Late to the Party

[Vladimir]

Day 1: 16:00 

It had taken approximately one more hour to take care of business within the city. He’d arrived 2 days before the War was set to begin, and utilized those days in order to set up the Bounded Fields at the residences, as well perform several drives all over the city, marking down the ley of the land and puzzling out potent locations. He’d purchased a few additional maps and scouted a few locations as sites for potential confrontations – large empty spaces, mostly, such as stadium, racetrack, and so on. The taxi driver, of course, had his memory modified, as did the couple whose home he borrowed for one night. He would have slept elsewhere, but wished to get a good night’s rest. After approximately 8 hours, he left, erasing traces of his presence, and eating at one of the shops in the city. He disliked setting up more memory modification than necessary, as it was needlessly complex, but sometimes it was necessary. Eating on the go instead of at a restaurant would minimize exposure but in the end, what did it matter? He would be imprinted into this city’s memory regardless. Everyone passing by might have remembered him, and worrying about that sort of thing was idiotic.

His own height played against him – it would be very difficult not to remember someone of his height, and regardless of how well he could change his appearance, that particular trait would not change. Illusions? That would be akin to screaming ‘here I am, come kill me’. No… He had a destination in mind, one which would work as an excellent shelter. He had originally come up with two, just in case one did not work, but the first was a bit more appealing. An Enforcer pretending to be a cop… It was natural. A jail would also ward off unwanted mundanes, and not be of immediate access to the more inferior magi. The superior ones, or ones with Servant, he could deal with himself. The amount of security and surveillance that the Jail provided would also serve him well. He, like all others, disliked technology, but if the mundane operated it for him, what could be simpler? It would also have a yard, at least, for Servants to fight, and naturally, he could set up his workshop as he would when he had been at home.

Home… It was interesting, Vladimir mused, paying the cab driver, and walking towards the prison, removing the jacket from his arm and putting it on. He had just thought of his office at the Mages Association as his ‘home’, as opposed to the Kurakin Estate. It made sense, in a way – the only time he’d visited nowadays was to sit on the council, or to discipline his son. Thinking of Ruslan made a muscle twitch in the Enforcer’s face, and he moved on to another topic. He did not desire any high post in the police force – in fact, something average would work well enough, but brainwashing a higher-up would be necessary to establish control and lack of questions. Someone with direct access to security and surveillance would be perfect. As for contingencies… If his plans with the jail fell through, he could very easily pass for a doctor, with his studies in medicine and spiritual surgery. More importantly, some of the hospitals – especially ones with particularly unstable patients, were usually quite tight on security, and both policemen and doctors wore gloves, so the Command Seals would be hidden. There were at least two such hospitals in Lucca, but only one Jail, so perhaps he ought have tried them first. However, at one of those, or perhaps a more regular hospital, there would have been Catherine Trandor… And he did not wish to see the woman at this time, much less work with her.

Besides this, the only other things he’d yet to have done was contact the Church and speak to Don Griorio, and that would have to wait until after the base was established, even if it was against etiquette: he would rather have violated social rules than risk failing at his job. He did not know how the Don would receive him – as such, he would much rather speak from a position of power than one where he’d had dubious official significance – it was not him who was sent to this city to administrate the War, after all. Killing an Enforcer was a serious crime, but that was only assuming it was found out and dug up, and while he did not seriously doubt his coworkers’ skills, he also had no grand illusions about them, or their state of caring for his theoretical demise. Regardless, minimizing risk was part of how he had to act – if not for the sake of completing his job and personal pride and honor – how useless both of those were! – then for the preservation of the family Crest for future generations. It was interesting – he had not been in this war for the sake of a wish, but for the sake of his personal beliefs and family’s glory. How would the artifact react to it? How would the other Masters react to it? It would certainly be a welcome thing to hear for the Don. One less lunatic on his soil, eager to spill his own guts upon it.

Speaking of guts…

Vladimir inhaled the air, nostrils widening for a brief second. There was the faintest smell of blood and innards in the air that did not bode well for his attempt to establish a base. It did not take much effort to adjust the guardsman’s memories in order to permit him entry, marking himself as a new transfer superior in rank to him. He would have to adjust it a bit later once he’d made certain of the situation, but for now this would do. Walking past the guardhouse and the massive gates, he stopped for a brief second: It downright reeked. For now, he would avoid the police officers as best he could and proceed to the Warden’s office to get a better idea of how he could utilize him and his information, unless someone else had already done so. The door bearing the warden’s name and rank had been left ajar: the smell of blood told him what he wanted to know, and his hand reached into his pocket for one of the several heads of Cyanea, but then relaxed, and he merely pulled the door open, walking in casually. As expected, the first thing he had spotted was the body of presumably the Warden – possibly dead, but he would have to take a closer look. He’d had blood flowing from his head and his eyes were shut. A trap? At this point, it mattered little.

Unfurl, Cyanea Capillata

The metal ball in his palm blossomed into a multitude of thin silvery wires, occupying a position behind his back, remaining in motion. Lighting his Mystic Code would be unnecessary… At least for now.

