Advice, Given and Taken

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:51 Pacific Time on Wed Oct 14 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 59 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.15 and falling, and the relative humidity is 64 percent. The dewpoint is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (11% full).

The Hub: Main Floor(#2309RAJ)

The main floor of 'the Hub' is a spacious, almost sprawling room, with a two-story high ceiling and a large loft that looks out over the room itself, accessed via a winding metal staircase set at the opposite end from the heavy security door. One side of the floor is completely open, with a bank of windows facing north and offering a brilliant view of the city, especially at night. The other side contains a series of doors and doorways that lead into other rooms, large and small. One is clearly a kitchen (a very nice large kitchen with its own island and eating area), one is a bathroom, and one a repurposed conference room with a smaller central table than likely existed before, and comfortable rolling chairs that have clearly been reclaimed from various goodwill sources. Other rooms serve as storage, with one standing out as a well maintained server room, from which the local Walker server, various databases, and hardware responsible for the block's free wifi can be accessed.

The open floor itself sports several areas clearly designated for various purposes, though none have been walled off from the rest in any real fashion. One contains a comfortable, beat-up couch and armchairs arranged in a semi-circle around a large flatscreen TV and coffee table, another is a bank of multiple computers, each with their own desk and office chair, while a third is a modest exercise area mostly consisting of an open space of floor covered in a cushioned mat and several free weights. A number of monitors have been mounted on the wall next to the security door; the largest displays the area immediately on the other side of the door, with another showing the interior of the private elevator. The third and largest is split into sections, with one section dedicated to the sub-basement, another to the roof, and the others switching routinely between various parts of the interior and exterior of Maxwell Tower.

A slight blur can be seen entering the room, sort of like a shimmery motion in the air before the visage of Bomb Shell, the vigilante comes into view. Pulling the black hood and mask off her face, Briari reaches up and untangles her hair from it's thick curly bun, then unzips the front of her body armor with a hum in her throat. Humming, her voice is heard mumbling, "Hit me with your best shot.. come on and hit me with your best shot. Fire awaaa-aaay. Dun na-nanaaa."

Salem, limping down the stairs to the loft, freezes for a second when Briari appears, then sets his jaw and continues down into the main area. The recently de-aged Philodox has new jeans and tshirt that /mostly/ fit (they're really a bit too large) and is barefoot.

Peeling out of the body armor to reveal a simple white t-shirt beneath it, Briari presses a small button on the side of the armor and it starts to collapse and self-fold. At the sight of the young teen, she freezes up for a moment, then squints her eyes at him for a long moment. "Uh... Hey." She trails off for a moment. "I did not get the memo that we have a ... cub?" Her brow raises upwards as she slips her phone out and starts to fish through the messages and email.

The kid grimaces. "It's me, Briari. Salem." He pushes long black hair away from his face, giving her a better look at the dead eye and distinctive (and extensive) scarring there.

Blinking her eyes a few more times, Briari stares at him again for a long moment, then works her jaw slowly. "... So.. you're looking.. good. I see your six month trip to the day spa worked wonders. I simply have to get the business card of whoever worked on you. Wow." She rubs the back of her neck slightly. "Seriously, what ... the fuck happened?"

Briari stands at a fairly average height of five foot three with shoulder length curly blonde hair. Her eyes are a soft blue color. She has a lean, lanky build about her which appears built more for running than lifting. She tends to dress in boring jeans and shirts purchased at the local Hot Topic. Geekery shirts with logos of Adventure Time, My Little Pony, Futurama, Star Wars, etc. She rarely wears make up or jewelry. She has a bit of a southern tan complexion from living in Georgia.

"Fae," Salem says brusquely, as if this one word should explain everything. "I don't recommend it."

"Fae? Got it. So, is this a permanent thing for you?" Briari asks as she pulls off the body armor pants to reveal a pair of spandex workout shorts beneath it. With another tap, they start to self-fold again, then tucks them into a back pack that she had set up next to a seat.

Salem shrugs and drops himself onto the beat-up couch in the sitting area. "God only knows. I could wake up normal tomorrow. Or age normally from here. Or remain looking exactly like this for the rest of my natural lifespan. Or age backwards."

