Chapter 2.12: Outside Information

While everyone else attacks the hive, Alric calls Shannon

“Good evening.” Shannon intones. “May I inquire as to the nature of this call?” She drawls in a nearly theatrical accent.

Alric chuckles. It's nice to hear a friendly voice that has no knowledge of what happened here today.

Let's aim for 300 words or less.

"Eehh.. So, today.. No, first things first, the- actually, wait. I should probably- but-" He sighs. Way to go, buddy. "Let me start over. I.. have a prediction that you could validate. One of those long shot Seer things. If I'm wrong I'll need to minimize the amount of information I give you. If I'm right, then things get, well.." - he smacks his lips - "interesting. Do you want me to go further?"

"A prediction. Well, I do like information and interesting things, so I suppose I am rooting for your correctness." She continues in her faux-aristocratic voice. "Do go on."

"Yeah.. I'm not sure you should." He thinks for a moment, or two, or three, looking around to see if there's any Sidhe around. Or paper birds. Or, like, anything. "So.. If I'm right, then I've met someone from your past and.. I'm not sure how that would rank for you but it's probably bad? So I'll ask: Do you still want me to go on?"

“…The bad people in my past would be worse for you to know—and for them to know you know me—than for me to know you know them.” There’s a sound of a faucet briefly being turned on and used. Her drawl turns into more of a purr. “Are you holding back to spare my feelings? Hmm? Or is this more of a ploy to upsell me on the value of your information?”

Faintly in the background, Alric can hear another voice. “Are you attempting to mock me with that accent, darling?”

“I’m on the phone.” Shannon says to the other person. Then back to Alric she says, now in a thick Boston accent, “Anyway, Alric, ya were pitchin’ me on a hypothesis. How’s it you expect it gonna hurt for me to hear whatcha gotta say?”

Alric laughs out loud. "Look, I've been blowing up bridges left and right today without even trying. And now I'm handling an actual powder keg here. So, I really hope you'll just laugh at me when I tell you, or tell me it's no big deal, but if this blows up in my face, don't worry, I get it. Ready? I'm gonna start with the outmost inferences and then work my way inwards. Brace for impact."

He takes a deep breath, triple-checks his environment - still no one around - and then, if she doesn't interrupt, tells her.

"You were a Pontiff once, weren't you?"

“That is a very personal assertion. I’ll neither confirm nor deny at this juncture, but I see no informational danger in you continuing on.” She says in a voice closer to her usual, though clipped with professionalism.

Alric draws in a deep breath.

Ah, fantastic.

He continues to speak in a hushed voice, keeping an eye on his environment.

"Yeah, there's a reason I danced around it. So.. hypothetically speaking, even though I have to minimize the amount of information I give here, I might have run into someone's ex-Patron who may or may not have used rationality-adjacent terms, incorrectly, mind you, and even someone as socially blind as me might have gotten the sense that there's.. grief around that. Do you want me to go on?"

“That could be some juicy gossip. Yes, please spill!” She says. Alric can almost hear her grin in her words.

"Ah." He thinks for a moment. "So.. There might have been a little bit of.. conflict. And in that hypothetical scenario I would've been a little bit confused, because someone who knows the term 'street epistemology' would never react negatively to that, now, would they? ..But then again, I'm the one who keeps blowing up bridges, so.. I'm not the expert here. Anything you can tell me in return? On how to handle the situation better? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

She sighs. “The situation, as I understand it, is that you are talking about someone powerful who is grieving about something that rationalist-y terms remind them of. My guess is that this is related to Faeresiensis or Frank.” She says softly. “He died a year- year and a half ago, as far as I can gather. He made a lot of friends, and, unfortunately, enemies too.” She pauses, when she continues her voice is somber. “My advice is to be respectful; don’t try to fill his shoes or compare and contrast yourself against him. Does that help? And please, tell me if I’m wrong; any new situation that matches your description is definitely something I want to hear about.”

"Mhm.. Thanks for the info. It does sound like it's 'just' common sense, but it seems like I've been lacking that for a while now, so yeah, the advice helps."

He thinks for a moment.

"..Aight, I'll let you know if there's anything I can tell you about. Mhm.. unless there's anything else you can tell me, I'll have to go back to my super top secret agent work now. I'll probably stop by the workshop later this week, so.. see you there?"

She sighs. “Oh, come on. Don’t leave me on a downer. Does my guess fit your data? Are you wrong or right about your prediction?”

There’s a soft clacking and rattling of jars and drawers in the background.

"Mhm?" He sounds confused, because he is. "I.. thought it was about you, as I said earlier. I didn't know about other rationalists in the community. I mean, technically you haven't confirmed or denied anything, so it's you who'd have to tell me whether I'm right about my prediction?"

“What is your prediction? That I was a Pontiff? I thought you said that was an outer inference, not your prediction? That you ran into Frank’s ex-Patron?”

???

"The former? I didn't know the other two existed until you told me about them. Look, I observed a bunch of stuff, and based on that I drew conclusions, and then I called you to verify and maybe get some advice. I guess prediction was the wrong word there?"

“Two? Faeresiensis was Frank’s nom de plume; they’re the same person.” She’s silent for a moment, then takes a breath. “Ok, well, I would like to hear about the observations that lead you to that prediction. One sec.” She moves the phone away from her face. “The sapphire ones. If you say my mirror coat is too obvious, I shouldn’t be cute with the emerald earrings.” she says, barely audible. Then she puts the phone back up to her face. “Sorry about that. I’m trying to multitask.”

Ah, bathroom, not kitchen. Makes more sense, honestly.

He sighs, and continues in his hushed voice. "..you did get the message that I'm trying to be like super stealthy here, right?" He, of course, keeps an eye on the environment, including above and below him. No one ever checks above them. Everyone should. And he gives Detect Vectors a shot as well, for good measure. Nothing stands out to him, so he continues.

"So, I observed someone becoming annoyed / sad / angry / something else when they thought I were using street epistemology, which I wasn't, and I only knew of two people at that time who could've explained that to anyone in the magical community and one of them is me and I don't recall doing so. So, like, there was really only you to match that pattern and given the situation the prediction wasn't that far of a jump honestly."

There is still no one around and nothing but the nearby paths that is magical.

“Ahh! Ok. I agree that I would be a reasonable guess.”

Alric nods and returns to his friendly, relaxed, conversational tone. "Okay, cool. Good talk, I appreciate the info. I'll leave you to your battle preparations and see you later this week then, okay?"

“Ok!”

Alric hangs up, grabs the usual contents of his backpack from the car (the ones emptied out earlier), then gets back to where he was left standing. He'll put everything except the tome into the backpack, then put on his headphones, turn on some relaxing music, and sit down, legs crossed.

He'll dig through the tome and, whenever there's an interesting magical diagram, also practice his Seeing on it.

Do you want to roll to see the vectors in the book? You can expect to see the active magic of the activated diagrams. But you don't have the power points needed to detect the direction of the vectors.

Alric gets a little bit of practice in.

Alric is left to his studying for some time before Morgana approaches from wherever Weaver had pulled her off to while Alric was on the phone, carefully stepping into his field of view and waving a hand to try and get his attention.

It takes a moment for Morgana to actually capture Alric's attention. When she finally does he looks up from his book, then pulls his headphones down to his neck.

Death by fire You are burning You are burning in hell

Metal is clearly audible while his headphones are down. "What's up?"

Morgana smiles, self-consciously, and fidgets. "Could I. Uhm. Borrow your flamethrower for a minute?"

Alric looks at her confused, thinks for a moment, then blinks a few times and shrugs. "I'm fine with it if Phoenix is, she's the one responsible. Ask her- oh, you want to put it on your double, don't you? Smart."

"No, uh. Not quite?" Morgana shakes her head, shifting her weigt from foot to foot. "I need to set something out here on fire. There's. Uhm."

She pauses to think, clearly trying to figure out how to explain clearly without going on too long. "I didn't see anything in the Hive, but I saw Weaver grab something and use his scissors, and now there's what I think is a chunk of shoggoth... material... on the grass. Weaver said he cut it off before it could Weave itself into Vesper, but... now we kind of have to deal with it? Fire seems to work pretty well, so I thought the flamethrower would be the best choice available."

"..and Weaver can't just, I don't know, magic it away?.." Alric sighs. "Alright, fine. Ask Phoenix real quick, and I'll do it for you. But I don't want anyone to get snippy with me once this inevitably goes wrong."

"If he can, he isn't doing it right now? He's..." she hesitates. "Preoccupied."