[Neve Morgan]

Honestly the smell had to be the hardest thing to clean up about dead bodies, even if they only lay as corpses for a few hours. The blood could be cleaned, altered patterns… a prison riot was the story she was going to go with, though some of the patterns and stories had to be cleared up quite significantly. The smell would have to be removed to make it not obvious that many of these men had fought to the death in their cells… A rather macabre gladiator game, as every single one ended in both participants dying.

It had been at least two Servants, two Magi… and one had lost, presumably a Master, as when she arrived there was the acrid scent of burning flesh in the air still, beneath an old tree that surprisingly was not harmed by the conflagration. It wasn’t for sure, but the fact that none of the other bodies had been burned made it a suspicious thing.

They had enough sense to alter the cameras at least, though for magi that was as easy as breathing, apparently. No footage caught either of the pair other than the initial landings of them. Two women, and two men. Those landings were already erased, since for some reason the higher ups decided rather than just killing these ridiculously rule-breaking heretics as they should be, the Grail War was special, apparently. In her opinion they should have laid a command seal bounty on the people involved, if they had any idea who they were or who won. Daylight fighting and murdering prisoners quite visibly in front of others? She had to have her own aides probe the minds of every single prisoner in this place, just because of how ridiculous it was. A woman in a dress and another in full battle regalia making the prisoners play for their own sick amusement? This was how magi truly were at heart, disgusting.

Preferably both pairs died, but she would have given a pat on the back to whoever killed the flagrant murdering heretics, and then stabbed them properly had they been magi. This war was already too full of them; the inbound planes might as well be crawling with their ilk.

On top of all this some of the prisoners and guards were still under the affliction of powerful mental magecraft, it required her best effort to purge the occasional one of the tainted touch of magic, their shackles far stronger than she had seen in a long time.

”So this is why I’ve been brought along, huh? Exorcist and Sacrament Specialist Executor Neve Morgan. A woman who would not be missed should the worst happen.”

That and a Burial Agent probably considered it beneath them to scrub floors. Neve did too, but she did it anyways. She just detested cleaning up after magi, though the major part of it was already done. Just the smell and a couple more tiring Sacrements to readjust others to fit the idea of a riot. Also some of the guards and prisoners needed to be injured and not just killed. For it to get so out of hand well… a fist to the back of the Warden’s head was easy enough, and a few more of her tactical team gave bruises and cuts to guards and prisoners who would have been nearby the riot.

The deaths were easy enough to ignore, the investigation by the normal police would likely drop cold as was regular within jails. Murdered by other prisoners, people really didn’t care about those convicted of crimes as horrific as the dead men.

Even though it was almost all solved and she was just purging the smell of the dead from the wrong places, something had to come and ruin it. She received word from another, one of her team, that a tall man, most likely Magi considering she had shut all word out from leaving the prison immediately after arrival and there were no inspections or prisoner drop-offs scheduled, was demanding entrance and possibly using memory alteration to make his way towards the warden’s office.

Well that was fun. Except not in the slightest. She just got up from her incense intended to mask the smell, shoved her small assistant towards them, and made her way to the office.

At least her team was well trained. She received no less than four more reports on the way back concerning the progress of the Magus. To the second one she received, since he was making faster progress than her and she was in no mood to run to even more jeers of horrid prisoners outside the block she was masking, she told him to minorly delay the magus.

Carefully she undid three buttons on her prison guard outfit as she turned the second last corner to the office, pulling a long Black Key out from what had bound it before, with more easily accessible should they be necessary. Just before the last corner she waited for his footsteps coming to the office that had been cordoned off from the rest of the building. The pair of someone else and the Magus’ heavy steps echoed down the hall, and she counted them off.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. A pause in the steps, and then the sound of hinges. Warden’s door, he’s got quite the long stride. Over six feet at least… when she heard one more step she just rounded her own required to turn the last corner. There were lights in the Warden’s office… which extended his shadow just enough~

Like a dart she threw the Black Key cradled in her left hand, and dashed after it, watching it hit exactly where she knew it would, the head of the shadow. He wouldn’t be able to even turn around and see what had stopped him now. Then, while his escort, a guard she knew who had now been mentally altered four times, and would soon receive his fifth, was stunned in surprise she delivered a vicious flying knee to his head, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Behind the Magus!? A second shadow, one of tendrils… a construct? Well even if he was incapable of giving it orders, it could still be dangerous! A second Black Key instantly slid into her left hand, a needlelike personal customization on the back of it caught Saint Silvan’s shroud instantly, and as soon as it did she threw it while still in flight from her flying knee. Her shroud unraveled partially from her hand with the Key’s flight, and as soon as it intentionally missed the construct, narrowly traveling over one of its tendrils she gripped the ribbon-like shroud flowing from her sleeve to stop the flight of her blade.

Instantly the Key fell from the air, and the shroud touched the Construct, wrapping around its limb. The moment it did… the thing fell to the ground with a metal crack, neutralized by the shroud that would cut off all prana.

