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Dreamweaver (IC)


Blarghy

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The former villain shrugged and ran some fingers through his hair. "Fine, fine." He moved to follow after agent Warne but then stopped and addressed the Blackguard. "Do me a favor and say 'hi' to Morris for me, would you? He's on my Christmas card list." He turned back to Warne and quickened his pace to catch up. "Right, then," he muttered. "Let's go get cozy with a cannibal. You know, if you're looking for advice on magical issues, I have friends who could help. We don't need to rely on someone who'd sooner carve us up like Easter hams."

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GM

 

Samuel only received a silent glare from both the Blackguards as they entered the fairly spacious elevator; Warne replied, "Are any of your friends recently-insane drug users who can act as witnesses to what I actually need, instead of wasting an afternoon teaching me about moon phases and fairy dust?"

 

Like its twin inside the old fort at the top of Blackstone Island, this elevator could run all the way down to the transfer and processing area, a large cavern with the Command and Control building as well as an armory, protected by two drawbridges--an imposing sight that Samuel would've seen on his last visit.  Today they instead stopped short, on a floor he was never permitted to enter.  The living level for Blackstone security personnel housed up to three hundred people, though rarely hit capacity due to rotating furlough days.  Here, they walked to the small boarding station for the monorail.

 

"Doctor Metropolis tracked and caught Knickknack a few days ago," their Blackguard escort elaborated as they roared along the tracks through a dark tunnel, briefly illuminated by lights on the ceiling, flickering past at high speeds.  "With her morphing, she always slipped back into the general public before, but this time, she didn't bother to change her face."

 

"The drug makes them sloppy," Warne agreed shortly.

 

"She was...well, at least for once she wasn't killing all her victims.  Most of them got away with mutilation.  She, ahh...kept taking peoples' teeth.  She had pockets full of them, and was working on a stolen purse, when Doctor Metropolis came on the scene."

 

The monorail brought them to one of the upper-level (such as it was; most of the cells in the prison were a good two hundred feet below sea level) security halls.  More Blackguards stationed at this isolated wing met them at the doors.  After explaining what Warne wanted, he and Sam were pointed toward a cell down at the end of the corridor.

 

Their guide's boots echoed between the stone walls; the security wing was eerily quiet in the wake of their passage, even though Sam could see occupied cells as he passed, looking through the transparent diamond-matrix panels that acted as doors. 

 

"We figured she was collecting things for some spell, you know?  It seemed like the kind of thing she'd need, a pile of human teeth.  But no; the Doctor caught her on the Lindroos Bridge, dumping them into the river.  Just throwing them away."

 

A soft, smooth voice answered him from the last cell.  "They wanted to be free, baby.  That's all anybody wants."

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That shut Sam up right quick, at least for a moment. "Well, they... uh..." He fell silent and kept walking, growing increasingly more nauseous as the conversation focused back on Knickknack and her grim proclivities. When they reached her cell, the magician looked at the agent and thinned his lips. "What now?" he asked.

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GM

 

"Now you earn your paycheck.  Go get me something useful."

 

"Mmm," the unseen voice from around the corner said.  "I still hear you, Adept.  And someone new...but also old."  Her voice turned singsong.  "Are you blue and borrowed too?  Come over here, my little chipmunk, and let me get a look at you.  It's alright; I don't bite."

 

Knickknack's laugh was chillingly wicked. 

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Sam shuddered in spite of himself and took a few steps forward so that he was standing front and center before the cell, with only a few steel bars between him and a dangerous, psychopathic sorceress. He nodded to the woman and attempted the same sort of smile that had won over Gretchen and Lynn at the bookstore. "Good morning, Ms. Kilmns," he said. "I've been asked to speak to you today as a sort of... peer. You see, you and I are in the same line of business, more or less." He gave another smile, which came more easily this time. He was beginning to sink back into an old, familiar groove: Smoke and mirrors; that's what it all came down to. Smoke and mirrors. "I was hoping that you'd be willing to answer a few questions, one magician to another."

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GM

 

"Ahhh, Prestoooo...

 

She said the name softly, drawing it out.  When Samuel first saw her--not through bars, but the artificial diamond-matrix plate that capped all cells in Blackstone, broken only by the thin rectangle for food exchange--Knickknack was lying on her bed, dressed in the standard orange jumpsuit.  She propped herself up on one elbow, then rolled aside, to her feet. 

