[Sandra] :: LOG :: Time and Space

[gmlogbox]

Characters: Sandra, Slug
Location: Old Condemned Library - Ground Floor
Time: 8/18/2017 - Early Afternoon - Waning Crescent

Summary: Following up on yet another lead from yet another lengthy conversation about the Ooze. More pieces are coming together, but how actionable they are has yet to be seen.

Silence hangs thick around the library- which isn't really surprising for a library. Still, it certainly seems more lifeless than most, although there are points near the door and stairs that are smudged with ash and littered with cigarette butts. The doors, the windows, anywhere someone could slip in has been boarded up or barred by debris. To those in the know, the walls, criss-crossed with graffiti of varying quality and color mark, the place as contested territory between a few rival gangs.

A knock sounds from the doors leading into the library, and particularly sensitive noses will note the fragrant scent of fresh coffee lingering the air. Might even be enough to cut through the general scents of the city itself.
Should there be no answer, at first, there's another knock, raising the volume just a touch, but not so much that it's impolite. And, of course, a third, properly spaced out so as not to seem overtly impatient. Rather, the impression is that of someone arriving with an agenda.
Someone that stands out on this side of town. The doors will open to a Shadow Lord Philodox that didn't *quite* have the foresight to dress down before arriving, though she's made some cursory attempts. The dress shirt is unbuttoned to a simple white undershirt, the sleeves rolled up. Leaves her in the dress shoes and nice slacks, a suit jacket or coat of some kind draped over her arm. In one hand, there's a a large-ish paper bag; in the other, a collapsable cardboard takeout container of at least a couple pots' worth of coffee from, presumably, the same shop the paper bag came from.

There's no answer, at least, not immediately. It takes a minute, maybe two, and then Slug comes to the door in a pair of close-fit sweatpants and a grey tank top. He opens the door a sliver, one hand on the door, the other out of sight. He peers through the crack at her, showing the good side of his face. "Yeah?" He asks, giving her a short once-over. The space around and behind her gets a quick look, but the lion's share of his attention rests squarely on her.

The brief examination is taken in stride, and, for the moment, not returned, Sandra's gaze flickering towards his face in acknowledgement, though no eye contact is made. "You'll forgive me for barging in," she says, tone as polite and straightforward as ever, "but I was hoping you might have some time to talk."

Slug considers something, then he leans forward to look past her at the street. "Sure," he says. He steps back from the door, releasing the handle. Despite the age of the door and it's apparent state of decay, it swings silently open. Even standing in the dark, it isn't hard to make out the shape of a cut down shotgun hanging from the hand he'd kept out of sight. He jerks his head inward, over his shoulder, at what seems to be some kind of kitchen nook. The lantern on the table is the sole source of artificial illumination in the library's cavernous interior. Metal parts, cans, and lengths of metal litter the table in a state of organized confusion.

Sandra inclines her head in a silent thanks, a glance favored towards the shotgun once she steps inside. If she has a reaction to it, it's kept largely to herself, the coffee and the bag set down on a portion of the table that actually has room for it. Barring that: she'll go for whatever counter space she can find. Under her arm, she withdraws something else; a hardback copy of a book titled Godel Escher Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. A library book, actually.
"It's been in my collection for ages," she says, offering the book over to Slug. "I just kept forgetting to return it. Just as well it ends up in *a* library-- even if it's not the one I borrowed it from."

There's a place toward one corner of the table that is mercifully free of chemicals or clutter. He gives the bag a sniff, then turns on the book, studying it. He looks down at his fingers, stained black and grey with something or another, he gestures for patience and moves to the sink. Shotgun on the counter, he washes his hands, dries them, then fetches a plastic storage bag. With one last swipe of his fingers across his shirt to make sure they're dry, he takes the book with a bow of his head and sticks it into the bag, zipping it shut. "To keep it clean," he says, putting it by itself on the counter. "Thank you. I promise that it will be well-cared for."