It was just a ball of metal that she picked up, bouncing it in her palm as she tied a ribbon of her shroud around it in a nice Christmas bow… perhaps it was Formal Wear then. More importantly though, it definitely gave away this overly tall man as a Magus, this man would not look out of place as a prisoner here or a guard… other than the beard. Every guard here was clean shaven.

She took her time stepping around the burly magus, and past the Warden’s fallen body in the office. Then she took a seat at the Warden’s desk, leaning his chair back and crossing her booted feet up on his rather nice desk before finally meeting the magus’ eyes and giving him a chance to explain himself.

“Well?”

[Vladimir]

Thunck

A dull sound. He did not have to look down to know what it was, so he did not, instead clasping his hands behind his back like a schoolteacher about to address his hooligan students. Between that and what was happening, he had found very little difference, regardless of circumstances. He needed to speak to them, and them being here had cut an empty hole in his schedule, allowing for more actions to be done. Perhaps he could establish some half-respectable Bounded Fields before midnight, even. Nothing too fancy, mind, that could attract the sort of attention he was not looking for, but some small ones to cover bottlenecks, as well as a few extras would be good. So reasoned Vladimir, standing there, in a dimly lit Jail Warden’s office, with an unconscious body beside him, his Cyanea disabled and confiscated, a girl in her mid-twenties perhaps, sitting there, feet on the desk.

“Well?”

Vladimir did not answer immediately, studying this particular Church Agent. Odd colored, light pinkish hair. Prison guard uniform, the same as any other guard he met had been wearing, though a bit more open in front to show her blouse. The odd cloth she covered Cyanea with was also plainly visible, extending from her sleeve, as was the bow she had tied upon it. Probably a good decision he had not ordered it to ignite beforehand, then, he mentally noted. He supposed the cloth somehow interfered with prana flow, as Cyanea’s refusal to function had certainly suggested. Some sort of Church artifact, no doubt. Well, it mattered little, for now. He had no designs to ever confront the Church in battle – it had simply not been part of his job. Would it ever have come to that… Well, he would remember this little bit of information.

She had been quick – very quick. Likely Reinforced, or whatever it was the Church called it. He had barely been able to identify her when he darted past him towards the guard. Had he been reinforced, it would have been different, but these sort of ‘what if’ scenarios reeked of pointless, pathetic pride that his fellow magi had been so happy to demonstrate, and which he detested with every fiber of his being. A hit was a hit, a miss was a miss. A win, a win. There was no room for ‘what if’ in-between life and death. She chose to not so much as hit him, which couldn’t be said for his guide – nor had she harmed Cyanea. Somewhat curious… Why was she being this gentle, anyway? Was she new to this line of work, or simply because of the War? If anything, she should have been much more brutal because of it, but… That was her business.

Talking with her like this… Well, he could always activate another Cyanea, but that would likely gather a similar result. There had been no harm in speaking – he wished to speak to them in the first place, though perhaps not quite in a place like this. This, however, was rather efficient – that was quite pleasing. He already disliked that he’d had to delay this entire business a day into the war, it had been taking a risk, though one that could pay off, as largely, summoning were expected to have been done on the first day, and thus, not many expected them now. The magus stared at his captor unblinkingly, studying her expression, genuinely interested in this particular agent’s motives, before, finally, he had chosen to give his reply:

“Good Evening, Executor.”

[Neve Morgan]

“Good evening, Executor.”

Well that wasn’t a lie. A good start for the sadly unsurprised Magus. When shock took over their naturally smug faces it was quite a motivator. In comparison this man’s unflinching lecturer composure was almost an irritance. A flicker of that irritation crossed her face before she stretched in the chair and regained herself.

The frustration of fixing this mess was definitely burdening her, making it much more difficult to remain calm. To give herself a chance to breathe she folded her fingers together and raised her arms above her head, tightening the muscles in her arms.

“I suppose I am at a disadvantage then, though I expected explanations rather than greetings, Magus.” She responded coldly after her stretch, letting her thoughts stray to other matters. Like why she felt she recognized this man. The photographs she had been allowed to see of potential candidates… his face did not seem among them. Yet it was still familiar, somehow. She just couldn’t put a finger on it. He had never been a target, that much was for certain, otherwise he’d be long dead and not attempting to glare her down. He wanted to act like a lecturer? Then he could act all he wants, she would be the one delivering the lecture.

She paused, though not giving enough time for a response. “And by expected I mean required. Tell me, do you wish for your head to have a price? Returning to this place, armed, when it is evident a disaster struck? Armed and Servantless, for that matter. Don’t think I don’t know what this is.” She once again bounced the Formal Wear that the Magus had used on her palm, testing its weight before gripping it angrily, refusing to raise her voice at him, but all the same keeping emphasis in it. “Had I been another Magus, the ones who murdered a multitude of prisoners here, do you think the thought of your blood on my hands would make me turn away? Not that I would mind Magi meeting their death, in fact I would commend you on your foolishness, had you stepped anywhere but here to muddy the waters I am trying to clean!”

