BTC

The Sheriff Some men walked into places looking for a fight. They thought picking one would make them feel better about themselves. They’d say they were looking to gamble or drink, but that would inevitably lead to throwing punches no matter how their luck turned out, though often times their anger led them toward bad bets and lost money. And whenever Abbey showed up, a woman nearly as tall as most of them, they took that as a challenge or insult, or both. Right now Lawrence was watching her brush off a couple drunk, sloppy punches from one such man. It only took one punch from her to lay him out on the casino floor. Lawrence recalled the lesson Abbey had given him and Reyna a couple days before. It’s not that she hadn’t trusted them to know how to throw a punch correctly, but she’d wanted to make sure, just in case. She taught them to keep their weight on their front foot and push off with the other, aiming with the first two knuckles of their hand, with their wrists tilted just enough that those knuckles stuck out in front of the others. And to keep their wrist aligned with their forearm, so they wouldn’t break their wrist. It was more training than Lawrence had ever received, and he hoped it would keep him from hurting himself in the future, as usually happened whenever he punched someone. She also taught them a few basic wrist and chokeholds, and ways to get out of them, should they ever need it. Watching her take down the drunk reminded him she knew what she was doing. Abbey turned and walked away from the unconscious man, not even shaking her hand or bothering to hide the grin on her face. Behind her, Sawyer hefted the drunk up and carried him towards their drunk tank upstairs. Sawyer was a large man with a barrel chest, his arms thickened with cords muscle like steel cables, though none of them strained as he carried the drunk over his shoulder. Both his ears had several piercings, and tribal tattoos showed over the dark skin of his neck and arms. He had a short scruff of black beard and his hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was the only other guard at Clara’s besides the Texans, since the front entrances were patrolled by Protectrons and William Rogers was now officially retired. Lawrence had asked Clara why Sawyer hadn’t taken over as head of security, and according to her he hadn’t wanted to. Apparently he was content with the responsibilities he already had, which included looking mean and intimidating, which he certainly did. Those responsibilities also included tending the greenhouse on the roof, since he’d come from a tribe of skilled farmers in the Lost Lands. As Abbey came over to where Lawrence leaned against the bar, he said, “You get some ice on that, I’ll go help Sawyer.” She lifted her hand and flexed and moved her fingers around. There weren’t any sings of discoloration yet. “I’ll be fine. He had a soft jaw.” Lawrence chuckled and peeled away to fall in behind Sawyer. The big man took the stairs, which he moved up easily even though he still carried the not skinny man over his shoulder. Lawrence climbed the stairs two at a time to get ahead of Sawyer and open the door to the office and then the cell door. Sawyer set the drunk down gently on the bench inside. “He’ll be out a while,” Sawyer said, the admiration evident in his deep voice. “I wouldn’t want to cross her,” Lawrence said. “Though I bet it’ll take idiots like that a few weeks to realize Roger’s replacement ain’t a pushover.” “I hope you’re wrong. More fun for us the more folks we get to watch her lay out.” “You’re right about that,” Lawrence said. “I’ll meet y’all back downstairs. I’m gonna log this real quick.” Sawyer nodded and left while Lawrence took a seat at the desk across from the cell. The same one he’d been in when he’d heard the hidden elevator. Lawrence had listened every chance he got but so far he hadn’t heard it again. There wasn’t any music playing right now, it being too early in the afternoon, so the cabaret was more lounge than club. But no matter how quiet it was, there wasn’t anything to hear. He hadn’t poked around the basement yet, though he planned to. He was trying to take things slow so as not to arouse suspicion. And part of him worried at what he’d find, and how that might ruin the best thing to happen to he and his friends since they’d left Texas. He leaned back away from the wall and pulled out the logbook from the desk. He’d get the drunk’s name later, but for now he wrote out some identifying information, the date, and what he’d done. It had been the former head of security’s idea for the logbook, as a way to keep track of possible repeat offenders and give a rough idea of when trouble appeared, and Lawrence appreciated the info it provided. Kim had already expressed a desire to simplify the process by putting it on a terminal, where they could better track what times of the year and day they ran into the most trouble, and so be prepared for it. She was in the middle of repairing an old terminal for that very task. As he left and headed back downstairs he ran into another of Clara’s employees. Gloria Jiang wore a silver dress that had a drape over her shoulder and another flowing down to the floor. Her dark brown hair formed loose curls and was styled in a short bob. On her fingers she wore jade studded rings, though he didn’t know enough to tell if they were real or fake. Her lipstick red lips parted in a smile when she saw him. “You’re looking much more dapper today, Lawrence. Like you just stepped out of one of those cheap detective comics.” Lawrence looked himself up and down. His boots had the wasteland cleaned off of them but the brown leather was still faded and worn. A skilled tailor had patched his jeans and the patches were barely noticeable. His grey button-up shirt was nothing special, and his black thigh length coat was the newest thing he owned, and it was secondhand at that. The dull colors certainly suggested the black and white style of some of those comics. “I guess you’re right.” She put her cigarette holder up to her mouth and gave him an appraising look. “Black boots would match better. And a tie would give you a professional air. Hmm, maybe one of those string ties, you know, the-” she waved her cigarette around searching for the term, then snapped with her other hand when she found it. “A bolo tie! We might have one, actually. Clara keeps a well-stocked closet that she shares with us. I think one of those would say ‘You can take the cowboy out of the range, but you can’t take the range out of the cowboy.’ Certainly set you apart from the other PI’s. Or you could wear your cowboy hat indoors. That’d do the trick.” He smiled at her concern over his appearance. The frivolity of it all, caring about what his clothes said or if they matched, should’ve been annoying, but the tone Gloria said it with kept it light. She knew how inconsequential it was, and though he didn’t know her background, it seemed clear she knew the rest of the world was very much not like Wellstone. Lawrence had the impression that Gloria would have similar conversations with other people, but they wouldn’t realize they were the butt of a joke, that she was mocking their trifling concerns. “I suppose it would. Maybe I should start marketing myself as the Cowboy Detective and get out of this whole hotel business. I think folks around here would go for that sort of thing.” “Oh, but that’d be a shame. You and your friends are far too interesting to skip out now. I’ve barely begun getting to know you all.” “I seemed to notice there was someone in particular you’ve gotten to know a bit more than the rest of us.” Gloria took a drag on her cigarette as her lips twisted into a smile. “Reyna is a delight.” “She’s a good friend.” Lawrence wanted to say something to Gloria about Reyna’s pain and heartache over her late wife, but he couldn’t figure out how without sounding like a jerk or presuming it was his place to mention it at all. Maybe it was for the best, but he didn’t want her to get her heartbroken, even though that was outside his control. The moment passed without him saying anything. “You all seem to be. It’s endearing. You’ll be glad to know the hotel is like a family, too, and I don’t say that lightly.” Gloria seemed certain of what she said, while Lawrence weighed it in his mind against the secrets he knew this place held. He wanted what she said to be true even though he couldn’t quiet the doubts in his mind. “Well, I’m glad to have joined it.” “Me too. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to Clara about tonight’s set. Hope to see you all there.” Gloria gave a little wave of her fingers and left. Lawrence made it down the stairs this time before someone else stopped him. The squat and mustachioed hotel manager, George, came limping down the hallway, with Abbey in tow. Even with his nice clothes and well-kept appearance, he still looked more the part of the construction foreman he’d been than the hotel manager he was. Though Lawrence figured there was probably more overlap between the two than one would expect. George said, “Mr. Harding, good, I need you to follow me.” As he led them down the hallway George continued, “Clara wants you two to guide a man around the hotel. He’s from the Brotherhood, in charge of conducting a security audit in anticipation of the arrival of a retired Brotherhood General. The Paladin Lord wanted to move him somewhere safe but comfortable, and since Clara is friends with the General, she has agreed to take him in. Do not speak a word of this to anyone. If this security audit goes well, those who need to know will be informed. I know you are not from the Belt, but I will not presume your attitudes toward the Brotherhood. Regardless of what they are, know that you are recent hires and can be replaced. I say that not with malice but to impress upon you the importance of this. Understood?” The hallway they were in met the one that ran along the backside of the building, and where the hallways met was a door on their left that opened elevator landing and stairwell. They took a right, however, looking down the hallway that ran down to the singers’ dressing rooms. They didn’t go there, however, instead stopping at the employee’s entrance door halfway down the hall. Lawrence was trying to wrap his mind around all this unexpected information and the fact that it was him, who wanted to learn the hotel’s secrets, that now had to protect those very secrets from the Brotherhood. For no other reason than he trusted them far less than he did Clara, especially after the business with the fight club was swept under the rug. And it was him, who had been threatened by a likely Brotherhood agent, that was now going to be tasked with protecting a Brotherhood general. Or maybe they’d realize who he was and send the General elsewhere. Lawrence nodded as George looked on expectantly for his answer, while Abbey said, “Understood.” Lawrence and Abbey shared a glance of concern and confusion, which George caught, because he said, “This wasn’t supposed to be on such short notice. The audit was going to happen tomorrow, and we were going to inform you a couple hours before he was to arrive. It seems he preferred the element of surprise.” Lawrence couldn’t blame this nameless Brotherhood officer; it was only the smart thing to do, making the audit a surprise. He still didn’t like it, though. But then George opened the door and was shaking hands with a man who was Lawrence’s height and about as thick, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He had long sideburns and a rectangular mustache below amber colored eyes. His voice was gruff as he introduced himself to George as Knight Commander Lowrie. He wore nothing that would indicate he was with the Brotherhood, however, as he was plainly dressed, not in uniform. He walked with a heavy stride to Abbey and shook her hand too, and then Lawrence’s. The man seemed to look at him intently as they shook hands, and he thought he saw the man’s lip twitch upward as he turned back towards George. Lawrence guessed this officer knew exactly who Lawrence was, and found the irony amusing. George said, “Ms. Rustin here is our Head of Security, and Mr. Harding is our detective on staff. They will show you around, answer any questions you have.” “Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Lowrie said, and with that George left. Lowrie turned to Abbey and said, “I’d like to start on the roof.” Abbey led them north to the door that opened on the elevators and stairwell, Lowrie behind her and Lawrence trailing the both of them. Something about Lowrie bothered him, more than just his affiliation with the Brotherhood and Lawrence’s run in with them, but he couldn’t place the nagging feeling. It was like an itch buried so deep beneath his skin he couldn’t scratch it. The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and they all entered, Abbey punching the button for the roof but only after unlocking access with her key. As they rode the elevator up Lowrie took out a small notebook from the front pocket of his plaid button-up shirt. “Is this the only elevator that goes to the roof?” “It is,” Abbey said. “The other one stops at the twelfth floor.” “And you need a key to access it?” Lowrie asked. “Along with Clara’s penthouse on the fourteenth floor and the employee quarters on the thirteenth floor,” Abbey said. Lawrence could tell from the tone of her voice she didn’t much like this assignment either, more out of her feelings toward the Brotherhood than nerves like him. “Who all has keys?” “The employees' keys access the roof and our quarters. Clara’s is the only one that has access to all three.” With that the door opened, and filling their view was the towering old stone skyscraper across the street. It was mostly apartments now, but not all the floors occupied. On the southern wing