"Benjamin Buttons syndrome would suck so bad." Briari says as she pops a Red Bull out of her backpack and cracks the tab with a hiss. "So, while you were gone, I got inside the Queen's Tower and walked the shit out of a few floors on a tour and was able to record most of it. It's boring junk full of cubes and offices and listening to this dork drone on about fiscal reports. I plan on taking another trip in as a potential investor and see if I can snatch a key card off someone with a new gift I learned from Slug. One that would get us into the forbidden floors if possible."

Salem fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his new jeans. His eyebrows go up. "Mouse was just telling me how she was trying to get a good set of eyes in there."

"What? She knew I was in there. I sent her the report and power point and yadda yadda." Briari sighs dramatically. "Just like back home. May as well stick me in a cube and have me type up spreadsheets." She says with a mutter. "Either way, do you got any kinfolk in the age range of twenty to twenty-four on loan? Preferably a plucky female type? I got an idea."

Salem lights up and takes a drag before leaning back against the couch cushions. Dryly, he notes, "My social network's a little out of date. What's the idea?"

"Internship." Briari says with a grin on her face. "I got people that can rearrange a social security number and background checks. Get someone on the inside that can deliver coffee and donuts and file paperwork. Get more full time eyes, access to networks. A keycard to copy. Someone they would not suspect and can blend right in." She rubs the bridge of her nose. "You want a mousey looking girl, someone that isn't too cute, but not too fugly to draw attention and snickers. Someone that looks normal in a blouse and pair of khakis. Maybe glasses."

Salem looks bemused. "Someone who's bland or who can look bland, enough to blend in. I suppose it could work. I don't know anyone who'd fit the bill, though. Not off the top of my head."

"There is Lilah, a new Gnawer kinfolk in town from Alabama. I got her a job at Denny's. She is a pretty thing, blonde hair, blue eyes, got a bit of Taylor Swift in her." Briari taps her cheek with a pen. "Only problem with her is that she is a looker. I suppose I can ask back home and see if I can get one flown out. We have kin who are specialized in cubicle espionage." Glancing up at the ceiling, she says, "Only other thing I can do is put on a black cat suit, make my way to the roof the hard way, and rappel down a few floors to the blacked out windows and see about using a diamond cutter to slice a hole in the pane, then lob a grenade in and blow up the floor." Her lips tug upwards with a grin. "Or a fire bomb, just torch the place."

Salem's eyebrows go up at the notion of solution by fire bomb, as if the thought appeals. What he actually suggests is a little less drastic. "You could form a temporary pack under Cuckoo. This kind of espionage is kind of his thing."

"Yeah.. I thought about that, I really did but could not find any takers. So, I recently joined up with the Otter pack under Charlene." Briari says with a wry grin. "I'm gunning for Beta because of my rank and tiny amount of ambition. God, Cuckoo is /so/ up my alley too. I would /die/ to pack with that one even for a short time."

"Pickings are that slim?" The Philodox takes another drag off his cigarette.

Briari nods her head. "There is a new coyote pack but they are full of cliath and .. um... you know.. coyote. I wanted to join your pack very much so, and Slug said he would put in a good word, but never heard anything from it." She says with a glum look on her face. "But after thought as cool as Chimera is I probably wouldn't fit in. Not for my skill-set at least. So, we will see what happens with Otter and go from there."

"Otter's a good totem," Salem says. "And Sagacity... well, we are what we are. And one thing that isn't is ambitious. I honestly don't think you would have been happy with us."

"Probably not. But I am happy now for the most part. They are a good group of people, even if having Bad Boy in my head is uncomfortable at times." Briari says as she taps away at her phone for a bit. "I'll poke my father back home and see if he can send me a kinfolk. I'll talk with Mouse also and see if the plan is viable." Running a hand back through her hair, she gives him another grin.

(...)

It is currently 19:31 Pacific Time on Wed Oct 14 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partially cloudy. The temperature is 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.12 and falling, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (12% full).