Worthless people, they never spared a thought for those other than themselves and their ego. Standing like that, like he was in the right, like he was unfazed was just despicable.

Of course he didn’t care. None of them would. What a waste of her breath, to lecture this Magus. He was probably a foolish old man who would get himself killed as soon as she bodily threw him out of this jail. Then she’d go over the profiles of the Magi who were supposed to be in this war again, because his appearance being on the edge of her mind was so infuriating.

“So.” She looked him right in the eyes as she spoke, “Explain, or I can escort you out. Probably both.”

[Vladimir]

Muscle contractions in cheeks, corners of mouth, forehead. Small adjustments in eye movements. Eyelids half-closing. Movements of finger muscles in effort to re-adjust, to re-balance. Very simple signs, to one versed in some medicinal knowledge, or one with ample observation skills, pointing towards a few simple facts: Frustration, and an effort in memory. It was possible, of course, that she had been merely acting – women had been such creatures, he knew it well enough. He had not known why such a child – his son had likely been about the same age as her – had even been posted here, much less a woman… Whoever heard of female Executors? Burial Agents, of course, were another matter, but those were a separate case. He was not about to underestimate her simply because she had been female, but it did little to earn any sort of positive reaction, and with the sudden flare of pointless anger, it merely further persuaded him. No… It was doubtful she had been acting.

Stretching? And sitting down, in the presence of one’s elders… Not a very well-taught girl, after all, but he cared little for such drivel, it merely assisted with first impressions at times. It was a good thing it was him who had been in this position – he could think of quite a few more who would have burst a blood vessel by now. Why had she been angry? Vladimir pondered with mild interest. Then again, with how badly things seemed to be going in this location, and having been assigned as babysitter to a company that truly had (most likely) been the worst their society had to offer, and he might have thought he almost, nearly felt some sympathy for the girl, somewhere within the deeper recesses of his mind. But of course, that had been merely conjecture.

Ahh. So that’s what it had been – those words told the Executor all he had wished to know to complete his small theory. ‘Disadvantage’…? She had thought he knew who she was, though it was likely attributed to the ‘executor’ title he used. True… Perhaps this was not common knowledge amongst magi to know the primary instrument of the Executors. Even more the reason, then, for the Executors to know the only group of magi could accurately identify these. Why couldn’t she? The narrowing of the eyelids again. She was most definitely attempting to identify him – she knew he had been a magi, and she knew that he knew what a Black Key was. What more could she be attempting to remember about him?

Could she have… seen him somewhere? He would have remembered. He rarely forgot the faces of possible opponents – it was part of the job. He gave no reply or indication of recognition to this address. Though, her calling him ‘magus’ likely meant she was not yet aware of his status as an Enforcer… though it was not impossible, it was odd. Why had she decided to be so remarkably gentle, then, even with his Mystic Code? Some sort of half-hearted attempt at a mockery or bravado that he could not comprehend? Thus, he merely retained eye contact. Sooner or later, those who had had spoken to squirmed, from anger or fear, and then dropped useful bits of information. Besides, it was not as if he had anything to say, yet. The host was to introduce themselves first, after all… Not that she gave him time to reply.

Ahh, threats. How common, typical, and reliable. It seemed like the way Executors – or at least, this one in particular – handled things, wasn’t all that different from modus operandi of many of his colleagues. Vladimir himself preferred suggestions and promises, but threats had their uses in a true interrogator’s arsenal, as well… Just so long as they were not overused and backed up with sufficient force, otherwise the target would not believe you would commit and follow through. Nothing quite as pathetic as an interrogator who cannot follow through with their threats. What exactly was she expecting him to say to such an open provocation? Likely, that he would get angry and star spouting off information due to pride or her threat, out of fear… And then she could make her own conclusion. She most definitely did not realize he had been an Enforcer, as then she would never talk about the price on his head, which would translate to extremely unpleasant political implications. Vladimir did not have any illusions about his own importance to the Association, but the sheer fact that an Enforcer was killed by the Church with no provocation would evoke a likely violent reaction – it would be a mere justification.

”I had been waiting for you to introduce yourself first, Executor, as you are the host, however, it seems like my attempt to remain civil – as you’ve saved me time in no longer needing to find you - is making you agitated.” The head of Kurakin looked down at the Black Key, pausing for a few seconds, before moving his calm gaze back to meet the Executor’s.

”Your Key is rather wasted on me.” He shrugged slightly. ”Well, your use of it is understandable in such a situation, though I am surprised how gentle you chose to act.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but replied before she could: ”I will ignore the threats – they are unwise, and unfitting as we are not quite in opposition. As for the ball you hold, it is indeed a Mystic Code I use. As far as your theory on what would happen had you been a Magi…” Vladimir looked up briefly, trying to decide on something, perhaps how to best formulate the answer in an inoffensive manner. ”…Had you been a Magi who left the jail in such a state... I would have already killed you. I do not take well to imbeciles who leave public places in states similar to the one I have seen in the Jail so far … and it gets worse, below, does it not? That interferes with my job… as well as yours. Most magi in general tend to interfere with my job, actually… So feel free to do as you require.”

