Get Vet

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Location  • Grid:Kendall Planetarium

Date  • 2020-06-21

Summary  •

 

More often than not, the Consilium members of Portland tend to hang out with their own Orders. Those are the people they learn from, teach, and tend to share a view of the Lie with. However, here in Kendall Planetarium--and the connected Merlin Hall where the decisions are being made--things are not decided by the heads of the Diamond Orders with some voted-in Free Council rep among them. That would be like what caused the massive “oversight” at Seaside. No, no. Here, today, all is sorted by Path. If a Mage were to go to their first-line supervisor from their Order right now? They’d probably deserve the withering glares they got. That stated, it isn’t as if people are ‘’hiding’’ their Order right now. Not by any means. In fact, many of the Silver Ladder members are formally clad for the occasion. The Guardians are proving the suits and mirror shades stereotype to be, well, true about half the time. The Arrows--almost without exception--openly carry some sort of small, ceremonial weapon such as a dagger or pistol; the few exceptions make up for a lack of armament with kung fu swagger.

Pagan is standing over with the Moros crowd. Well, towering over it. He is wearing an all-black suit that seems to defy how black black can get with its pinstripe. His tie is one shade darker than the pinstripe. The silver paisley pattern on top if it seems almost three-dimensional in contrast. He’s trying to be polite; making conversation with one of his neighbors even though his peers on his Path can be very… well. “Once I get the-“

”What’s the point,” Aaron Blackheart cuts him off then sighs as he shifts his weight to his other hip. He pulls out his compact and carefully touches up his lipstick stripes with an eyeliner brush as he speaks; seeming quite able to do both at the same time. “Making invincible Sancta walls? For what? Banishers to take over?” Pagan just wrinkles his nose at the other man. Not for a dislike of their very different fashions; Aaron having many chains pierced and draping from various parts of his body incorporated into his black clothing. Pagan looks fucking unplugged. Surrounded by goths, the morose, and people as focused on their passions as he is on his, he settles into a good waiting position; arms crossed as he leans against the wall in a way that says, ‘I don’t want to be here.’

For his part, Cavalier continues to be, well, cavalier. Showing up to Consilium in a Hawaiian-patterned formal robe, a lei around his neck, a tactical assault vest jam-packed with tacticool kit, and an airsoft replica of an M4 assault rifle hanging over his chest in a SEAL-approved three-point sling? Boogaloo Boyz meet the Consilium, natch. But technically they're formal robes, and judging from the way he's discreetly passing out Snickers bars to other people, those magpouches aren't stuffed with bullets...


9-to-5 is in the Acanthus section, and from the fact he's sitting there, with red eyes and a large 'keep your coffee warm' sort of thermal mug. Except this one has a button on it. Nine has looked better. He blinks slowly at one fellow Acanthus that seems to be nattering away at a hundred miles an hour towards himself and a few others, giving him cover to look interested. They're excited about something. There's visible consternation on Nine's features as he brings his brain together. He bobs his head in an attempt to follow.

He then pushes the button which starts his cup's little internal spinner. You know, those funny mugs you get your friend that self-stir, well. Someone at one point got Nine one, and waste not, want not. Whir. Whir. He then lifts the mug up and takes a long drink of it, rejuvinating himself with the sweet embrace of something that tastes really bad unless you put as much sugar into it as Nine does.


Heavy. Sigh. Gin Joint has opted not to converse with her fellow Mastigos. In fact, she's decided not to interact with pretty much any of the people at this little gathering, finding instead a place somewhere out of the way where she can sit on her own in order to leave her affiliation to the imagination of many. She's dressed in elegant attire, really -- where most of the Veil are rockin' the suit and shades, she's in what would appear to be an evening gown of sorts that'd be more at home in an old noir flick than in modernity. It's black. She loves black. There are those that meander by and try to converse, but that only gets them a momentary glance from icy, spiteful eyes before they flick back to the phone in her hands. Apparently she was doing something. Maybe this is interrupting. She obviously has something on her mind, and it has nowt to do with the majority. She takes just a moment to observe Cavalier handing out goodies like some reverse form of trick or treating, one of her brows slowly climbing in silent question that will surely never find its voice.

Detective Grace is there, in the section with the other Acanthus. And if anyone looked like they felt more out of place, it was her.

Being that this was her first real meetup like this, she opted to dress a bit more formally. And now that she’s been here for a bit? She feels like she could have just done the norm, and she feels awkward. This is demonstrated by the fact that she’s kind of hiding behind most of them, hands held together as she clasps a purse. It’s hard to see what she’s wearing exactly from where she’s positioned herself, but smatters of black and powdery blue can be seen here and there through the people.