 

The woman was of medium height and medium age, probably in her late thirties or early forties, judging by her sparse wrinkles.  Her faded black hair was stiff, strawlike, to her shoulders.  A bold, triangular nose highlighted her face, between full lips and coffee-colored eyes.  Her faint brown skin marked her half-Indian heritage; the shading helped mask a big, blotchy bruise along her cheek and jaw, likely from the fight she recently lost with one of Freedom City's primary defenders.

 

She sauntered to the transparent door, hips swishing, arms swinging gently.  From perhaps two feet away, she let her eyes roam up and down Sam's body, taking her time, until they settled on his own. 

 

"You're on the wrong side of the bars, Presto," Knickknack chided him, speaking metaphorically in this case.  "I remember your newspaper articles.  Even saw you once, though I don't think you saw me.  What's a nice boy like you doing in such nasty company?"

 

Her lips parted in a smile.  Behind them was a full set of gleaming titanium teeth, mostly human but with two extra pairs of canine fangs, before reluctantly giving way to traditional molars. 

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The former villain returned her smile, not at all phased by her metal teeth, and acknowledged her judgement. He even gave a slight bow. "I see that my reputation precedes me," he said. "Such as it is. Yes, I'm guilty as charged; I was once Presto the Preposterous. And who knows? I might be him again some day. But right now I'm here on commission and I'm hoping that you can help me. You see, I have it on good authority that you were only captured because you weren't exactly yourself at the time. Believe me, I can relate -- it's a hard life we chose and I'd by lying if I said that I'd never needed to take the edge of myself now and again." He raised a finger to his face and tapped the side of his nose. "But you didn't settle for the normal stuff. You went a bit... exotic. I'm interested in knowing where you got it."

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GM

 

Knickknack's smile turned a shade frosty, though she hardly seemed surprised.  "Just business, then.  Their business.  I hoped we could dance a little before you tried to take me home."

 

She raised her arms delicately above her head and twirled.  Settling back onto her heels, stiff hair partially obscuring her eyes, the cannibal tilted her head at Sam.  "Why should I help you, Presto-who-isn't-Presto?  Why should I tell you things that'll come back to haunt me if I ever see daylight again?  You don't give out names.  Then names come looking for you.  Maybe that could be fun for me.  Dinner right to my door, hmm?  But your reputation is a valuable thing.  I wonder what you've sold yours for."

 

Back to the door she came, nose almost touching it, so that her breath fogged against the barrier.  "Did mean old Adept twist your arm?  Or are you just cheap enough for him to afford?"

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Presto grinned. "A dance with you sounds deliciously dangerous. Perhaps we could arrange something once we're both in a more favorable set of circumstances." He shrugged. "As it is, I'm not in a much better position than you are, my dear. I mean, yes, I don't eat prison food, but I do have to pay rent. I'm working retail now, if you can believe it!" He rolled his eyes. "It pays much more poorly than robbing banks but I don't get punched in the face quite as often." He looked, pointedly, towards her bruise and gave her a sympathetic frown. "As for why you should help me, there is such a thing as 'time off for good behavior.' I shaved six months from my sentence for just staying in my cell while there was a riot going on; imagine what they might give you for aiding an ongoing investigation? And as for someone finding out where I got the information, you have my word as a magician that I won't reveal my sources to anyone not involved in the investigation." He smiled, again, a little conspiratorially. "Besides, I've heard rumors about you. I'll bet that you'd see any enemies coming well before they arrived. In fact, I'd wager that you saw this coming. Did you know that I'd be here today? As for... Adept? Agent Warne? I suppose that it's a little of both. Like I said, I'm not robbing banks anymore, and every little bit helps." He paused, giving her a moment to process his words. "So," he said. "What do you say, Karen? Can I call you Karen? Will you help me out?"

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GM

 

"You could call me Knickknack, if you wanted to be kind."  Her tone turned cynical and mocking.

 

Nonetheless, her body language displayed uncertainty and signs of hope.  The woman turned away, wrapped her arms around herself, and paced toward the opposite end of the cell, at the corner of her small desk.  A long pause followed.  Without looking back, she asked, "...Could you arrange something for the dreams?  To make them go away?  Ever since I..."  She drifted off, but Sam might've inferred the connection to his investigation.

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Sam smiled, though a little sadly. "Knickknack it is, then. Because I do want to be kind." After she'd paced away and implied the terms of her cooperation, Steiner looked back at Warne and thinned his lips. "I... wasn't aware that the drug caused nightmares. What kind of dreams have you been having? He licked his lips and decided to sweeten the pot. "I know a spell for peaceful sleep. I've used it on myself many times and I can't imagine that it would be difficult to configure for someone else. Knickknack, if you help me, I promise you that I'll do all I can to ensure that you rest easy."