Again, that narrowing of the eyes. ”I can see you must have opened my file at one point, based on what you’re doing with your eyes and creasing your forehead there. In case you do not recall it too well, my name is Vladimir Kurakin. I am one of the sixty Enforcers of the Magi Association. A few of my colleagues might already be in the city, as well as the official Representative, Catherine Trandor. Have I satisfied your curiosity, or do you have other questions?”

[Neve Morgan]

“Oh~? So sure of yourself then? Perhaps that’s why I had such difficulties halting you while acting as a maid for your fellow heretics.” Neve snapped back sarcastically, not even bothering to touch the line he spewed about threats. “Surely that bravery that led you through the front gate would have walked you safely through the traps your kind likes to leave behind. God will not shelter a magus with rod and staff, you know.”

Arrogance, from a Magus? Who would have guessed? And the man was an Enforcer, no less. They were powerful, or unique… even if their number had swelled over the past couple decades, though they still remained relatively few. The Church had many who would stamp out heresies, and the enforcers would attempt to preserve, but to a Magus, being an underling was a fundamental wrong, or so that was how it appeared to Neve. Sure, not everyone could become a powerful Executor, one who ranked among the top, like her, blessed from birth, but those who had the will were given the chance to serve. Her own underlings were proof of that, and made tasks much quicker and more manageable than it would normally be for a single person like her.

That fundamental belief in one’s status was what held this irritating Magus (they were all irritating) in his haughty stance. If he had a cause other than his own vanity, perhaps she would have given him some credit, but since all Magi were the same despite their clamours of difference… she would not give it to him.

At the very least his sheer… how should she put it… stupidity? No, that would look bad on the report, to use a word like that. His sheer ignorance, yes, that was better. His ignorance of the situation, and his lack of a Servant, as well as Command Seals, made it apparent that he was not the fool who had been in this jail this morning. Either of them. Sure he said he had not been, but taking the word of a Magus was like the word of the Serpent.

“Vladimir Kurakin does ring a few bells though, Enforcer.” It was probably the beard that had rung her memory. Not many men kept a… style, if she could call it that, like that. At least he was probably who he said he was, with that in mind. “I’m sure you’ll consider me rude, but I’m not going to introduce myself. Executor is a good enough title for me, Magus… especially considering how you have yet to answer my question and continue to try my patience. I’m far less interested in who you are, and more in what possessed you to walk into this place alone, assuming you even know what is going on in this city.” At this rate she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. In fact it would make far more sense if he didn’t, considering the power of Servants.

Or perhaps the man thought himself a match of a Legendary Spirit when he could not even handle Neve? No… they would have to be beyond insane for that, and this man was at least as sane as any ‘normal’ Magus, though to call them normal was an insult to the word.

Maybe she should just leave the man pinned by the key for a few hours and get on with her work. Then again… he’d probably start yelling and shouting around like he owned the place. Whatever, she’d give him one more chance before kicking him, personally, out the gates. She was supposed to practice ‘compassion, even for those who turn their eyes from God’ or some such thing, so she supposed she could spare that much… but not an ounce more.

[Vladimir]

"Sure of myself...?" Vladimir pondered it for a second. "I've never considered it 'certainty'. I merely go for 'efficiency' and 'effectiveness'. I suppose I could explain the full reasoning why I was walking around as I was but it would likely bore you.” There was also the point that revealing potential cards to someone who could eventually be an enemy was unwise, but there was no need to announce that – she likely realized it already, if she had deserved her post in the least. Additionally, simply flaunting your power had been extremely wasteful. "...Suffice to say, I was prepared for an encounter - still am, but exercising that sort of lethal force on you is a bit detrimental to the relationship between the Church and the Association... Or the lack thereof." He paused for a brief second. "I do not mind you not giving me your name, Executor. I've no need for it, or formalities, but thought you may like to observe them."

“I’ll call it.” She didn’t even move from her relaxed position on the chair, with her feet still on the desk “Your bluff, I mean.” It looked like she was trying to hide her grin... But not trying all that hard. “Prove your words, Magus… without damaging the building, or attempting to harm anyone else residing here.”

Magus, huh? Not even ‘Enforcer’. What a spiteful little girl… Regardless, to respond in kind was petty. "It is not a bluff... However that is irrelevant. What are you asking me to do? If i were to treat you as a target, then there would be issues - use of resources before a ritual that requires me being in peak condition, health hazards in best case scenario, a corpse in the worst. Not something you or I wish to explain to superiors, nor something to start work in this city with. If you have a more concrete request, ask away, but all I am hearing now is you asking me to attack you as I would a target. I could... Explain how I would approach the situation had you been one? Or do you have other ideas?" He was likely being too diplomatical. Too much of that, and it would be interpreted as a weakness, which would lead to underestimation by the other party – not that he minded that – and insults. Pointless.