"I shouldn't ask Phoenix right now, it would be a bad time to distract her. Everyone is fighting a big shoggoth right now which," she frowns, blinking black eyes. "... has just split into two shoggoths, but. Uhm. It still seems like a bad time to ask."

Snippy, don't you get it? Snippy. It's funny because-

He sighs, then responds in the same friendly, unbothered tone he had the whole time.

"How about this? You go and grab a fire extinguisher, or two, from the firetruck, and I'll take a look at the shoggoth. And by the time you're back maybe half a dozen people including a demigod managed to defeat the two shoggoths and then you can ask Phoenix if she takes responsibility for me helping. Sounds like a plan?"

He closes his book and stores it in his backpack, then gets up and puts it on.

"I'm the one asking you to help me," Morgana says quietly, expression pensive. "If anyone had to take responsibility for asking you to help, it would be me, not Phoenix."

She seems to take Alric standing up and putting his book away as a probable yes, and starts heading for the lot exit. "I'll go ask about the fire extinguishers."

Yeah. That'll hold up in Sidhe court, for sure.

Alric looks around. No shoggoths in sight, yet.

He yells after her. "Hey, can you, like, point me in the right direction?"

Morgana points.

Alric nods and turns into that direction (keeping clear of the unsafe lot itself), looking for anything that looks like 'shoggoth material'.

Alric will spot Weaver - a more visible landmark - before the threads, but not by long.

Weaver is settled in the grass, trying to clean dripping ichor from his shears with a black handkerchief, intermittently twitching like a cat trying to shoo off a persistent bug, It takes a moment to catch the words in the soft mumbling from his direction, a continuing chant of gross gross gross gross gross as he makes slow progress dealing with the clinging fluids. His attention snaps to one side as he jolts to his feet and moves several steps before settling back in.

Looking at where Weaver was looking brings the reason for his movement into focus: there's a massive tangle of slick, writhing fibers and sinew discarded on the grass nearby, oozing and searching, low to the ground.

Ah.

Alric wordlessly turns around (with AC/DC's Thunderstruck audible from his headphones around his neck), walks back to his flamethrower, puts it on, then waits for Morgana to return.

Morgana returns within a few minutes, laden down with several fire extinguishers, catching up with Alric and cocking her head. "... changed your mind about going without me? That's fair."

She adjusts her hold on the fire extinguishers and squares her shoulders. "I can handle any interactions with Weaver, if they're necessary."

She pauses, thinking. "Although... before we go, you don't want any balance with Weaver, including him owing you any favors. Is my understanding correct?"

"I said I'm going to take a look, and I did that. We want the fire extinguishers around when using the flamethrower because a single ember could burn down Aspen's part of the lot while she's not protecting it."

He cocks his head, looks at her, opens his mouth as if he's about so say something, doesn't, and then closes it again. He shuts his eyes and thinks for a moment, and then finally speaks. "I've been called socially blind today. Please explicitly state the options you are currently offering me, including the expected impact each of them would have on any debt account."

Morgana nods as Alric clarifies that taking a look definitely meant taking a look and didn't promise or imply waiting nearer to the threads. "That makes sense."

She folds her hands and straightens her posture, channelling a bit of her father's mannerisms, although the smile on her face makes it clear she was hoping Alric would ask her to explain. "Okay. So. Right now, your relationship with Weaver is, from a Sidhe perspective, zero. He has no reason to be interested in or invested in you or your interests. You don't have a positive balance or a negative one, you negotiated to have a zero balance. A relationship that's defined by having met and spoken, and by the fact that you have bonds with some of the same people, like Phoenix. The weight of those bonds acts to push some of what he does in one direction or the other - if the value on those bonds is positive, he's going to be more willing to give you an opportunity to interact instead of just... ignoring you."

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Doing favors for the Sidhe is a way to build up a positive relationship - you've done something good for them, so they're more inclined to do good towards you. Even debts to Sidhe can be used to get positive things, if you know what you're doing - those debts give them power over you, but if you haven't paid back a debt, they're more likely to tip the scales in favor of your survival, because dead people can't pay back their debts... and it adds to the weight." She shakes her head, refocusing.

. "So. I'm asking: do you want to build a positive relationship? If I tell Weaver you're willing to do him a favor by burning the shoggoth, I'm pretty sure he's going to say yes... plus his shears are stuck from the ichor, right now, he'll get it eventually but he hasn't gotten it yet. Which... might be a second favor, or may just add weight to the original favor, assuming he thinks it's a good idea. It won't make him stop being who he is, but it should make him more actively friendly towards you. Positive balance. He would owe you a favor or two. Not big enough to itch, so he won't feel like he needs to resolve them as soon as possible."

"Otherwise I can just try my best to help you stay at zero with Weaver, but I wanted to make sure that's what you want."

Alric thinks for a second, then responds.

"Okay, I'm somewhat following. Let's do a quick-fire round of questions. Just short answers, please. First one. Why do you need to ask him? I don't need his consent to help him, he certainly didn't need mine."

Morgana's eyes half-close as she considers. "... I mean, for one, I asked you to help, so right now it's a favor for me, not for him. For another... we really don't want him to misinterpret why there's a flamethrower being used near him. About consent. Uh. I can't explain why the debt to you took without it being a long answer. It's hard to translate."

"I look forward to that long answer at another time. That brings me to my next question. What are you getting out of this? You left out mentioning the impact this would have on any debt between us."

“I’m mortal. I can track bonds in the normal human way without being transactional about every little thing," Morgana says. "Right now I’m helping because I want to help. I think it is important to help people, and that’s the kind of person I want to be.”

How sus is Mori?: [10 💥 7 = 17, 5]+2 Result: Success with 3 raises! 🎯🎯🎯🎯

Morgana is being earnest and sincere, especially when expressing her desire to be a person who helps others - there's something more to the why, whether it's an influence from her father or something else isn't clear. It's clear she's decided Alric is a person she wants to help.

She's uncomfortable when considering a more transactional posture with Alric. She speaks with familiarity about debts and favors, but is reluctant applying the concepts to herself.

She is actively using quite a large vector of magic, let’s say it is pointed in the Morgana Short direction.

Alric nods. "Alright. I'm going to trust you here and answer your question truthf- no, that doesn't have value in this world." He sighs. "I will try my best to give you truthful answers that actually give you the information you are looking for.

"I'm indifferent about him perceiving him and me as having a positive relationship. I'm strongly against any magical alterations to my perception of that relationship. I am somewhat in favor of having leverage over him - I expect it to potentially be useful some time in the future, but I haven't made any concrete plans on how to use it, if at all. I'm not sure whether I'm answering your question there. Is there anything else you'd like to know? I'm letting you make the decision on how to proceed and will follow your lead."

"It does have value, just not the same value," Morgana says quietly. "Sometimes the truthful answer won't get you the information you're looking for. That doesn't mean the answer you get won't tell you something. Sometimes the question you ask - or the way the person you're talking to understands that question - is going to get in the way of the answer you're looking for. It still tells you something, even if the something it tells you is that your communication styles aren't compatible."

"Do you think you have a neutral opinion on Weaver right now, even though he is neutral towards you?" Morgana says after a moment of thought. "The perception change in relationship is on his side, not yours, and it's... hard to translate. It's kind of a magic thing, but it's mostly a social thing? But. Like. As an intrinsic element to one's being?" She runs a hand through her hair. "Also, not leverage per se, a favor - you're not holding him over a barrel like Zeke would say, a favor is a positive social interaction, and. Uhm. I'm being specific here because the framing is important and Weaver's a Courtier, so he's extra extra about that kind of thing and Courtiers are always looking for things that might be meant as a social attack, because... that's one of the ways that the Sidhe fight each other? Which. Uhm. Is... off-topic."

She fidgets with her sleeves. "No pressure, right? Uhm... I think that just having a positive balance is a good thing, because it gives you a buffer. He's made a contract with one of your co-workers, so you may run into him again because of that, so a positive baseline is helpful."

She shifts her weight from one leg to the other. "... I want to know if you have more questions I might be able to help answer. I'm better at translating from Sidhe to mortal than Dad is. So..."

Alric shrugs and continues, unbothered. "If the change is solely on his side, I don't care, so I'll take it. And no, I don't have a neutral opinion on him. I hate him. I'm enjoying that he's suffering right now." He talks about it like he's talking about a math problem. "Mhm.. If bond strain is actually the factor at play in determining favor size, it might become a big one. But I think your suggestion to help him is the right long-term play independent of resulting favor size, and whatever opinion I will end up having about him once I've sat down at home and thought everything through. So.. tell me what you want to do, and let's get it over with. I'll ask you my billion other questions later, okay?