of the hotel was the towering sign that read RESIDE HERE, while on the western side stood the greenhouse. The center of the hotel was a square open to the sky from the second floor up, which let light into more of the rooms. A bridge like connection on the eastern side ran between the northern and southern wings only on the thirteenth and fourteenth floors. Lowrie exited and began his walk around, mostly directing his gaze at the building across the street to the west. The next closest building taller than the hotel was to the northeast, a block over and up. It was a glass and steel thing, though not much of the glass remained on the upper floors, so you could see right through it. Lawrence could see that none of the floors higher than the hotel were occupied. The next closest skyscraper after that was the Brotherhood watchtower two blocks to the north, which loomed over the rest of the skyscrapers, keeping them under watchful eye. He had to admit, acting as tour guide gave him a good excuse to take in the hotel as well. Looking around at the city from the roof he could see the Market District and its thoroughfares stretch out around the hotel. The city seemed much less crowded from up here, especially since he see the skyscrapers were like the discarded exoskeletons of an insect, their shape the same but the insides empty. Lowrie finished looking through the greenhouse and returned to the elevator. “The General enjoys gardening but the sightlines on the roof make it unsafe.” “You’ll be wanting to put him on the south side of the hotel, then,” Abbey said. “No buildings for someone to get a view into his room.” Lowrie only leveled a blank stare at Abbey and Lawrence before saying, “We’ll take the stairwell down.” Lowrie led the way down the stairs to the door to Clara’s penthouse, which was propped open. Lawrence guessed that total transparency must have been what Clara and the Brotherhood agreed upon. They trailed him into a luxuriously decorated room, though it wasn’t quite what Lawrence expected. There were plush rugs and fine curtains, comfortable leather chairs and sturdy wooden tables, but as far as he could tell, none of it was new. Scuffs here and there, a bit of thread coming loose, a scrubbed out stain, all of it told Lawrence that Clara either bought it secondhand or she hadn’t bought any of it at all, and it was her parents who had furnished the place. It was a sensible position but one at odds with her tailored new clothes. Though maybe it was simply a matter of priorities. Her parents had done their best to make the room look like it once had, in a style even older than the typical pre-war. The closest comparison he could think of was an older gangster film they’d watched in the vault, though he didn’t know enough history to say what time period that was supposed to depict. A living room of chairs and couches, with bookshelves lining the walls to their left, greeted them upon immediate entry. Everything in the room was angled toward the large, wooden tube radio. Beyond that was a large dining room table, with a fully stocked bar as well. They took a left to a small kitchen, only large enough that Clara didn’t have to rely on the kitchen downstairs for all of her meals. Past the kitchen was another, more intimate seating area which served to transition to the bedroom off to the left. Against the wall on left again was a large closet, which Lowrie opened and looked through. Lawrence’s heart leapt as he realized that the elevator, if it came up to this floor, would be hidden somewhere in Clara’s closet. A convenient escape route, if that’s what it was. He told himself that it must be well hidden if Clara was fine with this Brotherhood man snooping around, but he still resisted the urge to look for himself. Joining Lowrie in looking through the closet would be the surest way to tip him off that something was amiss. After a few tense moments, Lowrie emerged and gave the bedroom one last glance before moving on to the bathroom past it. It was only then Lawrence let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. They left Clara’s penthouse behind, again trailing Lowrie, who went down to the employee’s quarters on the floor below. Lawrence and Abbey both had master keys so they went around and unlocked all of the doors before returning to wait by the stairs. If Lowrie needed something he could call out and they’d hear him call out, but they kept their voices low so he wouldn’t hear them. “Not how I imagined today going,” Abbey said. She had her arms crossed and was leaning against the wall. “I also didn’t imagine we’d be babysitting a Brotherhood general.” “It’s not my cup of tea either. I was surprised Clara agreed to this.” “Really?” Abbey gave him a skeptical look. “It seems to me rich folks like her are the Brotherhood’s biggest supporters.” “When I talked to her she made a point to set herself apart from people like that, and I could tell she was being honest.” “Strange thing to do then, befriend a Brotherhood general and invite the Brotherhood into your hotel.” Abbey must have seen the contemplative look on his face because she added, “You think there’s something else going on?” “I don’t know, but it feels off.” “George was telling me this General’s location is a pretty well kept secret. Clara’s one of the few in the know. There’s leverage that comes with knowing something like that. Think about it. Keeping him safe while there’s a war going on endears you to the Brotherhood. But lets say things took a turn, these rebels win. Now she’s got someone they might want. She wins either way. You said it yourself, she’s not like the rest of the folks in the Gold District. She’s smart enough not to hitch her wagon to just one brahmhorn.” “It’s as good an explanation as any,” Lawrence admitted. But he wasn’t quite sure it explained everything. Or, at least, he didn’t yet see how the hidden elevator fit into that scheme. Maybe it was as simple as a way for Clara to get in and out of her room without anyone knowing, but why would she need to do that? A few moments later Lowrie came into view, rounding the corner and walking down the hallway slowly as he finished jotting down some notes. He asked them some questions, and Abbey explained the renovations that had finished not too long ago. With that they went down to the suites on the floor below, where Lawrence figured the General would be housed. George had made sure the guests were out of their rooms, apparently, because no one was there when he and Abbey unlocked the rooms for inspection. Lowrie lingered in the room on the southeast corner of the building, which happened to be the room directly below Lawrence’s, though the suites on this level were larger than the employee housing above. There were eight suites in total, each one featuring a living room, a small kitchen and dining room, and a bedroom. The three suites that hugged the inside walls of the hotel were slightly larger, since the views weren’t as nice. It reminded Lawrence that the windows along the inside walls in the floor above had been removed in the renovations, which he found odd. He walked around and figured out which room the secret elevator ran through, which lay directly across from the room Lowrie was inspecting. It made Lawrence nervous but his nerves evaporated when realization struck. The layout of the thirteenth floor was wrong. The hotel was roughly U shaped, with rooms along the outside and inside walls of the U, except on the thirteenth floor. There, the rooms were on the outside walls and the hallway ran along the inside walls, which mysteriously didn’t have any windows. Lawrence had chalked that up to Clara deciding to cut down on some of the costs of the renovation. But now he realized that the hidden elevator on the thirteenth floor must run between the hallway and the inside wall of the U, and that there weren’t any windows because there was space between the hallway and the inside of the U. It wasn’t something someone might stumble upon, because the problem only revealed itself if one knew that a hidden elevator had to run through that floor, that it needed the space to do so. But with that knowledge, now he realized that not only was there space for the elevator, but that there was enough space missing on that floor for an entire hidden room. Not a large one, not as large as any of the rooms in the hotel, but a room nonetheless. He guessed that the renovations were a cover for the construction of that room and the hidden hallway. “Everything alright, Mr. Harding?” Lowrie asked. Lawrence nearly jumped. The man was sneakier than he had assumed, which was unnerving. Lawrence said, “Just thinking about what changes we’ll need to make with the General around.” “Right.” Lowrie leveled a stare at Lawrence with those amber eyes. He could tell they didn’t miss much. But Lowrie broke off the stare and headed back toward the stairwell and down to the next floor. They proceeded through the rest of the hotel uneventfully, and Lawrence made sure to keep no special distance from the man. He didn’t want to seem like he was avoiding him or hiding something. Lowrie worked slowly and methodically, though, while Lawrence and Abbey watched and answered the occasional question. They had gone through every floor of the hotel and were leading Lowrie back to the employee’s entrance when he asked, “Is there a basement?” Lawrence prayed that the elevator either didn’t run there or was as well hidden as the room on the thirteenth floor, as Abbey said, “There is.” She led them into the laundry room, where a staircase led down into the basement. She turned on the light and revealed the relatively small room that Lawrence could tell was only beneath the laundry room and kitchen, and not the entire hotel. It only took him a moment to figure out the hidden elevator, if it reached this floor, ran behind the southern wall. The only thing of consequence visible in the basement was the robotic repair workbench, along with other tools and boxes of supplies. Lowrie scanned it only briefly before he went back up the stairs. Abbey and Lawrence followed him to the employee’s entrance, where Lowrie said, “Tell Ms. Teasley we’ll be in touch.” He left without another word, but the nagging feeling Lawrence still couldn’t place didn’t go with him. It might have bothered him more, had it not been for the fact he’d uncovered the purpose of the hidden elevator. It was transportation to the hidden room on the thirteenth floor, and whatever purpose that room served. Abbey was saying something about them needing to go talk to Clara, but before she could finish, Lawrence said, “How comfortable are you keeping a secret from the others?” She gave him a confused look. “You mean you want to tell them about the General?” Lawrence shook his head. “I was wondering if you could keep another secret from them, along with that one.” Her confusion shifted to suspicion. “I’m surprised you’d suggest that, after the situation with Maxine.” “I kept the things I knew a secret until I couldn’t figure anything else out, then I confronted her when everyone was around. That’s the same thing I plan on doing here, but I don’t think I can do it alone.” “What’s going on, Lawrence?” He took a deep breath and told her everything, from the hidden elevator he heard on the night of the Halloween party to what he’d figured out today about the hidden room on the thirteenth floor. Saying everything out loud, including how Clara hired him because he went against someone powerful in Robert Devereux and how she didn’t want Liz Van Silver to get in trouble with the Brotherhood was like finally seeing the pieces of a puzzle instead of just feeling them with his fingers. He had a picture of Clara now, of a duplicitous woman who pretended to be friends with Brotherhood stalwarts like the Van Silvers and Devereuxs, but didn’t trust them at all, and hired someone who explicitly worked against them in Lawrence. Clara was someone who befriended a Brotherhood General and let the Brotherhood scour every inch of her hotel all while having a secret elevator and hidden room. She was shrewd and calculating, but as to her motivations, Abbey’s suggestion of leverage made the most sense. Clara was openly friends with the Brotherhood, but worked subtly against them, and having the General in her hotel was only the latest and largest example of that. She was a woman prepared to weather the storm of this fight between the Brotherhood and the rebels, and curry favor with whoever came out on top. Maybe the hidden room was to that purpose, a safe place to hide should the need arise. Abbey shook her head and sighed as Lawrence finished. “Holy shit. Why would she tell you the things she said? What made her trust you?” “That’s what bothers me the most. I feel like all of us are being used, but to what end I don’t know. I don’t expect the General will end up staying here, though. The Brotherhood knows I took those pictures, and they certainly won’t trust me no matter how much they trust Clara.” “They’ll make her fire you is my guess.” “I think you’re right. Which means we don’t have long to figure out what’s really going on here. That’s why I need your help. We figure this out, then we tell the others, and let them decide what they want to do.” She nodded and a smile broke out through her shocked expression. “Shit, just when I thought leaving the wastes meant leaving excitement behind.” Lawrence smiled too. As dangerous and twisted as this mystery was, there wasn’t anything he’d rather be doing. “Let’s meet up tonight, on the roof. By then one of us should have a plan.” Abbey nodded, and they went back to their jobs, her stopping drunks and thieves, him helping guests figure out where their lost possessions might be. By the time Lawrence fell asleep that night, he and Abbey had worked out a plan to uncover whatever secrets this hotel was hiding.