She rolled her eyes at that. “This is why I hate dealing with Magi. You said you still are prepared for an encounter, what would happen if you were pinned in a similar way? Perhaps a Servant… or a Caster’s familiars, possession, I care not the reason; just that you can back up your words and that you aren’t a bearded bag of hot air. Or did you need your Formal Wear for that, and so it was all a bluff?” In an apparent attempt to agitate him, she put the tied up ball into a pocket in her jacket. This... looks more like schoolyard bully tactics than an interrogation. “Show me some form of competence that you have faith in, Enforcer, instead of succumbing to something I was capable of before I hit puberty.”

Talking of puberty like that when your reasoning is that of a child that isn’t even near it? How mundane. "Taunting me is a waste of breath, as pride is a meaningless thing to me. This sort of thing happens a great deal during interrogation sessions or when my son chooses to try and talk back to me." Vladimir shook his head, allowing a brief display of disappointment: "You will not get anything from me just by slinging insults... You merely lower yourself and make me think that you are nothing more than a child. But if you wish for me to do something... Very well. I suppose something efficient will do." Extend, Cyanea A silvery tendril burst out of Vladimir's pocket, quick as a flash, and darted towards the Black Key imbedded in the ground, grasping itself around the handle and yanking it free. "Mmm..." Vladimir looked around for an armchair, but found none. "Is this sufficient proof?" He made no motion to unfold his hands.

"Here is your Key, by the way" He offered it back, handle forward. "May I have my Mystic Code now?"

“They certainly got you moving though, didn't they, Magus?” Neve smiled, laughing just once, almost just an exhale, before plucking Vladimir's Formal Wear out of her pocket. With a flick of her wrist she both untied the ribbon around it and tossed it through the air at the Enforcer while at the same time gingerly grabbing her Black Key. Her fingers gently wrapping around it like something distasteful had stained the hilt. She was only gripping it with the cloth that wrapped Cyanea beforehand. This makes no sense, she just touched Cyanea, but now she will not touch an object touched by it.

She smiled, sardonically, after putting her Key away, and took a proper at attention form, removing her belted boots from the desk she now laid claim to. “So, since you so doggedly came to my office, and I know now you aren’t a helpless duckling in the River of this Five Hundred and Twenty-Seventh Reported Materialization of the Holy Grail… how can I help you, as a Servant of the Church~?”

Contextually speaking, that was a much shorter greetings exchange than most at the Association, as far as introductions went, so in the end, it was just as well. He accepted the Mystic Code, deactivating both and pocketing the spheres, nodding in thanks, refusing to notice her distaste. "My business is simple. I've no interest in the Grail, Executor; I am only here to do my job. That is, ensure the survival of the Masquerade and that no disaster comes to this Land. This War will make all sorts of magi emerge, some less... Comprehensible than others, some more desperate than others, and some more mad than most. That is the sort of problems I am to deal with, and it is why I wish to summon a Servant to assist me in this matter. What you could help me with, is entrusting this Jail to me as a base of operations."

[Neve Morgan]

Hahaha… was this Magus kidding? He wanted to take over the jail and use it as his base? What an idiot. He may at least not be completely worthless in his skill, having more than one of his Formal Wear was quite a good idea of his really. He just wanted a tower with armed guards, to protect him, didn’t he?

“They say those who sit behind walls cannot win the war, Magus. You’ll have to sally out the gates to stand a chance of being recognized.” He really was a piece of work, and he had touched her Black Key with that disgusting tendril spiderball Formal Wear that he used. She’d have loved to deny him the opportunity to use the Jail, but realistically she couldn’t just watch over it all the time to keep Magi from crawling behind its gates like rats.

Though when one of those rats made themselves known, that was when she could deal with them. If he turned out to be like that well… she would have the pleasure of dashing this fool’s arrogance. If he didn’t, well perhaps he could kill another Magus or two on his way to hell. “Pffah. This place is not mine to give, people live here, Magus. If you want to work your vile craft here amongst similar souls I will not be one to stop you until you inevitably do something foolish. That said, there will be a request of you if you take it, since you contributed to the delay of my work. You’ll need to scrub out the last of that smell.”

She had places to be. Managing one Magus was a waste of time, considering their limited resources and the degree with which Magi were coming to this place. They had blown the lid of secrecy off this war, and now wanted to doom another city even worse with the sheer amount of powerful people pouring in here.

“The official story is a prison riot, with a few casualties. I’d imagine there’ll be inspections and all that. Don’t go overboard with your ridiculous mental alterations either. That could cause a mess that would be even more difficult to deal with.” He should know how to handle it, passably, as an Enforcer, even if they were diametrically opposed, they still did a similar job. “Good enough of terms for you to hide behind these walls and guns, Magus? If so we’ll leave immediately and let you pick up the mops~”

Of course he was a coward. She thought they were supposed to hate technology, but now he was asking her to take refuge behind it? How easy for them to betray their principles. How pathetic, really. They all were, desperate men and women starved for power.