"And also.. yes, please do the talking."

Morgana stares at Alric for a long minute. She's clearly considering how long a proper response would be to his first comments and has settled on not a short answer. ".... it's more complicated than that. But that's a long answer."

She folds her hands, nodding seriously. "... I want to go make sure we torch the shoggoth threads and see if we can get you a positive balance with Weaver. Me doing the talking is the plan, I can try to mediate if you do decide to talk, you don't have to talk."

She turns, starting to lead the way towards Weaver and the Shoggoth threads, fidgeting again. ".... he's probably going to be more interested in testing me right now, anyway. But. That's fine."

"Testing? Nevermind, later, maybe."

He follows her.

"Seeing what I'm made of," she says as she walks. "Socially. Not literally or magically. I don't like the attention, but I know how to navigate it."

She'll lead the way back to the tangle of alien threads and Weaver, who's still twitching like something is touching him and refusing to be shaken off as he works to remove the too-sticky ichor from his shears.

"Weaver," Morgana greets. "We found that fire works well against the shoggoths and their ichor. Can Alric do you a favor and help you with that?" She points at the mass of searching threads. "He could also do you a favor and burn the ichor from your shears, if you think that would work?"

Weaver squints at her, like he has a question on the tip of his tongue, then seems to decide that he does not care about whatever he was thinking of saying, choosing instead to point out something he deems of higher educational value. "It's the same weight, whichever way you divide it up, some small favors or one that's a little bigger, it doesn't need to be divided until it's spent."

"Is that a no?" Morgana folds her hands in front of her, prim and proper and watching carefully.

"No. Burn it. It's gross." He pushes himself to his feet, eyeing the handkerchief he was using to clean his shears, and looks at her, one brow arched. "Do you want this back?"

Morgana shakes her head. "I can get a new one. We'd probably need to burn it at this point."

He drops the handkerchief on the threads, which eagerly tangle and begin to weave into the fabric, then sets his shears on part of Aspen's cleared path, muttering to the ground under his breath as he does so. Then he turns, striding over to the tangle of shoggoth threads, and gives it a sharp kick with one booted foot, backpedaling as it tries to grab him, engaging in a brief game of cat and mouse as he leads it away from the grass and onto the cleared path before getting thoroughly out of range. "Aspen won't be offended by using her path. Less chance of spreading the fire."

. Morgana looks to Alric, once Weaver's clear and the shears and threads are both on the path, offering him a thumbs up. "Okay. Now's the time for fire."

Alric watches them talk with his head slightly cocked, then nods when Morgana gives him the thumbs up. He points the flamethrower at the threads and shears, then torches the general area thoroughly. Twice.

Once done he takes a few steps back and surveys the result. No eldritch horror is left. He makes eye contact with Morgana, glances at the way they came from, and then looks back at her, waiting for her to take the lead.

Morgana taps her face next to her eyes, then her ears, gesturing briefly in the direction of the burned out husk of a house the others have gone to - silently signaling that she needs to try and stay in shouting range of both Alric and Weaver, in case something happens.

Weaver's tension unravels as the fire licks across his shears, the flames devouring the ichor and the alien threads nearby and leaving behind only ash. He starts to rock forwards before Alric takes his second pass of searing flame, watching the fire with his head cocked. He waits a little longer than he wanted to wait last time to make sure Alric isn't going for a third pass, then flits forwards to pick up his fire-hot shears, inspecting them to make dead sure there's no ichor left before spinning and sheathing them at his belt with an audibly approving "Good. That's much better." He pulls one of his cigarettes from the package inside a hidden pocket, using a stray flicker of nearby flame to light it before putting the stray embers out with his boot and heading back towards the map he and Aspen had been working with earlier.

Morgana will use the fire extinguishers to make sure any fire that's still smoldering is dealt with, then straightens, offering Alric a smile. They have both done a good job and will get an A in dealing with gross shoggoth threads, which is a thing that is definitely a normal part of the human experience and not something few people will ever attempt to achieve!

Alric waits for Chance to get out of earshot, then gestures for Morgana to follow and starts walking back to the spot he was previously doing some reading at.

"So.. I'd like to ask you a few questions about all this. In private, as much as that's possible, considering that probably all of them are insulting in some way or another." He chuckles.

Weaver himself doesn't move out of earshot - his prior work with Aspen wasn't far off from where he was when Alric and Morgana returned to the area.

Mori follows Alric for a few paces but stops before leaving sight of Weaver entirely. “I need to be close enough to relay messages.” She says. "... ah. Well. There are ways to ask ... potentially loaded questions without them coming across as insults, you know? "

Weaver, in the distance, intermittently glances in their direction as he makes alterations to the map. His attention seems more focused on checking on Morgana's presence than on checking in on what Alric is doing.

Alric stops a few steps away from Morgana, and then chuckles again. "No, like, that's the funny part. None of my questions are loaded, but they'll be considered insulting anyways." He sighs. "And I did get the whole message thing. I just figured you could, like, walk over or yell if anything important comes up. It's just, that.."

He looks between Weaver and Morgana, then continues with his voice turned down. "Look, I don't think I'm capable of playing even friendlier and lower status than I did earlier. Every word I say with a neighbor around increases the odds of someone getting snippy. Snippy." Short, emphasizing pause, then he continues. "You seem to have this shit down. If you tell me we can talk here, privately, without anyone getting offended, then I'll trust you on that. But you're then also the one taking responsibility. I certainly won't. I'd rather just go back to reading my book otherwise."

She hugs her arms across her chest, expression deeply uncomfortable, now. "Alric, what do you think I’d get out of taking responsibility for you? I've been trying to offer my help and advice, for free and you want me to be left promising to hold the weight of whatever you say or do during that conversation? I... I don't want that kind of relationship with anybody, but especially not with someone I've known for less than a day, especially when they're older than me. I'm not willing to be taken advantage of like that. If this is your way of saying you don't want my help, that's fine. I'm not going to make you talk to me. Enjoy your book."

Alric laughs out loud [friendly amused]. "Exhibit A." He sighs. "Look, I'm sorry.. I meant to express that if you insist on talking right here, right now, then you'd be responsible. Otherwise I'd feel uncomfortable talking at all and would rather prefer to not risk anything and either talk further away or wait for this to be over, read my book in the mean time, and then talk to you later. Like, I'd still like to talk to you and get your advice then, and I really do appreciate your help. I could really use someone that can help me make sense of any of this.

"But right now it's just too risky. I mean, yes, I couldn't listen in from this distance. But he probably can, and then he'll get offended again. It's pretty much guaranteed. Like, for example, earlier in the bookshop. I've tried to talk to him and I really put some serious effort into being friendly and.. and the result was that he had to walk away so he doesn't switch into.. a.. chess-related facet. I've tried. I can't do better than that. Let's just not risk it. Let's just wait until this is all over, and talk then. Is that okay with you?"

Morgana chews her lip, thinking. ".. okay. I understand. I think. Just... that's... it's..." She closes her eyes and huffs out a breath. "... nevermind. Not something to talk about now, probably. Although. Uhm... you know the first step to guaranteeing you're going to fail something or upset someone is deciding there isn't an alternative. But... Later. Sure. We can talk later "

She rocks on her heels. "I'm going to assume later is, like, not today, though.. which is probably true? So... In return for my time, I'd like to request the traditional tithe of a university student: Starbucks, or something similar, for me and for Ellie," she jokes cautiously. "The only coffee we have at home is the stuff dad makes, which is good, but... sometimes you don't want good coffee, you want junk food coffee. Also: right now I've promised to delete your number, and I'm still going to do that. So you have to tell me if you change your mind."

Alric's eyes look through rather than at Morgana for a moment as he processes the potential subtext of what she just said, and then he's focused again.

"I.. appreciate the reminder, but I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of not going through Sawyer. I can definitely arrange a small detour though the next time I visit the bookstore, and bring some Starbucks with me. ..But you'll have to tell me what's in nowadays, because it's been.. more than a decade since my university days." He chuckles.

End of passion play, crumbling away I'm your source of self-destruction Veins that pump with-

It's Metallica's 'Master of Puppets', because of course it is. Alric taps his headphones, and the music stops as he mumbles to himself, "..yeah, nope, definitely not."