Maxwell Tower: Roof

The imaginative or observant mind might notice that the large, flat roof of Maxwell Tower used to be used for something more than sightseeing. A small fountain still burbles near the heavy security door that leads inside, with the water running down an artificial concrete stream bed--and several tiny waterfalls--before trickling endlessly into a small concrete pond that sits right next to the roof's most decorative remaining feature; a glass rotunda positioned right in the middle of the open space like a decorative jewel of some bygone, more luxurious era. Small, simple round lights follow the path of the stream and light up the pond and rotunda at night. The rest of the roof is bare, with a three-barred railing sitting a little higher than average waist height around the perimeter to prevent accidental falls. A few potted plants, including several young trees, have been set neatly in one corner. The view is spectacular; this building towers above any others in the immediate area, providing both a good measure of privacy as well as a thorough look at most of St. Claire's east and southern side, including the Columbia river and its distant eastern bank, as well as all of Harbor Park and the bridge. The west side of the roof is taken up partially by the second floor of the penthouse, with a second, smaller roof on top of that containing a myriad number of satellite dishes, various antennae, and a small spire with blinking warning lights for low flying aircraft.

It's about an hour past sunset, and the city lights spread out far below Maxwell Tower. The extremely de-aged Philodox leans against the perimeter railing, smoking a cigarette as he stares pensively out at the scene.

It's dark out and most corvids have retired for the night, but the light pollution from the surrounding city provides more than enough illumination to navigate. And, big owls are not a hazard that a raven is unlikely to encounter in to city. Thus, Memory's arrival isn't all that unusual as she comes in for a landing and settles on the railing that surrounds the rooftop. A few dozen feet from the Philodox, the raven burbles softly, as her whole body bobs up and down.

Salem cocks his good eye at the raven in a familiar gesture. "...Val?"

A magnificent bird, covered entirely in a glossy blue-black plumage. Two bright black eyes look out at the world from just above a powerful and heavy beak. Bellow the beak there is is a well-developed ruff (hackles) of fine feathers that cover the throat. These are fluffed up, or flattened, depending on the bird's mood. From her beak, to her wedge-shaped tail, Memory is over two feet in length, and stands at a hight of just under a foot. Meanwhile, her wingspan is an impressive four and a half feet. The particularly observant may notice a small patch of white feathers, resting neatly between her shoulder blades. When she opens her beak, the inside of her mouth is bright pink - indicating that she is a juvenile.

The feathers around Memory's neck and head flare up, making her look far larger than normal. "Salem?" The raven says, human voice recognizable as belonging to Val, before she was de-aged.

Salem looks away with a grimace. "Yes." He sounds, of course, as young as he looks.

Memory gives her head a shake, then clicks her beak together a few times, before hoping off the railing and shifting up into her human form. She looks a bit older than the Philodox, but not by much. "You didn't decided to try and make a deal with a Sands of Time Spirit?" She asks voice having shifted to match her current age, a faint touch of bemusement in her tone. "More seriously, what happened?"

Val is is a young girl in her mid-teens, who has an angular face, high cheekbones, and a prominent nose. All softened by the faint chubbyness of youth. Her hair is shoulder length and streaked in a series of rainbow hues, everything from dark purple to a brilliant orange. Due to the Val's strong northern Italian ancestry, her pale olive-tinted skin darkens to a rich brown during the summer months. She stands an inch below five feet tall, which accentuates just how thin and petite she is. The young woman's figure is whip-thin, with the faint curves that identify her as female. Val smiles a lot, a friendly cheerfulness that is hard to ignore and is almost contagious in nature.

Currently, Val is wearing a summer dress that is rather flattering and shows off the fact that the young teen is now more woman than child. The upper part of the single-piece dress is black, sleeveless, and form-fitting. Just above the hips the cloth becomes loose, flowing, and comes to a stop mid-calf. The lower part of the outfit is a repeating Arabesque design, in pale reds, blues, and some gold. On her right wrist, Val is wearing a thin charm bracelet; there are a few birds, an old-style sun with a face on it, an egg, and a lippy-mouth. The Corax's neck is decorated by braided leather necklace with a large black opal pendant. Lastly, her fingers are decorated by a number of thick rings; some with a mirrored surface, others holding the luster of stainless steel. A black leather backpack, with with web-like silver threads are stitched throughout the heavy material. The bag the hangs from her shoulders, always filled with something or another.

"I went to help Kavi with a thing that involved Stag and the Fae. And, well." He gestures at himself, shrugs, looking very much the grouchy middle-schooler. "Shit happens, I suppose."

Val gives her head a shake, as she leans back against the railing and lifts a hand to rubs at the bridge of her nose. "Don't know much about the Fae, I'm afraid. Could do some asking around for someone who might know a bit more."

