trollthumper

[b]Cavalier[/b] "Leading on." It's very much old hat, by this point. But it doesn't feel that way. He still remembers his first space walk, in the bulky yet dangerously thin "space condoms" they carried in the cargo bay on the Runabouts' ship. It was good they pointed out how the suits captured waste, because he always felt like he was two seconds away from putting that into practice. Visions of micrometeors danced in his head as he looked out on the starry void, anxiety losing out over wonder... for a minute, at least. Now, with the finest armor-energy mesh known to the sector and much more practice under his belt, it would be easy for Kyle to just consider another spacewalk to be something mundane. But that was also easier said than done. The tranquility, the majesty, the sheer scope of the sea of stars... it always felt natural and otherworldly, at the same time. "All right. We're going to hover above the asteroid, maybe a meter. Try to get surface readings before we set foot on it and potentially get a nasty surprise. Sound good?"

"Well..." Cavalier looked out at the display, trying to get a bead on the asteroid. There had been that one that had all those automated defenses - it had taken a while to degauss the armor after that - and of course, there were the occasional space tardigrades that curled up into little asteroid-sized balls. Cute little guys, if they didn't cause space fleets to panic and occasionally try to gum your face off. "Once we get into closing distance, I can get on the rock. Get a better sense of substance, weak points... as well as if it is a rock. Ideally, it's just a rock, but you never know out here." He looked over to Kith'lana and nodded. "Of course, eyeballing's always a good start."

He'd been out here a lot, lately. Years ago, the only thing Kyle dreamed of was getting back to Earth. He'd gotten used to the stars, the grip of artificial gravity, the feeling of being carried on sheets of titanium and fusion engines through the cold void, jumping from rock to rock and finding a hundred new lures and dangers. He wanted the pale blue dot, and all the comforts of home. But you don't spend half a decade out here without wanting to dip your toes back in. There was always a tour of duty, another sensitive matter. Like here, for instance. Deterring a meteor from making a messy impact was the kind of thing you could wrap your hands around and push. "All right." He looked at the calculations on his wristmount. "There should be a chance to bankshot this. Of course, we need to do the standard material checks, make sure this isn't some floating WMD or home to a colony of very small worldshippers or anything that makes this more than just space junk floating at the wrong angle."

"We should, at some point." Temperance looked around, really stopping to look at the other guests for the first time in a while. Some she'd known growing up here; others were new, cropping up ever since she'd moved to Emerald. She still came in to see her parents, but Freedom... When did Freedom get so far away? She shook her head. Maybe it was time to start juggling long distance. She hadn't done that for a while. Not since... Not since something that had ended as it needed to. Anyway. Brighter things. "We should pick the right moment. In the meantime, let's catch up. Emerald's been a pretty interesting town..." Then her eyes fell back onto the new guest. She hadn't been in the thick of it when he'd had his little "save the world from itself" moment. But she knew the ripples it had sent through the city. And now there seemed to be an aftershock. "We might wanna hold off on the rink. It's getting real cold in here already."

Temperance A rime formed on the glasses. Not enough to crack the glassware and not enough to risk freezing the drinks. And it avoided the hot cocoa and coffee as if by design. A woman entered the gather in a cerulean gown paired with a white leather blazer, her feet in matching boots. An elegant icy mask clung to her face, and her black hair draped down to her shoulders, braided with chains of ice and snow that shone like crystal. She looked across the gather, her eyes falling on familiar faces... and the air of winter cracked instantly. "It's been far, far too long," she said, almost charging her way over to Kimber. "I could feel the snow gathering from outside, and I didn't want to lay it on too thick. How've you been?"

Duplication is a tricky power, but if there's anyone I trust to handle it as written, it's you. APPROVED.

APPROVED

"All right, then, so I take it you didn't sense whether the building was warded heavily enough to be visible from space," Temperance said. Either that or he didn't catch it, which means we'll need to be vigilant nonetheless. And then there are binding oaths or... God, I've picked up a lot about raw sorcery by osmosis, but in a case like this, I wish we had a learned spellslinger. Temperance rolled her eyes as obviously as she could, then let the shifting water sluice back into her container. "We're not going to kill you." She looked around. "Well, I'm not. We haven't exactly taken a vote yet. But from now on, I recommend keeping your talents to three-card monte. Lot less likely to get your face bitten off by something from beyond the veil."