Lorgar isn’t a furry, his wife is, duh

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. The figures were motionless underneath the heavy rainfall, calm and tempered, as their black ponchos hid most of their features, but they all evidently kept their hands on their weapons, albeit with gun safety in mind, but they all were ready for a fight if any hostile situation would arise on their way to their destination. As their transport swerved, their stiff bodies move with it, almost as if the rain was a symphony, and they the conducting band. The relative busyness of the city was lost to the group though the horrible weather conditions made that understandable, as they passed by dozens of buildings, many of which had lights on. To reach the Brotherhood's headquarters, one must travel a good distance into the city first. The dying sun’s brilliance was further consumed by the large, black clouds in the sky, and the never-ending rainfall. Dusk would already be dark, but the rain just added to that. This autumn had truly been rainy, a carry over from the spring. The trip had been long, and even the cold hearts of the Black Knights of the Brotherhood of Steel were relieved that it would finally be over in a few minutes. The group in transport consisted of five members, their figures hidden by the protective rain gear, and the hoods they currently wore, but even with it, you could see their trademark, black-painted combat armour, bulging underneath their ponchos, as well as their protective gauntlets, ever-gripping their silenced R15’s, which they held to the side. Their transport was a four wheeled army jeep, coloured dark green with the symbol of the Brotherhood of Steel painted over it’s hood, with an LMG mounted behind the driver's seat, just in front of the passengers. The vehicle had it’s roof removed to accommodate the LMG, as well as the back extended to allow two passengers to sit, facing each other, leaning on the sides of the Jeep. It was being driven by a Knight, another sat in the front seat, just besides the driver, and two sat from across each other, just behind the mounted turret. The Knight manning the LMG kept his eyes on the road, gently aiming it from side to side. Unlike the rest she had her poncho’s hood down, revealing a full face special forces ballistic helmet, painted black like the rest of their armour, with a pair of red glass thermal goggles, and a gas respirator built into frontal part of the helm. The figure cautiously eyed the occasional looming object, and person before relaxing her trigger finger as soon as she knew they weren't a threat. The few people outside worryingly glanced at the dark figures, their helmets a sinister omen of the masses. Drip, drop, drip, drop. They went down the road for a few more minutes, their Jeep’s engine roaring and it's headlights piercing the falling rain, until the gunner spoke up, her voice being brought down by both the sound of rain and her helmets muffle. “We are approaching the gate, eyes sharp.” The Knight beside the driver spoke in a commanding voice, "Aye. Don't let your mind wander, and let me do the talking." They wordlessly acknowledged the order, as they drew closer to the large compound. The base was along the interstate, its large gate being flanked by two looming towers, each containing a spotlight, and sentry onto its vantage point. The entire compound was walled, it' sturdy defenses made from metal, with soldiers and robots manning the defenses, looking onto the outside world with guns pointed downwards. Beyond that, even from were they were, they could see an even larger tower with a radio antenna jotting upwards. Just as they were nearing the gate the spotlights on the two towers fell over the jeep and its inhabitants, but the dark figures remained unfazed. As if on cue, the Knight who stood beside the driver's shoulder started blazing in static. It was a shoulder-mounted radio. The man signaled for the driver to pause, causing the car to come to a whining halt. From the static radio came a voice, "In the name of the Brotherhood of Steel we order you to halt and identify yourself." The Knight responded right away, and without pause. "Knight Commander Vincent Almada, Black Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel. Me and my Lance are under the strict orders of the Elders of Chicago, and request entrance to your compound." He paused only a moment to say, "Clearance code, Iron Sigma 838993." The Knight brought down his communicator, and waited a second, before the metal gates began to slowly open. His communicator began to beep once more, causing him to bring it up. The voice from before echoed, nervously, "Understood Knight Commander. Sir, your clearance code checks out. You are free to enter. Steel be with you." As the gateway swung open, the Jeep resumed its journey. ** The Paladin Lord When Alan’s scribe assistant told him the main gate had radioed in that a squad of Black Knights had arrived, he cursed loudly enough that the assistant fled back to his desk. Which meant he only got angrier, as he had to call the scribe back in to tell him to show the Black Knights into Alan’s office. The scribe nodded, turned to leave, turned back to salute, and then finally left to show in the elite soldiers. If there was ever a time he wanted Sterling around, this was it. At the very least they agreed on their low view of the Elders’ personal thugs. The Inquisitors’ rivalry with the Black Knights particularly deep, and as his goal was to join that group, Alan had long ago cultivated his own grudge against them. Their skill and fervent hatred of mutants was undeniable, but he knew they were just the Elders’ way of undermining Barnaky’s leadership. The fact that the Elders had sent them here meant they were trying to undermine his leadership as well. They might as well have sent him a letter saying they no longer had faith in him or the Inquisitors. He heard the sound of boots marching down the hallway so he finished his fuming and straightened out his jacket. In came the black clad Knights, their helmets tucked under their arms and rain dripping off of their ponchos. Their leaders was a tall man, seemingly heavily built already, not even including his armour. His hair was chestnut brown, with bits of grey intermingling in a military styled buzz cut. He might have been handsome, if it wasn't for how grizzled the man looked, and his face was covered in horrific burn marks and scarred tissue. His companions were similar in appearance, but only one other had as ugly burn scars as the man, while the other two simply had singes here and their on their face. These were self-inflicted, a Black Knight ritual of scarring, or so Alan had heard. There was a woman with the group, not too bad looking, but like the others her face was ritually scarred with scorch marks, and her hair was done in a buzz like the men. They offered a Brotherhood salute, albeit one that was slightly half-hearted, their leader spoke, "Salutations, sir. You are Paladin Lord Ogawa? Alan sharply returned the salute. He wouldn’t let their disrespect make him lax. “I am. And you’re Knight Commander Almada. What brings your Lance to Wellstone?” The man drew from underneath his black poncho a circular metallic object, coloured bronze. He pressed the button which held what looked like a cut blue gemstone, causing a holographic heraldry to be displayed, a heraldry identifying the individual as someone who acted on the authority and will of an Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, and that authority went with them. "Ill tidings, I'm afraid." He said with a sinister undertone, "My Lance has been sent to deal with a certain Rebel Commander." His face was emotionless, as he drew forth a picture of a rather average looking man "The mark we hunt is a traitor, Gregory Thatch, alongside his associates before he truly becomes a danger to our crusade." Alan's eyes narrowed on Thatch's sketched face. Whatever he had in store was already in motion, and too late for this Lance or all the soldiers Alan commanded to stop it. "His reappearance must have frightened the Elders that they sent you, Commander." "Or perhaps it's the negligence and incompetence of this region's Officers that truly worry our Lord's. That and their inability to put down a single traitor and whatever degenerate cohorts he's conjured. With all due respect, sir." The Knight-Commander said sharply. So that's how this was going to be. "A single traitor? You're in for a rude awakening, I can assure you that. Those before me failed, and let this grow. You think you can lance Thatch like a wound and everything will end? The ex-Inquisitor Felix is with him. They've allied with criminal gangs. And that is only the beginning. This whole city needs to be purged, Commander, before this will end. If one trace of these rebels are left, we will have lost. That is what I'm dealing with, not the hunt for a single man." Before the man could interject, one of his fellows, spoke up, a much older looking knight, "If this man is such a threat, then passive-aggressive quipping and excuses to each other won't do us any good." He glanced around with a look of annoyance, before saying, "With all due respect, Knight-Commander, sir...i'll be quiet now." The man's face was just as mangled as the Knight Commander's, his hair almost completely gray, alongside his sizable beard. His voice was coarse and deep. The scorched commander rolled his eyes, before muttering, "No. If you have the insolence to speak without permission, Senior Knight Florence, then do so." The Knight muttered, "We have the same objective, the elimination of this traitor and those that surround him to safeguard the Brotherhood we all serve. We will stand a better chance under a united front, pooling are skill, knowledge, and resources together. Without squabbling. Less it be used against us." Alan made a note to ask Sterling about the possibility of fracturing whatever alliances Thatch had formed. Doubtless the criminal elements weren't going to have the same ideals, but their lack of intelligence into the rebel operation made discovering any divisions unlikely. Something they should see about correcting. He acknowledged the more agreeable soldier with only a nod before turning back to Almada. "I will have rooms prepared for you in the officer's quarters, and of course you'll have access to all of our intelligence. As of right now we have connected Thatch to only the one attack, though other attacks in the area were likely perpetrated by his allies. Is there anything else you'll need?" "That arrangement is suitable." He gave a curt nod, "In the mean time, after we have a look at what you currently have on the man, we'll be running reconnaissance and see if we can find some of this traitor's associates." He did one final salute alongside his soldiers, before they hurriedly left the room. As the Elders’ Executioners left, Alan pulled from his desk a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a shot. This was the last thing he needed, another group that would try and take credit for whatever success he had in Wellstone. He took another shot and decided to turn in early, since it was already late in the evening. There were reports from Mayor Prassel and Chief Harrington to read, but those could wait until the morning. He did send a message over for the scribes to compile information on the rebels for the Black Knights. With some added rest he hoped he’d find some sort of breakthrough, or maybe just a way to distract the Knights long enough that he could find Thatch and Felix. There was no epiphany while he slept, so when he awoke the next morning he showered, dressed, and took his reports to the mess hall to read. He was among the first there, with a few of the night shift still eating dinner before they turned in. Someone brought him eggs, sausage, and tea, which he picked at as he read over the reports. Prassel’s was mostly inconsequential. There had been complaints from some merchants about the search for C-27 robot parts the Brotherhood had conducted, which unsurprisingly turned up nothing of interest. Prassel had fielded those complaints and was passing along the dissatisfaction, though Alan couldn’t have cared less. Prassel also passed along complaints of increased number of All-Seeing preachers on the street, who foretold doomsdays and offered their sight as forewarning to all who would listen. Apparently they were hoping to drum up more business in their fortune telling by preying on the anxieties people had. He would have to pass on a letter to their All-Seer, politely asking them to stop their preaching unless they informed people the Brotherhood’s victory was assured. Alan knew the bulk of the support for the All-Seeing came from the Emerald Gardens and Gold District. The Priory of the All-Seeing was mostly harmless, just a way to scam the rich out of their money. Even if the scam supposedly involved blinding the preachers, though Alan had his doubts they were truly permanently blinded. Chief Harrington’s report more consequential, but all the more frustrating for it. She hadn’t found the mole in Wellstone Security that leaked the identity of the double agents they had in the Forgotten Homes gangs. Harrington said she it was likely the officer had some connection to the Madsen Family, which was the alpha gang that kept the other Forgotten Homes gangs from tearing each other apart. No other entity in Forgotten Homes could coordinate and pull off something like that. She also said that she’d gone through their records and could find nothing indicating the presence of the Thatches or Felix in Wellstone. Alan wrote out his terse response, emphasizing that her job was to bring the Forgotten Homes gangs to heel, and to take whatever measures necessary to do so. The last report was from Sterling, an update on the background check of Clara Teasely. It had been several years since she’d served on the City Council, so that report wasn’t entirely up to date, but he said that in digging around he couldn’t find anything untoward. She’d been friends with General Stillwell for quite a while, and had kept his presence a