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Wednesday, June 19th, 2019, 10:30 pm The abode of Mona Teymourian, near the Waterfront "She was adorable, Viktor," drifted from the kitchen area. "I know she wouldn't want to be described as such, but she was. The third heroine to wear the name Rossignol! A very sweet young woman, obviously quite skilled, but still finding her bearings. I wished her the very best and gave her my contact information." Mona was unusually chatty, even gregarious. Viktor's arrival seemed to complete her day, and she was eager to recount the highlights. So after a quick kiss, she regaled him with the latest happenings while unpacking groceries. "Do you want something to drink? I picked up some of that white tea you seemed to like." One mock glare later and she started an electric kettle. "Also some Black Death coffee, pomegranate kombucha, and a lovely micro-brew stout. A bit light on snacks at the moment. Some brie?" The sounds of activity reverberated through the high-ceiling building. The space was big, certainly, with metal beams and rows of high, paneled windows above exposed brick. Perhaps, oh, a quarter had been converted into an open living space with a kitchen, adjacent seating area, curtained-off bedroom, and bath. The rest was devoted to her studio. Ghostly shapes of dust-clothed sculptures floated in the dim lights. Her workstation, an explosion of bright colors, seemed to glow through the murk. Even after months away, the place smelled of oil paint and stone dust. Mona had been very proud of her handiwork. From a tour now many years ago, the fixtures and furnishings were secondhand or recycled, and Mona had bartered or DIY-ed much of the renovation. The original purpose, an ice warehouse, was abundantly clear from the Linden's Ice sign on the wall. The foundation and roof work were her doing, and superhuman strength proved a great boon in that regard. The crumbling antique had been picked up for a song. She had rather sheepishly admitted to being quite broke at the time. The way her eyes lit up here, in this place, spoke volumes. The expression was much the same when seeing Viktor after a long absence. As for now though, Mona deposited a tray of goodies on the coffee table. The little table was surrounded by a sofa and two armchairs. One chair stood out a bit: high-backed, Mona-sized, and eye-searingly pink. This one she drifted into tea cup in hand. "Damn, it's good to be home. How was your trip?"
Date: June 17th, 2011 (Friday), later afternoon/early evening Continued from ArchEvil: Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit and ArchEvil: Gestalt Theory. The foe was abominable, and the battle long, but the heroes prevailed. A great pseudonatural beast from beyond time and space, something which had apparently been slumbering in and influencing the science hero Doktor Viktor Archeville, had been banished, but at a terrible price. Archeville, reborn to a new (now fully human) body, stared at the spot where the fight had been, wrapped in his lover Fulcrum's cape, the only thing of her that remained on the battlefield in North Bay. She was gone, swallowed up by the explosion of Terminus energy that expelled the beat; chances were even of them either being atomized, or tossed into some other dimension. Archeville's mouth hung agape. He stared, bleary eyed, hands still reaching out where Fulcrum had last held them. Mona...