"So, in all your talents for legerdemain and chicanery," said Temperance, letting the water take on a sharper shape for just a second, "did you ever acquire the talent to sense magic?" There was a good chance that the building had more security than their young mountebank was aware of. Temperance was no sorcerer herself, and would probably be just as blind going in unless she kept her eyes open for where the spirits were trying very hard not to step. But if she knew they were both blind to the possible wards and other traps laid onto the apartments, then they could prepare for the possibility of the unknown. And of course, that's all assuming that this sorceress didn't lay her security system through her tenants. All those eyes and ears... and if she bound them to some oath, then they could be activated against us. I liked The Raid as much as the next girl, but...

angrydurf Ace Danger: 1 GM post + 1 Ref Point = 2 PP Empyrean, Infinity, and Eternity: 20 posts = 2 PP Kanunu: 1 post = 1 PP Ouroboros: 1 GM post = 1 PP Red Lynx: 4 posts = 1 PP Sagrado Corazon: 3 posts = 1 PP Sandman: 1 GM post = 1 PP Savant: 1 GM post = 1 PP GM posts: 2 x 2 = 4 posts Ari Sun Dragon: 25 posts = 3 PP Mag-Might: 2 posts = 1 PP Salmon: 10 GM posts = 2 PP GM: 5 x 2 = 10 posts AvengerAssembled Lady Hours/Wadjet: 3 posts = 1 PP Watchdog/Daystar: 87 posts (inc. 4 GM posts) = 4 PP + 1 Ref Point = 5 PP Fast Forward: 3 posts = 1 PP Sea Devil: 5 posts = 1 PP Woodsman: 4 posts = 1 PP GM: 2 posts x 2 = 4 posts Azuth65 Gauss: 1 post = 1 PP Constantine05 Nephilim: 1 post = 1 PP Cubismo Ms. Thursday: 16 posts = 2 PP Dariusprime Vox: 33 posts = 3 PP + 1 PP (Vignette) = 4 PP Darksider42 Spectre: 8 posts = 1 PP Dr. Archeville Artificer: 12 posts + 2 overflow from Dead Head = 14 posts = 2 PP Dead Head: 2 posts (maxed) Horrorshow: 30 posts = 3 PP + 1 PP (Vignette) = 4 PP Electra Chelone: 15 posts = 2 PP Hologram: 3 posts = 1 PP EternalPhoenix Terrifica: 1 post = 1 PP + 1 PP (Guide Post) = 2 PP Dragoneer: 13 posts = 2 PP Exaccus Facsimile: 4 posts = 1 PP Fox Masque: 4 posts = 1 PP + 1 PP (RefPoint) = 2 PP Grumblefloof Mister Strix: 7 posts + 3 GM posts = 10 posts = 2 PP Octoman: 13 posts = 2 PP Persephone: 7 posts + 3 GM posts = 10 posts = 2 PP + 1 PP (Guide Bonus) = 3 PP GM: 3 x 2 = 6 posts Heritage Crystal-Gazer: 43 posts = 3 PP Grimalkin: 5 posts (maxed out) Miracle Girl: 1 post = 1 PP Torque: 6 posts + 5 posts from Grimalkin = 11 posts = 2 PP KnightDisciple Judex: 3 posts = 1 PP Thunderbird: 8 posts = 1 PP Raven III: 1 PP (Guide Point) Moira Morley Scion: 28 posts = 3 PP Nick Arcana: 1 PP olopi Lady Liberty: 2 posts = 1 PP Rocket Lord Archer II: 3 posts + 7 GM posts = 10 posts = 2 PP Cheval: 8 posts + 17 GM posts = 25 posts = 3 PP + 11 PP (Extracurriculars) = 14 PP Forever Boy: 6 posts + 44 GM posts = 50 posts = 4 PP Justice: 15 posts + 10 GM posts = 25 posts = 3 PP Rebellion: 13 posts + 12 GM posts = 25 posts = 3 PP GM: 46 x 2 = 92 posts Sailor Torpedo Lass: 1 post = 1 PP Semi-Autogyro Gnomon: 14 posts = 2 PP Shofet Corona: 10 posts + 20 GM posts = 30 posts = 3 PP Soliton: 64 posts + 16 GM posts = 80 posts = 4 PP Meta-Naut: 42 posts + 26 GM posts = 68 posts = 4 PP + 4 PP (Extracurriculars) = 8 PP GM: 31 x 2 = 62 posts Tarrakhash Black Mamba: 2 posts = 1 PP Chromium: 11 posts = 1 PP TheAbsurdist Rebound: 15 posts = 2 PP + 1 PP (Ref Point) = 3 PP Zenith: 3 posts = 1 PP Thevshi Velocity: 1 post = 1 PP Veronica Danger: 1 PP (Ref Point) Thunder King Specimen: 5 posts = 1 PP Speed Demon: 2 posts = 1 PP Tiffany Korta The Immutable Betsy Brooks: 3 posts = 1 PP Dr. Thorne: 2 posts = 1 PP Emerald Spider: 2 posts = 1 PP Merge Trois: 6 posts + 4 GM posts = 10 posts = 2 PP + 1 PP (Ref Point) = 3 PP Ms. Bright: 1 post = 1 PP Valkyrja: 3 posts = 1 PP White Lioness: 3 posts = 1 PP GM: 2 x 2 = 4 posts trollthumper Temperance: 1 post = 1 PP Cavalier: 1 PP (Ref Point) Zeitgeist Blue Salvo: 3 posts = 1 PP