secret quite dutifully. And most of her other friends, Like the Devereuxs and Rose Goldwyn, were close, if secret, Brotherhood allies. Sterling said that next he would look into Clara’s employees and then conduct a security review of the hotel itself under the guise of his Knight Commander Lowrie persona, to ensure it was safe. Alan was hopeful they could have the General moved in relatively soon. He didn’t want to risk some particularly zealous group of rebels making a move against the General. As he finished the reports Alan looked up and saw the Black Knights arriving for their breakfast. Their commander greeted Alan with a curt nod as they made their way down the serving line. Alan picked up the holodisk he’d had put together last night and walked over to where the Black Knights were sitting. He tossed it down onto the table and said, “That’s everything we have on the rebels. I can give you the brief version if you like.” He shook his head. "I'd rather hear the full story. Leave nothing out." "If you want that, fire up a terminal." Alan finished off his tea and set his cup on one of the Black Knights' trays. "The first rebel group set off a couple bombs, one conventional, the other a mininuke. It was led by Taylor Simon and Ben Fisher, members of the former criminal gang the Lucky Seven. We found them through another member, Little Grog. We killed Taylor Simon and found his black market arms dealer, but his compatriot Ben Fisher escaped. Simon's gang also killed a Paladin and took out a patrol squad, and since then we think Fisher and the other survivors have continued that. "Thatch came in more recently. We get a report of a C-27 needing deactivation in Forgotten Homes, so a squad and a scribe goes out. It's an ambush, the scribe gets captured. The ex-Inquisitor Felix does the capturing, which is how we learned Thatch was here. That and the planning it took to pull that ambush off. But there seems to be some connection between the criminal gangs in Forgotten Homes and Thatch. He was in their territory and would've had to have their help to pull it off cleanly. And right before that half those gangs identified and killed their Wellstone Security moles. Getting to him means going through those gangs, but everyone there is involved with them one way or another. "We don't have any intelligence, which means finding the heads of those gangs is nearly impossible. And if we starting pulling people off the street to interrogate, we'll lose support in the Steel District and Crossroads District. Fuckers don't know how good they have it under us, and they think the rebels will get them out of the slums. I plan on increasing the rewards for information, but that will lead to lots of dead ends from people with gold in their eyes. That's the situation as it stands right now. Thatch in the wind with something up his sleeve, the criminals hidden away, and Forgotten Homes as deadly to a Brotherhood soldier as the Lost Lands." "Degenerates,” the Commander seethed, gritting his teeth. "The situation is worst then what the briefing implied.” He admitted, "I was under the assumption the traitor was operating with a small group of followers. The reason for our deployment due to his individual skills, information, and the fact he was one of us. Not an entire cell, supported by a horde of criminal degenerates, well organized, with enough resources to scrounge up a mini nuke. Bah. We were given poor intelligence." He scoffed, taking a small sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, briefly thinking something over. "I think public opinion is on the backburner of priority at the moment. If what you say is true, a bad situation can become a whole lot worst, if we do not cut off the rot before it spreads. But for now I'll have my intelligence specialist get into contact with the local contacts you have in those two areas, see if we can get any leads your men couldn't. We need to purge this infection." Alan didn't mention the faulty intelligence was his doing. A necessary safeguard against the Elders deciding to replace him or sending in their pets as they had. At least the lack of intelligence meant they only sent one Lance. "I would focus on the Forgotten Homes. Since Taylor Simon was killed, the only attacks in the city have been there. We need to find a way to undermine Thatch's support among the gangs." "Understood. We'll mount up as soon as we review your holodisk." He gave the man a nod, "Is there anything else we should be aware of?" "An Inquisitor is investigating others who bought illegal weapons from the same man that Taylor Simon did. But so far our leads on the rebels are in short supply." "Six hounds, one quarry. Interesting." He quickly finished his plate of eggs and downed his coffee before standing up. "If there's nothing else sir, good day to you." Alan offered a nod as his wordless goodbye and left the mess hall and the Black Knights behind. When he returned to his office he amended his response to Chief Harrington, directing her to begin rounding up as many members or suspected members of the Untamed gang as she could. He wanted to know the extent of their cooperation with Gregory Thatch, and he didn’t care how much the gangs of Forgotten Homes hated the Brotherhood. They had long hated them, even more so now after he shut down their brothels, but he was past caring about the feelings of criminals. He finished the orders and gave it to his scribe to typed up and send, and an order to have Clara Teasely invited to his office for a meeting today. With Sterling’s report on her finished, he wanted to talk to her sooner rather than later. He spent the next hour reading additional reports from patrols monitoring activity on the outskirts of Wellstone. Nothing new or suspicious on that front, unfortunately. That occupied his time until there was a knock on his door and in walked Ms. Teasely, short, thin, and dark, still beautiful into her early middle age. “Ms. Teasely, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” Alan motioned for her to take a seat. She wore a pair of blue pants with thin white stripes running down them, simple loafers, and a white blouse. Her light jacket had the same pattern as the pants. “Please, call me Clara,” she said with a friendly smile. When she sat she was relaxed, leaning onto the armrest, in contrast to Alan’s rigid posture. “This was an unexpected pleasure, to be invited to your fortress. To what do I owe this meeting?” This was only the second time Alan had met Clara, the other at Tim Lucky’s steamboat party. Her friendliness was infectious, though she seemed a bit flighty and unserious. He suspected that was an air she put on, the way some women did to seem unthreatening and put the men around them at ease. “It’s about General Stillwell. After the recent attacks, I’ve been considering your offer to have him move into your hotel.” Her eyebrows shot up as her smile dropped and she grew more serious. “I’m still glad to have him, though the circumstances are disheartening, to say the least.” “Quite. To ensure his safety, we will be conducting a security review of your hotel and your employees. We’ll be sending a group to have a look around, and we’ll look into your employees to make sure none of them have any criminal records or dangerous affiliations.” “Of course, of course. Whatever you need to do to ensure the General’s safety. I’m more than happy to help with anything you need.” “A list of all of your employees and how long they’ve worked for you would be a good start. I’ll also ask that you make no hiring decisions without our approval going forward.” “I will get that to you as soon as the end of today. You’ll be happy to hear I increased my security staff, in light of the rebel attacks. And I have someone with medical training on staff. My intent was to help my guests feel more comfortable, but it seems like this will help keep the General safe as well.” “That is good to hear. I will not have made any final decisions on the matter until these reviews are completed. I’m sure you understand the need for careful consideration and discretion in this regard.” “Do I need to do anything to help keep your security review discrete? I can bring your men in through the back entrance and ensure there are few people on duty at that time.” “That would be helpful. We’ll not be sending in a large group, likely one man to conduct the review.” “I also have six Protectrons. I could turn control of them over to you, if that would be of any help. I just ask that you don’t station any soldiers within my hotel.” “If we have control over the Protectrons, I think we could avoid that. I might station a couple more there, but I would keep the soldiers on patrol outside. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention if I can help it.” “And I will be sure to keep this quiet. Any employees I tell will be after you’ve vetted them, and only if you agree they should be in the know.” Alan smiled and relaxed a little. After Sterling’s report, and her continued assistance, he felt that he could trust Clara with the General. Her employees might be a different story, and he hoped that their backgrounds would be clear of anything suspicious. If there’s anything a hero of the Brotherhood like General Stillwell deserved, it was to retire in comfort and peace. Alan thanked Clara, who once again offered her help, before she left. Once she did his scribe assistant poked his head back through the door and said, “Paladin Lord Ogawa, Chief Harrington is here requesting a meeting.” Alan motioned for her to be shown in. This was unexpected, but probably what he should’ve asked for to begin with. Better to sort out this mess with Wellstone Security now than for them to continually undermine his efforts through their corruption. The Chief was a tall woman, only slightly shorter than Alan, with short red hair and a mean fighter’s face. She leaned forward on the chair, hands tightly gripping the back. He narrowed his eyes at her and asked, “Do we have a problem here, Chief Harrington?” “Of course we’ve got a fucking problem. We’ve had a fucking problem since before I was here, and unless we do something we’re always going to have a fucking problem.” She ground her teeth together and stared into the middle distance in a way that told him her issues were not with him. “Is this about the mole?” “That one and a dozen others. I can’t make a fucking move in any direction without someone running their mouth to the nearest criminal. Do you want to know why?” He nodded and she continued. “My officers make their money one of two ways; payoffs from the gangs or stealing from them. Some stations steal chems and then turn around and sell it themselves. You want to know who supplies those Gold District parties? My officers. They might get some higher end shit from somewhere else, but if they need chems in bulk, they talk to their friends at the Gold District Station, who get the chems from their friends in the Steel District. They march into Forgotten Homes and take whatever they can find. Which means I have to break up fights between them and the Forgotten Homes officers, who are all on the payroll of the gangs The only reason we were able to bust down the brothels is because I knew there’d be hell to pay from you. That didn’t go over well with the gangs and the officers in the Homes are feeling the pressure for it. “I saw that you want us to crack down on them, go after the Untamed, but I’m telling you right now, we’re not going to get anywhere close. Even if you use the officers from the Steel District like I did for the brothels, the gangs’ll be tipped off.” Alan knew the corruption in Wellstone Security was bad, especially in the Homes, but he had no idea things were so dire. Another area where Paladin Commander Kelman’s laziness or incompetence was continuing to cause him problems. “Why have you not detailed this before? Either to me or my predecessors?” “Fat fucking chance I’m going to tell the man who walked in here at the head of an army that none of my officers can do their jobs. What would you have done, if I told you then? Removed me on the spot. I thought I could fix it, thought taking down the brothels would change something. But this has been going on too long for me to fix without your help.” “Do you have any solutions in mind?” “Transferring has disrupted it in the past, but there’s usually a lot of pushback.” “We’ll deal with the long term at another point. Right now I want to focus on how we can capture members of the Untamed. They’re the ones that worked with Thatch and I’m more concerned with the rebels than corruption in your ranks.” “We can use the Steel District officers. They’re always willing to bust heads in the Homes. But the Untamed are too deep in the Homes for us to make a move without them knowing.” “We’ll need a distraction. Something big that will draw attention away. I can send some squads to try and arrest members of the Madsen Family. We’ll send the Homes officers with them. I don’t expect they’ll find anyone but that will draw attention away from you taking officers and moving against the Untamed. I may be able to provide some help in that regard as well.” It would be good practice for the Black Knights in operating in Wellstone, and maybe serve as an olive branch. “We’ll have to pull officers from around the Homes in advance, which will tip off the Madsens, but I think it might work.” “Don’t use the Steel District officers, though. After the brothel business they will be eyes on them. Would the Crossroads Station be up to the task?” “They’re in the racket of offering protection against shit leaking in from South Union, which all things considered could be worse. They’ll be fine.” “I’ll contact you when everything is ready. Until then tell no one. When we do this, I don’t care if you have to drag every man, woman, and child in their territory from their homes. I want to know who helped Thatch with the ambush, understood?” Harrington nodded, and Alan dismissed her. The Brotherhood was already hated in the Homes, and frankly he didn’t care. The people there had been ungrateful for far too long, and this was the cost of their insubordination.