Perhaps, at the very least, she could use him as bait for the pairs who had caused the deaths in the jail. A coward and hypocrite as bait for a bigger coward and hypocrite. Carefully monitored bait too, she would have to crack down on him if he made the situation worse in the jail. Not that he needed to know that.

[Vladimir]

“How fortunate, then, that I did not come to this city to play at war with those who call themselves ‘magi’. But then again, you already knew that… perhaps I am getting old and repeating myself for no reason.”

Vladimir’s opinion of this particular Executor sunk even further: Not that he expected understanding from a Church official, or for them to not discriminate and look down upon him, but the degree to which this little girl was doing it had reminded him of the Clock Tower’s own officials so much it almost made him smile. How would she have reacted if he’d told her that she had been acting exactly like those she hated? If he pointed out the full measure of hypocrisy of her position, words, and actions? It would likely have fallen on deaf ears, or insulted her to the point of provoking violence. Pointless in the first scenario, and against his goal in the second. So, he allowed the smallest hint of a smile to appear on his face, instead. She was simply a child playing on a bigger stage than she realized, throwing insults because she was certain of her authority or power, and of those that stood behind her.

“This place is indeed not yours to give. However, as a member of the Church who possesses a heavy presence in the city, you have a say in whether a magus – regardless of rank – chooses to stay, especially if that position is a strategic one. As far as requests go, you may ask.”

Her request had not been unreasonable, if that was truly the extent of it. He would have done so regardless of her asking him to do so or not, for the simple reason that it had been too inconvenient not to do so. This continuous underestimating she seemed to have begun seemed to occupy much of her thoughts, as she began blabbing about rather pointless, mundane things, continuously throwing the term ‘magus’ at him. Calling things their own names was very well, but the stubbornness behind using only that term, instead of his name, when she had known it, or his rank, which was also no secret, had simply been a sign of rather petty childishness. Hopefully, she would outgrow it before she had gotten married, or else her would-be husband would be in for some rough times… But that was none of his concern. He was not here to act as a babysitter to the agents of the Church – merely to his own kind in all its variants.

“I would have finished your job regardless of your request, Executor. After all, it is my job as well, in this instance.” He cast a critical glance at the Jail Warden’s body and the man sprawled out outside the office, briefly, shaking his head. How unprofessional and coarse. This girl at the very least had some promise, but she would a great deal of education before she would be a better agent. Vladimir continued listening to the Executor for a while, before returning to his own thoughts, considering his options: he had a good grasp of what she wanted him to do, and listening to her weaving insults into her speech was simply meaningless data that he would have to later scrap anyway. As she got to her conclusion, he had once more collected himself, understanding how to act from here.

It had certainly been good that he was not forced to reveal Burezov: explaining a corpse, as he said earlier, would have been a bit difficult. Her underestimating him was excellent, and would have to be taken advantage of should she have decided to go against him, or to test him in some manner. More than likely, however, since she was allowing him to stay here, and based on her erroneous assumptions, she thought to use him in some manner – perhaps in the same way he intended to use himself from the start. There was little to no reason for her to be so accommodating otherwise...After all she did not know that he had not wanted nor cared about the guns or the walls of this place – he rather enjoyed the advantage of having an open killing ground presented, along with the invitation for enemy magi who did not possess enough power to use the prisoners as fuel for their rituals. The jail, no, any fortification with a large amount of mundane, even if it had been a mere high school, was an excellent base for a magus. All he had to do was lure them in, and execute them.

“A riot? Very well, it matters little to me. How many casualties, and currently modified, as well as those who know the truth? Have you determined anything at all about the incident?”

It was highly unlikely that she would tell him anything at all, merely sneer at him, say something high-handed like ‘figure it out yourself, Magus~’ and leave in a huff. But appearing to be diplomatic was good, so long as it did not slip too much, into weakness. Her refusing any answers was not exactly a violation so much as it had been bad manners, but expecting anything else from a spoiled little girl would have been far too optimistic, and Vladimir had been nothing but a realist. The answers to his questions could be determined from a few passes of the Jail, and inspections of its state, walls, and inhabitants. Her answers would save time, but she had already saved him quite a bit. Memory modification would have to have been greatly limited in the first place, as too much would result in chaos. He’d known more than a few magi who went overboard with it and it resulted in Enforcer having to be sent out. No. Sometimes the answer was simpler and more… permanent.

“Go right ahead, Executor.” Nodded Vladimir “Though… I would have to say, you really must learn one thing: Assumptions are very dangerous things. That is all.”

[Neve Morgan]

Oh, he wanted paperwork. Well she did have that, though her unofficial report would have to do, there was no way she was going to fill out the official thing all over again. “I’m not reaching for a Black Key.” She muttered as she reached inside her blouse, to the inner pocket that she added herself, and pulled out a small notebook, tore out thirteen pages, and placed them on the desk, pushing them towards the Magus.