Temperance had to admit there was such a thing as overkill, and this was certainly it. And having an icy vise around the man's throat was not going to make spilling the beans any easier. She waved her hand, and the water splashed up into a less hostile form, but still held that unnatural fractal shape that suggested that there was so much that could be done with it. A part of her felt that this was... she didn't want to say "unfair," but it was definitely a lot. She had been doing this for years, and had deliberately crafted her image to be cold and severe. But at this moment, she knew it was for the best if she stood at the back and waited for the moment to apply leverage. Sometimes, the benefit of teamwork is everyone getting in place to hit a different joint with a baseball bat.

Eliza strode forward, glad that she got to trade one mask for another, in oh so many senses. In the gap between the club and the doorway, she willed the water out of her container (the flask, in an effort to match the effort) and had it run up her face, forming a thin yet opaque mask to hide her features. The rest of the water swirled in her hand, ready to go. When King had raised his eyes from the ground, she willed it into a sharp series of crystals. "In case you get the idea to do some more conjuring," she said, "note that I can have this around your throat the second you start speaking Latin. Or I can have it down your throat. Many options. She waved her hand, collapsing the ice into a colloidal state that was fluid enough to suggest motion but sharp enough to suggest unpleasant things. "Now. Start talking. And no Latin."

Temperance had to suppress a wry smile as she saw Dale desperately try to wipe the 80-proof failure from his face. "I'm probably not the best gambit," she said. "I've met my share of guys who rock the style --" And dated one, even if he came at it from... different angles. And a different world. "--but there's an air to this one. The style, the thirst... he likes exotic, but probably not my exotic. I could try to turn on the 'babe in the woods,' but it'd be a rough fit, and he might see through it." While they discussed strategy, she opened her senses to the spiritual tenor of the area. Getting a read on individual spirits in this warehouse might be tricky, especially over the thumping bass and the shifting crowds. But it would give her the first signal if some of the ritual weirdness that they encountered in the basement was about to repeat itself.

Temperance may not have been familiar with the scene... but she recognized the aesthetic of the gathering. It wasn't in the thudding base, or the beef gates out front, or the warehouse that looked it came from any number of supernatural thrillers from the Nineties. It was all around her. It was being "dangerous" by going where you never would. Where the "good people" never were. It was dancing into the wasteland, the outlands, the... ghetto. To feel like you were transgressing, and to feel like the baddest bitch in town - while having plenty of protection in case anyone tried to step. Well, you're in real danger, at least. She knew she was both in place and out of place, given the milieu. So... best to lean into that. She slinked out of the car the best she could possibly slink, trying to move like water with long, purposeful strides towards the door, her eyes piercing out with faux-disdain (not entirely faux, to be honest) towards the bouncers. She wanted to project attitude best she could.

Yeah, it might be possible to do magical guns empowered with the psychic weight of the firearm that manage to incapacitate people through fear (though that still might be a bit... um in the era of the mass shooting, so let's say "force blasts" or whatever). But a full-out mundane assault rifle? Nope.