The Sheriff Lorena was always perfect in his dreams, which was why he hated them. She stood in the faint morning rays of the sunlight, looking over the side of the bridge to the murky, muddy waters beneath, her soft black hair falling over her warm brown face and deep brown eyes. In the dream she turned to look at him, smiling her friendly smile, the one that got people who might’ve only respected Lawrence to like him as well by simple association with her. They laced their fingers together and her hands were just as roughened from work as his, though they never felt like it. In the dreams her perfection was evident, nothing amiss or out of place. That simple fact always reminded Lawrence that these were dreams, and that Lorena was gone, that the version he saw wasn’t real. He was awake now. He always woke up immediately after having a dream about her. Something about the falseness of his dreams caused him to lose any desire for sleep. He quickly dressed, pulling on his jeans and a grey button-up shirt. All his combat armor was packed away along with his bandana, goggles, and duster, the accouterments of wasteland travel, not fit for city living. He picked up his hat and walked into the hallway of their western Crossroads District hotel. Without a destination in mind he walked the halls until he found himself in the courtyard of the place, the building wrapping around the overgrown flowers and untrimmed trees like a protective embrace. Reyna was there, sitting on a bench. She wore a black leather jacket and jeans, her brown boots tied up over the bottom of those. Her hair was cut short and slicked back out of her face. She was leaned over, elbows on knees, a cigarette dangling from her hand. That was odd, as he’d never known her to smoke, and he’d known her for a couple years before the expedition set out. Not well, but as acquaintances, enough to observe any smoking habits she had. Or so he’d thought. Possibly sensing the strangeness of the act, she moved to stub it out but came up short when she saw him. Her light brown eyes lingered on Lawrence’s face. He knew what she saw, because it was mirrored on her own face. Memories of the dead, of lost loved ones. A desire to accept it and keep living and guilt for thinking you could. She reached into her pocket to pull out another cigarette. He took it and she lit it for him with her own. Lawrence sat and smoked in silence. He tried to think what Lorena would’ve done here. She was always better at talking with folks. Kindness came naturally to them both, but expressing niceness with words seemed to elude him. She’d had a way with people, even her small talk endearing and never perfunctory. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, deciding that was the closest he could get in his own straightforward way. Reyna leaned onto one elbow and turned towards him, her eyebrow arching in mild surprise. “Do you?” “I suppose we should. It’s what my wife would’ve done, and she always had a better grasp of these things.” “Yeah, mine too. Laura didn’t hold anything back. What she wanted, what she felt, what she had to say, she was as open a book as anyone I’ve ever met. I always admired that, and afterwards noticed myself not holding things back so much.” “It was real easy for Lorena to sit down with a stranger and walk away with a friend. I can tell what someone is feeling or thinking but talking to them about it, I can never find the right words.” “You know, they didn’t have it all figured out.” It wasn’t a harsh statement. Reyna’s tone was loving, even. It was the same line of thinking that led Lawrence to hating his perfect dreams. “Some people aren’t talkers. They just want to be seen, I guess.” Lawrence tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette as Reyna did the same. “Actions speak louder, sometimes.” “It’s not quick or easy, but we’ll get through it,” Reyna said. “At least we aren’t alone.” She leaned on Lawrence and he leaned on her. The contact, the reminder he had a friend who knew what he felt, was nicer than he could’ve imagined. He raised an imaginary glass. “To friends helping you get through it.” They clinked together their imaginary glasses and laughed at themselves before falling into companionable silence. Lawrence checked the courtyard and the walkway that overlooked it, and didn’t see anyone, but when he spoke again he did so in Spanish anyway. “Someone broke into my room last night and stole the pictures and film. They were waiting for me when I got back, told me to leave it alone.” Reyna jerked away and stared at him. “What? You can’t say something like that so casually.” “I don’t exactly know how to lead into the fact the Brotherhood or police one sent somebody to threaten me at gunpoint,” Lawrence said. Reyna rolled her eyes, but it was a playful gesture to ease some of the tension out of the conversation. “What’re you going to do?” “I don’t see how I have much choice but to do what he asked. He found the copies I hid at the hotel in South Union and took the film too. What do you think?” “I think you’re right. At least you burned that place down. Are you going to tell the others?” “Yes. They should know about the danger I’ve put them in.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Not like you could’ve known just how corrupt the Brotherhood or police are.” “I should’ve. After all we’ve heard it was naive of me to think otherwise.” Reyna, resigned, shook her head “I’m starting to think we should’ve gone back to Texas.” Lawrence nodded and let the conversation die. He didn’t consider filling her in on what might be going on at Clara’s. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was nearly as dangerous as the photographs and the Brotherhood’s ire were. Not to mention he didn’t know exactly what was going on yet, and he knew that everyone was looking forward to these jobs. They had their final interviews with Clara today, but it was almost a given they’d be moving into the hotel before the sun set. He didn’t want to risk his friends’ lives by messing with the Brotherhood, and he wasn’t about to upend one of the few good things they had going because of mere suspicion. He was determined, though, to figure out what was going on at that hotel. He needed to know the truth about whatever it was they were walking into. Over breakfast he filled the others in on what had happened the night before. “Those bastards,” Ezekiel said, a white-knuckled grip around his cup of tea. “We’ve got to do something about this.” Next to Ezekiel Kim had gone pale, her eyes wide and hands trembling slightly. Ezekiel’s righteous anger abated when he noticed, and he reached over to take her hand. Between them staying and now the rulers of the city threatening them, Lawrence didn’t judge her one bit for being afraid. “What’s there to do?” Abbey said. “We’ve got no proof anymore. And even if we did, how would we get them out there?” Kim nodded, her fear abated somewhat. Lawrence saw in the shift of her expression, from fear to concentration, her usual coping mechanism. This was a problem, but a logical one, something she could work out to keep her mind off the danger lying behind it. “To print enough to publicize it would require something on the scale of the newspapers’ operations. But without the photographs or film we can’t do that. No names, no other evidence. The only reason Lawrence isn’t dead is because they came to the same conclusion. That he doesn’t pose a threat. Which means we should be safe, as long as we drop this as they suggested.” “I’ve read those newspapers,” Reyna said. “There’s not a chance in hell they’re printing something critical of the Brotherhood.” “Y’all are worrying too much,” Guillermo said. Lawrence could tell his nonchalance was a cover for his own worry. “Lawrence isn’t dead, we’ve got new jobs, and we’re about to move into a place nicer than any of us has ever lived in before. This is just a bump in the road.” Ezekiel looked like he wanted to say something but Kim squeezed his hand and he stayed silent. Lawrence said, “We should probably get going to Clara’s. Don’t want to be late.” With that everyone broke off to finish readying up and then made their way to Clara’s Casino and Cabaret. ** It was a couple hours later when it was finally Lawrence’s turn to be interviewed. The Texans had all started out waiting in the office of George the hotel manager, next to Clara’s office. One at a time she called them in and she talked to each of them for about half an hour. Kim had gone first, followed by Ezekiel, Reyna, Abbey, and finally Lawrence. After their interviews the preceding group members were led downstairs to the cabaret for lunch, so Lawrence didn’t know the content of their interviews, though seeing them walk by he didn’t notice anything amiss in his companions. Guillermo, already hired, was busy downstairs practicing with the other singers. George walked by, leading Abbey downstairs, which meant it was Lawrence’s turn. Without waiting for someone to call him in he walked Clara’s office and knocked on the door. She told him to come in. When he did it looked the same as it had the day before, with Clara seated in her chair and a pot of tea on her desk. Of course, it wasn’t the same, because Lawrence knew behind the wall to his right was a hidden elevator shaft. He made a conscious effort not to glance that way. “Would you care for a cup?” she asked as he took her seat. “No, thank you.” He’d taken it as a courtesy last time but he wasn’t feeling particularly courteous today. Their previous conversation still left Lawrence with more questions than answers. She’d read him easily and thoroughly, but he knew he’d always been an open book. Most people who’d known him for any length of time generally considered him honest and trustworthy. And Clara was right, he was good at reading people. It was what he saw in Clara that gave him cause for concern. The woman behind the desk was a different one than he’d seen out in the casino talking to guests and laughing at their bad jokes, and was a different one from the Clara her rich friends probably knew. That begged the question, which one was real? Or maybe none of them were. Between the secrets the hotel and its owner hid, he wasn’t sure what to trust. “An interesting way you’ve gone about this,” Lawrence said. “Not letting us talk to the people you’ve already interviewed.” “It raised some people’s guards, to be sure,” Clara said. “Others were more comfortable with the unknown. I expect you know which of your friends were which.” Lawrence nodded. Kim curiosity and Abbey’s love of venturing into the unknown would’ve led them to embrace the surprise of it. Ezekiel’s skepticism and Reyna’s wariness would’ve kept their guards up. “I suppose you found that a useful way to learn about us.” “I did.” Clara said. She seemed more relaxed today. There was less of the coy smile and she wasn’t even watching him like she had been the day before. He didn’t know if it was real or an affect to put him at ease. “But you and I have already talked at length, so I would like to know what you can tell me about your friends? I’ve met them and talked to them, but I don’t know them like you do. What jobs would suit them?” If they were going to work here, Lawrence wanted them to be in jobs they were good at, and didn’t see that harm in telling her that much. “Kim is the smartest person I’ve ever met. You got any machines that need upgraded or running inefficiently, she could fix that.” Or too loud hidden elevators. “Ezekiel’s a damn good doctor. But don’t expect him to cover up overdoses or accidents for you. Reyna’s observant and good at staying hidden. She should’ve been in the casino the other night trying to catch folks cheating. Abbey is tough and good at coming up with a plan and adapting when she needs to. She should probably be in charge of something.” “Thank you. Both Rodge and I had our thoughts but it was your opinion I wanted before I made any decisions.” “Did those thoughts include why you’d be turning the safety of your hotel to people you barely know?” She leveled an amused look at here. “I thought it was simply my generosity, helping out a few newcomers.” “You said you wanted my opinion, well, there it is. The others may not want to look sideways at a gift, but this all seems too sudden for my liking.” “You’ve surely noticed Wellstone is experiencing some unrest at the moment. I want my hotel and its patrons safe and protected. The fact you and your friends made it all the way from…” She paused, and gave him a knowing look that said she knew they were from Texas, but was choosing to keep that secret for them. “Wherever it is you’re from means you’re certainly capable of guarding a building. And it means I don’t have to worry about you and your friends’ allegiances causing me any headaches. I don’t want this war to end up on my doorstep.” If she’s worried about her employees being rebels, animosity towards the Brotherhood runs deeper than I thought. The spread of attacks into Forgotten Homes certainly supported that. None of this explained why she had a secret elevator. But from the way she talked, he was leaning toward the explanation being criminal activity. Maybe helping her rich friends keep their illicit rendezvous discreet. He’d already seen the sordid activities of the Gold District denizens firsthand, and so knew that was a strong possibility. “I suppose that explains the increase in security as well.” “Precisely. The Protectrons were more than enough for peacetime but not when the streets of Wellstone become a battlefield. Are you satisfied, or are my motivations still suspect?” She asked the question plainly, clearly understanding where Lawrence’s worry was coming from. If nothing else, he appreciated she didn’t think his questions were unreasonable. “I’d apologize but you should know this is what hiring me will get you.” “And it is the precise reason why I am hiring you.” She rose, and Lawrence did the same. “Now, lets join your friends downstairs for lunch and we can tell them the good news.” She seemed genuinely excited at the prospect, and Lawrence’s suspicions abated slightly. He might not trust her completely, but he didn’t get the sense she had any ill intent with his friends. “One thing we haven’t discussed it what I’d be doing,” Lawrence said as they left her office behind. “Well, you’ve shown a knack for detective work. Clearly.” Clara gave him a droll smile. “I don’t see any reason why you should stop that. Things go missing, people act suspiciously, and Wellstone police are wholly unreliable. Pre-war hotels used to have their own detectives, and I don’t see why I can’t as well.” Lawrence couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “I’m not going to say no to that.” He thought over his past conversations with his new boss. He was good at picking out when someone was lying, and he felt like Clara was being mostly honest when they’d spoke. The problem was he could tell she was a damn good liar, and he wasn’t sure if he was overestimating his own abilities by thinking she was being honest. It was clear she was hiding something in her hotel, and for the moment that would be enough to keep him wary. They joined the rest of the group downstairs in the cabaret right as lunch was being served, which he assumed was as Clara had planned it. She did need some technological work done, which Kim was happy to do. Ezekiel was less enthusiastic about being the doctor on call to her admittedly well off patrons, but she pointed out that his work here could fund any work he did in the Steel District and Forgotten Homes, and he came around to the idea. Reyna liked the idea of stalking the poker tables to catch folks cheating, and Abbey was grateful to be Clara’s new head of security, already expressing some areas she thought needed improvement. Lawrence had to admit, in this regard Clara was doing right by him and his friends. After