Waves in the crowd

[Ascendancy]

A brow lifted.

No?

Nikolai entertained Damien's explanation, contemplated the plan. If their roles were reversed and Damien ruled on high and Nikolai sent to rule the gutter, he would craft a similar, although more elegant, plan.

As it was, things were different this time, and Nikolai let a small smile touch his face, returning Damien's frosted platitudes.

Like Africa, others were interested in cleaning out the scum and unifying the nations behind flags of peace and freedom. Nikolai was not anxious to undertake such work himself. He had hundreds of years, maybe an eternity, to wait and gather other men's efforts to himself.

"I will support you."
He said finally.

With that, he stood carefully, finding his legs strong, he descended the stairs to shake Damien's hand and look the man in the eye. "I don't often forge alliances, Damien. Do not play me. And do not make me regret this."


That said, he gestured, "Would you like to stay in the Palace as my guest for the time being? Or the Mexican embassy will likely accept you."

[Damien]

Damien held the Ascendancy's eyes. He was a smart man, and his quick response to rejection was proof. He could wait, just like he always had done.

Damien replied with a nod. "A man like me is only as good as his word. You have it."
There was an air of finality in his voice.

His mood lightened as soon as that was done. He had achieved his purpose here. Now, he could have some fun.

"I would prefer this to be kept as secret as possible. You will have your documents proving that I speak for Mexico in this matter, but I'm supposed to be on my deathbed,"
his lips twitched into a smile. "A few days accommodation while the necessary formalities are disposed with will be sufficient."

[Ascendancy]

"You will have privacy within these walls. There are many people that work here on a daily basis, but they are trustworthy not to speak of what they witness inside. But venture outdoors and you risk exposing yourself. I'll keep your secret. You're courting death, as far as I am concerned."
He almost laughed. The joke seemed disproportionately humorous for the situation for some reason.

Nikolai walked with Damien to the end of the hall, where he told an aid to show Damien to guest quarters. Many had been guests of the state inside the Kremlin over the last century, but few were given the experience since the CCD was formed.

"Before you retire for some much needed rest. I ask you show me the trick you used to conceal your face. It's a fair trade for forgiving your clandestine entrance to my realm."


Marcus was nearby. He would learn the trick too by virtue of witnessing it, but if Nikolai ever made use of it, he would know anyway. So far, he trusted Marcus enough to use the secret wisely.

[Damien]

Damien cocked his head slightly. So, the Ascendancy didn't know everything. Interesting.

He shrugged and produced the 'trick' as Ascendancy called it. His face distorted for a moment with a ripple before resolving into an unrecognisable dark head. He lifted a hand and drew it across his cheek, producing another distortion that broke the glamour. "A fine trick, no ordinary man will be able to notice, but it will break if you are touched."


He let the pattern of Light drop. "I am glad that you are most magnanimous, Ascendancy. I will avoid further clandestine trips to the Custody in the future."



Edited by Damien, Aug 18 2016, 02:08 PM.

[Ascendancy]

Damien departed. His civility impressed Nikolai, who otherwise expected an arrogant brute in Damien. Little in the way of class and no maturity. Instead, Damien surprised him with his capacity to engage on a higher level. That went a long way toward the decisions Nikolai made in regard to the surprising new alliance. The extent to which the CCD would aid the efforts in Latin America was unknown at this point, but he wouldn't hinder them without just cause either.

He signaled Marcus to walk with him. "Now that's dealt with, I can finish what I started earlier."
What was dealt with was left undescribed. Either the crowd or Damien himself.

"In the announcement, I spoke of the Atharim. Tell me what you know about them."


As they walked, Nikolai guided their path to private halls in the palace, and eventually to an elevator leading to one of the many sub-basements.

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus watched the exchange between Oakland and Ascendancy. And he'd give credit where credit was due. The man knew how to keep tensions from growing as easily as he could stoke them.

And strangely, Marcus found himself liking the man. There was no sycophancy, no simpering. And yet none of the barely concealed contempt or tolerance or dislike that Vellas radiated- was still radiating even now. Oakland could flip on a dime, judge the mood and immediately flow into it like quicksilver.