It's an interesting approach... but it does come with its own thorns. Has Gnomon ever experienced dysphoria as a result of their shifts? Or have they come to realize that the shift helped them realize that they are more genderfluid than they thought, but they still like to treat gender identity as a personal binary rather than a spectrum? We're just trying to avoid that thing in early '00s transformation webcomics where gender dysphoria was just something you powered through, while trying to recognize the personal circumstances for the character. Because not everyone who is trans or genderfluid experiences the classically associated bout of dysphoria, but we're just trying to get a good understanding here.

So, one thing I want to clarify is the pronoun situation. Claude is referred to alternatively as "he" and "they" across the course of their life. What is their current gender situation? Is this a Ramna 1/2 situation where Claude has a distinct gender dichotomy that shifts to what they classify as polarities of "he"/"she"? Or is Claude starting to embrace being more fluid and adopting a "they" identity, or some other non-gendered pronoun? As there are elements that suggest the character may be nonbinary or genderfluid at this point, it may be best to clarify the pronoun situation across the course of Claude's life.

Nick Cimitiere Eric remembered the time Jack Faretti had ended up in his apartment. Eric had tried to talk to him about draugr, and Jack had asked pointed questions about necromancy that sounded very much like declarations. And this was the other side of it. Nick Cimitiere knew who Faretti was fairly well, and while they hadn't exactly talked much over the years, he'd gotten a clearer sense of the person looking over Freedom's vampires - and a much clearer sense of his family. He wasn't necessarily in the loop with Phantom, but being practitioners with a foot in the politics of the otherworlds, they had traded a few notes and kicked more than a few asses together. And that was before she'd assumed the mantle of Master Mage. He'd provided some insight in her days settling into the role, but not all that much - just hints on how to pull power moves when talking to Hades. For most of the night, he had drifted around the borders. He'd passed by Dead Head, smiling at seeing the zombie up and about again. He had waved to Aquaria, remembering the trip to Dunwich. And when the proclamation came, he raised his glass. "To Ouroboros! Welcome to the deeper weirdness."

"It works for you," said Temperance. She fetched her own costume, a mixture of Atomweave armor, pea coat, and Doc Martens. "This should work, though I believe several items are not exactly the right color for any sort of Goth club. I don't suppose 'sea Goth' became a thing when I wasn't looking?" She looked over the briefing on their quarry as well, studying the names. "This wasn't exactly my scene," she said - though it was maybe half a lie. Between having a boyfriend who was the phrase "Extremely Online" taken a bit too literally and dealing in the mystic arts as a teenager, she had at least brushed elbows with Gothicness to a certain degree. But still... "But even from the outside, don't these names seem a little too desperately Goth? They do speak to that air of teenage rebirth, but like somebody who hasn't talked to teenagers in... well, a very long time."

There. A plan starting to come together. "Okay," said Cavalier. "Keep the militia in reserve. As you said, they may not do much against the craft, but if he's already invited a bunch of buddies to the party, they'll be good against any landing party that may be coming down the line. That will be if the signals get through the jamming frequency." That just left the matter of the swampland. What would make the device want to go there? Obviously, the Praetorians, but the device would likely decide that chasing opposition wouldn't be worth breaking position, and any attempt to actively lure it by dancing in front of its sensors might result in another round of getting fricasseed. Unless it senses an opportunity... He turned to Sitara. "The Khanate would likely mess the royal breeches if it found out this planet had some sort of A-class munitions. One way or the other. Either that means the colony's managed to point a big freaking gun in their faces, or they might be dumb enough to set it off and press the big instant 'I win' button of quashing planetary rebellion. If we could find a way to mock the signature of such a weapon and 'suddenly' create a holding pen in the depths of the swamp, we might be able to get that thing ready to do a little digging."

This is an interesting set of thematics. Though please stay away from the motorcycles for now. That said... it's a bit early in the morning for me, but Summon and VP are two of the power sets that give Refs here a bit of a headache. Summon is a fair bit of investiture for an army of Minions that will go down if they fail one TOU save, and it effectively adds new parties to the Initiative order. Variable, meanwhile, is very malleable - and the fact that you have a "Enemy Gains This Power" qualifier for this and Summon means that it will fall into the same issue that some parties here have with putting multiple ranks in a power like Nemesis, where the GM now needs to both deal with the adaptations the PC gains and adjust their own NPC to match. I'm not really in the space to offer alternatives right now. This is a good concept; I just want to make sure it works for the GMs who would like to run threads for the character.

