Mission Log, Day 13, Wednesday, September 15th, 1999
What a queer thing, that I feel obliged to say time has passed uneventfully in the day since my last entry, for certainly it has not. Yet I feel only a little out of sorts with the world, and that makes for a rather comfortable mindset.
After a night of rest huddled on the roof of a crematorium, I set to work in the new dawn light. I'd had enough thinking in the night to realize I was not using all my resources to determine the whereabouts of this seller of souls Gabriel prophesied. I walked the streets until I spotted flame--votive candles in a church--and went in to meditate on Her gift, Eyes of Fire. Shortly in my mindŐs eye I saw a man walking on the sidewalk just outside the church. The attunement could only show me the nearest person escaping justice, not the worst offender, so I suspected this well-dressed young man, being so close, was probably not the modern equivalent to the Marquis du Sade. Still, the attunement chose him, and it was my duty to bring him justice. I headed outside.
He stood on the curb, staring at a piece of paper he plucked from the front window of his sleek red car. Then he crumpled it up, discarded it, and got in. I tried to touch his tire with Entropy, but in my haste I fumbled it and he drove away, "VNGRD" clearly displayed on his rear plate.
Boulder was a big town; finding him again would not be easy. I picked up the paper, read "Traffic Violation" at the top, and farther down, "Meter Expired." Meter expired? Obviously some measurer of time. Another car came and parked in his place, and before leaving the driver fed coins into a post standing nearby. So the space was available to all but for a small fee and limited to a short length of time. Nevertheless, the ticket was a bill for fifteen American dollars and he obviously had no intention of paying it.
It seemed such a trivial thing. I mean, fifteen dollars was more money than I had seen since arriving here, but for overstaying his allotted time? I didn't see anyone else suffering because to space was full. On the other hand, there was something in his movements, his look, a complete self-importance and derision for the inconveniences of the law. I'm hardly a supporter of the law, but I am bound by my servitude to Fire to punish cruelty. If I determined that this small infraction was the reason for my intention, then he would be repaid in kind. I wouldn't mind poking around one of these Ofanite-inspired miracles of Jean, figuring out what makes them go...and stop. But perhaps his behavior was just a symptom of greater wrongs; in such a case the punishment would be far more interesting.
But I had to find him first. Laban-lael was able to get the owner's name from a plate; perhaps I could do the same here, with Giles' help.
I still deliberated, but in time I saw a uniformed officer of the law standing next to a bicycle along the Pearl Street mall. I took it as a sign from God, and approached with every aspect of humility. "Excuse me?"
"Yes?" She turned around.
A woman! I was surprised, although not unpleasantly. "I...there was a guy, and he threw this on the ground. I though you might like to have it."
She took it, looking confused. Was I out of line? What would be the proper procedure in this society for reporting wrongdoing? Yet she didn't dismiss it, or me, out of hand. "Sure, I'll take it."
Awkward silence for a moment as my brain raced for what to say next. She looked a little oddly at me. In most eras, transients and officers of the law regard each other warily, as those rejected by the standards of society facing those charged with maintaining those standards. Not a personal hostility, but a natural conflict of occupation. I sought some way to put her at ease, make her feel as if she were able to make a small difference in the world today. I cleared my throat carefully, peered at her with my best tough but vulnerable expression. "Ahhh, is there someplace I can get something to eat for a dollar and sixty-eight cents?" Actually, that was stretching it. I think I had just enough to use a pay phone.
She remained intent on my face. "I think there's a shelter down on 18th Street. You might be able to get lunch in the soup kitchen." She didn't seem hostile, just very intent.
I liked her.
I just smiled, nodded, and happily headed that way. A shelter, of course! In this Mercurian Model Town, it seemed only natural that some organization would take the homeless in, give them beds and food and help them return to society. That was why I couldn't find any true homeless on the street. Even in this temperate Autumn weather, the evenings were starting to get chilly, and no one wanted to be outside come first snow.