He throws one more look between Weaver and Morgana, then decides that continuing to stand around in this spot is maximally uncomfortable and drops the flamethrower, takes off his backpack, then plops down himself.

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"That's why I asked," Morgana says, looking a little relieved. "I'm more comfortable that way, too."

She pauses, thinking. "Honestly? I just let Ellie pick," she says, laughing. "She usually gets something with lots of sugar and extra expresso, and she liked the way the unicorn drink looked? And... I think she just orders me whatever's available for the season."

She cocks her head, black eyes going wide. "Oh. They've found the door. I should tell Weaver in case Aspen needs him to help pick up any slack. Enjoy your reading!"

She takes a moment to breathe in and center herself, eyes closed, then pats her dress like she's cleaning dust from it and spins on her heel, heading towards Weaver with a quick stride.

Morgana is anxious because she has the impulse to appease and feels like — because she is a bit of a subject matter expert here — she has a self-imposed duty to offer help. At the same time, she does *not* want to be too much of a pushover to get put on the hook for anything, because that’s also a bad habit. She wants to run damage control, but she also doesn’t want to encourage other people counting on her to run damage control. Most of her anxiety is not about Alric in particular, but rather about habits she has or precedent she wants to establish.

Her eyes do look awfully similar to when Vesper does her ~~warlock~~ Pontiff magic.

Between that and the whole being-careful promise one might think that Old Man Space-Eyes is at least part fae.

...

Definitely just a coincidence.

Alric nods to her, then pulls out his book. He puts his headphones back on and unpauses the music, skipping to the next song.

I'm going to fight them off A Seven Nation Army couldn't hold me back

He'll continue reading: He'll start looking into figuring out a way to build a Teleport disc. It's none of the spells in the book, but at least the book explains the principles behind spell disc designs, and Alric does have a first clue: Hound.

2.12: Outside Information

A conversation between Alric and Vesper occurs:

Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2

Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2 Pulling any Outside Alric & Morgana Conversation Over Here

"I think it would make sense to come up with what to say as a team," Morgana says, running a hand through her hair. "I... I'm not... a shaping person, I can make dolls and puppets, but. Uhm. I don't know if that's something I want to... start learning," she says slowly. "If you land on my double's arm, we can talk to everyone and figure out what we could say to have the best effect."

"Morgana, that makes very little sense." He sounds a little frustrated. "Sorry. Look. Everyone down there, with the exception of maybe Phoenix, is lacking this kind of charisma. Making this a group thing would be like you all pitching in and discussing and potentially overruling me on how to design a flamethrower. Nothing you guys could say would actually be valuable, at best you'd be silent while I, as an engineer, work on a design that doesn't blow us all up. But you're the engineer here, like, none of us know any of this stuff as well as you do." He rubs his palms in his eyes in frustration. "It's this- it's the same thing as earlier with Sawyer, this- it feels like when you try to resize a window but your cursor keeps overshooting by a pixel and you just can't get a hold? That's how this shit feels. How do you people live like this."

The problem is already solved. There's little left to discuss. LET'S JUST DO THE THING.

It takes him a moment, then he continues.

"Alright, fuck it. Counteroffer. I'll tell you the intent, from here, outside. You'll translate that into words, and do the talking to the chandelier, and that's how we move things from station to station. You'd be essentially just subbing in for me and translating my intents to words that actually work. We consider that a small non-soul-cutting favor that you do for me, and thus anything that comes out of us doing this is entirely on me. You don't have any responsibility for this. And we'll run the whole plan by the others for good measure, just in case they do have something valuable to add, because I'm paranoid and that's a virtue."

A deep breath and a sigh. "We might need a second bird as well. What do you think?"

Morgana flinches at 'counteroffer', even though Alric's voice doesn't get louder. "Alric, I don't understand why you think none of them will have a good idea on how to translate what you're trying to say into something that works? You don't know everything they think, just like they don't know everything you think. No one else is inside your head."

She breathes out, searching her pockets for paper and starting to fold a bigger bird. "But I appreciate you trying to explain your thought process and why you don't want to do that. But. Also... I'm not the best person for this job, either. I'm trying, and sometimes all anyone can do is try their best."

"Weaver or Aspen are going to be the better metaphorical Engineers than I am... but I know why you'd prefer to work with me instead. I think Phoenix is probably the best person for this. Talking to people is part of her job, isn't it?" She holds a finished bird in one hand, then searches again, pulling out a few more small birds and checking how many she has on hand. "At the end of the day? As long as I can decide whether to act or not I'm still responsible for the things I do when I do what other people tell me to do, because I'm a person, not a puppet."

She throws the birds into the air.

BIRDS: [6, 1] Result: Success! 🎯

The little flock animates with a flurry of movement as Morgana's ephermal puppetstrings multiply. "I can say no. As long as I can do that, I have to hold some of that responsibility. It's important. I have agency, and I'm keeping it."

She rubs her face with the heel of one hand. "So. Modified counteroffer: I ask Phoenix if she will be the spokesperson. You tell her the intent so things aren't lost through my trying to translate. Other people there have an option to give suggestions and feedback. If she says no, then we can negotiate you owing me a small favor to ... participate more directly, instead of just helping."

On second thought, Phoenix probably gets perfect feedback every time she talks to someone. After just a week of precise information telling you exactly what causes what reactions, anyone should've significantly leveled up their charisma. So, yeah, she's probably on par or even above someone who grew up around fae.

Alric takes a moment or two to think things over, then responds. "Ugh.. Okay, I think we're on the same page, but let me clarify, just in case. When I said that nothing they say would be valuable.. that was frustration creeping in. I think there's a chance that for this case, discussing it in the group and getting everyone's input is indeed valuable. You might remember my second rule.

"But it's not going to be a group decision. I'm probably the most qualified to determine the path we should take to get the person from their current state to a good end state. Phoenix, you're right, is probably the most qualified to translate those stations into words. So I'll call the shots on the former, Phoenix on the latter, and everyone else can help, but we're not going to vote on it or anything. And if Phoenix says that stuff that sounds reasonable to us isn't actually useful, then we'll go with Phoenix's decision.

"I suggest we start by me explaining to everyone in the group, you included, what I actually did up there. And then you can explain the further course of action. How does that sound?"

Morgana looks like she's going to comment on something, then refocuses. "You're the man with the plan, so you're in the best position to explain it. Bring your bird to the group so we can get everyone updated and move forwards?"

Alric nods, then switches back to the bird.

Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2

——— Outside, on the surface, Scratch ambles over to Weaver. "Hey, Weaves, is my bug baby a sleeper shoggoth?"

Weaver's head swivels to Scratch as he approaches, and he gestures for Scratch to show him the bug, holding his hand out so he can get a better look. "Your bug? Did you find it, or...?"

He turns properly to face Scratch as he sees the bug itself, eyes peering past the surface of reality and into the weave of the strings, interest properly caught.

“Made it in the hive. To test of living things made there could live outside. They’re tryna sweettalk the chandelier into makin’ itself a human body. I dreamed Sphinx in a pupa to give ‘em a better chance of organizing his insides the right way to not be punished too much by the outside.” Scratch gently prods the moth to crawl onto Weaver’s hand.

"You made it?" Weaver's voice is warm with approval as he inspects the moth, bringing it closer and brushing the fingers of his free hand gently over its' threads, using his touch to better focus in on different sections of the creature's being.

"Very clever, Scratch, that was a good idea... using the insect's natural metamorphosis to do the heavy lifting to cover your own knowledge gaps, I'm impressed." He glances away from the bug to look Scratch in the eyes. "Genuinely."

His attention turns back to the insect. "I wasn't under the impression you were a Dreamer, though, this is definitely a dream-knit, but there's stability in it, like you - oh, you and the Dreamer? - used material native to the Age of Stability..." he murmurs, swaying slowly from side to side as he considers the moth. "There's still shoggoth-biology to it, but no shoggoth-mind, like the plants around here. The connection to the hive is cut off, so it's Earthly enough not to be a biohazard... I still wouldn't suggest letting it loose to reproduce, just in case, but your moth should be fine."

He offers it back to Scratch. "Sweettalking? Oh. Using the chandelier to facilitate - ? That's the Dreamer who helped you make the moth, then?" He sways thoughtfully, shifting his weight from side to side as he considers. "That could work. It's bound to be be messy, but it should work well enough to stabilize..."