Freedom City When they put a name like "Freedom" on it, what did they expect? The name was intended in all earnestness by the Puritan settlers who founded the city in 1630, but it served as a beacon to those seeking liberty in the New World. To the Anarchs, it promised freedom from the games of the Elders. To the Sabbat, it promised free and fertile land where they could build a new Enoch. It's hard to tell who got their fangs into the city first, or even who made themselves apparent as the force majeure. The power struggle was a thing of short, sharp bursts, often carried out under the cover of the crusades of mortal hunters such as Elijah Prophet, or the slaughter of the killer known only as Jack-a-Knives. The Camarilla saw the promise of Freedom marred only by the bloodshed of what they viewed as Anarch fighting worse Anarchs. It wasn't until 1938 that the Sabbat was driven out of the city, under the guise of a civil restoration movement known as the Centurion Effort. Funded as a joint venture between the Anarchs and the Camarilla, it created a state of peace within the city that promised the illusion that the two sects could actually work together - an illusion that lasted just long enough for the Second Anarch Revolt in 1945. With the domains of the West Coast going Anarch one by one, the patricians of the city wondered just when things would go to Hell. The match was lit with the rise of Lenore, Baron of Southside. An Anarch Toreador, Lenore walked a very, very fine line on the Masquerade, her nightclub Equinox serving as a place where human and Kindred could share the illusion of walking hand-by-hand in twilight. But Lenore was an Elder, her record stretching back to the first fires of the Anarch Revolt, and she had made many enemies across the sects - and when Dracula came to Freedom to avenge an ancient slight, her destruction was quickly seized upon by Prince Victor von Nacht, who spun two separate strands from the night's events. The first could be seen as truth: That Lenore's seeming disregard for the First Tradition proved that the Anarchs could not be trusted with their holdings. The second was a lie that seemed so sweet: That Lenore's deep and blood-stained relationship with Dracula suggested that she was not Toreador, but a Tzimisce infiltrator who had corrupted the Anarchs through the rites of the Sabbat. The torch was lit for a new crusade, and the Prince leveraged the election of Mayor Franklin Moore to institute a series of "civic reforms" that could be used to drive out elements of "lawlessness." It half-worked. What happened instead was that the thin skin of propriety was ripped aside; with the Anarchs' Racks and territories left open, new elements, waiting to pounce, flooded in before the Camarilla could staunch the bleeding. The Sabbat, seeing cover for their Games of Instinct, flooded in to fill the hole. Rick van Danski was the one bright light for the Movement, a Gangrel whose status as a rock star pre-Embrace gave him a certain amount of protection from any obvious attempts at assassination. And it became clear that the stress of an endless Sabbat Crusade, an Anarch revolt that would not die, and the descent of his city from a shining East Coast gem to another New Jersey craphole was taking its toll on the psyche of Prince Von Nacht, whose Court and coterie (one and the same) only kept clutching tighter. 1993 was the breaking point. Prince Von Nacht claimed that he was "immune to the games of the Elders" and swore allegiance to the Sabbat. Most of his Court met the flames that night, with the survivors escaping into the city with tales of how Von Nacht walked through the burning halls of his Elysium, swearing to make the city paradise reborn. The day after the Summer Solstice, the people of Freedom City noticed something odd - the sun did not seem to rise until 7:32 AM. Von Nacht, using ancient arts of Abyss Mysticism, had blotted out the sun, and aimed to keep the darkness going until the citizens of the city recognized their new masters. Von Nacht met Final Death at the hands of Van Danski, though he and his gang, FORCE Ops, met the sun in the process, knowing it might be necessary. With the Sabbat driven out, the Anarch Movement emboldened by Van Danski's martyrdom, and the Camarilla still shaken by the betrayal, Freedom became a new experiment, another attempt at the halcyon days of the Centurion Movement. Praxis seemed to be a matter of musical chairs for years upon years as Princes tried to find the right approach to the state of play in Freedom and either overplayed their hands or found themselves torn down by the more reactionary elements of their courts. Finally, Jack Faretti of Clan Toreador found himself thrust into the post of Prince as a gambit by his sire to lure out possible enemies - and it worked. Not for what she wanted, of course, but as a way of ensuring stability. Jack was willing to actually handle treaties with the Movement, rather than treat them as something to keep at arm's length. With the city amicably divided, Freedom is seen as a free city, with room for the Camarilla, the Anarchs, and those whose paths may take them away from the sects... Joe Macayle, War Chief of Southside The games of Kindred often use innocent pawns. Joseph Macayle had no idea of the depths of his lineage. An ironworker and anti-racist skinhead who grew up in Southside, Joe had always heard the stories of his great-grandfather's heroism on the fields of Europe - even if he had gone MIA. In truth, Paul Macayle had been Embraced by a Brujah in the Maquis shortly after the Battle of the Bulge, leaving behind a pregnant widow stateside. Not willing to face her again, he kept up the good fight against fascist elements across Europe, earning the enmity of a Sabbat pack known as the First Hand of Shadow. Johann Meinhoff, the pack's Priest, had learned of Paul's mortal family and infiltrated the States to pick it to pieces - starting with the eldest son. As Joe choked on his blood, his windpipe crushed by a shadow with inhuman strength, his great-grandfather emerged from nowhere and gave him the Embrace. Joe has followed in his sire's footsteps, driving elements of a resurgent alt-right from Southside with terrible fury. He knows how to maintain the Masquerade, working through proxies and young would-be revolutionaries he has inspired through his fiery oratory. He's wed so deep in the Movement that he's not quite sure what to think about Prince Faretti, though at least he's not as much of an asshole as the other capers. Eliza Oxum, Spirit Singer of Lincoln Eliza has managed to carve out a niche as a cunning woman for the citizens of Lincoln, hiding her spiritual arts behind the guise of folk medicine. Eliza had long suspected a hidden world existed; growing up with a Tarot reader for a mother will do that. But her initiation into the unseen came suddenly, as a woman with wild hair claimed to see "the shine upon [her] soul" and offered her the gift of the Embrace. When Eliza woke again, the blood of a sacrificial goat thick in her mouth, she knew she had been brought through to the other side. Eliza learned she was brought into the line of the Ahrimanes, an obscure, all-female line of Gangrel with affinities for blood magic and spirit manipulation. Eliza took to these like a rocket, quickly serving as one of the shining lights for thaumaturgical practices in Freedom. This has painted a massive target on her back among the Tremere, but things have managed to at least avoid bloodshed for now - perhaps due to the interesting relationship between Eliza and Shawn Tulley, a master of the Path of Technomancy.

