Before you can solidly come to a decision regarding the wellspring of Death Magic in Camp Bubble Brook, the wind stirs the tress around you. Floral can interpret what they are saying; Manchineel has heard about intruders in the Camp. She--and Michael, and Abel--are on their way. A look at the sky suggests that Gabriel may not be far behind them. With Manchineel and her Menagerie converging on the scene, you all beat a hasty retreat. Camp Bubble Brook, silent and withered, lets you go without comment.

-----

Hannah and Andrew come home looking more haggard than usual a few days later, and it doesn't take long for Lily to find out why. A round two dozen Bronze Links have been taken into custody; good news... except for the fact that they were thrown unceremoniously through the doors of the police station by two Silver Links, the coppery chains that Bronze Links wear to mark their position driven into their arms by cruel blows. The resulting investigation is frustrated rather quickly; the Bornze Links have no supernatural powers and are unable to talk about the other members of their gang--physically unable to do so. They also seem extremely weakened, as though life was taken out of them. Hannah managed to track the group to where they must have fought the Silver Links; the warehouse is gutted, a wreck, but there isn't much else there to find.

-----

Two days after the group went to Camp Bubble Brook, Dante appears before Flint and Sara, his robe tattered, one arm bloody, stuffing a wad of black cloth into his pocket. He shrugs off any attempts at help or healing with a grimace. "It was just a disagreement," he says shortly in response to any questions, shaking his head. "Some of the cult thought they could take advantage of Manchineel's distraction by Helios and his new friends to advance their own interests. We disabused them of that notion. It's nothing that you need to concern yourself with."

Dante pauses, looking at Flint speculatively. "...Though it may come to that for both of you, soon enough. Know for now that we do not need to agree on all points to serve; we will still be family, regardless."

August 20-22nd, 2018.

Finding Nothing

"It's quiet here."

The soft voice cuts in on Remy's black mood, and his headache. Nora has disappeared, a phantom; he can barely find evidence that she existed, let alone where she went. He had gotten a short text from his father; checking in, he said, wanting to make sure that his son was "in the right place". He hasn't responded. A recent search through Museum Street had brought him nearby some sort of Suneater Cult meeting; he thought he had heard his mother's voice, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't try to find out. And on top of all of that, the constant stress of making sure he didn't remove a fundamental aspect of reality while still removing his presence, and his movements, and life force, and oh man the Siren wasn't a real living person but what about all those ghosts what were they and what happened to--he has a headache.

That is what finds Remy Rames--not Nope, not right now, just Remy--sitting in a small, intensely-manicured park on the shore of Lake Michigan, staring out at the almost-still water, being interrupted in his dark musings by the very quiet voice. Looking to his left, he would see the woman that had been sitting there before he arrived... though thinking back, he didn't really register that she was there until she spoke. Long black hair in a multitude of thin brads, dark brown skin nearly the same color as her eyes, deep green and brown clothing, almost a uniform, that seems too heavy for the warm weather; the woman has almost as little presence as Remy himself, and she seems to shrink in on herself even more as he looks over. One side of her mouth quirks up for a second in a nervous smile. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, it's just... with everything going on, it's hard to find somewhere... quiet. I'll just..." she lapses into an almost-expectant silence.

Patterns in Patterns

Inspiration strikes from within, not without, engoni.

Kal has gone for a walk. Her room at her grandmother's house is a mess of papers, sketches, and string, none of them quite coming out the way that she wants them to go, and Ariadne's cryptic "help" has been more of an annoyance than a boon in this instance. Unfortunately, one of the great advantages of a walk--the fact that it gets you away from the place and the people that have been bothering you for a time--is partially spoiled by the fact that the person she is looking for a break from is inside her own head, and feels the need to comment on nearly every dress, flag, or banner she walks by.

Maybe that's why her walk took her to the Industrial Block; less for Ariadne to pick apart, since most are in working clothes and there aren't many clothing stores or waving flags. Standing in front of the Garage of the Future, she can take a moment to admire the fanciful lines and curves of an abstract piece of metal art on display, even if the name of the place--and the graffiti only partially-cleaned off of it--intrude on her thoughts with darker matters. Ariadne sniffs. Iron. Bronze has more life, more warmth; those who say iron is tougher and more useful simply lack the will to make what they wish from the superior metal--not that either is superior to thread, of course.

Before Kal can decide whether to enter the Garage to seek inspiration there, continue on her walk, or do something completely different, she spots a surprisingly familiar face. The Silver Link Wrath, without her regalia of status, in casual clothes, and attempting unsuccessfully not to be noticed, walks up to the Garage's side door and slips quickly inside, glancing about quickly before she goes in. Her eyes slide past Kal without really noticing her.

Evidence Interrogation

"Sorry I couldn't get you your own lab, but you should have an hour," Andrew grimaces, settling the ill-fitting police uniform over his shoulders once again. It was the closest thing they had to a good fit for him, but it is tight in the shoulders and chest, and he claims there hasn't been time to re-tailor it.

The amount of general heroic work that Lily and her little group have managed to do, combined with Lily's own stubborn, reasoned conversations with her family, have paid out in a surprising dividend; it took longer than she would like, but Lily is being allowed to come in and look over the evidence recovered from Doctor Proxy's latest attempt at museum theft. Andrew, smiling and waving hellos to the many people he knows in the new Forester's Bay Police Headquarters building, is at Lily's side, escorting her in... while Hannah is conveniently busy interrogating the batch of former Bronze Links to see if anything can come from that arrest. They pass through the somewhat-normal mixture of uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives, and captured perps that occupy the front of a police station. Ntombi Peters, doubtless called in for another "conversation" about her connection to Manchineel (which will doubtless lead nowhere), meets Andrews wave with a small smile, but says nothing.

Soon enough, you are out of the bustle and into the back areas, heading towards the small on-site laboratory containing what evidence the police gathered from the Doctor Proxy crime scene. Perhaps it is Andrew's proximity that hides the scent from you, but neither of you are prepared for when you turn the corner to see Hannah, rumpled and tired and clearly angry, standing in front of the door to the lab with her arms crossed. Andrew sighs, getting ready for a fight.

"I know she has permission," Hannah says before either of you can speak, her tone saying exactly what she thinks of that permission and her glare at Andrew telling what she thinks of his efforts in getting it. "I'm here to talk to her."

Books and Bindings

"The Yel--some of our number already searched this place," Dante states as you open the door to Between the Bindings, a tiny used-bookstore at the edge of Pub Alley, near to the Residential District. He stretches his bandaged arm, grimacing; the wounds hadn't entirely healed yet. "They have very... particular tastes, though, so they may have missed something or deemed it beneath their notice."

The interior of the store smells like dust and ink, with an odd, unpleasant undertone of burned feathers that seems to be a few days old. An old man with thick, bottle-cap glasses looks up at your entrance, his mouth turning down slightly as though irritated by the interruption of his reading. On the desk next to him is a small parrot stand, and perched on that stand...

If you hadn't run into something similar several times recently, you might believe that the proprietor had decided to decorate with a stuffed pigeon.

Dante is looking at the proprietor and the "pigeon" as well, his eyes narrowing. "He must've been warned..." He glances at you, hesitating slightly. "I need to speak with that man for a moment. Would you mind looking through the books while I do so?"

As Dante turns towards you, the "stuffed" pigeon's eye twitches towards you ever so slightly, confirming your guess.