Edited by Sophistemon
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GM

 

Warne was nodding encouragingly, though perhaps more to keep Sam going on this line of inquiry than to give his approval; as far as that went, the Blackguard beside him looked very skeptical  "She isn't allowed magic," he hissed.  "Someone else will have to do it for her--and they had better be on the level."

 

Knickknack, for her part, began to sway from side to side.  "It's always the same, but always different.  Big ones, little ones, hairy ones, shiny ones.  Chasing me.  Crawling on my skin..."  She turned back to face Sam; her usual toothy grin became a rare frown.  "I don't understand.  The other dreams are so lovely.  I don't have my old nightmares anymore.  No more dances with Pseudo, where he can see me but I can't see him.  No more teeth falling out.  Just the crawlies, crawling on my skin."

 

She tilted her head down, came halfway across the cell toward Sam.  "...I'll tell you for the spell.  I'll tell you where I bought the drops of starlight." 

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"Insects. Is that normal, for the drug?" Sam frowned. He hated bugs and though his apartment was small and grungy he kept it stringently vermin-free. He looked back at Warne for his reaction, then shrugged. The agent had thrown him into this without proper preparation; if things went off the rails it certainly wouldn't be his fault that everything fell apart. His voice dripped with sympathy when he spoke. "That sounds reasonable," he said. "I'll have to... write it down, and give it to the guards to cast but I don't think that they'd object to giving you a good night's sleep. Would that be okay?"

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GM

 

"I don't know what normal is anymore," Knickknack replied.  She didn't refute Sam's interpretation, but...

 

The Blackguard continued to frown deeply; Warne lightly slapped the man's armored shoulder with the back of his knuckles.  "That's going to look great in the papers.  'Blackstone Prison Denies Inmates Harmless Anti-Nightmare Aid.'"

 

"...We have part-time magical consultants on staff," the guard said reluctantly, loud enough to be heard.  He then repeated, "But it had better be on the level!"

 

Knickknack's lips seemed to twitch with a hint of relief.  "Alright, Presto.  I'll trust you.  And I'll remember."  She put a lot into that statement.  He had better come through with his side of the deal.

 

"I bought my stock at Fortune Favors, this little shop in Riverside.  Ask Terry for drops of starlight."

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Sam removed a pen and small pad of paper from a pocket inside of his jacket. He spoke aloud as he wrote out her instructions. "Fortune Favors... Riverside... Terry... Drops of Starlight. There." He glanced back at Warne with something meaningful in his eyes, and then flipped the page and spent a minute or two writing something else. When he was done, he tore the page out and handed it to the guard. "You should be able to make that in the prison kitchens, if your resident magician is skilled enough. I suggest mixing the resulting solution into a cup of hot tea with a bit of honey and lemon. It worked wonders for me. And you can go ahead and have them look over the spell -- I'm not going to jeopardize my freedom by doling out black magic." He then turned his attention back to Kilmns. "I appreciate your trust, Knickknack," he said. "And I assure you, provided that they do it correctly, you shouldn't be bothered by the nightmares anymore."

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GM

 

"That's good.  I hate to be bothered."  The uplifted-yet-cynical tone renewed her unspoken threat: this had better work.

 

Agent Warne nodded once.  "We're done here.  Back to the docks."  This, he seemed to say to satisfy the Blackguard, who appeared to have had more than his fill of these visitors. 

 

As Warne, and presumably Presto, turned away, Knickknack called out after him, "...Don't do it.  Don't help him, Presto.  He'll just use you up and throw you away.  You can't change what you are!"

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Sam stopped mid-step and turned back to the cell. "I would need to know what I am, first," he said. "Thank you for you help, Knickknack. Sweet dreams." He quickened his pace to catch up to Warne and the Blackguard, the latter of whom he addressed in a low, grumbling whisper. "Replace the poppyseed oil with aniseed and she'll be trapped in an eight-hour nightmare. Keep that in mind if she... misbehaves." He looked, then, to Warne. "Fortune Favors is a hole in the wall hocus pocus hobby shop run by a Giftless loser named Terry and patronized by a bunch of tourists. Nobody with real power goes there, partly because he sells worthless junk but mostly because he's a fence and a bad one. I can't imagine why he hasn't been shut down, but it's lucky that he hasn't because now we can pay him a visit and get to the bottom of this." His expression was grim and Warne would doubtlessly get the distinct impression that Knickknack's last words had wriggled under the magician's skin and stayed there.