Whirling around a lamppost ahead I met a happy Arashiel. What is it with these people from Boulder?! Everyone dancing, smiling, helping each other...at any moment I expected the air to fill with a bouncy tune as shoppers dropped their bags and stepped neatly into synch, launching into lyrics so bright they would make a Novalisian retch. I was beginning to suspect a plot, or at least an angel-heavy population.
Well, at least Arashiel wasn't full of good news. Communicating mentally with the Ethereal Song of Tongues for the sake of privacy, she told me of a new player in town, a Free--but not Bright--Lilim. Apparently one of Matt's pet projects, a Redemption candidate...or a trap. I say that because of Arashiel's other bit of news...the presence of a Triad of the Game, according to the Lilim. Judgment's diabolical opposites, and bedmates at the same time. Wonderful! I wonder if one of them counts as a seller of souls?
The Lilim was at the Tether with Giles, and apparently had already met several of us, including Arashiel. As much as I wanted to poke around and sniff her out, one of us had to remain out of sight, in case she wasn't genuine and the Game was here for us instead of her. Graciously, I nominated myself.
We continued to walk together. Eventually she asked where I was going, so I told her about my vessel, and the homeless shelter near the Painted Pot, and that I would be spending the night there. I don't think she understood why; after all, Jael (and Rook, and Giles) had already offered me a place to "crash," as was apparently the colloquialism today. I didn't feel a strong need to explain that I never "crashed;" that this was an exploratory mission to build a base of informants on the street who might, just might be able to offer us some advance warning of Arnu, or the Game, or the impending invasion Rook envisioned coming from the demons we'd angered in Colorado Springs; and that I figured there was a plum blossoms' chance in Purgatory that anything useful would come of it, but it was a blessed sight better than being caught sitting on my wings while the Prophecy I was sent here to prevent comes crashing down around our ears. And I don't mean crashing in this new "sleeping" sense. Point is, Gabriel doesn't care much for slackers, and neither do I, after being one for almost five hundred years. Or, in Ofanese, "Anything is better than nothing."
Nevertheless, I changed course. The shelter could wait for evening; and I wanted to lay eyes on this infernal creature Arashiel spoke of and find out a little more about our redeemer/betrayer. I was sadly disappointed. She was attractive, but not ravishing. She had fine red hair, and lovely skin, but I'd seen better. Plus, from my vantage point on the windowsill, she was not nearly as interesting as that creepy Lilim at the Nightmares Tether, just lost-looking and polite and quiet. And certainly not terribly high on the heavenly Wanted list, as those fleeing justice go. Maybe she was for real, and maybe a Triad of the Game would be crazy enough to follow her to AngelTown, USA.
Boring.
I blazed over to the crematorium, spent a few hours sucking up some feel good from the heat, then made my way back to the shelter on foot. I deliberately waited until after the evening meal, I particularly disliked that eating business and its unfortunate side effects. The woman at the front desk was friendly enough, in that oh-you-poor-thing sort of way. Actually I was impressed, or she hadn't been on the job very long; her line of work had a tendency to beat that out of you. She asked me to sit and fill out a form.
I'm used to reading, but writing is a strange thing; I'd never had a vessel need to record anything that couldn't be memorized just as easily. I'd wondered why Soldekai insisted upon my vessel having the skills, even for a position as low as Ariel's, but now I'm glad for it. In these times, even the lowliest citizen is expected to be able to read and write as well as the intelligentsia.
The form was a Role-cracker. It asked all sorts of questions about family, past illnesses, acquaintances, and the use of medicines, such as opium and the like, questions I wasn't really ready to answer. I left as many of the spaces blank as I thought I could get away with.(pretty much everything but Name) and returned it, half-daring the lady to ask me about it. She just smiled (sheesh!) and sent me to a room off to the side where I paced a full nineteen laps, poking around in cabinets and drawers, before a young man in a white coat joined me.
"Oh, no you don't, Sawbones! I ain't broke!"
"Easy there, Tiger. I'm just here to do a checkup."