It was a trait Marcus appreciated, as another practitioner of the art. When dominance was required- demanded even, as it had been out on the square the very first time they spoke- then that was the tack. But emotions were like clothes, easily shed, from one moment to the next, to be replaced by another that befitted the occasion. Marcus knew how he had learned it, in home after home, where each foster parent or sibling was as different as the next, the mood of the house an odor that one must sample and judge before knowing how to fit in, what brought what consequences, and so forth. Idly, he wondered if Oakland's time in San Quentin had been the school he'd learned the quality.

No matter, though. It was what it was and a deal was struck. He suspected Ascendancy disliked being told no. The man was not in the habit of hearing that. But these were different times. Indeed, it seemed a new age, even. The Age of the Ascendants. Gods walked the earth. Battling would have repercussions whose extent were truly were only in their infancy.

It was a new Cold War, only this time the weapons were the Ascendants. Men that he knew of, so far. He suspected Spectra. Perhaps the girl at the Almaz as well. What he wouldn't give to meet a woman who could use the Force and speak to her about it. It felt as if only half the possible knowledge was available to him. What women did- if they had the Force, and he was not fool enough to believe this was purely a male thing- was still unknown to him. And things that were unknown were like an itch. The longer it stayed that way, the more eager he hungered to scratch it.

The feel of the metal ball in his pocket was suddenly noticeable as he shifted his weight, in the way that you suddenly became aware of sensations that had become so constant they became invisible. The way the regular sound of the train near Mrs Swerlin's house eventually became unnoticeable after just a few months.

Yes, that was an itch he longed to scratch. He had something, there. But he could do more, he was sure. Swords were all very well, even ones that would withstand anything done to them. But it seemed almost a pedestrian use of the Force, to simply create a melee weapon. There was something else there.

And then the meeting was done, Oakland given rooms as befit his status, and he and Ascendancy were soon out walking in the halls and eventually wound their way down into the basements. He was content to wait on the man to tell them why they were headed there.

"In the announcement, I spoke of the Atharim. Tell me what you know about them."
Marcus glanced at the man through his peripherals. He had an air of probing. Immediately, his mind raced into calculating mode, trying to anticipate where this was going. A 'mentat' state, smiling inwardly at the comparison. Indeed. It was very apt.

To the question. "I had not heard of them until your speech. However,"
- he paused as certain details he'd connected earlier at the Almaz clicked into place with Ascendancy's revelation. Though to tell all of it was too dangerous. He could not give Malik and his...hungers away. The girl he'd rescued would have to be secret. His mind calculated the information trail to him. She hadn't seen his face. Even on the train, he'd worn his hoodie up. She'd never turned around once as he followed from distance, Force enhancing his senses. And down in the tunnel he'd woven a disguise, not as intricate as the one Oakland had used, but certainly more terrifying. The only one who saw his true face had died screaming out his soul early the next morning. I hunt monsters every day.
Yes. Now he understood.

"I have encountered....one person who piqued my interest. In retrospect, it is possible that he has some knowledge of the Atharim. At the Almaz there was a match between men that truly could not be called men. One of the spectators, an Ascendant, was able to stop one of the creatures that escaped with the Ascendant power. He later remarked to me that the stories were true. His words: There really are things that go bump in the night. When I tried to prise details out of him using different angles of approach, he deflected. A past he did not want to discuss, was all he would say. I do have his contact information, though. But other than that, I know nothing."

[Ascendancy]

Nikolai had to press all five fingertips to sensors on the interior door before the elevator began to descend. As it did, he calmly watched his abstracted reflection in the stainless steel doors before them while Marcus relayed his story.

The Almaz was a name unfamiliar to him. By its description, he was unsurprised such a club existed in his city. It smelled of immorality, but so long as such business was self-contained, he would continue to allow it. There were more offensive places, he guessed. The Ascendancy would never attend such an environment. Not openly anyway. Damien's trick of the face might change that.

The encounter Marcus described likely was an Atharim. How many people met one and didn't know? He himself had, as a teenager, been flat mates with one for months before the secret was shared.

He didn't care about one random Atharim. If the plan worked, Aria would lead the society next and she could reshape it into an acceptable tool. The public may never accept them, and they would need better disguises, but they could remain. All these years and Nikolai still believed in their cause. If they would just leave him alone! He'd not stop their attacking any god that couldn't defend themselves. In fact, with the registration, he counted on it.