What Temperance knows: -The old-ass book stolen from Silberman's may have something to do with all of this -Investigating the man suspected in his disappearance has led to horrific brushes with unnatural things -The man in the hospital is likely the actual owner, unlike this guy fronting at him who is likely doing horrible things So, right now, Temperance is kind of on team Storming, like Set, but I will throw for Gather Info w/ Well-Informed to reflect the fact that she is plugged into the spiritual switchboard: And that's a 25, so she may just know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried.

Asylums. Well, Temperance had to be proper. Mental hospitals. It was the 21st century, mental illness stigma was another monster to smack in the face, and it was good to admit you had a problem and seek proper care. Except... she highly doubted there would be anything approaching "proper care" in Bedlam. Just look at the name. And even if people tried to break from the days of nightmares outlined by Dorothea Dix, there were still fears and implications of insanity and "psychos" - sentiments that certain spirits were happy to feed upon and, in some cases, stoke. And if this Crawley was meant to be a grade-A bughouse, then many of those spirits would likely be lurking. And hungry. "While I will not turn down a visit to the asylum, I think I would need to bring some firepower for what might be lurking in the ephemeral corners," she said. "But it might give us more insight before storming into this man's sanctum. Unless storming in keeps him from mustering more of his own firepower..."

You do realize you're... Temperance realized there was no real good answer to that question. Odds were, given all that he'd gone through, Mister Strix was not in a place to realize that his internal monologue was less than internal. And if she was going to chide anyone for talking to empty air, she'd have to have a long, hard look in the mirror. "You need it more than I do," she said. "I suppose I could give myself a trucker's shower in the closet, if need be, but there are some things that maid services are not meant to deal with." She took one of Grimalkin's sloppy shots and pounded it back, then stood where she would be least likely to get the slime of the basement on anything that would need laundering or steaming. "So, we have a rogue occultist who is willing to summon things like that. Given the invocation on the walls, a part of me wonders if this city's going to see a breakout of a new and hideous strain of graffiti..."