I didn't exactly trust him, but he did seem to be genuine. He looked at my ears, eyes, and tongue, put a shiny thing on my chest and told me to breathe. He asked even more questions, about tuberculosis and age and stuff, but I told him I didn't know and eventually he gave up. He did say I was quite healthy, although I should eat better (?!). Most importantly, he did not try to cut off one of my limbs, and for that I decided he was pretty okay.
With that, they gave me a little card and sent me in to the shelter. Dinner was long over by then, and people were already moving toward bed. I kept to myself, mostly, kept my eyes open for people who might make good informants, and settled down on a cot in a little room.
Wow, am I glad for my brain. Lying there would have been agony without it. Time passed. I listened to the noises in the hall, waited until several hours passed, then put on my pack and sneaked out. The library was my immediate destination, and rather than waste energy on a shift to Raven, I climbed the rough stone walls until I reached the sloping roof below Giles' office window.
No sign of his guest. I fought the urge to go find her, decided to fly out and circle the library in search of Bad Guys. The transformation was necessary but uncomfortable; I still ached to the very bone (and deeper) from that Calabite's entropic blow. I took the extra time to preen my poor glossless feathers, brittle and unmanageable as they were. It was only a matter of time before they were good as new, with Eli's new blessing, but in the meantime I looked like a molting ball of fluff, and smelled a little strange, too. Kinda like carrion. I flew out the window in a hurry to get away from myself.
Being at the Tether reminded me...that note of dissonance continued to prick at me like a splinter. Penance was the solution, penance at a Tether. But that would not be easy to accomplish with this Lilim I sought to avoid hiding there. I would either have to wait until she was gone, or find some way to deceive her while I worked off my guilt. The waiting seemed easier, but another mistake, another blow to my nature, would certainly be asking for trouble. Besides, a Triad came after me for one note of dissonance; I wondered what "justice" a second would bring.
The Symphony rattled, distantly, catching my attention. Before the echoes, a second screech, louder, from the same area to the east. I wheeled around and put a little speed into my aching wings. The disturbance grew louder, became distinguishable as individual Songs, and the noise of damage to a nearby tree. Every celestial, friend or foe, within five miles had to hear this mess. Ahead I saw Arashiel swinging a blade of light at someone I didn't recognize, sever his arm with one blinding swoosh. Rook was close, came in swinging, and I made out the others nearby, offering their skills in their own ways. The man they fought had to be a demon, judging by the silence in the Symphony as he lost his arm. Privately asking Eli to forgive me if I used his gift inappropriately, I swept down and brushed against the man, aging him almost a decade as I passed.
The victory was short lived. The Calabite (another one, damn his eyes!) wracked my vessel with his personal brand of entropy. I faltered, recovered, and swung round for another pass to apply that Song of Ice I stole from another of his kind. My Song fizzled while his second resonance hit true; I landed gracelessly, organs ruptured, heart angry.
In an instant Jael was there beside me, lay her healing hands upon me. I appreciated her aid, but that vessel could not withstand another blow, so I swelled to human-size and took both my beloved axes in hand, ready to skin the Hellborn.
The fight was already over. The Calabite slumped stupidly to the ground, staring and mindless, his celestial nature stripped, a empty vessel. I opened my mouth to suggest interrogation, but Rook snapped its neck in an instant, and such thoughts became moot. No mortals seemed to see the incident, but we took painstaking steps to create the illusion that the man died when his vehicle struck the tree, just to cover our tracks. Then we parted ways.
Jael suggested that I visit the kiln in her pottery shop, and in truth I did not want to trudge all the way back to the crematorium. She left soon after, and I am left to record the events of the day for your reading pleasure.
As I close out this entry, my thoughts are filled with the events of the night's demon-killing. Just as I hide myself from the Lilim for security reasons, I should have been more careful about revealing myself in the fight. If...probably since one of the demon's friends saw us, we have dangerously exposed ourselves and our capabilities, and they will not die so easily a second time.
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