Her dark brown hair is slightly wavy and down this evening, hiding her blue eyes here and there as she occasionally moves her hand up to swipe it out of her face. She excuses herself a handful of times as she spies 9-to-5… in her section. She moves in just a little closer, like the proximity makes her feel a bit more comfortable. Politely, she looks over at the nearest person, and tries to insert herself politely into the conversation. It starts with eye contact and nods, but slowly she warms to them.

"Attention," says someone below the din of the crowd. “Atten-“ He’s interrupted as someone tries to had him a Snickers bar. He looks at the thing like it’s an alien’s five-sided clitoris and scowls as he sees a wrapper on the carpet. He crushes the world’s best-selling candy bar; crammed with peanuts, caramel, and nougat then coated with milk chocolate; now all squeezing out between thick, stubby fingers. “’’Silence,’’ you ‘’cunts!’’” It’s Atticus “Hedge” Keyes; Keeper of Merlin Hall. When he projects, this time, it is heard by all; leaving ears ringing lightly but unharmed.

He clears his throat lightly, “Attention.” He says it fairly calmly. This time everyone hears it. “The next group I’ll be bringing in consists of current Sentinels and would-be Sentinels. If you are of either of those groups, please come standby along this wall here.” He gestures along the hallway that leads to the portal into Merlin Hall. “I’ll be back for you shortly.” He limps and waddles (not both at the same time; alternating depending whether he’s on his bad hip or his bad knee) and heads down towards the bathrooms; disappearing.


Nine lifts his mug in silent salute towards Grace in some sort of celberatory salute to the woefully damned. At least, he looks that way. He drinks a bit more of his coffee, and he wakes up a bit more. Sniff. Sip. Sniff. Sip. He exhales as the Acanthus talking to him and some others flits back to him, and he does his best to follow with it. He turns his head for the shout, and apparently he makes a decision.

Probably based on the fact that after the shouting died down the Acanthus started talking again and he just gets up and walks to the wall, standing there and hunching up a bit as he lifts his coffee and takes a drink.


Perhaps to people's surprise -- definitely to the Ladder's surprise -- Boogaloostigos rises from his seat, unzips his assault vest, takes off his Hawaiian-print robes, to reveal more proper -- but still scandalously scarlet -- robes beneath. Another Ladder looks over at him: "What are you doing? Let the Arrow enforce the Lex. Let us worry about what it means. This is the way."

"The Archivist taught the meaning of law was found in its enforcement," Cavalier answers him mildly. "They who would know the Lex, must enforce it."

"Balderdash. Poppycock. All those other phrases."

"Yeah, well. The Archivist would think you're full of shit, too, if he could be bothered to know your name," Cavalier says with a shrug, before heading over towards the wall.


For her part, Gin's ignoring the general back and forth of those gathered. They're not saying anything of particular importance to her, with their bickering and banter simply adding to the din of this congregation. When others are asked to step forward if they are would-be Sentinels, however, she pushes herself to her feet and makes her silent approach.

Pagan rolls his eyes after the silencing and the announcement, but he uncrosses his arms, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and shoulders off of the wall; walking towards the indicated place in which he is supposed to stand and wait. "Sometimes I wonder why we don't just all go into the Hall and just sit in the auditorium and all that shit instead of just-" He's starting to make conversation with Cavalier, but when he sees Aaron Blackheart approaching, he's immediately triggered. He rolls his eyes back so hard his head rolls back and thuds lightly into the wall behind him. "Fuck my life."

Aaron Blackheart comes walking up to Cavalier and Pagan; twirling a little chain around one of his fingers. "Was it one of you that called in that tip on the zombies? Thanks for that. Was the easiest mission I ever did. One spell and-" He snaps his fingers on his other hand, but the sound is muffled by his padded, fingerless gloves. He looks at his hand a little disappointed for the briefest of moments, but then carries right on. "That's how quick and quiet it was." With a lift of his chin and a shuffling drag of a walk, he moves past Pagan to the front of the hall.

Lucille Grace catches the salute out of the corner of her eye and offers a polite smile in return, right before everyone’s beloved Hedge does a spectacular job of grabbing everyone’s attention. At which point, she regards the man that she’s currently conversing with a small bow of her head, to excuse herself to go stand at the wall with the rest of the Sentinels.

She’s wearing heels, just the right height to keep her dress from dragging on the ground. It is a strappy black dress on the top, and a powdery blue ombre full skirt, all the way down to the floor. The detective continues the walk until she settles against the wall near Nine. Small black purse clutched in both of her hands with white knuckles, she looks relieved to be out of the crowd. Spying Cavalier, she gives him a polite, brick red matte lip-stained smile, and then scans the rest of the crowd, knowing that there were at least a couple of other people that should be joining them soon.