. "It's possible you could all try to have the Dreamer build itself up from a zygote, but who knows if the shoggoths would make that weird - the little bastards probably would, ew - but also my suspicion is that process would take months, if not years..." His lips curl back, showing his teeth as he makes a disgruntled face. "...and the sooner this is done the sooner My Court can stop warding this stupid lot... soooo this little project isn't getting months worth of our time. It gets today. This place isn't important enough to keep our attention here that long, we really do have other things we need to tend to."

He taps his shears. "If you can't cut their minds off from the Hive, bring them to me when you're all done. I cut the part that was trying to worm into Vesper away, I think I should be able to do the same for the Dreamers."

Scratch ducks his head, bashful at the praise. "It's out of season and too cold for hummingbird hawkmoths; even if he gets free, he won't reproduce. Won't live very long anyway." He shrugs.

"Sure. I'll let the folks downstairs know you volunteered to cut the cord if need be."

[Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2]

"Hey, just letting you know: It seems like Phoenix managed to get Kenneth Dyer - the chandelier in the first room - back into a reasonable human form." He puts his phone on speaker. "Okay, you guys are also on speaker on my side. It seems like we still have to cut them off from the shoggoth influence? My first guess would be to just push the shoggoths out by telling Kenneth that the shoggoth influence grows more silent over time, till it's gone. But if that's not good enough, Weaver offered to cut the cord once you bring Kenneth outside."

"Assuming the lifespan stays the same as a natural one, sure," Weaver tilts his head, thinking, then motions to make sure Scratch is paying close attention to him. "You made something alive, even if it's made partially of dreamstuff..."

He trails off, running his tongue over his teeth, considering something, then flicks his ears as his attention is pulled away. He seems surprised to hear Alric talking at them, and shoots him a distracted look, clearly rethinking something before his expression settles and he makes a busy gesture, attention refocusing on Scratch as he shifts his facet so that it's Founder looking at Scratch with one hand settled on his hip and dropping his voice to carry less.

"Look. What you do about that and whether you choose to care for it until it does die is going to leave a mark and say something about you and who you are. It's not necessarily going to be a deep mark, but... it's going to be a mark. Your brother told me that you take good care of the critters you pick up, so I'm not particularly concerned, but I know he would want me to ... tell you to think about it, at least. How much responsibility we have for things we make, when things stop being a game and become serious - what you want and how to bring it forward. It isn't a test, there's no right or wrong answers, only your answers." He offers the moth back to Scratch again, then pauses, petting one of the antennae with one finger. "I can take care of it, if you don't think you're ready for that level of responsibility. No strings attached. I've raised a bug before. This one isn't even a person."

Scratch carefully snatches the moth back. "No, I got it." He mutters under his breath, "I'm responsible." He cradles the moth inside his jacket as a chill breeze brushes by.

"It sounds like the folks downstairs just heard." The boy shuffle's his feet, seeming to want to be dismissed rather than be praised and lectured any more.

Founder watches Scratch with a sly smile, eyes half-lidded, and accepts Scratch's redirection. "It does sound like they're doing something, doesn't it?"

Founder swivels, pushing his hands into the pockets of his back denim jacker and turning his attention to Alric. "Sure, okay. Great to hear there's progress being made, that's one problem part-way off the list and one step closer to all of us getting to leave this garbage lot."

Alric looks between the two (?) fae, and squints his eyes. Kafka? He shakes his head and returns his focus to the phone.

Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2

Outside, Founder wheels, turning his attention back to the map.

Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2

Founder waits for the man to be brought towards them, taking note of Alric retrieving the flamethrower and slipping back into Weaver with a lazy, cordial "Jean," and motioning for her to bring him closer, falling into an easy hum of chatter as he gets a look at Kenneth Dyer. "Well, he's definitely got a pair of working lungs on him, let me see how he's looking. How far along were you able to get him before you got a name?"

He doesn't seem to be asking the questions for answers so much as for keeping up a steady pace of sound that isn't just screaming, judging by the swiftness with which he reaches out to take a look at the man's threads, keeping up a rapidfire stream of lazy dialogue as he gently checks through them, expression twisting in dismay. "Good news, the Hive connection's broken already, bad news, he's still got way too much shoggoth in him for me to get a good read on how stable he's going to stay..."

His eyes flick over Phoenix for a moment, assessing, then return to Kenneth as he rolls his shoulders and breathes out, starting to wind his fingers into the man's weave with a look of concentration. "Definitely patchable, but I doubt he'll be able to be restored to the health he was in before all of this happened, but... better than the alternative, isn't it?"

He gestures in Alric's direction as he talks, blindly motioning him closer as he seems to lock his fingers around something. "I'll try to throw the threads somewhere clear enough that you can torch them without risking them getting near any of you. Get some space, it can't get into my weave but it can and will try to get itself into yours."

He pulls his shears and guides them forward in a careful movement, snipping through invisible threads, then braces his feet in the dirt as he pulls a chunk of shoggoth-threads free and throws them into a clear space of pathway as quickly as he can.

The screaming peters out and is replaced with hyperventilating. Kenneth trembles and looks around with wide dilated eyes.

“He’s going into shock.” Phoenix observes. She adjusts her hold on the man to elevate his legs. “Weaver, when you are done, I will try healing him.”

Alric will stand clear until the first shoggoth bits get thrown out, which he will then proceed to torch.

He'll ask Morgana to be so kind and get the fire extinguishers, just in case.

He'll continue to burn anything shoggoth as Weaver cuts it out.

Morgana skitters off to fetch the fire extinguishers.

"I can see that, Jean, I'm working as quickly as I can without running the risk of my shears slipping, I don't want to run the risk of trimming off something a bit more vital, he's got all of this stuff wound in deep," Weaver replies, hands gathering the next chunk of strands before he guides his shears in and throws another chunk of shoggothstuff into the nearby space, hands busily working away even as he keeps up a stream of chatter. "Good. I'll check my pockets for anything useful to shore some of the gaps up if that doesn't do enough of a trick. Can someone else talk at him? Hearing should be working fine, and while I'm charming I'm sure there are more reassuring things to hear right now than a running commentary on my work process."

Aspen follows the group back up to the surface and informs everyone that there are four more rooms in the nest like the one they just took care of. Three are about the same size as the first, but the final one is half the size.

“You just want someone to continue to talk to him?” She asks. “I can tell a story.”

"I mean, calm him down and reassure him if you can, but stories are definitely good. They're not as repetitive as reassurances, 'you're out and you're not going back in there again' and all that. Pretty sure something to focus on that's not me is going to help steady him while I work," he cuts again. "Gives him more mental space. So. Yes. Do tell a story, Aspen."

"Hmm... Kenneth, you attended Miskatonic University, right? And ran into magic troubles it looks like. I think I have a story that somewhat relates."

She leans on her spear and settles in to a story telling cadence. "One time on a campus--perhaps smaller and less prestigious than here, but, like here, set within a small college town with a deep history of hidden tradition--I was pursuing a bird. Now, this bird was a summoned thing, used by the witch that summoned it to steal the voices of her classmates in the choir to enrich her own voice and cripple the competition for the spot of lead solo vocalist. My own friend was in the choir, and grew worried about the number of sore throats in the class while Claire's grew ever clearer. My friend was also a witch, and so suspected supernatural foul play.

"And so, we staked out the home of the next-best singer to see if we could sense any curse to steal their voice, and in time spied the bird. It was like a white parakeet, with long red tail feathers, and not quite settled in the world. It echoed the singer's voice through the window until it's song became sweet and the singer's inside soured.

"It flew off, and I followed; casting a compass in the glass on my phone to track it when it would flit out of sight. Well, I was watching the sky and not the street while I was running, and ran right into a copse of cops. They didn't think highly of a woman bowling into them while staring at the sky, and held me back, demanding what I was doing. Now, I thought, telling them flat out that I was chasing a magic bird which had just stolen a voice to track it back to its summoner would not convince them that I was of sound mind enough to continue on my way. So I framed my explanation alongside an explanation of Alternate Reality Games, ARGs, to say why I was running after a clue while looking at the sky and my phone, to elide any magic about the situation.

.

"Well, they had never heard of ARGs before, so the misdirection backfired and they convinced themselves that I was on a hallucinogen called ARG. So they hauled me off for a stay in the campus's drunk tank until I 'sobered.'" She sighs and shakes her head.

"The next day, we were able to verify the dorm the bird returned to was indeed Claire's, and found the grimoire she used. My friend made a familiar of a cat, which ate the bird before she could stop it." She grins wide and sharp, "We made some dubious chili with the remains of the bird and fed it to those who lost their voices, and they were able to regain most of what was taken from them. Smoke, the cat, managed to keep some of the voice for himself, though he never got much smarter or eloquent, and mostly used his voice to demand food."