Smells like donuts. And paninis.
Not in any particular hurry, Sandra nods to the gesture, and upon seeing the method of storage, purses her lips somewhat as if to avoid a smile. One arrives anyway, paired with another, more acknowledging incline of her head, regardless.
"You're welcome to help yourself to whatever you like," she says, gesturing loosely to the bag. "I was halfway here when I realized I hadn't had lunch, and figured it'd be rude not to bring enough for--" a glance around. "Well. Everyone." She shrugs slightly, eyes still tracing the interior of the library. "There's cups in the bag," she notes. "For the coffee." Then comes a pause. After which: "That said, I'll spare you the pleasantries and move on to why I'm here. I've been speaking with members of your pack regarding their experiences with the Wheel Eater. Regardless of whether or not a formal gathering is called to discuss the matter in detail, I've been trying to piece together what information we *do* have as a resource for the sept. Something concrete that can be used as a reference. I was hoping you might fill me in on your own dealings with it."

"People come and go. Some are sleeping. Some are out. The food will be appreciated, either way," he says. "Thank you." He bows his head again, then reaches for some coffee. He takes a long pull from one, then sits down at the table, holding the cup in his lap. "Ah yes, The Nothing, or whatever we are calling it this week. The half that has awoken is wrapped around the nuclear plant at Hanford, but I'm sure you already know that. What else do you want to know?"

"Plenty," Sandra replies, retrieving some coffee for herself, in the meantime. "Emma mentioned you'd been the one to speak to-- Chuush, I believe it was? And during our talk with the Ancient, you'd said you'd spoken to what Brings-the-Pack refers to as the Black Mage. Not only that, but you said something curious about it. 'It's awake because it isn't whole'-- that there's pieces of it that have been scattered around." A beat. "It's a different account from what I'd heard before," she says, checking one of the other chairs for debris before taking a seat, herself. "Not only that, it introduced a theory on how this thing awoke. Something about Renegade's involvement."

"Chuush... hm. Does she mean the spirit of the Columbia?" Slug sips his coffee, wrinkling his nose at the mention of the Black Mage. "I really don't like that name, Black Mage. Has a negative sound to it. I don't think he's-" Slug grunts. "I don't think he is good or bad. I think he's somewhere at the edge of time and consciousness. He doesn't see things like a human does, because a human is part of the world. For him, the world's a show and he's a spectator in a one man crowd." Slug sets his cup down and folds his hands on the table. "Renegade was involved in waking it up, by accident or on purpose. I don't know. If I had to guess I think he thought that whatever was sealed in the mountain Caern was a Bane- the Pure Ones have sealed some big ones. He was looking for an ally or a weapon, and accidentally unleashed a force of nature." Slug shrugs. "If I had to guess I would say he is still satisfied with the result."

There's a nod of confirmation at the initial question, but, aside from that, Sandra merely listens. If she agrees or not with the assessment on the mage, she doesn't let on.
To the rest: "Possibly," is said. "I was more curious if this has been confirmed. Brings-the-Pack seems to think that the mage, whatever you'd prefer to call him," where she doesn't appear to have much of a preference, "woke the Nothing via his study of atomic energy. And others-- Salem, actually, indicated it was Jeb tapping into the power of the Something that did it." Beat. "That isn't to offer a counterpoint, more a point of curiosity-- one that might matter, or, ultimately, might not. Either way: did Renegade claim responsibility? Or leave tracks? I'm unfamiliar with the story leading up to that."

"I could have been him," Slug admits, shrugging. "I have no idea if he was being truthful. I have no way to tell. I do not trust him, but really, I wouldn't trust anyone with that kind of power just like they wouldn't trust someone who could turn into a monster and rip their head off." Slug holds up his hands at his sides. "The Nothing might have been awake before Renegade and his wolves started poking the Caern, but they're the ones who carried the infection away from it. That's what I got from doing my legwork. Renegade has not taken 'credit', but you don't do that with something like this- and a Ragabash would never do it anyways. It is always better to leave your enemies wondering what you're capable of, always guessing."