“Not the official thing, but good enough for the likes of your type.” Providing aid to a Magus was against the rules (as well as her own personal scruples) so her theories on how the actual event happened, as well as who could have caused it were removed. All evidence was most likely scrubbed anyways, so he would only have the end result as it was written to gain any form of advantage. “This is given, Magus, not as any sign of favour or aid, but merely to keep the War under control.”

If he even remotely considered himself favoured… the idea was laughable. Her disdain for him had been evident enough, and so was his for her.

Then she rose up from the chair, straightening her clothes and buttoning her blouse back to the collar, making her way towards the door, and when she was finally face to face with the tall Magus… he was an entire foot taller than her at least. It would be imposing, were she not supremely confident in her ability to crush him ten different ways barehanded.

“Don’t think I haven’t learned the danger of assumptions, Magus~” She said coldly, pulling back her sleeve to expose the shroud covering her arm to him. Her hand… it was saved from the worst of the scarring, but she was going to show him the worst. Unwinding part of it, she exposed the damage that had just been done to her left arm, one of the most spared places on her body.

The scars followed her veins almost like a Lichtenberg figure, though black as death, and larger scars wound around her arm like a butcher had taken a knife to her flesh after. The telltale remnants of the curse inflicted on her body. Some other scars were from attempted spiritual surgery, and they were white and pallid streaks amongst the black and red that traveled along her veins. Every time her shroud was off she could feel them pulse, poisoning her body slowly and painfully.

“Do not think I underestimate you, or assume you are weaker than me.” She said as she rewrapped the shroud around her arm with a hiss of relief, and then rolled the sleeve back down. “You are just nothing compared to what I have faced before, Magus. I can feel it.”

There may have not been a single circuit in her soul, but that wasn’t necessary to be able to feel another’s presence and killing intent. “Perhaps a Burial Agent would humour you more, if you want to take up your thought of station with them.” With those words she walked past him, waving backhanded, not even turning to look. She didn’t need to.

“If you are alive tomorrow, I will return here to make sure you aren’t a complete failure at cleaning up messes like most of the Enforcers are, Magus. Should I encounter any inconvenience, like being shot at, I will take it as an assault on the Church from you personally. You should know what that entails. Enjoy yourself, Magus~”

That was all she needed to say. Nodding at one of her aides on her way out, she gave the signal for them to leave. The Magus could have this place.

[Vladimir]

He took the manuscript, folding it in half and placing it in his inner chest pocket. By a brief glance, it looked like he was not going to spend a much time figuring this out – possessing clear writing style was clearly one of the prerequisites of being an Executor. Her warning – if that was a warning, regarding the Key – fell on deaf ears. If she chose to attack him at this point, negotiations would have failed regardless. More insults followed, but some made him raise an eyebrow: the Executor sounded exactly like one of those things that one of the younger Enforcers kept going on about – some Japanese stereotype… No, that would be insulting even to someone like her. Favour? Did she really think that was what he was after? From the Church? It was such a great joke he could have laughed… Almost.

”I expect no preferential treatment. I only wish to do my job, and you to carry out yours. That is all.”

She had finally got up, and now stood in front of him, rolling up her sleeve as she went. Wrapped around her arm was the same cloth that she had trapped Cyanea with. The picture beneath had been far from pretty: zigzagging, crisscrossing scars, akin to lightning, but blackened. Curse scars. Among the mess, there were telltale signs that someone had attempted Spiritual Surgery on the girl, white spots where it had been partially healed, presumable. He would have to get a better inspection if she wanted him to run a diagnosis on it, but he doubted she knew that was his specialty, as she could barely recall his name. The result of the job made it looks like an amateur simply took a knife to it and hoped for the best… But she likely knew that already, so informing her was pointless. He listened to her explanation – if it could be called that – and replied in turn:

”I fail to see what you showing me scars is going to prove, other than your pride and endurance. You’ve suffered physical pain. I am not certain what you want me to do, congratulate you? Pity you? Trusting intuition… Well, I suppose that’s where we differ. I prefer logic and cold facts. I’ve no interest in your supervisors, either.”

He merely shook his head, walking past her. What a pointless, hopeless individual. She’d had decent skills, at the very least, but massive attitude problems that would get her into trouble sooner or later – perhaps fatal ones. Pride and arrogance equal to that of any magus. Far too emotional. Too dependent on certain aspects. The willingness wit dish out threats and insults off-hand had been just like that of the higher-ranked nobility of the Magi. It drew a slight bit of mirth when he imagined telling her that she had been the very image of a Magi, and how she would react. And those scars… Well, it was no issue to him, but it was a shame to see wasted potential, even if it had been on a woman. If she had been properly taught, perhaps there was still hope, but that was of little interest to him. More insults followed, but weeding out the useless things, he at least learned she was going to run her own little inspection on the jail to ensure he did a proper job – an insult in and of itself, as she was not his supervisor, but he cared little…

”Do your job. Let me do mine. That’s all I will say, Executor.”

…After all, even pit vipers had their uses.

((Aaaand thats that I guess. Bickering argument end.))[/font]