Alric further adjusts his expectations down about the power level of the present demigods. Well, technically no one confirmed that they're "demigods" - it's just that no one corrected him on it either. But, you know, correcting people on their mistakes might be disincentivized here, so Alric really shouldn't put any weight on that.

The phone was probably a smartphone, sounds hard to do magic on the screen of a flip-phone. ARGs haven't been a thing for long either. Last decade or two? Let's call it 2005 - 2015. Mhm, this feels like the thing a "demigod" should be able to solve without walking around town.

Saint not able to do the hive with a team, let alone solo it. Weaver, the "courtier", making enemies out of the allies of his allies. ..Well, Weaver got that part right, all of this does indeed imply things about the power level of his court, and the rest of the fae.

All of this is just subconscious, a shift in his felt sense of the local equilibria. Fae, lower expectations, lower responsibility. Phoenix, an increase in respect.

He'll continue to torch any shoggoth bits coming his way.

Weaver makes steady progress as Aspen talks, cutting more pieces of shoggoth free to be incinerated, and pulls away after she finishes, sheathing his shears and wiping his hands on his pants before he starts to check through his pockets. "That's all I'm willing to cut, right now, he needs to build up more structural integrity so there isn't a risk of collapse. Good news is the shoggoth bits that remain don't have the building or reproductive drives, so he should be fine on that front, but if he decides to try and have kids at some point in the future I'll have to do a follow-up to make sure nothing's waiting in the wings to go full flesh-monster next generation. You're on deck," he waves at Phoenix.

"I'll check him again once you do your thing to see if he's stable enough without any additional outside patching, but I'm seeing signs of long-term damage and a shift to the dreamy side of things in his weave," he closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at the phone, still on speaker. "Vesper, if you want to come take a look in a bit, I can show you what I'm talking about more clearly. The difference between DreamKnit and the stable Weave of the world is... informative."

Phoenix says, "Alright." And Kenneth erupts in colorful dancing flame. The cool, radiant fire pours over him for only a few seconds before it simmers down into his flesh as if it is burning down into glowing coals. He shudders and vomits up more shoggoth matter but then calms and falls asleep.

"Miss Short," Phoenix addresses Mori, "is your family ready to receive... guests?"

Weaver steps forwards to give Kenneth another cursory look-over as Morgana jumps to attention. "Oh. Uhm. Yes, I've been texting with my parents, a few members of staff are waiting outside with EMS."

Finally, the penny drops for Alric. Oh. Short is her NAME.

He'll burn the last bits of shoggoth material, then extinguish the fire.

The rest of the party joins the people outside the hive. Chapter 2.13: The Nest part 2

"What did you want to show me?" I ask Weaver.

"Now that the shoggoth mess isn't going to be able to crawl into your weave - which isn't common, for the record, most things shouldn't be quite this dangerous to take a better look at - I want to show you something that will help you understand the difference between dreams and stability," Weaver motions Vesper closer, settling a hand on her shoulder and carefully pointing at Kenneth Dyer's threads. "You've seen a normal weave, at this point, warp and weft, something that's not easy to pull apart and unravel. If you look here..."

He gently points to a patch of Kenneth's weave that looks... different. There are, in fact, many sections that look off in a similar fashion. "This section is a knit, which is the way things made of dreams appear to my sight. They're stretchy, which means things made of dreams can be more flexible and changeable, but like a knit scarf... the whole section could unravel if you pull on the thread," he says grimly. "Because of his experience, and how long he was in there, he's still made partially of dreamstuff. Most things won't change your structure in a way that damages the binding of your Name, but some experiences leave very, very deep marks. It would be possible to restore his structure, but to do so would mean pulling out all the knit sections, which would both be dangerous to his health at this time, and, because of the volume of threads that aren't originally his which would be needed to stabilize him, he, as an individual, would be changed by it."

He looks at Vesper, steepling his fingers. "Have you heard of The Ship of Theseus?"

I have, as a matter of fact, although that was in the context of neuroscience... then again, that's not very different from this. Replacing neurons in a brain is pretty much the same basic idea as replacing threads in a soul. "You're saying we need to replace the dream knit patches one by one? Instead of doing it all at once?"

I look closer at Kenneth's threads. Weaver said the knit was flexible, and prone to unraveling. Flexibility isn't bad, though, not if you can control it. Having part of my body made up of threads that can partially change what they're made of could be useful, if there was a way to prevent other people from messing with them. Like shapeshifting, but for your soul.

Weaver laughs quietly. "Close. We don't need to do anything more - mistaking a desire for a necessity can get you into difficult territory-" He glances briefly towards Saint as he says this, then refocuses on Vesper. "That would be the better procedure if he wanted the work done: slowly, section by section, with an acclimatization period. That's why I bring up The Ship of Theseus: if something is replaced, piece by piece, over time, does it remain the same thing?"

He wiggles his ears, grinning slyly. "The same question applies to Weaving. There are tremendous things that can be done, but replacing pieces of a weave can be... even more altering than they seem at first blush. Threads aren't wholly separate from where they came from - the way their originator developed them or used the skill impacts the way the fibers are spun. Too many threads from an outside source at once can overwhelm the person you're working with - they need to take time to get new threads to settle in and acclimate, to become theirs through time and use, for the twist of the thread to become their own. Too much of someone else means they'll meet closer to the middle instead of the thread settling in as a natural part of the existing fabric and becoming the recipient's skill instead of an echo of someone else's. This is also why I recommend attaching buds instead of bigger pieces - the natural progression of skill growth means they'll feel more natural, so there's less chance of a graft being rejected."

. He gestures to Kenneth again. "He's going to be affected by the change in his weave, there's going to be an impact to his health and it's going to be chronic. But he's as much himself as he can be, with as much of his original threads preserved as possible, even if they've been converted to a dreamknit. Preserving the coherent structure of the person you're working on is the name of the game. There are times when the only way forward is to accept that there's going to be loss of self, when something else has consumed chunks of an individual's weave or you find that what's left of someone is just gossamer strands that are ready to snap at any moment, but this isn't one of those cases. He's as himself as he can be. He's stable. He'll live."

"As it stands, the ... trauma? of his structure becoming partially knit is a much more drastic change to his coherent structure, so there's probably some level of ego death going on as it is. Replacing those sections with a stable weave would risk increasing the immediate negative impacts, even if it could resolve the emergent health issues." He shrugs, eyes glittering. "If he chooses to ask for those knit sections to be unravelled and rewoven despite the risk, that's his prerogative, but I'm not going to do it without being prompted."

.

He taps his chin. "Related to all of that, trimming things back too far can damage the structure of a weave - that's why you have to be careful of where you cut and how much, so, like, trimming back overgrowth is just about the safest kind of cut you can make - but the additive process of incorporating outside elements carries risk, as well. A bad material selection or forcing in something that doesn't mesh well can lead to dissociation, personality disorders, a few other things - Saint has a great story about how the wrong word destabilized someone in a delicate regrowth period, you should ask him about it- "

Saint makes a noise that suggests that Weaver has just jabbed his sharp little elbows into an open wound.

"-but he's a little sensitive about it, I suppose," Weaver's eyes glitter. "Anyway, successful additive processes don't have too many potential negatives aside from potentially smelling extra tasty to vampires." He shrugs, continuing, nonchalant. "But everything in life has pros and cons, and as soon as magic gets involved you're already rolling most of those dice anyway."

"For the record, I'm not telling you not to add onto yourself or others, I'm telling you to be aware there may be side effects if you pile things on without allowing new pieces to acclimatize." He gestures to Vesper herself, at this. "Your Name change, for example, does not change your history or experiences, only your options in the future. Your coherent structure has been altered just enough to accommodate for that change, but the difference between that change and the change in Kenneth's structure here is massive."

Oh. "How, uh, how long does it take for something to acclimatize? And... how can I tell if something will mesh well before weaving it in?"

"It can depend on the skill, trait, ability, and person. Sometimes weeks, sometimes years. It will mesh better if it is already part of an individual’s self-concept - you'll get a feel for it, in time. The repair to your magic is already settling well - it's a repair to something you already had that was damaged, with a bit of thread that has a profile that's already well-tuned to you," he bounces on the balls of his feet as he talks, enthusiasm catching at the opportunity to talk about his specialty, fingers moving to pluck at some of the threads wound around his own hands as he does, occupying their restless motion by playing cats cradle as he talks.