"Fair enough," Sandra replies. "I hadn't heard much about them 'poking' at it, I'll admit. Either that, or it's been long enough since I'd heard it that it'd slipped my mind." A pause. "I suppose," she says, "that it's possible all three can be true at once, at which point-- ultimately, it really wouldn't matter." She considers for a moment. Then: "Or," she says, "maybe it does. There's been a lot of talk of the drive to end one's existence through all of this. The mage, who'd prefer to die having existed in the first place. The Wyrm, certainly, though I doubt it much cares if it leaves a footprint behind."
A pause settles in; whatever that tangent entails, she seems to be pondering it, until she gives a slight shake of her head. "I'm getting off-track," she says, as if it even needs to be stated. "What did you and the mage talk about?"

"Time and space," Slug says, propping his head up with a bent arm on the table. "He wants to meet with us, or someone. I don't know why. I think that if we get into his territory he might make it happen whether we want it or not, so keep that in mind. Also- he's a powerful Mage that slips in and out of consciousness. I would recommend against seeking him out on purpose, even from a distance, unless you have something interesting to say or you absolutely have to. I am pretty certain he could kill someone that had a mental link to him, if he wanted to." Slug scratches a bit of stubble, frowning. "He seemed to have some fondness for the people that settled in the area before the settlers came, before the military came. At a guess, he's a few hundred years old, but I don't think he even has a physical body anymore. For what it's worth, we contacted each other in a strange way. Val grabbed a sample of the Ooze- it eats through most things, but it goes through glass slower than most other material. I tried signalling it with light, showing it writing, that sort of thing. Didn't work. Then I tried repeating a phone number to it, and the Mage called me. Whatever he is, whatever he has done, he is linked to the Ooze."

Of all things, it's the comment on glass that gets Sandra's brows to arch-- though that isn't to say she isn't listening to the rest. She sips her coffee in the meantime, letting silence fall between them for a moment before she speaks again.
"He left us a note, recently," she says, "in the midst of a conversation Emma and I were having about the Nothing. It wasn't long after that that I started having dreams. Two of them, so far." A pause. "What made you think of a phone number?"

"Hm. That could be a bad sign. What was the note?" He asks, peering curiously at her. "Ah, well. The Ooze itself is kind of like an infection, or parasite. It takes over spirits and things, and hijacks them. Their consciousness influences what they do even after they've been taken over, but they aren't the same after. At the time I thought the Ooze itself might be a kind of hive-mind, and if that was true, anything I told to the little glob of goo would go up the chain to every other 'host', and if they wanted something, they would call me."

"And instead," Sandra says, "it ended up reaching him." She goes quiet again, expression turning more thoughtful. Though as time tics on, it appears to be more a case of attempting to concentrate. "You'll forgive me if I get some of this wrong," she says, "I'm going off of memory." Another pause; mouthing some words.
Then: "'The purest state of lack is lacking,'" she recites. "'Reality is the mistake of-- birthed? ideas. To undo the mistake, ideas must be undone. Even entropy must die to unravel dying. The greatest mercy is not the relief of pain, but pain never endured. In this way, It is the greatest physician.'"
Another moment of silence. A slightly frustrated look, as if she isn't quite getting the words right. "For all the time spent trying to commit it to memory when I didn't have it on me," she says under her breath. Then: "'What you see are the echoes of victims, imperfect remnants of unmaking. They are less than corpses and ghosts, and more implacable. They are distorted shadows burned into a wall. Evidence--'" A pause. "'Evidence,'" she begins again, "'of invisible ripples in the fabric of consensus, flowing always outward from mortal wounds. It has no mind, but it has a will. It has no thoughts, but it has memories.' And something else about-- drifting on the edges of an event horizon. Footprints where no foot exists. Echoes that hunt. With the cryptic closing line, 'know that reality bleeds black.'"