”Hey, you doing alright? I can smell the sugar in your coffee.” She grins at Nine, glancing at the whirring cup and then back up at him with a slightly furrowed brow. It’s clear from the mirth in her eyes that she’s just teasing the man. “So, have you ever been to one of these before?” And then she catches the black dress out of the corner of her eye, and her head whirrs over to see Gin. It’s such a relieved and full smile that she’s given. One, because it’s Gin, and the detective knows her. And two, because, thank goodness she’s not the only one of her buddies all gussied up in here.


"I am not a day person. I am a night person. I am a 'I woke up twenty minutes ago' person. I am so tired I almost forgot to wear socks."

Nine lifts his drink again and takes a sip from it, before he gestures towards Blackheart as he goes wandering to the front of the hall. "Fuckin' magnets, how do they work, right?" He salutes the man, before he takes a drink from his cup.


"Dude, you should've told me, I would've packed a Faygo for you," Cav murmurs lightly to Nine as he wanders by. Cav extends his fist for a discreet bump, and offers up a "whoop whoop" as if it were some secret society recognition phrase.

Gin Joint offers a soft smile toward Grace, a gloved hand lifted to provide the same wiggly-fingered wave she gave Bally the evening before. For what it's worth, she actually seems pleased to see the detective. Her hands clasp before her once that's complete, however, and aside from the ol' stinky version of side-eye that she gives Nine at his horrid ICP reference, she simply stands where she's at. Patient. Quiet.

Lucille turns her head to see Pagan approach, and she almost doesn’t even realize him. Sure, right height, et cetera. But damn, that man does clean up. Even Lucille can’t help but appreciate as her blue eyes run up and down him with a quickness. Suddenly self conscious, a smattering of pink would likely be touching her cheeks if she wasn’t already wearing blush. Instead, she mouths a ‘whoops’ and turns her head to the side, bringing up and hand and moving her long, dark hair out of her face to make it look like she was distracted. That paisley.

Lucille clears her throat, and is about to say something to the approaching men, but is suddenly silent as Aaron Blackheart approaches. She overhears what he has to say to Pagan, but it seems to vex her slightly. Her lips thin, that brow lowers again for a moment, and she waits for the mega-goth to walk off. And then she moves in closer to Cavalier and Pagan. “So that guy, I mean, really? I’m surprised he didn’t offer a brush up from under his chin with his hand at you, too.” She’s still hiding against the wall, but seeing as you can’t be inside of it no matter how close you get, it’s where she’s stuck. “So, you clean up alright,” Lucille nudges Pagan’s arm playfully with her elbow. “I like that paisley. It’s classy.” She offers him a smile and a nod of approval as she looks up at him. Slightly less up than she usually has to, since she’s in heels. She’s bought herself about five good inches of height. And offers a little, excited wave back to Gin.


"Right?" Nine offers the bump back, before he almost sloshes his coffee all over his boots. Then he's turning towards Gin. He whirs his coffee at her. He even raises the coffee and lets it whir for a few moments, before he lifts it up and sips it. "Listen," He offers to Grace as some sort of wisdom, "Coffee before sugar was made of awful. Then, someone made it sweet. And it was good."

Then he brings his cup up and takes a long gulp from it, finishing most of his cup before he settles against the wall, sighing as he lets the sugar rush rather than the caffeine return him momentarily to life. Then probably to a crash again. You know how it is.


Pagan's looking at Grace like she's eaten some funny brownies and has chocolate on her teeth. "'Clean up?'" His left eyebrow can barely lift even at the edges as he's regarding her. "All I did was wear my black suit instead of one of my blue or gray suits." He looks down at his lapel and touches it, then relents; bobbing a nod. "Okay; it is my blacker-than-black with my fifth favorite tie. I'll accept your compliment graciously." His upper lip curls as if he said something he dislikes. "No pun intended." He shakes his head at her and adds with a hand reaching out as if he's going to touch her forearm; voice soft and affected by tragedy. "Not like this."

Hedge comes back into the hallway and calls out, "Sentinels and wanna-bes!" He drops his chin in a way that makes his jowls pucker and waves his arm towards the portal to Merlin Hall. "In we go, now. Let's go. Quickly!"

On the other side, Merlin Hall is empty except for its stage. There, gathered around a round table, are seven chairs. One belonging to Hedge and five belonging to the Councilors. Hedge leans the group--including Aaron and a handful of others that have been silent so far--all the way through the house to the stage; leading across the front of it and motioning for them to wait.


Nine shuffles his way into the hall with all the grace and suave of an angry badger. That is, there is none and he's just making his way in. When finally motioned to wait, he stops and lifts up his coffee to finish it off, pausing for a moment to pop the lid on it, and then stick it in his coat pocket where it bulges obnoxiously.


