as she tried to prize herself free. The river was abruptly forgotten. His fingers squeezed like steel. “What did you take?”

With the Ascendancy’s constant attention devoted to the United States, his chief of staff was diligent about honing his focus to the highest priority needs. China and the Pacific Rim were operating business as usual. Africa and South America were in stasis; operations destabilizing the region were ongoing. Notably, negotiations with Australia were narrowing. It was a matter of months before they were incorporated into the Custody. The tiny island continent was remarkably independent, but inflation, droughts, and trade eroded their resolve. It was a matter of time.

Within their own borders, numerous campaigns were in motion. Consuls devoted to public affairs, government relations, culture, and media were inundated with as much work as ever before. Media coverage of the ball and all its aftermath needed a heavy hand, but Nikolai approved their internal efforts. The dividends were paying already. An attack orchestrated by Atharim were remained the standard explanation. Enough witnesses were there to report it, and enough censuring contained the Ascendancy’s reaction, coming to the rescue of all once again.

Word eventually arrived about the waves Evelyn made in DC. Her sudden change of stance from pro-Custody relations to pro-annexation was startling, but the darling Senator had a way of convincing everyone that it was the most obvious and best choice for their future. It was almost as if she had been of such a mind the entire time. Her own party would fracture now, and the splintering would not be overcome. As soon as the work destabilizing the south catalyzed, then the platform upon which Texas may succeed would be fully built. The end was now.

Nikolai was quite content when he went to bed that night. All the pieces of this great game swirled into focus. It was time to let them fall as he willed.

Last night had been different.  Never before had Nox gotten up on stage.  Never before had he danced for others much less provocatively.  But the girls were so great to work with.  Nox hadn't had a chance to catch up with Raffe after the night ended, he was so fucking tired and he had an early morning so Nox had pretty much crashed after.  Thankfully he hadn't put it on multiple times.  They still had some things to work out but all in all it went well and the girls raved about the final cut of music.  Nox was proud of his work.  

Nox woke up sore but nothing a good stretch and workout wouldn't cure.  Sore was a way of life most days.  And being sore from dancing well while new was completely worth it.

The routine of morning was simple and Nox tried to keep the noise down, he was up earlier than usual, and probably much earlier than the late night people were used to.  But Nox didn't sleep much anyway.  He yawned as he sipped at his coffee and pulled Sage's contacts from the storage unit he kept all his hunting things in since leaving Dorian's.  There was no point in trying to haul it around when he moved a lot.  Or at least that had been the plan. 

Nova followed at his heels and yipped at the person passing by the locker to their own.  Nox checked his bag a third time to make sure he had everything he might need.  An ammo sling was slung over his body carrying several vials of ordinary things.  Nox wished he had time to make a batch of napalm but he didn't.  He'd have to fix that later, hunting was going to be a thing again - and he knew with his new job it was going to be.  

There was baby powder, glass shards, metal pellets, pebbles to name a few things that were stationed in each vial.  Each one meant to do damage or disorient a person with diminished use of the power.  When the strength to stand became paramount or to conserve if it was going to be a long fight.  Either way Nox would be prepared.  He strapped a few guns to his belt and put the rest in the bag.  The compact cross bow was folded and stored in the bag too.  Fighting these little creatures, a cross bow wasn't going to come in handy, but against an Oni it was safer to use with the right aim.

Nox was early to their meet up point.  The sun was still asleep as he sat down against the wall of the mouth of the tunnel.  He sipped his coffee and dipped into the power of the gods and pulled a discarded glass bottle to him and started the process of crushing it into a fine powder.  Breathing glass shards wasn't a fun prospect.  And Nox had found another use for it in scattering the laser from a sniper.  it came in handy as long as you didn't breath it in.  It wasn't something you could use around people - that would be dangerous.

Nova sniffed around the tunnel entrance as they waited.  This was the first time that Nova was going hunting with him.  Hopefully the pup listened and didn't get wrapped up in the chaos of it all.

So we're getting an announcement today. Confirmation of the casting rumour maybe?

Honest, where does a guy have to go to get a decent dinner around Moscow?

He grinned as he walked up to Kallisti. In Chicago, the only time he found himself in a strip club was when he was interviewing suspects in a crime. Not the sort of situation when he paid much attention to the stage. He wasn’t dead, but he was a professional.

His hotel was across the river, someplace far more affordable than in the downtown quadrants. Plenty of restaurants stood between the hotel and the red light district, but this place had incredible reviews online, and a guy had to eat, even Andre.

He wore a chartreuse button-down, sleeves cut short around his biceps and navy-blue pants that split at the ankles into a flare. Maybe he overpacked for the trip; clearly not.

He hung out at the bar before the show started.