Slug considers this for a time, eyes wandering around the room. "Mm. Well. I think that it is a rule that the more powerful a wizard gets, the harder it is to understand them. But I guess that if I was a hundred-plus years old and bound up with some kind of weird... thing, I'd probably be going a little off the rails." Slug kisses his teeth. "He's seen enough that I would guess he isn't particularly thrilled with this world... but, none of that really tells me anything I don't already know or suspect. So," he begins. "The Nothing, the Ooze, it is kind of like... matter. The earth. What is. There's another half to it, a 'dream'. White and black, ying and yang, but not really good or evil. The dream is mostly still asleep, but it is kind of waking up. A piece, or pieces were removed from the whole. I think the only way to put it back to sleep is to bring the pieces back together, but, for the record, the Caern of the Last Days, where this thing was put to rest- don't go there. It is incredibly dangerous, more than Hanford. And just so you know, we did some divination about what would happen if the 'Dream' also woke up, and the magic eightball said it would suck for pretty much everybody."

"Which is-- lovely," Sandra says, leaning back in the chair, gaze caught briefly by a wandering rat, though it doesn't linger, her attention shifting back to Slug to say, "given the Ancient seemed to think that either shutting our caern down, or reawakening Last Days, were our best bet." A pause. "Salem mentioned something about the mage wanting us to conduct a ritual of some kind, as well, actually. Makes me wonder if he seems to think we're willing to pull a Hail Mary of either magnitude, but-- one way or another, it sounds like the 'Dream' is waking already. It's just a matter of time before it wakes entirely."

"Probably. And if that happens, then we're all pretty much dead. Although..." Slug trails off, tapping the tip of his chin. "The world has died before. The Wheel has turned many times. Of all the ways the world could end, unmaking reality and letting it reform probably beats the hell out of dying in a nuclear apocalypse, or whatever the Wyrm has in mind. I guess it is comforting to know that even if we totally screw this up, the worst that could happen is that someone picks up the cosmic Etch-a-Sketch and gives it a good shake."

Sandra gives a slight incline of her head. "On a grand scale, it's what the Wyrm "wants," on a base level, anyway," she says, without any indication that she'd consider it a net win for its forces. As such, "It's using the only means it's ever known to accomplish that goal, whereas the Nothing does it in a manner that's-- pure. Complete. Not unlike how the Wyrm operated before it went insane, though I've been warned not to think of the Nothing as having anything to do with the Triat."
She quiets again for a moment. Then, she says, "The outlier in all of this, though, is Magpie. And if the mage is responsible for projecting the dreams people are having, he seems to think so, too. Have you stumbled across any information relating to her specifically? Beyond the fact that magpies both spiritual and physical seem to have left the area entirely."

Slug grunts under his breath, drumming his fingers on his face. "I don't think it quite works like that. The Wyrm was like a janitor on a grand scale before, but now it is kind of like someone with OCD who's decided the house must be absolutely sterile, and hey, doesn't fire cleanse everything? The Nothing, both parts of it, are kind of like the building blocks of the world. They're going to create something new if they're both let out of the cage, destroying what's there to begin with is just something that'll happen because you can't build a house on a house." He reaches into the bag and fumbles around until he finds something to eat, a sandwich of some kind, and unwraps it. "Magpie was the Totem of the Sept, Last Days, where the stuff was contained. Remember what I said about how the Ooze doesn't wholly take over the things it taints? Well, the Totem spirit was infected by the stuff, and the Totem really does not like the Wyrm. That is why the Magpies seek and destroy Wyrm things when they get the chance. There is a Garou, a powerful one, squatting on the Umbral side of the Hanford reactors. He or she or whatever is infected, probably the Warder from the Sept, and is guarding the place. Infected Weaver spirits are doing soomething, building something at the reactor, or altering it. I don't know." He takes a bite of his meal, chewing thoughtfully. "The Sept of the Last Days used to be controlled by Pure Ones. Then it was taken over by Wyrmcomers, followed by Spirals, re-taken by Garou. After that, some Shadow Lords involved in re-taking it made a powerplay, which kinda-sorta pissed off some of the Garou that had fought and died for the place, so they left. Then..." Slug shrugs. "The Caern died. Nobody seems to know why. Maybe the Shadow Lords do, or maybe Thunder does, but I'm not the one to ask either."