lunch they went back to their hotel in the Crossroads and gathered their things to move into Clara’s. On the way back, Guillermo mentioned the idea of a celebratory dinner, which was when Ezekiel and Kim remembered they’d run into Richard not too long ago and had talked to him about getting together for dinner. They all decided to combine the two, and through one of the hotel servants sent an invitation to Richard and his girlfriend at the Post Office. With their scant belongings in tow the six of them filed into Clara’s through the employee’s entrance on the eastern side of the building, and then piled into an elevator that whisked them up to the thirteenth floor. When it softly dinged their new home was revealed before them. The floor was a square, though all the rooms fell along the outer edge, as the hotel was ‘hollow,’ a column of space between the northern and southern wings. Most of the hotel floors were horseshoe shaped, with only the first, second, thirteenth, and fourteenth a complete square. The Texans’ rooms were situated on the southern wing of the building, while some of the other employees were in the northern wing, and in the rooms along the western wall. There were six rooms along the southern wall, one for each of the Texans, though Kim and Ezekiel would be sharing. Lawrence took the first. The chances of someone sneaking up on him were lower the closer he was to the elevators and staircase. Guillermo took the next room, followed by Reyna, Abbey, and then Kim and Ezekiel taking the other corner room. Lawrence’s room was spacious, with the bed tucked away against the wall on his right and a seating area with a couch on the far wall beneath the windows, where a radio sat on an end table as well. To the immediate right was the bathroom, and the immediate left a small table and set of chairs. The entire room looked about as new as anything he’d ever seen. It was certainly clean enough to look brand new. Upon closer inspection he could see where the bed frame was chipped and had been repainted, where the lights were a bit of a mishmash, and that the radio had been repaired a few times. It made the place feel less sterile and more welcoming. He went about unpacking his few meager belongings, the first time he’d really unpacked since the trip began. On the dresser he sat his straw cowboy hat, and put into the drawers his extra clothes, his combat armor, and his duster. On top of that he sat his badge. Onto the table next to the radio went his mother’s old model 2000 Pip-Boy and his father’s books. He pulled the roadraptor talon necklace from beneath his shirt, to remind himself it was still there. It was the closest thing he had to a nervous tick, and only ever showed up in private. It and the scar on his cheek was a reminder of Lorena saving him from the damn thing. He tucked it back in, tossed his bag into a chair, and left to see how the others were getting along. They all took some time to check out each other’s rooms, though they were not much different. Mostly in whether they had couches, chairs, or some combination of the two. They didn’t have any plans besides dinner, and they wouldn’t start work until tomorrow, so they all went down to the bar to pass the time. It was an occasion to celebrate, after all. They talked about plans for what they’d spend their first bit of money on, now that they were looking at a more permanent place to stay, though at the moment the only one who had ideas firmly in mind was Kim, who wanted a terminal to be able to better analyze the data she and Ojo had collected. Soon enough evening came and they gathered out front, where they’d told Richard and his girlfriend to meet them, and decide from there where they wanted to eat. They were all a little buzzed, but it was a celebration and a reunion, so he figured the night would only be all the better for it. He didn’t think Richard would mind too much that they’d gotten a head start. After a short moment Richard arrived with Aly at his side. He wore a nice leather coat now. Even though it covered his upper body and upper legs one could see that from knees down he was still wearing the same beige outfit underneath as when they had first met him. Aly was dressed plainly by comparison, in faded jeans and a dark green hoodie. "Hi," said Richard with a friendly smile, while also raising his hand to greet them. "Already having fun without us or are you always this tipsy nowadays?" “Got started a little early, is all,” Guillermo said, grinning. Everyone greeted Richard, and then he introduced them all to Aly. She seemed like a nice girl who was genuinely enthused by the fact that they had come from such a distant land. Her eyes were alert with interest, telling Lawrence that she really listened to their names and what they had to say, and didn't just feign it like so many other locals. ”Nice to meet you,” Lawrence said. “Since you’re the local, I figure we’ll let you decide where we should eat.” "Shit, I eat anything," she said, which was hard to imagine considering her small frame. "Got a whole mess of riverfood shacks here in the market. Catfish, mander, yappies, you name it. Seein' as y'all work in that place," she pointed at Clara's, putting on a somewhat impressed look as she did, "... I'm guessing y'all can afford a decent steak too if you wanna go down to Jogan's. Best brahmin grill this side of the river. Least outa the ones I've been to." "Don't let this place fool you," Abbey said. "I've eaten shit that would turn your stomach inside out. Most of us have." "We were on the road until very recently," Reyna explained. "You can thank Guillermo's golden pipes for our glitzy new digs. And Lawrence's nose for trouble." Lawrence lifted his chin with pride at the comment, while Guillermo did a mock bow. Lawrence said, "If you'll lead the way to Jogan's, we can treat you two to something nice." "It ain't far." Aly took the lead and started west, with Richard by her side. They chatted along the way, and Aly acted as something of a quasi-tour guide, pointing out a few landmarks and asking if they'd heard this or that but if history along the way. A couple blocks away, they came upon a medium-sized wooden building with a sign that read 'Jogan's Roadhouse'. It didn't look like much, but judging by the smell and the decent crowd visible through the windows, the cooks inside knew what they were doing. It wasn't long before they were seated and a round of drinks ordered. As they waited for those to arrive, Lawrence turned to Richard and Aly and asked, "How'd you two meet?" "We met while I was robbing her family workshop on all its bottle caps." Richard sounded quite serious and genuine but he avoided eye contact as he sipped his glass of water that he had poured for himself as they waited for the drinks. "Richard the gentleman thief?" Ezekiel said, the sarcasm plain in his voice. "That's a far cry from the way we found you, elbow deep in a deer carcass." "It's a shame how the city corrupts the young and impressionable," Guillermo said with mock sorrow. "And next I'm gonna steal all the toaster in the Gold District." It became increasingly obvious that Richard had trouble keeping a straight face and serious tone. In his buzzed state, it took Lawrence a moment to realize what Richard had said. "Did you say you stole all of their bottle caps?" "When I was out west I heard that some people used them as currency," Abbey explained. "I didn't realize you were such a traveler, Richard." "I am from the far northwest. Once met a trader that accepted bottle caps as a currency. Don't know why. I find bottle caps as a currency rather unwieldy." "Yeah, seems stupid if you ask me. Not sure how you'd go about having different values if it's all just caps," Reyna said. Kim cleared her throat a little and asked, "Are you from Wellstone originally, Aly? Have you done any traveling around the Belt?" "Born and raised," she answered proudly. "And I've never left, unless you count the Arenas and places like that. Most people don't." "Seems to me that if you're going to live in one place your whole life, you couldn't do much better than Wellstone," Guillermo said. Their drinks came, and everyone placed their food orders, with amounted to everyone ordering steaks on Aly's earlier recommendation. As the waitress left, Reyna said, "What're you up to these days, Richard?" "I work as a mailman." Richard sounded almost a little bitter about the fact. "You might see if The Lodge has any work, since you've got experience hunting," Abbey said. "Me and Reyna did a job for them. It was-" "Fucking crazy," Reyna said. "-really exciting," Abbey finished her original thought. "You worked for the lodge?" Aly's eyes went big. "What did you hunt?" "It wasn't a hunt." Reyna was grinning widely and shaking her head in disbelief. "We captured a snapper," Abbey explained, sharing Reyna's grin. "Lured it into a cage and hauled it back to their little zoo. Damn thing nearly bit through the bars of the cage and escaped, though." As Aly, Reyna and Abbey discussed The Lodge Richard turned to Lawrence and Guillermo. "How are you people holding up?" Lawrence shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Never gets any easier but this time didn’t hit as hard as some others.” "You don't seem like you're going to continue the caravan business now that that one eyed woman is gone." “Ours was more of a path-finding trip than trading expedition. None of us were really on the mercantile side of things. We can find plenty of other things to guard that don’t require trips through the Lost Lands.” "Why did you go there anyway?" Lawrence considered the lies he might tell, but he didn’t see the point now. “We were looking for some folks we thought might be enslaved there. It was a stretch, all things considered.” "Yeah, that seems like searching for a needle in a haystack." Richard paused for a second as he got a thoughtful expression. "Why were these people so important that you traveled all the way from the far south to find them?" "They were friends and loved ones of Maxine and the owner of the caravan company. Those of us sitting here didn't know this was a rescue mission until we got to Wellstone. We decided to help Maxine find them when we found out." "Noble. Though if it's one thing I've learnt in my travels it's that the world doesn't really reward people that try to be heroes." Richard looked a little weary for a second. “I think it’s worth the effort anyway.” Lawrence wondered if that made him a hypocrite, considering he was letting go of the fight club pictures. But he knew he hadn’t let it go, not really. It still ate at him, and if the opportunity came, he’d set it right. It wasn’t worth pursuing and dying over in the meantime, though. Guillermo jumped in then, perhaps seeing the introspective turn in his friend’s demeanor. “Tell me, Richard, do you have any long term plans here in Wellstone?” "Uhm, let's see... Become a world famous spy, get filthy rich and then retire to an island." Richard gave Guillermo a stupid smile. "Actually I'm just hoping to find a good enough job that I can at least be part of the middle class." “I still think you should give metal working a shot,” Lawrence said. “That sword of yours speaks to some skill and I doubt amongst all those artisans across the river there’s many that can match what you can do.” "I'll try." Richard paused for a second. "Also that sword was not made by me, but my father." “Did leave a lot of family behind, where you’re from?” Guillermo asked. "Yeah. Rather big family. For better and worse." “Why’d you leave?” Lawrence asked. "I guess you could say a series of unfortunate events happened." Lawrence raised his eyebrows but kept silent. If Richard had wanted to talk about it he wouldn’t be so vague. He listened to Aly talk about some of the Lodge’s more notable exploits, with Kim mostly and Ezekiel some occasionally chiming in to ask about certain creatures she mentioned. That inevitably led to Kim holding forth on her ideas on their mutations, and the others talking about the scariest thing they ever ran into. Richard mentioned his run-in with a deathclaw, and Aly told them of some monsters she’d heard of out in the Lost Lands. Lawrence got to pull the roadraptor talon necklace out and tell of the time Lorena had saved him, which led to some sadness as he explained to Aly who she was. Richard broke the tension by joking about how Lawrence’s idea of scary was an oversized chicken, which he didn’t mind. Better not to linger too long on those memories at a celebration dinner. Their food arrived shortly thereafter, and the steaks were as good as Aly had promised. After their waitress took their empty plates away and everyone ordered a last round of drinks, Lawrence asked Aly, “Kim and Ezekiel said your family owned a robotics shop. You real interested in robots or just something you were born into?” Aly shrugged. "Neither, really. Garage is only a few years old, but that kinda stuff: computers, robots, what have you, it's more my brother's thing. I mostly just clean the place." “What does interest you? Can’t imagine you’ll want to clean the place forever, as fun as it sounds,” Reyna said. "I dunno," Aly answered, "Still gotta figure that out." "Well if you're also any good at cooking you got the housewife skills down," said Richard in a clearly joking and teasing fashion. "I never said I was good at cleaning the place." “It took me a while to settle on the luxurious career of a guard,” Reyna said. ”And I’ve done just about everything under the sun in my time,” Guillermo said. He added with a sly grin, “Including some jobs that were less than honest.” "Oh yeah?" said Aly, "Like what?" Lawrence noticed Aly was eager to shift the conversation away from her and to someone else. It was subtle, but the quickness with which she asked Guillermo and the touch too curious tone gave it away. Of course, Guillermo was happy to oblige. “I always had a silver tongue which made some folks more than willing to part with their money. Petty scams, nothing serious. I soon found out people liked my silver tongue for altogether different purposes, and I used to be a looker back in the day. I do live to entertain and please, after all. I was maybe not discerning enough with who I slept with, though, which landed me in a bit of hot water. Though that may also be because I robbed a few houses of the rich folks who hired me.” He shrugged and added, “What can I say, they should’ve tipped better.” "I'm guessing that's why you joined up with a caravan going far far away," said Richard, his voice a little humorous but not enough to be joking. Guillermo nodded and said, “You’re exactly right.” It was a good thing they’d been run out of town, too. The trek east had sobered Lawrence up from the years drinking his life away, and meant they were long gone when Old Paso was sacked. Lawrence had enjoyed his time there with Guillermo, fuzzy though the memories were. Being on the other side of the law more often than not certainly put some things in perspective, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy helping Guillermo rob a rich asshole’s house every now and then. Their bill was soon brought and the Texans covered it, since Richard and Aly were their guests. Afterwards they all left and made their way back toward Clara’s. Guillermo continued his tales of the scams he’d pulled off and the times he’d been caught, which kept everyone entertained. About halfway there Richard and Aly said their goodbyes, heading south into the Crossroads, while the Texans continued on their way. That night they had a restful night’s sleep in the soft and comfortable beds of their new home. This new situation felt like a dream to Lawrence, and he tried not to think about the mysterious intruder and secret elevator. He was thankful for what he and his friends did have and that was what he focused on as he drifted off to sleep.