"The better you know someone, the easier it is to get a feel for what will mesh well with them and what will not - there are ways to prime people so a graft is more likely to take, but... ah... let's go for an easy example.” His eyes half-lid. “What if someone tried to graft on a trait that would keep you from taking action. To shape you into someone who was willing to accept the things that have happened to you, good or bad, and make excuses as to why you shouldn’t bother trying to change your circumstances?”

“It’s possible that grafting that inclination could still manage to take, but I think you and I both know it wouldn't settle well, especially as you’d do your best to reject the graft and fight against it, to starve it rather than exercise it. If it managed to take root, if it gained influence, it would be one of those additions that could cause some of those negative side effects I mentioned a moment ago - a trait or drive that's so alien to the recipient’s current self and self-image is prime for damaging that recipient's self-image."

. He tips his head to one side, arching his brows. “A different example, as you’ve already experienced enough attempts to prime you to take that kind of trait into yourself… It’s possible to prime someone who is… less than community-minded or cooperative into becoming the kind of person who’s more able or inclined to accept threads of, say, altruism or some similar trait, however, by… setting precedents. Giving them reasons, like relationships with people or situations they can interact with where their existing belief that they’re of greater value than everyone else around them is challenged. Giving them experiences where the desired traits or actions are more positively weighted or rewarded.”

“Like putting them in charge of rehabilitating your troublemaking Pontiff-to-be,” Saint rumbles quietly, having been summoned over by Weaver’s earlier potshot in his direction.

Weaver sticks his tongue out. “Well she was hardly my Pontiff back then, besides, you needed the positive enrichment. You’re the one who decided you were going to be Team Dad when you adopted Theo, that decision is not on me.”

“You can have more kids if you want to, it’s not a competition,” Saint says mildly, lips twitching up at the corners as Weaver hisses at him and tries to push him away, giving up and slouching against the marble wall of a man as he reaches up to try and cover Saint’s mouth with one hand while he continues to gesture with the other.

. “Ignore him - on the other side, patching something in that would complement an ability or trait someone is trying to work on and enhance in themselves would mesh well without all that effort, because it's something they're already trying to develop. Things that align better with their existing experiences and interests. Abilities, skills, and knowledge get a little more... esoteric. As an example, you and your sister are skewed towards light and flame, so trying to patch in some kind of water affinity might have a weird reaction or be less likely to take."

I nod as Weaver explains about soul rejection — despite being magical, it sounds surprisingly similar to the process of cultivating one's mind in a normal, mundane way. Starving maladaptive patterns of thought, focusing on beneficial ones. It's possible to have a thread I don't want forced on me, just as it's possible to wind up with a maladaptive pattern that I didn't choose, but I wouldn't be defenseless even without magic. Or, well... sort of. Weaver doesn't seem to notice the obvious solution of splitting up a large change into smaller increments. Still... how useful can that really be? If I need such a technique, then it's because my soul would reject the change, which means I don't want it, so I wouldn't choose to start that kind of path. I guess I could use it to —

I flinch a bit when he starts talking about changing Inara. Maybe it's just Stockholm Syndrome but... I don't want that. Inara isn't, nobody's inherently evil. There's no need to reach for mind control to fix her. If she changes, it should be because she actually agrees with me, not because I stitched in so much altruism that it overwhelmed everything else. She's not even wrong about everything — I wouldn't want to change her so much that the good parts were lost. And if I did, it would be so, so fragile. Part of her would always know she was being controlled, part of her would always be looking for a way out, and eventually it would find some way out of the box.

Just like I did.

Thankfully, Weaver soon moves on. It turns out that weaving is self-improvement on steroids, as long as the trait isn't a skill or knowledge. Even with a week between stitches, that's dozens of changes every year. And if the changes make it easier to make further changes...

I can't help but grin. "Okay, so right now I'm someone whose soul would reject water magic. What would it take to be someone whose nature is 'all magic is good'? It can't be based on self-concept, because it's not as if I want to be restricted to a single kind of magic. Is this something that came from Inara and will change on its own as I change naturally?"

Alric is sitting a few paces off with his face turned to the flamethrower in his lap, tinkering away. He smiles to himself when Vesper asks how to get to 'all magic is good'.

Good one, kid. I missed that one.

"You could use wizard magic to do water fine enough, Vesper. I'm talking about your conceptual leanings," Weaver's smile is sharp.

Saint clears his throat, cutting Weaver off at the inhale. "By single kind of magic, do you mean single kind of ritual magic practice or do you mean you want to know why you can't do dream magic and ritual magic? The answers aren't the same."

"But it's... what, easier? To do magic that aligns with your conceptual leaning? Or... something? All of Inara's spells are fire and light, that can't be a coincidence. What does it mean to have a conceptual leaning towards a certain kind of magic?"

"Ease of use, mostly, you understand fire and light and how they interact with things, the connections are easier to make in concept space," Weaver shrugs, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "You can lean into things that are against your nature but that takes so much work and sometimes the juice just isn't worth the metaphorical squeeze. It's boring if you cut away all the sharp pieces, even if some of them are annoying. A world with all rounded corners is dull."

"Weren't you talking about magic?" Saint nudges him.

"Magic is so small a concept on its own! It's boring to talk about magic all the time. I want to talk about people," Weaver complains, flexing his fingers and scaling Saint like a boulder to perch on his shoulder. "Magic on its own is just one part of a big picture, you can't be a person if the only concept attached to you is magic, you have to have more about you, and that's the interesting thing! Why people value it, the things they want to do with it, the reasons behind the actions and the schemes and the plans and-"

Luck-Spinner hooks a knee around Saint's neck as he sprawls backwards to stare at Phoenix, eyes huge. "Jean, when are you bringing me more to do? I'm getting bored I have so many other things to work on and people to talk to and the plates aren't going to stop spinning just because I'm waiting to make sure your dreamers won't try to fleshweave people and I'm two days behind on keeping track of my other projects thanks to this boulder of a man-"

Saint casually pats Luck-Spinner's knee as the other Sidhe turns his attention to Phoenix, shrugging to Vesper. "Luck-Spinner got caught up on the big picture of concepts again. For wizard stuff, you just may take a bit more work to learn things related to water, it's not going to be as easy or intuitive as fire. If you were something made of fire, on the other hand, you can see how water stuff would be... potentially more work than it's worth?"

Phoenix tilts her head at Luck-Spinner. "If you are done checking over Mr. Dyer, I will entrust him to Mr. Morgan's people. There are four more rooms to go, presumably each with a dreamer. I agree that we should endeavor to pick up the pace."

Phoenix hands off a now sleeping Kenneth to the Bright Books employees and EMS.

I can't quite believe that Weaver is saying that magic is boring. Maybe that's something that happens once you get really good at it, like a mystical version of money corrupting people... surely it won't happen to me, right?

"I think I see," I say to Saint. It seems like rather than grafting in a conceptual leaning towards a specific kind of magic, I'd be better served by adding knowledge of a specific kind of magic, or the skills needed to do it. "Is there like, a thread for just magic in general, that would make me better at all kinds of magic? Like... I dunno, being an inherently magical entity or something?"

Aspen, who has been mostly quietly listening to the conversation, bursts out laughing. It's a kind of pained laughter though, and ends with a sigh. "There's always trade-offs."

Saint shakes his head. "We can't do everything, either, it's not something that's only inherent to mortals. I don't understand why, but some things don't work together. I know a few ritual wards I could show you, and you might be able to learn them, but I can't do any dream stuff or use a ritual practice to summon fire or something."

He grabs Luck-Spinner's knee, pulling him effortlessly back up onto Saint's shoulder and out of his upside-down position. "Magical beings have their own limitations but... so does magic? Uuuuh..." He drums his fingers on Luck-Spinner's knee, ignoring the look his sibling is giving him. "I'm trying to remember, how does your boyfriend put it when he's talking about this stuff? Everything with a mind has magic potential?"

"Something like that," Luck-Spinner mutters.

Ah, got it. Shannon was Aspen's Pontiff, and Frank was Chance's. Bummer, that's a no then on the obvious question on whether- you know what... I could just ask, just in case I'm wrong about all of this.

Alric doesn't look up from his flamethrower as he speaks up.

"Please feel free to completely ignore me, but I gotta ask: Curses can't be cut out just like that, I take it?" ~~Asking for a friend.~~ Yeah, that'd push it too far.