Sandra appears to have something to say in response to the comments on the Wyrm, but keeps them mostly under wraps for the immediate moment. Instead, it's the rest she pays attention to. And, as it turns out: the breakfast paninis are quite good. If you're into that kind of thing.
Seems she's already had hers, as she's still quietly sipping her coffee. "I have some feelers out with my tribemates back home about the matter, but getting that kind of information is always tricky, for reasons I probably don't have to explain." A pause. "I was under the impression, also," she says, "or at least, I was told that the Nothing doesn't merely infect but 'eats.' That without Ghost's intervention, infection leads almost invariably to annihilation, be it a spirit or a physical body. Is that not the case?"

"You might try Thunder himself," Slug says. "Spirits tend to be more willing to deal than Garou, and I am guessing that the knowledge this thing broke out of Shadow Lord controlled Sept would be really embarassing for the five or so seconds before it ate the world or whatever. Of course, he might not know anything and might get kind of pissed you were wasting his time or something. I don't know. I can't really say I have ever spoken to him." The tone of Slug's voice hints at amusement. He nibbles at his sandwich, considering. "Well. Let me put it this way, as I understand it. Let's pretend my shotgun is a spirit, and it gets infected. Sometimes the spirits are consumed outright. Sometimes the spirit is turned into a kind of host. If the spirit or person or whatever becomes a host, it does what it always does, but in ways that benefit the Ooze. In the case of my shotgun, it would probably be used as a sentry or a shock troop for the Ooze, the way it uses Spirals. The Warder is guarding the nuclear site. The Magpies hunt and infect Spirals. I don't think it hunts Spirals because the Ooze has a grudge against them, but because Magpie remembers them, and what they did to Her Sept." Slug makes a tsking sound. "Also, for what it's worth, the stuff seems to respond to different kinda of energy. It likes radiation. No, I don't know why. A Mage would probably have a better idea."

It's clear from the look on Sandra's face that a 'host' has never been mentioned to her before, even if the look is little more than a furrow in her brow. Still, it clearly has her interest; and has her thinking.
"Radiation and atomic energy are as much a part of the cycle of destruction and creation as anything," she replies. "Probably moreso than anything else this planet lays claim to. It doesn't surprise me that it's an attractant. It's interesting, though, that what contains it easier-- or, at least, for a longer amount of time than most is the same material that nuclear waste can be turned into to render it inert."
She doesn't dwell on it beyond that, sipping her coffee for a moment. Then, "I do wonder," she says, "what would happen if a temporary pack were to unite under Magpie as a totem. I know spirits aren't 'hiveminded,' as you say, even if they share a common thread, but--" She shrugs. "Who knows. It may be a means of gaining insights we didn't have before, though I'll grant that it's a complete shot in the dark."

"I kind of wonder if glass itself could be used as a weapon or as a shield against the stuff, but I don't really think I want to test that theory." Slug says, leaning back in his seat. He thinks about that, then shrugs. "If it were my ass, I wouldn't do it. The Magpie at the Sept has been drawing in many physical magpies, probably spirits too. A Pack Totem would be less powerful than a Caern's Totem, and if it came to influence or infect the pack's Totem, the stuff might go right down the spiritual connection and into the Garou it is attached to. Oh- before I forget. Coyote is involved, somehow. Maybe. There's some local folklore that Coyote was in a feud with some kind of 'monster', and that he tricked it into eating him and buried it in the mountains. Something like that. Could be nothing. There is some other folklore too, but to be honest, I have forgotten it. You might want to look into it yourself, I didn't turn up anything."