The Divine Order seems like it’ll be on both Yornar and Dales’ bad sides which would probably not end well for him

I didn’t know we had more than one vote so I went Tacitus. I would’ve voted for Titus or Yornar if I’d know. For Tacitus it’s not because I have any specific plans to kill him but he’s reckless enough I feel like it’s practically inevitable This is why I’m gonna throw in a big twist where he becomes immortal because no one expects him to make it

Also on vacation, don’t @ me

I read Czar’s post several days ago so sorry for the delay in comments

Anything involving souls is where my vote was going. Yornar won our because of sheer quantity.

For Lawrence the Pastimes of the Rich and Famous quest just ended, and the New Digs quest he got is one of those short connective quests that basically only says "Go to your new home in the Market District." Of course, the note "Find out what you can about your new boss" on the No-Tell Hotel quest suddenly seems much more ominous...

@The Good Doctor just finished your post

The Paladin Lord The Brotherhood of Steel’s officer Halloween party was the only thing that could make Alan wish for a rebel attack. Without any of the costumes or decorations of the civilian parties lighting up the Wellstone night, it was a plain affair. He’d sprung for higher quality alcohol, but the amount of that it would take for him to enjoy himself would render him unconscious. It all seemed so pointless. For the civilians it served a clear purpose of reinforcing the fact it was the Brotherhood’s power that allowed for such frivolous holidays to exist. But the Brotherhood itself should be concentrating on catching the rebels, not milling around and having awkward conversations with each other. At the moment Alan was stuck between two of the Paladin Commanders that were part of his force. Kara Wiley was the older of the two. She had dark skin, with her black hair pulled so tightly back behind her head that it drew back her hairline and the skin of her face, reinforcing her severe expression. The other commander, Bruce Kelman, probably should have been bald. His hair was blonde but his pale head was clearly visible through his thin hair, especially because he had it buzzed so short. Alan thought the man should embrace it and shave it all off. It might make him look more serious than he did. Kelman was the commander of the Brotherhood forces in Wellstone before Alan arrived. He was friendly with a few of the Elders in Chicago, at least in his own telling. Though Alan knew that relationship wasn’t really a friendship, there was no doubt that Kelman was much closer to the Elders than he was Barnaky. Wiley was a more complicated story. She had served as Alan’s subordinate for sometime, though it was only on this mission was she his second in command. His previous second in command, a staunch Barnaky supporter like himself, had been suddenly promoted and given his own command somewhere to the east of Chicago. The timing of that promotion and Wiley replacing him left Alan suspicious about where Wiley’s allegiances lay. It was the softness of the Elders and their lackeys that had allowed the rebels to reappear in the first place. They dallied too long in not wiping out the mutants, always dragging their feet and slowing down Barnaky’s mission. They lacked the zeal necessary to accomplish what needed doing, and all that led to was death and insurrection. “-isn’t that right, Paladin Lord Ogawa?” Wiley asked. “Hmm?” Alan only half-hoped his confusion covered up his annoyance. “We were discussing General Stillwell’s Colorado Campaign, and I mentioned that you witnessed a few of the battles there,” Wiley said. “I’d have participated in them too had I only been older. Stillwell’s Colorado Campaign is the textbook for fighting the rebels. Ruthless, efficient, with no hesitation,” Alan said. “Maybe it would be a good idea to have him speak to the soldiers,” Kelman said, though he did not sound entirely enthused by the idea. “A few years earlier, maybe. I’m afraid his mind is not up to such a task,” Alan said. “Is it safe to have him living in the city?” Wiley asked. “I worry about the rebels turning him into their own version of Anne Red.” Alan threw back what remained of his glass of whiskey. “They would be fools to make a martyr of him. And I don’t think murdering a nearly senile old man would garner them much sympathy.” Still, Alan had considered that the rebels might do something to that effect. It might be worth moving him somewhere more secure, here to the headquarters, or even Chicago. He recalled Clara Teasley’s offer to let the General stay in her hotel. Alan supposed that would be more comfortable than the headquarters, and he would likely prefer it to uprooting to Chicago. Putting him up in the hotel would require some background work, though. Alan supposed that was just the right level of importance and need of someone covert that he could justify asking Sterling to do it. If that meant Sterling couldn’t spend as much time doing other work, well, all the more time for Alan to be the one to find these rebels. Wiley and Kelman continued to discuss the fall of the MLA, having now been joined by a few Paladins. Alan left to refill his glass. The crowd was thick but parted around him as he made his way to the makeshift bar set up in the officer’s mess hall that was hosting this party. There was no bartender, so he refilled his own glass of whiskey. He took a sip and topped it back off when something out the window caught his eye. The mess looked out on the main yard, and across it Alan could see the building that housed his office. The small rectangular window to his office glowed bright yellow. It could have been his scribe assistant still working, and probably was, but it offered enough of an excuse for him to leave the party behind and go check it out. His absence would surely be noted, but he didn’t care at this point. With a whiskey glass in one hand and his plasma defender in the other, he crept through the shadows toward his office window. It was not, in fact, his assistant, and neither was it Alan simply forgetting to turn the light off when he left earlier. It was Inquisitor Sterling Welles, dressed in the same ‘Knight Lowrie’ disguise he’d used to attend Tim Lucky's steamboat soiree. A simple Brotherhood jumpsuit, piecemeal ceramic and metal armor, and a rectangular mustache, though not as thick as the last time he’d had it. Alan holstered his weapon, left the window behind, and walked around to enter his office. Once inside he saw that Sterling had poured himself a drink from the bottle Alan kept locked in his a drawer and he had his boots propped up on the desk. “I was hoping you’d show.” “Bold of you to expect me to notice and come over,” Alan said. “I knew you’d be leaving the party early, and I was content to wait once I discovered your stash. Not so bold, really.” Sterling, despite his disguise, still wore his infuriating half-smile. The plain arrogance of it always grinded on Alan. Alan took a seat behind his desk and sipped his drink. “Is there something you needed to tell me?” “I decided against killing the gang involved in the fighting ring. They don’t have any proof against the people who were involved. Instead, I took the place of the Knight Commander who was offering them protection. In exchange for his life, the gang’s leader is going to float to other criminals that he still has his friend in the Brotherhood. Given members of the Lucky Seven turned rebel, there may be other former criminals acting as rebels.” “You think someone will bite?” “It’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t pan out, I can kill off the leader. And even if I don’t, he’s got nothing but names on the spectators to his fight club. He’s knows he’s not strong enough to be in the blackmail game, and no one will believe him without some other proof.” Alan took a long drink and rubbed his temples. The business with Robert Devereux and the fight club was the last thing he’d wanted or expected. It shouldn’t have gone unnoticed. But the gang operating it was from Junker Town and the Knight steering patrols away from it was stationed on the western outskirts, while the rebels were keeping most of the attention focused on the south and east. Both the Knight and the gang had found and exploited a blind spot, only the first of many this business with the rebels would create. Worst of all, there were fucking pictures. Chief Harrington had turned the copies she was sent over to Alan, but he suspected it was not the last he’d hear about it from her. She was too righteous in her own way to abide by the wealthy getting away scot-free. With the rebels active, the law could not apply to everyone equally, Alan knew. Someone like Robert Devereux, a major munitions merchant, was too important to the city’s economy to get rid of. Devereux hadn’t needed to kill himself, because Alan wasn’t planning on brining those in the pictures to justice. The last thing Wellstone needed was economic unrest because several business leaders were going to jail and upsetting the balance of things. In Alan’s estimation, those who supported mutants were the real enemy, and he could deal with the idiot rich later. Besides, the pictures were a bargaining tool he couldn’t afford to just throw away. “I sent the Knight Commander back to Chicago,” Alan said. “Made up something about a promotion so no one catches wind, but once he’s there they’ll deal with him. The one place we cannot abide corruption is in our own ranks.” “I also located the detective who took the pictures,” Sterling said. “I suspect he kept the negatives, so I’ll find and take those.” “Bring them here once you find them. This information is too sensitive to have out there,” Alan said. “I think I’ll keep them. You have your copies, and I’ll have mine. I may need them for leverage in the future and I don’t want to have to break in here every time I do,” Sterling said. “Anything else to report?” Alan asked after another drink. He was going to need to keep his personal bottle out after this. “An update from our friend in Rockmasha Turf. His presence continues to keep the locals in check, and he does not expect any resistance to appear anytime soon. Sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong decision going the covert route.” “An Inquisitor with a reputation certainly has its advantages. Any word from the others?” “Nothing new to report. If there is I’ll let you know. Until then, I have some film to find.” Sterling rose and finished off his drink. “Wait. Once you’re done with that, I need you to look into Clara Teasley and her hotel for me. I’m considering having General Stillwell moved there for his safety. He’ll be more comfortable there than here, but I want to make sure he'll be safe." “We would have done some background work on her when she was on the City Council. I’m sure I can dig those reports up, and see if anything else stands out. Any other orders, Paladin Lord?” Alan answered only with a glare, and Sterling left the office with a smirk on his face. Alan’s party of one continued after that and through half the bottle, until he fell asleep in his office chair. ** The Sheriff It was late when the party ended, so Lawrence hadn’t gone to talk to Clara at all. He had questions but he knew she wouldn’t be giving any answers. Criminal activity seemed like the obvious answer to hidden elevators and talk of going up against powerful people, but then you don’t hire a former sheriff who you admire for his morals and honesty if you’re a criminal. Unless you could tell that sheriff was more devoted to justice than blindly following the law. After how he’d helped out Liz, Clara might safely assume that. Besides any potential criminal involvement, it was more disconcerting that she could’ve pegged him like that already. Of course, he knew that there was much more to her than met the eye. She was more used to pretending than being honest, and like her hotel, a rich facade hid secrets. On this night all the people of Wellstone were wearing masks, but unlike most other folks, Clara’s would still be on when the sun rose tomorrow. He and the Texans walked together back to their hotel rooms on the west side of the Crossroads District. The night air was cool and crisp, though heavier with humidity than the fall nights back home. People were stumbling their way home as laughter rang out down the streets. A stranger would not be remiss to think there was no war going on in Wellstone. In this part of Wellstone it was easy to forget there was a war, until the Brotherhood patrol standing on the corner outside their hotel came into view. The Texans did their best to ignore them and went up to their rooms. Lawrence unlocked his door and stepped inside. The air felt strangely stagnant, as if all the furniture in the room had inhaled and was holding its breath, so he crossed the room to open the window. He’d only taken a couple steps when he realized he wasn’t alone. Nearly silent breathing and a slight rustle of clothing were audible in the stillness. Without looking he knew the intruder was standing in the corner behind the door, where the moonlight from the window didn’t reach. The lamp was on the other side of the bed from Lawrence, so he couldn’t turn the light on. Lawrence never hesitated on his way to the window, which he opened. He didn’t want the intruder to know he knew they were there. He stood breathing in the night air and trying to collect his thoughts. If they had a knife and meant to kill him they’d have to try and sneak up on him, but as he listened the intruder stayed in their dark little corner. If they had a gun there was the problem of someone hearing the shot, especially with the window open. There was the possibility of a suppressed weapon, though. But if they’d meant to shoot him, they could’ve done it already. He could jump out the second story window, but the fact he was still alive meant this wasn’t a simple hit job. Which meant they wanted to talk before they killed him, or this visit was to scare him. Either way he wasn’t going to find out looking out the window, so he wheeled around and looked into the dark corner. “What do you want?” The intruder took half a step forward, so that the moonlight landed on the long, thin barrel of a suppressed small caliber pistol, probably a .22. Lawrence couldn’t see any of the person’s features. A man’s voice like a smile said, “That’s an interesting accent. Not from around here, are you, detective?” Calling him detective was either a slip up or intentional, as it meant the intruder knew him from helping out Patricia Devereux or Vanessa Van Silver. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been well known as a caravan guard the first time they were here. “I’m not.” “We have that in common,” the intruder said. His voice was conspicuously accent-less, but with a charming edge to it. It was slightly muffled too, which was odd. But Lawrence detected a hint of interest in the man’s tone, as if Lawrence being an outsider was more than a simple curiosity. “You haven’t answered my question,” Lawrence said. The intruder’s other hand rose into the moonlight, revealing the film and copies of the fight club pictures Lawrence made for himself. “I found the pictures you’d stashed back in that shitty little hotel in South Union. Clever, but I’ve been doing this too long to overlook something like that.” Lawrence grunted in displeasure, which was all he had to say. “Let this go, cowboy. If any of the people in these pictures knew they existed and that you took them, you’d come home to find more than a twenty-two waiting for you.” Lawrence had only given Patricia pictures of Robert, and even then ones that only showed his infidelity, not the fight club. Wellstone police and the Brotherhood were the only ones who got pictures of everyone involved and what they were involved in. The intruder was here on behalf of one of those groups. Or both, given the control the Brotherhood had. “Not sure I could do anything without those pictures.” The man stepped forward into the light and slid the photos and film inside the pocket of his brown jacket. He was Lawrence’s height but slimmer, his movements quick and fluid. A brown fedora hat covered his hair and shadows hid his eyes. A plastic mask of a carved pumpkin covered his face. Behind the mask’s tortured expression Lawrence could see the man’s smirk. It was a coyote’s smile, sly and mocking. “That’s the right idea.” The intruder moved to the door without taking his eyes or the gun off of Lawrence and then left. Lawrence leaned backward on the windowsill and let out the breath he’d been holding. Without those pictures there wasn’t much he could do. He didn’t recall the faces well enough to figure out who was at the fight club, and no one would just take his word for it. Which was why he was still alive, he supposed. Without those pictures no one would believe him. Between finding himself in the Brotherhood’s sights for taking those pictures and learning his prospective knew boss was hiding something big, criminal or otherwise, Lawrence thought that braving the Lost Lands again didn’t sound so bad after all.

I think he’s looking for a living partner, Doc

The closest connection to Halloween I can think of for my posts (including some stuff that’s not up yet) is they sorta revolve around the theme of masks, of people hiding their identities, motives, etc. Which fits with a celebration where people are pretending to be other people or hiding who they are