"A curse isn't a thread. Usually. They're.." Luck-Spinner shows his teeth, waving vaguely. "Many are stains on the weave. It's not a hard and fast rule. Some are little burrs burying themselves deeper and deeper... Curse is so non-specific, it's used to cover so many bad things that happen to people, you really have to be more specific."

Saint thinks, then looks at Alric. "That's one of Sawyer's specialties, have you talked to him about it?"

Okay, whew, the conversation didn't immediately turn cold, that's nice.

"Mhm." He turns to them both, and shakes his head. "There's no specific curse I want to ask about right now, but maybe late- actually.. If it's obviously visible on the soul, I can let Sawyer know that." He gets out his phone and texts Sawyer.

All good, if there was anything it would've probably shown up during the whole soul cutting situation Still curious tho to know how hard it is for you to detect that kind of stuff

He glances up to Saint. "Ah, just a little bit. He mentioned he's looking to cure curses. I was mostly interested in making my own, but those things overlap. I might be able to give him some ideas he hasn't thought of yet, but I haven't gotten around yet to ask him to teach me all that stuff. I've been kind of busy in the.. six? days I've known him."

He shrugs and turns back to his flamethrower.

Saint gives a tired sigh, heavy with the qualia of re-treading known ground.

Luck-Spinner props his chin on his hand, mischief in his expression. "Define soul."

"No," Saint says firmly. "None of that right now, do you want to be here all night? I don't. You want me to go home to my kids before midnight and so do I. Act like it."

Luck-Spinner rolls his eyes. "Fine." He stretches, then tumbles off of Saint's shoulders, landing on his hands before hopping back up to his feet and starting to drift back towards the map.

Saint looks at Vesper. "...did you have anything else you wanted to ask before I head back in?"

I shake my head

"Okay. I hope that... at least some of that helped answer some of your questions, or... gave you new ones to work on?" He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at Alric. "Do you want to come in with us, this time?"

He looks up to Saint. "And miss out on fun conversations?" He pulls a lever on his flamethrower, having it lock in with a satisfying clicking sound. "With people? But I've been enjoying that so much today." He gets up and puts on his flamethrower, then puts on his backpack (leaving the tome next to the other supplies) and gets himself his own stack of shoggoth hive equipment. "My, how anyone could give that up is a GODDAMN MYSTERY." He walks up to Saint, slowly exhales, and then continues with his normal, non-sarcastic voice. "I.. recall you being able to cast some form of protection? I.. also haven't been in a fight in years, if you have something that can help with that." He turns to Phoenix. "If that's fine with you, that is."

Phoenix cocks her head at him. "I'm fine with you joining in the fight. Though I had thought that you killed a nosferatu with a flour bomb last month."

"Okay, not going to lie, I completely forgot about that. A lot of stuff happened recently."

"Mh-hm," Saint nods as Alric feels a layer of black marble armor forming over him before fading in visibility to match the overlay visible on the others who have entered the hive. "If you need combat training, Phoenix has me come in to help with training sometimes, but I can only help you do more damage with your weapon right now, not make up for lack of skill."

Saint blinks, looking at Phoenix, then back to Alric, and lets out a belly laugh, grinning at Alric. "That was you? Phoenix told me about that."

Phoenix frowns in worry. "The nosferatu's allies haven't."

"Don't worry," I say. "We'll back you up if they come after you." I glance at Phoenix. "Right?"

"So far the promise of the organization protecting him has kept them away. I will of course defend my people." Phoenix says solumnly.

"See?" I say to Alric. "It'll be fine. Inara killed lots of monsters and she rarely had to deal with anyone coming after her."

"One problem at a time," Saint moves to gently bump his shoulder into Phoenix's. "If you think that more protective measures might be needed, there's time to figure that out once the hive's dealt with. You know my doors are open to your people if something goes wrong."

Alric glances between the people present - the fae, the half-evil-wizard-half-kid-running-with-scissors, the vampire, the college kids, then nervously chuckles to himself. "Aah, I'm fucked." He stares up to the sky for a moment, takes a deep breath, then turns to Saint. "Okay, yeah, one problem at a time. Do you maybe have anything to make me physically stronger? I'm just spitballing here, to be honest."

"Saint's boons give you more durability and increase the effectiveness of your weapon. How many more boons do you need?" Phoenix's question is said with curiosity, not with belittlement.

"Short of being one of my Pontiffs? Maybe, but being strong... isn't really a deterrent to the shoggoths, if I'm being honest," he shrugs his shoulders. "Stick behind me if I have my shotgun out or keep with the group, aiming for the middle of the pack, behind the front line of defense that Phoenix and I form if a fight starts up. Half of what I'm here for is to pull their attacks to me instead of any of you. I can take the damage."

To Phoenix. "I'm just seeing what the options are, I'd rather know than not." To Saint. "Mhm.. I don't think there's a whole lot of effectiveness that can be increased for this weapon, it's a flamethrower. I mean, unless you can make the fire hotter? The becoming-stronger thing is mostly so I can swing the thrower around faster and maybe have an easier time aiming, or to hit shoggoths with my crowbar, if it comes to that." He mumbles to himself. "Fighter, paladin.. So I'm an evocation wizard, I guess? Mhm.." He continues at his normal volume. "Alright, got it. Hey, Ellie? You can teleport me out if I go mad, right? I don't think I could see even if I wanted to, I'm tapped out, but, you know, just in case."

"It's going to do more damage," Saint blinks, peering at the fuel tank. "It... usually glows red? Somewhere relevant to causing damage. Might just be the fuel now? I think it might be glowing, in there?"

He listens to Alric talk, stifling a laugh at his comment about evocation wizardry.

Ellie looks over from where she's draped over Morgana. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I can do that! That's easy."

He nods. "Awesome, I'm glad to hear that, Ellie." He looks to Phoenix and Saint. "Okay, I think I'm as ready as I can be today."

Phoenix replies, "For your information, I can offer you a boon to energize you for a short time, if you feel you need before a fight. But I am better healing others than fortifying others. Usually the cost for the boon is not worth it."

She starts leading the group back to the manor and nest underneith.

"That's good to know. Mhm, my exhaustion currently is mostly mental. Which is a good thing.. in this specific case, because of the whole seer thing. Honestly, I'm mostly concerned about accidentally setting any of you two on fire, though.. you wouldn't care that much, right? Look at that.. Synergy, whoo!"

She chuckles. "I wouldn't, no. It is good synergy."

"I mean, I like these clothes, so I'd rather not get set on fire," Saint gives Alric a bemused look, walking alongside Phoenix as they head down towards the hive.

"Okay, my curiosity is getting the best of me here. With the skill sets Aspen and Weaver seem to have, why aren't you guys decked out in self-cleaning, self-repairing, perhaps even temperature-controlled clothes?"

"I am." Phoenix says, gesturing to her grey combat armor. It looks like well-tailored padded athletic wear more than a military garment.

"Okay, but it's a lot easier to just get a new shirt for three dollars at Joanns than listen to Weaver complain that I never ask him to make me anything interesting," Saint cocks his head. "I'd rather sit through that lecture whenever my kids need new clothes than when I do. This wasn't supposed to be a difficult job, so I didn't think I'd need to wear the gambeson under my armor-" he pauses, checks the fabric of the shirt he's wearing and looks at his jeans.

"Oh. Wait. This one isn't from Joanns, is it, this one's just me. I ... think it's just my armor, coat and boots that aren't... made out of me right now? The armor's magic enough, though, I forged that, tanned the leather..." he trails off, doing a mental inventory, then shrugs. "Anyway. Weaver likes to fix my coat when he notices it's been damaged, it's, like... enrichment. We've all reinforced my boots, though, I used to ruin them all the time."

Alric nods, his face one of approval. "Respect. Tactical Pockets of Holding?"

Saint beams. "Something like that, they were a gift from Aspen."

"Ah. Yeah, I'd have guessed so, I saw her Picnic Basket of Holding earlier! Really really cool, didn't manage to get a good look at it though. Not that I could truly appreciate it, come to think of it, I don't even understand my own magic discs yet.

"And now I wonder how the discs look to you, Vesper, come to think of it. I'll show it to you later, if you want to, I'm curious."

"You can appreciate things without understanding how they work," Saint chuckles. "I do it all the time."

He speeds up his steps as they enter the first of the unexplored rooms, shifting his attention and focus to the work he's here to do and leaving Vesper and Alric to talk amongst themselves and the others present.

Chapter 2.14: The Nest part 3: More Dakka