He elevator doors parted, revealing an open space with high ceilings, recently paneled walls and dark cement floors. At the end of a hall was two frosted glass doors, which only opened after another biosensor was unlocked by his touch.

"Welcome to my home,"
he said and entered. "Ever since I left the Presidential palace outside the Golden Ring and returned to the Kremlin, I never stayed above ground. The risk was too great. Instead, I had one of the many lower basement bunkers refinished. It's quite comfortable."


A gas fireplace roared to life when he entered, as did the lighting scheme. Floor to ceiling screens along the back wall were quiet. He glanced at them but decided not to breathe life into the panels yet. Instead, he sank into one of the supple leather couches. Threads of Essence snagged a bottle of water from a crystal laden wet bar and carried it to him across the air.

He spoke after a long drink. "Yes, you probably met one. We don't have much time to discuss them, but I'll explain as much as I can."


He gestured that Marcus could sit, even have water if he desired.

"They had a noble cause. Those things that bump in the night are real. I've seen some. The Atharim keep them at bay: trapped in the sewers and contained by forests. If people really knew what was out there, they'd panic. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. Ghosts. They're all fantasies based in truth.

"The Atharim are more though. They are ancient. Older than Rome. Older than Jerusalem. Older than Babylon. How old, I don't know. Since the days that the stories we know as ancient myths were real, however long ago that was. You know the tales of mythology? The Atharim believe those tales actually happened. That at one time there really was a Zeus on Mount Olympus, a king of the underworld, a father that devoured and regurgitated them, and so on.

"It has been their primary purpose to kill me since 2001. I've eluded them all this time. Today, I've arranged for a trap. One of their own -a girl - will lead the leader of the Atharim and his best agent into these very rooms where you and I are going to finally kill them."

[Marcus DuBois]

They seemed to descend into an underworld labyrinth and somehow, Ascendancy seemed more relaxed, at home even. Especially once they'd entered his apartments. They were spacious but not ostentatious. Functional, though not spartan. Simple, and yet not ascetic.

And Ascendancy seemed to transform as he sat down. Perhaps it was the image of seeing him relaxing, sinking into a leather couch, such a contrast to the rigid calculated man that he seemed to always project. The fireplace lit the room and the lighted shadows seemed to highlight the tiredness in the man's eyes. Threads of air drew a water bottle to him and he drank as if thirsty.

It was curious. Almost as if the Ascendancy was shedding the crown, the mantle for just a moment, allowing himself to be seen as human, Nikolai Brandon. An intensely private thing to do. And Marcus felt....curiosity. He knew the man's biography backwards and forwards, had studied him from afar. And even though they had interacted on numerous occasions, now, there was always that sense of facade, this was not a 'man', this was the position, the power, the Ascendancy.

And yet beneath it all, he was human. A man bearing the weight of this world on his shoulders. And Marcus understood. For his entire life recently was only that of projection, of goals and perception. Except for those few moments with Elouera or at the Almaz where he had allowed himself his humanity, dark or light- certainly not with Spectra, no. That had been a pure game too. Fun, but definitely a contest.- except for those moments, his life was lived in a shell. It was worth it, of course. Solitary, but then life was ultimately solitary. That was a secret few were strong enough to accept without question.

He wondered, though, even as he sat down after taking a drink. The chair was also comfortable and he allowed himself to luxuriate in it. There was a secret here he wished to learn. Not information. Not facts. He wondered how to balance the two. The outward and inward. He suspected he'd learn from the Ascendancy.

He launched into an explanation of the Atharim and truthfully, Marcus didn't know what to think or how to react. He was in a curious mood. The words were filed away. An ancient organization, predating recorded history? That bore searching out. Their plan now, to kill the leader and remake the organization, take control of it. He felt a thrill of anticipation at that. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to ask about them. He was not afraid. He would make it the focus of his studies soon. And when he focused, there was very little he missed.

But for now..."If I may ask a question. Was it worth it? To create an empire such as this, to become a god to these people, to be so far removed from the humanity you rule over. When you are down here in your home and look back on your life, alone with your thoughts, how does it feel?"


It was an audacious question. It seemed at once too personal and intimate. It seemed to fly in the face of everything he personally believed, wanted to believe. It was about order, about power. Always. Things like feelings and attachments did not really exist. They were the stories people told themselves to deal with the harsh realities of life. And yet..."Pardon me. I am merely curious. The great men of history, they were more than men. But they were also men. It fascinates me, that dichotomy."