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GM

 

Agent Warne's lifted eyebrows suggested that he was mildly impressed, for any number of reasons, but the Blackguard reacted with apprehensive surprise.  "...S---, man.  That's cold."  Nonetheless, he repeated softly to himself, "Aniseed."

 

"Fortune Favors," Warne repeated.  "Hrrmmm.  That is odd.  But yes, that's our next stop.  I take it that you have no issues with participating in a sting operation?  You are, after all, known as part of the demographic to which this drug is marketed." 

 

Together they exited the reinforced hallway doors, again boarded the monorail, and began the screaming journey back to the surface of the island. 

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"Magic is a double-edged sword," explained the magician. "A single changed ingredient, a different word, and a spell can have a completely different effect. And keep in mind that she's a murderous, cannibalistic psychopath. I'm not being cold, I'm being practical. Surely you can both understand the importance of leverage." He let Warne speak, then, and listened intently. "A sting?" he asked. "No, I don't mind it, I guess. But don't expect me to actually take the stuff. I hate bugs, and I'd hate illusory bugs that I can't even squash even more."

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"No, I don't expect you to use an illegal substance while working for me," Warne confirmed dryly.  "If you do happen to give into temptation, then for the record of whatever recording devices I'm sure are on this train, I do not authorize such a thing."  He reached for his cigarette pocket, stopped, scowled, and crossed his arms.

 

"...This Boyd character can't be who I'm ultimately looking for.  But he's another link in the chain.  Don't just confirm his guilt; use him to find the source.  I'm not interested in buying some breathing room; I want to end this, whatever it is."

 

Sam didn't mention a last name for the shop's proprietor, he might note.  This AEGIS agent apparently had a wide, wide net of information--but sometimes the biggest net could let slip the smallest details, and for that, you needed a specialist. 

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Sam shook his head. "Temptation, nothing. I quit stuff like that when I was stuck in a cell. I couldn't believe how clearly I could think once it was finally out of my system and I wasn't craving it anymore." He leaned back into his seat and crossed one leg over the other. "I didn't mention Terry's last name," he said. "Which means that you knew about him beforehand. Did you send me to talk to Kilmns to confirm a suspicion, or what?"

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"I know who owns that shop.  I did not know that the amateur fence was peddling drugs that lead to madness.  We keep tabs on Boyd because he's useful; sometimes newcomers to Freedom City slip up and go to him.  He's a flytrap we tolerate because he occasionally lets us catch something bigger.  His latest enterprise may change that."

 

From the monorail, they transitioned next to their original elevator, and then reentered the sunlit world above, assaulted by the smell of salt and the sounds of crashing waves.  Their Navy transport still waited faithfully at the docks.  Warne stepped aboard, then extended a hand back to Sam to help him onto the boat.

 

"Good work so far, Steiner.  Keep it up and I might recommend you for other jobs, if that's what you want."

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Steiner nodded, understanding, and then frowned. "I'll be honest with you, I don't know what I want -- other than to avoid a cell for the rest of my life. I have this... job, at a bookstore. I told you about that. And I work for and with people that I really like, and it's going to come with some... pretty amazing perks eventually. But beyond that? I don't know." He paused, lapsed into silence, and then continued. "But... thanks. It feels good to contribute something. I guess that what I want most is a change. Something new, and better than before." He smiled. "And if it pays well, so much the better."

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This was sounding a bit too touchy-feely for Warne's taste; he may've slightly raised his opinion of Samuel after the magician's initial results, as well as the capacity for mild ruthlessness, but Warne still wasn't looking to make a new friend.  In large part because he didn't have old ones, either. 

 

So, he lit another cigarette as the boat pulled away from the docks and merely said, "Working on the side of justice can have its advantages.  Most people won't get rich, but chasing wealth can get you into places you don't want to be."  As you well know.

 

 

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Sam arched a thumb back in the direction from which they'd come. "Like a cell in Blackstone. Believe me, agent Warne, I'm doing all I can to stay out of there. Consider it a lesson learned." A thought occurred to him, then, and he blinked. "Uh, speaking of back there... Kilmns called you something -- 'Adept,' I think it was. Is that, like, a code-name? Have you dealt with her before?"

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