Judging by the slight frown on Sandra's face, she's not particularly eager to attempt the route, herself, but the wheels are turning. Hearing the bit about Coyote does get her attention, though, her head canting slightly. "Don't we have a Coyote pack at the sept?" she asks.

"We do, but I am not sure how many of them are still around. Might be worth asking them, No-No is the name of their Totem. I have had some dealings with Coyote in the past, but not anything I would bank on. Even if we did get anything from Coyote, even if he wanted to help, you'd have to take the info with an ocean of salt." He shrugs. "Just his nature. A trick that ended the universe would be a hell of a trick."

Sandra's lip quirks slightly, brow raising not long after. She takes another sip of her coffee, then says, "It's a route to follow up on, at least. Even if it is, as you say, something to take with an ocean of salt. I don't know that any lead is an explicitly bad one, at this point, save perhaps the ones that pave the way directly towards certain death." Beat. "That Glass Walker-- Trace?" she says. "He's one of them, isn't he?"

"Maybe, I think so. Also the Gnawer, Felix, who..." Slug looks around. "Isn't here. Might be off with his girlfriend at the moment." Slug looks down at the table in front of him. "We have some footage of Hanford, somewhere. A Corax friend of a friend did a fly-over of the place with a Go-Pro; Hanford, I mean. I am sure other people also have some info, but that is pretty much everything I have."

Sandra nods. "I appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you could," she says. "And if it's not too much trouble, could you let Felix know that I'd like to speak with him? I'm sticking close enough to the bawn these days that you're more likely to see him before I do. Past that, I'll see what I can do about getting my hands on that footage." She makes a move like she's about to get up off her chair when she pauses-- and says, "There is one other thing, though. When we were speaking to the Ancient, you said the mage had shown you things. Was it Renegade that he'd shown you, or something else?"

Slug makes a little bit of a puzzled face. "It was... a while ago. I saw the area like it was before it was... settled. I saw the general look of things as he saw them, or as he wanted me to see them. A lot of what we did was talking though, and he seemed to indicate that Spirals had 'investigated' the thing in the ground. I think I might have guessed it was Renegade because he was the leading Spiral at the time, and he was looking for a weapon to use against us, or the Queens. It was a while ago."

"By any chance," Sandra begins, then pauses. After thinking it over, she says, "Was there a massive chasm in anything he showed you? Like a black hole leading into the earth? Or a black lake?"

Slug shakes his head. "No. I don't think. If you've seen something like that, it might just be a metaphor. Dreams, and all. Or... maybe not. Nobody has gotten close enough to the Caern to look."

"And I get the impression that none of us will for a while, yet," Sandra says, this time raising to her feet. "But, as with everything else, we may have no choice but to approach it." Beat. "I'll let you know if I find anything in my own investigations," she says, "but at least this gives me some more threads to pull, if need be. Thank you, again."

"Sooner or later, but if even the Corax shy away, it will be a hard thing to do." Slug says. He bows his head to her, then gestures to the bag. "And thanks for the grub. And the book. I'm glad that more people are getting involved. With all of us chasing down different leads, one of us is bound to find something."

Sandra inclines her head by way of response, allowing a subtle but seemingly genuine smile to cross her features. It manages to reach her eyes, no matter the fatigue that appears there with it. "As I said, my hope is to put all the information together in a way that can be handed off to the various members of the sept. Having everyone on the same page should make the search more efficient, at least." She turns to leave, then, though the pauses at the door with a soft, "Oh." Looking to him, she says, "And if I don't see you before it happens: good luck with the Alpha challenge."

"Whoever wins, it will be good news to the Sept. I couldn't ask for something better than a worthy challenger," Slug says, worrying the corner of his lip. "But thanks. You take care, and try not to step into any holes too deep to climb outta, yeah?"

For whatever reason, that earns a breath of a laugh from the Shadow Lord, but she offers a nod, regardless. "I'll do what I can," she says, and - taking a quick look through the cracked door at the streets outside - takes her leave.