[Ascendancy]

The water bottle resting on his knee, Nik drew a thoughtful breath. Nobody had asked such s question before, not even himself. How to begin formulating an answer?

He dissected the question.

The creation of the CCD was his idea, but the expansion of Russian power was an old one. The Ascendant Soviet Union had been a natural progression. From there, the CCD was born. But like any new child, perfect circumstances had to exist for its inception. Orchestrating those circumstances had also been his doing; a disturbing secret, but necessary. Was the world not better off? If only the remaining countries would see the greener grass, finally they would be united.

In an astonishingly short amount of time, the Ascendancy was the ruler of more land than any man to have ever lived. Yet the effort was far from over. Was the work this far valuable to him? Of course it was. He loved the CCD and proudly stood as its leader.

But it wasn't the Custody that Marcus referenced. It was personal. As they sat in the stillness of the subterranean home, peaceful and dim, he was acutely aware how alone they were. The recognition flickered across his face before he reigned it in with another drink from the bottle.

His parents had the happy home life one always imagined for themselves. The American Dream. How did that end? With funerals, farewell, and an escape to Italy. He had one real friend, a future as a lawyer, and a life in the Atharim. How did that end? With fire, graves and retribution.

He answered quietly, reverent almost. The topic deserved more than flippant dismissal of the bitter and immature. If he was alone with his thoughts, it was because he preferred isolation. "It feels right."
Had any of those events unfolded differently, they would not be here today. Even if he had died on that train out of Bologna rather than endure the Sickness... Having lived it, nothing seemed unusual at the time, but the sequence of complicated events to unfold exactly as they had was remarkable. Almost designed.

He needed to brush the nostalgia away like cobwebs. "I'm hardly distanced from humanity, as you described it. Through the Custodies, I am probably more aware of the movements, habits and culture of the human race as anyone ever has."
His gaze sharpened, refocusing upon the present. If something was missing in his life, he couldn't grasp what it was. He'd never been interested in a spouse or children; the American Dream was not for him. Relationships came and went over the years, but he never found anyone striking in personality, intelligence and beauty to tempt him with such dreams. The standard of such a woman simply didn't exist.

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus watched the Ascendancy mull over the question, giving it the respect it was due. He expected as much. It was a question that had to occur to one such as them, at least subconsciously.

Shadows seemed to flicker about the room, the orange light from the fire and dark dancing about the room. The contrast was palpable, light and dark, alighting among themselves, flickering for ascendancy. And then he answered, a simple, single sentence. . "It feels right."


It was an answer, the only real answer, and Marcus stepped back in his mind, whatever momentary...hesitation? satisfied. The acceptance of the true secret of the universe. In the universe- in your universe- only you truly existed. Of course, others did, in one sense. As allies. As enemies. And as dupes and diversions. All of them temporary as one of those four shifted from one to the other to the other as time went on. They always had to be factored in.

But in the end, it was about you, about what you wanted. Embracing the one simple truth: As far the universe- the entire multiverse inside whatever complex universal machine it ran- you were all that mattered. The Force- this power- had a will. Of that he was sure. But so did he. So did they.

The dark seemed darker, now, as if the fire was going out. Impossible. It appeared to be gas based. And yet the shadows seemed to reach out to him and he embraced them. The room, strangely, lit up, as his eyes adjusted. Dark and yet visible. It was a curious sensation and he....enjoyed it.

Ascendancy's second answer spoke of real power. That was what mattered. Not being cut off from humanity- he had meant the humanity that existed in most people themselves, the desires for acceptance and home and love and whatever else drove people. Ascendants had to be cut off. The Sith were always cut off. It was the way of truth. One could not accept one truth without the other. The only real connection was the knowledge of people, of the world, of what went on and why.

All useful. He smiled and nodded to the man. "Thank you Ascendancy."
He took a drink, now refocused on what mattered. He did another projection. "The Atharim. They believe in the old gods of myth. So...this thing we do, it is merely a return of something old? They claim those things really happened? "
In his mind, he felt a surge of....excitement. Inside those myths he could find clues of the extent of his power. Of what was possible. His mind spun with the possibilities.