The Sheriff Following the girl was easy. She was short and could’ve disappeared into a crowd but evidently she wasn’t worried about being followed, because she made no effort to do anything but walk straight to her destination. Her mother, Vanessa Van Silver, hadn’t given Lawrence much to go on, only that her daughter kept disappearing during the day into the Pennway District and had used some rather subversive language to describe the Brotherhood. Lawrence thought it all a bit ridiculous, probably an overblown case of teenage rebellion, as Clara had suggested. And even though he had some doubts about why exactly Clara wanted to hire them, he’d still rather he take this job than someone else. Of course, Clara being his new employer was something he still wasn’t sure about. He believed her when she said she didn’t trust Patricia Devereux. But he still wasn’t sure what to make of her. He’d learned from asking around last night that she’d grown up wealthy, her parents owning the hotel before her. She looked the part, but she certainly didn’t act like someone who would call themselves a friend of Patricia Devereux or Vanessa Van Silver. At least, she hadn’t acted the part during their meeting, and he suspected she was probably pretty good at acting the part. She was also good at reading people, that much was clear. But knowing all that he still didn’t know what exactly it was Clara wanted from him. It made him suspicious and intrigued all at once. Liz’s southern path turned toward the west, and Lawrence had to leave his thoughts behind. She walked toward the Pennway docks along the east river Lawrence couldn’t remember the name of. She came upon a row of riverside buildings, restaurants and bars and market stalls. She headed toward an unlit neon sign that read ‘Inglenook.’ The bouncer guarding the door gave her a nod as she entered, without searching or stopping her, which meant she probably worked there. Pennway was a nice district, clean and well patrolled, and the Inglenook was a nice, clean red brick building standing two-stories tall. It looked like it could fit right at home here, during the day with its curtained windows and not-dilapidated exterior. In a less favorable light, maybe at night with its neon sign lit up bright and a rotating cast of drunks pouring in and out, he could imagine it looking every bit the part of shady club. Still, he’d seen places that looked much seedier. Lawrence approached the redheaded, mean-mugging bouncer, holding his jacket open so the man could pat him down. He knew the drill. The thought crossed his mind to ask the man about Liz, but it wasn’t a bouncer’s job to give information away. And this man seemed only interested in looking tough and guarding the door. Upon entering it took Lawrence a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. It had a few more customers than he expected at this early hour, probably folks getting an early start on the evening’s festivities. The girls working the place were dressed up in costumes, or as much as they could be while wearing as little clothing as possible. Some had pointed cat ears or floppy bunny ears on, a couple wore fanciful hats with giant feathers, and one was wearing a skimpier version of a pirate outfit Lawrence recognized from an old comic book he’d seen. Before anyone could mistake his purpose and offer any services he’d then decline, he made a beeline for the bar along the wall on the right. He found a stool a good distance from any of the other patrons and ordered a beer. He took off his hat and set it on the stool next to him. When he’d first entered he hadn’t seen Liz, and now getting a better look around he still didn’t see her. There were a few folks up on the balcony across the way, above the stage, and another bouncer guarding a deeper part of the club. Probably private lounges and the dressing rooms, if he had to guess. Lawrence finished his mediocre beer and motioned for another from the bartender. When the bartender brought it over, Lawrence gave him a generous tip and said, “I’m looking for Liz. Her mom sent me. Tell her it isn’t bad, I just would like to talk to her if she’s willing.” The bartender took the money and leveled a skeptical look at Lawrence, but motioned one of the girls over and whispered something to her before she disappeared into the back room. Lawrence drank a little more of his second beer but didn’t finish it, and left another tip on counter. He didn’t know if he’d ever need it, but buying the goodwill of a bartender was never a bad idea. It wasn’t long before the shorter, brown haired teenager wearing a midriff baring plaid shirt came out of the back, looking as angry as he’d expected. She glared at him for a second, giving the impression she was about to walk away on him. But then she leaned in closer to him and whispered in a spiteful tone, "You can go back home and tell my mom she can fuck right off." “I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Lawrence said. He had expected the reception to be less than warm. “You want something to drink? Your mom is paying.” “No.” Lawrence took another drink of his beer and then swiveled on his stool to look Liz in the eyes. “Look, I’m not some hardass. Your mom may have hired me but I’m not here to rat you out. I’ll tell her whatever you want, one on condition.” "What?" she said as she eyed him skeptically. He glanced around and made sure no one was listening. The bartender was leveling a hard look in this direction, but was drying glasses at the other end of the bar, out of earshot. When Lawrence spoke, he did so in a low voice. “Your mom didn’t get into the specifics about what you’ve been saying. Only that it wasn’t exactly friendly toward the Brotherhood. As far as I’m concerned, they probably deserve whatever names you called them. ”But here’s the deal. You gotta be careful. You can’t just go round saying things like that. It isn’t going to help anyone, least of all yourself. The fact I’m here shows it’ll only bring scrutiny. And next time whoever your mom hires won’t stop at just talking with you.” She kept eyeing him for a few seconds, though now with more confusion than skepticism. "Okay," she said with some hesitation. “Also, you might want to start varying your routes coming here. It wasn’t exactly hard following you.” Lawrence undercut the criticism with a friendly smile. At least, he hoped it looked friendly. "Hmm." She kept looking at him like she didn't really believe that what she was hearing was real. “So what do you want me to tell her?” "Uhm... I... I don't know." She lowered her gaze and stared down at the bar bench. “I’m assuming telling her you work at a strip club is off the table. But you’re coming over here so often she’s not gonna believe me if I tell her you’re just visiting your boyfriend or girlfriend.” Liz didn’t seem like a bad kid, and he didn’t want her to get in any sort of trouble. “Really, if I lie to her and she sends someone else to see what you’re up to, it’ll be on you to make sure they can’t follow you here. Think you can handle that?” "Maybe," she said with no hint of conviction in her voice. Lawrence finished his beer. He was hoping this would be a little easier to pull off. “How long do you usually work here?” "About 6 hours a day." “What do you usually do after you get done with work?” "Hang out a bit here, then head home." “If you want to keep working here and don’t want your mom to find out about it, you’ll need to make sure someone else can’t find out about it. I’ll tell your mom you’ve got some friends you’re hanging out with and that’s why you’re always gone. “But after you get done working here how about you come by Clara’s? She was the one who asked me to do this for your mom, to make sure you didn’t get in any trouble over whatever you’ve been up to. But I’ve got some friends that could help you learn how to avoid being followed, if you really want to keep working here.” "Thanks, but I... I'm not sure." “I’m going to shoot straight with you Liz, if this little lie we’ve crafted falls apart, it’s not going to cause me any harm. You and your friends here, on the other hand, are going to have someone else breathing down their necks.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice again. “If there’s the slightest chance someone thinks you picked up that rebel talk from around here, it’s not going to end well. You’ve heard what’s going on out there. The Brotherhood is going to be tearing through this place with your loose lips to blame.” Lawrence didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded sufficiently terrifying to scare her straight. ”So you either hide that you’re working here or quit working all together. In both cases the less said about the Brotherhood, the better.” Lawrence stood and put a few more coins on the bar. “Either way, you know where to find me.” Liz didn't say a word and only stared at him with big eyes. It was hard to tell what she was thinking but it was clear that she was feeling some sort of regret.  “If it’s just a job, you can always find another. A job ain’t worth all this trouble.” Lawrence took his hat off of the stool next to him. He dusted it off before putting it on and tipping it to her. “Take care, Liz.” With that he left the Inglenook behind and headed back to the Gold District. Heeding his own advice, Lawrence made sure it wasn’t a direct path, and he doubled back to catch anyone who might be following him. Dealing with all these rich folks put him ill at ease. He didn’t trust any of them, no matter how much they were paying or promising to pay. He eventually arrived at the Van Silver residence, where a servant let him in the gate and led him to the back parlor, where Vanessa was waiting. Looking like an older and more well-mannered version of her daughter Vanessa looked him over before glancing behind, almost as he she was expecting him to have brought her daughter with him. "So?" she said in a calm and slightly friendly tone that betrayed a hint of impatience. Lawrence knew he wasn’t much of a liar, but he hoped that Vanessa wasn’t the perceptive type. “I followed her and watched her for a bit. Seems she’s found a group of friends down by the eastern docks. They didn’t seem to be troublemakers more than any other group of teenagers are.” "And?" “And what, Mrs. Van Silver? Far as I can tell she ain’t doing anything illegal.” "And who are these little rascals? Which families do they belong to?" “I think you misunderstood who I am, Mrs. Van Silver, if you expected me to round up your daughter’s friends.” "I don't expect you to round them up. I expect you to find out who they are." “And what would you do with that information?” Vanessa was silent for a second as she gave him a disapproving look. "That depends on the family they hail from." “That’s what I thought,” Lawrence said. “I found out what your daughter was doing like you asked. But I’m not going to get some dockworker or bartender’s kid in trouble cause they’re hanging out with your kid. That’s liable to only make her resent you more, I reckon. So if that’s all, I think it’s time for me to leave.” "That's probably for the best." Lawrence tipped his hat and left the way he came. Outside the gates of the Van Silver home, he wondered if, or for how long, his story would hold up. He wasn’t lying when he told Liz this wasn’t going to hurt him. He knew that Clara was more interested in Liz understanding the potential danger she was in than Mrs. Van Silver getting what she wanted. And Lawrence had done all he could to convey that Liz needed to quit badmouthing the Brotherhood at the very least. He hoped that would be enough for her mom too. As Lawrence walked back to Clara’s, a few early partygoers were taking to the streets in their costumes. It was a peculiar thing, this Halloween celebration. Back home most of the holidays usually involved large celebratory meals, not costumes and partying. Though he had to admit, it seemed like fun. And important to Wellstone, seeing as the curfew had been extended. Clara’s hotel was a towering fourteen story light brown brick building, windows and doors framed by white stone, and the roof capped with more white stone trim. On the roof was a large sign that read ‘RESIDE HERE’. Above the western entrance was a less imposing sign, a red neon sign written in cursive that simply read Clara’s. Two Protectrons shined red in the soft neon of the sign above the entrance. They scanned those coming in for visible weapons, and greeted the patrons on behalf of Clara in their heavily modulated voices. In the entrance hall was another one walking it’s programmed path around the room, and Lawrence knew there were two more each guarding the street entrance to the casino and cabaret. The foyer was all decked out in the Halloween spirit, with fake spider webs covering the chandeliers, paper bats stuck to the second story gallery railing, and pumpkins and other gourds positioned by the tables and couches. The hotel was roughly a square. On the first floor the casino stretched along almost the entirety of the north wall while the cabaret stretched along the south wall. The middle third was the entrance foyer, with the kitchen and laundry behind it to the east. On the second floor were galleries overlooking the cabaret and casino, as well as offices above the kitchen and laundry. Lawrence had gotten the tour of most of the fourteen floors the day before. At the check in counter directly across from the entrance, the hotel’s manager George was busy assisting a few customers. He was short and stocky, though going a bit soft. He had a strong face with a thick rectangular mustache that sat like a shadow below his mountain of a nose. He walked with a pronounced limp, and leaned on the counter to take the pressure off his leg. There wasn’t a thread out of place on his suit or a hair out of place on his head. George looked the type of the perfectionist manager, though Lawrence had learned he’d worked in construction before the accident that caused the limp sent him to the hotel business. The guests were done with him so Lawrence approached, hat in hand. He always took it off indoors. George saw him coming. When he spoke his voice was clipped but friendly, while his Middle-Waters accent was somewhat diluted by couple decades in Wellstone. “Mr. Harding. Clara wanted you to check in once you got back. And Rodge will have your job for the night for you once you’re done speaking with her.” Lawrence thanked him and was let behind the front desk and into the hallway that stretched behind it for employees. He passed the kitchen and found the stairs to the second story where Clara’s offices were. In broad strokes he told her what went down with Liz and more specifically how Vanessa reacted. Lawrence was more interested in gaining insight into what Clara thought than anything else, and he could tell she was relieved to hear what he’d told Liz. Their conversation was brief and after he went right across the hall to the security office. The office wasn’t very large, with a couple of desks on one side of the room and a jail cell taking up the other half. It was mostly for drunks, people you didn’t want causing problems but didn’t want to involve Wellstone Security with either. The way Clara talked yesterday, it was better to handle some things in house than get the police involved. The office had only one occupant. William Rodgers, the hotel’s head of security, was tall and thick, with a bushy silver goatee. But he was getting up there in years, and grunted as he rose from his chair when Lawrence entered. In his deep voice Rodgers said, “Mr. Harding. I’ve already sent your friends out. The doctor and the scientist are down in the basement messing with one of the server bots. Reyna is in the cabaret with my number two Sawyer. He was out yesterday when y’all came by. I figure she’s pretty sharp eyed and he can more than handle any troublemakers. Get more than a few drunks here this time of year. Abbey’s in the casino already, and I’d like to have you join her there. You know how the games work, right?” “I do. I’ve never done security for something like that, but I figure I’ll be able to spot someone switching out the dice or hiding cards,” Lawrence said. “That’s probably all we’ll need. I’ll be making the rounds every so often. If you have any trouble makers, haul them up here and they can sleep it off in the cell,” Rodgers said. “Yessir.” Lawrence headed downstairs and into the casino. It didn’t take him long to spot Abbey prowling the floor, her right hand dangling by her side and reflexively formed into a fist. She had her long black hair pulled back into a braid, and she was wearing her straw cowboy hat and serape. Tonight, looking like that in the casino let her blend in better than if she’d been wearing regular clothes. Lawrence donned his hat, took his old badge from his pocket, and pinned it to his chest. At least for one more day, he could be a sheriff again. As he and Abbey walked the casino floor, keeping an eye out for anyone up to no good, the uneventful afternoon faded into a slightly more eventful night. The crowd grew considerably larger and rowdier, and which led to one patron trying to fight Abbey and losing after one punch, as well as Lawrence hauling a couple off to the drunk tank. It was late in the night, while the party was still going but beginning to die down, that Lawrence had to drag off his third drunk. He was an older man, his balding head sweaty and liver spotted, and he reeked of beer so bad Lawrence thought he might get second hand drunk. The old man had tried to palm chips from a table, only to knock them to the floor, where he quickly joined them in his drunken state. Since Abbey had already had to fight someone, Lawrence was stuck with the drunks, so he picked the old man up and pushed him toward the security office. Getting him up the stairs was its own adventure, and halfway up Lawrence had to resort to carrying the man the rest of the way into the cell. There were four drunks were passed out on the floor, two of them courtesy of Sawyer and Reyna. Lawrence dumped the now snoring old man in with the others. Lawrence locked the cell back and went over to one of the desks to catch his breath. Damn drunk fool’s heavier than he looks. Abbey probably wouldn’t miss him for a few minutes, so Lawrence sat down and kicked his feet up on the desk, leaning his chair back until his head could rest against the wall. He could just faintly hear the muffled instruments and singing coming from the cabaret, though he couldn’t make out any words. Guillermo and the other two singers, Vince and Gloria, were all singing tonight, taking turns, singing duets, and putting on as much of a show as they could. Lawrence was disappointed he hadn’t had a chance to step in and watch them, but he was sure he could eventually, if this job panned out. The singing faded, the cheers took its place, and then those too faded. In the space between the applause and when the next song started up again, no more than a few seconds, Lawrence heard a new sound. It was faint, even more so than the singing, and just a few days ago he wouldn’t have recognized it at all. He pressed his ear up against the wall and heard the soft mechanical whir of an elevator where there shouldn’t be one. What the hell?

On Balrog’s post

No

Rude. No but seriously if this is more rpg like and based on Celtic mythology I’m in from day one. At the very least I’ll actually buy the game and then not play it for a year like the others in my pile

I sorta expect Cersei to be in there between Tommen and Aegon VI. I’m not sure how it would happen but Cersei, without any of her children or Jamie, ruling for even a brief period of time seems like something that would make sense for her story.

Bran’s actor has said Beinoff and Weiss got that directly from GRRM so I expect that will happen.

I dropped a word and edited it in but not quick enough lol

On the Richard and Aly post