Salem flicks cigarette ash out over the railing. "I appreciate the offer, but unless I'm... Benjamin Buttoning myself out of existence or something equally horrible, I think I'd rather deal with the situation as is than have any more dealings with fairies, pixies, goblins, or whatever the fuck else. The Fianna can have their monopoly."

Val smirks. "Well, was more gonna ask if anyone had heard of Fae pulling this kinda shit in the past. Never know," she adds with a shrug. "That school Tristan set up can provide you with a student ID and all that. Shame whatever happened left you with all your scars. It'll make things a bit trickier for you."

Salem stretches his arms out, looking at the messy network of scars -- long slashes, shrapnel and bullet pockmarks, a few thin ropy burns, faint remnants of black tatto ink, the designs lost in the chaos. Not to mention the missing finger and a half on his left hand. "'Trickier' is an understatement. It's a potential Veil nightmare. Too goddamn attention-grabbing. And memorable."

Val runs a hand through her brightly coloured hair and gives her scalp a quick scratch. "Yea. Could set up a backstory about you being an abuse victim. A student ID and kin teachers that'll back up that story could help in a pinch. Far from perfect, but better then a kick in the teeth."

"Hmmm." He takes a drag off his cigarette. "It's a thought." He glances sidelong at her. "How long did it take you to... adapt?"

Val's nose wrinkles up as she considers this question, as she turns her attention to the city as a whole. "I don't know about you, but my head-space isn't quite what it used to be. Nick said that the structure up here wasn't quite the same anymore," Val says, as she lifts a hand and taps at her skull. "I have my memories. I know who I am, but at the same time, those memories are a bit... distant. Old hurts and attachments are still there, but muffled. Dulled. Allowed me to let go of some things, but I almost had to relearn some things. Things I didn't want to let go of, or lose," Val says, then smirks. "Adapting for me was coming to terms that I really wasn't quite the same anymore. Change is the only constant," she adds, as she swings her bag around and starts digging around in it. "On the physical side of things, about a month. Maybe two. Was a fucking klutz at first."

Salem listens somberly, grimacing at the last bit. "I'm glad to know I'm not unique in that. I'd forgotten that I used to be so goddamn /short/."

Val barks out a quick laugh, as she locates a package of cigarettes and lights up. "Slug has been buying smokes for me, if you wanna keep up that particular habit. Even with your scars, getting someone to sell them to you is going to be something of a trick. And I've always been short, but I have noticed some extra height this time around. Not much, but I'll take what I can get."

"Mouse has agreed to lay in extra stock," says the newly young Philodox. "Fortunately."

Val scratches at her cheek, going silent for a brief time, as she puffs away on her cigarette. "Balance'll probably be fucked for a bit, but that'll fade. It's more getting used to the way people look at you and treat you. I was pretty lucky in that everything is digital these days. I still exist as an and adult far as the government is concerned. Pay my taxes and all that shit. Mom is a co-signer for Snakes and Lattes, so she can step in if business shit requires someone to show up physically. Still, a rare thing these days."

"I honestly haven't had a legal identity that I could use in /years/," the Glass Walker says, in between drags on his own little cancer stick. "I've gotten used to working on the fringes. It's just not... the same /kind/ of fringes." He scowls. "Not to mention my whole goddamn information network's a loss."

"Yep. Had to deal with that as well," Val says, smoke leaking out between her lips. "Been leaning on Slug for street news. No more contacts on the street for me, or in the police. Focused on the Spirits I know and strengthening the contacts I have in the Corax community. People who don't give a shit about the age change." The young corax draws in a breath and releases it in a huff. "I'm small, female, and I look young. Trying to build up some contacts in the south end of the city isn't gonna happen anytime soon. I look like too much like an easy mark."

Salem grunts and finishes off his cigarette, grinding the butt out on the railing. "The Curse is going to confuse some very large, very angry people." He straightens up. "I appreciate the talk."

Val stubs out her own cigarette, before depositing the butt into an old water bottle filled with sand. Giving the bottle a shake, before dropping it into her bag. "Yea. Just keep in mind that change really is the only constant. We adapt, or we stagnate. And the latter, quite frankly, sucks. Gimmie a call if you want the names and numbers of the kin that set me up with a student ID in Tristan's school. Seeya 'round, Salem." That said, Val shifts into her raven form and takes to the skies.