Grace gives Pagan a knowing look after he finally accepts her compliment, as if to say ‘I told you so’ in a manner that somehow isn’t snotty. It’s more like an, ‘as it is,’ with a winning smile attached. She’s taking that small victory.

She follows the small group into the hall, and unsure of what they are waiting for, she tries to use her height to her advantage and get a little further up in the front of the group. She frowns as she looks down at her high heels; but she’s not going to take them off just to get like a foot closer to the front than she is now. Plus, she’ll ruin that dress. And PPB doesn’t pay *that* well.

The woman at the right side of the table stands up as two others at the table continue to talk as if no one else is present. She walks over to the edge of the stage and begins to look at the people there. The current Sentinels get brief nods. The faces she doesn't know are stared at longer and more unreadably. She looks a little tired, a little fed-up, and a whole lotta not relaxed. This is Councilor Neith; one of the most powerful Obrimos in the world, it's said. One wouldn't know it for the state of the Consilium she represents. "This all the Arrows that showed up?" The look on her face could easily be taken for disgust, but it's more bitter than that. The Arrows have taken some hard losses this year. She looks at Hedge for a confirming nod and then hops down from the stage to address everyone on the same level. "This is an interesting time for us to be empowering the Sentinels given the current mentality of the populace towards the police locally, nationally, and abroad. However, given the danger of the times-" She glances back at another woman from the table--Tiamat--as if there were words over this, and looks back towards those gathered; gaze shifting from one to the next. No one is excluded. "I'm going to be taking direct control of the Sentinels as Interim Head Sentinel. As such, I am responsible for vetting. You new people? Step forward. Introduce yourself. Don't be shy; I wanna see your eyes."

Cavalier steps forward precisely one step, as directed: head up, eyes front. One might think it was a military-like position were it not for the cocksure insouciance the Mastigos wears like a cloak. "Cavalier, of the Path of Scourging, belonging to the Silver Ladder. Pupil of the Archivist, of the Path of Scourging, belonging to the Visus Draconis."


Nine looks up from his slouch, staring blearily for a moment. He blinks, then takes a step forwards and stops -- in comparison to Cavalier he's.. He's.. Well he's seen better days. Instead, he straightens up -- giving him another inch or two before he's 6", so that's not going to happen, and answers.

"Nine-to-Five, Acanthus, Guardian."


At the call to step forward, Gin Joint does precisely that. She's been lingering near the rear of those that followed, partially because she likely wanted to avoid the conversation that might have come with being in close proximity to others, and also because she, like Grace, is wearing high heels that rather slow the process down. She could easily be intimidated by being confronted by one of the most powerful Obrimos in the world, but she seems chill enough. She waits for the introduction of Avi to conclude, then for Nine to introduce himself, and then finally her turn has come. "Gin Joint, Mastigos, Guardian." It's in the same format as Nine's. It's efficient, and it works.

Grace doesn’t say anything or step forward, as she is already a Sentinel. But her hands wring together as she holds onto her purse and watches her colleagues up there being vetted. She looks confident as she smiles at them, blue eyes asparkle.

"Aaron Blackheart; Necromancer of the Free Council," says the dramatic, chain-clad man with a strange bow unlike that in which they perform in any nation on Earth; something he made up himself or saw in a drama somewhere. "Here to help," He looks down his nose at 9-to-5 and then over to Pagan and snottily and lowly asides, "Seems it's needed."

Councilor Neith toss out her left hand quicker than the end of a whip and flicks Aaron Blackheart's chain-pieced dick; sending him to the ground in a tickle of bells. "Don't you see we've all lost people here, you little ass-rat?" She stomps her foot down in front of his face and throws her arms out as she drops her chin like, 'What?!' "You wanna help, help, but lose the attitude." She adjusts her coat, shakes it off, and looks back at the others like nothing has happened. "You all are absolute garbage at introducing yourselves. However, that's not a skill required for this job. What I require for this job is as follows: Don't die. Do your job. Don't be a fucking dick about it." She doesn't turn. She pivots on her feet and whips around fast enough to make Pagan flinch as loooks at him; his right hand down over his dick just in case. "Because if I find out anyone's taking advantage of this post in a time like this?" She shakes her head. "I'll feed them their feet. Their fucking feet." She looks around. "I hope you all understand that. Now; I'm going to be vetting you all. You'll hear from one of the Sentinels soon to know my decision. Either way." She extends a hand down to Aaron, who is still craddled. He hesitates. "Know that I appreciate you volunteering." She grabs the hesitant hand and hauls the painted man to his feet. "We'll be in touch."